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wreckedandpolemic · 4 months

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regret me - matty healy

(mdni) in which an enmity with a certain infuriating singer turns mutually beneficial. 11775 words.

warnings: oral (f and m receiving), semi-public sex, mild exhibitionism, praise, degradation, switch!matty

Entering Battle of the Bands at your local had started off as a joke. Mostly. Your bassist Sabrina had pointed out the poster last time you were there for drinks, and you’d signed your name. It’d be a laugh, you’d reasoned, a good way to get into playing live shows and meet some other local bands. Plus, a hundred quid cash prize couldn’t hurt.

But that was before you met Drive Like I Do. Or, more specifically, their insufferable little twerp of a lead singer, Matty.

He meets your eyes across the bar, smirking like he likes what he sees, and, honestly, he doesn’t hurt to look at, so you lift your drink in his direction and beckon him over. “Hi,” he grins. “I’m Matty. Are you staying for the show?” You nod, but he interrupts you before you can elaborate. “We’re on last, so you might have to sit through some right shit before it gets good. Have you seen some of the names on the lineup? I mean, True Romance? I bet they just named it that ‘cause it sounds pretty. Probably haven’t even seen the film.”

You glower, and it’s obviously not the reaction he expects, his face screwing up in confusion. “That’s my band. And True Romance is one of my favourite films, not that it fucking matters.” You get up from the table, scowling at him. “And I have a name, thank you so much for asking.”

Annoyingly, Matty’s right; most of the bands on the lineup are shit. But you figure that means you’ll wipe the floor with them, having actually rehearsed and learned your own songs that aren’t covers.

You look out at the crowd, adrenaline pumping in your veins as Grace tunes her guitar. This is probably the most people you’ve ever played for, you realise with a jolt, swallowing around the lump in your throat and stepping up to the mic. “Hello, everybody! How’s everyone feeling tonight? You feelin’ good? Yeah?” The crowd cheers back at you, and you grin blissfully. “Alright, I’m not here to dick about, I’m here to play some fuckin’ songs! We’re True Romance and this is Dream Girl.”

You throw yourself into the set, your hair sticking to your forehead as you sweat under the lights. Your gaze keeps wandering to Matty, sat in a booth with who you assume are his bandmates, nodding along and watching you with intrigue. He quirks an eyebrow at you and you tear your eyes away, grateful for the heat that hides the flush in your cheeks. The crowd is practically frenetic, cheering wildly as the final note whines out of the speakers, and you join hands with your bandmates and bow.

You blow a kiss to the audience and step off stage, passing Matty as he and his band take their positions. Checking the lineup, you scoff when you read the name of the band playing directly after you. Drive Like I Do? And he had the audacity to call your band’s name shit? But you quickly realise they could have the longest, most nonsensical name in the world, and it wouldn’t matter; they’re really fucking good. Matty looks like he was born for the stage, soaking up the crowd’s attention and magnifying their energy tenfold. It doesn’t even matter what they’re singing about (as far as you can tell, a video game) — every girl in the bar is screaming her head off, giggling to her friends when one of the boys so much as looks at her.

Okay, so maybe you’re a little smug that Matty won’t stop looking at you. You’re not blind, after all. Doesn’t make him not a cocky little prick. He comes straight over to you when his set finishes and you roll your eyes. “What, are you expecting me to fall at your feet ‘cause you can hit a few notes behind a mic stand?” you scoff, and he laughs.

“Oh, come on, love. No need for the only two good bands in here to be fighting. Promise I’ll buy you a drink after I win.” You scowl. “Oh, and she’s even prettier when she’s angry. Was it something I said?” he smirks.

“Fuck off and die,” you say with a saccharine smile.

Sabrina slides into the seat Matty just vacated. “He’s into you,” she says, passing you your pint with a slight wrinkle of her nose. You give her a look, and she scoffs, the pair of you so attuned to each other by now that you can communicate without words. “Oh, don’t be all you about it. He’s hot,” she laughs. “If you don’t, I will.”

“Be my guest. He’s a dick.”

She snorts into her Sex on the Beach. “The way he’s eye-fucking you? Tenner says he goes home alone tonight.” She leans in, smirking conspiratorially. “Or with you.”

You roll your eyes. Betting on a stranger’s sex life is… strangely on brand, for the two of you. “I’ll take that bet. Look at the state of him.” You wave a hand in his general direction, a pint glass in one hand and some girl’s ass in the other, her skirt hiked inappropriately high in plain view. She’s pouting, though, his attention clearly not on her even as he paws at her ass, gaze locked on you instead.

Sticking your middle finger up, you turn resolutely away as the other two members of your band wander up to the table. You lose yourself in the conversation, still wild with adrenaline from playing a proper show, and for a moment you forget why you were playing in the first place. When you’re announced as the second place holders, though, you remember, scowling openly because you know there’s only one band who could possibly be winning.

Matty extricates himself from the girls clinging onto him as the cheers start to die down and strolls over, setting a drink in front of you. “Here. Told you I’d get you a drink when I won,” he smirks, and you accept it grudgingly. Look, you’re not about to turn down a free drink, alright? “Don’t sulk, love. We…” He waves a hand, indicating both your band and his. “Collectively, wiped the floor with every other fuckin’ person in here. C’mon, don’t be a sore loser. Let me get you drunk, you won’t pay a penny, I swear.”

And as much as you want to punch his smug little face in, pour your drink over his vintage band tee, one you recognise as being horribly expensive, you’re tempted by the offer of getting smashed on Matty’s tab. Plus, Grace is giving Drive Like I Do’s bassist the eyes, so she’ll be fucking off over there either way.

So you take him up on it, downing vodka cokes until you can barely see straight, screaming in Matty’s face that Blur is obviously better than Oasis, come on! You don’t know how it happens, but you find yourself dancing with them and not hating it? Spinning breathlessly between Ross and George (who are actually pretty sound, in all honesty), you grab Grace and Sabrina by the hands and let them pull Alice, your drummer, into a circle, kicking your legs and laughing wildly.

Lost in sticky floors, thumping bass and a spirit-fuelled haze, you don’t push Matty away when his hands find your hips. You grind your hips back against him, let him press damp kisses to your neck, licking the sweat off your skin. A shudder runs down your spine, faint threads of desire creeping under your skin. “Stopped bein’ a sore loser yet?” he taunts, and your good mood vanishes like a snuffed-out candle.

You turn, slinging your arms around his neck and leaning in close. Matty’s tongue flicks out to wet his lips distractingly, the skin plush and soft. You have a sudden craving to bite down on the skin there, feel it tear beneath your teeth, taste blood in your mouth. You want him, and you want him wrecked. “You,” you say, low voice carrying all the intimacy of a kiss. “Are the most self-absorbed, insufferable piece of shit I’ve ever met. Bathroom. Five minutes.” Matty’s face splits in a wicked grin, leaning so close he could kiss you. You stay like that for a moment, sharing oxygen, the feeling of breathing him in intoxicating, like you’re drunk all over again.

The sticky air of the pub feels impossibly cold as you break away, Matty’s gaze burning into your back until you’re swallowed into the crowd, weaving your way into the bathroom. Matty clicks the door open a few moments later, glancing around furtively before slipping inside. All the air rushes from his lungs as you slam him against the door, one arm braced against his chest and the other tensed beside his head. A gratifying flash of fear crosses his face and you smirk at him, leaning close to speak against his lips. “Am I scaring you, baby?” He swallows thickly. “Good,” you breathe, connecting your lips in a harsh kiss.

Matty moans into your mouth, the taste of gin spilling from his tongue as you devour him. You kiss to hurt, to injure, to bruise, biting down on his lower lip and licking over the wound. He whimpers a little, from pain or arousal you can’t tell, but you have a sneaking suspicion it’s both. “Fuck, you kiss like an animal,” he gasps, chest already heaving.

You grin viciously. “Only when I hate you. C’mon, on your knees. I haven’t got all night.” Matty pouts a little. “Oh, what, did you think I was gonna let you fuck me? I don't know where you’ve been, you fucking whore.” His eyes widen, liquid desire pooling in his irises. “I’m waiting,” you hiss, and he obeys unthinkingly.

His hands come greedily up to your waist, fumbling with the chain looped through your jeans. Finally, he pulls it free, unbuttoning your jeans and tugging them down your thighs. Seemingly unable to resist, he presses a kiss just above the waistband of your panties, and you clench your jaw against the shudder that runs through you at the contact. “God, you’re so fucking pretty,” Matty groans, tipping his head forward so his curls brush against your lower stomach.

“Get on with it,” you growl, shoving your panties as far down your legs as they’ll go. Matty stares unabashedly at your cunt, slick with the only evidence of your desire you can’t suppress. You gasp as his fingers find your clit deftly, rough and calloused over your swollen nerves.

Without warning, Matty grabs your hips and pulls you towards him, so forcefully that you stumble on your feet. His tongue swipes through your folds, a pitiful whimper falling from your lips, and he smirks up at you. “Taste so sweet, darling. Like a fucking peach.”

You roll your eyes, gripping his hair and dragging him back to your cunt, his tongue lapping deliciously over your clit. “Use that pretty mouth for something better than talking,” you snap, moaning softly as he obliges. Matty’s fingers dig into your hips, nails biting crescents of frantic desire into your skin. He laps at you starvingly, tongue-fucking you deep and fast, the punishing rhythm making you dizzy. Heart rolls up your spine, his name poison-sweet on your tongue as you grind your hips down against his mouth.

You fist a hand in his curls, tugging sharply, Matty’s answering moan reverberating through you. “God, you are a fucking slut,” you groan, pleasure swirling low in your belly. “Like that I’m hurting you, hm?”

“Uh-huh,” he moans, indistinct and muffled as the sound vibrates through you. Liquid desire drips down your spine, pooling between your legs and melting on Matty’s tongue, hungry and sure as he buries it deep inside you. He pulls away to suck on your clit, your legs turning jelly-like as a pulse of blinding ecstasy washes over you. You aren’t sure if the bare bulb in the dingy little bathroom is flickering or if your vision is going dim, lost in mind-wiping desire as Matty braces your hips to press his tongue even deeper into you.

Whining, you clench your cunt around his tongue, holding him in place as his fingers come up to play with your clit. You’re barrelling towards an earth-shattering end, twined with the intoxicating power of having Matty whimpering on his knees. “Think you’re so much better than me, huh?” you murmur. “This is where you belong, on your fuckin’ knees for me.” He clings to you like you’re a mirage, like you’ll dissipate and leave him if he lets go, hard and begging and alone with your taste lingering on his tongue.

He draws sloppy figure-eights on your clit, euphoria spreading in your limbs, burning up your blood as you moan his name into the liquor-laced air. Your fingers scramble for purchase against the poster-plastered walls, losing your grip on reality, your impending orgasm stealing the breath from your lungs. A string of honey-slick moans fall from your lips, one hand buried in Matty’s curls as you roll your hips down against his mouth. He makes out with your cunt messily, wantonly, like he’s been starved.

“I’m so close, Jesus fuck—” you cry, slapping a palm over your mouth to keep from screaming as Matty bites down gently on your clit, the flash of pain enough to tip you over the edge. You tumble into oblivion, pleasure burning so hot in your veins that you aren’t sure you have any blood left. Matty licks at you, sucks on your clit, fucks you with his tongue as your cunt flutters around him, swallowing every drop of your arousal as you come undone on his mouth.

Matty’s eager, fucked-out grin is the first thing you see when you come back to Earth, legs weak and skull throbbing. Mustering up your dignity, you sneer down at him like he hasn’t just given you probably the best orgasm of your life in a cramped, dirty bar bathroom. “Just because I let you eat me out, you think that means I’m just gonna put your filthy fucking dick in my mouth?” you scoff. Casually swinging a leg, the tip of your boot meets Matty’s clothed cock, not quite a kick, but not much of anything else either. A helpless little moan tumbles from his lips and you laugh condescendingly, tilting his chin up so he’s looking in your eyes.

He grinds down against your boot, power thrumming heady in your veins. “Baby, please,” he whimpers, the sound dizzying and gratifying.

“Pathetic,” you say, low and sweet. “Getting off on my shoe like a fuckin’ animal. Bet you’d let me do whatever I wanted, huh?” He nods frantically, desperate to please, his jaw coming compliantly open when you pull down. A thrill steals up your spine as a wad of spit lands on his tongue, chased by a bolt of desire when he swallows obediently. “Don’t come back out until you can fucking control yourself.”

You dress yourself, Matty still panting at your feet, his chin slick with your arousal, and slip back out of the bathroom. Like you’d predicted, your friends are too hammered to question your absence much, accepting your excuse of having gone for a smoke without question. The four of you laugh and sing and dance the rest of the night, Grace slipping away with Ross at a tasteful two a.m., you and Sabrina exchanging a knowing look at her lack of subtlety. At some point, Matty had joined you again, throwing you looks so venomous you’re a little scared.

Just as you’re calling it a night, you scrawl your number on a damp napkin and shove it into his pocket. “In case you’re ever after a rematch,” you say, low enough not to be overheard, and his answering smirk is wicked.

Sabrina sighs dramatically at his retreating back. “Hate to see ‘em go, love to watch ‘em leave.” You snort, shoving her playfully. “Alright, pay up. What did I say? Alone, or with you.”

Groaning, you dig in your wallet and slap a ten-pound note in her outstretched palm. “Alice, have I ever told you you’re my favourite?” Giggling, the three of you stumble out to the taxi rank, the sting of your loss almost forgotten against the heat still tingling between your thighs.

Matty doesn’t text you until the next evening, and you’ll take the grin that split your face at the sight of his message to your grave.

So about that rematch?

Don’t beg it’s pathetic

Had enough of that last night

You know where to find me when you’re ready to put up a real fight

You don’t hear from him for a little while after that, but something tells you the pair of you aren’t done yet. Or maybe that’s just his voice in your head while you bury your hand between your thighs.

Sabrina throws a house party for her twenty-first, because she’s still barred from every good club within ten miles for underage drinking. You’re a little tipsy, a little high, singing along to the CD spinning in the player and sipping a cocktail while you wait for everyone to arrive. The house is a sweaty, heaving mass of bodies by eleven, screaming drunk as you stumble onto the patio. You’re alone except for one other boy with his back to you, his silhouette blurred in the dark as you fish for your cigarettes, alcohol making your body uncoordinated and slow to obey direction.

Sliding one between your lips, you call out, “Have you got a light?” The boy turns, and your heart skips a painfully embarrassing beat. Matty smirks back at you, annoyingly gorgeous with a cigarette dangling from his lips, clad in a floral shirt and a worn leather jacket.

“Long time no see, darling,” he grins. “Was wonderin’ if I’d run into you.” It’s a fight to rein in your thoughts, running wild as want licks up your spine. It’s fucking Pavlovian, you tell yourself, getting off to the thought of him setting off some instinctual reaction to his presence.

“Been thinking about me a lot?” you tease, privately curious as to the answer.

He steps closer, and you try not to flinch. “Oh, I’ve been pulling the absolute cock off myself thinking about how you kicked me in the dick and left me on the fucking ground. Kind of scenario wet dreams are made of,” he snaps.

You laugh like he’s recalling a fond memory to hide the flush creeping up your cheeks at the image of him touching himself. “Oh, don’t be a baby. Shouldn’t have made it so satisfying to kick you in the dick, then.”

Matty flashes his teeth. “You were plenty satisfied already, if memory serves. Jesus fuck, I’m cumming, oh, God, Matty, fuck,” he taunts, putting on a high, breathy affect of your voice, taking another predatory step towards you. He breathes smoke out over your face, the grey cloud curling in front of your eyes, blurring the planes of his face and casting him in a hazy glow.

“You’re making me want to kick you in the dick again,” you threaten, but it lacks any edge, all the fight draining out of you as Matty lifts your hand to slip your forgotten cig between your lips. The touch sparks under your skin, stacked kindling waiting to catch alight, burn you up in the blaze.

“Breathe in,” Matty says quietly, leaning in to press the end of his cigarette against yours, the flame passing between you in a shared breath, smoke burning in your lungs as you draw the moment as long as possible, pulling it like elastic between your hands.

You blow out your smoke, twin exhales staining the air between you. “Kiss me,” you murmur, a breathy plea delivered from chapped lips, blackened lungs, through cold air into unreadable honey-brown eyes.

Matty takes a deep drag on his cigarette and flicks it away, taking your jaw in both hands while the smoke sits in his mouth. You try not to envy that it curls on his tongue, your lips parting instinctively for him as it pours from his mouth into yours. Your inhale is quick, perfunctory, an aside to what comes after you blow it out. His lips are soft, your bite mark healed now, moving against yours with what you could almost mistake as tenderness. His hands slide down to your ass, squeezing gently and pulling you flush against him.

When he slides his tongue into your mouth, you can’t help your relieved little moan, something cool and sharp and dangerous lodging itself in your ribcage. “Oh,” he says, delighted. “Missed me, have you?”

“If I say yes, will you fucking touch me?” you snap.

“So needy,” he croons, fingers skirting just below the hem of your skirt. “Wanna stay out here where anyone could see how needy you are for me?”

You stamp on his foot childishly. “If anyone ever finds out I let you touch me, I’ll kill you,” you say, the threat familiar on your tongue, a fraction of your control reigned back in.

Matty laughs. “You’d miss me too much.” You scoff. “Alright, let’s find somewhere to keep this secret, then.”

You practically drag him to Sabrina’s bedroom, and he raises an eyebrow. “If I tried shagging in one of my boys’ rooms, I wouldn’t live long enough for you to kill me,” he remarks.

“Oh, please. You think you’re the first guy I’ve ever fucked in here?” You don’t miss the way his grip tightens around your wrist, stiffening slightly. You don’t want to examine what that means.

He sits on the edge of her bed, legs spread and face expectant. “Your turn, love. On your knees, yeah?” You pause, and he laughs darkly. “Oh, you thought you were gonna get fucked?” he taunts, the words a mocking echo of your own, and you feel them like ice thawing in your spine. “Love, the first time I fuck you isn’t going to be in someone else’s bed at a house party. I wanna take my time with you, tear you to fucking pieces.” Your cunt pulses desperately, forcing you into obeisance even as you wear your disgust plainly on your face. “Oh, you want it bad, huh?” Matty murmurs, low and cruel as you unbuckle his belt and pull his cock free from his jeans. “Fuckin’ gagging for it, aren’t you? Go on, darling, get me hard.”

Your jaw falls open, saliva dripping from your tongue and trailing down his cock. You wrap a hand around him, his hips jolting at the contact. Pumping him slowly, his cock fills in your palm, precum sticky on your fingers when you dig your nail into his slit. You lean down, kitten-licking over the head, and he bucks his hips up with a gasp. “Someone’s eager,” you smirk, pushing his hips down with a smirk.

“Shut up before I shut you up,” he says, darkly threatening in a way that makes you believe him, arousal pooling between your legs.

Matty gathers your hair into a crude ponytail in one fist and you look up at him through your lashes. “If you push my head down, I’m biting your dick off,” you warn, lowering your head and wrapping your lips around his tip.

He moans, fighting not to thrust into the warmth of your mouth as your lips creep down his cock. “That’s it, baby. Go on, take it all. Take this filthy fucking dick. Good girl,” Matty croons, moaning as his cock bumps the back of your throat and you swallow a gag. You bob your head, inhaling deeply through your nose and trying to take all of him. Your nose meets his skin and you grin victoriously around his cock, sugary praise falling from his lips and his eyes fixed on you. “Look so pretty on your knees, baby. If you keep being good, I’ll let you swallow my cum,” he adds, and a bolt of lust strikes your core, tinged acrid with shame at letting him hold power over you.

You jam a hand between your legs, rutting wantonly against it, the friction hot as your clit grinds against the seam of your jeans through your panties. A moan spills out around Matty’s cock, the salt of him filling your mouth as he bucks his hips a little. Pulling up, you swallow around him, spit leaking from the corners of your mouth. Matty moans your name, the sound so sweet in your ears that you want to press it into a vinyl, layer it in the back of a song you can listen to over and over. A string of spit connects your skin as you pull away from him, sitting back on your knees to look in his eyes. “I changed my mind,” you say, the words spilling out before you can stop them, an unbidden admission from a hazy head and swollen lips. “Fuck my mouth.”

Groaning, Matty lets go of your hair and brushes it out of your face when it falls. “Fuck, love, are you sure?”

You smirk up at him, holding his gaze in challenge. “C’mon, Healy, you know you want to. Fucking ruin me, wreck my voice, make me cry,” you say. It’s a demand, not a plea, and he knows it. Knows that he’ll be giving you what you want, conceding territory in your battle, letting you knock a piece off the chessboard. But he wants. His hand tangles in your hair, his eyes closing as he moves like he doesn’t want to see himself capitulate. The sting in your scalp feels like victory, the ache in your jaw a triumph. Matty fucks your mouth with abandon, dragging your head and thrusting up to meet the back of your throat, moaning as you gag around him.

You’re helpless, your panties soaked with arousal and your cunt clenching around nothing. Pure, unadulterated need rises in you, needy whines slipping out around his cock while he fucks your face like a toy. “You getting off on being used like this?” he taunts, eyes lidded and face flushed. “Little slut. Not so fuckin’ mouthy now, huh? Such a fuckin’ bitch until you’re on your knees gaggin’ on my cock.” Lewd, wet sounds fill the room, his words pushing you to the precipice of submission threatening to overwhelm. You grind pathetically against your palm, desperate for more than the feeble embers flickering in your belly. “You wanna cum, darling?” he murmurs, lifting you off him, your breaths coming hard and heavy and impossibly loud in the sudden quiet.

“Please,” you whine, past the point of caring for your fractured dignity. “M’so wet, Matty, I need it so bad.”

“I shouldn’t let you,” he says musingly. “Not after what you pulled last time.” He grins, knocking your knees apart with one booted foot. “But I’m a gentleman. These, off,” he orders, kicking at your thigh to indicate your jeans. You scramble awkwardly out of them, kicking them into a pile of Sabrina’s clothes that you’re definitely going to pick up a new shirt from later. Matty presses his boot between your thigh, the pressure on your clit so glorious you swear you almost cum, a wave of pleasure knocking the breath from your lungs. “Go on, baby. Get off on my shoe like a fuckin’ animal,” he growls, your stolen words hitting you like a shock of ice water.

You hate yourself just a little as your hips roll, taking his cock in your mouth and moaning as he takes up his punishing rhythm. The lace of your panties is rough and scraping over your clit, pain and pleasure mingling in your belly and dripping on Matty’s shoe. Tension winds tight in your belly, a fist clenched so tight it almost breaks skin. Matty fucks your mouth messy and frenzied, his hand tight in your hair and your name sticking to his lips. It sounds like a curse, or maybe a prayer — is there a difference, if God doesn’t exist?

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, gonna cum, darling, don’t stop,” Matty groans, head thrown back in rapture. You pull out every trick, swallowing and humming around him, swirling your tongue across his skin until he’s spilling in your mouth with a broken groan. “Fuck, yes, good girl, take it all,” he says. “My little cumdump,” he adds, the words striking at your core, pouring liquid heat directly over your nerves, achingly hot.

You pull off his cock with an obscene pop, opening your mouth to show off your painted-white tongue. A string of cum drips from your mouth, landing over his wet cock. You lap it up eagerly, Matty hissing at the contact to his sensitive skin. Your hips grind faster, cunt throbbing with need. With your mouth now freed, you whine out filthy pleas, tasting burning shame in the back of your throat. “Matty, please, I can’t—” you whimper, cut off when he grips your chin and forces your jaw shut, smirking meanly.

“You can, and you will. M’not gonna help you, baby. Can get off on my boot or not at all.” His cool, impassive tone is belayed by his flushed face, lips parted and eyes wide as he watches you grind pathetically against him. Pleasure coils under your skin, tangling with the burn of humiliation, your head thrown back and incoherent whines falling from your lips. “Jesus, you’re a fuckin’ wet dream,” Matty moans out, dragging you by the hair so your gaze falls back on him. “Pretty girl. Can’t wait to make you fall apart on my cock, shit.”

Your cunt throbs near-painfully, molten ecstasy turning your organs to liquid, your climax sweet and hot on the tip of your tongue. “M’so close,” you whimper, pleading little gasps stumbling from your lips. You grind your clit harshly against the tough leather of Matty’s shoe, fucking debasing yourself as you chase your orgasm. Digging your nails into his calf, you moan helplessly, gripping him like a lifeline as your head starts to float clear of your body. His eyes glitter triumphantly, holding all the power while reducing you to a pathetic, pleading mess grinding against his shoe.

Ecstasy swirls in your belly, dizzying. It’s thick in your lungs, stoppering your thoughts until all you know is Matty’s cruel little smirk, his lust-blown eyes, his shoe pressed against your cunt. Your final, last-ditch act of rebellion comes when the thread tethering you to your sanity finally snaps. You might have sunk low, lower than you ever thought you could, but you will not plead to cum on his shoe. That final thought circles as pleasure knocks you breathless, a keening wail ripping from your throat as your cunt pulses. Matty’s hand tightens in your hair as you cum, aching bliss coursing through your bloodstream. “Fuck,” you mumble, your legs weak as you crumple to the floor.

“That feel good?” Matty asks, flashing teeth.

“Fuck you,” you snap, painfully conscious of how little effect your words have when you’re on the floor below him, your cunt still pulsing with aftershocks.

“I will,” he says sweetly, and you groan.

Trying not to stagger, you get to your feet. “This,” you gesture in the air between you. “Means nothing, alright? As far as everyone we know is concerned, we can’t stand each other. In fact, I can’t stand you.”

“S’that why you got on your knees so fast?” Matty smirks, still leaning insouciantly on Sabrina’s bed. You scoff, disgusted with yourself, and turn to leave. “Might wanna clean yourself up, love,” he calls as you shove the door open. “You look like you just sucked a dick.”

You don’t realise that leaving was a concession until the door clicks shut and you catch his smirk before he disappears from view. Slipping into the miraculously empty bathroom, you realise he’s right; you do look like you’ve just sucked a dick. Your hair is wild, raked through and tangled, mascara running down your face and your lipstick smeared over your chin. The matching ring that must sit around the base of Matty’s cock makes you smirk to yourself, a tangible reminder of the encounter that he’ll have to work to remove.

You manage to tame your appearance and wander back downstairs, finding Sabrina and Alice deep in conversation with Matty and George. “There you are!” Sabrina gasps, loud enough to be heard over the screaming music and loud background chatter. “Thought you’d fucked off home. Was just telling the boys about our gig,” she grins. Oh, right. Your actual fucking gig, where you have to play your songs to a crowd of fans there for somebody else, and somehow hold their attention for an entire set. And you’d just stopped feeling fucking nauseous about it.

“Love, why didn’t you tell me?” Matty says, mocking in a way that only you can sense, prodding at a wound only he can see.

“Oh, please.” You pour yourself a strong drink and take a long sip before you continue. “I’d rather not spew over the front row seeing your ugly fucking mug in the crowd.” George snorts and Sabrina swats your arm.

“Don’t be a cowbag, it’s my birthday,” she scolds, eyes lighting up as they land on an undrunk bottle of tequila. “I know how to loosen you up a bit,” she grins, brandishing the bottle and digging in the fridge for a net bag of limes. “Body shots!” She spins around, wiggling her eyebrows, and you tip your head back with a groan.

She grabs a knife from the kitchen drawer and wobbles over to the counter to start chopping the limes, forcing you to your feet before she lands herself in A&E. “Calm down there, Ghostface,” you laugh, grabbing the knife before she can do any damage. Slicing the limes into neat wedges with bartender-practised ease, you grin at Sabrina and clamp a slice between your teeth. She brushes salt across the top of your tit, her tongue hot over your skin when she licks it up. The shot glass slams on the counter before you even register that she’s picked it up, her lips ghosting against yours as she bites into the flesh of the fruit, the juice spilling across your mouths.

You spit the rind to the floor and cup her jaw, melting into a passionate kiss like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Licking the taste of lime out of her mouth, one of your hands threads in her hair, and Ross whistles. “Fucking hell, are we interrupting something?”

Sabrina snorts. “If that’s got you blushing, the things we’ve done to each other would make your head spin, pretty boy.”

You risk a glance at Matty, rooted to the spot with eyes as wide as saucers, like he can’t believe what he just saw. Interesting. “Who’s next?” you crow, delivering the words as a deliberate taunt to him. “I’ll even take my top off, give you some more space to work with,” you grin, peeling off your top and gratuitously squeezing a tit.

“Do we get a snog, too?” George smirks, getting to his feet.

Sweeping your hair off your neck, you tilt your head and smile tantalisingly. “Only if you’re good.” Matty’s jaw clenches. Very interesting. Salt scrapes over your skin as George licks you clean, something molten and dangerous pooling in your core at Matty’s intense eye contact. George bites the lime out of your mouth and spits it to the floor, his lips finding yours waiting.

He’s a good kisser, his mouth sure and firm against yours, tongue brushing against your lips as he cups your jaw. Parting your lips for him, the sharp taste of lime lands on your tongue once again, George tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and smiling slightly when he pulls away. Matty looks at you like you’re a future regret, like the narrative is written and he’s only stepping into his role when he comes towards you.

Ever overdramatic and impaired by liquor, you drape yourself over the table, lifting your head to grin up at him. Matty reaches for a shot glass, and you chide him, meeting his gaze in challenge. “C’mon, it’s called a body shot, after all,” you goad, and he swallows, gripping the neck of the tequila like a lifeline.

“You’re insane,” he murmurs, barely above a whisper. The liquor is cold as he pours it into your belly button, splashing from his trembling hands. The muscles of your stomach twitch, contradictory heat pooling in your core as anticipation creeps under your skin. Salt pours between the valley of your tits, Matty cleaning it off eagerly as you fight not to squirm. You swallow a gasp as Matty sucks and licks the alcohol from your body, the feeling of his tongue swirling gratuitously against you falling straight to your cunt.

With a grimace, Matty straightens, leaning down to grip the lime between his teeth, sharp tartness soaking your bruised lips once again. You savour the sting, Matty’s eyes wide with desire as he leans in. The kiss is messy, all top lip and tongue as you lick the tequila out of his mouth, slowly sitting up and slinging your arms around his neck.

One of his hands tangles in your hair, the rest of the world melting away the longer you lose yourself in his kiss, reality tunnelling down to Matty’s skin on yours. He exhales regret against your lips, pulling away slowly and thumbing over your swollen lip. Fuck, that stings. Matty smirks like he can read your thoughts, like your pain is sweet on his lips.

“Jesus, get a room!” Sabrina scoffs, chucking a lime at your head that you don’t have the facilities to dodge. Matty goes red, wrenching his gaze away from you and fumbling for a cigarette before stumbling out of the room. Sabrina squints at the space he vacated. “Like, will the two of you just fuck already? Instead of subjecting us to whatever that was?”

You glare, folding your arms and screwing up your face as if you can’t think of anything worse. “Don’t be gross.”

Sabrina gets up, turning to face the room at large. “Right, show of hands. Who thinks she just needs to fuck Matty and get it over with.” Six hands go up, and you scowl. Okay, maybe you do want to fuck him, but does everybody need to know about it?

“Please,” groans George. “He’s insufferable when he gets like this about a girl.” He puts on a high effect of Matty’s voice, and you snort. “‘Oh, do you think she’s gonna be there? Will she like this shirt? Does my hair look pretty?’” You roll your eyes, praying the heat in your cheeks is indistinguishable from the flush of the alcohol.

“Ugh,” you say, forcing a shudder. “Get me checked for a brain tumour if I ever fall for that.” You grab the discarded bottle. “Anyway, I’m done being a shot glass. Someone else’s turn.”

Your head spins as you take shot after shot, licking salt from Sabrina’s neck, Ross’ chest, George’s belly. The passage of time slips from your grasp, and before you know it, the party’s mostly over. The last few stragglers are drifting out, Sabrina nowhere to be seen, having slipped upstairs with a girl you vaguely recognise from high school about half an hour ago. Probably shouldn’t tell her that she’s not gonna be the first (or even second) person to get off in her room tonight.

You end up crashing out on the couch, stripping out of your tight jeans and leaving them crumpled next to you — your shirt is long gone. Not a big deal, you can nab one of Sabrina’s in the morning. By some miracle, your headache in the morning is only mild, easily quelled with a glass of water and some painkillers. The house is still, the previous night lingering in sticky floors and plastic cups littering every surface.

One of Sabrina’s guitars is propped against the wall, and picking it up unlocks a vague memory of picking the beginnings of your first song on it, before you had one of your own. You smile fondly, lifting it into your lap and kicking one leg over the arm of the sofa. Your fingers move instinctively, coaxing out the melody you’ve been working on, repeating it over and over and groaning when the next notes just won’t come.

“You’re really good.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re still here?”

Matty shrugs, sloping into the chair next to you, seemingly indifferent to your matching states of undress. “Hann was designated driver, and he fucked off somewhere between the body shots and the karaoke,” he snorts. “Brina said I could stay.”

“Don’t call her Brina,” you snap. “You’re lucky she’s so nice. If it was up to me, you’d be in a ditch somewhere right now. Or flattened on the motorway. Wouldn’t that be nice…” you say, wistful as if you’re daydreaming about his viscera splattered across tarmac.

“You’re such a bitch.” It’s a compliment, you can tell, despite his derisive expression.

Not dignifying him with a response, your fingers creep across the strings, plucking out a familiar riff that you can’t quite place. Matty’s smug little grin flashes you back to the day you met, and you realise with disgust that you’re playing the first four notes of Robbers over and over. Your scowl silences the taunt on Matty’s lips. “Shut the fuck up and stop looking at me like that before I make you.”

Matty shudders, shifting in his chair. “You’re so mean. Who hurt you?”

“This conversation is hurting me. Talking to you feels like voluntarily hitting my own head with a brick.” Matty just smirks at you, conspicuously dropping his hands into his lap. “Oh, my god. Is this getting you hard?” you scoff.

An infuriating smirk creeps across Matty’s face “I can’t help it,” he says. “You’re hot when you’re mad at me.”

“I’m always fuckin’ mad at you.”

“Exactly.” His grin is filthy, legs spread wide as your eyes trail down to where his cock is straining against his boxers.

Still plucking idly at the guitar, you speak without looking at him. “Touch yourself for me,” you say, snorting as Matty chokes on his inhale.

He makes a spluttering little sound, and you don’t look up from the guitar in your lap. “Are you being serious? Here? Now?”

You shrug. “You don’t have to. But don’t pretend you don’t want to. Go on, give me a show. S’just about the only thing you’re good for.”

Matty moans, the resolve in his face visibly crumbling as you lift your gaze to meet his. His cock is flushed and dripping as he frees it from his boxers, throwing his head back with a groan. Heat creeps across your cheeks, the display of him obscene. Arousal clenches in your belly as your name spills involuntarily from his lips, cock disappearing into his fist as he strokes himself.

“Yeah, that’s it. Just like that,” you murmur, breathing slow and deep to keep yourself controlled. Matty’s moans are sweet and syrupy in your ear, low and melodic against your skin. Almost without your knowledge, your fingers dance across the guitar strings, pulling the next notes of your broken melody free instinctively as you watch him. “So pretty like this, baby. Know you can be louder than that. Let me hear you, yeah?”

Slick sounds fill the room, tangling with his moans flowing freely from his lips. Your cunt is dripping in your panties, pleading for attention as Matty fucks his fist, the guitar finally abandoned in your lap. Your hips shift needily against the sofa, the tiniest pulse of pleasure humming through you. “Come here,” he groans, the dominance in his tone sudden and intense.

“What did you just say?” you say, tone carrying a low threat that you don’t even think he notices.

“Can’t make a mess, can I? C’mere, come finish me off. Can see how fuckin’ needy you are from here, love.”

Carefully sliding the guitar off your lap, you stand so you’re towering over him. He gazes openly at your tits, cupped together in your bra, breath hot against your skin. “Who,” you say, voice gentle but full of steel, sliding a hand into his curls. “Do you think you’re talking to?” you demand, fisting your hand and dragging Matty’s eyes up to meet yours, his little pained whimper falling straight to your cunt. “You fucking piece of shit,” you scoff, lowering yourself into his lap. “Get your hands off.” He obeys with a whimper, and you laugh scornfully. God, he’s too fucking easy. “You fucking disgust me,” you murmur against his lips, low and reverent like you’re pouring praise against his mouth. “Who the fuck do you think you are, talkin’ to me like that?”

You tuck him back into his boxers, rolling your hips down and tipping your head back as pleasure runs through you. “M’sorry,I—” You press two fingers against his lips to silence him.

“Gonna let you get off like this. That way you’re only making a mess of yourself, yeah? Say thank you, baby.” Matty ruts his hips up against yours, hungry lips meeting your neck and greedy hands tangling in your hair.

“Th-thank you,” he stammers, breath shaky against your neck. Want pulses sickly in your belly, rising into your chest and squeezing hard as Matty bucks his hips. It doesn’t take long until your name pours free from his lips, tangled in moans and expletives, and he goes limp under you.

Despite your desperate cunt screaming out in protest, you climb off his lap and smile patronisingly down at him. “Fucking filthy,” you say, staring down at his soaked boxers and committing the sight of him to memory, chest flushed and heaving. “You can get dressed and get the fuck out, now. Hope nobody points out the cum stain.”

Matty gives you a look that’s pure loathing, tinged with needy lust, and you jerk your head at him as if to say go on. “Just you wait,” he mutters darkly. “Just you fucking wait. I’ll fucking wreck you.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

You don’t see Matty face-to-face for a little while after that, but that doesn’t mean he stops plaguing you. A concerning number of your nights are spent with your phone on your pillow, listening to him moan in your ear as you fuck yourself on your fingers. You have to bite down on his name when you’re fucking other guys, the word bitter as you swallow it back down, longing to spill free. It only makes you hate him more.

You hadn’t thought he’d actually come see you play, but George and Ross’ silhouettes are unmistakeable in the crowd of fans screaming for the band you’re opening for. As is the head of dark curls next to them. Your heart catches in your throat, bleeding over your tongue as you step up to the mic stand. The lights shine into your eyes, adrenaline pumping and nerves jangling. You introduce yourself, introduce the band, the few scattered whoops not even making a dent against the unimpressed faces of the front row. George shoots you an encouraging grin, clapping over his head to make sure you see, and it soothes you a little; enough that your body loosens and you can coax your fingers into strumming on your guitar.

By the third song, you’ve relaxed into it, instinctive. Your hair is plastered to your forehead, jewellery tangled around your neck, sweating into your shirt. The crowd has warmed up a little, nodding their heads and swaying, even a few people singing your choruses back at you. You feel electric, a current zapping through you and echoing out of the speakers. Matty is transfixed, you can just about see — his gaze hasn’t left you for more than two seconds at a time since your set started. His thoughts are so plain on his face that you can practically hear them, filth pouring from him and pooling around you, warming your core and… Jesus. Focus.

Mentally dousing yourself in ice water, you lean close to the mic and catch Matty’s eyes. “This next song… I feel like it’s a story every girl knows. You’re at a bar, you’ve had a few drinks, and you’re lookin’ for a bit of fun, right? And you meet a boy and you think he could be the one, at least for tonight. Then he opens his mouth,” you pause as everyone laughs. “And he just won’t. Stop. Talking!” You launch into the song, unable to keep the grin off your face as Matty recognises the melody, the one you played while you watched him get himself off. The memory heats you from the inside out, identical film reels flickering in both your and Matty’s heads as your insides burn with desire.

Apparently, the song resonates with more than a few, the crowd and the cheers wilder with every song now you’ve finally attracted their attention. Disappointment twinges in your gut as you realise you’re onto the last song. “You guys have been fucking phenomenal tonight. You looking forward to the main event?” Obviously, the crowd cheers louder than they have for you all night. You try not to take it to heart, though. “Thank you guys so much for having us, seriously. You up for one more song? Yeah? Let’s fuckin’ go!” Adrenaline rushing to your head and inflating your ego, you grip the hem of your shirt and tug it up to your neck, soaking in the cheer that goes up as you show off your bare tits.

There’s only one reaction you care about, though, Matty’s jaw going slack and his gaze hot and heavy against your skin. The room melts away, the tension stringing between you a living thing that roots you to the spot. The fuse is lit and you know it, can’t stamp it out. All that’s left is to find out which of you ignites first.

You slip into the back of the crowd just before the main act starts, and immediately get suckered into a sweaty, congratulatory group hug from the boys. You don’t even push Matty off when he smacks a kiss at your temple, his low good fucking girl murmured in your ear making you shudder.

The band you opened for are a little stuck-up, but nice enough, so you take them up on their offer to celebrate after. Their frontman’s grin when he tells you to bring some friends, if you like tells you that he’s going to be very fucking disappointed, though, when the friends you bring are four blokes from a well-known local band instead of the girls he’s clearly imagining. His face falls when he sees them, pushing off to chat up a group of girls hovering around the bar.

Which leaves the eight of you in the now-familiar position of being crammed into a too-small booth, with you once again half on Matty’s lap. “Can’t believe you wrote a song about me. You’re too sweet, darling, you shouldn’t have.” he remarks, and you swing your heel back and laugh at his hiss when it connects with his shin.

“Oh, please. You think you’re the first good-looking asshole I’ve ever met in a bar? Don’t flatter yourself.”

“You think I'm good-looking?” He’s wearing a shit-eating grin, too comfortable pushing your buttons in public. You need to grind him beneath your heel, put him back in his fucking place.

You drop your hand under the table, tracing circles in his thigh and feeling the muscles tense under your touch. “And he’s got selective hearing, too. Who's surprised?”

His hips shift needily against your hand, squirming as he tries to force you into giving him what he wants. “Oh, come on, darling. We both know this only ends one way.” He’s full of shit, false bravado layered deliberately in his voice that you can see through like he’s wrapped in cellophane.

“In your dreams,” you bite out, pressing your hand against his cock in the same moment, kneading softly and watching blood rush into his cheeks as he swallows down a moan.

“Oh, every night, darling.”

Sabrina gags, breaking the two of you out of the bubble you’d been in, the hazy edges of your reality suddenly back in sharp focus. “Can you two stop being gross for two fucking seconds, please? For all our sakes?”

Rolling your eyes, you set your drink down on the table, dangerously close to the edge. “Oh, it’s my fault he’s fucking obsessed with me?” you scoff. “Read my fucking lips, Healy. Never. Gonna. Happen.”

You focus back into the conversation, relishing in the way Matty’s responses fall shorter and shorter as you tease, his voice going weak and breathy with barely-concealed need. With your free hand, you pull your phone out to type him a text.

i was fucking incredible on that stage today

hope youre ready for a long fucking night

not gonna stop unless you beg me.

Matty’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly as his gaze flickers across the screen, staring resolutely forward even as his hips shift and his cock fills under your palm. You slide your other hand under Matty’s jeans and boxers a moment later, his cock twitching needily in your palm. His knee jolts at the feeling of your hand against his bare skin, sending your full glass toppling over him, covering him in a sticky combination of soda and alcohol.

Withdrawing your hand, you gasp, turning and pretending to fuss over him. “Fuck’s sake, Matty, you- Oh, my God!” You give a spluttering laugh. Matty’s eyes go wide with fear, pleading with you as he correctly predicts your next words. “Do you have a boner?” you demand incredulously, pulling away from him in fake disgust. The table erupts into laughter, Matty’s face fire-engine red as his hands fall to his lap in a desperate attempt to preserve what’s left of his dignity. Oh, God, he looks so fucking good embarrassed like this, and it makes you squirm a little in your seat to know the humiliation is just turning him on more.

“He totally fucking does!” crows Sabrina, cackling and craning her neck for a better look.

“What’s got you all worked up, mate?” George taunts. “Been so long since you got your dick wet that you’re popping one from being next to a hot girl?”

“No,” Matty snaps. “I mean– I get my dick wet plenty, thank you very much. And I don’t have a boner,” he adds, attempting to push past you and escape. “I just— not feelin’ well. I should go.”

You elbow him harshly, and he winces, biting his tongue around a whine. “Aw, George, you think I’m– give me a second, sex pest, I’m having a conversation– you think I’m hot?”

He grins. “I think you’re a knockout, love. Hey, are you free tonight?”

You snort. “Not for you,” you shoot back, George holding his hand to his chest, mock-affronted. You finally take pity on Matty and let him out of the booth, surreptitiously sliding your hand into his pocket and dropping your spare key. Dramatic? Yes. A bit much? Maybe. But you’ve never claimed to be anything less. “I know it’s gonna be tough, but try not to stick your dick in anything that’ll cause permanent damage on the way home!” you can’t resist shouting at his retreating back. When he’s gone, you pull out your phone to text him your address.

go and wait for me, sit on your hands if you have to, but do not fucking touch yourself

if you’re good, i *might* let you cum tonight

do u want me to break in or something

check ur pocket

you’re insane

ill be home in an hour

can u behave until then?

He doesn’t answer, and you’re looking forward to finding out what that means. You stay for another two rounds, anticipation thrilling in your belly at the prospect of what (or rather, who) is waiting for you at home. Walking into your bedroom, you find Matty face-down on your bed and grinding desperately against your sheets, still fully-clothed as needy little whines slip from his lips. “God, you are just fucking pathetic, huh?” you murmur, your thighs clenching at the pretty picture he makes.

Matty gasps. “M’not touchin’, m’not touchin’,” he promises frantically, and you click your tongue.

“I know, baby. But that doesn’t look much like sitting on your hands, either,” you murmur, peeling out of your shirt and kicking off your jeans. “Couldn’t even be a good boy for me for an hour? Worthless little slut,” you scoff, and he whimpers in response. “Least you kept that pretty dick hard for me. Does that feel good? Grinding on my sheets like a little fucking whore?”

He whimpers, still face-down but not moving, like he won’t be able to control himself if he lays eyes on you. “Yes. M’sorry, feels good. Not as good as you. Didn’t mean to be bad, m’sorry,” he babbles, his desperation obvious.

“Look at me, baby, eyes on me,” you order. Matty obeys instantly, a punched-out groan slipping from his lips as he takes in the sight of you, his eyes glued to the silver barbells glinting teasingly in your nipples. You snap the waistband of your panties against your waist, the action beckoning his gaze down your body. “D'you think I look pretty?” He nods furiously, but you cut him off before he can start lavishing you with praise, rolling your eyes condescendingly. “Didn’t wear it for you, before you start. Thought maybe I’d finally find some hot guy to take me home and fuck me like I deserve,” you hiss, climbing onto the bed next to him. Taking his jaw in your hand, you brush his curls out of his face. Matty shudders under your touch, pliant and needy as he melts into your palms. “Do you think you can fuck me like I deserve, Matty?”

His pride wars openly with desire in his face, eyes glassy as his tongue flickers out to wet his lips. “No,” he says finally, the admission ghosting feebly against your lips. He succumbs so sweetly that you press your lips against his, licking the taste of sugary surrender from his mouth.

“That’s what I thought. I could be getting fucked right now, you know. Could’ve had any man I wanted. But no. I get your whining, pathetic ass in my bed instead, fuckin’ rubbing yourself off on my sheets like a disgusting animal. S’bad enough that you’re making me do all the fucking work, least you could do is behave,” you snap, and Matty squirms, your cruel words rooting in his brain, digging claws tearing his every coherent thought to shreds.

“Can make you feel good, promise,” he whimpers. “Let me make you feel good, let me make it up to you, please,” Matty begs, reaching out to tug at the elastic of your waistband.

You slap his hand away, and he whines. “Behave. So greedy,” you chide. “Did I say you could touch me?”

“N-no.”

“Do you think you deserve to touch me?”

“I— no.” You grin, wide and predatory, and tug his shirt off over his head, running your hand down his slim, toned chest. Unbuckling his belt, you help him out of his jeans, the sticky, wet spot near the waistband of his boxers evident and growing.

You thumb over it gently, pressing the digit into Matty’s mouth as he moans and accepts it eagerly, swirling his tongue pornographically. “So fucking wet,” you murmur. “Needy little whore soaking his pants for me,” you tease. “Come here,” you order, sliding your panties down your legs, cool air kissing at your wet cunt. Matty scrambles to obey, laying between your legs and gazing up at you adoringly, seemingly unsure where to look as his eyes dart between your face, your nipple piercings catching the light, and your glistening cunt inches from his lips. “Go on. Beg for it. Beg for the privilege of touching me, of tasting me, of making me cum.”

“Fuck- fuck. Please let me get you off, sweetheart. Let me taste your pretty pussy, let me make you feel good, make you forget everything. Please just fuckin’ use me, I want— mmph!” You cut him off, pulling his face into your cunt by his hair, his pained little whimper spiralling deliciously through your body.

“Forgot how fucking annoying the sound of your voice is,” you groan, rolling your hips up against Matty’s face as he licks at your cunt like melting ice cream. “Put that mouth of yours to better use, hm?” You take his wrist in a punishing grip as he attempts to slide it up your thigh. “God, it’s like you don’t even want to cum. I never said you could touch me. Can make me cum with just your mouth or you can get up and walk out of here with nothing but that little problem between your legs, okay?”

Matty mumbles something that sounds vaguely agreeing into your cunt, pleasure coiling in your veins as Matty makes out with your hole sloppily. “Thank you s’much for lettin’ me… taste so fucking good, baby,” he moans, whining pitifully when you tug harshly on his curls.

“Don’t talk.” Your grip in his hair is punishing as he whimpers into your cunt, sucking and licking like a man starved. “God, such a fuckin’ slut, baby. You like it when I hurt you, hm?” His muffled moan of yes, fuckin’ love it vibrates through you, shivering pleasure ricocheting through every corner of your body. Matty sucks greedily on your clit, your hips bucking and legs kicking in the air.

It would be a lie to say knowing he’s getting off on the degradation doesn’t turn you on beyond belief. Your cunt pulses against his mouth, his tongue starving and wild over your clit. Matty tongue-fucks you, ravenous, his moans vibrating through your body deliciously. “Fuck,” you moan out, pulling hard on his curls to grind his face harder into your cunt. Heat thrums under your skin, biting your lip so hard you taste blood to swallow your moans. You must be suffocating him, his tongue buried deep in your cunt, but he just keeps going. A moan tears free, low and shameful, and he redoubles his efforts, swirling his tongue over your clit. You’re writhing under his attentions, dripping in his mouth as he starts tongue-fucking you at a dizzying pace. Tension pulls tight in your belly, close and electric under your skin as you clench around his tongue, Matty’s name spilling free from your mouth in a crazed entreaty, tugging on his hair just to feel his answering moan spiral through you.

His teeth scrape over your clit, the flash of pain finally tearing you loose from your body, ecstasy cascading over you as your cunt pulses against Matty’s mouth. He laps at your dripping cunt, bliss flooding against his tongue as your body wracks with sensation. “That’s right,” you groan, desire pulsing through you, leaking into the corners of your body with every thud of your wild, insistent heartbeat. “Fuckin’ swallow my cum. All of it. Yeah, just like that. Good boy.” The words only spur him on, cleaning you up with helpless enthusiasm, essentially locking himself into an impossible task. Every swipe of his tongue only serves to make you wetter, his moans stirring arousal that pools in his mouth. You pull him off you by his hair, tugging him up to meet you.

Matty grins, already hazy and fucked-out, his lips and chin soaking wet. You commit the sight to memory for a second, bruised lips and lidded eyes, your own personal, yielding little doll. “Thank you,” he says without prompting, and you grin. All it takes is a few sugared words, and he’s putty in your hands.

“Been such a good boy,” you croon, swiping your thumb across his mouth and sucking your own taste off your skin. “You wanna fuck me?”

A flash of something dances across his face, some aborted desire he’s not brave enough to voice dying on his tongue. “Yeah. I– yeah. I want that. Really bad. But… I might not… last, uh, very long. M’so fuckin’ hard, I just want–”

You prise open his jaw, silencing him as his eyes go wide. “Don’t push your luck. I’m letting you cum, ‘cause you’ve been such a good boy for me. Cum without my permission and I’ll make you wish you weren’t born,” you threaten lowly, spitting in his open mouth to seal your words.

He swallows eagerly, nodding hard. “Okay. Uh-huh, okay. M’sorry. Won’t cum, I swear.” You push him onto his back, staring impassively down at him as you straddle his waist. “Can you– I want– please,” he stammers, words tripping over themselves to escape his mouth as you laugh meanly down at him.

You dig your nails into his chest, anchoring yourself and scraping a mark into his skin. You start to trace your first initial, something droning and possessive buzzing in your ears, then think better of it. Slowly, you circle your hips, teasing the tip of his cock at your dripping hole. “You want me? Want me to fuck you like this?” Matty grasps needily at your hips, whimpering uncontrollable pleas into the thick, lust-drenched air of your room. He cries out as you slam your hips down, unable to stopper the moan that falls from your lips as your cunt stretches wide around him.

Grinding your clit against his stomach, you gasp as Matty thrusts up into you, fucking you impossibly deep. “Shit, Matty,” you hiss, pleasure pulsing under your skin. His gaze is fixed on your tits as you bounce on his cock, timed with his thrusts so he fills you as deep as possible. Running a hand up your body, you squeeze one of your tits, twisting the barbell just enough that it smarts a little, a pained gasp weaving effortlessly between your moans. You whine as Matty’s calloused fingers come up to circle roughly over your clit; sloppy like he can barely control his limbs. “Fuck, baby. You tryin’ to get me off faster so I don’t notice how quick you cum?” You grab his jaw so he can’t look away. “Pathetic.”

Matty doesn’t even speak, just moans helplessly as you ride him, rolling your hips and bouncing on him. Liquid heat pools in your veins, your thighs starting to burn and your heart pumping ecstasy into every nerve of your body. The slick sounds of your hips meeting echo off the walls, tangling with heavy breaths and wanton moans in a lurid melody you wish you could press to vinyl. Your nails dig into his shoulders so hard you break skin, leaving a tangible, lasting mark in the unblemished marble of his skin.

You circle your hips, head swimming with desire. Matty’s desperate little moans only turn you on more, his hips stuttering as he gets closer. Pleasure hums under your skin, a soft throb in the back of your skull and the base of your spine. Your thighs are beginning to burn with the effort, but you barely feel it as you fuck him harder, chasing your own release as it hangs tantalisingly out of reach. “You feel so good,” Matty whines, breathless and needy as he fucks up into you with abandon. His blunt nails dig into your hips, pulling you down to drive deeper into you. White spots dance in your vision, everything in your world going hazy but the point where Matty’s skin meets yours.

Pleasure courses up your spine in a sweet, sparkling arc, moans flowing freely as Matty’s fingers tease back over your swollen clit. “Fuck, feels so fuckin’ good,” you gasp. “Doin’ so well, baby. Gonna make me cum all over your cock, yeah?” He moans, rubbing tight, frantic circles at your clit. Tension coils tightly in your belly, the thread pulling taut until it finally snaps, arousal burning up your veins and flooding out against his skin, moaning helplessly as he keeps fucking into you. Dizzy, you fall forward, bracing your arms over Matty’s head and cunt pulsing around his cock. Matty’s lips close around your nipple, licking and sucking feverishly as you ride out your orgasm. “Shit,” you mutter, his other hand twisting your piercing as he groans, every motion tinged maniacal with need. “Did so well, Matty. You gonna cum for me? Go on, baby. Fuckin’ fill me up, yeah?”

Your words tip him over the edge, cock pulsing as he spills inside you, moaning your name around your tit. He gasps and whines, writhing helplessly under you. “God, feels so fuckin’ good,” he moans. “Thank you s’much,” he adds, smiling dopily up at you as you climb off him and test your weight on your feet before you stand. When you come back from cleaning yourself up, Matty’s dressed again, looking so miserable that you can’t help but take pity on him. “I’m goin’, don’t worry.”

You scoff. “Come back here.” Matty freezes, spinning on his heel so comically slowly that you stifle a giggle. “Jesus. I’m not evil. S’fucking freezing out there, I’m not making you trek back to fucking Wilmslow after that.” Matty just stares, and you roll your eyes. “Come back before I change my mind.”

Matty strips to his boxers embarrassingly fast, but you kind of don’t have it in you to tease when he slots himself sweetly into your arms. It’s almost… nice. Blech. “Did I do good?” he murmurs, his voice soft and sleep-thick.

You scratch your nails over his head and he hums happily. “Yeah, did so good, baby. Dunno what happened to all that shit you were talking about wrecking me, though. Kinda seemed like the other way around…” you tease.

He laughs softly. “I’ll get another chance. Gonna look so pretty crying on my cock, love.”

“Promises, promises,” you say, the muscles of his stomach tensing as you trace idle patterns in his skin. “Are you gonna keep them?”

“Piss me off enough and you’ll find out.”

Excitement thrills in your belly, the words sealing the two of you into some kind of promise, a brutal, delicious game of chess that you honestly couldn’t predict the winner in. “You know I will.”

#remember when i said this was gonna be shorter than white and gold #Whoops lol #matty healy x reader #matty healy smut #matty healy imagine #the 1975 smut #the 1975 fanfic #writing #smut #regret me

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mattitties · 9 months

Text

welcome to paradise - matt sturniolo

drummer!matt is my new favorite matt.

smutty af 😘

I walk down the hallway towards my boyfriend Matt’s room, hearing the familiar sound of drumming. I can’t quite recognize the song today, but it does sound a bit reminiscent of “Welcome to Paradise” by Green Day. I open the door ever so slightly and poke my head in. His drum kit faces the wall, so he’s completely turned away from me, and he has his headset on as he pounds onto the kit.

He’s not one to enjoy having an audience when he drums, but he’s more used to me watching him now, so I close the door quietly, tiptoe to his bed, and sit down to watch the rest of the song.

Matt is obviously attractive, anyone with eyes can see that, but when he drums, he only gets hotter. The amount of passion and energy he puts into it, the way his hair gets all messy as he starts to sweat and his cheeks get flushed, the way his fingers hold the drumsticks; there’s nothing that turns me on more than watching him drum.

I’m lost in my own world thinking about him that my eyes glaze over, stuck on him. I don’t even realize when he finishes the song and turns around and sees me.

“Babeeee?” he calls out, finally catching my attention. “You get lost in your thoughts over there?”

I blush and nod. “Yeah, a little. Sorry.”

He comes over to the bed and lays on top of me, giving me small kisses on my cheeks and lips. “When did you get here?”

“Just a minute ago. Was that Welcome to Paradise?” I ask.

His face lights up. “Yeah!! Oh my God, I can’t believe you recognized it. I thought I was getting it all wrong.”

“Of course I did! You don’t give yourself enough credit, baby, you’re really fucking good.”

“Well I just learned that song this morning so…” he shrugs before kissing me deeper. “You like watching me play?”

“Mhm,” I say into his lips. “It’s sooooo hot. Gets me all worked up.”

“Yeah?” he asks teasingly. I’m about to slip my tongue into his mouth when he gets up.

“Ay! Come back!” I say.

“No, no, it’s fine, come here a sec.” He sits back on his drumming stool and motions me to come over, so I get up and stand next to him. He looks up at me, then at his lap, then me again. “Sit.”

“Like, facing you, or…?”

He grabs my hips and sets me down on his lap so I’m straddling him. “I’m gonna start to play a song, and every time you guess correctly you get a kiss. And maybe I take off my shirt or something,” he smirks.

“Okay, okay. I’m ready,” I tell him excitedly.

He starts drumming a song, and I know immediately what it is.

“Come Together, but that was too easy. Make them harder!” I say, smiling when he pulls me in for a kiss.

“Well I want to kiss you, so no, they’re gonna stay easy. Next!” He starts drumming again, and this one takes me a little longer.

“Ummmm…” I listen for a few more seconds. “Oh! Walk This Way!”

“Good job!” He kisses me again. This goes on for a few more songs, but each kiss gets longer and deeper, and we both get needier. By the 6th song I guess, I’m ready to jump his bones, so when he kisses me again, I wrap my arms around his neck and move my hips. I’m already sat directly on his crotch, so my movements aren’t missed by him.

He sets the drumsticks down without opening his eyes and grabs my ass with both hands, helping me grind more.

We’re breathing heavier into each other, subtly whining and groaning every so often. I’m getting wetter by the second, and he’s rock hard.

“Matt,” I whine. “I need you.”

“Yeah?” He asks. “You wanna ride me baby? Right here?”

“Uh huh,” I say, lifting up for a second so I can pull my skirt up and push my underwear to the side. As I’m doing this, he pulls his dick out of his sweatpants and briefs, jerking it a few times to spread his precum down. I’m about to sink back down, but instead I get on my knees on the floor in front of him.

I lick a stripe up his shaft as my thumb runs over his slit.

“Ohhhh, fuck baby,” he groans, collecting my hair into a loose ponytail.

I moan as I take him in my mouth, swirling my tongue and sucking just his tip at first, then getting lower and lower each time I come back. His stomach is heaving as he hits the back of my throat.

“Baby- fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

My eyes are watering as I look up at him, feeling his cock twitch in my mouth. I pull off of him and stand up, taking my underwear off completely. His dick is throbbing, leaking, and red, and he groans at the loss of contact.

“Poor baby,” I say. “Thought you were gonna cum in my mouth?”

I don’t give him any time to respond before I straddle him again and sink down, completely bottoming out on him as we gasp together.

“Ohhh, that’s it, baby girl,” he mumbles. “Mmmmm, so fucking tight for me.”

I nod and stay still for a moment, putting my head in his neck as I let myself adjust to his size.

“You okay baby?” he asks.

“Mhm.” I begin moving my hips rhythmically, and he runs his hands, calloused from the drumsticks, up my back, lifting my shirt off in the process.

His eyes light up the second he sees I’m not wearing a bra, and he immediately dips his head and starts sucking on my right nipple, rolling my left between his thumb and index finger.

“So perfect, angel,” he talks into my skin, his tongue lapping at my nipple.

I moan at the contact and run my fingers into his long hair, somewhat damp and curly from the sweat of him drumming, as I start to bounce on his lap.

He groans in pleasure. “Yeah baby. Ride my cock just like that.”

All I can do is moan and whine, the sounds of our thighs slapping filling the room as I come down harder and harder with each thrust. He’s holding my ass with one hand and my hip with the other, thrusting his hips up to meet mine.

He’s filling me up so deep that I can’t focus on anything else. He tries to kiss me, but I can’t even align my lips with his, so he opts for sucking and kissing my neck instead.

“Fuck,” I whine. “I’m gonna cum, oh god.”

“Yeah? So am I. Gonna fill you up and watch it drip out of you after, got it?”

I nod in response as I feel myself get closer and closer to my end. I’m moaning with every thrust, and before I can stop myself, I’m clenching around him, crying out in pleasure into his neck.

“Mmmmmm, fuck, gonna cum inside you angel,” he mutters.

He’s pounding up into me like a wild animal, squeezing my hips as I feel his dick twitch inside of me.

He slows down, wrapping his arms tightly around me. We sit there for a few moments, just breathing each other in.

“You really like me drumming, huh?” he says into my neck.

“Uh huh,” I reply. “It’s so fucking hot.”

He pulls his head back and kisses me, deep and hard. “I’ll drum for you every fuckin day if this is the kind of treatment I get from it.”

I laugh and slowly stand up, both of us hissing at the loss of contact. He stares at my pussy, still clenching and leaking our cum down my thighs, then touches me lightly to collect it all before sucking it off his fingers.

I lean down and give him a soft kiss, enveloping his tongue, then pull my underwear back on as he puts his dick back in his own underwear.

“Come sit back down, I’ll teach you how to play something.”

#Spotify #chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo smut #nicolas sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo smut

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trippinsorrows · 4 months

Text

with me + part eleven

authors note: hi! i'm super sorry for the cliffhanger! i just have this thing where i need sections to be cohesive, and this chapter is much heavier than the previous, so i didn't wanna boggle ya'll down with all that angst!

i've also been thinking about the length of this story. currently, in terms of story timeline, we're at the very end of december 23', and i have ideas for up to may 24'. well, beyond that, but i don't want things to get stale, so i can end it around that time or keep it going? just curious because i don't want it to play out so long that it bores anyone. if that makes sense. just lmk.

status: in progress // masterlist

warnings: angsttttt (parental neglect, abandonment, trauma) language, alcohol consumption, suggestive themes, some fluff

song inspo: with me by destiny’s child

words: 6.2k

taglist: @pixiedust4000 @southerngirl41 @yolobloggers @msbigredmachine @wanderingreigns

You knew as soon as he walked in that something was up.

In getting to know Joe, you’d also learned that he was, surprisingly, on the quiet side. He spoke with you, of course, but you learned he leaned more towards introverted than extroverted. It was kind of sweet and pretty surprising. But, you’d also learned there was a difference between him being his sometimes quiet self and when something was off, and something was definitely off.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong, or do I have to fuck it out of you?” He rolls his eyes, not even showing any excitement at the idea of fucking you. Yeah, something was definitely wrong. “Seriously, what’s up?”

He shrugs, playing it off clearly. “Just tired. Back to back matches.”

That's when you realize what it is. “You’re hurt, aren’t you?” He shakes his head, dismissively, and you cross your arms. “Take your shirt off.”

“What?”

“Take it off, or I’ll climb your big ass and take it off myself.” Joe blows out a breath. He has to know you’re dead serious. So, wordlessly, he lifts his shirt over his head and turns around.

You gasp almost immediately. “What the actual fuck?” Your hand reaches to touch him, but you stop yourself, knowing that his skin must be sensitive to the touch. His back is inflamed, red welts spread in different areas with a nasty bruise that looks like a borderline hematoma and other various cuts.

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” Shaking your head, you point to your room. “Go sit and wait for me on the bed.” He opens his mouth, and you lift a finger. “I don’t want to hear it. Get in there now.”

Surprisingly, he follows suit, and you start to move about, gathering the necessary supplies. Along the way, you experience a plethora of emotions but mostly bounce back and forth between irritation and concern.

You’re irritated that he didn’t just come out and say that he was hurt. You’re also concerned because he’s obviously in pain, and that bothers you. He doesn’t have to be, he didn’t have to be if he just said something.

Stubborn asshole.

With everything needed and placed in a cloth bag, you walk into your room and stretch your hand out to him. “Take this.”

Joe looks down at your open palm with a single pink pill. “What the hell is it?”

“Coke,” you answer with a straight face. Rolling your eyes, you answer, “Benadryl. It’ll help with the inflammation of the welts.”

“It’ll also knock me out.”

“We’ll we’re obviously not fucking with your back all messed up, so what else are you going to do?”

“Who said we can’t fuck?”

You sigh. “Joe, if you don’t just take this goddamn pill. With your size, you probably should take two, but I’m trying to be nice by only giving you one, so accept my kindness and swallow this damn pill or I’ll shove it down your throat.”

He sucks his teeth but also takes the pill from you followed by the water bottle tucked under your arm. “You’re a terrible nurse.”

“And you’re an awful patient. At least we’re both on the same page.” You wait for him to swallow it before taking the bottle from him. “Good, now lay on your stomach.”

He lifts his brow, asking, “why?”

“Oh my god, you’re as bad as my students.” Men when they’re sick or not feeling well are a special kind of torture you’re not sure why exactly you’re subjecting yourself to right now. “Just do it, please. I’m trying to help you here.”

He just looks at you, as if he has something else to say, probably so. But, he surprises you by staying silent and following your instructions.

Pleased, you climb on top of him, sitting on his ass to avoid irritating his already sensitive skin. “Okay, now this may hurt a little bit at first—”

He makes a sound underneath you. “Can’t hurt anymore than it already does.”

“If you had said something sooner, I could have helped you before now,” you scold, dropping the bag on the bed beside ya’ll. Men and their tendency to downplay pain will never cease to amaze you. The minute you start getting hit with cramps, you pop an ibuprofen.

“It’s not that big a deal.”

“You’re in pain. That’s always a big deal.” Pulling out the ointment, you dab enough to your hand and start carefully massaging it into the welts. He hisses at your touch and you murmur an apology but don’t stop. It’s short term discomfort for long term benefits.

“What is this?” He asks.

“Calamine lotion,” you answer, adding on. “I have hydrocortisone too, but my grandma always said calamine works just as well without getting into your bloodstream. Don’t know how true it is, but it always worked for me, so it’ll work for you.”

He chuckles. “She sounded fun.”

Instantly, a smile is on your face as you continue to treat him. “Always. Summers with her were always the highlight of my year.”

He doesn’t say anything after that, and you continue to work the lotion into his skin. Once pleased with the application, you move on to the next part. “Alright, I’m gonna apply some cold compresses. You’ll probably be out in another 20 minutes, so just leave em’ on, and I’ll come change em’ out while you’re sleeping.”

When he doesn’t push back, you pull the compresses out of your bag and strategically place them on different areas of his back to maximize the comfort. Once finished, you climb off of him and go to close up the blinds and curtains. “Alright, get some rest.”

You’re at the doorway when he says your name. “Yeah?”

A slight delay before he says, genuinely, “thank you.”

There’s something meaningful beyond just the obvious, and it brings a small smile to your face. Not that he can see that. So you settle on, “of course. You’re no good to me if you can’t fuck me.”

He laughs, loudly. “Shut up.”

Smile widening, you close the door. ________

Joe finds you a couple hours later in the kitchen, but it’s the state of you that gives him a pause and brings a smile to his face.

You’re dancing around, clad in one of his shirts and short shorts that your ass swallows up. Brief glimpses of your side profile reveal that you’re singing too, just in a low enough voice, probably not to disturb you.

He doesn’t know the specific song, but the voice is familiar enough for him to know it’s Taylor Swift. That definitely surprises him, though it shouldn’t. You have a weird ass taste in music to where he’s found you in the shower listening to some random rock song, other times, it was throwback R&B.

You were just so….different from anyone he’s ever known.

It’s one of the many reasons he’s so enamored with you.

Drop everything now

Meet me in the pouring rain

Kiss me on the sidewalk

Take away the pain

'Cause I see sparks fly, whenever you smile

It’s when you turn around, mid bite on a cookie that you finally notice his presence, smiling. “Hey. You’re up.”

“I am.” He nods, walking over to you. He gestures around the kitchen. “What is all this?”

You finish chewing and swallow before directing Alexa to pause the music. “Well, I finished my lesson planning and was bored, so I decided to bake. But then I got hungry for actual food, so I ordered takeout.”

“And the music?”

You shrug, taking another bite of your cookie. “I like the song. Don’t worry, it’s the only Taylor Swift song allowed in this African American household.”

He laughs and moves past you when you take the chance to assess his back, immediately noticing how the swelling and redness have decreased. “How you feeling?”

“Better,” he answers, moving to the cartons, seeing that you made sure to order his favorites as well. “Thanks again.”

Smirking, you climb on the island, locking your ankles together. “Not so terrible nurse after all then, huh?”

“Your bedside manners still suck.”

“Shut up.” You watch him fix his food and when he gets ready to sit down on a bar stool, you hop off the counter, prompting, “come with me.”

“Where?”

“All these damn questions….” Grabbing a couple of cookies and placing them in a bowl, you find your sandals and slide them on your feet. “Just come on.”

“Let me at least put a shirt on.”

“Absolutely not. You need to let your skin breathe,” you lecture, taking him in, all of him. “Trust me, no one’s gonna see us, and even if they did, who the hell would complain about you being shirtless?”

Snatching the keys off the table, you open the door, allowing him to walk out first. You start to leave your door unlocked but decide against it. It’s an extremely safe town, but there’s always a first time for everything.

Locking it, you motion for him to follow you up the two sets of steps until reaching the heavy door that you turn the knob left and then right in order to open it. Joe’s immediately hit with a nice breeze and diminishing sunlight as the evening sets in.

“Come on,” you usher him to follow you to your favorite spot, sitting down and patting down on the ground next to you.

Joe chuckles, following suit. “Seriously?”

You ignore him, pushing on his shoulder as he brings his plate in front of him to eat. “I like to come out here sometimes to just get away. Especially if I need to clear my head. My grandma used to always say the closer you are to Heaven, the clearer you can hear God’s voice.”

He just watches you, the way the wind blows at your curls, making them splash at your face. Everything about you has always been stunning to him, but in this moment where you sit so relaxed and unbothered, he’s never thought you looked more beautiful.

“Plus, you obviously need to clear your head to bounce back from that ass whooping,” you snort, taking another bite of your cookie. One look at Joe’s scowl makes you giggle. “On one hand, it’s crazy to me you put your body through so much, but I also recognize your passion and dedication. So, I get it. I was an athlete too. Love of the game type shit.”

You can’t say that you would have ever continued to cheer if it left you the way Joe would come to you sometimes, but as someone who’s been in a similar situation, you understand it. And it’s so much more than just a job to him. It’s a legacy, in his bloodline. All he knows.

All he wants.

So, you support him.

You’ll always support him.

________

There’s the initial chaos that ensues in the minutes after your departure. Callie’s confusion. Joe’s confusion. Bianca’s utter confusion. And as Callie is right there, Joe can’t go immediately after you. He can’t and won’t leave her, so he does the best he can, offering apologies to Bianca and Co. before taking Callie and finding your mom who was catching up with an old friend in another part of the show.

He has some level of difficulty explaining what happened, other than the fact that you’d run off and he needed to find you. It’s really all of the information that he has to go off of, and when he’s finally able to get back to the apartment where he thinks you probably went. He's disappointed to find it empty. There’s brief moment of panic.

Just where the hell would you go?

He pulls out his phone to check again if you’ll pick up, but it goes straight to voicemail. He then starts to call your mom to ask her if she had any idea where you would be when he thinks about what happened. You were upset, very much so.

You needed to clear your head.

He knows exactly where you are.

On that same roof he sat on with you years prior is where Joe finds you, but what he doesn’t expect is the bottle of Hennessy that’s not only open but already halfway empty and sitting beside you.

He doesn’t try to hide his presence and is unsurprised when you ask, “How’d you find me?”

“Wasn’t that hard,” he answers. It wasn’t. He remembers almost everything you’ve ever told him about yourself, including how this spot has always been your place to escape.

Just what were you escaping from is what has him stumped.

“Sit down.” You pat the space beside you much harder than what’s necessary. He sighs and asks for a minute, pulling out the phone and stepping away to make a call.

Your mom answers on the third ring. “Did you find her?”

“Yeah,” Joe runs his hand over his face. “I got her, but….can you take Callie back to your place?”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

He looks over again at the bottle. “She’s drunk.”

“Drunk?” It sounds like she’s holding back a chuckle, like his words are humorous because everyone knows you don’t drink, and she says as such. “What do you mean she’s drunk? My child doesn’t even drink.”

“She did tonight” Joe’s eyes fall back over to you to see you still sitting, swaying slightly as if listening to music. There is no music. “And Callie doesn’t need to see her like this.” He especially knows you wouldn’t want her to see you like this.

Your mom sighs, heavily, on the other end. “You’ll stay with her, right?”

“Of course.” That’s not even a question. “And once I get her settled, if Callie is still up—”

“Oh, she’ll be up. She can’t fall asleep unless she talks to you or her mama.” It feels like an inappropriate response, but there’s a small part of Joe that finds joy in this. He remembers when you mentioned to him before that Callie needed to see and/or speak to you before she could fall asleep, a sign of how closely bonded you two were. To be added to that category means everything to him. “Thank you, Joseph.”

He sees no need in being thanked but acknowledges your mom’s appreciation anyway. “Of course.” The call ends, and he brings his focus back to you. The first thing he does is take away the bottle of Henny.

You see this and instantly scowl. “You’re no fun.”

He sits next to you, asking in a quiet voice, “what happened tonight, Y/N?” Joe is still utterly confused at all of this, your zero to one hundred change in demeanor. But, the fact that you resulted to drinking shows him just how heavy whatever it was has impacted you. “Talk to me.”

You laugh, but there isn’t an ounce of humor. “God, where do I start?” Your eyes light up, as if realizing something. “Oooh. I know where.” You lean into his shoulder, whispering, “I’m the product of an affair.”

This piece of information definitely takes him by surprise.

He's noticed you've never talked about your father, and he's never asked. Obviously, it was a sensitive topic, that much he could garner. But now, he knows just why it was sensitive.

“I don't—I don't know exactly what happened between them. She’s never really talked about it, but I do remember when I was younger, maybe—maybe a couple years older than Callie, he was—he was at the house.” You swallow, and Joe can see the distance in your eyes, like you’re no longer sitting here beside him. But someplace else. “She told me to go to my room, but I snooped at the top of the steps. Don’t….don’t really remember everything that was said except that she was literally begging this man to have some type of relationship with me, and he refused.” You laugh suddenly, and it’s so out of place, doesn't make sense given the nature of the conversation. But it does if he factors in the liquor coursing through your system. “He called me a m–mistake.”

Joe's heart aches at your words. “Baby—”

“When I was sixteen years old, I worked at a clothing store in town, and I saved up my money for this necklace…it was gold, and I thought—I thought it was so pretty. It made me feel fancy.” You chuckle, not as humorous this time, head tilting. “And once I finally got the necklace, I drove—I drove an hour away because…because after all those years, I still….I wanted to meet my father. I wanted…I wanted him to be in my life.”

“He’s uh—or was, I’m not sure anymore—captain of police in his town, so I went to the precinct to meet him, wearing that necklace that I worked months to save up for because…because I wanted to look nice. I remember walking into his office, and I was nervous, but—but I also figured there was no way he could reject me then. I—I was head cheerleader. A straight A student. I—I had just gotten a near perfect score on both my SAT and ACT. I was…I was a good kid, Joe.”

Your jaw fixes, and he can see you’re trying to hold back tears. It kills him to see you this upset. He’s never seen you this vulnerable. “And I—I told him all that. I told him I wanted to see if he wanted a relationship with me, and do you know what he told me?” You suddenly stand up, clearly intending to mimic this interaction. “A relationship? Why would I want a relationship with you? You’re not even supposed to exist.”

You giggle, eyes watering. Joe frowns. He can’t even begin to fathom how someone can say something like that to their own flesh and blood.

“Oh, but that’s not even the best part.” You’re doing one hell of a job playing this all off as something that isn’t impacting you, no doubt thanks to the alcohol. But, he knows you well enough to know and even see where this is headed. “He—” you hiccup, covering your mouth to hide your giggles. “He said again that I was a mistake that he paid my mom to take care of and—” It’s starting to crack, the alcohol induced facade that all of this is fine, that you don’t care. Your voice starts to catch. “---that the money he gave her for an abortion was the biggest waste of money he ever spent.”

“Y/N—”

“Minutes later, his wife walked in and then—and then his daughter walked in, and I—I ran. I couldn’t….I couldn’t—we looked the same age, Joe. He had a daughter already, he–he didn’t need me. He didn't—he didn’t want me.” You sniffle, wiping at your eyes. “And that’s fine, I—I didn’t care. I—I blocked that out after that day. I’d—I’d forgotten about him.” A beat. “Until tonight.”

“Because—because for the first time since I was sixteen years old, I was in front of all of them again. My—my—father, his wife, my—-”

Joe starts putting the pieces together. “Bianca….”

“She’s my sister,” you answer for him, having a hard time keeping it all in at this point. “She’s the one he’s proud of. She’s the one whose kid he claims as his grandchild. She’s the one he acknowledges. I’m just—I’m just the mistake he wishes was never born.”

Joe stands up, gradually moving toward you.

“I did everything right. I stayed out of trouble. I went to school. I got my degree. I did—-” He’s in front of you, gently pulling you into him as you finally break. “I don’t understand why he didn’t want me. I’m his daughter.” you finally shatter, crying into his chest. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Hey, hey—” Joe brings his hands to your face, making you look at him. “There is nothing wrong with you. You are an amazing, intelligent, beautiful woman, and I can’t even begin to describe how amazing of a mother you are.” He wipes away your tears as you clutch onto his shirt. “He doesn’t deserve you, baby. He doesn’t deserve to be in your life. He never did, and he never will. Fuck him. You don’t need shit from him. I’ve got you, okay? Always.” You allow him to hold you, to comfort you, because it’s just what you need in this moment. You tried to find it in solitude, tried to find it at the bottom of a liquor bottle, but it was all in vain. You just needed him.

Joe holds you as long as you allow him, letting you cry it out until he's eventually able to guide you into returning to your apartment.

But outside the door is when you hesitate.

He notices this, immediately asking, “what’s wrong?”

Your eyes start watering again. “Callie…I—I don’t want her to—”

He shakes his head, kissing the top of your head. “I asked your mom to take her back to her place. I’ll go check on her after I get you straight.”

This seems to settle some of your anxiety, and he continues to guide you into your bedroom. He helps you out of your clothes and into a simple t-shirt that he recognizes as one of his own.

Joe moves all of your decorative pillows, placing them on the chair in the corner of your room as you pull back the blankets. He turns around to find you reaching for his hand, tugging him towards the bed. “Just—just until I fall asleep.”

He doesn’t object. Joe planned to stay with you until then anyway.

He undresses enough to climb into bed with you, and you waste no time burying yourself into his chest, feeling an instant sense of peace when he wraps his strong arms around you. You’ve always felt so safe and protected in his embrace, and in this moment, it’s everything you need.

“I realized something tonight,” you mumble into his skin. Joe’s hand is under your shirt, hand moving soothing circles on the small of your back. “I—I didn’t keep Callie from you because of your wife. That was part of the reason, but it wasn’t the main reason.” You lift your head, throat feeling pressured as you allow yourself to finally admit, “the truth is that I was terrified you would reject her the way my dad rejected me, and I never wanted her to feel that way. And I know now that you would never do that to her, but I—I didn’t know then, and I was so wrong, and I’m so sorry. I—”

“Hey—” He cuts you off, hand going to palm your cheek. “Don’t do that. I understand why you did it now, I do. You were trying to protect her. I can’t be upset with you for that. I’m not.” He studies your face, your eyes, always so beautiful to him. “I don’t think I could ever be mad at you for too long.”

It’s not a lie. Joe’s always thought he’s known you like the back of his hand, learned you so well, but tonight has shown him that he didn’t know everything. He’ll never get back the time he missed out on with Callie, and maybe on some level there will always be a slither of resentment. But, it’s not enough for him to notice and most definitely not enough for him to actually feel.

He’s not quite sure how he could find it in him to hold your decision against you. It didn’t come from a place of selfishness or vindictiveness but love and protectiveness. You just wanted to keep her from experiencing the pain and trauma you’d endured.

There was no faulting that.

And you accept his grace, so understanding and considerate. You feel slightly undeserving but immensely grateful that he can extend such empathy.

You’re quiet after that, eyes shut as you work to turn off your brain and decompress what’s inarguably been one of the most difficult days of your life. You’re almost in the early stages of sleep when his voice invades the quietness.

“I love you.” Joe doesn’t feel any sort of movement at his confession, doesn’t feel you tense or relax. He’s not even sure if you’re still awake, but still, he continues. “I’ve always loved you, and I don’t even know how much of this you’ll remember tomorrow, but that doesn’t matter because I’ve always imagined telling you under much different circumstances anyway.”

“I want to be with you,” he continues. “I’ve always wanted to be with you, and I’m sorry for not putting you first. You deserved better than that. I should have gotten divorced long before I even met you. And that’s….something we eventually need to talk about. I owe you that much.”

He wants to say more, so much more, but he also knows now is not the time given he’s almost certain you’re asleep. Hence why he finally slips out of bed, knowing he needs to check on Callie.

He doesn’t leave without caressing your cheek and kissing your temple, relieved that you’re finally getting some rest following what was inexplicably an emotionally draining day.

But you’re not asleep, and you did hear it.

You heard it all.

________

“Who are you?”

Joe walked into your moms house, not expecting anyone other than your mom and Callie. Only one of those individuals are present, and the other is a man he’s never in his life seen before but automatically doesn’t like. Just his aura seems off.

Joe especially hates that this man is in the same house as his little girl.

Your mom seems taken back by this side of him and explains, “Joe, this is Amir. He’s, uhh, an old friend of Y/N. He saw her run off and wanted to check in on her.”

The day's events are definitely a contributing factor as Joe feels exhausted, both mentally and physically, but hearing that this is the infamous Amir instantly angers him. What the hell is he doing here?

“You bold as hell coming here.” is all Joe says, redirecting his attention to your mom. “Y/N tell you that she found out he and Mariah been sleeping with each other?”

What he wants to say is that they’ve been fucking, but he wants to remain respectful. Even if it is hard as hell.

Your mom is looking, mouth ajar, between Joe and Amir. “Wh–what is he talking about, Amir?”

“So you’re the one that’s been feeding those lies into her.” Deflection. It’s a typical bitch move. “You talking a lot of shit for someone who abandoned his own kid and just came back on the scene like ain't nothing happened.”

If not for the fact that you’ve already explained to Joe that you’d never told Amir what really happened between you and him because it was none of his business, Joe would have been livid. He would never abandon you. And definitely never Callie. Ever.

He’d have been with you every fucking step of the way the minute you found out you were pregnant if he’d been given the chance.

But all of that is no business of this asshole’s.

“You can say or think whatever the hell you want about me. It doesn’t matter. You’re irrelevant, regardless, so the same way you walked your ass in here is the same way you can walk your ass right on out.”

“Apparently not to Y/N.” He’s smug, and it takes a tremendous amount of willpower for Joe to not lay this man out right then and there. He doesn’t know why you would ever settle for the likes of this prick. “Not with how many times she ended up in my bed.”

Joe partially forgot your mom was even in the same vicinity until she gasps loudly, clearly disgusted, “my Lord. Please, this is my daughter you’re speaking about.”

With a low chuckle, Joe tries his best to remain respectful yet still abundantly clear. “And how many times has she reached out to you since I’ve been back?” His silence is all the answer Joe needs, not that he really needs one at all. Joe knows you have eyes and desire for him and him alone. He just needs to prove a point to this motherfucker. “I’m not asking you. I’m telling you to stay the fuck away from my girlfriend and especially my daughter, cause the next time it won’t be no conversation.”

And before Amir can say or even, stupidly, do anything, a new smaller voice enters the scene.

“Daddy!”

Joe is unsure if he’ll ever get over the joy that fills him at being called that. Callie is at the top of the steps but proceeds to rush down when she sees him, Joe leaning down and catching her, picking her up.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He kisses her cheek, noticing almost immediately how tired she looks. Understandable, as it’s almost 11 o’ clock, far past her bedtime. Uncomfortable with this Amari or whatever the fuck his name is being so close to Callie, Joe starts leading her back up the stairs.

With a frown, she asks the question he was expecting. “Where’s mommy?”

“She’s back at the apartment sleeping.” Joe is unsure just how to explain tonight’s events to Callie, not really knowing how to help her understand what occurred, if at all possible. “I’ll take you to see her tomorrow morning as soon as she wakes up.”

Joe walks her into her room at your mom’s place and seats her on the bed, sitting next to her. “What’s wrong with her?”

Such a simple question in wording and massively difficult in every other area, especially when one considers Callie’s young age.

“Mommy saw someone who was very mean to her when she was little, and it made her sad, so….she just wanted to be alone.” It’s the best, simplest answer that’s not a lie he can come up with on the spot.

Callie’s frown deepens. “I don’t want mommy to be sad.”

“Neither do I, baby,” he murmurs. “But, I talked with her, and she should start feeling better soon, okay?”

Her frown diminishes slightly, and Joe can tell she’s in thought. She then asks, “are you gonna go stay with mommy tonight?”

“I was, but I can stay with you, if you want me to.” Joe knows you’ll probably sleep throughout the night because of the alcohol and more importantly, if Callie needs him, he’s there. No questions asked.

You would do the same.

She suddenly shakes her head. “Mommy stays with me when I’m sad, so someone’s gotta stay with her while she’s sad.” Her face grows sullen again as she asks with a yawn, “do you still have to leave tomorrow morning?”

“No, I leave tomorrow night instead.”

In the midst of all of tonight’s chaos, he’d managed to switch flights, picking an evening one instead. Joe let Hunter know there was a family emergency, and that he’d be back later than initially expected. Hunter was understanding, and while he was grateful for that, it didn’t really make a difference.

You and Callie come first.

She’s obviously partially pleased with this information and moves her body against his, laying her head on his arm. “I’m sleepy….”

Reaching to caress her cheek with his finger, he directs, “get some rest, Callie. I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.”

She doesn’t say anything, just closes her eyes. It doesn’t take long for sleep to overtake her, a mere matter of minutes really. He stays with her longer though, just to be sure, needing to know she’s okay.

He needs both of yall to be okay.

________

You wake up with an instant sense of unease and discomfort. Your head is throbbing, and your body feels heavy. Your chest feels pressured, like there’s some invisible weight on it.

But in a matter of seconds, it all comes rushing back to you. The fireworks. Bianca. Seeing your dad. Running. Drinking.

"I love you."

Eyes shutting, you do your best to settle your brain because only one thing is at the front of your mind when you hear giggling coming from outside of your closed door.

Callie

Just how in the hell did your brief mental breakdown affect your child?

Pushing the blankets off, it’s then you notice the bottle of water and white pill sitting on your nightstand. Picking it up, you see it’s Advil.

“Joe…..” you whisper, realizing he must have left it here waiting for you once you woke up. Eyes watering at his thoughtfulness, you swallow it and head straight for the bathroom. You need to get cleaned up and get out there to see what kind of damage you’ve unintentionally inflicted on your child’s psyche.

You know how attached she is to you and don’t even allow yourself to think about how difficult it must have been to be so abruptly ripped away.

Especially when you’re the one who did the ripping.

The shower is kept to a minimum, and once your teeth are brushed and face clean, you don’t hesitate to step out of the room. Following the path of sound, in the kitchen is where you find Callie. With Joe.

They’re sharing a quiet laugh, and you’re certain it’s quiet because he told her you needed your rest. Always looking out for you.

However, it’s when Callie happens to glance your way that her eyes go big.

“Mommy!”

She surprisingly climbs off the counter instead of outright jumping and runs over to you. You kneel down to meet her for her hug, so tight and welcoming. “Do you feel better?”

“Oh baby, I’m always better when I get to see you.” Kissing her forehead, you add, gently, “mommy’s sorry for scaring you.” And it's true. You never meant to scare her or make her worry about you, and it's something you'll work as hard as necessary to make up to her.

But your sweet child surprises you with her authentic, mature reassurances. “It’s okay. Daddy said you were sad,” she explains and gasps. “I made you something to make you smile!”

Touched, you palm her cheek. She really is the light of your life. “I’d love to see it, baby.”

“Okay! I’ll be right back.” She rushes out of the kitchen, and you take the opportunity to talk to Joe. Wordlessly, you move over to hug him.

“Thank you.” There’s not enough thank yous to show him just how appreciative you are to have him in your life, to have him as Callie’s father. He took such control yesterday while you were busy drowning in your daddy issues. And now he’s still here when you’re almost certain that he was supposed to have flown out at the crack of dawn. “I’m really sorry about last night. That’s not—-I don’t get drunk. I would never leave Callie like that—“

“I don’t care about any of that,” he dismisses. You believe him, as he looks entirely uninterested in any explanation you want to provide him because he sees it as unnecessary. He takes the back of hand to feel your forehead. “How are you feeling? Did you take the Advil?”

Nodding, you try again, “seriously, Joe. You’ve changed your whole schedule around—“

“You needed me,” he answers. “There was nothing to think about.”

And the tears are brewing again, but for very different reasons. This man is everything you’ve always wanted and dreamed of, even better. And he loves you. He wants to be with you. Your daughter's father wants to establish a life with you, be a family. What logical reason do you have to continue to deny him? Deny yourself?

“Joe…..” Licking your lips, you place your hands on his chest. “I lo—”

“Here it is, mommy!”

Callie’s interruption is both perfect and imperfect timing. You want so badly to tell him that you love him too, that you also want to be with him. But maybe it’s not the best timing, maybe the setting should be different.

You want him to know you love him not just because of the aftershocks of vulnerability. That you’re in love with him and have been since you were 23 years old.

Callie is at your legs, holding up a drawing she created of you surrounded by hearts. Her artwork has always been her favorite form of expression, and you’re so grateful for her pure, kind heart in this moment.

Holding it against your chest, you lean down to accept her hug. “Thank you so much, baby. I love it.”

“Yay!” She rejoices and then looks up between the two of you. “Daddy and I made you breakfast!”

Gasping, you ask, “really?” It’s only then you notice the kitchen, while cleaner than one would expect after preparing breakfast with a four-year-old, you see the counters that have food laid out on a variety of plates and tupperware. “Waffles?”

“Your favorite.” Joe reaches to kiss your temple, and lightly pats your hip. “Sit down, we’ll fix it for you.”

You open your mouth to protest when Callie takes your hand and guides you to the barstools and scampers back over to Joe who picks her up, holding her with one arm while the other fixes your breakfast for you. He allows her to point and dictate what goes on your plate and how it’s fixed.

And you sit there, allowing yourself to take in this moment. There’s so much you need to navigate and sort through. Bianca, your dad, Mariah, hell, even finally being honest with Joe about your feelings. But, all of that can wait.

Because all that matters right now are the two people you love most in this world.

#roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns x black!reader #roman reigns fic #roman reigns #arisnotebook #black writers

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insuke69 · 7 months

Text

Imagining Hobie being so fucking clingy when you’re gone on a vacation or something:(((

★ Headcannons with Hobie x Latinx reader <;33

☆ Warnings: fluff, ‘implied’ smut (yes, they fuck in a memory), explicit words.

__________________

——————

You’re off visiting family, away from Hobie just for a short visit since it’s a younger cousins fifteenth birthday.

You aren’t close with her but she adores you like an older sibling so why not? Two weeks isn’t that long anyway since you also would like to catch up with the very little non-toxic Hispanic family you have.

The flight is smooth besides the fact that it was over two hours of no service, songs on repeat in your headphones, and the book you’re so happy you remembered to pack.

______

You forget the time difference between Hobie in Camden and you over here, for you it’s midday and for him it’s the middle of the night and he seems so.. desperate.

His texts are slow and it’s obviously being done by his singular non dominant hand.

“Hi can you pls send a pic”

“2 me”

“Please??”

On your end, it’s almost so clear that he wants to see you like the good adorable partner he is, already missing you. You send him an innocent picture where you’re holding your phone at an angle above you and smile up at it through your lashes.

Meanwhile Hobie..

Hobie always would have an arm around you, or holding your hand, or his lips on any part of skin he could access on you.

He was alone on his houseboat, laying on only his side of the bed even if the usually warm and used spot beside him was empty and void of his lover.

He didn’t like the idea of porn, even if he was ‘living the dream’ of most men where his partner wasn’t around to stop him, he still hated it. It was fake and unrealistic with plastic or disgustingly young looking actors, so he settled for closing his eyes and thinking of the one who’s truely his.

Remembering how pretty the little whines were as they escaped your lips when he slowly eased himself into your tight warm hole..

And before he knew it; he was palming his erecting and fumbling his phone to text you.

His breath shudders slightly at the sight of you and he began imagining how your adoring hand would look around his length, his own fist trying to imitate his imagination tightly.

How your lips would wrap around the head of his weeping cock, how your cheeks would hollow out and make it all disappear, those cute gag sounds and tears that threaten your eyes when your nose reaches the small trimmed bush at the base of his member.

You fully expect a normal response from Hobie in a way. Anything ranging from “You look nice td” to something dirty, hence why you’re positioned in a way where nobody around you could see your phone screen.

Instead, a voice message pops up and a part of you wants to hesitate in checking what it is because you know that Hobie doesn’t really send voice messages unless his hands are really busy.

You play it against your ear quietly and your heart bangs against your chest at how needy his voice is, his gulps and whimpers and you can only imagine how beautiful he looks right now.

“Oh my fuckin’.. you’re so good lookin’ for me, I need ya so bad righ’ now.” You can hear his heavy breaths in the message and slight rhythmic sound, fap fap fap fap.

It immediately makes your heat grow warm between your legs and you adjust yourself in your seat with your thighs together tightly as an attempt to ease this, knowing that you’re at a nice fancy restaurant for your cousins ‘birthweek’.

You decide to excuse yourself to the bathroom and be a little more generous with Hobie, locking yourself into a stall and sending him a better picture where you’re topless and your chest and abdomen in perfect sight, pointer finger and middle finger holding a nipple between them.

“Here’s your damn meal <3” you captioned it before sending, putting your shirt back on as you awaited his response.

It was a video this time, angled so you could see his pretty dick being desperately fucked in his ringed left hand.

his eyebrows are knitted together and his mouth is dropping the cutest curses and whimpers before he cums, his seed spurting out onto his abdomen and hand before his lips move to utter a whisper.

"I need ya so bad, can't wait 'till you're back, love."

#across the spiderverse #hobie brown #insuke #fanfic #spiderman #hobie brown fanfiction #hobie brown imagine #hobie brown x reader #spider punk #{☆insooks ☆}#gn reader

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lilgarbitch · 9 days

Text

Running in Circles- Seven

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Reader

CW: angst, drinking, Y/N being a cute little dumbass

Word Count: 9.5k

Author’s Note: as quoted from a recent post: i fear my desire to make men miserable is playing a large role in my work and i do apologize for that. Also…I promise Will and Y/N are just friends…👀

(Author’s Note Pt. 2: Taking a break from posting for a minute so I can revise the old chapters as I’ve been getting some input that some things aren’t that great🖤 Will update soon)

Part Six

Noah

“YOU WHAT?” Ruffilo shouted from across the room at me as he stood up in disbelief. I sat on the couch with my head in my hands, pulling at my roots.

“I don’t know why I did it.. I just. I had to do something to make myself feel better about the situation,” I said, shaking my head, my voice strained with stress.

“When I said to find your own way to get back at her, I didn’t fucking mean that, you dumbass!” He was now pacing, like he was the one who fucked up. Maybe I shouldn’t have come to him about this.

“I know. I just..,” I let out a deep sigh, falling back on the couch, “Maybe I did it to hurt her, or maybe I did it to hurt myself. I don’t know. I just couldn’t take this shit anymore.”

“Dude! You spent YEARS talking about this girl. You’ve written fucking songs about her. You get into one fight, and do this?” He finally stopped and stared at me, waiting for me to come up with a better explanation, but I couldn’t. Because I didn’t have one.

Footsteps creep into the living room, so I look up and see Jolly looking at us, confused.

“What’s all the yelling about?” he asked, looking between the two of us. I just anxiously chewed on my lip, so Ruffilo answered for me.

“This jackass decided to hook up with someone at his fucking birthday party.” He put a hand on his hip like a disappointed parent, waiting for Jolly to give any reaction. I turn to Jolly and he’s giving me a look, a mix of shock, confusion, and disappointment. I let out a groan, getting up and walking to my room. I don’t need this. I had hoped Ruffilo could give me any advice for this absolute fuck-up I made, but I should’ve known I would just get scolded.

I fall onto my bed and shove my face into my pillow, letting out a groan. I don’t fucking know why I did it. I was pissed off at how close she’s gotten with Matt. And when random friend of one of the guys was chatting with me and I looked over and saw that fucking Ghost Face grinding against Davis, I just lost it. I don’t know why sleeping with a random girl was my decision, especially when it won’t even affect Y/N if she never finds out, it was just the only thing my irrational brain could think of. Maybe I did it hoping it would help me get over her, but it just made me feel so much worse. I know we’ve been ignoring each other, but she’s acting like she doesn’t even fucking care about me anymore. So, I thought that maybe I shouldn’t care either, but obviously, everyone thought that was the stupidest thing I could do.

I hear the rest of the guys get back from the store, hearing cheers as they probably showed everyone the food and alcohol they got, and all I could do was groan. This break was supposed to be fun. The party was supposed to be fun. I was hoping to take Y/N on a date or two, showing her my favorite places in the city. But no. She showed up for the party, ignored me the whole time, and was nowhere to be found when I came back..after making that terrible decision. Fuck. Why the fuck did it have to work out this way? Why’d I yell at her at the bar? If we could just sit down and talk, maybe we could at least be friends. I can’t stand finally having her in my life yet she just fucking ignores me. Fuck, I need a fucking distraction.

I stood up from my bed and headed downstairs, trying my best to sneak by so no one would notice me. I reach the kitchen and grab a random bottle we had on top of the fridge, before sneaking back to my room. Locking the door behind me, I go to sit on my bed and grab my phone, connecting it to my speakers before opening Spotify and clicking a random playlist.

Turning the volume up full blast, I twist off the cap of what I now see is a bottle of fucking vodka. Grimacing, I lift it to my lips and take a large swig before setting it down on my nightstand, making a disgusted face at the taste and burn.

My thoughts were brought back to the first night of tour, drinking with the group and watching her from across the bus. She took a shot of vodka and made the same face before catching me watching her and giving me the most beautiful smile.

A growl erupts in my throat. I need to get her out of my fucking head. How am I even going to look at her when tour starts again if I can’t even handle thinking of her?

I grab the bottle again and take an even larger drink, leaning against the wall behind my bed as I felt the liquid fire fill my gut. Distraction. I need another fucking distraction. Because this isn’t hitting me fast enough and the music isn’t overpowering my thoughts.

I open my phone and pull up Instagram, hoping to find absolutely fucking anything that pulls me from these thoughts. I scroll and scroll, every meme trying to be funny, and every picture of someone looking happy just pissing me off.

I keep scrolling before my eyes land on tattoos. Her’s. I pause and see that State of the Scene had posted a photo of her in a sound booth. My eyes trail down to the caption. “Lorna Shore’s Will Ramos posts Praising Deities’ Y/N Y/L/N, calling her the ‘next deathcore vocalist’ and that he ‘can’t wait for y’all to hear what she can do.’ Let’s hope she releases something new soon, as fans have been enjoying her covers of ‘To the Hellfire’ and ‘Sun//Eater,’ sung on her current tour with the band Bad Omens.”

All it took was one comment. A single fucking comment to push me over the edge.

“Are those hickeys on her neck?”

Before I could even think, a yell came spewing out as I threw my phone across the room, creating a loud band and a small crack as it shattered against the wall.

Tears came pouring down my face, now being unable to hold back every emotion that I’ve felt the past few weeks. I took one last swig of the vodka before setting it on my nightstand and lying down, pulling my covers over me. ‘Love Me to Death’ by Suicide Silence blasted through my speakers, proving that my phone wasn’t completely destroyed, but now I couldn’t fucking change it.

She has every fucking right to move on. I fucking did, too. But to get that confirmation that after barely a month of finally having her in my life, she’s fucking gone. I just couldn’t take it anymore. My chest ached and burned. All I wanted to do was scream until the pain was gone. I wanted her. I needed her. How did my life turn into such a fucking train-wreck so fast?

Suddenly, someone knocks on my door. They try to say something, but between my sobs and the music, I don’t know what.

“FUCK OFF,” was all I said before shoving my head under my pillow, ignoring the rest of the world as I prayed for the alcohol to hit more and clear my mind.

Y/N

The other guys left after listening to my isolated screams, commenting on a few, and giving me a few ‘good lucks’ before going about their day. I made sure to thank Dave for letting me use his studio, and he said that it was here for me anytime. I doubt I’ll ever take him up on that offer, as I was still extremely intimidated by him, but I really appreciated it.

Will and I were now just messing around in the studio. We already spent a good hour or so working on how I could get certain screams and growls to sound better and how I could enunciate words differently if that’s what I enjoyed. Now, we were just playing music and singing along as we occasionally went back and forth in the sound booth, wanting to see if we could hit notes right. Every recording we took was just full of giggles, so thankfully we were already planning to delete them right after listening.

He even taught me a few controls, mainly how to set songs up for him, make them only play for the person in the booth, and which button let me talk to him. We learned more about each other’s music tastes and where it came from, even who we took inspiration from for our own music. I learned more about his love for Sleep Token, which went a lot deeper than I thought. He went on a few rambles just talking about his appreciation for how they write the music and even played songs, pointing out specific things Vessel did in his vocals.

He kept playing ‘Chokehold’ over and over, to the point that I practically learned the whole song. After about the tenth full run-through, not counting the amount of times he went back and repeatedly played specific parts because he just couldn’t get over the sound, I stood up and walked to the sound booth.

I was getting more used to being in here now and definitely more used to singing in front of Will. We’d been in this studio for hours at this point, just singing to each other, so all my nerves were gone.

He watched me as I walked and immediately sat up and leaned over the controls, a little confused.

“Play it again, I wanna try,” I told him through the mic as I put the headphones on.

“Chokehold? You wanna sing Chokehold? You literally just fucking heard it,” He said, laughing.

“I heard it like 30 times and you even gave me a rundown of every single quirk in his vocals, now run it,” I teased. He playfully lifted his hands in defense before getting everything set up.

The intro started playing so I held the headphones close to my ears and counted the beats in my head, not wanting to miss the cues.

When we were made

I did my best to make it airy and hold the same enunciation as Vessel did.

It was no accident

It was honestly so entertaining to practice Sleep Token songs. Vessel put so much character into every single note and to reenact it was so fun. Especially switching between chest voice and head voice or adding the little ‘t’ at the end of a line.

We were tangled up like branches in a flood

Over-exaggerating certain parts was new to me unless I was singing along to a more pop punk song, where everyone had a specific accent they used.

I come as a blade

I did my best to flow into a high note, and I did surprisingly well, so I turned to Will with a proud look on my face before continuing.

A sacred guardian

Will was watching me in awe, and I so badly wanted to laugh at the face he made, but I had to keep my composure to continue.

So you keep me sharp and test my worth in blood

It looked like Will was slowly falling into deep thought, but I knew it was still recording, so I just ignored him and continued.

You’ve got me in a chokehold

I did my best to remember how Vessel did the audible breaths and tried to recreate them.

You’ve got me in a chokehold

You’ve got me in a-

I look back over to see if Will was doing his famous dance to this part like he had every other replay of this song, but instead, he stood up and paused the music, and started messing around with more controls.

“Will? Did I do something wrong?” I asked, and he just shook his head as he did whatever the hell he was trying to do.

Finally, he stopped touching buttons, and the music started again, and he was rushing into the sound booth with me. He hurriedly came over and grabbed the other set of headphones lying in here, putting them on and turning to me with a child-like smile.

“Roll with it,” He said, so I nodded and began to sing.

When we were made

Woah, he finally turned on the control so I could hear myself.

It was no accident

We were tangled up like branches in a flood

Then, Will joined in with me.

I come as a blade

I looked at him, shocked. We sounded so fucking good. He went lower as I took the high note at the end, nailing it once again.

A sacred guardian

So you keep me sharp and test my worth in blood

He looked at me and put a hand on my shoulder, and I took that as a signal for me to let him sing the following lines.

You’ve got me in a chokehold

He patted my shoulder, and I assumed that as him saying to join him.

You’ve got me in a-

He started headbanging to the music and I looked at him like we just did the craziest thing, because, to me, we fucking did. I had to hold back my giggles as he jammed out next to me. The next lines were about to come up, so he composed himself and put a hand on my shoulder, this now being our signal for him to sing.

Beneath the stormy seas

Above the mountain peaks

It’s all the same to me

It makes no difference

He patted my shoulder, so I joined in.

I’ve seen my days unfold

Done the impossible

I’d turn my walls to gold

To bring you home again

He stepped back from the mic, so it was just me singing the next few lines.

So show me that which I cannot see

Even if it hurts me

Even if I can’t sleep

Oh, and though we

Act out of our holy

Duty to be constantly awake

I did my best to hit the last notes, and then felt a tap on my shoulder.

You’ve got me in a chokehold

He started doing a fry scream and it sounded so good.

You’ve got me in a chokehold

He patted my shoulder once again, and I had to quickly think of the best route of action to make our vocals sound good together, but just landed on continuing to do clean, alto vocals.

You’ve got me in a chokehold

He switched back to his clean vocals for the ending.

Even if it hurts me

Even if I can’t sleep

Show me the way

We held out the last note together, him not trying to create harmony, just matching our vocals so they meshed together.

We looked at each other in shock as the song ended before rushing out of the sound booth and over to the control board. We listened back to our isolated vocals in disbelief. The fact that we just threw this together last second was unbelievable.

We listened to it a few times, talking about what could be fixed or edited, both of us individually running to the sound booth multiple times to sing our parts so we could edit them together. We even did some lines differently, seeing if more harmony or if me doing harsh vocals would sound better.

After recording probably too many pieces, he switched over all the vocals to his laptop, and we started working them together. Finally, we added the instrumental over top, spending a few minutes lining everything up perfectly, giving it one last listen, and then just staring at each other, shocked.

“We just fucking made that!” I said, pointing to his laptop. He nodded with a wide smile.

“Yes, the fuck we did,” he said, holding his hand up. I gave him a high-five, laughing at the insanity that was the piece of art we just made.

“What now? Show the boys?” I asked, hooking a finger over my shoulder at the door behind me.

“Dude, we have to fucking show everyone. Are you kidding me?”

“Now? You’re gonna post it now?” I asked, both shocked and amused.

“Y/N. We just spent over two hours editing this together. Plus, it’s just a cover. Yes, now.” He laughed out. I looked over at the clock and realized that we had indeed been doing this for a while.

“Okay, okay. Ahh, I’m scared. No. I’m excited,” I rushed out, kicking my feet. He just laughed at me before turning to his laptop. I watched as he downloaded the file before uploading it on his personal Spotify with my name featured on it. I just stared at the screen in shock. I just did a cover song. It was now up for everyone to see. And I did it with Will Ramos. Oh my fucking god.

I quickly pull my phone out, ignoring every notification, and open Spotify. I copy the link to the song and head over to Instagram. I screen-recorded the story Will made earlier, and cropped it as I made a post of the video, and added the link to the song played over the post.

“Chokehold- Sleep Token. A cover by Will Ramos and Y/N Y/L/N 🖤🤘🏻,” I wrote in the caption. I tagged Will and hit post.

I looked over at Will and grinned. He looked back at me, smiling twice as big. I was so full of excitement and energy, and I didn’t know what to do, so I just flung myself on him, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Will, you’ve made these last two days more fun than I’ve had this past month. Thank you so much.” He held me closer, laughing with me.

“Anything for you, my little petal.” I giggled at my nickname again before pulling away.

“I’m serious, though. These last few weeks- Hell! These last few years had been fucking crazy for me, and I feel like by simply meeting you, shit’s finally starting to fall into place. I’m doing new things. More people are listening to me. I just learned controls, for fucks sake,” I laughed, making him chuckle down at me, “So thank you. I’m so unbelievably fucking happy to have finally met you.”

He looks at me with a warm smile, my words soaking in. I was still hugging him, so we were still super close, and I don’t know what came over me, but I pulled him down and brought his lips to mine.

He tensed for a moment but instantly kissed me back. I brought my hand up to the back of his head, sliding my fingers into his pink locs as I held him close. His hands slid up to my sides, pulling my body towards him more. The kiss was about to deepen, when I got pulled back to reality by my phone ringing. I immediately pulled away and looked at him, shocked, before fumbling to grab my phone. I answered it without even looking at who was calling.

“Hello?” I greeted, having to clear my throat as it cracked a bit out of shock.

“YOU RELEASED A SONG WITHOUT TELLING YOUR OWN BAND? YOUR OWN BROTHERS?” Tommy shouted into the phone, making me chuckle and pull my phone from my ear.

“Shit. Yeah, sorry about that. Will and I were messing around in the studio,” I had to clear my throat again after saying ‘messing around’ before continuing, “ and we were listening to Sleep Token and decided to try out doing a cover, and it came out surprisingly well.”

“When the fuck did you meet Will? I thought he was in New Jersey," he asked.

“Funny story, actually. Him and the band are staying here with a friend, and we ran into each other at the club,” I sheepishly replied. There was silence on the other side of the phone for a few moments, and I almost thought we lost connection before he finally replied.

“Oh, we’re having a long chat the next time I see you, missy. Which better be soon, might I add. I’ve seen you maybe once in the last four days,” he finally said, with a tone mixed with suspicion and deviousness.

“Yes, Sir. Now, did you only call to yell at me?” I teased.

“Well, I did want to tell you that you two sounded fucking fantastic and that maybe you could invite Will over to the boys’ house, but I can sense you’re having more fun there,” He teased back.

“Shut it. I appreciate the compliment and will pass it on, but I’m ignoring everything you said after that for multiple reasons.”

“Oh… shit, you’re right. That might be a bad idea…Anyway, have fun with your little date. Love you!” He said, making me roll my eyes.

“Love you, too.” And then I hung up. I chewed on my lip nervously before finally turning around to look at Will. He was staring at me with a humorous expression.

“I hope you know that I could hear that entire conversation,” He chuckled out, making me facepalm, “And tell him that I said thank you for the compliment. Now…what was that?”

I groaned and walked past him, sitting down and throwing my head down in my hands.

“Will. I’m so sorry,” was all I could get out. I hear his footsteps come towards me, and I looked up to see him crouching down in front of me.

“For what? I mean, we’ve done more than that, so don’t think I’m bothered.”

“No. I mean, I am sorry for kissing you. I said we were gonna leave it all behind and pretend like nothing happened, and I still want to. But I’m mainly sorry that I may be pulling you into a very awkward situation.” He gave me a confused look. I let out a deep sigh. Should I even explain or just leave him out of this?

“So… Something may or may not have happened with…someone …I’m touring with…and shit has been weird. Fuck. It’s a long ass story,” I finished with a groan. He chuckled softly and rested his hands on my knees before sitting down in front of me with his legs crossed.

“I have time, my petal. Tell me what’s bothering you.” I let out another deep sigh. I might as well tell someone else the bullshit that’s been happening since everyone else seems to know.

And so I did. I told him everything. From the festival to the song lyrics. The ‘talk.’ The night at the bar. The Halloween/ birthday party. The depression. Me getting back into smoking. How reckless I was being last night because I wasn’t in the right mind. Everything. And he sat there, staring at me and listening intently, occasionally giving my knees a squeeze if I got a little too emotional. He let me tell him everything. Once I finally finished, he stood up, pulling me up with him and giving me a big hug.

“Everything will work out, my little petal. You two will eventually make up because you have to, or else tour will be really weird. I’m perfectly fine being that rebound that kind of gets in the way because I know you didn’t do it to hurt anyone. And because I really enjoy spending time with you and being your friend,” He pulled away and looked me deep in my eyes, “And just your friend. We can leave everything in the past. We randomly ran into each other at a club, went home separately, and the next day, I gave you vocal lessons and we recorded a song together. That’s all that happened. Okay?”

Tears were now welling up in my eyes as I nodded before pulling him back into a hug.

“Thank you.” I managed to get out. He rubbed my back as he held me close.

“Anything for a friend.”

After a minute or two of just taking in the comfort and reassurance, I finally pulled away and sat back down, him following and sitting back in his chair. He turned back to his laptop, typing away at something for a few minutes as I sat in my thoughts.

“Will?” I asked after a few moments. He turned to me with a ‘hm?’

“What’s with the ‘my little petal’?” I finally asked. He chucked and sat back in his chair with a small shy grin.

“Uh..well, first off, you’re pretty like a flower. You’re soft, delicate, and, you know, are able to either attract or repel others with your looks…I guess? Plus, you can be a little sharp, but only if you have to…And I like flowers. I don’t know. It was something that came to mind last night and I guess it just stuck,” He answers, a little embarrassed, making me giggle.

“God, you’re such a sap. If I didn’t have a goddamn soul tie to someone, that would work on me,” I teased, making him laugh loudly.

“Good to know,” he teased back with a smirk, “But, on a different note, I do have an idea for you.”

I look at him suspiciously, waiting for him to continue. He returned to doing something on the laptop before moving him and the computer to the control board. I watched him curiously as he started messing with things again. He couldn’t possibly want to change anything about the cover we did. It was already posted.

After messing around with a few things, he turned to me.

“Two questions. One- How badly do you want to at least try and make things better between you two? Like, I know it’s still super rocky, and it’s gonna take time, but do you want to at least reach out?” He asked. I was confused, but still thought about it for a moment, weighing my decisions.

“Badly. I know we’re gonna have to start over completely. We’ve both done some weird shit in the past few weeks, but I need us to reach a point where we can at least look at and speak to each other again.” I finally answered. He nodded before continuing.

“Second question, are you okay with being recorded today?” I looked at him, extra confused, and saw that he was pointing towards a camera that has apparently been in the sound booth this whole time. What did this man have planned?

I pulled out my phone and opened the camera, looking over my appearance. My makeup was mostly intact after redoing it in the morning, even after tearing up a little, and I didn’t do anything with my hair today, but I ran my fingers through it so it was semi-presentable. Then my eyes landed on my neck, and I made a slight hiss at the marks.

“Let me borrow a hoodie, and I’ll be fine,” I answered, and he immediately started taking off the one he threw on earlier and handed it to me before getting up and walking to the sound booth to start messing with the camera in there.

“Will, what am I about to do? Why am I being recorded?” I asked, more confused than ever. He just shot me a smirk as he finished messing with the camera and came back out.

“Just get in there.” He said, pointing at the sound booth.

“You have to tell me what song I’m covering. Do I even know it?” I said as I threw on his hoodie and walked into the sound booth. I pulled the hood up so it was shielding my neck from the camera and then tried my best to pretend a camera wasn’t flashing, indicating that it was already recording me.

“Y/N, I promise you that if you don’t know this song, it’s not meant to be.” He spoke into my headphones. I continued staring at him, confused as ever. And then I watched as he hit a few buttons, setting the track back and hitting record, before finally hitting play. I got myself ready to sing whatever song I apparently should know.

And then ‘Just Pretend’ started playing.

Will and I were working on putting the video together. He made me do multiple takes, the first one showing that I was a little spooked at the song choice. We edited the audio, taking out as many voice cracks as possible since singing this song over and over again did eventually make me emotional.

Now he was, in his words, “working his magic,” and, “putting the best video over the audio.” And I just sat back and let him work, fidgeting with the strings of his hoodies as I listened to him type away at his laptop.

Would this even work? He kept choosing audio clips that captured more emotion, even if I was literally crying as I sang. I told him that it was going to sound weird, but he kept shutting me up, saying that he knew what he was doing. I was so drained from everything we did today, and good god, I’ve listened to myself sing so much today, I think I’m going to lose my mind. I leaned my head back against the chair and let out a deep sigh. Today has been a lot. Not in a bad way, just…a lot.

He swiveled his chair around and turned to me, making me look up at him. He held the computer out to me, so I took it, eying him.

“My work here is done,” he said with a proud smile. He was a little too excited about this, even after watching me cry for over an hour to a song. My eyes flickered between him and the laptop, debating if I even wanted to see this, but I still hit play.

The music started, and my voice rang through the laptop speakers. It was a little too full of emotion for my standards, but I’m going to trust Will on this. Then, I realized he had chosen one of the last recordings, where I had already cried, so my eyes were a little red.

I continued watching, seeing that he still kept some of the audio clips where my voice cracked, but just in the right spots, like the parts where I held out notes.

Weigh down on me, stay til morning

Way down, would you say I’m worthy

A tear fell down my eye in the video. I don’t cry in front of people. And he wants me to post this?

Weigh down on me, stay til morning

Way down, would you say I’m worthy

I had glanced into the camera at that point. I didn’t even know I did that, but you could see the emotion in my red, puffy eyes. My makeup was even starting to run a little.

I can wait for you at the bottom

I can stay away if you want me to

I can wait for years if I gotta

Heaven knows I ain’t gettin over you

My voice cracked at almost every high note, but it didn’t sound bad. It was just…emotional.

We’ll try again

When we’re not so different

We will make amends

Til then, I’ll just pretend

I had stepped away from the mic at that point, unable to finish from the exhaustion of having to repeatedly sing a song that held every emotion I felt, but Will layered vocals from another clip over the video, just sounding a little more distant. I looked over at Will with a look of disbelief as the video faded out.

“Well?” He asked, still holding a proud, smug grin on his face.

“Wh- How- Will!” I stuttered, in complete shock, “I-what do I even do with this?”

“Well, I’m glad you asked. I reached out to Mr. Nicholas Ruffilo, asking for permission to even do this. He said to send him the video as soon as it’s finished, and then we could figure out where to go from there,” he answered. I looked between him and the laptop again before handing the computer back to him.

“I don’t know how this is gonna work out, but since you did all the work, you get all the blame,” I said, leaning back in my chair with a sigh. I can either see this fucking things up more, or actually working out, but either way, fans are going to freak the fuck out if this gets posted online. God, am I really communicating with a man through music again?

Will types away at the computer, probably saving the file and sending it to Ruffilo, before looking at me.

“I’m starving. Wanna go get dinner?” He asked, as if nothing happened. I give him an exhausted yet humored side-eye before nodding and standing up with him.

Noah

I awoke to someone rummaging next to me. With a groan, I rolled over and looked to see Ruffilo screwing the lid back onto the bottle of vodka next to my bed, Nick turning my speakers off, and Jolly picking up my smashed phone and a picture that I guess had also fallen when I threw the phone.

“Get the fuck out of here,” I groaned, before bringing my arm over my eyes, the hangover instantly kicking in. I still felt tipsy, probably not having slept for a long time, but that didn’t change the fact that I hadn’t had a single sip of water today.

“Take this,” Ruffilo said. I peek out from under my arm and see him handing me a glass of water like he read my fucking mind, which I instantly took. I sat up and chugged the whole glass. It felt like I hadn’t had water in days. I set the cup beside me before dropping my head in my hands with a loud groan.

“Do we..?” I heard Jolly ask, not knowing what the hell he meant. I then heard someone, probably Ruffilo, crouch down beside my bed. I glance over and see him giving me a pitying look, making me roll my eyes.

“Whenever you’re ready, I have something to show you downstairs. I can make the other guys leave for a little if you don’t want to deal with company, but it’s something that you need to see,” he said in a hushed tone, like I was a dog he would scare away if he spoke too loud.

I let out a deep sigh and rubbed my eyes before swinging my feet over the bed. There’s nothing they could show me that would make me feel worse than I do now, so why the fuck not? They all backed up as I sat up from my bed, swaying a little as the alcohol hadn’t yet left my system. They all file out of my room, and I follow.

“Did you guys seriously pick my lock?” I grumbled out, remembering that I had locked the door before passing out. Nick glanced over at me, looking a little guilty, causing a huff of a laugh to escape my lips.

They led me to the living room, which was thankfully empty. Who knows where everyone else was. Jolly reached over and grabbed a laptop, sitting down on the couch and opening it. I plopped down next to him, sinking into the back of the couch, not really wanting to be here. After a few moments of him typing away at it, pulling something up, he sat the laptop on the table in front of me.

I glanced at the laptop and then at the rest of them, confused. What the fuck were they about to show me? Ruffilo motioned his head towards it, signaling to me that I had to press play, so I did.

Instantly, the beginning of ‘Just Pretend’ played through the speakers of the laptop, making me groan. What the fuck was this? But then, her face came up as the vocals started.

I just sat there, staring at her in shock as she sang. She had a hoodie pulled over her so only her face showed. I leaned in closer, noticing something. She was crying. Every time she opened her eyes, they were bloodshot, and her makeup had been running.

Her voice cracked with emotion every high note, like she had been holding back a sob. I never wanted to see her cry. Especially not like this…

The bridge hit, and my eyes widened as she looked at the camera. Her eyes were full of what I could only describe as despair. They were dull and glazed over, barely even processing where she was looking, just staring off as she let the emotion flow through her singing. Her voice was harsh, like she had either been using it a lot or smoking. But it was still beautiful.

She stepped away from the mic after the heart wrenching post-chorus, almost like her body was about to cave in on itself. But her voice still rang through. Her face scrunched up as she looked down, and you could almost see a sob shake her body. The sight of her at a breaking point as her beautiful voice still sang, just in the distance, was more heartbreaking than anything I’ve ever seen.

The video finally ended and I just stared at the black screen, catching my reflection in it and saw that I was crying as well. I don’t even know what to do now. Emotion poured through me and my head fell into my hands as broken sobs left my lips. What the fuck was that? What the fuck do I do now?

I made a terrible fucking mistake, and she had obviously went to Will to make her feel better, but then she makes this? What the fuck does any of this even mean? What the fuck do I do? I want to see her. To hold her. But that’s not my place. It never was. She learned that going to people like Matt or Tommy or Will was much less heartbreaking than coming to me. But I just need to talk to her. To start over.

Why did I start ignoring her? Why did I get so upset at the bar? She had every single right to feel that way, I just became attached too quickly and couldn’t let her leave. But she still did. She left, and she probably already moved on to Will. I mean, that was the same sound booth that I saw in that picture earlier, so she’s obviously been spending the break with him. She was barely here at the party. God, that fucking party. The first time I got a chance to be close to her in two weeks and I spent it ruining everything. I got jealous at her being a friendly person and went and fucking slept with someone. She had every single right to fucking move on. I mean, I tried to as well.

But what the fuck was this then? Why did she cover my fucking song, looking ever so heartbroken? Where the fuck did this even come from? Why were the guys showing me this? I finally look up at the three boys in front of me, all of them staring down at me in pity.

“What the fuck is this?” I finally managed to get out between sobs.

“All I was told was that she wanted to make this and that Will wanted me to show it to you. You’re gonna have to talk to her to figure out the rest.” Ruffilo responded, not helping me at all.

“I just don’t understand! I see a post of her hanging out with Will, covered in hickeys, and then she fucking does this?” I ask, still overwhelmed with everything. Ruffilo sighs.

“Noah. You do realize that you’re doing the exact same thing, right? You slept with someone and then proceeded to break down in guilt. She’s just the one to throw in the towel first. She’s trying to make up.” I groan between sobs and fall back into the couch, bringing an arm up to cover my face.

“What do I do, then? It’s not like I can text her. My phones broken and it’s just gonna be awkward.”

“Just think about it. Plan out your best choice of action and work from there. This is something that can only be fixed by the two of you,” he answered. Fuck.

“Also, I’ll head out tomorrow to get you a new phone. It’s too late to go now,” Jolly chimed. After thinking about it for another minute, I let out a deep sigh and sat back up.

“Okay. I’ll figure this out.” The boys watched me for a second, trying to get a good sense of if I was being serious, before coming over and patting me on the back before heading into the house, probably to hang out with the rest of the guys, leaving me in my thoughts.

Y/N

I anxiously chew on my lip as Will and I walk down the streets of L.A. Neither of us heard anything back from Ruffilo or any of the guys, yet. Will said that he didn’t want the night to end just yet, since I wasn’t in the best headspace, and he did his best to keep me from my thoughts as we went on our little adventure, which I really appreciated. But, to be honest, neither of us know where the hell we were going.

After we ate, he thought it’d be a good idea to just explore the city since neither of us really knew anything about it, but nothing caught our eye as we walked. It was nice to stretch our legs after sitting in a studio for a good eight hours, though.

We walked through the city, pointing out random things we saw, occasionally bumping into each other, either on purpose or because we weren’t paying attention, and just chatting about whatever came to our minds.

“What are your thoughts on adding a rhythm guitarist to Praising Deities?” I asked. He chucked, but gave it some thought.

“I mean, I have a feeling you’re gonna want to change up your style a little, now that you’re more comfortable with broadening your vocal range, but it is a lot of work splitting the guitar into two parts,” he answered.

“Yeah. We’ve changed things up a few times, but adding harsher vocals like yours would be a huge step. I do some already, but nothing more than a simple growl. So, if we really want to take that step, a lot of work is gonna have to go into this.”

“Do you have someone in mind? Or do you just want to add the more concentrated sound of a melodic guitar?” I thought about it for a minute.

“No, and I highly doubt Tommy would want to learn to switch to pure rhythm. Not that he’s bad at it, but he really enjoys what he plays now,” I look over at him with a smirk, “I mean, would you be mad if I stole Andrew? He might even like my vocals more than you.”

He let out a loud laugh and swung his arm over my shoulders and pulled me in to his side. I giggled and looked up at him as we paused on our walk. He looked down at me with a smirk.

“You wish,” was all he said before he let go and continued walking, picking up speed to make me catch up to him. But that’s when something caught our eye. A flash. Fuck.

We both pause and glance towards the direction it came from, seeing a man holding a camera in our direction.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” I mumbled. He let out a sigh.

“Let’s just head back to Dave’s. There’s nothing out here for us to do anyway.” And with that, we turned around and retraced our steps, making our way back.

“You’re back again? Don’t you have a band to be spending time with?” Austin teased with a fale scowl as we walked into the house.

“Of course I do. It’s your band!” I joked back. He laughed and rolled his eyes.

“What? Will didn’t tell you guys? You’re getting a second, better vocalist!” I continued, putting my hands on my hips to look confident. Will softly pushed me while laughing, making me stumble and giggle as I walked over to the couch and sat down with everyone.

Will walked past us into the kitchen, and I started chatting with everyone there. I’ve gotten surprisingly comfortable with them after they helped me with my vocals earlier, so I wasn’t as nervous to be around them anymore.

Will came back out and handed me a drink. I didn’t know what it was, so I gave him a slightly suspicious look as I took a sip. I made a face, not expecting it to be a vodka cranberry, but it was still really good. He chuckled at my face before sitting down next to me.

“Oh so first she steals clothes, and now she’s taking our drinks?” Micco joked. Ever since this morning, they’ve been messing with me all day, but I loved it. It was like I was back with my own boys again.

I looked at him confused, before remembering that I was still wearing Will’s hoodie, so I set down my drink and took it off, handing it back to him.

“No, you didn’t have to. I’m fine,” he said, trying to push it back to me.

“Well, I don’t really need it anymore, and I don’t wanna accidentally wear it home,” I persisted, trying to give it back. He grabbed it and sat it between us.

“I’ll keep it here if you need it,” He spoke softly as he leaned back and turned his attention towards the guys.

I just shook my head with a small laugh before grabbing my drink, taking a sip, and doing the same.

The guys and I all chatted for a few hours, the alcohol making Will and I a little more loose-lipped as the night went on, him even making us more drinks. They asked me questions about my band and how the tour was going. I may have been a little too honest, but it didn’t affect them. I even asked them for advice on the best course of action on drastically changing the sound of our music, now that I was getting more comfortable with the thought of it. They gave really good advice, but a lot of it was that I had to talk to my own bandmates about it, which made sense.

After we were a few drinks in, Will leaned his head on my shoulder as we all talked. He was still fully awake, the alcohol just making him want to get comfier, and if I learned anything the past two days, it was that Will was a cuddler. He loved physical touch, and the closer to you, the better, so I wasn’t shocked when he eventually sank into the couch, cuddling into my side as we all chatted. And I knew it was normal when the rest of the guys didn’t even blink an eye at it.

Though, after some time, he became dead weight against me, and when I looked over, I saw that he was out like a light. I did my best to keep the conversation going, but between the warmth of his body heat and the alcohol, I felt my eyes getting heavier.

The rest of the guys started to notice, so they eventually excused themselves to either head to bed or hang out somewhere else, saying they didn’t want to wake him.

With that, I leaned my head on Will’s and eventually slipped into a deep sleep.

I woke up to the feeling of someone looming over me, so with a scrunched face, I opened my eyes and saw Moke and Austin looking at Austin’s phone, giggling about something. I tried to raise an arm to rub my eyes, but realized they were stuck. Looking down, I saw that at some point in the night, Will and I had laid down, and now he was sprawled out on top of me, practically pinning me to the couch. He was still completely out, just pure dead weight on top of me.

A yawn escaped my lips, making the two goofballs aware that I was now awake, and they giggled down at me.

“What are you two idiots up to?” I softly asked, my voice coming out harsh and raspy, either from the alcohol or the fact that I don’t think I shut up for a single second yesterday.

Austin turned his phone around with a mischievous grin on his face, showing me that he had taken a picture of Will and me and posted it to his story, captioning it, “These two don’t know how to party.”

I finally managed to slide a hand out from between Will and I and reached for his phone, wanting a closer look. I couldn’t tell from my angle, but Will was completely intertwined with my body. Our legs looped around each other and I was using one of his arms as a pillow as his other arm draped across my chest. He was using one of my tits as a pillow, which made me giggle. We were both out cold, Will’s mouth slightly agape as if he was snoring. I gave the phone back to Austin after rolling my eyes.

“So, am I just stuck like this now?” I ask the two, making them chuckle.

“Yep. He can sleep for a whole day if he’s comfortable enough, so good luck!” Moke responded. I almost let out a groan, but didn’t because I would feel bad if I woke him.

“So I’m trapped under a dead body and you two are just taking pictures? What the fuck?” I teasingly whisper yelled. They both walked away with suppressed giggles, leaving me to wait for Will to wake up.

With my now free arm, I searched around me, trying to feel if there was anything for me to entertain myself with. My body was hanging ever so slightly off the edge of the couch, so I had a feeling my phone slipped out of my pocket at some point in the night. I couldn’t move my head, or any other of my body for that matter, but thankfully my hand finally touched the cold screen and I did my best to grab it with a contorted arm.

I turn it on after finally picking it up, and saw that it was already noon. The guys and I were up for a while last night, so I’m not too shocked that we slept this late, but it felt weird that I had spent more time with Will than anyone else this whole break. But at the same time, I didn’t care. I literally live with three of them and I’m going to be spending the next almost three months with the other five, and this will be the only time I’ll get to spend with Will for who knows how long.

Maybe I could see if my boys wanted to hang out with the Lorna Shore boys. I would invite everyone else, but with everything happening, I haven’t been too close with any of them lately. I’ll mention it to Will later.

I finally open my phone and click on the messages I saw that I had. There were a few from my boys, telling me that they missed me and they wished I was partying with them and everyone else. I wish I was too, but with the state that my life was in right now, I’d much rather spend my time with the person who was most unrelated to the tour and everyone in it. I couldn’t be more thankful to have run into Will. He was everything I needed at this time. Someone who brought excitement into my life, distracting me from everything else. Someone who, even though it was a terrible mistake, managed to heal a small part of me the other night. A healing intimate encounter, proving that not every man I got this close with in my 20s was going to hurt me in some way. Purely a quick rebound that we both agreed wouldn’t affect anything, followed by getting an insane amount of support in both my music and with the stress that this whole fiasco has caused. And a new friend. An amazing friend. He was so different from anyone else I had in my life at the moment that it just felt so good to be around him, especially because he came with a completely different friend circle, so I could have peace from everything while still being social.

I did my best to text them back, having to type with one hand that was hovering unsupported over my face and still deep in thought over how insane my life has been recently. But the movement from the heavy weight on my body almost made me drop my phone on my face.

Will shifted in his sleep, turning slightly and pulling himself closer to me. He dug his face between my shoulder and neck, probably shielding his eyes from the light that shone through the living room windows. I close my phone and set it on my chest, not wanting to drop it and scare him. He let out a tired groan as he stretched and pulled closer to me, and I couldn’t help but giggle at the tickle of his face and breath on my neck.

He paused for a second once he heard it, finally realizing the position he was in, before giggling with me.

“Good morning,” his groggy voice spoke into my neck, tickling me even more, making me squirm and try to pull away at the feeling.

“Good morning, dead weight.” I exaggeratedly huffed out. He lifted his face and looked at me with half lidded, tired eyes and a cheeky grin before trying to push himself off of me without hurting me.

I took an exaggerated deep breath as I sat up, teasing him. He shook his head with a smile and yawned.

“By the way, I think Austin might be worse than paparazzi,” I said as I stretched, needing to loosen my cramped muscles from not being able to move them all night.

He gave me a confused look, so I told him to check Austin’s story. He took a minute to search for his phone. Finally finding it between the couch cushions, he typed in Austin’s username and checked, immediately laughing.

“Everyone’s gonna think we’re dating,” he chuckled, rubbing his face.

“I’ve never cared about fan speculation since they’ll grasp onto anything these days, but this is probably gonna cause some issues for my situation if I don’t clear the air.”

“Yeah..” he dragged out, “I mean, it’s no problem for me. If anything, this will definitely help keep the fan’s eyes off of you and Noah until you get everything situated.”

I thought about it for a moment, and he was right. Fans love digging into our personal lives, so if there wasn’t a distraction, I know rumors and stories would spread over how they see Noah and I interact. Hell, there's fans who think I’m with all of them, even my bandmates, so if they just focused on my so-called ‘relationship’ with Will, I won’t have to worry about them constantly talking about Noah and me.

“Honestly, this may help a lot of issues. As long as I inform mine and his band what’s actually happening, this will save us from a lot of heat on the internet.” I said after a few moments, “Oh! Speaking of, are you busy today?”

He thought for a moment, trying to get his tired brain to run its gears.

“Not that I know of, but I can also ask the guys,” he finally answered, suppressing a yawn.

“Would you be down to meet my boys? I just feel bad that I’m gonna be spending more of our break with you and not with them.” He let out a sleepy giggle after thinking about it for a second.

“Or, you can always just hang out with them? Without me?” he teased. I felt a blush creepy up to my cheeks, but not before playing it off and faking a gasp.

“You don’t want to hang out with me anymore?” I pulled an exaggerated pout. His eyes immediately widened.

“Wait! No! That’s not what I meant!” He rushed out, making me laugh.

“I’m kidding! I just figured that I’d hang out with you until you kicked me out since I probably won’t see you for a while after this, and the boys would love to meet you and possibly the rest of the band if they’re down.” A frown creeped up on his face as I spoke.

“Wait..You’re right. I won’t see you after this,” he whined, “Yeah, I’ll ask the guys if they wanna join, but I’m not letting you leave until you’re getting on that damn tour bus.”

“Does that mean you’re joining me when I go back to the hotel to change?” I asked, laughing.

“Yes.” he stated, bluntly, making me laugh more.

“Okay, let me text the boys, and then we can head over,” I chuckled out. He nodded and stood to go talk to his bandmates as I grabbed my phone and texted Tommy.

Y/N- On a scale from 1 to 10, how excited would you and the boys be to hang out with Lorna Shore today?

Tominic- ASKING THEM NOW OMGOMGOMG

I shook my head and laughed at his text. Tommy wasn’t as big of a fan of them as I was, but when I played their music enough, you can’t not enjoy it a little. But then, I realized I may have to clarify something.

Y/N- I feel like this may be obvious, but this invitation is for you three only. I’m not in the mood for awkward conversations right now❤️

Tominic- 🫡 Yes, maam

Y/N- …maybe Matt can come, too

Tominic- He’s not at the house right now, so you should text him

Y/N- will do. I’ll let you know where we’re meeting up. Give me like 2 hours to head back to my hotel and change

Tominic- 👀 so you spent the night?

Y/N- IN A HOUSE FULL OF 5 OTHER GUYS SO SHUT IT

I laughed as I closed out of our chat and opened Matt’s. I sent him a text, but he didn’t immediately respond, so I just closed my phone and got all my things together and waited for Will so we could head back to my hotel.

#noah sebastian #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fic #bad omens #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian and reader #noah sebastian smut #noah sebastian reader insert

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brook1yn-baby · 1 year

Text

all mine

main 4 dating hcs <3

characters; kyle broflovski, stan marsh, kenny mccormick, eric cartman x gender-neutral reader

warnings; just a smidge of smut :3

a/n; first actual post 😱 also theyre like 18/19 in this

kyle broflovski:

he’s absolutely lovesick.

bro wrote and performed a love song for rebecca when he was in 3rd grade

you can be damn sure he’s doing that and more for you

only in private though, not big on pda, especially when you’re around his friends

you both know how much he likes you, so he doesn’t feel the need to put on a show when you’re in public

he’ll sling a loose arm around your shoulders while he’s talking to the guys or sit next to you during lunch, little things that tell you he’s still yours

his jealousy does sometimes get the better of him though

probably a little insecure in the relationship, scared he’s gonna lose you to cartman like he did with heidi

one time the five of you were at a party and kyle started squaring up to guy who’d asked you if you were single

sorta gave you the ick but he made up for it by walking you home, giving you a tipsy goodnight kiss and a lopsided grin before stumbling over your porch steps and heading back to stan’s place, the other guys having to hold him up the whole way there

that was the first and last time you’d seen him drink

after you told him about his attempt to fight some random guy, he decided that it’d probably be better for everyone if he stuck to being the designated driver

oh and he loves how close you are with his family

the first time he invited you over for dinner, he was terrified about his parents embarrassing him

almost cancelled when his mom wouldn’t stop saying that her ‘little bubaleh’ was in love

still, you managed to charm them the whole night, asking questions about gerald’s job and helping sheila clean up after dinner, even enduring ike’s constant questioning about if you and kyle were gonna get married

that’s when he knew he’d found the right one

definitely ended the night with your guys’ first kiss <3

stan marsh:

i’m gonna be honest he’s a fucking loser

definitely not the most attentive boyfriend you’ve ever had, but probably the best you were gonna get in south park

it’s a small town and options are slim, so you often had to give stan the benefit of the doubt

absolutely terrible at replying to messages

if you two aren’t physically together, you probably don’t talk

luckily for you, he’s a whiny bitch and will most definitely complain when he’s not with you

meaning most of your free time is spent at his house, listening as he practices guitar, playing video games or just laying in his arms

you could go to his and just nap the whole time and he’d still be happier than if you weren’t with him

you know his relationship with his dad isn’t the best, so you have to be prepared for many late-night ‘can i come over’ texts

most of the time it’s because randy’s drunk or just being a dick and he can’t stand to be around him

and obviously, you’re his safe place

sometimes though, his messages are a little less innocent

he’s a teenage boy at the end of the day, and he has needs

(as do you ;))

you and stan have a pretty stable relationship in comparison to him and wendy, but there’s been times when you two had to go on a break

whether it’s because of his constant need to be around you or his drinking, sometimes you just needed space

you and shelley def complain about him together when you’re on a break

she’s a couple years older but she gets it better than anyone

her own relationship was pretty rocky too, so it was nice to just vent to eachother, probably with a bottle of wine and takeout

it was probably a little weird that you still hung out with his sister when you and him were on a break, but you honestly didn’t care

you and stan never stay broken up for long though, the both of you eventually crawling back

maybe it was a little toxic, maybe you knew it wasn’t really gonna last, but for now, you had him and he had you

that’s all that mattered <3

kenny mccormick:

good old kenny mcwhoremick.

despite the rumours of his promiscuous lifestyle, his body count was actually significantly lower than you expected

not that you cared; you were actually quite happy that he was so experienced- not many boys your age knew how to pleasure both themselves and their partner

he wasn’t just great in bed, either

he’s quick to fall for you, infatuated with you after just a few meetings

immediately takes on a sort of caring role in the relationship, definitely protective, similarly to how he looks after karen

it was nice to have someone so doting, though you had to remind him a few times that you could take care of yourself

he simply shakes his head, stubborn as ever

speaking of karen, you adored her

anytime kenny invited you to his house, you spent most of your time playing dolls with her or letting her do your hair

he loved how motherly you acted towards her

probably got him thinking about starting a family with you tbh

he absolutely loves showing you off, be it with pda, on social media, whatever

you were his and he wanted everyone to know

definitely has a highlight on insta dedicated to photos of you, and a playlist of songs that remind him of you

(also of songs that he’d thought about fucking you to)

though you do spend lots of time at his house now, he was really against the idea when you first started dating

you’d suggest watching a movie at his place and he’d come up with some excuse to do it at yours instead

it wasn’t that he didn’t want to spend time with you, he was just embarrassed of where he lived after years of teasing from the other boys

one day you decided to show up out of the blue, wanting to surprise him for his birthday with presents

he’s gobsmacked when he opens the door, quickly trying to divert your attention away from the mess in his living room, his parents passed out on the couch

you reassure him that you don’t mind, asking if he wanted you to go; you really wanted to stay and see his reactions to your gifts, but you weren’t going to push him if he was uncomfortable

he was relieved when you said you didn’t mind, finally inviting you in

it was the first time he’d let a partner into his house which was terrifying in itself, but he calmed down when he saw how relaxed you seemed, getting comfy on his bed and waiting for him to open his presents

you obviously didn’t care how messy his home was, or how his parents weren’t the best at looking after their kids

you only cared about him <3

eric cartman:

listen, as much as i love the enemies to lovers trope with cartman, i love the fake dating trope even more

(and i love combining the two the most teehee)

cartman had recently received some pretty embarrassing information about you, and decided to make the most of it while he’s coming up with his newest scheme

you had had a crush on one of the other boys in your class for a few months and, even though you’d only told your closest friends, somehow he’d found out

so, in order to make heidi jealous, he’d forced you to be his pretend partner in exchange for not telling your crush you liked him

it was humiliating- having to hold his hand as he walked you to class, sitting with him at lunch, enduring his sickly-sweet pet names..

..only at first, though

after a few weeks, you’d come to enjoy the routine the fake relationship provided

you also found that you actually liked spending time with eric, and he could be pretty funny when it was just you two

you did your best to shove your feelings down, slightly ashamed and pissed off that you liked him, of all people

still, it couldn’t be helped- you had stopped staring longingly at your crush during class, eyes fixed on cartman across the room

it didn’t help that heidi didn’t seem too jealous either, causing him to ramp up the ‘pretend’ affection

when you were around him, he acted like he couldn’t get enough of you; playing with your hair, caressing your face, all the while keeping a strong arm around your shoulders, like he wanted to keep you close to him

as much as you liked the attention he was giving you, it was infuriating knowing he was only like this to get heidi back

it all came to a head when he tried to kiss you as she walked past you both in the hallway

you pushed him back, all of the feelings you’d been forcing down suddenly overflowing, choking on tears as you walked away

you knew when he didn’t bother following you that this relationship really was just pretend to him

it wasn’t until later that night when he showed up on your doorstep, hands in his pockets, sighing, that you realised maybe you were wrong

he obviously wasn’t big on apologising but tried his best, looking slightly annoyed as he admitted that he’d only blackmailed you into being his fake partner because he knew you’d say no if he actually asked you out

his logic was completely insane to you, but from eric’s point of view, he genuinely saw it as his only option to call you his partner

your heart melted as you thought about how he went through all that just because he had a crush on you

you don’t say anything in response, shocking him a little as you walk towards him, wrapping your arms around him and laying your head on his chest

sure, you’d hugged before, but it was awkward and emotionless, just pretend

this was different- his arms enveloped you, pulling you close as you felt him laugh

he was most definitely gonna tease you later for being ‘obsessed’ with him, but you could deal with it

after all, you were really, actually his <3

#brook1yn-baby #south park #kyle brovlofski #kyle broflovski x reader #stan marsh #stan marsh x reader #kenny mccormick #kenny mcormick x reader #eric cartman #eric cartman x reader #headcanon #fanfic

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thepersonnamedsam · 10 months

Text

carlos‘ song - cs55

pairing: carlos sainz x fem!reader

summary: you wrote a song about carlos

word count: 1.2k

warnings: angst, mentions of death, anxiety, sad stuff

note: i have been obsessed with carlo‘s song lately and i just had to write something for carlos, bc obv carlo‘s - carlos

masterlist / taglist

Standing on the rooftop of this bar in Madrid, your short hair blew in the cold air. Apparently it’s not just any bar, the bar is placed on a fire tower.

The sun was just about to set and you tried to keep your hair under control. „You know, I liked it more when it was long.“ Carlos looked at you with his big brown round eyes and it reminded you of a deer caught in a headlight.

„Oh really?“, you grinned. When you two first met you were only 12 years old, little best friend of Isa. You never taught you would one day stay on this roof top with her brother.

„Yeah, do you remember drinking in the parking lot? By the trail head? Yeah, I liked your hair that day.“

You felt heat rush to your head, you blamed it on the cold. „Okay, I can grow it out long, if you’d like that?“

You only just moved back to Madrid. Ida was supposed to pick you up from the airport but instead there stood a bright red Ferrari with not Isa but her brother Carlos instead. And he didn’t take you to his sisters, no he treated you to a drink on the fire tower.

Only the good die young was playing on the speakers.

„You know, I never understood what Billy Joel meant with those lyrics“, you thought out loud. „Didn’t you just study english literature?“ - „Yeah, and?“ Your eyebrows raised at him, silently questioning his thoughts.

„Like, aren’t you just supposed to know what he meant with his lyrics?“

„I mean, I have my own meaning, but it’s ridiculous.“ - „No, please tell me, because I always laugh at the lyrics“, Carlos said.

„I mean, obviously in the first verse he wants to have sex with virgin catholic girls. And ‚only the good die young‘ you can argue about that - young people who die didn’t deserve it, therefore they were good. Or old people aren’t good anymore, or many more.“

„Not ridiculous“, he smiled. „Huh?“ - „Your meaning of the song isn’t ridiculous, not in the slightest.“

You smiled, hard. Carlos was an interesting man and you wondered what more grew under that perfect skin of his.

„I think we are going to be good friends, Carlos“, you told him. „You think so?“, was his answer. You nodded and grinned at him.

Over the time you grew closer together, Carlos showed you parts of Madrid you only remembered vaguely from your childhood. But the distance of his job hurt more and more. You knew what a relationship with him meant. You knew only too good, heard Isa over the phone crying over missing her brother.

But the days he spent in between were the best you ever experienced.

„I want a big house out in the open. Where the sun always shines and all the light gets into the house!“, Carlos gushed. You were laying on the couch together and planned how your future would look like if money didn’t matter - not that it did anyway.

„Whys that?“, you asked him. „I don’t like the way my skin feels when it’s not shown on by the sun. I like the warmth, never liked the cold, brrr“, his arms snaked around your upper body and shook it like you were freezing.

Your laugh was heard throughout the apartment. Carlos grinned at you, his skin warming with the sound of your happiness.

„Why don’t you like the way your skin feels without the sun?“

„It makes me feel like I need to escape my own body. Like I don’t belong, it just feels wrong.“

„Well I hope you can escape your skin with me“, you smiled at the man you were falling more and more in love with.

But you still never went to a grand prix with him. And when he asked you why, you came up with a new excuse as not to.

You started to pick up more work, started to work over the weekends. You had less and less time to call Carlos over the weekend, making him question your feelings for him.

Until it happened. It happened on a Saturday at FP2. It was quickly over. You only heard about the incident the next day, as you wondered why Carlos didn’t start.

Isa called you. 48 seconds. That’s how long the phone call lasted. The news shattered your heart. Broken into millions of pieces. You couldn’t believe it, no, Isa was definitely playing pranks with you.

You fell, you fell deep into a hole. A hole you never knew you sighed it yourself. Deeper and deeper. Until Isa visited you. She brought you his clothes he still had at home. She brought his necklace that he was about to gift you. His initials graved into the back of the pendant.

But still, everyone who started talking about him being gone, you shut out. You shut them right out, because in your mind he was still alive, he was still racking and he was winning.

But the reality was none of that. And reality hit you, it hit you hard. His memorial was held at the end of the season. And Isa asked you to talk about him. You had to admit he was dead.

„I can’t do it, Isa.“ - „Please, you were his everything, he talked so much about you! Did you know he had been crushing on you since he was 16?“

„Did you set us up? The day you didn’t pick me up from the airport and instead sent him?“

Isa looked at you, just like Carlos had when he was caught doing something he shouldn’t have. This big brown eyes. Glistening with mischief - it was something that all of the Sainz family possessed.

„You caught me“, she shamelessly shrugged with her shoulders and smirked at you. „It was time? He was pining on you for so long, but you were away studying and he was so sad, I had to do it, it was his only chance!“

His memorial was beautiful, the whole grid present. Charles and Frédéric spoke about his time at Ferrari, Lando held a speech about their friendship and Isa sung a beautiful song. She still tried to convince you to speak, but you just couldn’t.

Isa and you still regularly talked to each other. She was doing good, better than her anyway. You almost never talked about Carlos. You weren’t bringing him up, neither did she.

The one thing Isa told you was: „Grief is just love letting go. It’s okay to let go.“

You almost cried - how could she say that like it was just spilled milk?

„Look at yourself, when’s the last time you cut your hair? You always kept it short, but now?“

You did visit him at his grave. Brought flowers and letters for him to read. Eventually you wrote a song. A song to remember him - Carlos‘ Song.

And one day you stood on a stage, at the bar they had their first date at and sung Carlos‘ Song.

Isa was there, smiling up at you and filming the whole thing. „I’m going to show it to my parents“, she smiled.

And you knew Carlos was smiling down on you and kept you alive.

°°°

@ironmaiden1313 , @topguncultleader , @biglittlesecret , @gulabjamooon , @lovelyy-moonlight , @peachyplumsss , @mistrose23 , @copper-boom , @love4lando , @champomiel , @serenityleah , @iloveyou3000morgan , @angelwithoutmywings , @elleeeee21 , @youkissedareaderinthedark , @mikauraur , @thybulleric , @lpab , @fdl305 , @mellowarcadefun , @teti-menchon0604 , @vildetry06 , @bibissparkles , @aurora-maria , @lunnnix , @sya-skies , @Buckywifeyy , @dakotali , @rechtrecht , @noncannonships , @1eclerc16 , @pitlanebabe , @sopheeg , @avengersheart , @thatsadsmallchild , @peachiicherries , @idkiwantchocolatee , @callsign-scully , @mehrmonga , @badbatch-simp24 , @lissyontour , @din0nugs , @elliegrey2803 , @gay-for-victoria-de-angelis , @10vely-yutazen , @daggersquadphantom , @azriel-the-shadowsinger , @i-love-scott-mccall , @darleneslane , @mikauraur , @heartmetaphor , @darleneslane , @ellswilliams , @thxtmarvelchick , @nataliambc , @dontjudgeabookbythecover , @hockeyboysarehot , @thehistoryone

#f1 x reader #formula 1 #f1 #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz angst #carlos sainz fanfic #formula one #formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader #Spotify

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lovebugism · 2 years

Note

Having a unserious argument with band AU!Eddie and there’s a moment where you both stare at each other and then his eyes flick down to ur lips. Which leads to you making out and forgetting about what the argument was about in the first place

bug's blurb sleepover (⁎˃ᴗ˂⁎)!

You knew the argument was stupid, but you also knew you were too mad to care.

Like, otherworldly levels of mad. Levels that feel nearly unprecedented, even though you’re well aware it’s over something so damn mundane.

Night of the Living Dead was playing at a drive-in in the same city the Corroded Coffin tour bus had parked in for the next few days. And Eddie wanted to take you. He said he’s wanted to take you out for weeks now, but your schedules just hadn’t allowed him the time to do so.

His van hasn’t gotten much use in quite some time either. It’s just been dragging behind the tour bus and rusting more every time it rains. You, Gareth, and Jeff all told him that he wouldn’t have much time to drive it anywhere, but Eddie only said that “it broke his heart too bad to leave her behind.”

Now, he’s glad that he didn’t. It’ll be good to take you for a drive in it, to roll the windows down and turn the radio all the way up, to watch you in between watching the road and pretend like you’re teenagers again.

And it was really cute, how excited he’d been to take you to see a film you’d both seen a thousand times over. “Taking you to a drive-in actually sounds super fun, babe, and I don’t even mean that in a pervy way. I just wanna spend time alone with you,” he’d told you before smirking. “Even though I won’t be opposed to a little heavy petting.”

It was real adorable. Until you started to get all philosophical about zombies, that is.

Eddie tried to tell you that zombies were still human after they turned. You scoffed when you disagreed, telling him that if that were the case, you wouldn’t have to use the word turned to describe them — that you wouldn’t even need the word zombies at all.

He refused to listen to you, though, and kept on saying that they were “basically still humans but insane.”

And if you’d told yourself an hour or more ago that the two of you would be in a screaming match over this exact thing, you would’ve laughed. But now that it’s your reality, you’re absolutely fuming about it.

“They aren’t human anymore, Eds!” you argue in the confines of the bunk room, shielded only by the sliding door that does little to stifle your argument. You flail your hands around like crazy, eyes wide and glinting with annoyance. “It’s like a parasitic relationship! The zombie is just inhabiting the body of the dead human. Like a— I don’t know— like a fucking hermit crab or something.”

“They turn to zombies because they’re infected, right? Do you stop being a human because you get a little virus?” he retorts with a teasing lilt that only angers you more. “No! You don’t! It’s the same thing!”

“It’s not the same thing!”

“Well, you obviously don’t know what you’re talking about it!”

“I know what I’m talking about, asshole! I’m just not gonna listen to a guy who failed senior year three times!” you shout back, obviously angry and irrational with it.

You would’ve apologized for trying to hit him where it hurts if you saw that it had upset him in some way. But it doesn’t. Instead, he just keeps on teasing you.

“Ooh, you wanna kiss me so fucking bad,” he sing-songs to you, at you, with furrowed brows and lips set in a slight pout like a child.

That does little to quell your rage. Quite the opposite, really. He keeps dousing the fire in your chest with gasoline. You can feel the flames starting to prickle at your burning skin. But you make the mistake of flitting your gaze down to his mouth, only for half of a moment, but long enough for him to catch it. He grins, feeling like he’s won in some way.

“That’s okay, baby. You didn’t have to get all angry about it. If you wanted to kiss me, you coulda just said—”

“I hate you so fucking much,” you grumble to yourself, crossing your arms as you start to storm out of the room.

Eddie doesn’t let you get very far, though. His long legs rush the short distance over to you. He wraps two lanky arms around your frame and cages your own within his too tight embrace. You feel his chest rumble with the loud laugh that spills from his mouth, the breath of it on your skin when he noses at the junction between neck and shoulder.

“This is really fucking dumb,” he says with a hearty chuckle.

“Yeah, you are dumb, you’re right,” you monotone in return, not conceding to this imagined argument but not trying to squirm in his hold either.

“Hey! I’m trying to extend the olive branch here, alright?”

“Whatever…”

He smacks a loud kiss on your shoulder and loosens his grip on you when he’s sure you’re not still angry enough to storm out. You are, though — still angry — but rather than leave, you turn around to face him. Your scowl is met with a beam from the boy ahead of you.

“We’ll just have to agree to disagree, alright, doll?” Eddie tells you with a shrug, trying his best to stop the argument without either of you having to admit you were wrong.

“I don’t know,” you lilt. “I think this might be a deal breaker for me, Eds.”

“Well, we certainly can’t have that…. What’ll happen to the band?” he teases.

You feign a sad sigh. “Guess you’ll have to find another bassist, Eds.”

“What can I do to make it up to you, doll? The fans’ll be real upset if the world’s best bassist is suddenly MIA.”

You purse your lips to the side and flit your eyes to the ceiling, pretending to think about his offer. Your attempt to ignore all the butterflies fluttering in your stomach is futile when he starts to rub his palms up and down your arm, in a soft and soothing rhythm. His touch quells your anger, puts out your fire without really even trying. No one can strike a flame within you, make it burn all big and bright, then douse it with cool, sparkling water quite like Eddie can.

It feels good not to be angry anymore. You’ll be able to laugh about it soon.

Not now, though.

“Well, you’re going to take me to the drive-in tomorrow night and you’re gonna buy me all the snacks that I want—”

“I can do that,” he nods firmly.

“And halfway through the movie, I want to stop watching it and watch you while you eat me out in the back of your van—”

He sputters out a laugh. “I can definitely do that.”

“And until then, you’re gonna kiss me silly, Eddie Munson.”

The grin he flashes you then is no less teasing than it had been before, but it doesn’t make you nearly as angry. Instead, it makes you smile, too.

“I knew this was just a ploy to get me to makeout with you,” he lilts and presses the first of many kisses to the tip of your nose. “You don’t have to get all angry next time, alright? I’ll kiss you anytime you want.”

“Promise?” you wonder playfully, already knowing the answer. You just want to hear him say it.

“I can show you better than I can tell you,” he quips.

It takes no more than twenty seconds for him to get you into your bunk and squeeze in over top of you. In record time, he’s kissing you absolutely breathless — like he won’t be satisfied until he’s swallowed you whole. You want so desperately for him to.

And if your mouth wasn’t kiss-bitten and half-numb, if your lungs weren’t screaming for air every time he kissed you, and your brain wasn’t aching for him to keep kissing you every time he stopped — you might’ve made some stupid joke. You would’ve teased him, told him how obedient he was to listen to you without question, just to drive him crazy.

But you can’t. Because he’s kissed you so insanely stupid, he’s the only thought in your head.

And if Eddie’s this perfect now — just moments after a stupid argument that had you both seeing red — you can’t imagine what he’ll be like tomorrow. As the rough pad of his tongue ruts against your own, you imagine how he’ll feel in between your legs when he’s got them bent over his shoulders in the back of his van.

#bug's blurb sleepover #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things imagine #eddie munson #published by bug #rockstar!eddie #eddie spaghetti drabble #st drabbles

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https-lawrenceslittleone · 8 months

Note

Maybe some Percy Jackson HC’s or Hellva boss

idk

-🍼 anon

Helluva Boss Agere Headcanons!

A/N: This is only part one, and for this part I’m just doing my favorite characters. But I’ll do more characters in separate parts!

Characters: Blitzø, Moxxie, STRIKER!!! (MY FAV 💗💗💗)

BLITZØ-

Flip, with a little lean!! He’s mostly an age regressor, he needs some way to let out all that trauma and stress. His little ages are about 4-6.

He is VERY chaotic when he’s regressed, like even more so than usual. He’ll run around the IMP HQ, jumping on furniture, leaving his toys everywhere, etc.

Moxxie and Millie are his main caregivers, actually! He loves Stolas, even though he’d never admit it, but he doesn’t trust him enough at the moment to tell him something that vulnerable about himself.

When he’s a caregiver, he’s not really a suitable dad caregiver. He’s more like a silly, chaotic older brother or the uncle that’s fresh out of jail.

He likes to spoil littles, he thinks it’s cute when their faces light up and they start giggling.

Thinks it’s super funny to help littles prank their caregivers. He does this even when he himself is regressed too.

Like. Imagine Little!Blitzø hanging out with Moxxie’s and Millie’s little or something. That would be so chaotic pls.

He LOVES coloring, and he hangs his own drawings up himself. He draws horses a lot. He also gives some of the stuff he draws to his friends and caregivers.

MOXXIE-

Controversial opinion, but flip with a cg lean!! He’s responsible enough to be a caregiver, and he wants kids himself one day so this is good practice he thinks. He does regress sometimes in order to relieve some stress.

He does well with littles of all ages, but he finds that baby regressors are surprisingly the easiest! They aren’t hyper and chaotic like a lot of toddler or kid regressors. He just has to feed them, give them attention, make sure their hygiene is good, etc and it’s fine!

He’ll play his guitar and sing little songs! Maybe while Millie dances around and helps tell stories or sings with him or something.

Him and Millie do everything together, which includes taking care of a little, so if you ask Moxxie to be your caregiver, that’s going to include Millie as well.

He’s actually one of the best people to play pretend with, surprisingly enough. Like it takes him a while to get used to it and he’s not too good at making stuff up on the spot, but when he gets into it, he gets INTO IT.

When he’s little, he also still likes to sing and play his guitar.

He reads kids books a lot or those small little science books for kids.

Or books about history for kids.

He is a nerd. And I love that. Me too, Moxxie.

His caregiver is Millie, of course. And he CLINGS to her when he’s regressed, like hardcore clings. Will not let go of her and has to be at least holding her hand at all times.

STRIKER-

Okay I have a feeling this one is gonna be long. He’s my absolute favorite and I love him so so so so so so so so so so much.

I may or may not have the fattest crush on him.

ANYWAYS

Caregiver! He had absolutely no clue what age regression was before you told him about it, and it took him a while for him to warm up to the idea.

Like it took him a fat minute for him to fully process what it is.

He feels bad when he realizes you do it because of trauma, though.

Like…you had a bad childhood??? You were abused??? Do you want him to like…kill your parents for you…?

Cuz he will. You know he will.

You’re like the only person he feels any amount of sympathy for. It may take him awhile to get used to it, but when he does…MAN.

This guy is clingy and overprotective. If he notices you’re slipping at any time throughout the day, you’re immediately being carried or you have to hold his hand TIGHT for the rest of the day. He knows you’re vulnerable, and he knows it’s very dangerous in hell; obviously, it’s hell. And he wants to keep an eye on you at all times.

The first time you called him “dada”, he blushed. Not because of anything weird but because. Wow. You trust him and love him like that? Like…you care about him and see him as your protector? …Woah.

It takes him a bit to get used to parental nicknames, but he likes it nonetheless!

Does pretty much the same with any type of regressors, but because I’m projecting, I’m gonna say he likes the dependency of baby regressors.

He likes being leaned on and trusted and relied on. And when you’re regressed so deep like that, you need help with a lot of things, and he’ll do them for you.

Feels bad because he can’t be around a lot. He’s got an important and demanding job that he’s absolutely not letting a little baby like you witness.

#age regression #agere #helluva boss #helluva boss agere #Blitzø #blitzo x reader #Moxxie #Moxxie x reader #striker #striker x reader

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babydollmarauders · 1 year

Text

HITS DIFFERENT— JACK HUGHES

final part of the Midnights Fic List

summary: in which y/n and Jack were in a relationship for 4 years before deciding to go separate ways, but everything reminds her of him and y/n realizes she’s made a mistake by letting him go.

specific lyrics: “i washed my hands of us at the club, you made a mess of me. i pictured you with other girls in love, then threw up on the street.” and “they say that if it's right, you know. each bar plays our song, nothing has ever felt so wrong.” and “i find the artifacts, cried over a hat, cursed the space that i needed. i trace the evidence, make it make some sense why the wound is still bleedin'. you were the one that i loved.” and “i heard your key turn in the door down the hallway. is that your key in the door? is it okay? is it you?” and “i never don't cry at the bar. yeah, my sadness is contagious. i slur your name 'til someone puts me in a car.” and “love is a lie; shit my friends say to get me by.”

notes: i don't know how i feel about this one. i feel like i could've potentially done better, but anyways MIDNIGHTS FIC LIST IS OFFICIALLY DONE! it's a month later than i had originally wanted to finish it, but it's finally done!

the reflection staring back at me is a bit of a hot mess. mascara smudged, hair tousled, lipstick fading. i stare in the mirror until i feel the sting of the hot water on my hands, pulling them back with a hiss of pain. the alcohol running through my veins helps me avoid overthinking about this dingy club bathroom, my shoes sticking to the floor with every step. but the buzz does nothing to help with the thoughts that run through my mind when i hear the song that’s blasting from the speakers throughout the club.

“y/n/n, you good?” my head snaps over to Marie, her upper body peeking in through the bathroom door. one look at me makes her sigh. “you’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?”

“it’s our song.” i explain, as though she hasn’t heard the same excuse at every other bar we’ve been to in the past six months.

“i know it is, hun.” she gives me a pitiful smile, fully entering the grimy bathroom in order to grab my hand.

“it just feels so wrong hearing it without him.” tears well up in my eyes, my heart hurting just a little extra.

“let’s go get you another drink.” i give a numb nod in response, letting her lead me to our other friends that sit in a booth by the bar. at the sight of my state, they both give each other an unspoken glance before giving me a look of pity.

“i ordered you another tequila sunrise.” Beth tells me, sliding the drink towards me. i drop into the booth, muttering a short ‘thanks’ before gulping at the drink.

“lay it on us, babe. what’s on your mind tonight?” Lisa pipes up, sipping at her own drink and raising a brow at me.

“i just— they say that if it’s right, you know. and i thought we were right. but, it makes no sense because why didn’t i know until we broke up? i mean, i knew. obviously i knew, i followed him here from Michigan. but, i didn’t know know until we separated, ya know?”

“i’m gonna be honest, i only understood maybe half of what you just said.” Lisa says, making Beth and Marie giggle. “but love is a lie, y/n/n. sure, you can like someone enough to be with them for a long time, but romantic love? complete bullshit. it doesn’t exist. this isn’t the movies.”

“she’s right. and the quicker you realize that, the quicker you’ll get over him.” Marie nods, pointing at Lisa as she speaks while Beth hums in agreement.

“i don’t know if i’ll ever get over him. i love him. i miss him.” i whine. “i want him back. i don’t wanna be here. i want Jack.”

“alright, maybe it’s time we get you back home.” Beth sighs, tapping her thumbs on her phone. ordering an uber, i assume.

“i don’t wanna go home. i wanna see Jack.”

“you can’t see Jack, y/n. you’re drunk, and you guys broke up.” Marie pats my shoulder, helping me out of the booth and out of the club, the other two girls following behind us.

i continue mumbling to myself, my words slurred, and i’m eighty percent sure that the only actual audible word was my ex’s name.

“c’mon, hun. watch your head.” Lisa coos, helping me into the uber. “we’ll see you on tuesday, babe. get some sleep.”

Marie and Beth call out some goodbyes before Lisa shuts the car door, she motions for the guy up front to lower his window, whispering something to him before he starts off towards my house.

“would it be too late to ask to change the drop off location?” i ask him, anxiously playing with the strap of my purse as i speak.

“i’m sorry, ma’am. your friend just told me you might ask that. she said i’m under strict orders to take you straight to the predetermined destination.” i heave out a deep breath, slumping back into the seat of the car.

it doesn’t take too long to get to my apartment complex, muttering a ‘thank you’ to the man before sliding out of the vehicle and making my way up to my apartment. as soon as i make it into the apartment, i bee-line for my bedroom, stripping out of my club outfit and changing into some leggings and a tank top. i wipe off my makeup and throw my hair up before entering my closet. my sights set on the old USA Hockey sweatshirt on my shelf, i hop up, reaching for the article of clothing. however, as soon as i pull it down, something else comes tumbling down with it, falling to the floor in front of me.

slipping the sweatshirt on, i bend down to pick up the fallen item. holding it, tears prick the backs of my eyes as i realize what it is, Jack’s hat. his New York Yankees hat to be exact. my heart aches remembering the times he wore it. our Yankees game, date nights, even just lounging around the house. clutching the hat to my chest, i sink to the floor, sitting criss cross as i cry.

space. why did i think i needed space? i got plenty of space when he was always gone for roadies. fuck space. i just want him. my fingers trace the Yankees symbol, my tears falling down onto the dark blue fabric. why does it still hurt so bad? it’s been six months.

i know it may not help that i’m still in the same apartment we shared. every piece of this home reminds me of him. but it’s been much too hard to move. i tried looking at other apartments, but nothing felt as right as this one. i’m not ready to give up the last piece i have of the one i love.

too busy crying on the closet floor, i barely hear the lock on the front door turning. my head snaps up at the sound, trying to remember which of my friends have spare keys. Marie, Beth, and Lisa are the only ones, but i just left them. that only leaves two other options, Quinn or Jack. but, that i’m aware of, Quinn is still in Vancouver. i know he doesn’t have another game in New Jersey until next month. which only leaves Jack. i try not to get my hopes up, but i can’t help but wonder if it’s him, if he’s come back. the chances are slim. it’s been six months, why would he come back now?

i come to the decision that it’s probably Marie checking up on me. probably worried about the way i was when we parted not that long ago. it wouldn’t be the first time she’s checked on me.

footsteps thump against the wooden floors, getting closer to the bedroom, and i huddle further into the closet, hoping Marie will just leave me alone. tears still stream down my face as i clutch the hat closer to my chest, letting out silent sobs.

“y/n?”

that’s not Marie.

too exhausted, i opt out of leaving the closet, not even able to get myself to speak without being racked with sobs. i sniffle as i hear him pass the closet, the footsteps stop for a moment before i hear them start again, getting closer to the cracked open closet door. i don’t bother looking, fully believing that at this point i’m a mix of drunk and sleep deprived, just hearing things that aren’t there. i wipe at my eyes but the tears keep coming. i shift to bring my knees to my chest, the hat now gripped in my hands in front of me.

“oh, baby.” i hear from behind me before a body drops down beside me on the floor, pulling me into them. his cologne fills my senses, my face buried into his chest. the scent fills me with melancholy, memories of when he used to hold me close and whisper sweet nothings in my ear. comforting me. making me feel at home within his arms.

“it’s okay.” as if i summoned the whispers with my thoughts, his breath fans across my ear. “i’m here. i’ve got you. i’m right here.”

his reassurances calm me just slightly, but the real help is when he splays a hand along my chest, taking deep breaths. muscle memory takes over as i mimic his breathing.

“what are you doing here?” i ask once i’ve finally calmed enough to speak. i wipe at my nose with the sleeve of my sweatshirt, finally looking up into the blue eyes that peer down at me.

“Beth called me.” he whispers.

“she did?”

“yeah. she told me you’re not doing okay.” he confesses. “she didn’t tell me much more than that. just that she’d really appreciate if i checked on you.”

“you came over here in the middle of the night just to check on me?” i question. “you have a game tomorrow. you should be sleeping.”

“you’re a lot more important than a game.” his hand moves from my chest to cup my jaw. “i told you i would always be here for you, y/n. i meant it.”

“but, we broke up. i didn’t think you cared anymore.” a lone tear drops from my right eye as i speak.

“i’ll always care about you. i don’t think i can ever stop. i love you, y/n/n. and i know you said you wanted space, and i respected that, but i told you when we broke up that i would be here when you decided you were ready.” he pauses, his eyes scanning my face before he continues speaking. “and now i really hope you’re ready because these past few months have been hell without you.”

“i made a mistake. i don’t want space. i want you. you’re the only thing i’ve wanted since i was seventeen.” my voice is barely above a whisper, scared for his response.

“you have me. i’m right here.” his eyes jump between my own and my lips three times before he leans down. i meet him halfway, our lips pressing together in a slow kiss. gentle passion and love radiates between us, his hands cupping my face as mine grip the nape of his neck as if he'll disappear from my hold.

pulling away, his forehead leans against mine. my breath catches in my throat at the sight of the smile gracing his lips. a smile of my own spread across my face and i crane my neck to place a chaste kiss on his lips.

"i missed you so much." i admit. "moving on from boys in high school was so easy, but the heartbreak hit different this time."

"that's how you know it's real. we're real. there's no moving on from us." he tells me. "at least, not for me."

he pulls me in tighter against him, crashing his lips against mine once more, and i feel content again, my life being fixed with such a simple motion.

#midnights fic list #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes fic #jack hughes blurb #nj devils #faithlynn’s writings <3 #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl blurb

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beebopboom · 7 months

Text

If Gabriel can leave Heaven and be with Beelzebub, why can’t Aziraphale do the same with Crowley?

That’s a general question right? Something along those lines? How Gabriel did the “good” thing and how Aziraphale did the “bad” one, yeah?

Well I have a few thoughts on this so let’s go through it real quick on why Gabriel could and why it shouldn’t immediately be equated as the “good” choice - especially in comparison with Aziraphale’s

Also none of this is a slight against Gabriel/Beelzebub - it’s just a different relationship, different circumstances.

and this is just my interpretation obviously so yeah - do with it what you will

ok actual rant time go-

Gabriel and Beelzebub meeting how they did would not have happened without Armageddon being adverted.

They would have been on opposite sides of the battlefield but instead they ended up actually talking and in the process finding someone they could relate to. Their spark had been ignited and they continued to flame it.

To put it simply-

Gabriel and Beelzebub’s relationship is that of one between an Angel and a Demon. Aziraphale and Crowley’s is a relationship between two beings that happen to be an Angel and a Demon.

And that is a very big difference

Gabriel and Beelzebub are each other’s Heaven and Hell - they said so themselves. They may not be choosing sides but those two are the only ones they see, Heaven vs. Hell.

Even at the very end of every thing they are still an Angel and Demon - and in the case of Gabriel at least still holds those same opinions of the other side with the exception of Beelzebub of course

They don’t really see the third side that Aziraphale and Crowley have placed themselves on - they don’t have that connection to humanity not really.

For most of their existence pretty much every interaction with humans has been strictly professional and by the book. Sure Gabriel likes the clothes and his statue - and they have their song but that’s it.

They don’t have that history - that need to do the right thing by humanity not just themselves. As long as they got to be together they could care less about the rest of it.

Earth just happened to be the place they met up as it was the easiest. Not moving forward with Armageddon was not in the interests of keeping humanity around - it was in the interests of this being the place where they meet up and hey it has some vaguely interesting things about it - nothing has to change for them if they keep it around

Also they are both coming from very high positions of power on their respective sides - positions that are hard to touch. They are the ones making decisions and ordering people about. They were the ones to play judge and executioner.

No one in that bookshop at that moment was really in the position to stop them from leaving. The one being that really had that power, The Metatron, came later and really just benefited from all this.

and The Fear that is ever present throughout Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship is barely there for Gabriel and Beelzebub really.

Heaven and Hell’s relationship particularly between the higher ups is so fascinating. The “backchannels” are practically an open secret and getting the other side to do their bidding is a running trend.

What did Gabriel and Beelzebub have to fear? Any meet up they were caught at could very easily be explained away. And honestly both sides have been fumbling trying to come up with plans - they weren’t paying attention.

At no point in his trial does Gabriel look nervous - he is very nonchalant about the whole thing because it’s whatever, they had a plan in place for this. He is no longer obligated to hold his position of power and oh? they aren’t going to send him to hell? welp he’s still leaving anyway.

Him leaving was just not acknowledging the problem, the system. He didn’t benefit from it anymore as he found something better, Beelzebub. So what was the point of staying and being demoted when he could just leave?

And the biggest and most important thing about all of this is-

They weren’t the first

no no no that goes to Aziraphale and Crowley.

Making choices and picking sides - things they were not made to do

6000 years of hiding their friendship - thousands of years spent worrying about being watched, about the other being hurt - thousands of years of living among humanity somewhat doing their jobs, mainly just enjoying being there and interfering where they could.

They didn’t get the privilege of knowing the loopholes between the two establishments so they made their own

Coming up with guidelines and routines so they weren’t discovered - that were then shattered after they helped advert Armageddon and were discovered.

and when they survived execution no one knew what they were - they had gone native

Completely intertwined with history and the fate of humanity - Earth was their home

They became each other’s World

they protected each other from Death

but all those routines and structures going away is jarring - difficult to work through

they are each their own character - with their own way of processing and doing things - thrust into a space that they may have wanted but never truly thought they would get. This is all a lot

All the things that Aziraphale has had to deal with are things that have never even crossed Gabriel’s mind - the guilt, the doubt, the uncertainty

4 years is not a lot of time to work through that really - not to them (not to anyone really)

4 years where they both knew it wasn’t over for them, for humanity - that eventually there was going to be another Big Event.

Fear that has never went away for either of them.

this is not a case of “oh Aziraphale and Crowley had over six thousand years to work on their relationship and failed, yet Gabriel and Beelzebub were able to work it out in four”

this is “they both had four years - Aziraphale and Crowley just had an added six thousand years of fear and repression to dig through”

Aziraphale went back to Heaven because everything is at a higher stake for him than it has been or will ever be for Gabriel - Gabriel gets the trial and Aziraphale gets the execution

Because the thing about Aziraphale is he cares - he cares so much about the future of humanity and his own future - which is not a bad thing

If there is two things to never doubt about Aziraphale it is his love for humanity and Crowley

But there was no choice in The Metatron’s “offer”however it was an opportunity

and he has just been “offered” the same position he just seen the previous holder get to go off together with his demon partner and no punishment.

Aziraphale knows what “big plans” means for Heaven, even if he didn’t know exactly what it was - he’s been on Earth watching them play out for 6000 years.

His goal up there is not whatever these big plans are the Metatron was talking about - he is going up there to change it (and is that such a bad thing? I mean we saw how he was with Muriel)

He is making the best out of getting backed into a corner - unfortunately it resulted in both of them him getting hurt in the process

but if there is one thing to take away from their last look is that although they may be hurt there, there is understanding and trust - and love between them

Going off was what Gabriel wanted and Going back was never Aziraphale’s choice to make.

so can they really be compared as the right and wrong when the circumstances around the situations were vastly different?

————————————————————————

ok I ran out of steam towards the end there and it might be a little incoherent but have a fun little headcanon to make up for it

you cannot convince me otherwise that Gabriel and Beelzebub don’t bitch about Aziraphale and Crowley - at the very least one of their meeting was just dedicated to bitching about the two of them

#don’t take this too seriously #it is very late #and I’m back - with a rant #because the last few days have been so shitty I just want to rant about something #and this felt appropriate #good omens #good omens 2 #aziraphale #crowley #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #gabriel x beelzebub #ineffable bureaucracy #boxfly #good omens gabriel #good omens beelzebub

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nanamis-bigtie · 1 year

Text

Ocean Tides

Character: Gojo Satoru Reader: afab (ambigious body descriptions, neutral words used regarding genitalia with an exception for word "clit") CW: explicit n.sfw content, PWP, one shot, established relationship, vaginal fingering, oral sex (Reader receiving), lots of teasing, edging, orgasm control, pet names ("thing", "doll") Word Count: ~3.8k Synopsis: Your box with sex toys disappears in mysterious circumstances right as you need it. The main suspect is, of course, lingering around, ready to give you a helping hand. A/N: Well, now it's the official virginity breaking for Jujutsu Kaisen :3 Requested some time ago by my bf and personal Gojo maniac @mysticaltigersorceress whom I happily murder now with horny. Of course, y'all are welcomed to join. I'd lie, if I said all those descriptions of hands didn't have any erm effect on me. The title is loosely inspired by the song I associate with Gojo and Gojo only - Ocean Eyes by Billie Eilish. Itself, it has nothing to do with "plot", just sharing 'cause I think it's cool.

It’s the third drawer—and still nothing.

At this point you don’t have much hope. You’ve checked all possible hides, plus a few less possible extra, and your box with sex toys is still nowhere to be found. All other places either wouldn’t fit it or are too much on display for you to consider them; for the peace of mind, you even ducked under the bed—just to find a long lost sock and a few overlooked candy wrappers.

And here you’ve been waiting for this little moment of solitude all day long…

Frustrated, you throw yourself on the bed—and groan as the phone, stuffed in the back pocket of your jeans, pokes you. You snap it out, finger against the screen activates it, and your boyfriend’s infuriatingly stupid smirk flashes right in front of your face from the lock screen.

As if the last cog just clicked in and finally put the machine back on the right track. Of course, the most obvious answer and solution have been right under your nose all time long!

Satoru, have you seen my toy box?

He’s not one to catch himself into a cleaning spree—and especially not at your place—but he’s always the center of chaos. If you left the box on display when he was around, it was almost certain he would mess with it. Though, in this case you would be immediately attacked—he wouldn’t let such a discovery come to waste. Well, there’s also a chance he helped himself and stuck his nosy fingers where a normal person would never. After all, such things as privacy or social boundaries don’t exist in his dictionary.

Your phone vibrates before you can put it away.

naaah

Such a fast answer would be suspicious even if Gojo wouldn’t be one walking definition of dubious truth himself.

Are you absolutely sure?

what you dont trust me y/n (ノД`)・゜・。so mean

Despite frustration you can’t help but smile at the memory of his perfectly played kicked puppy face. He’s a bastard and a reckless clown—but an adorable one, you have to admit it. There’s a good reason for you to have such a weakness for him despite all the shit he constantly pulls on you.

Shaking your head and sighing, you start typing your answer—just to be interrupted halfway.

need help looking?

You throw the phone away and groan into your hands, pressed tight to your face.

“You’re right behind the door, right? You ass.” The walls of your apartment aren’t thick, he can easily hear you all the way from the bedroom. “It’s open.”

Gojo slides in almost soundlessly, announced only by the click of lock as he closes the door behind himself. Soon, he’s marching into your bedroom, not even bothering to take shoes and jacket off. Mischievous gleam of bright blue eyes blinks at you over sunglasses; he leans against the doorframe, casual, unbothered, so obviously lying it hurts to watch.

“So. Where is it.”

“Where is what?” He springs straight, puts hands behind his back and wobbles back and forth, like a student asked an uncomfortable question. “I don’t know anything about boxes.”

“Don’t play coy, I know you did something with it. Did you take it?”

“Nope!” You want to tear his throat open just for the way he prolongs the vowels as he speaks. “Why would I take your toys? I don’t even know what you are talking about.”

“You always know everything you shouldn’t know.”

“Touché.” He clicks tongue and leans forward, frozen mid-step, like a cat ready to pounce at its prey. His eyes meet yours directly for a split moment again, and it’s enough for the build-up tension in you to pick its head up and roar. How are you supposed to play the tough cop in this routine banter, if he only adds to the fire that’s been itching you all day long?

You clear your throat and try to subtly press yourself against the mattress, to ease the traitorous itch between your legs at least a little without dragging his attention to it.

What have you been hoping for? Of course, Gojo would never miss something of this sort…

“All this fuss because you couldn’t rub it out?” He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. You would gladly strangle him on point. “Fingers too short? Can’t reach? Babe, and you made me wait? I could—”

“You’re such a jerk.” You throw a pillow at him. He doesn’t even bother to catch or dodge, it stops an inch away from him and falls by his feet, sliding down the invisible shield of his cursed technique.

“You want it or not?” He takes his jacket off and throws it on the bureau. Tight, black t-shirt, fitting snugly his impressive musculature, doesn’t leave much to your imagination. “I’m busy, you know, and we’re sooo understaffed… I can’t waste my time.”

And that’s why you’ve been following me from work and waited all this time by the door? You asshat…

You roll your eyes and fall flat on your back, “Fine, if you’re already here. But wash your hands.”

“Your wish is my order.”

At the back of your head, you feel you’ve just been pulled into a multi-layered prank, but you still kick your pants and underwear off…maybe a tad too fast for your pride’s liking. Feeling the cool air against your dripping slit drives you mad and even more impatient, the sensation of emptiness only more present and pinpointed when you’re lying alone, stripped and waiting. Gojo, of course, takes his time, turning a simple task into a damned show, washing his hands profoundly at least three times (as you judge from the flushing sounds) before eventually wiping the hands dry and marching back. The need to strangle him—with your thighs, for extra flavor—just grows stronger with each passing second.

He stops in the doorframe again, cleaning his illegally long fingers with hand sanitizer and a tissue, each individually, a few times, with an extra attention paid to the nails. His hands are enormous, even for someone of his height and posture: a fact that has always been grasping your attention, pushing your thoughts straight into the darkest circles of lustful hell. You know well what he is capable of with their help, how deep and wide he can stretch you with only two fingers. Your insides twitch just at the thought, shallow breath almost whistles between your grit teeth, and a wave of heat crashes against your skin. It feels as if you were burning and blushing like a girl from shoujo manga—and regardless of what your face really looks you have an itching need to hide behind hands or pillows.

You win against the urge—but your legs aren’t as obedient. They close as soon as Gojo approaches, the echo of clapping thighs has his eyebrow cock in surprise.

“What, changed mind?” He takes glasses off and threads fingers through hair. So close, from the angle you took lying flat on your back, he seems even taller: blue-eyed giant towering over a lamb he chose for a snack.

Even if curling inside, inch by inch giving the reins away to the horny beast ready to bat eyes at him for a crumble of attention, you decide to still play tough. Your legs snap open, confident and welcoming, wobbling at knees only a little bit. You hope he hasn’t paid attention to that.

Abnormally blue eyes skim down your middle. Gojo stretches wrists, then cracks knuckles, one last time doing a show out of his hands. He beckons you closer, the movement of his finger almost hypnotizing, then points at the edge of bed. You expected him to climb on top, but you can’t complain when already rushing to follow the order. At the back of your head, you’re scolding yourself for being so obedient and nice for an asshole who surely pulled all of this circus to trap you for whatever reason his messy mind created. In fact, you’re just enthusiastically lifting hips for him to pile the pillows until he’s satisfied with the level and drops to his knees with a pleased, breathy sigh.

Even when kneeling for you, Gojo seems to tower over your body and soul. He slots himself between your legs, not without a stretch to fit his broad shoulders flush, hands rest on your hips and pull you closer, almost dragging you off the pile of pillows he picked himself. Your mind is already freezing at the feel incomparable to any other hold—but, of course, he can’t stay still. Huge, warm palms, long fingers, skin so smooth you can compare it only with velvet, trail down torturously slow. Your thighs seem to draw between them, their size underlined so well against your flesh. Instinct nudges you to shut your knees together—at the slightest budge though soft hands turn into iron and hold you almost forcefully where he wants you, where you belong.

He’s kneeling for you—but you’re the one left on his mercy. Little, fragile bird closed in the cage of his hands.

“So wet already?” The irritating, singing tone of his taunt ruins the spell. “Phew, it’s all spilling! What would you do, if I weren’t around?”

“I have—” The phantom of the missing toy box cuts you short, the break between words, however short, makes his smirk grow wider. “—fingers, too”

“Too short.” Gojo just states the fact. Compared to his, of course all fingers would be short. When he’s holding your hand, the difference is almost as sharp as between an adult and a child.

And to underline his advantage even more, Gojo reaches between your legs: confident, determined, cheeky. With a thumb, as long as a middle finger on many, he brushes your wet slit: a touch simple yet sparking your nerves so hard you jerk up and wiggle, craving more and overstimulated at the same time. Of course, he went right for the most sensitive lines and edges, your body like an open book against the all-seeing power of his eyes.

“Hey, hey, where are you going?” The other hand clenches harder and pulls you down, back to the place he chose. “You want to cum or not? Make up your mind.”

“Then start your work already?" You hiss through clenched teeth, now determined to fight against the odds, even if it wouldn’t last longer than a couple of seconds. You know he’d turn you into jello in five seconds if only he wanted to, but you have your pride—and your pride calls for standing your ground at all costs.

Gojo’s face is hard to read now, frozen right on the thin line between no thought and intense focus, his brows slightly furrowed—but not enough to ruin the smooth perfection. It doesn’t last longer than a few seconds, a cheeky grin soon returns…and from one meeting of your eyes you know you’ve just stepped into a serious problem. “So chirpy and pecky today. Alright. Here we go.”

He touches you exactly the same way, except…not really. Your hips budge again and a needy purr presses to your lips, but there is something not right. You know Gojo, you know his hands and his ways. The last crumble of the sane mind desperately tries to pull your attention to it before it’s too late—but another lazy swipe of his thumb swallows it like a black hole swallows light.

Well aware of the death penalty, you walk into the delicious trap with a smile and enthusiasm.

“Let’s see.” Gojo hums and brushes your clit one last time. He starts sliding a single finger into you, until at the third of its length he’s sure you don’t need much of a warmup. A withdrawal, then attack continues with two fingers, slipping smoothly and fast. Breath stills in your throat, you sigh, then moan feeling him reaching the depths many can’t achieve with a dick. He stills at your reaction, a quick, blue glance swipes across your face in a way so easily to be taken as a concern, especially in the state you’re currently drowning in: of a sheer, blind trust and eagerness to take anything he gives you without a shadow of doubt. A few seconds pass, enough to stir you on, not enough to let your brain cool down, and he starts stretching you a little, testing your capabilities with a patience of saint: withdrawing as he feels a resistance, attacking almost immediately after anew, and back.

Right as he has you ready for the third finger, Gojo pulls out, leaving you heated up, right on the verge of entering the state of blank pleasure and need for more.

“You really hadn’t been playing with yourself before I came here?” He looks at the thick strings of your arousal gluing his fingers and sliding down his knuckles. “You’re like butter today.”

A protest—at his disbelief and the comparison—dies on your lips at the sight of Gojo’s tongue swiping fast between his digits. He licks himself clean, then stuffs fingers into his mouth and sucks, enjoying your taste throughout. It’s a shameless demonstration, a jab right into the memory of his oral skills and a silent question. You would like it, wouldn’t you? So bad you will need to ask for it—no guarantee he will listen, though…

“Snack break over!” He announces with a toothy grin, prolonging the vowels like an overexcited child. Licking lips one last time, he returns to his task, two fingers in, dangerously close to the point you know—

“Fuck!” You choke on breath, turning into a tense string of pleasure. From lazy simmering you’re yanked towards the high with nothing but a lazy brush of fingertips—and then back when he returns to prior depth and pace, interested in nothing but patient stretching.

“Mmm? Ohhh? What is it?” He coos, all-seeing blue gazing right between your legs with intensity capable of piercing you like his fingers. “Felt that good? With only two fingers? Ohh, someone is sooo needy—”

The need to bark back at him—or strangle him, if he’s already within reach of your thighs—perks its head again, the more, the slower his fingers become, almost smothering the little flame under your lust. But as you try to move your hips against him, the other hand grabs and pins, and his eyes flick up, wide open, equally beautiful and terrifying,

He’s in charge here. You lie down and wait.

“You want me to work and then do everything on your own,” he even scolds you, with the same tone he uses against his students when he actually bothers to pass as serious. “I won’t find anything, if you keep wiggling around.”

His fingers curl with surgical precision, circle around the spot but not really touch it. The heat starts bubbling again, and you bite on your lips, fighting against it and trying to stay still as much as possible, from your twitching hole to heaving chest.

“That’s it! That’s a good little thing!” Gojo’s face is simply beaming with a smile—but of course he doesn’t make your task easy. His fingers inch closer and closer, right on the edge, brushing and teasing, but never daring to cross the border. Tears start pricking in your eyes, the forced stillness and insatiable urge to act up and steal that last crumble you need for the spark of pleasure. You’re tortured with praise, humiliated with words sweet like honey—and despite everything craving to remain in this state. Everything for him to finally push that damned button.

“Satoru…” You whine, the last resolve perking up and crumbling into dust soon after. There goes your pride, at this point you’re ready to throw yourself at everything he offers. Truly a slave of sheer biology, of the itch that’s been with you since morning, through all those long hours of work, then desperate search of the only remedy you had before he’s appeared.

You haven’t stayed still, you haven’t listened, of course his fingers start to withdraw, the peak drifts out, behind the clouds, so close yet so far… Ready to mewl again, you bite your lips until you feel pain and the urge withdraws. The only sound you’ll allow is begging, until his fingers return and—

Gojo presses the button.

A push is sudden and brutal, you’re flying towards the peak, landing face-down right before it, tumbling towards the longed-for finish along the steep ridge. Just a little more, just one second longer, just harder, just—

“Hmm, I wonder if I will fit three…” Out of nowhere Gojo pulls out of you, the peak not only yanked from underneath your feet but also thrown beyond your sight. Groaning and swearing, eyes full of frustrated tears, you dig both heels into his back…or at least attempt to, a merciless barrier pushing you away the more the harder you try.

“You. Asshole.” You spit through gritted teeth. “I don’t need three, I need to cum!”

“Told ya you won’t cum if you’re gonna squirm.” Gojo pouts, much like a child scolded for innocence. “I really can’t take a good aim. Hm. Maybe we need to change angle a little—”

He throws your hips up as if they were nothing, folds your legs to his liking until you’re nice and bent, thighs supported against his shoulders. One bastard grin later Gojo indeed fits three fingers at once, the stretch prominent even for your arousal and experience with him. He could make it easy, but he decides to be an ass for no reason, maybe except for the strain and masochist pleasure all over your face. Lewd, squelching sounds follow your mewls and chirps, with the weird position he’s forced on you your juices trickle down your ass and back almost like a stream. Maybe he made you squirt, you’re not sure anymore what’s going on, thrown around and torn between burning edge and infuriating denial. Your world keeps narrowing to his fingers filling your hole suit, so deep he nears your limit and so precisely he’s teasing everything but that one spot.

“C’mon, you said you want to cum.” Gojo presses your legs down even more, the pressure inside you barely bearable. Piercing blue gaze is too strong for you to handle, you close your eyes so hard your face freezes in a ridiculous, scrunched expression. “Hey, no giving up on it. You can do it, Y/N!”

Shut up. Shut up. I beg you, shut up and just let me come—

“Satoru…” The last mewl nears crying, your breath stutters and melts into a dry sob. You’re half an inch away from breaking and bursting into tears. You can handle only as much, your legs tremble around his head, exhausted and strained, your helpless hole clenches on him with a silent pleading. Just that one push…

“Shh, I know. I’m sorry. I got you.” Cruel fingers slow down and withdraw. Gojo adjusts his position; lets go of your legs but lifts your hips even higher. Something hot and lighter than breeze brushes your wet, tortured folds, a rustle of a deep breath comes to your ears in a break between your sounds of pleasure and frustration.

Through tears nearly blocking your vision you risk a peak, right at the perfect moment to meet his eyes. Smiling—not cheeky but peaceful and admiring—Gojo looks down at you with warm love. The tip of his tongue swipes teasingly between his lips—before plunging itself deep in you, swirling and dancing until it finally finds the string you crave to be pulled.

Sharp orgasm throws your head back into the mattress and arches your body. Almost screaming, you spasm and shake, your heels finally finding leverage against his back and digging bruises as you ride your high against his lips. He slurps and sucks, his face pressed deep, nose grazing your clit until the second wave crashes against you, the second high even more steep and powerful.

Strong hands don’t let you fall. Groaning low in his own pleasure, Gojo drinks from you until you stop creaming and gushing, the moves of his tongue slowing down together with you, careful to not graze your oversensitive nerves too much. The next time you dare to look at him you immediately shut your eyes tight. The sight of his beautiful face, all wet with your juices and flushed with arousal, is simply too much for your ever-spent body and mind.

Your legs fall limp when Gojo lets go of them. There’s no power left in your limbs, he has to gently scoop and move you to the side before slotting himself by your side, head resting on hand, the other hand gently wiping sweat off your forehead. You take your time to come down and ease your breath, each drag of air almost painful with your rib muscles so strained. Your groin burns with satisfied fire, you’re still twitching over emptiness—it’ll take a good while for the double orgasm to finally ease.

When you finally gather the power to roll head to side and open your eyes, you meet the barrier of sunglasses. You have no idea when Gojo put them back on, but you’re grateful. If you gazed into that terrifying blue, you surely would roll back into the heat.

“The box is under the bathroom cabinet, by the way.” He throws out of nowhere and yawns.

“What? How—”

“I don’t know, maybe we kicked it when I was having you against it?” He rolls on back and stretches arms and back with a loud groan. “I think you were washing the toys when— Ough! What for?!”

You have enough power to slap him through the head three times, each too weak to hurt even a fly.

“I fucking hate you…” You sigh when he grabs it and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“You were saying something quite different when I had tongue down your— Whoa, whoa, alright! Sorry!”

He grabs your wrist and rests your hand on your chest before leaning in for a kiss. His lips are full of your taste—but still, a faint flavor of sugar breaks through. You can’t help chuckling. Just how much of it he had to stuff in himself before he came here…

“Sleep.” He guides you to rest your head on his chest. You nuzzle close, happy, and smiling at the light, barely visible hair covering it. “You're gonna need lots of energy for round two.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t you think we’re finished.” For a split second, right before fatigue wins and closes your eyes for good, the blue slips past sunglasses, cold and hungry, dangerous. “Silly doll…”

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