❝ 𝒫ull 𝒪ut 𝒢ame ! ❞ ― Pjo/hoo Boys !

❝ 𝒫ull 𝒪ut 𝒢ame ! ❞ ― pjo/hoo boys !

— 💬 a/n: It's 3:12 a.m., I haven't slept and I have thoughts. Like ACTUAL thoughts. DELULU thoughts.

— 𝒫ercy 𝒥ackson ;; his pull out game is so-so but it's not really a game to him. it's a tragedy. he can pull out, he really can—but the second you clench around him and moan his name all breathy and wrecked? gone. he’s staying inside and apologizing for it while still twitching. “fuck, sorry, you just felt too good.” no self-control. man is one tight hug away from giving you triplets.

rating: 4/10

— 𝒥ason 𝒢race ;; textbook perfect. clinically correct. he’s the honor student of nut control. always pulls out with time to spare, wipes you down with a warm towel, kisses your forehead, and asks how you’re feeling. BUT—if you beg him not to? if you whimper a little and say “please”? he folds like a lawn chair.

rating: 9/10 when in control, 2/10 if you say “inside” in a pretty voice

— ℒeo 𝒱aldez ;; boy has ZERO pull out game. he doesn’t even pretend to try. he’ll be balls deep and babbling about how tight and warm you are, then let out a choked moan and cum inside you without warning. immediately follows up with a “fuckfuckfuck I was supposed to pull out” and then blames you for “being too sexy.”

rating: -3/10. negative.

— ℱrank 𝒵hang ;; he pulls out with sweet, apologetic gentleness. murmurs “almost there” and actually means it. doesn’t even thrust through the orgasm—he shudders and then paints your stomach like a gentleman. but the moment you say “it’s okay, baby, I’m on the pill”? oh. he’s finishing inside with a shaky moan and saying “you’re sure? really sure?” as he fills you up.

rating: 8/10 unless you give him permission—then all bets are off

— ℒuke 𝒞astellan ;; can pull out. just doesn’t. he’ll be like “what’s the point?” while holding your hips down and staying in deep, whispering “take it. you can take it.” he moans like it’s a religious experience and you’re lucky if you get a warning before he fills you up and says “mine.”

rating: 1/10. he’s breeding on purpose

Stormy's asks games ! :: I think we can safely say that a new section of "Stormy's asks games" is opening. Basically, You can send me "Games" either nsfw or sfw to the inbox and we can be delulu together 👭

example: this post

Reqs closed, asks games always open.

+ I saw it on Twitter and had to make it a pjo version, I lost the post, but credits for that one <3

castaways | elliot

pairings — elliot/reader | vampire!au |

summary : In an alternate universe, the world is separated into two. Vampires and humans. The Vacuo is the town of the blood suckers, but what happens when a fragile mortal takes the wrong turn on a road trip and stumbles upon the border of the god forsaken land?

warnings : humor, fluff, angst, smut, drinking blood, overstimulation, clit play, biting, choking, sweet sex, oral sex (f) receiving, the L word, not proof read

word count : 9.4K

authors note : i know this is a bit out there, but i had the idea and needed to go with it. i’m very proud of the outcome of this fic and hope you all like it—so here it is !!

song based off this : castaways by 5 seconds of summer

elliot masterlist navigation

Muttering a curse, your steering wheel jerked as the pebbles beneath your wheels cracked in your ears. Your boss had demanded that you return back to the office to finish up your thesis on your latest article about the vamps that set fire to the orphanage in Brookhurst lane. It had happened a few weeks ago, the news setting tears in your eyes at how devastating it was. Three children had perished, at the hands of the “filthy bloodsuckers”— quoted by many people, including your boss.

You had to admit, the news was hard to hear. You hadn’t expected those things to do something so ghastly, so horrible. But then again, they killed innocent humans and drank their blood, so you couldn’t say you were surprised. But still—you had minor hope for them, well, that was until this morning when that event occurred.

The night was extra dark tonight, clouds nowhere to be seen, but no stars being evident on the black canvas. Your glasses fell to the tip of your nose as you sighed, eyes burning with slight weariness, wanting to get this stupid paper done so you could return to your apartment and sleep for the next few days. A yawn had torn from your lips as you made a sharp turn, spotting a dirt road up ahead. Your eyes thinned as an idea popped into your head; listening to your thoughts before delving down that direction.

It looked like a quicker way to get to your destination. Perhaps if you cut through the woods you could get cut some time.

Another sigh leaving you, your eyes slightly watered for a moment. Your vision blurred as you smacked your lips, eyes rounding when a certain black shadow appeared in front of the headlights of your car. Woods surrounding you, it shocked you that someone or something was out this late at night, a gasp tearing through you as your foot stomped on the break. Neck flinging forward, your forehead smashed against the steering wheel, warm liquid trickling down the flesh of your temple as you groaned, “Oh, fuck.”

Adrenaline pumped in your veins. A full ache pounded in your skull, fingers reaching up to press on the wound with squinting eyes. Letting out a hiss, you felt a minor cut, blood coating the pads of your fingertips. Curling your upper lip in irritation, your eyes flew behind the wheel, looking for whatever had made you stop so abruptly. But then you frowned, nothing being there.

“What the fuck?” You snapped aloud in a harsh whisper, opening your car door.

The beeping alarm rang in your ears, your car system telling you that your door was open. Ignoring the sound, your feet padded onto the dirt road, cold breeze fanning your features. Goosebumps littered across your skin, even though you had on a sweater plus a raincoat, mind still a bit fuzzy from banging your head onto the wheel, “Hello?”

Your voice echoed, but there wasn’t anyone who returned it. Your brows knitted together as you heard rustling in the bushes, but figured it could’ve been you being paranoid—until you heard twigs snap. Eyes rounding in fear, you snapped your head towards the location of the sound, but spotted nothing suspicious. Your lips opened to call out again, but this time, you felt someone attack you from behind.

Being kicked to the ground, your palms scraped against the sandy textured floor as scream left you. Flipping to your back, eyes widening in horror, you saw three tall men dressed in all black. You knew who they were. Skin pale and translucent; blue veins protruding from their limbs that weren’t covered by dark clothing. Eyes fierce and animalistic, pupils blending into a dark red shade that pierced through your soul. Hostility swirled in them, amongst with hanger, showing off their fangs as they hissed downwards at your trembling figure.

The middle one took a step closer, thin lips quirking into an evil smirk. His voice was almost like a dream, authentic and versatile, “Look what we have here. A mortal in our town,” he spoke slowly, making you gulp. You didn’t understand. He licked his lips as he tilted his bald head at your horrified state, “You know the laws, sweetheart. Killing on our turf isn’t against the law. So, scream as much as you want, it excites us.”

You shielded your face as he lunged at you, “Wait—please—!”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you curled into a ball as you awaited for his teeth to snatch your lungs through your chest. Hyperventilating, your body trembled, but it never came. Peeling your eyes open, you heard another snarl, accompanied by a bunch of other ones, making shock rock through you. Blinking quickly, a blur of white shadows began to fight against the three vampires, groans and cries falling from the latter as you sat up onto your bottom. Bottom lip shaking, you scooted back, thinning your eyes to catch the movement before you.

But they were already gone. The bad ones, at least. Finally, after a few seconds, a group emerged from the woods—the ones that fought off the killer vamps that were going to feast on you for dinner. Still panting, you gulped as you studied their features.

There had been three of them.

A woman had caught your attention, seeming middle aged, her skin as light as the moon shining above you. Her features were doll like and sharp, eyes deep and dark, sinking into her flesh like honey. Pupils a bright hazel, her fangs were tucked over her lips, which were pink and airy. Hair black and straight, a white long sleeve rolled down her thin arms, black slacks completing the outfit. She looked..normal.

Beside her, was who you believed to be her partner, his hair an icy white that appeared platinum. His eyes matched the strands on his head, a bright yellow, his flesh as fair as the beautiful woman standing next to him. A white button up was folded into half sleeves on his muscular arms, also wearing black slacks, his hair gelled back into perfection. Your breath was taken away by his beauty, and the gentleness swirling in his hues.

Lastly, there was a girl. She was considerably smaller than the other two—and you wondered if she was their child. She looked about fifteen or so, eyes a bright hazel, which startled you to be honest. They were striking and intimidating. A dark maroon dress tugged at her narrow waist, a black coat falling off her nimble shoulders, long blonde hair cascading into waves down towards her back. Her eyes were round, like the woman, and it appeared she inherited it from her. They were naturally glossy, but she staid in her place, staring at you as the man approached you.

Flinching, you scooted back some more as he held his hand out, raising his brows, “Are you hurt?”

After a few moments of silence, you shook your head, swallowing thickly. He nodded before his lips grew into a gentle smile, urging you to accept his hand.

“We won’t hurt you,” he admitted, his tone sincere, “We don’t kill humans. In fact—we prefer having them as pets.”

You weren’t sure if he was joking or not, but when his smile grew, you found out he was. Biting your lower lip, you took a chance, and slid your smaller hand into his large one. It was cold, like really cold. It felt like ice against your skin, and your body jerked as he pulled you onto your feet. Furrowing your brows, you pulled your hand back to your side, “I thought vampires were forbidden to leave Vacuo.”

The woman chuckled from the distance between you two, “You are in Vacuo, darling.”

“How? I thought—“

“It’s the border,” the man explained, gesturing to the woods on the right, “You’re barely here, but yes, you’re here. It’s unsafe as of now to return you back to your world, so you must spend the night with us. At least until we figure out where you came from.”

You stared at them in reluctance, “Why should I trust you?”

Offering his hand, he ignored your question, eyes fiery.

“I’m Belen, and this is my family. I assure you that now you’ve obtained this much information about us, it’s safe to say we won’t put any harm in your way. That, and we saved your life just now,” his eyes twinkled, a bit of humor splashed into his tone. Your jaw tightened as he nodded his head at your silence, “It’s your choice. Take a risk and come with us, or spend the night alone in these woods. Up to you.”

Glancing over at your car, you knew that there was no way you’d survive alone in Vacuo. No human every crosses the boundaries of the human world into the vampire realm; and it was bizarre that you did it in accident. Only a fucking idiot like you would do that. You succumbed to the man, nodding slightly, brushing your hair away from your face.

“Alright. I’ll go with you.”

Letting out a wince, you watched with careful eyes as the woman placed a bandaid on your wound. The fire crackled in the background as rain slightly trickled onto the rooftop, hearing her softly laugh. Your fingers dug into the fabric of your jeans as you shifted in your seat, watching her thick lashes flutter as she pulls away from you, “The blood doesn’t bother you?”

She shook her head, sending you a soft smile, before turning around and walking over to one of the wooden doors. Their home was welcoming, making you surprised that it wasn’t all grimey and dark. You expected them to sleep in coffins, like the movies, bats littered across the ceiling as spiders and other bugs infested the caves. But no—this was a cottage. The fire made the inside illuminate into a faint yellow, scent of burning wood wagging up your nose, soothing your nerves.

A brown couch was in the living room, which is where you sat, sinking into the cushions. A few family pictures hung on the walls, above the fireplace as well, and you noticed one picture that had caught your eye. It was the three of them, yes, but a boy was also in it—unlike the other pictures in the frames. His eyes were dark and empty, a tight smile on his plump lips, as the man, Belen, pulled him into a side hug.

“My parents had me grow up on cows’ blood,” she explained, snapping you out of your daze. Taking a seat beside you, she handed you a cup of tea that she heated over the fireplace, “—and my children do the same. It helps us keep in tune with our humane side, I suppose.”

You wondered if they poisoned the tea, but shrugged it off. If they planned to kill you—you were already dead anyways.

Sipping on the warm liquid, it felt amazing as it eased the hoarseness in your dry throat. Your eyes flickered over to you, “I uh, love green tea actually.”

“It’s my favorite,” she replied, drinking from her own.

The atmosphere was cozy. You spotted the younger girl peer over her shoulder at you, from the top of the stairs, before vanishing into her room you assumed. The woman laughed beside you, and you actually returned it this time, much to your surprise, “She’s never met a human before—she’s a bit shy.”

You nodded, “It’s fine. I understand,” you waved it off, raising a brow, “What’s your name?”

“Alana, it’s a family name. My mother was named that as well..and you, dear?”

“Y/N,” you smiled for the first time since you had been there.

Her smile grew, “What a beautiful name. My daughter is named Scarlett, and my son is Elliot,” she added on, “He’s hunting right now. Probably won’t be home at all tonight—you know how teenagers are.”

You laughed again at her words, even though you were only eighteen years old. A yawn left you, making her stand up onto her feet, patting the fur blanket that was laid out onto the couch for you, “Get some sleep. I’ll wake you in the morning,” she told you kindly, before approaching the stairs, “Sweet dreams.”

“Thank you,” you told her, and she hummed before going up the steps.

You looked around with your eyes, hoping they didn’t kill you in your sleep. Sinking into the couch, you pulled the warm blanket over you, feeling it melt onto your figure as you sighed happily. It felt like a cloud. Flipping to your side, you tucked your hand beneath your chin, and felt your eyes flutter close, sleep instantly taking over. You must’ve been really exhausted.

Feeling something poke your cheekbone, a small groan left your lips. In a groggy state, your eyes peeled open, brows snapping together at whatever disturbed your sleep. But when they met with a pair of wide ones, staring down at you, feeling whatever the hell the thing was leaning over your figure, a scream scratched your throat.

And then, well, he screamed too.

Jolting into an upright position, knocking the boy onto the ground, he scrambled to his feet before pointing a finger at you, “Mom—why is there a mortal in our house?” He shouted, his chest rising up and down quickly as he caught his breath, narrowing his eyes at your features before plugging his nose, “—and why do they smell like mud and horse shit?”

You let out a gasp at his insulting words, hearing footsteps rumble down the stairs, sending a glare to the red-haired boy that had fallen onto the ground. His hair appeared to be a darkish red, shaven down into a buzz cut, and when he his head turned to the side—you spotted a black widow imprinted into the back of it. Wearing a blazer that was three sizes to big for him, black ripped skinny jeans tightened around his long legs, your chest turned warm at how handsome he actually was.

His eyes were a dark red color, cheekbones beautifully sculpted onto his admirable face. When he towered over you, you realized he was actually very tall, probably reaching around six foot. You didn’t know if he had eyeliner smeared under his eyes, or if they were naturally that dark—but you figured it was the latter, since vampires usually had a more gloomier sense of features. His eyes glued onto yours as you swallowed thickly.

You heard laughter, and glanced to the top of the stairs and spotted the younger girl, Scarlett, you think was her name, giggling with a hand over her mouth. Her blonde hair covered half her face, as it shook due to her movements.

“Elliot, you scared the human!” Alana scolded, who you figured was his mother, who came from behind you.

Elliot.

You remembered her mentioning her son, who had that name, so you put the pieces together and concluded that he was her son. Which was odd, because he didn’t look much like them, his skin considerably more tan compared to their pale complexion. You staid silent as his eyes narrowed into slits down towards you, his gaze sticking to yours, even though his words were directed to his mother, “Where’s father?”

“Trading,” she answered in her soft voice, placing a hand on his shoulder. His eyes still didn’t leave yours,

“She was lost—and we made a promise to not hurt her. Apologize for your outbursts, Elliot.”

His jaw tightened, this time, a more soft look covering his features.

“I’m—sorry.”

This time, he appeared to be more considerate, offering you even a small smile. You didn’t really return it though, still frightened by how he woke you up, hand still on your chest as you tried to regulate your breathing. But nonetheless, you didn’t want to be rude; since they did take you in and have kept up with their promise of keeping you safe. In a small voice, you nodded, “It’s okay.”

He licked his lips before his mother ran a hand over his hair, smiling pleasantly between you two, “Now, let’s let her sleep. You know humans and their sleep,” she joked, and you briefly hummed before looking back at him. He gave you a once-over, something glinting in his eyes, before placing his hand on his mother’s back and following her up the steps.

When you had woken back up, you pulled your phone from your back pocket, checking to see if there had been any battery.

Nope. Of course.

You didn’t understand how you could’ve wondered across the border. There wasn’t any signs that warned you, and it made you wonder, how often did this happen? How many unlucky humans weren’t saved by this family and died at the hands of the real cold blooded killers? The thought had sent icy chills down you spine, biting on your lower lip, as you tucked your phone back into your pocket.

Throwing the fur blanket away from you, your white sneakers, which were now a murky brown, padded against the brown carpet of the cottage as you explored.

There were pots and pans spread out across the table, a metal bucket hung over the fireplace to most likely boil water or liquid in general. Everything was made of either wood or natural supplies, the floor creaking beneath you as you began to organize everything on the surface. Putting the pots and pans on one side in a neat manner, you then pushed all the chairs back beneath the table, and wiped the checkered tablecloth off with a cloth that was slung over the fireplace.

Finding a bowl of fruits, which was odd since you didn’t think vampires ate anything, you took a bite of the glossy apple that shined. Your stomach rumbled with hunger as your teeth sunk it it, but then let out a hacking cough, realizing it was plastic. You heard a chuckle rumble from behind you, “It’s for decoration—vampires don’t eat food.”

Spinning around, your cheeks heated up as you spotted the boy from earlier, Elliot. Placing the apple back onto the bowl, with new teeth marks indented into it, you pressed your lips together stubbornly.

“I’m now aware of that, thank you very much.”

He chuckled again, and stepped into the light. Candles illuminating his sharp features, you noticed he had an apple tattooed onto his cheekbone, a different language on his right temple—appearing in a sort of asian language. An x was imprinted on burn his eyelids, and when he craned his neck, you spotted a small bird being printed in black onto the left of his throat, “Are you hungry?”

You blinked at him, causing him to sigh.

“My mom would kill me if I didn’t feed you, so, c’mon.”

He didn’t give you a chance to speak, grabbing your wrist and leading you out the house. It was still night time, leading you to be confused, “I thought it would be morning by now.”

Leaves crunched beneath you as he guided you onto a dirt path, long trees shadowing over you, as his shoulder rubbed yours, “You don’t know anything about Vacuo, so you?” He looked over at you with a slight smirk, earning a shake of your head as a reply. You heard a stream in the far distance, birds chirping, as he extended his arm and brushed his fingers amongst the trunks of the trees, “It’s always night here. We perish in the sunlight, yada yada yada, it’s a dome that the human government built for us. All this—is projection.”

Your brows furrowed, “So…the stars aren’t real?”

He shook his head, kicking at a pebble.

“Nope, the sky is fake,” his eyes sparkled, “Crazy shit, right?”

A wave of pity washed over you.

“So..you’ve never seen the real sky?”

He shrugged, tone smooth, “Nah—but it doesn’t matter. Guess that’s the con of being a good for nothing blood sucker,” he showed his teeth, fangs being barred, sending you a wink as his voice was humorous. He snatched a leaf off the branch before picking off the green material, “Now, don’t get me wrong when I say this, but how the fuck do you just end up on the wrong side of the world?”

You laughed softly, running hand through your hair, “I was supposed to be going to work—but I saw something in the road, and then ended up here.”

“What’s your work?”

“Journalist,” you replied, “I like to write.”

“A journalist?” He mused, smirking over at you. Your stomach filled with butterflies at the look he sent your way,

“I don’t like journalists. All they leak is gossip, and are part of the reason we have such a bad reputation.”

You flipped your hair, sending him your own smirk, “Well—you do feed on human blood, so it’s kinda already a bad start.”

“Hey,” he sent you a pointed look, “I don’t. My mom makes me drink cows’ blood—which tastes like shit by the way. Don’t recommend it.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

Elliot snickered before approaching a tree, before beginning to climb it. Your eyes rounded, “What are you doing?”

“Getting your food,” he responded in a duh tone, before expertly getting to the top of it. You watched with a look of awe as a nest of bananas has grown beneath one of the leaves, him snatching it before falling back down onto his feet, with perfect stance. You stared at him in shock as he handed you it, “Hope you like bananas, human.”

You scoffed, looking down at his hand, “That had to be at least fifty feet.”

He smiled cheekily, “I’m a vampire,” he pushed the fruit into your chest,

“I can do anything I want. Now, eat that gross shit so I can show you something else.”

Finishing off your second banana, you tossed the peel behind you, pausing in your steps as you swallowed the remnants. Your eyes widened when Elliot crouched at the edge of the lake, taking a handful of water, and sipping from it.

It was breathtaking. It shimmered beneath the moonlight, or whatever that thing in the sky was, small trickling sounds filling your ears as it poured over a few rocks. It was surrounded by green grass, rippling in non-existent waves, and was as clear as glass. You could see the bottom, which has pretty shallow, probably about four feet or so. It was pretty big actually, taking up a large portion of the area, large boulders crowding one part of the section. Elliot hopped onto one of them, and patted the one beside him, “Come here. Promise I won’t push you in.”

You rolled your eyes, but did what he said, his hand on your back as you climbed onto it. You couldn’t lie, your stomach twirled at his gesture, biting back a smile before huggjng your knees after getting situated and looking over at him. He was looking out at the water, neck stretched out, “It’s pretty here.”

He picked up a rock from the side, tossing it into the water, “Yeah, I know. That’s why I brought you here.”

You chuckled, “You have a serious attitude problem.”

He snapped his head over to you, his smile turning into a more seductive, coy one; tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Yeah? What you gonna do about it, human?”

Oh yeah. He was definitely flirting with you.

You took the challenge, sticking your nose in the air, “I think I should teach you a lesson.”

He leaned closer to you, so close that his breath fanned your lips, never breaking eye contact from you. His eyes hooded as one of his fingers dipped under your chin, his tone raspy and suggestive, “A silly little human like you? Teaching me a lesson? Hm, I doubt so.”

Your eyes flickered down to his lips, then back up to his eyes, before breaking the space between you. Your lips molded against his, his hand instantly flying to your neck, squeezing it tightly as he took back his control. You moaned against him, hips lifting to get more of yourself onto him, hands flying to his cheeks as your mind swirled with hormones and lust.

In a blur, you were pinned to the ground, the moist mud pairing across your lower back when your sweater rose up. It was his vampire speed. It made you dizzy, with how quickly you had changed positions in a millisecond, but he didn’t give you time to comprehend the sudden shift as h his teeth sunk into your bottom lip, a cry falling from your lips, before he gently sucked the blood from you.

“Fuck,” he growled, grinding his hips into yours, “So fucking sweet.”

He pulled away, a bit of the red substance staining his lips, looking down at you with darker eyes. The redness in his pupils expanded, “You want me to fuck you, human?

It was like you were under his spell. Your core heated up as you nodded, making him smirk, before dipping down to your neck. You didn’t know how he was so controlled over the taste of you blood—if he hadn’t ever had human blood before. Wasn’t it like, addicting?

But then you were dragged out of your thoughts when he pulled your clothes off, starting with your sweater, and in a flur, your top was pulled down to your waist, jeans being discarded beside you. His jacket was still on his shoulders, but unbuttoned, abs glistening as a line of hair dipped beneath his jeans. He unzipped them, before doing the same with his boxers, before bending down and capturing one of your hardened nipples into his mouth.

Your back arched as he twirled his tongue around one of the buds, while pinching the other, making your breath hitch, “Oh, Elliot.”

He chuckled against you, before leaning upwards, tapping the head of his thick cock against your puffy clit. It was red and swollen, “Wanna eat this pussy, but there’s no time,” he panted, shocks of pleasure traveling up your cunt as he rubbed his tip against your slippery pearl,

“So for now—I’ll just fuck you, baby.”

Your lips fell open as he slowly slid inside, the corner of his cock disappearing between your click folds. A loud cry emitted from your bruised up lips, your nerves on fire, as he let out a groan, “Holy shit—does it hurt to be this fucking tight?” He gasped out, planting his hands onto either side of you before snapping his hips against you, pecking your lips, “Lemme hear you, c’mon. No one can hear you out here.”

Your legs wrapped around his waist, tits bouncing as he began thrusting at an insane speed, hands flying to his shoulders, “Feels so—oh my god—!”

“God can’t help you out here, sweetheart.”

And then at an inhumane speed, began brutally fucking into your pussy, cock sliding in and out as your juices made impure sounds into the night air. He was so deep, reaching the end of your cervix, making you tremble in his hold as he panted in your ear. His hands moved to your hips as he pulled you onto his cock, making you scream, eyes squeezing shut as his name kept falling from your lips in pathetic chants.

Then, he pulled out, making you frown from the emptiness, “Why—ah!”

He rubbed his fingers quickly over your pearl, which was slick from your own cum, before crossing your eyes and feeling the knot snap in your abdomen. He smiled down at you wickedly as it hit you unexpectedly. You grit your teeth as you felt your ears ring for a moment, panting heavily, before he shoved himself back inside of you without giving you a moment to rest.

Due to the sensitivity, you cringed slightly, hold jerking as his thumb planted onto your clit, “Please, faster,” you begged, “Fuck—you’re so big, holy shit!”

His hand flew to your throat, squeezing it to block your airways. He fucked you without mercy, other hand pinching your clit, as you felt another orgasm begin to build up inside of you. He looked like a fallen angel—brows furrowed in concentration but a big grin plastered on his face, looking like he was enjoying having a mortal fall apart for him.

It was a dream. Well, like a dream. A sheet of sweat covered his chest, making him sparkle in the light, fangs protruding from his teeth as his eyes were entirely red. It turned you on even more, and when you gasped for breath, he groaned, “You’re so hot. All vulnerable for me, letting me do anything to you. Fucking slut.”

“I’m your slut,” you whimpered.

He delivered an extra harsh thrust, making your tummy clench, “Yeah, I know. I know, baby.”

You began to get drunk on his cock, a few mud stains on his cheeks, and probably on yours too; but you didn’t care. As long as he kept drilling into you like this.

Growing close again, he pressed down on your bud, making your thighs shake as you looked up at him with big eyes, “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna—!”

“Gonna make you feel so fucking good,” he mumbled the promise before dipping his teeth into the jugular of your neck, the pain setting you off.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as your high peaked, feeling juices splatter onto the both of you as your throat pulsed, “Cumming!”

It was the strongest orgasm you ever had, hitting you for longer than usual, making your figure fall limp as tears rolled down your cheeks. You let out garbled sounds as you drowned in the pleasure, before it came to a stop, Elliot rocking his head back before letting out an animalastic shout, pulling out before pumping his cum onto your pussy.

You laid there, twitching, watching him with admiration as the blood ran down his chin, dripping onto his chest, as his eyes flashed to white as his climax hit him hard.

When he began to ground himself again, his eyes returned back to regular size, pupils red like before, as his chest sunk in relief. He looked down at you, your chest heaving as you gulped, wincing when you moved your neck, “Ah..shit.”

“My bad,” he muttered, leaning down and swiping his tongue over the wound, and it began to heal itself. You blinked at him in confusion as he wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb, answering your questions in your mind, “My saliva has a healing remedy.”

“Oh.”

He handed you your jeans as you pulled your top back up, “By the way,” he added, sending you a shit eating grin, making you look up at him as you moved to sit up,

“You taste really fucking good, babe.”

When you two had returned back to the house that night, Belen spotted you both with knots in your hair, dirt all over your skin, with pink cheeks and wide eyes. With a mere chuckle, he went back to pushing his glasses up his nose before scribbling down into his notebook once again and sorting papers at the table.

“Get yourself cleaned up, children.”

He knew exactly what you two did.

Well, it had been a week since their family took you in—and you hadn’t really made an effort to leave. You didn’t have family, most of them either being dead or living out of state, and you hated the man you worked for.

What’s wrong with missing for a few more days?

But then days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. You hadn’t even realized how long you’d been away from civilization until Alana mentioned it to you as you both cleaned out the pots, “It’s been two months since you’ve arrived. Don’t you miss anyone out there, dear?”

You shook your head, handing her the pot you rinsed with the water that boiled in the bucket, “I don’t have family—actually. Mom died at a young age so I’ve been in an out of foster care.”

“And your father?”

“Absent.”

She nodded with a look of pity, “Elliot was the same as you,” she brought him up with a knowing smile, knowing about you two.

You weren’t exactly discreet. Multiple times in the week, you two would sneak off in the middle of the night, him fucking the life outta you at the same spot each time by the lake. He knew how to make you feel good, even when you weren’t sure it would, and would feed off of you sometimes during it. But he never went as far as hurting you, so you didn’t see a reason to stop.

Blushing, you stared at her, voice small,

“How so?”

“His original family were the bad kind of vampires,” she explained, “The kind the media knows about. Belen and I were hunting when we heard a baby crying—and found this little thing all naked and shivering from the cold, left abandoned in a pile of leaves. The symbol on the back of his head meant he was part of a cult that did…heinous things to humans.”

Your brows furrowed as you listened on.

“We saved him, like we saved you. We took him in, and raised him as our own. I’ve tried to tell him about his past, but he doesn’t want to hear it—as if he was ashamed.”

“I see,” you gulped, “So—he never killed anyone?”

She shook her head, laughing, “Of course not. He may seem tough, but he’s actually a sweet boy.”

You smiled as she poured you a cup of water, handing it to you, “I think he likes you.”

Your cheeks turned red, raising a brow as you sipped it, “Has he said anything?”

“No,” she shrugged, finishing up the last pot, “But I know my son. Especially when he’s interested in someone. He’s home more often now, and actually smiles. So either he likes you, or he’s gone crazy.”

You laughed at her words, tracing your finger on the rim of the cup, wondering about Elliot. You had grown to like him, a lot actually, but it was a tough situation. He was a vampire. It was forbidden for a human to stay forever in Vacuo; and vice versa. Your smile slipped when your overthinking consumed you.

“I have to back, though,” you muttered, placing the cup onto the counter, “Right?”

Alana looked at you, her face blank and solemn, before nodding stiffly.

“I’m afraid so.”

You didn’t want to hear that.

“Hold on tight, princess.”

You let out a shout as Elliot flew into the air, his feet floating above the ground as it became smaller and smaller.

You had admitted that you always wanted to fly, so Elliot being the gentleman he was, wanting to complete those wishes. Your arms wrapped around his waist tightly as he securely held you, the wind splashing you in the face as you let out a scream of joy, making him chuckle. The stars, real or not, seemed beautiful to you as you passed over the trees, which covered the entirety of the city.

“It’s beautiful,” you shouted, and he held your waist, adjusting you so that your stomach faces the ground. Your eyes rounded as he purred in your ear.

“Trust me, Y/N.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you knew he wouldn’t let anything happen to you, “Raise your arms.”

You did what he said, and then opened your eyes, letting out laughs of disbelief. You were flying.

He held you by your hips, strong hands digging into your flesh, as you flapped your arms like a bird, “I’m flying,” you cried out, not noticing his eyes burning into your features, dazed smile on his lips as he watched you silently, “Oh my—Look at that!”

He dived down with you, letting your fingertips reach down and drag them across the body of water. It was cold against your flesh, but refreshing, giggling as he swooped back up over the trees once again. He spun around in a circle, letting out a boyish laugh, both of you giggling before he sat on top one of the trees, helping you take a seat on the branches before doing so himself.

Your legs were swung over each side, standing, as he sat beside you, his leg hitting yours as you sighed dreamily, “This is like a dream. God—I would love to be one of you.”

His smile faded, being replaced with a hard look.

“Don’t say that,” he spat.

Your brows furrowed, “What? It’s amazi—“

“Yeah, it’s amazing when it’s a choice, but being forced to live out this life against your will is different,” he threw at you harshly, your heart sinking at his bitter tone, “You don’t have the peace of sleeping. You stay awake—all the time. Forcing to live with your thoughts without a break. You always want to snap the neck of whatever thing has blood pumping inside of it, and are castaways to the real society. So don’t ever say that ever again, Y/N. I wouldn’t wish this life on anyone.”

You bit your lip, looking down at your lap.

“I’m sorry.”

After a few moments, he sighed, hand flying to your cheek to make you look up at him. He offered you a soft smile, which was warm and comforting, the one you loved.

“My mother told me you were leaving.”

You nodded sadly, “I have to.”

“I know,” he mumbled, rubbing his thumb on your cheekbone in circles, “I just wish—it could be different. That’s all. You make me feel like…a human.”

His words shocked you, a grin reaching your eyes. He reflected if, chuckling lowly as his eyes gazed down into yours.

“Promise you won’t forget me.”

You placed your hand on top of his, “I could never.”

He delved down and pressed his lips to yours, making you sniffled against him, unknowing of the fact that a tear rolled down your cheek. Elliot pulled away, looking bothered by the fact that you were heartbroken over him; his face tight as he pulled you into his chest, rubbing his thumb on the back of your head, “Don’t cry. I can’t handle it.”

“Turn me,” you whispered, wondering if he heard you. But when his muscles in his chest tensed beneath you—you knew he heard.

His voice was still soft.

“No.”

“Please,” you whimpered, looking up at him. His eyes found yours as your bottom lip shook,

“I can’t live without you. Please. We could—be together forever.”

His eyes burned into yours. He seemed to contemplate the idea, but after a moment, he shook his head. Dammit. “You say that now, but what if in a year you change your mind too late. What if you end up hating me?”

“I could never,” you quickly shot back, holding his face in your hands. “It’s not in me to hate you, Elliot.”

He looked to the side, out at the view, taking a deep breath. Your eyes shined as you watched him with angst, hoping he would do ask you asked. You had decided that your life wouldn’t be the same without him; for he had give you a purpose. Him and his family. You could take care of him, and give him the love he ceased to have.

He licked his lips, then looked back down at you to trace his thumb over your bottom lip, “How about this…”

He sighed again, pulling his mouth to the side.

“Leave for a year. Live your life, date, whatever humans do. Then if you come back—I’ll change you. I’ll do whatever you ask me to, since I am yours.”

You blinked up at him with glossy eyes, “A year? That’s a long time, Elliot.”

“I know.”

“You would turn me if I came back?”

He nodded, “I would.”

“Promise?”

He chuckled, grabbing your pinky, and twisted it with his. You broke out into a smile, “I promise, Y/N.”

You didn’t want to agree to it; but it’s the best it was going to get. Sending him a tight nod, you mumbled an okay, hearing him hum in content before pulling you back into his chest. You could’ve sworn, almost on your life, that you heard a heartbeat.

Had you brought back his humane side?

And so, for the next few days, you spent all your time together. Elliot was memorizing every part of your body, and didn’t seem to have as much patience when it came to fucking you.

It was the night before you were leaving, and you knew that he was covering him being upset by acting dominant. He would avoid your questions asking if he was alright, instead kissing you on the lips, and now was no different.

The others went hunting for the day, leaving you two alone in the cottage. Elliot didn’t waste any time, ripping your shirt from your body—the one his mother had made for you made of rags. It tore easily, cluttering to the floor, before shoving your pants down your legs. His lips crashed against yours, hungry and rough, before slamming you down onto the fur blanket that laid on the floor.

You rested on your elbows, looking down at him with hooded eyes, as he dragged his lips down to your navel. He didn’t break eye contact, your skin tingling from the way he touched you, before he sunk his teeth into the inside of your thigh, “Elliot!”

Back arching off the ground, he hummed, his eyes turning entirely white as he drank from you. It caused a frenzy in your core, pain heading straight to your clit, which throbbed painfully beneath the fabric of your underwear. He gulped before pulling his fangs out, scarlett liquid dripping down your thighs and off his chin, before forcing your thighs apart.

Tearing off your panties, your eyes rounded, before his eyes set on your pussy. It was puffy and swollen, shining with your cum, “Fuck,” he groaned out—before diving in head first. His lips wrapped around your aching clit, making you wail, as he flicked repeatedly at the sensitive nub, “Can’t get over how you taste. Love how your little clit pulses on my tongue.”

You choked on your sob as your fingers grabbed the back of his head, rolling your pussy onto his greedy mouth. He slurped and sucked sloppily, covering your entire mound with his lips, as he thrusted his tongue deep inside of your slick walls. They clamped down on the strong muscle, “I’m already close,” you rasped, stomach clenching, “Slow down—don’t wanna cum yet, Ellie.”

“Don’t worry,” he mumbled before shoving three of his thin fingers into your quivering hole, not giving you time to adjust before slamming them repeatedly into your pussy. He grinned evilly as you cried out his name,

“You’re gonna cum lots of times tonight, baby.”

And then he slapped your clit with his other hand, narrowing his eyes, “Now come. Come fucking hard for me, Y/N.”

When he slapped your clit again, the cool medal of his ring set you off to your first high, mouth falling open as a silent screech escaped your shaking figure. He watched you with intense eyes as you crumbled apart, hot waves of pleasure hitting you constantly, before he spat onto your pearl again—rubbing it with his thumb as he began to overstimulate you, “Hold on—“ You groaned, trying to sit up to stop his movements, “I can’t—wait—“

You tried to run away from his lips, but he held you down, still rapidly thrusting his fingers in and out at his vampire like place. Lifting your entire upper body off the ground, your hands gripped your breasts, eyes squeezing shut, “Again now,” he commanded, his voice gruff,

“Don’t make me wait. I hate waiting.”

“Oh my fucking god—Elliot!”

You screamed. Screamed to the heavens, if there were any. You thrashed your hips as he sucked on your clit, nibbling on the skin, which broke the second knot in your tummy, “I’m—I’m—I’m—“

Tears rolled down your cheeks as you came again, at the expense of his hands, as he hummed while licking you through your orgasm. But then your thighs closed, pushing him away, as you began to heave heavily, looking up to the ceiling.

Your nerves were hyper sensitive. Black dots filling your vision, your ears rang as you felt him rub your thighs, “Come back,” he whispered, pecking your hipbone, “You’re okay. I got you. Just breathe through your nose.”

Looking down at him, his eyes rounded in worry, “Do you want to continue?”

“Please,” you begged, almost too quickly. He smiled.

Taking off his own skinny jeans, they hit the floor before he guided his fat cock onto the top of your clit, making you jolt from your previous orgasms. He snickered, making you slap his shoulder, withdrawing a quiet sorry from him.

Not breaking eye contact, you both gasped in unison when his tip slide into your gushing pussy, due to your climax. His forehead rested against yours as he breathed in your face, “So warm,” he groaned, slowly rolling his hips into yours, “—so…tight. Nothing will ever feel as good as you, ever.”

Your heart bloomed at his confession, chest pressed against his, as his hip bone rutted against your pearl, peeking out from beneath its hood. Your face scrunched up as he picked up his speed, stuttering breaths and skin slapping filling the room. Elliot filled you up entirely, leaving no space for anyone else, as his cock deliciously rubbed against the border of your cervix, “Please…please…Elliot.”

“What?” He cooed, “What is it? What do you want, baby?”

“To cum,” you pleased, with burning eyes and pink cheeks.

You didn’t need to say anything else. His thrust became erratic and desperate to finish the both of you off, wrapping both of your legs around his slim waist. His eyes bored into yours as his fangs popped out, and dipped down to the crook of your neck, stabbing into the flesh. He groaned as you let out muffled sobs, coming undone from the pain, your walls pulsating and spasming around his cock.

“I’m coming, yes!”

Your body locked up as aftershocks ripples through you, Elliot rocking his head back as the red substance was smeared across his lips. Eyes blown and lustful, you pushed him off you, before beginning to ride his cock to another orgasm. His brows rose as you planted your hands onto his chest, bouncing up and down, determined to make you both come at the same time.

But no—he wouldn’t let you control.

He grabbed your hips, before planting his feet onto the ground, and quickly began to hammer his hips into yours. Your eyes bulged as you screamed his name, before leaning down and kissing him, the metallic taste of your blood on your tongue from his lips.

He didn’t relent, going in harder, now chasing his orgasm. Your hand flew to his shoulders as he wrapped his arms around your waist, “I have the prettiest girl coming on my dick,” he mumbled against your lips, “Never gonna forget this. Never gonna forget you.”

“Me either,” you promised, “I won’t. I can’t. You’re it for me.”

His teeth sunk into your bottom lip—

You came. And he did too. You didn’t worry about getting pregnant, or anything else in that moment. Just the way his warm cum spurted inside of you, moans and cries fleeing from your bleeding lips as he sucked on the open wound. Your heart hammered in your chest as he cursed loudly,

“I love you so fucking much—fuck!”

Swirling your fingers on the back of his neck as he came down, you two staid there, as he held you. His confession made a smile grow onto your tired face, and in a small whisper, you spoke into the silence.

“I love you too.”

“Here,” Scarlett’s voice was soft, as she handed you her purple flower crown. Your heart tore as you accepted it, before giving her a small—sad smile. Her tone was quiet as her beautiful large eyes blinked up at you, “—I made it for you. So that you don’t forget me.”

Your eyes burned with tears as you took the small girl into your arms, huggjng her tightly as you thanked her in her ear with a whisper. She smelled of cranberries and faint perfume, her small figure slightly shaking in your arms. Pulling away, you wiped the tear that rolled down your cheek, before patting her cheek gently,

“I could never forget a princess like you, Scar.”

She blinked with her glossy eyes, before looking down at the ground to refrain from crying. You have a hug to Belen, telling him how thankful you were that he had saved you, leading him to reply with a noble of course. He patted your shoulder before tipping his chin downward, a tight smile on his porcelain skin, “You have grown to be a daughter to me. Your presence will forever warm my heart, Y/N.”

Nodding stiffly, your face twisted when you fell into Alana’s arms. Crying into her shoulder, she hummed as she held you, her strands rubbing your nose as her scent of cinnamon filled your senses, “Thank you so much,” your voice shook, clinging tighter to her, “I forever owe you. Thank you…for showing me what having a mother felt like.”

Her hand rubbed your back, her voice in your ear.

“Thank you for reminding me what it felt like to be human, Y/N.”

Letting out another sob, you pulled away, and her hands reached to wipe your tears. Her own were shining with moisture, as she took a step back, your wrist being pulled from behind. Elliot lead you out silently as you waved at the three of them goodbye, and when the front door slammed shut, your teeth gritted as it took everything within you to not jump back into their arms.

You spun around to face him, shaking your head quickly before shoving your head into his chest, “Please, not yet. I need you. Please don’t leave me, Elliot.”

His arms wrapped around your figure, his chin digging into the top of your head,

“You’ll come back to me. I know you will,” his voice shook, but it seemed like he did his best to remain calm. You pulled away from him too look him in the eyes, as he held your face in his hands, pressing you’re foreheads together, “Come back to me, Y/N.”

“I will,” you chanted as he picked you up in his arms.

“I will I will I will I will will I will—“

His touch vanished, leaving you cold, as your eyes peeled open.

You were on the side of a highway.

Elliot was gone.

You turned around, looking behind you. There weren’t any trees—just buildings that surrounded you. Beginning to hyperventilate, you let out a shout of his name, “Elliot! Elliot!”

Your hand flew to your chest, squeezing your eyes shut as you let out a cry.

“I’ll come back,” you whispered, looking up at the sky. Your voice wavered, hoping he could hear you.

“I’ll come back.”

Your eyes shot open, gasping for air as you peeled your eyes open. Your hands were on your steering wheel, looking with wide eyes, as you realized you must’ve fallen asleep on your way back to the office. Mumbling a curse, you stepped a bit more on the gas, furrowing your brows as you felt like you were forgetting something.

And here’s what it was—

Elliot forgot to tell you one thing.

When a human enters Vacuo, they will leave with no memory of whatever occurred within. And he knew that, and didn’t want to isolate you from your life, so he risked losing you because he cared too much.

But he waited there, at your spot by the lake, hoping you would somehow return back to him. That you would remember and come back into his arms.

But he knew he was being silly.

Because you wouldn’t remember. And you would live on.

And he would always be just a castaway.

taglist ☻ @demiesexual @icedcold @lilhonoret @visiondaddy @maddyscherryrollingpaper @oldsouliz @hessafeelsfordayss @rafeswhor @janieisamarauder @letmebeyoureuphoria @billiebossnova @rafeswhore @pcrntal @euphoricfeminine

329 notes View Post

ijustwannareblogstuff

11 months ago

Vivian Winter's Halloween Lookbook

Thank you to all of the lovely, talented CC Creators! ♡ @ts4eve @rimings @christopher067 @twisted-cat @joliebean @bradfordsims @lazyeyelids @arethabee @gegesimmer @astya96cc @sentate @nightingalesimmer-blog @daylifesims

49 notes View Post

ijustwannareblogstuff

10 months ago

SILENT DEVOTION : twisted allegiance

♦ sequel to SILENT DEVOTION ♦

pairing : patrick zweig x f!reader | art donaldson x f!reader | patrick zweig x tashi duncan

rating : explicit

word count : 23.3k

contains : smut 18+, obsession, delusion, stalking, jealousy, toxic relationship, abusive relationship, manipulation, cheating, oral sex, vaginal sex, anal sex, rimming, masturbation, eating disorder

summary : Patrick Zweig had finally noticed you, but not in the way you had always dreamed of. After rekindling his relationship with Tashi only to break up soon after, he turned his attention to you, seeking revenge on both his girlfriend and his distant best friend. There started a secret relationship fueled by twisted desires and mutual manipulation.

Patrick Zweig wrote on your wall. Hey, need to talk to you. Add me on aim (zweigpat).

Your fingers trembled as you clicked on the aim icon and began typing Patrick's username. You had no idea about the matter he wanted to discuss, but specifics were irrelevant in that moment. Patrick Zweig wanted to talk to YOU and no one else. Homework could wait, and grades suddenly felt insignificant. This was far more important. As you typed the first word into the chat box, everything around you faded away, the world growing still and silent.

You: Hey Patrick: Hello! You: So what's up?

The message on your Facebook wall had vanished. Was he trying to hide the fact that he was talking to you? You didn't mind being his dirty little secret. If anything, it made the situation even more thrilling.

Patrick: Nothing much, I was just wondering how are you all doing? You: Sounds like bullshit, what are you scheming Zweig? Patrick: Alright, I want to get back with Tashi… And I don’t know if she would be open to the idea. I know you guys are friends and I thought maybe you could help me with that.

Friends? Hardly. The thought of helping him get back with Tashi made your stomach turn. Patrick was yours, and you knew you could never compete with Tashi. Yet, the temptation was undeniable. You longed to see him back on campus, to have him close, to watch him play tennis with Art, to see him devour lunch. You even missed overhearing him and Tashi through the door.

You: Have you talked to her? She's been quite down since you left..

You couldn't reveal that Patrick was actually the least of her concerns. Her recovery had been long and difficult. As the weeks passed, her prospects of regaining her status as a tennis prodigy grew more and more uncertain.

Patrick: Did she mention me?

She hadn't, but to keep the conversation going, you had to lie.

You: Sure.. Patrick: What did she say? You: Can’t tell you, she’d kill me! Patrick: Come on! You: I can only tell you that she feels lonely.

Considering how much time she was spending with your boyfriend, she was anything but lonely.

Patrick: Noted, thanks <3. How's Art, by the way? He's not really responding to my texts.

The sight of the heart icon on the screen stole your breath away. Butterflies swarmed within you until there was little of you left. Was it genuine? Or was it out of habit? Was this the kind of message he was used to sending to Tashi?

You: We haven’t been talking that much either… Patrick: Did you guys break up? You: Not that I know of, he’s just very busy. Patrick: Busy with what?

You were hesitant to tell him the truth.

You: Guess… Patrick Zweg is typing. Patrick: Oh, so they played us both? B-) You: Don’t worry he will be back when he’s horny. Patrick: Don’t say that. Art’s not that type of guy. He’s a good one.

Patrick held Art in high regard. And Art played that role perfectly. He was charming, endearing, the kind of man destined for marriage and fatherhood, fully devoted to his family. But you didn't desire that with him, and he didn't desire it with you.

After offering reassurances about your relationship with Art, Patrick signed off for tennis practice, leaving you staring at the screen. Finally, you had a means to contact him at any time, day or night.

●

It didn’t take long for Patrick to be back on campus. It appeared that Tashi lacked as much self-restraint as you did when it came to him.

Spotting him in the main quad under one of the colossal arches, despite being fifty feet away, you immediately recognized him by his unique aura. The man-of-your-dreams-you-want-to-ride-to-ruins aura. He leaned against a wall, cigarette in hand, observing some students playing footbag, a grin on his face.

He now sported a short, tousled beard with hints of red highlights. One of your high school girlfriends had once told you that her older boyfriend’s beard had been bleached by her pussy’s juices. You wondered if the same applied to Patrick. If so, who were the lucky girls and how many of them were there? It hadn’t been long since he had returned, yet you found yourself consumed with jealousy. Making yourself sick over a mere speculation, not even a fact.

You also wondered if his cock shared the same fiery hue? In your recollection, dark curls adorned his lower abdomen, though it had been quite some time since you last saw him bare-chested.

As soon as he caught sight of you, he dashed over and enveloped you in a hug, his cigarette dangling from his lips. He appeared before you in a simple ensemble of a sweatshirt and jeans, the fabric obscuring the contours of his arms and thighs that you once found fascination in observing. “Hey you!” Unsure how to respond, you shakingly wrapped your arms around him, returning the embrace. Inhaling deeply, you took in his scent, feeling a closeness you had never experienced before, yet paradoxically distant due to the barrier of his thick clothing. The blend of his cologne and sweat stirred a sense of homesickness within you, as if Patrick had always been where you belonged, your home.

He pulled away from the hug, a huge beam on his face. You were confused by his action. He had never so much as touched you before, so hugging you was a whole new level. Was the sudden intimacy due to the fact that it was only the both of you? Free from the presence of Tashi and Art?

“What brings you here?” You inquired politely. "Tashi." He replied, a sly grin forming on his lips. Your eyebrows arched in surprise. "Oh? Congrats!" You mustered a semblance of happiness, though it was a challenge. What a fucking cunt. You were glad she had brought him back here, but you couldn’t shake the thought of Patrick being all over her later tonight and fucking her like never before. "I should get back. She’s waiting for me. Didn’t want me to smoke inside." He said, extinguishing his cigarette with a stomp. How could she? Watching Patrick smoke was the most enticing thing ever.

“I guess I will see you tomorrow for lunch?” You asked, hopeful. Tashi couldn’t monopolize your man like this. She should at least let you have him for lunch and dinner. Watching Patrick eat was one of your small joys. He was a messy eater and devoured his food as if his strict athlete's diet didn't exist. He often ended up with food all over himself and stains on his shirt, but you found it endearing. Every time, you had to resist the urge to lean over the table and lick his face clean. “Sure, see you.”

●

The day had been dragging on slowly. Classes were boring, and being back at your dorm wasn’t any better. You laid on your bed, staring at the ceiling and waiting for the hours to pass. A knock pulled you out of your reverie. When you opened the door, you found Art standing there with a huge grin on his face. Of course, he was here now that Tashi was busy. “Hey babe.” He enveloped you in a hug and planted a kiss on your jaw. Babe? You had never been the type to use pet names before. "I missed you so much." He mumbled, his mouth all over your neck, covering it with kisses. You knew he was lying, you hadn't crossed his mind a single second before Patrick's return.

You tilted your head, allowing more of his attention, feeling the warmth of his breath against your skin. "It’s been so long, I thought I was single." You teased, a playful edge to your voice. Art whined softly at your comment, his pout making him look even more guilty. "You know phones exist, right?" He avoided the question with a nuzzle against your neck, his lips brushing your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine. "You think I’m just going to take you back because you’re acting all cute and affectionate?" He nodded eagerly, his eyes wide and hopeful. "You will have to work for it." Your hand moved to the waistband of his shorts, pulling it back just enough to peek at his growing arousal. "Work very hard." You added, your voice dropping to a husky whisper. Truth was, you didn't really want him back in your life, but horniness was making you take unwise decisions. The logical part of your brain screamed caution, but the way he looked at you, the sight of his beautiful cock, and the familiar scent of him clouded your judgment. Plus, at this exact moment, Patrick was likely balls deep into Tashi and you couldn’t do anything about it.

He flashed a triumphant smile at you, clearly pleased with your response. Without breaking eye contact, he grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, revealing the toned muscles beneath. Taking your hand, he guided you towards the bed, his touch gentle but insistent. Art’s intentions were clear. He was ready to show just how hard he was willing to work to win you back. The night was young.

●

You: Guess who came back sucking on my tits the second you came back. Patrick As expected? You do have really nice tits.

Had Patrick been paying attention to your body? His words kept replaying in your mind, each repetition making your core grow hotter. You had never considered your breasts as an asset until now. Sure, you knew you had decent-looking boobs, Art had been crazy about them, but realizing that Patrick looked at them with such appreciation changed everything. At that moment, you decided that bras were now out of your life.

You: Did you take a look at Tashi’s tits between two sessions of eyeing mine? How are things going between you two? Patrick: We talked. Kinda. Fucked too.

The news, although very predictable, hit like a sucker punch, knocking the breath from your lungs. You wanted to cry.

You: So that’s why I have Art back. He can’t do anymore ass kissing with Tashi if your tongue’s already there. Patrick: Why are you so mean to him? You: Don’t you think it was unkind to leave me alone for weeks?

Patrick did not respond to the message, leaving your question hanging in the air. Patrick was capable of doing anything except accept the fact that Art was a flawed human being.

●

Lunch in the cafeteria did little to alleviate the tension among all of you. While things seemed fine between you and Art, your relationship with Tashi remained strained. As for Patrick, you didn’t know. One second he was complimenting you and the other giving you the cold shoulder, so it felt. Aside from a few insignificant remarks, everyone was mainly silent. “Let’s go practice.” Art said, nodding toward Tashi. Tashi gave Patrick a gentle kiss on the cheek. You half-expected Art to do the same out of courtesy, but your cheek remained untouched. You didn’t exist when Tashi was around. They gathered their trays and headed to the counter, leaving you and Patrick alone.

“Art is pissed at me, I don’t get it. It’s not like I tripped Tashi.” Patrick blurted out. “Even Tashi forgave me!” He sighed, leaning back in his seat before switching to another. “To be honest with you I never understood why they were mad at you to begin with.” You shrugged. It had all happened so suddenly that you had no time to analyze the situation. Art’s unkindness was still a mystery. “Oh thank god, I thought I was going crazy.” He said, sitting down next to you and grabbing a slice of bread from your tray, taking a bite. There was something oddly captivating about his chewing and the crumbs scattered across his lips. You found yourself wanting to lick them off. “I can try to find out what’s bothering him, if you want.” You offered, your gaze still fixed on his lips. “You’re a saint.” He said, puckering his lips and blowing a kiss at you.

Was this how Patrick Zweig behaved when he saw you as a friend? His overly flirtatious manner was making it difficult for you to think clearly. “Oh, far from it.” You replied absentmindedly, your mind filled with unholy thoughts of laying him on the table, straddling him and tearing his clothes off. “You’re right, I’ve heard things.” He said with a playful grin. You rolled your eyes and stole the slice back from him, taking a bite. “If you want my best guess, he’s just being an ass. That’s his thing lately.”

●

The routine was back on : Art would clandestinely enter your room at night whenever the urge struck him. Without so much as a word or invitation, he'd launch into a monologue about his day. After a few minutes of venting, he'd typically undress you and fuck you until dawn. While the encounters were generally pleasant, not always culminating in climax. Art knew well enough how your body worked to make it worthwhile.

Art was sitting on your bed while you occupied the desk chair, both of you facing each other. "Patrick seems to be worried you're mad at him." You mentioned, uncertain of what response to anticipate. You were already convinced that Art was pissed off at his friend and deep down, you knew why. Would Art lie to you or be brave enough to assume his conflicting feelings toward his friend. As Art unbuttoned his pants, he glanced up at you, his expression almost incredulous. Was the idea of you conversing with Patrick really so unbelievable? "How do you know that? Do you two talk?" He questioned, a nib of jealousy detectable in his voice. "Sometimes. He used to ask a lot about Tashi and you while he was on tour. He wanted to ensure both of you were doing well. He missed you guys tremendously." Art snorted loudly, his tone tinged with amusement at your sudden interest in Patrick. "Typical of him. Chatting with everyone except the ones who matter." He remarked, pulling off his shirt. "He just wanted assurance that you'd be open to hearing from him. Can’t you understand that and be nice?" He tossed the shirt in your direction. "Are you joining the Patrick Zweig fanclub now? Should I call him up so you can give him a warm welcome?" He mimicked a fellatio, his fist thrusting towards his face as his tongue pressed against his cheek. Yes, please, do it. The idea was enticing, you couldn't deny. “You’re insane.” You sighed, standing up and throwing back the shirt with force. "I hate how effortlessly everything falls into place for him. He believes he can simply return, and everything will be back to how it was." You rolled your eyes as you sat beside him and gave his thigh a comforting pat. "He's your closest friend. He came back for you, and yet, you're treating him like shit. At the very least, you should have a conversation with him." You urged, pressing your lips against his in an attempt to soothe him. "He came back for Tashi." He corrected with a hint of frustration. Tashi again. You liked the girl, most of the time, especially when she would get Art out of your hair, but she was beginning to hit on your nerves. "And what if he did? You're always with Tashi too. Would you blame him?"

With a playful shove, you pushed him onto the bed and straddled him, firmly pinning his hands above his head. "Now, be a good boy and make up with your best friend before I really call him and give him a warm welcome." You teased. He laughed, swiftly rolling you over so that he was now on top, his hands gripping your thighs. You appreciated these rare moments when he would take control. "Give me a warm welcome instead." He murmured, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You had to admit, it felt surprisingly good having Art back in your life. He was scratching an itch you couldn’t quite reach on your own. But you weren't naive, you understood why he was there. It irked you that he was playing the same manipulative game you were. If you didn't outwit him quickly, you would end up being the punchline of this twisted joke. You knew it was time to have a serious talk with Tashi.

●

After your passionate moment with Art, he decided to take your advice and talk to Patrick over a game of tennis. With the boys out, you found yourself standing in front of Tashi's door. When she opened it, her surprised expression spoke volumes. "Can I talk to you?" you asked softly. She hesitated only for a moment before widening the door to let you in. The room was filled with Patrick's belongings, his distinctive scent lingering in the air. You sat on her bed and patted the spot next to you, inviting her to join.

"I need to have this conversation with you because I consider you my friend and I trust you." The words felt hollow, a facade masking your true intentions. Initially, your approach was far from genuine, but over time, you'd grown to appreciate and even admire her. Yet her recent distance had revealed how little she valued your friendship and you simply stopped giving a fuck about her. "Even if I felt abandoned by you." You continued, a hint of vulnerability seeping into your voice. She nibbled on her lips, anxiety evident, and nodded. "I know, and I'm sorry about that." She murmured. "I know your injury isn't easy to handle, and I could have been there to help you through it. But you chose Art over me." Here came the guilt-tripping. If you wanted to regain the upper hand, they needed to see how poorly they had treated you. Perhaps realizing how much time they'd spent together lately would open their eyes and finally bring them together, leaving you to be Patrick's shoulder to cry on. "I didn't..." She began to explain, but her words faltered, lacking conviction. "I didn't see either of you for weeks. But then suddenly, yesterday, Art remembered I existed. And I know why. Because last night, you chose Patrick over him." You revealed, trying to play the part of the wronged woman. Lowering your head, you pretended to struggle with voicing your concerns. "You're being ridiculous, we're just friends. I swear." She protested. Whether she truly believed it or was simply an incredible actor, she sounded convincingly sincere.

“I don’t know what is going on between you two…” You played with your nails in an attempt to act hesitant. “Nothing!” She assured you once more. “But please, stop playing with us, it’s unfair. I don’t want to be the girl he uses to jerk off in when you’re not giving attention to him. And I’m sure Patrick doesn't want to be just a dick to you.” The words were crude but necessary.

“Things like this happen all the time. I can understand, I won’t make a scene. But please, stop lying to yourselves. And if I’m wrong and there’s nothing, please make things clear with Art so he finally stops hoping you will notice him.” If she didn't grasp your point now, Tashi Duncan truly was the dumbest girl you knew. "Alright. I will get going. Goodnight, Tashi. I hope I will see you around." She nodded and muttered a small ‘goodnight’ to you.

You closed the door behind you, unable to suppress the smile forming on your lips. Tashi was feeling like shit. Good. You hoped she would question everything in her life. You knew your plan would work better on Tashi than on Art. More than being called a cheater, Tashi dreaded being called a manipulator and a bad friend.

●

You sat on the floor of your room, a magazine in your hands, tensely flipping through the pages but the words and images couldn't hold your attention. You were anxiously waiting for Art to arrive. You were supposed to go out tonight, and part of you wondered if he was trying to make amends for the distance he had put between you over the past few weeks. But he wasn't there. He was more than an hour late, and you had no message from him. Where the hell was he? More than the date itself, you were impatient to find out if Tashi had mentioned your little encounter to him.

Finally, a knock sounded on your door. "Come in!" You called out eagerly. When Patrick entered your room, your voice wavered. How unexpected. “Tashi just broke up with me.” He revealed, prompting you to roll your eyes in response. Your scheming had paid off. Tashi had made her choice, likely explaining Art's absence. A surge of triumph swept over you. However, Patrick appeared devastated so you held it in. Fortunately for him, you would be there to cheer him up.

"Grab a beer from the fridge.” You gestured, hoping to ease him into opening up to you. Gaining his trust was crucial, it could lead to anything. "What was the reason?" You inquired casually, masking your enthusiasm. "She said she realized what we had was going nowhere." He replied, bending over to retrieve a bottle from the fridge. Your gaze lingered on the curve of his backside. What a firm tasty looking ass.

"So I guess that's why Art's not answering." You questioned, though you already knew the answer. Flipping a page, you pretended to be deeply engrossed in your reading. "We were supposed to see each other, but I guess I'm nothing next to Tashi Duncan." You muttered, reflecting on how your perception of her had changed in just just a few minutes. You used to think Tashi Duncan was the shit, the girl who had everything you wanted. She had Patrick, a promising future, passion, and beauty. Now, she was just a single girl with a shattered future and a useless passion.

"What's his deal?" Patrick asked as he uncapped the bottle and settled down in front of you, his long, muscular legs crossed. Even the simplest gestures from Patrick ignited a fire within you, leaving your body warm and your mouth dry. You found yourself mesmerized by the curl pattern of his leg hairs and how his shorts barely grazed his thighs, revealing faint tan lines. "I'm not sure he's into me." You confessed, feeling vulnerable in Patrick's presence for the first time. Everything before had been calculated to sneak yourself into his life, but now you spoke the truth. No matter how much you had manipulated Art, it seemed he was playing you back. "Who wouldn't be into you?" Patrick's words echoed in your mind. Who indeed? Then why, Patrick, aren't you? You knew he was merely being kind, yet his comment caused your heart to skip a beat. You lifted your gaze to meet his, offering a grateful smile.

"I think his heart is elsewhere." You stated, locking eyes with him. "I'm sure there isn't anything between him and Tashi." He attempted to reassure you, though you sensed his own growing doubts. "I don't mean just Tashi." You interjected, raising your eyebrows, silently urging him to catch on. It took him a minute. "Oh. I don't think Art swings that way." He chuckled nervously, taking a sip of his beer to deflect the tension. "Do you?" You asked, curious to discover more about the man you had loved for so many years.

He gazed into the void, quiet for a few moments before sighing and shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe?” His eyes absentmindedly fixed on your magazine. So it seemed boys were in fact also in the competition for Patrick’s heart. You fought the urge to sigh in frustration, not wanting to appear judgmental about his sexuality. “I actually had a crush on Art back when we were teenagers. Did he tell you about the jerking off?” His eagerness to share the story was palpable. “He did. We had a pretty wild night after that.” You replied, recalling the intense masturbation competition you both had after the story.

"You're welcome." He chuckled, flattered by the revelation. You had never truly noticed the timbre of his laughter before, finding it almost heavenly. If you weren't already deeply in love with him, you might have fallen again right then. In that fleeting moment, you found yourself fixating on his teeth, marveling at their straightness and whiteness despite his smoking habit. When he grinned, it was like he had more teeth than seemed humanly possible, each one perfect in their own way. The desire to feel them sink into you surged through you, an urgent need that couldn't be ignored. You needed him. Tonight, you decided, would be the night you fucked Patrick Zweig. But for that, you had to make a move. "You know, my first time humping a pillow sort of involved you too.” You confessed, finally revealing one of your deepest secrets to someone else.

"Me?" You nodded, then continued with the story. "I was a young, impressionable girl, and what's more impressive than sweaty, shirtless tennis players? You just happened to be there." You lied. He was the sole focus of those fantasies. There was no one else present, just Patrick and his ridiculously tight shorts. Like tonight, just you and him and those damn shorts. "You're welcome, once more." He teased, bowing as if he were an actor on the stage of your imagination. "You should have approached me back then. I would have gladly helped you make those fantasies more vivid, maybe by showing you a ball or something." He remarked with a playful smile, to which you managed to respond, though inwardly you felt like crumbling. Years spent trying to capture his attention had led to nothing. And now, he was casually admitting to being open to anyone back then? Did that mean you weren't good enough to be even just ‘anyone’? "Do you ever remember seeing me back then?" You asked him, needing to hear the truth, no matter how painful. He pondered it for a moment, long enough for you to realize he didn't recall. "I wish I could.” He replied. Why did he wish that? Did he see your presence in his life as something valuable? You remained silent, your gaze fixed on the magazine, trying to absorb the words on the page to keep tears at bay.

"What about you, by the way? Have you ever experimented with a girl?" His question broke the silence, and you silently appreciated him for that, despite the randomness of the inquiry. You could feel yourself sink into sadness before that. “Maybe?” You answered briefly. “That’s all? Tell me more!” He took a sip of his beer and leaned closer, eager to hear your story. “It was brief and innocent so don’t get excited.” You sighed, pointing your index finger at him. “Too late!” He joked, smirking at you. “Your girlfriend, well ex.” You continued, noting the sudden change in his expression. His face had dropped instantly. “Just a kiss.” You reassured him. “I’m not sure how I would label myself but that night if she had wanted to experiment more, I think I would have gone along with it.” It was true, you would have fucked Tashi, regardless of whether Patrick had been involved or not. “Believe me, Tashi has experience with girls.” He remarked, leaving you momentarily stunned. It made perfect sense, though you felt a pang of disappointment. “Oh so it was just me not being her type?” You feigned heartbreak, clutching your chest as he nonchalantly shrugged in response. In reality, that revelation really stung, another missed chance to explore what Patrick had experienced. “That’s ok, I’m still young. I have time to fulfill my fantasies.” You said with a pretended tear-wiping gesture, masking your true feelings.

"What kind?" His question felt intrusively intimate. His body so close to yours as he was delving into your kinks. This scene reminded you of the scenarios you often imagined late at night while teasing your clit. “I don’t know. There are many things I haven’t experienced. Like eating a girl out, pegging, cuckolding, choking, stuff like that.” Why did admitting your kinks in front of Patrick make you feel embarrassed? You wanted him to see you as someone open to anything, a woman comfortable with her sexuality, and the epitome of a cool girl.

"Choking? Art doesn't even do that?" He asked, confusion written all over his face. Art had probably recounted the one disastrous attempt you both had made. "Not really." You admitted with a sigh. "We tried, but he's too scared he will hurt me so he was more or so… hugging my neck, like a scarf." You grabbed the beer from his hand, took a sip, and then placed it back in front of him. "I should give him a class.” He joked, smirking at you. "Oh, so you're an expert?" You teased, feeling the conversation shift into flirtation. You had to analyze your game and play your cards right. You watched him gulp down the rest of the beer, a proud smile spreading across his face. He nodded.

"The trick is…" He began. "...to place your hand near the collarbone, not up here." He pointed to the area beneath his chin. "It's not about applying too much pressure, unless that’s what you’re into, of course. It's about holding firmly. And it's better to squeeze the sides of the neck rather than the front."

"Like this?" You placed your hand around your neck, attempting to follow his advice.

"No, wait. Stand up." He instructed. Both of you stood, and he placed his calloused used-up hand around your thin neck, gripping it firmly. In that moment, you felt like his racket between his hands. You let out a slight gasp, licking your lips as your eyes locked with his. The moment his hand closed around your neck, you realized it wasn't the sensation of being choked that enticed you. It was the feeling of surrendering control, of putting your life in someone else's hands, that made your legs tremble. Without thinking, you reached for his crotch, grabbing his dick through his shorts. He was semi-hard. He looked at you, confusion flickering across his face as he immediately released his grip on your neck. "Don't do that, or I won't be able to control myself." He warned. You had crossed the line, there was no way back now.

You surely didn’t want him to control himself. You craved for him to take you right there, right then. Continuing to stroke his length, the fabric was the only thing separating you from the object of your fantasies. He buried his face against your shoulder, a mixture of neediness and hesitation evident in his actions. You slipped your hand into his underwear and pulled out his dick. After hearing Tashi talk about it so much, you had imagined plenty of things, but the reality was beyond your expectations. While its length was a bit above average, it was the girth that was truly remarkable. You couldn’t ignore the sight of his uncircumcised head. You had only seen those in porn before, and you weren’t sure how to proceed. "Wow…” You stepped back until you reached your desk, sensing his inner conflict about whether to retreat as well. Perching on the edge of the desk, you seized the elastic of his pants and pulled him closer. You licked your palm, ensuring it was slick with saliva, then wrapped your hand around his length. Slowly, you pulled back his foreskin to reveal his head. Your eyes remained fixed on the captivating beauty of Patrick's member. Patrick’s hands, which had been resting still on your knees, slowly made their way up your legs. His touch burnt your skin. If he touched your thighs just right, you knew you could come on the spot. His hands were now under your dress, exploring the fabric of your panties. You were thankful that Patrick had found you on a date night. You were clean, shaven, and wearing your sexiest underwear. You gasped when you felt one of his hands slip inside your panties, his fingers brushing against your folds. Oh my god, Patrick Zweig was touching your pussy, and you were touching Patrick Zweig’s dick. You bit your lower lip, anticipating as he rubbed your cunt. You continued to jerk him off, reveling in the sounds you were eliciting from him.

In a swif movement, he slid the straps of your dress down, exposing your bare tits. With one hand, he fondled your breast, while his index finger delved inside you. Leaning in closer, he circled your nipple with the tip of his tongue. "Patrick..." It was the first time you had moaned his name directly to him, a name usually reserved for your private moments alone. You parted your legs, inviting him closer, still stroking him energetically with your hand. A second finger quickly joined his buried index but you wanted more, you wanted him. "Fuck me..." You pleaded, gazing at him with desperate eyes. He met your gaze and withdrew his hand from your panties, stirring a whimper from you at the loss of contact. You could sense the conflict in his expression. He knew it was wrong, but the desire was overwhelming. You knew it was for you. He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling heavily, then shifted the crotch of your underwear aside. You felt the tip of him rubbing against your entrance before he swiftly entered you. If he wrestled with his conscience, it was a fleeting battle. You wrapped one leg around his hip and gripped his buttcheeks, pulling him closer to you, seeking the intimacy and connection you had desired with him for years.

There was nothing tender or affectionate about your actions, you both moved with an animalistic urgency. Patrick was fucking you in a way that no one had before. The noises escaping your lips were uncontrollable, matched by Patrick's own passionate moans. Determined to give him an unforgettable experience, you poured all your energy into matching his thrusts with your own, both of you lost in ecstasy. While Patrick lavished attention on your nipples, your lips yearned for his touch, craving attention amidst the raw intensity of your pounding.

Both of you were so absorbed in outperforming each other, striving to make the other come the quickest, that neither of you noticed the sound coming from the door. There were insistent knocks. “It’s me, I’m sorry I’m so late.” Hours late, Art's voice finally came through the door. Patrick placed his hand over your mouth to silence you. The presence of Art outside seemed to drive him to fuck you even harder. You sank your teeth into his hand and tugged at his hair, determined to elicit delicious sounds from him. You were silenced but he wasn’t. You were willing to risk being caught just from the thrill of it. Just for the sensation it would bring you in that exact moment.

“I talked to Tashi… I understand if you’re mad…” Oh, you were the opposite of mad right now. “Text me if you’re awake.” And with that he left. Had Art been more persistent and attempted to turn the doorknob, he would have stumbled upon you, legs entwined around his closest friend, who was avidly thrusting into you with his shorts pooled around his ankles.

Patrick's hand left your mouth and returned around your neck, the other firmly gripping your ass. The lack of air made you desperate to moan his name, but all that escaped were gasps as you tightened your legs around him, drawing him nearer. Despite feeling dizzy, you continued to bounce against him eagerly.

You longed for him to meet your gaze and kiss you, but Patrick kept his head resting on your shoulder, eyes closed. The only sounds were the manifestations of his pleasure through his moans and cries. You sensed his body shudder against yours as he gripped the base of his dick, preparing to withdraw.

“No! Fill me up, please.” You begged, voice barely audible. You reached between you, grasping for his balls and squeezing one firmly. They were full, brimming just for you, and you couldn't bear to waste a drop of that precious seed. “I’m on the pill.” You assured him. Patrick only needed little persuasion to remain deep inside you. As a final effort, you tightened around him, intent on luring every last drop from him. He grunted your name as he climaxed inside you. His gaze locked on you as you welcomed his release, each slow thrust pushing you closer to the edge. It was watching Patrick reach his peak and call your name that finally pushed you over, making you explode in a breathy moan.

Patrick Zweig had come inside you. You had made Patrick Zweig come. You! Patrick Zweig! The reality of it was almost surreal, but the warm sensation inside you served as a proof.

He finally released your neck, and you let out a loud gasp, panting to catch your breath. As he slowly pulled out, you whined at the loss of contact, quickly closing your legs to keep his load inside you for as long as possible. The silence that followed made you anxious. He had not said a word yet, just looked at you, biting his lower lip nervously. Was he regretting it already? Then he started laughing. What the hell was so funny? He wrapped his arms around you, resting his head against your breast. You let yourself melt into his embrace, stroking his hair. "I wanted to do that for a while.” He confessed. Did he? Really? "Me too." You replied quickly, relief and joy flooding through you.

●

Afterwards, you had continued to fool around in your bed for hours. Mouths and fingers exploring every body part. Now it was daylight and you laid sprawled across him, your limbs entangled in an intimate embrace. Your head rested on his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat like a comforting melody. As your fingers twirled the soft curls of his chest hair, Patrick held you close, his fingertips gently caressing your hip in a soothing motion. You wanted him to fuck you once more, but something seemed to be holding him back.

You could hardly believe it had happened. The only evidence was the state of your sheets: wet and stained with various body fluids. And the ache in your cervix. Tashi had been right about that too. Patrick loved sliding himself fully inside, regardless of the pain it caused.

The delicate way he touched you felt far more intimate than when he was inside you earlier. You still craved his kiss, which he refused to give. Every single time you had tried to move closer to his face, you were met with his cheek. Weren’t you good enough for him?

“I’m going to break up with him. As soon as I regain the use of my legs.” Patrick chuckled, playfully hitting your thigh. “No, don't do that.” No? Why not? You just had sex with your boyfriend’s best friend. Wasn’t this the beginning of your life with Patrick? “If he’s going to mess around with my girlfriend, I might as well borrow you from him.” Your heart sank. Was this all it was? Revenge? You wanted forever with Patrick, not just a quickie to get back at his ex and his friend. Yet, if this was the only way to have him, you were willing to be part of his scheme. “You know I messed around with your girlfriend too.” You reminded him, hoping he would see how ridiculous his plan sounded. “Should I fuck Art to get back at you then?” He proposed. Okay, so he thought all of this was a joke. “Only if you let me watch.” You said, a smirk on your face. You were going to play his game until he would realize that you are the only one for him. You could do that. Fuck Art. Literally and figuratively. In response, he pinched one of your nipples. You whined, sinking your teeth into his in return. “Do you have any place to stay tonight?” You asked, covering his chest with gentle pecks. You were curious to know if he would accept Art’s invitation to sleep on the floor of his dorm when you had a perfectly good bed for him. All he had to do was fuck you.. "I guess Art’s room.” So you weren’t even good to sleep next to. “Art invited me to the Kappa Sigma party." Patrick mentioned casually. Ah yes, the party. You had received an invitation as well. The captain of the tennis club, a frat boy, had extended invitations to the entire club. It appeared both you and Patrick were Art's plus ones.

You weren't particularly looking forward to the event. Tennis players were so… psychotic. Except Patrick, of course.

“I’m invited too. Won’t it be awkward to be in the same room as Art?” You traced kisses up his neck, following the curve to his jaw. Gradually, you moved towards his lips, but just as you approached, he turned his head, and your lips brushed against his cheek. He still refused to kiss you. You had fantasies of becoming his little whore for years, and now those desires were becoming a reality. You were only good enough for his cock. “Why would it be? You’re his girlfriend, I’m his best friend.”

●

After a second and third round, Patrick finally left your room. Despite the hurtful words he sometimes spoke, having sex with him felt instinctive. Whether your legs were draped over his shoulders, wrapped around his waist, or spread beneath him, he always knew how to make you come.

Time had come to prepare for the party.

The most challenging part of your routine came first : taking a shower and erasing every trace of him. Unsure of whether you would be able to experience feeling Patrick so deeply inside again. The fleeting thought of stopping your pill and keeping your legs crossed for a couple days to try and baby-trap him had crossed your mind. Yet, you quickly had dismissed it. If you weren't good enough to be kissed, surely you weren't the ideal candidate to be the mother of his children. Yet. You had to convince yourself that it was only because he didn’t know you well enough yet, to prevent bursting into tears in the shower.

Once you finished cleaning yourself, you turned on the radio, filling the bathroom with music as you applied makeup in front of the mirror. You had gotten better at this. With effort, you could clean up nicely. Gray eyeshadow was a reliable choice as well that complemented any outfit, ensuring you couldn't go wrong. Adding a touch more blush than necessary, you finished with pink lipstick. Releasing your hair from its tie, you slipped into a short red dress with spaghetti straps. You paused to scrutinize your reflection in the mirror. Your stomach had flattened noticeably, yet it still lacked the tone you desired. You also noticed the creases your thong was creating against your hips. You discarded the problematic underwear and replaced it with simple black lacy panties. It wasn’t the most appealing choice when naked, but it looked much better under your dress. You doubted you would end up with Patrick tonight anyway. At best, you might lure a drunken Art into your bed, and that man didn’t care about anything other than your bare cunt.

Art and Patrick knocked on your door around 8 PM. When you opened it, they stood side by side, the tension between them seemingly dissolved. Was mutual betrayal the secret to a long lasting friendship? They looked striking together, almost like a destined pair drawn to each other despite their differences. Art, the polished one, sported blue jeans paired with a buttoned-up blue shirt, his hair styled just the way he knew you liked. Patrick, the more casual counterpart, wore a black T-shirt, that you knew was borrowed from Art, and washed denim jeans. His hair, ruffled and wild, seemed to have escaped a brush since you had viciously tugged on it earlier. Art was a sight, you knew it by the heads turning every time he walked into a room. But Patrick was the one who cut your breath away.

"Hey babe." Art greeted, planting a soft kiss on your lips. "Looking good.” He added, his eyes sweeping over you from head to toe. "You look like a slut." Patrick mouthed. You beamed at him. From that man? That was the best compliment you could get. "Thank you." You answered Art, though your gratitude was directed at Patrick. “Hello Patrick.” You greeted him. He only responded with a nod.

The frat house lay just a short ten-minute walk from your dorm, yet at that moment, you regretted choosing high heels over flats. Why did girls always have to dress sexy, enduring the cold just to catch the eye of their crush? Shivering slightly, you felt Art's arm wrap around your waist, drawing you close as you walked together. Patrick trailed behind, silent.

Arriving there, the frat house lived up to your expectations : it was smelly and not particularly clean. You stayed close to Art and Patrick as a group of boys and girls engaged in a lively discussion about the next tennis match. Their enthusiasm for the sport amused you. In that moment, you couldn't help but think of tennis players as the nerds among jocks. As the conversation shifted to the US Open, you noticed Patrick had drifted away. Probably dreading the moment they would finally ask him how his career was doing. Spotting him leaning against a wall with a beer in hand, you couldn't suppress your grin, feeling like a lovesick schoolgirl showing all her teeth. He returned your smile. A simple gesture that filled you with warmth knowing you were the reason behind that blinding smirk.

Your moment was interrupted by Art’s hand on your back, inattentively stroking it. His fingertips ventured under the stram of your dress, lightly tickling your skin beneath the fabric. While you and Art weren’t the most affectionate couple in public, reserving touch for intimate moments, his gesture on your back was one of the few he dared to display openly. You sensed Patrick's gaze burning into your back, his stare affecting you more than Art’s touch. You watched him drink his beer, his eyes fixed on your back. When he finally looked up and met your gaze, he tilted his head, silently commanding you to follow as he left the room. Without hesitation, you stood and followed him, though you quickly lost sight of him. Suddenly, a hand grabbed you, pulling you into the bathroom. It was Patrick, leading you into a cubicle. Once inside, he locked the door behind you both.

The small cubicle barely had enough room for both of you, and the smell made you want to gag. But those details were insignificant, your heart was pounding faster than ever. Patrick had requested you. He set his empty beer on top of the toilet and stood before you. "Blow me." He commanded in a whisper, his gaze fixed intently on you.

He didn't need to ask twice. You dropped to your knees before him. There was something deeply degrading about kneeling on the piss-stained floor of a frat house bathroom, but you were more than willing to endure it for Patrick. You unbuttoned his jeans and unzipped them, then pulled his pants and underwear down his legs.

This was all you had ever wanted : to worship him like the god he was. Kneeling before him, you showed your devotion, rubbing your face against his full sack, nuzzling him like an animal in heat. You never knew a smell could make you so wet until now, the mix of sweat, soap and musk drove you wild. You tried to wrap your lips around one of his balls, eager to suck on it, wanting them in your mouth. Looking up, you saw him watching you with curiosity. Maybe you should save your freaky side for later.

Grasping the base of his cock, you trailed your tongue along his shaft, coating him with saliva. You looked up, striving to maintain eye contact with him. You wanted him to see how well you were taking him, to realize that you were made for him, that your mouth was meant to receive him. You pulled his foreskin back, licking around the crown and flicking your tongue over his slit. He whimpered, running his hands through your hair before grabbing handfuls and tugging on it. Wrapping your lips around his length, you started giving his cock big sloppy sucks, cheeks hollowed. "Look at you..." He whispered, before pushing himself deeper into your mouth. You moaned at his action, sending vibrations to the head of his cock nestled at the back of your throat. While you loved having him inside your pussy, nothing compared to the sensation of him filling your mouth. Cupping his sack, you started palming it, applying just the right amount of pressure. You bobbed your head, taking more of him with each movement. As his pubes began to tickle your nose, you knew you were close to taking him fully. Yet, you pulled away, wanting him to beg you to swallow his nut. “No, don’t stop, please…” That was fast.

In an effort to make this as pleasurable as possible, you teasingly licked your index finger, sucking on it long enough to give him the chance to stop you if he wasn’t comfortable. When he didn't, you placed the wet tip against his asshole, pushing past the barrier of flesh slowly, quarter inch by quarter inch. You weren’t sure if Patrick had ever experienced anything there before, but he didn’t seem to mind your finger seeking out his sweet spot. Your curiosity had led you to spend hours researching prostates online, so you knew exactly how to find it. You curled your finger, applying pressure to his prostate, causing him to whine. He loved it.

Your lips returned to their place, wrapped around his length and Patrick wasn’t static anymore. He was now fucking your throat like you were just a hole for him to use. Each thrust drove his tip against the back of your throat. Drool dripped uncontrollably from your mouth. You gagged once but quickly refocused, determined to keep your throat open. It felt as if your future with Patrick hinged on the quality of this blowjob. Tonight, no sore jaw or nausea would stand in the way of your goal. Your finger movements matched the rhythm of his thrusts, intensifying the sensation. After a few minutes of intense sucking, he pulled back slightly, keeping just the head of his cock in your mouth. He was throbbing. He came, mouth agape and eyes shut in ecstasy. God, he looked stunning.

You swallowed his semen and stuck your tongue out, showing him what a good girl you were. You had swallowed a lot of Art’s cum in the past, but this had been an entirely different experience. A revelation. You had tasted Patrick, and now you wanted to consume him whole, to suck him dry every hour until his balls ached and he begged you to stop. You craved only his DNA inside you, nobody else, not even yours. You wanted to disappear and become an extension of him.

Patrick rubbed the tip of his dick against your tongue, making sure he was clean. He then wiped the corner of your mouth with his thumb, fixing your smeared makeup. Your makeup was now ornamenting the base of his dick. You withdrew your finger from inside him. He started dressing up next, hiding his still semi-hard cock in his underwear, adjusting it. You helped him pull up and zip his pants before rising to your feet. It was time to leave. This was usually when he would begin to act distant, as if you somehow repulsed him in a post-nut clarity. Smiling awkwardly, unsure how to behave, you exited the cubicle.

Although a part of you had wanted to lick your finger clean and get another taste of him, you had opted to scrub your hands with soap instead, not wanting him to think of you as even more of a freak. You were bent over the sink when he placed his hand on your butt, massaging it firmly. You weren’t disgusting to him anymore? You could feel one of his fingers pressing against your asshole through your underwear trying to return the favor. “You have the most fuckable ass on earth.” He whispered into your ear, his warm breath tickling you. Was he out of his mind? You had starved and pushed yourself to your limits to get a butt like Tashi's, and you were still far from achieving it and yet he wanted to fuck yours. You looked at him, confused, in the mirror's reflection, almost in awe that the man of your dreams was drawn to you. "It sounds so tempting, but you know we can't stay here forever…" If the thrill of being caught was a motivation for him to act interested in you, you could play along. Patrick's fingers were now caressing you through the fabric, from your clit to your ass. He could feel how wet you were. You let out a gasp and quickly slapped his hand away. "Behave, and maybe I'll accidentally leave my room unlocked tonight." You left the bathroom first, trying to appear inconspicuous. No one was around to see Patrick following you out of the cramped restroom.

When you joined him, Art was engrossed in conversation with his classmates about a demanding coach and difficult training, topics that went over your head. Had he paid any attention to you, he would have seen the smeared makeup and disheveled hair, but he didn’t. You found their discussion boring and wished they would talk about something more general. Boys could be so boring. Except Patrick, there was nothing dull about Patrick. Where was he now by the way?

You scanned the room, expecting to find him alone in a corner or engaged in conversation with some guys. But that fucker had chosen to piss you off. Your attention was drawn to two girls deep in conversation with Patrick. Both were attractive, one a tall redhead and the other a petite brunette. Though they were only chatting, you sensed their interest in him. It seemed everyone wanted to fuck Patrick given the chance. One of his remarks made them both laugh. Who the hell were those whores? The only thing that reassured you in this situation was the way his eyes would occasionally meet yours while he spoke, as if he was silently watching over you.

You leaned closer to Art, resting your head on his shoulder, hoping to elicit a reaction from Patrick, but nothing. You needed to grab his attention. You trailed soft kisses from Art's shoulder to his neck and finally whispered behind his ear. "I really want to kiss you." You attempted to sound seductive, but your voice remained raspy from the aftermath of Patrick's cock forcing its way down your throat.

Art smiled at you and leaned closer, offering himself to you. You eagerly grabbed his face between your hands and passionately kissed him. His lips tasted like liquor and you could tell he had consumed a significant amount by his lack of concern regarding the presence of his peers witnessing the sloppy kiss happening before their eyes. You were practically shoving your tongue down his throat. The idea of kissing him with the very same mouth that had just taken Patrick’s load moments earlier was more thrilling than the kiss itself. Would Art taste his best friend on your tongue? Would he attribute the tangy aftertaste to the drink you had earlier? As you pulled away, you noticed Patrick watching you both with a smirk. You could tell he had thought the same exact thing as you.

You pulled away and whispered into Art's ear. "Baby, I'm really tired. I'm going to sleep. See you tomorrow." You kissed him goodnight and left the common room.

You already anticipated that Patrick would follow you to your room minutes later to finally have what he couldn't get earlier.

●

The doorknob to your bedroom turned, and you knew it was him. You were lying in your bed, on your stomach in your underwear, pretending to read a book. In reality, you had meticulously prepared yourself the first few minutes, ensuring you were immaculately clean inside. The remaining quarter of an hour was dedicated to selecting the perfect position for him to discover you in. After locking the door behind him, he stood for a moment, taking in the sight of you, before sitting on the edge of the bed. His hand roamed over your thighs and the curve of your butt.

"I can’t believe you kissed Art with that nasty mouth." He chuckled, playing with the elastic of your panties, his fingers brushing against your ass cheek. You dropped your book on the floor, rolled onto your back and looked at him with a taunting smile. “Oh I’m sure he loved the taste of it.” You teased. His hand now rested on your lower stomach, gently stroking it with light fingers. Your skin was burning under his touch. He seemed much less interested in that part of your body. “I used to spit his jizz back into his mouth and he would always swallow it like a good boy.” Patrick let out an unexpected snort, the sound echoing softly in the quiet of your bedroom, catching you off guard. Was he making fun of you? “I can’t believe you even exist.” What did that even mean? Was he repulsed by you and your actions? The fact that his hand lingered so close to your womanhood, yet he refrained from touching you to ease the fire in you, didn’t reassure you much. What if you had ruined everything?

He leaned in closer, closing the distance between your faces. It was something you had observed about Patrick before : how intimately he needed to be to communicate. He looked at you with a yearning in his eyes, a playful giggle escaping his lips. It was clear he had indulged in a few drinks as well. "What?" You asked, a smile on your lips as your eyes remained locked with his mesmerizing green gaze. "I want to taste that tongue too." He said. Oh god, it was happening, the moment you had always waited for, when everything in your life would suddenly click into place. "Then do it." You teased, sticking your tongue out playfully at him. Kissing him would mean crossing a new boundary in your relationship. It wouldn't just be about fulfilling primal desires, it would also satisfy your craving for affection.

You could feel the heat of his breath mingling with yours. You closed your eyes as his tongue brushed against yours with an hesitant lick. His light touch, more a hesitant exploration than a proper kiss, initially caught you off guard. Deciding to take charge, you closed the remaining distance and drew him into a proper kiss, imbued with urgency.

You wanted to consume him entirely, to have him whole within your mouth. Your lips pressed fervently against his, tongues dancing and exploring. Patrick tasted of beer, a sharp reminder of his earlier indulgence and the actions that followed. In that heated moment, you wondered if he could sense the lingering taste of his own flesh and Art's touch upon your tongue. The kiss was wet, a bit too eager, your mouths struggling to find harmony. Patrick was a messy kisser, and you savored every chaotic second of it. His enjoyment was evident in the sounds he made : a captivating blend of moans and gasps for air.

Saliva mixed as your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, wanting more of him, needing more of this connection. His hands found your hip, drawing you in until there was no space left between your bodies. Each movement desperate, as if trying to convey all the unspoken words and feelings you had kept hidden all at once.

When you parted to catch your breath, you kept your lips pressed against his, inhaling his oxygen as if it were your own. Wow. You thought, still trembling from the encounter. Your world would never be the same now that you had experienced such bliss. Once more, the visions washed over you, images of wedding, babies, and growing old together. But they were abruptly interrupted by Patrick's impatience. "Roll over, I want to see your ass." He demanded. He didn't need to repeat himself. You existed to fulfill his every command. If he desired you as his slave, you would oblige without hesitation. You surrendered onto your stomach, glancing sideways to observe his next move. He gently pulled down your panties, and you assisted by lifting your hips. His hand came down hard on your butt, delivering a sharp spank that silenced any further movement from you. A startled moan escaped your lips in response. It seemed like if there was one thing in this world Patrick Zweig took seriously, it was ass play. After the sting of the slap, he replaced it with warm, tender kisses on your bottom. He slid his fingers between your cheeks, circling your asshole before gliding down to your womanhood, plunging his index finger inside you. "You're so wet for me..." He murmured. You bit your lower lip, nodding eagerly. You were always wet when it came to him, as if his presence kept you in a constant state of arousal. He added a second finger, spreading them apart to widen you. "Get on all fours for me. Spread those sweet cheeks of yours." He commanded. You obeyed without hesitation, getting on your knees and reaching back to spread yourself open for him. Your chest supported your body weight as you positioned yourself, completely exposed and vulnerable, offering yourself fully to your lover, your panties hanging on your legs.

Then, his lips joined in, and you felt his tongue on your clit, softly sucking the bud. A moan of his name escaped your lips. His face was buried deeply between your legs, the tip of his nose brushing against your entrance. It was so different from when Art went down on you. Art was meticulous and slow, but Patrick was messy and eager, mirroring his kissing. You couldn't tell if you were extra wet or if Patrick was just salivating like a starving man. His tongue slid up to your asshole, and he began flicking it there, sending shivers through your entire body. His fingers had withdrawn from inside you, but they still lingered, teasing your swollen folds, roughly massaging your clit, almost abusing it. You were a moaning mess. It was the first time Patrick took the time to focus solely on your pleasure. Sure, it was likely a prelude to fucking you afterward, but for now, his own gratification wasn’t directly involved. He just wanted to make you come. He was lavishing you with long, deliberate strokes of his tongue, starting from your ass and trailing to your pussy, teasingly inserting the tip into both openings each time. As his tongue worked its magic on your pussy, you felt the waves of your first orgasm building. You gasped, pushing your hips back toward him. "Pat-..." You moaned, your legs trembling, making it difficult to stay on all fours.

His fingers neared your asshole, his index circling it before slipping the first joint inside, your juices acting as lubricant. The sensation was underwhelming, you could barely feel his touch. Why was he acting like you were a virgin? Why was he handling you so gently? You yearned for him to ravish you like a wild animal. "Fuck me already!" You whimpered, glancing back at him. He withdrew, gazing at you as if seeking confirmation, then hastily pulled off his shirt and unbuttoned his pants, kicking them off in a rush.

"Got any lube?" You nodded, opening the bedside drawer. It was filled with an assortment of accessories that made Patrick snort. "You’re well prepared." He joked, leaning over you to rummage through the drawer. When he grabbed the lube and started to pour some onto his fingers, you stopped him. "Not too much. I want to feel you stretching me…" You said, watching as he bit his lower lip, clearly affected by your words. He coated his length with a quick stroke of his hand, then positioned himself behind you, teasingly rubbing his tip against your entrance. You had always thought it was impossible to hate Patrick but in that moment, you found yourself oddly resentful of Patrick. After several agonizing strokes along your crack, he finally pushed himself into your ass. You gasped, unprepared for the sudden fullness and the way he stretched you wide. You expected him to at least take his time with his cock, that wasn’t the case.

"You've got all these toys, but deep down, you're just a cockslut." He remarked. And maybe he was right. After all, most of those toys had been used with thoughts of Patrick's cock in mind. "Look at you, swallowing me whole. So hungry." He observed as you clenched around him with all your might. It wasn't as effortless as he made it sound, but there was no need for him to know that.

He rested his hands on both your hips and began moving inside you at a deliberate pace. You instinctively pushed back against him, syncing your movements with his. The sensation of his balls slapping against your entrance sent a rush of heat through you. His balls were undeniably your favorite part of him. Was it because of their symbolic significance, representing the potential to mother his child one day? Or was it their aesthetic appeal, hanging so perfectly beneath his thick cock? You couldn't quite pinpoint the reason. Releasing your grip on your cheek, you placed your hand over his on your hip, interlacing your fingers with his as he thrust into you with increasing intensity. Oh my god, you were holding Patrick Zweig’s hand. Well, sort of.

You really were losing it. Patrick Zweig was fucking you in the ass, and all you could fixate on was the sensation of your hands touching. “Fuck, you’re so tight…” He murmured, spurring you to tighten even more for him. As enjoyable as his thrusts were, it was his voice and fervor that pulled the moans from your lips. His free hand left your hip and stealthily made its way to your clit, massaging it with the same intensity as his movements. The combination of his fingers on your sensitive bud and the rhythmic impact of his balls against you sent waves of exquisite pleasure through your body.

You glanced back at him and were struck by his breathtaking beauty. Sweat droplets clung to his hair and nose, his mouth hung half-open, and his eyes were locked on the point where your bodies met. When he caught your gaze, he placed a firm hand on your head, pressing you into the pillow. Without missing a beat, he continued to ram into you, his grip holding you down as he drove you both to the edge.

Tears streamed down your face, but there was no pain, only an overwhelming sense of euphoria. This was divine. The joy of being with him, of fulfilling his desires, consumed you entirely. It was an ecstasy you could no longer contain. "More…" You pleaded, pressing yourself closer to him, needing him with an intensity that bordered on desperation. He was pounding into you like a man possessed, your comfort an afterthought. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room, a rhythm that matched the frantic beat of your heart. The delicious sound filled your ears, heightening your pleasure. When your second orgasm took you over, you weren’t quite ready for it. You wanted to explode at the same time as him to experience bliss by his side but your body had betrayed you. You tightened around his cock and let out a high-pitched moan, almost too quiet to hear. Patrick continued a few more thrusts before reaching his own climax and when he finally came, he collapsed onto you, pressing you into the bed. His chest heaved against your back, his breath hot on your neck, his cock still buried deep between your cheeks. You felt him more intensely than ever before, his heat consuming you from the inside out. Breathless, sweaty and tear-streaked, you buried your face in the pillow, feeling him panting above you. He brushed the hair off your face and kissed your neck tenderly. “Wow… baby…” He whispered in your ear. Baby? If he wanted to kill you, he had just found the way.

●

Patrick had stayed the night, and it had been far more intimate than the previous one. After fucking, you both had showered together, which inevitably had led to more sex. The shower had felt somewhat pointless as you had ended up lying naked together on your stained sheets. Patrick had lit a cigarette, and amidst casual conversation that covered everything and nothing, he had mentioned his concerns about the tour not going well. You did your best to reassure him, emphasizing how he was the best player you knew and only needed to regain his confidence. He had also confided in you about the pressure from his parents to pursue a more conventional career. You had always assumed being the golden child of a wealthy family would be the easiest thing in the world, but Patrick seemed to be struggling under the weight of his family's expectations. After discussing his challenges, he had turned the conversation to you, asking about your classes and showing genuine interest in your life. It had made your heart flutter, while you enjoyed hearing about him, it meant a lot that he had wanted to know about you too. The night had continued with passionate making out until your tongues were sore, and eventually, you had both drifted off to sleep in each other's arms.

Yet, your bubble was on the verge of exploding. He was officially leaving campus tonight. Determined to prolong your time together, you had skipped classes, rarely venturing out from your room except to fetch food. Clothing had become an optional inconvenience, discarded whenever possible.

You both lay naked on the bed, your head at the foot while Patrick rested at the other end, his legs extended. The room had fallen into a comfortable silence. Between the moans that had ceased and the exhaustion that lingered, words seemed unnecessary. "You've got cute toes." Patrick remarked suddenly, his finger tracing a line along the arch of your foot. "Toes?" You asked, taken aback by the unexpected attention to such a trivial body part. Was Patrick secretly a freak like you? “Yeah, mine are all fucked from the tennis shoes.” He raised his foot to your face, exposing bunions and calluses. As you examined his foot closely, memories of a particular sock hidden under your bed flashed through your mind. A sock you had savored so intensely that it had become even more pungent, forcing you to wash it reluctantly. The desire to experience that tangy taste again overwhelmed you. Fixating on his foot, you seized it and enveloped his big toe with your lips, sucking gently as you gazed into his eyes. As you continued, you pressed your own foot against his crotch, massaging it. Despite the redness and swelling from the intense attention it had received throughout the night, Patrick seemed to overlook any discomfort, lost in desperate moans of pleasure. You switched to his second toe, giving it the attention it deserved. And so on until all of his toes were covered with saliva. "Had worse in my mouth." You chuckled, your foot still working him over. Patrick bit his lower lip, curious. "Like what?" He asked. "Oh, you know, your best friend's cock." You shrugged, causing him to sigh. "No need to be a bitch about it, you sucked him plenty, no?" Was trash-talking his friend off-limits? Wasn’t what he was doing even worse than that? "I thought it was alright until I got a taste of yours." You explained, hoping to lighten the mood.

"I've never felt like this before." You confessed, inching closer to Patrick to meet his gaze. You sensed your words had stirred something within him. "I will never be the same." Cupping his face, you compelled him to look directly into your eyes. "Do you think I can go back to how I was living before you?" You didn't wait for his response, pulling him into a deep kiss. Deep down, you knew his answer wouldn't be what you wanted to hear. Kissing Patrick felt inexplicably right, it was a sensation you doubted anyone else could comprehend. His tongue entwined with yours, sending sparks through your body, his rough lips meeting yours in a perfect union. When you finally pulled away, you both lingered in a silent exchange, words seeming futile. "Let's grab lunch, he's probably waiting for us." Patrick muttered, stepping back and retrieving his clothes from the floor. If you wanted Patrick all for yourself, Art needed to get the fuck out of your lives as soon as possible.

●

"Did you make it home okay last night?" You inquired, your gaze fixed on Art. The glare you shot him betrayed your frustration. You hated him for even existing. "Yeah, I got back early." He replied calmly. The three of you were seated at a table, sharing a meal. You couldn't help but notice how effortlessly Patrick reverted to his usual self, while you struggled not to fixate on him and envision his fingers up your cunt. It infuriated you that he could act so nonchalantly, treating you almost like a stranger. "Really? Then why didn't you text this morning?" The accusatory question slipped out unintentionally. You hadn't bothered checking your phone much that morning, but the absence of any message from Art had surprised you when you finally did. You were itching for a confrontation, and any excuse would do. "Practice. Lost track of time." Art explained, sensing your displeasure. He knew he was in hot water. "I was waiting for your messages." You replied curtly. "Patrick and I had a lot to catch up on." Patrick? Your Patrick? The same guy who was fucking you all night? "Oh really? You were with Patrick?" You squinted at Art. He turned to Patrick, hoping for backup. Patrick nodded. "Yeah, we hung out." He lied. You had always sensed that he would choose his best friend over you, and now you were certain of it. "You're a terrible liar." You accused Art, raising your voice. "And you're no better." You pointed at Patrick, disappointed by his lack of support.

Pushing your barely touched tray away, you stood up. "I was with Tashi, but I didn't want to upset you... I knew you'd get mad." Art confessed finally. "I'm just mad that you're a liar." You sighed. "I talked to her, I think you’re mistaken about us." Art tried to reassure you. "So you don’t only talk to me when you're horny?" You confronted him, eyebrows raised, waiting for an explanation. "I don't do that." He claimed. What a fucking liar.

"Then why do you disappear when it's not about sex?" You demanded. "I haven't forgotten our date two days ago. Just one date, and you couldn't make it until it was too late to go out because you were with another girl. Do you think I'm stupid?"

At that point, you were grasping for reasons to end things with him. You didn't care if he had slept with the entire team on the frat house floor, or even Tashi. What mattered was that he was holding you back from your love story with Patrick. Without waiting for his response, you walked away from the table. You may have been the one labeled a cheating lying whore, but Art was the one left feeling in the wrong. Good.

●

You were hiding in your room, seething with anger at both boys. Patrick, for siding with Art, and Art, for simply breathing. A knock on the door interrupted your fuming. You walked over and opened it to find Patrick standing there. "I wasn't expecting you." You said, stepping aside to let him in. No matter how angry you were, you couldn't leave him standing at the door. You locked it behind him. "I told Art I’d talk to you after your fight." He began. You sighed, already bored with the conversation. "What was that about, anyway?" He asked, looking genuinely confused. He didn’t seem to grasp how irrationally you could act when it came to him. "I'm mad at you too." You confessed, crossing your arms in front of him. "Me? Why? I was just trying to act unsuspicious." He said, raising his hands innocently. "So no matter how sore my ass gets, Art is always going to be your favorite?" You asked, hoping he would reassure you of your importance to him. He didn't answer. "I said I would try to talk to you, but I was thinking of using my tongue in a better way." Sex, again. The only thing that really worked between you two. He wrapped his arms around you, placing a soft kiss against the side of your neck. You tilted your head, letting him nibble on the skin there.

Before you knew it, Patrick was beneath you, his hands on your breasts as you rode his face. His tongue delved deep inside you, expertly fucking you with it while his nose rubbed deliciously against your clit. You could tell by his gasps for air that it was getting harder for him to breathe, but you loved it. You had never had sex as much as you had this weekend, and the muscles in your thighs were terribly sore, your clit on fire, and your walls irritated but you couldn't stop. You didn't know if you would ever see Patrick again, and if you did, who knew if you would become his dirty little secret once more? You rolled your hips over his tongue, your fingers tangled in his hair, slightly tugging on it. No matter how much you focused on his mouth, you just couldn’t relax. Both exhausted and saddened by his impending departure. His beard was also chafing you so bad. You lifted yourself off his face and chose to straddle his hips instead. “Don’t like it?” He asked as you moved away from his mouth. “Love it, I just want to feel you.” You replied, pulling him into a sloppy kiss. His face was covered in your juices, and kissing him felt like eating your own self out. Patrick’s hands found their way to your ass, spreading your cheeks as wide as possible. You started grinding against his crotch, rubbing your swollen clit against his length. Both of you moaned into each other’s mouths. You knew you had to be quick. It would be suspicious for the two of you to spend too much time together. But you didn’t want to rush, you wanted to give him a proper goodbye. After a few more rubs, you slid your hand between your bodies and aligned his length with your entrance. As you sat down on his cock, the pain was sharp, your inner walls could barely handle the friction anymore. You weren’t wet enough. You quickly pulled away and grabbed the lube bottle, spreading some into your palm and coating his length. If your body couldn’t accommodate him naturally, you’d find another way to ensure he could move inside you. Tossing the bottle aside, you sat back onto his length. The slickness made it much easier.

Despite the pain, you were determined to make him come. You wanted to see his face in that moment of release, to feel him fill you up. Ignoring the discomfort, you bounced on him with relentless determination. He started thrusting up to match your pace, and you clung to his chest, riding him with fierce intensity. Nothing about your union was pleasurable anymore, but you continued, driven by a desperate need to connect one last time. You simulated a few moans to keep him engaged. The fact that you were having sex with Patrick Zweig and faking it was such a crazy idea. However, it seemed to work well enough for him to assist you in bouncing faster on his cock. He continued to fuck you passionately. Your thighs were in such pain that you wanted to give up, but you couldn't. You had to be enough for THE Patrick Zweig. Sweat was streaming down your forehead as you continued to rock your hips on top of him.

He was nearly there. His fingernails dug into your skin, and he closed his eyes. When you felt him pulsating inside you with little to no release, you realized that his body was as exhausted as yours. You collapsed on top of him, embracing him as tightly as you could. "I don't want you to leave." You told him, your eyes welling up with tears. "I know." He responded, pulling you into a soft and slow kiss.

“Now make up with him and go be a good girlfriend.” Is that what he wanted you to do? Sure, you would do anything for him.

●

Watching him depart was heart-wrenching, even though you knew he'd return soon, for Art's sake. Standing in the parking lot with Art, waving goodbye as the car pulled away, a knot tightened in your stomach. You wanted to cry, scream, throw a tantrum like a child, but you couldn't afford to. You had to maintain composure in front of Art.

"I'm still sorry about earlier." He said. After your intimate farewell with Patrick, you had called Art to apologize for overreacting. Blaming it on your menstrual cycle, you had claimed you forgot to take your pill yesterday, and Art had paid the price. This excuse also bought you a few days' respite from him coming near your inflamed crotch. Or so you thought.

He enveloped you in a hug from behind, nuzzling your neck. "Did you go for a run again? You smell." He remarked, catching a trace of Patrick's sweat. Despite your shower, it seemed your body was becoming intertwined with Patrick's. "Yeah, I will go take a shower." You replied, meeting his gaze. "Let me come with you, I could use one too." He suggested eagerly. Dread filled you, but if Patrick wanted you to pretend nothing had happened and fuck Art, you'd comply.

In your bedroom, you hurriedly shed your clothes, aiming to get to the shower and scrub yourself clean between your legs before Art joined. "Did you smoke in here?" He asked, making your heart race. Caught red-handed. Despite opening the window and changing the sheets, Patrick's scent lingered. "No, but Patrick was here earlier, trying to convince me not to dump your ass." You deflected, shrugging it off as you stepped into the shower and drew the curtain. Desperate, you lathered soap over your folds, trying to erase any trace of Patrick. It stung horribly. Art joined you in the shower, his hands exploring your body eagerly.

"Art... We shouldn't... My pill." You pleaded, attempting to halt his eager touch on your swollen clit, but he persisted. A gasp and a grimace of pain escaped you, mistakenly taken by him as sounds of pleasure. "I can still make you feel good." He insisted, dropping to his knees and lifting your leg onto his shoulder, burying his face in your crotch. You whimpered as his tongue teased your clit. Why was he so fixated on eating you out? Couldn't he be more like other guys who enjoyed being blown? "What if I'm bleeding?" You tried to dissuade him, but he disregarded your concern. "I don't care.” He replied. Freak. "You're so swollen, I think you might really be ovulating." He commented, his tongue still flicking over your pussy. With a sigh, you closed your eyes, praying for this to end as fast as possible.

Thank goodness, Art proved to be a gentle lover with a smooth chin. It wasn’t exactly pleasurable, but at least it didn’t exacerbate the discomfort you were already feeling. Once again, you summoned your acting skills to feign enjoyment, letting out a fabricated moan as he continued to explore your labia with his mouth. Gripping his wet hair firmly, you emitted another simulated whimper. Art delved his tongue deeper, and you silently hoped any trace of Patrick was long gone. "I'm close..." You murmured, then closed your legs around his head, simulating an orgasm. He released your leg and stood up, wrapping his arms around your neck and kissing you deeply.

For a brief moment, guilt crept in within you for manipulating the boy. However, you quickly reminded yourself that he had only ever been a conduit to Patrick, nothing beyond that.

●

It had been a few days since Patrick had come home. Although he was physically far from you, your relationship had grown stronger. You would talk online for hours, and on lucky nights, you would get to hear his voice when he called you on the phone.

That day, you had spent hours at your computer, waiting for Patrick's AIM icon to turn green. It was already too late for you, you could tell you were madly in love. Your life revolved around Patrick, and you wanted to be available whenever he needed you. You lived to serve him. You had always been a bit excessive when it came to him, but now you were a lost cause.

You: So what’s up with you? Patrick: Thinking about your tight cunt. You: Are you? Patrick: Send pics.

He wanted a picture? Of you? That was concrete proof that you were a significant part of his life. Significant enough for him to want to keep a part of you with him while he was away. You hastily kicked off your sweatpants and hurried to your desk to grab your compact camera. Setting the timer, you bent over and spread your cheeks in front of the lens. Flash. Grabbing the camera, you examined the picture closely. You looked huge. Placing the camera back on the desk, you reset the timer and sucked in your stomach this time, ensuring to spread your labias wide. Another flash. This one looked a bit better. Your crotch looked so much healthier than during his visit. You connected the camera to your laptop and dropped the picture into the conversation.

You: You sent a picture. Patrick: Fuck, I want to be inside you so badly. You: Can I get a picture too? Patrick: Patrick sent a picture.

It exceeded all your expectations. The photos revealed Patrick's lower abdomen, his hand gripping his erect penis tightly, and his large sack prominently displayed. Unfortunately, you couldn’t see his face. Was he biting his lips? Were his eyes closed? Was he looking at your picture while touching himself? It didn’t really matter, your hand was down your panties anyway, touching yourself.

Patrick: I qualified for the Sacramento Capitals. We could see each other then. I could come pick you up tomorrow. You: Really? I would love to.

Ever since Patrick had filled you and made you complete, classes seemed utterly pointless. Skipping a few days and failing them didn't concern you. It was evident you were securing your future as an athlete's wife. However, Art posed a challenge. He expected you to always be there, playing the role of the sweet, devoted girlfriend.

You: What do I tell Art? Patrick: I don’t know, find an excuse. Your family cat’s dying or something like that. You: You know my pussy’s already dying for you.

It only took a second for your cell phone to ring. “Hello?” You answered, a smile on your face. “Am I speaking to the aching pussy?” He teased. "Aching is the word. You fucked me so hard I could barely piss without it burning like hell." You whimpered, prompting a chuckle from Patrick. "I know the feeling. Is it still sore?" It had only just started to calm down after four days, the perfect amount of time to feign a painful period and keep Art's dick as far away from you as possible. "No." You replied. "Then make it sore for me again." He said, catching you off guard. Patrick wanted phone sex? "Grab one of those little toys you have.” He instructed. You opened the drawer and picked out your favorite purple vibrator. "What should I do with it?" You teased, you knew what to do but you wanted to hear him say it. "Is it a vibrator?" He asked, his voice husky. You hummed in confirmation. "Play with your clit.” He commanded. Positioning the toy against your bud, you switched it on. "It's on." You gasped, the vibrator buzzing against your clit. "Are you stroking yourself too?" Your voice was breathless with anticipation. "Like hell, I am." Patrick replied, his voice deep and filled with desire. You imagined him as he appeared in the picture he had sent you earlier, and a moan escaped your lips at his revelation. "Imagine it's my pussy milking you." You whispered, matching the rhythm of the vibrator with the pace of Patrick's heavy breathing. "I'm fucking you so good, you're so tight around me." He groaned, his voice sending shivers down your spine. You closed your eyes, picturing Patrick above you, his body pressed against yours. "Play with your tits, just for me." Patrick urged, his voice thick with arousal. With your free hand, you slid under your shirt, grasping your breast and massaging it, imagining Patrick's hands on you. "My nipples are so hard. Like my clit." You moaned, your arousal building with every word he uttered. "Patrick..." His name escaped your lips like a plea. "I'm so hard too, baby." Patrick murmured, the endearment sending a rush of heat through you. Minutes passed in a haze of pleasure and desire. You felt your pussy clench around the vibrator as it vibrated against your folds, mirroring Patrick's intensity on the other end of the phone. "Patrick!" You groaned, the sound echoing through the room. You heard him whimper on the other side of the line, confirming he was just as affected. "Good girl, I hope you'll be as good tomorrow." Patrick whispered huskily, his voice low and intimate, leaving you breathless and eager for more.

"I miss you so much. I can't wait to see you." You panted, the dildo still vibrating beside you. He had already hung up.

●

Coming up with an excuse had been easier than expected. Art was a family man, so when he heard about your sick aunt's health declining and your mom wanting you to be there, he nearly insisted you leave immediately. You mentioned that your cousin could pick you up tomorrow for the drive back home. It was the best you could come up with, knowing he would have insisted on meeting any other family member.

That night, he had decided to stay over to offer his support. Throughout the night, he had managed to remain appropriate, but now it was morning, and you were both cuddling in bed. His morning wood was pressing against your stomach. "I will miss you so much." He murmured, his hands wandering to your ass, giving it a squeeze. You could feel his desire, his need for you. Your aunt was dying, and he wanted to have sex? What a weirdo. There was no way you were going to let him spoil your body. You needed to be squeaky clean for Patrick. "I will miss you too." You lied, trying to keep your voice steady. His hands became more insistent, sliding into your pajamas, but you were determined not to give in. You pulled his hands out of your pants and shook your head. "I'm not really in the mood... Want me to blow you?"

Fellatio was the easiest way to get him to come. It only took some energetic sucking and a few tight strokes before he would make that weird sound and release himself. Today wasn't any different. After about ten minutes of bobbing your head and moaning as if it were the most appetizing treat, Art exploded in your mouth. Exactly what you didn’t want. You had hoped to trick him into coming into your hand, but he had not warned you beforehand. Now what? You had always swallowed before, you couldn’t just suddenly spit it out. So you swallowed his cum reluctantly, then hid your face in his neck, pulling him into a hug. You felt sick.

You glanced at his watch. Saved by the bell. "Don't you have to go?" He followed your gaze to his wrist and sighed. "My coach is waiting." He placed a soft kiss on your lips and began dressing in the clean clothes he had brought from his room. You watched him, feeling indifferent. "Don't forget to text me once you're there." He reminded you. You nodded. "Have fun at practice." With a wave, he exited the door, leaving you alone.

The moment he left your room, you rushed to the bathroom, kneeling in front of the toilet bowl. You shoved your fingers down your throat, forcing yourself to be sick. You needed to purge any trace of Art from your body before meeting Patrick. You wanted to be pure for him.

Staring at yourself in the mirror, you confronted your reflection. You were about to live the romance you had dreamt of for two full days with the man you loved, yet you had never felt so ugly. Apart from the few precious moments Patrick granted you, you hated your life and yourself and it was showing from the outside. You brushed your teeth hard, trying to scrub away the taste of your boyfriend.

●

With your travel bag slung over your shoulder, you made your way to the drop-off area. It was risky for Patrick to pick you up right outside the campus, but you didn’t care. Sure, Art knew many students, but not many were aware of your relationship with him. You were willing to risk it, you had missed Patrick way too much. Besides, you wouldn't be exactly heartbroken by a breakup.

When you spotted Patrick's car, you hurried toward it, your steps quickening with excitement. You opened the passenger door to find Patrick greeting you with a big smile. You jumped into the car, closed the door behind you, and threw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a deep kiss. Your tongue eagerly met his, tasting cigarettes and energy drinks. You felt like you were finally home, nestled in his embrace. It had been so long that you had almost forgotten how much you loved him. "Hey, handsome." You greeted him, your heart fluttering. "Hey, beautiful." He replied, giving you butterflies. You knew he was just mirroring your words, but you chose to ignore that fact.

Once you were buckled up and had placed your bag on the back seat, Patrick started the engine and drove off campus. The drive was only a couple of hours long, but you were excited to spend time in his company.

He offered you snacks and soda, which you declined. There was no way you wanted to feel bloated and fat in front of Patrick. The radio played some pop songs that Patrick hummed along to, making you smile. You decided to sing along, inviting him to join you. Soon, both of you were singing out loud, as if you were the only two people in the universe.

“I’m so proud of you for winning your spot there.” You suddenly said, reaching for his ear and playing with it. It was the first time you had dared to touch that part of him. Somehow, it felt like one of the most precious parts of his body, maybe because you cherished it so much. “Thank you.” Patrick replied with a smile, his eyes still focused on the road as he held the steering wheel. You continued discussing tennis and university, carefully avoiding mentioning Art.

Remembering that you hadn't texted Art, you pulled out your phone and quickly typed a message.

← [To: Art - 8:13 PM] I’m with my cousin, we’re almost there.

You tried to hide who you were texting, but Patrick noticed. He fell silent. You quickly slipped your phone back into your pocket. “Where are we staying?” You asked, trying to divert his attention from your texting. “Hotel.” He replied curtly. You couldn’t believe that Art had managed to ruin things even from miles away. “What kind of hotel?” You pressed, trying to get him to talk more. “I don’t know, a nice hotel?” He shrugged, no longer smiling. You already missed the sight of his teeth. You turned to him and placed your hand on his crotch, grabbing his dick. “Will you fuck me there?” You asked, squeezing him hard to get a reaction.

He glanced at you, biting his lower lip, and nodded. You pulled your seatbelt aside and leaned over, pulling his cock out of his shorts. “Can’t wait.” You mumbled, holding his length in front of your mouth. You wrapped your lips around the head, sucking on his foreskin. “Don’t.” He whined, leaning back against his seat. “I took the car right after practice and I’ve been on the road all day. I haven't had a chance to shower yet.” You looked up at him. “You think that will make me stop? I want to do it even more now.” You said. You loved it when he was all smelly and musky. You loved your Patrick all nasty. His scent had the power to drive you mad.

“You’re a freak.” He said, a smirk on his lips. You gripped his shaft firmly at the base, your other hand caressing his balls, while your tongue traced every inch of his length. Your mouth was all over him, intent on reminding him of what he had been missing out on. The intensity with which you pleased Art earlier paled in comparison to the energy you now put into drawing passionate moans from Patrick's lips.

Whether it was the distance or the thrill of performing the act in plain sight, Patrick came in no time, filling your mouth with his warm release. As you withdrew and tucked his member back into his shorts, his cum lingered on your tongue, a taste you adored. You yearned to savor him endlessly, wanting to hold onto him forever. Eventually, you swallowed, feeling his warmth settle in your stomach. It was probably the best spot to store it after your pussy and your ass.

When the car stopped at a red light, he grabbed your neck and pulled you into a sloppy kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth as if searching for something. You moaned softly, taken aback by his boldness, enjoying every moment of his embrace. The green light allowed you to catch your breath. “How come you never try to spit it back to me?” He asked, glancing at you. How could you explain to him that you wanted to consume all of him, not letting a single drop go to waste? That you needed to be filled by him, that it wasn’t just a want but a need? That his cum belonged to you alone? That it wasn’t even his anymore?

“You’re too tasty.” You mumbled, looking out the window.

●

“This place is crazy.” You had not visited a lot of hotels but this one had to be one of the high end. “Courtesy of daddy.” You didn’t know much about Patrick’s parents except that they were extremely wealthy. You imagined Patrick’s dad to look similar to him but with salt and pepper hairs and lines on his face. In that moment, you wished to still be around in the future to witness Patrick grow old and gray. You pulled him into a tight embrace and grabbed his butt. “Could I get the discourtesy of daddy then?”

“I have to sort my bag before the match and then I’m all yours, babe.” He said, placing a soft peck on your lips before pulling away. He started rearranging his rackets and replacing the grip tape on one of them. You watched him work, tempted to tell him what you had done with his rackets in the past when you were desperate for his touch. But some things were better left secret for now. You could however reveal how seeing him with a racket was a true turn on.

"You know, I used to fantasize about your backhand." You confessed as you watched him inspect his racket intently. "My backhand?" He responded, taken aback by the unexpected revelation. "Yes." You continued, unabashed. "I wanted you to swing that racket at me with all your strength, just like you do with the ball." By now, he understood how violence was a turn on for you, but he had never ventured into anything that could potentially harm you. Did he have it in him to be the rough motherfucker you wanted him to be? "I wouldn't even care if it put me in a wheelchair or killed me." You added boldly. "I would gladly die that way."

He stared at you with a mixture of disbelief and intrigue, as if you had proposed the most audacious plan. Yet, beneath his initial reaction, you sensed he was intrigued by the notion. When he rose from his seat and took his racket, sitting at the edge of the bed, you knew exactly what was about to happen. He patted his lap invitingly. "Come here." He said softly. You obediently stretched out across his lap, presenting your butt to him. With a gentle touch, he lifted your skirt and slid your panties down, exposing your bare skin. The first smack of the racket against your flesh made you jump slightly. You whined like one of those porn girls but you couldn’t help it. "Hard, you said?" He asked, his voice low and teasing. You nodded, biting your lower lip, eyes closed in anticipation. He lifted his racket high above his head, poised as if preparing to serve, and then struck you with all his might. A scream escaped your lips, tears welling in your eyes from the undeniable pain. The impact reverberated through your body, the sensation lingering deep within your core. The pain was intense, but a part of you loved it. "Is this everything you dreamed of and more?" He asked, his voice tinged with amusement. You couldn't respond, the pain rendering you speechless. Instead, you nodded, burying your face in the sheets of the bed.

"I could play tic-tac-toe on your ass." He remarked playfully, setting aside the racket. Leaning in, he placed gentle kisses on the red marks, his touch tender against the lingering sting.

Things had escalated quickly. Both naked, Patrick's head was now nestled between your legs, lavishing attention on your neglected pussy. He sucked on your clit thoroughly, as if his life depended on it. Your hands tugged at his ears, now bright red and matching the color of your swollen bud. A wave of pleasure surged through you, and you moaned his name repeatedly, like a mantra.

His tongue had soon been replaced by his cock, stretching your entrance as he pounded into you with relentless force. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your hands tangled in his hair, and you struggled to keep up with his pace. The intensity of his thrusts reminded you of the first time Patrick had fucked you, but this time, his tongue was all over your mouth, filling it with his spit. You wondered if this was how he always acted when desperate for cunt. The sensation was overwhelming. You could feel yourself leaving your body, every muscle tensing up as you clenched hard around his dick. The orgasm surged through you, and you moaned into his mouth, your cries muffled by his eager kiss. Your body trembled, riding out the waves of pleasure as he continued to thrust, his own moans mixing with yours in a symphony of ecstasy.

"I'm about to come…" He gasped, swiftly withdrawing. He knelt over you, stroking himself as he hovered above. His gaze locked onto your breasts as he exploded all over your chest. Though you had fantasized about being covered in his semen countless times, you couldn't help but feel disappointed that all that cum was going to waste.

“This is so hot. Can I take a picture?” He queried, grabbing his phone on the bedside table. “You don’t need to ask, I would do anything for you.” You confessed, posing for the picture, eyes staring into the lens and legs parted.

●

That morning, you woke up nestled in Patrick's warm embrace. Despite the lingering soreness from the night before, you felt a rare sense of complete happiness. Patrick slept soundly beside you, his arms wrapped around you. With the match scheduled for the afternoon, you knew you had time to enjoy the quiet moment, watching his peaceful expression. It still amazed you that such a handsome man belonged to you, in a complex, undefined way, but still belonged to YOU. You cherished every part of him. The unruly eyebrows, the envy-inducing lashes, the delicate freckles on his prominent nose, his full lower lip, and the stubble that adorned his square chin. You gazed at him, knowing deep inside that you could never love anyone more. You remained there, lost in admiration for over half an hour until he stirred awake. As he opened his eyes, you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss on his lips, finding charm even in his morning breath.

You sat upright in bed, the sheets draped over your naked body, feeling discomfort radiate from your sore ass. Every movement seemed to intensify the pain, so you opted to recline back against the pillows.

"What time is it?" He asked, rubbing his eyes sleepily. Glancing at the clock, you replied. "10:53 AM." His yawn was contagious, even though you had been awake for a while already. "Let's get dressed and go grab lunch." He suggested, rolling off the bed to head for the shower. You briefly considered joining him but decided to use the time to text Art, reassuring him that everything was going smoothly. When Patrick emerged from the shower, towel wrapped around his hips, you couldn't help but admire him with a sense of awe. Truly, you felt like the luckiest girl alive. "Your turn." He said, nodding toward the bathroom as he moved past you.

You felt like you had reached a new step of intimacy when Patrick casually entered the bathroom to use the toilet as you brushed your teeth a short while later. He nonchalantly pulled out his dick and pissed in front of you. It seemed odd to think so, but you found it insanely hot. Not the piss part, although if Patrick had that kind of fantasies, you wouldn’t mind, but his ease around you, making you feel like you were already his wife.

An hour later, both of you were showered, dressed, and on your way to find something to eat.

Even a trip to a burger joint with Patrick felt like a date, or at least you hoped it was. Opting for water, you mentioned feeling nauseous to justify your choice. There didn't seem to be anything remotely healthy on the menu. Meanwhile, Patrick ordered a full meal: burger, fries, and coke.

Watching him devour his food with such happiness filled you with an inexplicable sense of contentment. You couldn't suppress the smile that spread across your face as he indulged in his meal, sauce smearing his chin and nose. He looked like a child. You couldn't help but picture your future children being just as messy as he was. Perplexed by your hungry gaze, he extended a fry towards you.

"I haven't had fries in ages." You remarked as Patrick offered you one. You hesitated briefly, aware of the calorie count in just one fry. More than five. You had checked the info every single time you had craved some. The grease made you think twice, but you took a bite to please Patrick. "Don't they serve these almost every day at the cafeteria?" He asked, his mouth full. "I've been on a diet." You confessed, hoping for some praise on your efforts. Art had mentioned Patrick noticed the changes in your body. Instead, he frowned, scanning you from head to toe. "I don't think you need to diet. You're perfect as you are." Perfect? You weren’t ‘just fine’, you were perfect. The compliment shook you. "Even before? I was so chubby." You said, surprised. He fed you another fry. "I never thought you were chubby." He admitted. You knew he hadn't paid much attention to you in the past, but how had he missed that? "You hardly noticed me before. But admit it, you wouldn't have fucked me earlier this year." You said, rejecting the last fry offered. "You know why I wasn’t eyeing you before." Tashi. Or was it because of Art? "But I always thought you were hot." Did he? It was hard to believe him given his previous lack of interest. "You were always Art's hot girlfriend in my mind. Well, you are Art's hot girlfriend." He corrected himself. Why did he have to bring Art into this? You dreaded whenever his name was mentioned in the conversation, knowing it could spoil the moment. Hoping to sidestep any tension, you reached out and placed your hand on his thigh, then slid it up to his crotch, giving a gentle squeeze.

"You're insatiable, aren't you?" You shook your head playfully and kept teasing him through his shorts while sipping your water innocently. "I have to save my energy for the match." He said, removing your hand. “I would usually allow a quickie but I know that won’t be enough for the little slut that you are, so keep your hands to yourself.” He whispered into your ear. You pouted like a child at his remark. You knew the sudden name-calling, as hot as it was, was due to the mention of Art. You were starting to know Patrick by heart. He suddenly felt dirty for what he was doing to his friend so he needed to degrade you to make himself feel superior. You were the whore who seduced him. He didn’t mean to fall for it. You didn’t mind that he blamed you. What bothered you was the lack of physical touch.

If Patrick wasn't going to give you what you desired, you were determined to make his life miserable until he did.

After lunch, you chose to sunbathe on the balcony of the room. You had discarded your top to achieve an even tan. "Everyone can see you, you know." Patrick commented as he settled at the foot of your lounge chair. You shrugged. Why did he care about your breasts if they weren't going to be in his mouth? He cupped one of your tits, squeezing it. "No, save your energy for the match." You mocked, echoing his earlier remarks. "Such a whore." He pinched your nipple in reprimand for your attitude, then turned and walked back into the room.

In the hours leading up to the match, you busied yourself by dropping random objects and bending to pick them up in front of him, occasionally ‘accidentally’ brushing against his dick. You could see the frustration building in his eyes. He was fed up with you.

The drive to the court was brief, yet you couldn't resist teasing him more by slowly pulling up your skirt at every turn. You felt his gaze on your legs and chest, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. Your outfit wasn't drastically different from usual, but going commando added an element of novelty, showcasing your perky nipples and tight cunt to him. He clearly didn't fully comprehend who he was dealing with.

Once he parked the car, you hopped out and helped carry his tennis equipment. If fucking you was too much for him, then carrying his rackets should be, too. You had spent the entire morning treating him like he was incapable of anything by himself. You opened doors for him, wiped the corners of his mouth, assisted with his dressing, and even offered to wipe him when he excused himself to the bathroom, always using the excuse of conserving his energy. It was obvious he was amused by the situation and also enjoyed being treated like a princess.

Standing in front of the building, he took his bag back from you. “I don’t fuck losers, so you better win.” You warned him. In truth, you didn't care about the score, but you knew he needed the motivation. You were convinced his recent losses were due to a lack of support. He needed someone to cheer for him. “I’m just saying this for you." You teased, giving his ass a playful slap. "The guy you’re playing against is kinda cute. He will do." You shrugged and climbed up the bleachers to find your spot in the audience. As you settled in, you watched Patrick disappear into the building, a smile lingering on his face.

●

The first set had been a display of Patrick's skills, his forehand blistering the lines and his serves thundering past his opponent's defenses. Cheers from the crowd echoed around the stadium, encouragement punctuated by the occasional groan of dismay from his rival. You applauded enthusiastically. Perhaps you were biased, blinded by love, but Patrick's talent on the court was undeniable. You couldn't fathom why he hadn't already won a Grand Slam.

But as the second set unfolded, you knew why. The match took a different turn. Patrick's focus wavered, and with it, his precision. Unforced errors crept into his game, and his opponent, seizing the opportunity, began to make his way back point by point. The scoreboard tilted against him, the second set slipping away 6-4.

"Zweig, come on! I know you've got more in you than that!" You shouted at him. He glanced up at you, a smirk playing on his lips. Meeting your gaze, Patrick felt a surge of determination. This match was far from decided.

Entering the decisive third set, Patrick knew he had to regain control. The tension was high as the score grew tighter with each point. Sweat covered Patrick's forehead, his muscles tense. With every stroke, he fought to assert his dominance once more, refusing to let doubt cloud his mind.

At 5-5, the match hung in the balance. Patrick served with newfound determination, his first serves finding their mark with accuracy. He broke his opponent's serve with an impressive passing shot, seizing the opportunity with a groan of victory.

Serving for the match at 6-5, Patrick felt a surge of adrenaline. His serve was met with a return, but he anticipated it perfectly, sprinting to the net to deliver a crisp strike that left his opponent stranded. Match point.

As he walked to the baseline, he caught your eye in the stands. You subtly uncrossed your legs and parted them, revealing your lack of panties to him. You didn’t care that all the court could see your pussy right now, you wanted Patrick to fully admire his prize. You could sense his distraction at the sight of you, but he swiftly refocused himself. Winning was crucial if he wanted to claim you. The final serve was met with a powerful return, but Patrick was ready. He moved forward, anticipation guiding his racket as he unleashed a cross-court winner.

The stadium erupted in an echo of applause and cheers. Patrick dropped his racket, arms raised in triumph. He had won, not just the match, but the game you both played. Amidst the applause, he searched for your beaming face in the crowd, acknowledging the essential role you had played in his victory. He wiped his face with his towel and shook his opponent’s hand. You waited until the court's audience had dispersed and the cameras were no longer rolling before you joined your man.

Leaping into Patrick's arms, you wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. He instinctively gripped your thighs for support, his body glistening with sweat, looking more attractive than ever before. "Congratulations!" You exclaimed, drawing him into a passionate kiss. His lips tasted salty from the sweat covering his face. "Follow me." He murmured against your lips as he carried you inside the building. If he thought he could easily shake you off now, he had another thing coming.

●

Dropping you to your feet, Patrick led you to the locker rooms, which were empty for now. He pushed you into a cubicle and locked the door behind you. The scent of the room brought back memories of the frat house’s bathroom. "You've been teasing me all day. Now, you're going to pay for it." He warned. Pay for it? How? You grinned at him, sticking your tongue out playfully. He bit down on it gently, pulling you into a deep kiss, his hands roaming over your ass, groping you possessively. “Aren’t you tired after focusing so much on your tennis?” You teased, sliding your hands down his damp shorts to grasp his ass as firmly as he was gripping yours. “You’re such a cunt.” He grabbed your hands, removing them from his shorts as he flipped you over and shoved you against the way. Your nipples hardened against the cold wall. He pulled out his hard cock and plunged himself into you without any foreplay. You gasped at the sudden penetration, feigning dismay even as you loved every second of it. “People will hear us..” You whimpered as he started thrusting into you “Let them hear, I don’t care.” He retorted sharply, thrusting into you as your moans filled the room. You ensured your cries were loud enough to trick him into giving you deeper thrusts. Gripping your neck, he kept you facing the wall as you arched your back, inviting his forceful entry. Patrick exploded inside you without warning, then withdrew, leaving you frustrated. Noises beyond the door indicated you were no longer alone.

"I should punish you like that and not let you cum." He whispered in your ear, eliciting a whimper. "Please…" You pleaded, spreading yourself for him. "I will be good, I promise." You reached for his cock, but he slapped your hand away and re-entered you slowly, inch by inch. This was how he was making you pay for it : agonizingly slow thrusts that left you desperate. Moaning louder, you urged him to quicken his pace.

Laughter and whistles drifted through the walls, signaling that your little fun was no secret to others. Everyone knew someone was being fucked in there.

Finally giving in, Patrick began to ram vigorously, the wet sounds of his powerful thrusts reverberating through the room as you struggled to stifle your cries. "Patrick!" You moaned, your voice muffled by the wall you were almost kissing. Your orgasm washed over you, your legs shaking as you silently thanked the wall for supporting you. He slowly pulled out and flipped you around, capturing your lips in a sloppy kiss.

“Let’s go back to the hotel.” You giggled, pulling down your skirt. You could feel his cum running down your thighs, but you didn't care if anyone noticed. You wanted to parade your used-up cunt like a trophy. Patrick’s second trophy of the afternoon. Stepping out of the cubicle had been a challenge. As you stepped out, all the players turned to look at you, their faces adorned with wide grins. They knew what had happened in there, and it truly felt like a walk of shame. However, with Patrick standing beside you, holding your hand proudly, you felt like you could face anything.

●

Both of you had just emerged from the shower, wrapped in the hotel's luxurious bathrobes. Patrick sat on the bed while you positioned yourself behind him, legs on either side, tenderly brushing his hair. "I wish it could always be like this." You murmured, as Patrick closed his eyes in bliss. "What do you mean?" He asked. You dropped the hairbrush onto the bed and began to massage his scalp. "You and me." You replied. He sighed, already knowing where this was headed. This wasn’t the first time you had expressed your desire to be with him exclusively. A request he would simply ignore, no matter how much you would make him come to try to convince him. "I can't stand seeing their faces anymore. No one understands me quite like you."

“I don’t get you. You’re just totally freaky and I accepted it.” He said, unsure if his comment would sting. But it didn’t, it was true, and you both knew it. “Please, let me be yours.” You whispered in his ear, your breath warm against his skin. Your heart pounded as you waited for his response, hoping that this time, things might be different. Patrick leaned back into you, his body relaxing further under your touch. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken words and possibilities. “I won’t be demanding. I will let you do anything you want to me. I will let you use me and toss me around. And when you’re done with me, I will let you fuck every pretty thing you see and not be jealous, I promise.”

Your pleas elicited a burst of laughter from him before he fell silent, lost in his thoughts. "We can’t." He finally admitted, his voice barely audible. "I’d be the worst friend in the world."

Your hands paused in their gentle massage, and you leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear. "Fuck Art.. Claim me. I promise to be good." You pleaded softly, your voice a mix of desperation and longing. You eagerly began to nibble on his earlobe, craving his closeness.

Patrick turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours. "He’s my best friend and I already ruined things between us. This would destroy him." He replied, a sad smile tugging at his lips.

You understood that this wouldn't shatter Art. He didn't invest enough in you for it to cause any real pain. However, Patrick's betrayal would certainly sting. Yet, it would serve as the ideal pretext for Art to sever ties with Patrick, freeing himself from a friendship that held him back from Tashi.

"Plus, you probably only find this so endearing because you like chaos. You’re drawn to the secret rendez-vous, the homewrecking and the desperate fucking. I told you, you’re fucked in the head."

You sighed, resting your forehead against the back of his head. And here he was again with the agression. "You know that’s not true. I have wanted you ever since the moment I laid eyes on you. Remember the US Open Junior championship? Recall the girl waiting for Art outside the locker rooms? Did you truly believe I was waiting for Art? I simply couldn't compete with Tashi. But I promise you, I can be better than her."

He didn't respond immediately, but his hand reached up to cover yours, squeezing gently. Though he didn't speak, his subtle gesture conveyed a clear message, urging you to remain silent.

You slid off the bed and positioned yourself in front of him, loosening the belt of your bathrobe until it fell away, leaving you standing bare before him.

"Please. Tashi can’t make you come like I do.” You whispered, feeling the heat of his gaze tracing every curve of your body. You knelt before him once more, this time in a physical plea. If he sought devotion, you were prepared to demonstrate desperation.

"What about Art?" You loosened his robe and pressed your face against his crotch, nuzzling between his legs. “He can’t fuck you like I do.” You chuckled, savoring the musky scent from his balls as if it were the strongest drug. Though you had never indulged in any substances, Patrick was undeniably more addictive than anything else in the world. “I can’t do that to him…” He gazed down at you as though he were weighing the prospect of claiming you for good, even though you had been his since you were fourteen. You sensed he was on the brink of surrender. “He chose Tashi over you months ago.” You sensed his muscles tighten beneath your fingertips.

“Shut the fuck up.” His words were sharp, and so was his touch. He roughly shoved you aside, causing you to fall back onto your butt. Tears welled up in your eyes as you gazed up at him, searching for a hint of the connection you thought you shared. But it was clear : Art mattered more to him than you ever could.

"Please" You whispered, voice trembling with a mix of heartbreak and anger.

Patrick's eyes were cold, devoid of the passion that burned between you a couple of hours ago. "You’re the one who fucked up, he didn’t do anything. They didn’t do anything." He replied, his tone harsh and unyielding. Of course, you were the only one to blame. "It started as a game, but now... I can't do this."

“Now what?” The weight of his silence crushed you, the realization that this relationship had no future was cutting deeper than any physical pain.

“Tell me you don’t like me and I will leave you alone...” Without saying anything, he looked at you with conflicted eyes, then turned away abruptly, leaving you with a heavy silence that spoke volumes.

●

Patrick hadn’t uttered a single word at the hotel after that. The only time he spoke was to urge you to get dressed, as it was time to return to campus. The car ride back to the university was painfully silent, with only the radio and your muffled sobs breaking the quiet.

Once close to the campus, he pulled the car over to the side of the road, turning off the engine. The sudden silence was deafening. He turned to face you, his eyes filled with a mixture of longing and pain. The silence stretched on, and you could feel the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on you. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, you leaned over and kissed him. For a moment, he kissed you back with a desperate intensity that made your heart ache. But then he pulled away, breathless and shaken.

"I do care about you. More than I ever thought I would.” He whispered so quietly you had to strain to hear him. In that moment, it felt like there were only the two of you in the world. Those were the words you had been dying to hear, and it felt like he was only willing to admit them out loud once. Patrick Zweig cared about you. Maybe not as much as you cared about him, but it was a start. You were confident you could find a way to make him love you.

With a smile, you reached over to his crotch and slid your hand down his shorts, massaging him. That was the thing with Patrick, you didn’t know how to show your affection in any other way than through your body. Everything else felt...forbidden. Was it because you were in a relationship? Not exactly. Was it because you had idolized this man for so long that he had become some kind of god to you? Most likely. Patrick seemed unreal to you, and feeling his body was the only way to make sure he was real. He allowed himself to get lost in your touch for a moment, moaning at the sensation before abruptly stopping you. “Fuck, you’re truly mad.” He removed your hand from down his pants. “We can’t. Let’s drive you back.”

You had imagined countless ways to convince him to keep you. You could remain his side piece for the rest of your life, offering him your body before he went home to his wife and kids. Yet, you were certain he would find a way to reject you anyway. Deep down, you knew it all came down to his loyalty to Art, not your relationship with him. Now, you were parked in front of the campus.

“I love you.” You had wanted to tell him that ever since you first noticed him at fourteen. Saying it felt like the most natural thing in the world, it felt as natural as breathing. You nibbled on your lower lip, looking at him with hopeful eyes. You didn’t expect him to reciprocate because you knew he couldn’t. No, he wouldn’t. No one in the world could love as fiercely as you loved him. But you needed him to acknowledge it. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if absorbing your words. Taking a deep breath, he nodded in response to your confession. Of course, he already knew.

He unlocked the door, signaling for you to leave. Reluctantly, you opened the car door and stepped out. Patrick took a deep breath, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. "Take care of Art." Not a word for you.

"I will." You lied, your voice barely audible. You did not give two fucks about that asshole. You despised him and hated your relationship with him. Just thinking about him made you feel nauseous.

And with that, you turned and walked away, leaving behind the shattered remnants of a relationship that was never meant to be. For a fleeting moment, you considered stepping in front of the car and ending it all, hoping he might finally take you seriously and feel enough pity to let you stay even just an afterthought in his mind. But when you looked back, he was already far gone.

●

Not knowing what to do now that your life had been shattered, you wandered to Art’s dorm, hoping to find some comfort. You knocked on his door with urgency until he finally opened it. “Fuck, are you okay?” He asked, noticing your tear-streaked face and runny nose. “No…” You admitted, unable to hide the heartbreak you were experiencing. “Is she okay?” Who? Oh, right, your aunt. You remembered the lie you had concocted to slip away with Patrick. “She’s really not doing well. I think she’s going to die.” You replied, knowing deep down you were really talking about yourself.

Wrapped in Art’s bed, cocooned by the blanket, your face nestled against his neck while his hands traced gentle patterns on your back. Using him to dull the lack of Patrick had become a habit over the months, but now it felt unsettling, almost like betraying him. “I can’t keep lying to you. There’s someone else. Or there was.” You murmured against his skin, sensing his body tense beneath yours. “I already know.” He confessed. He knew? Why would he persist in perpetuating this farce of a relationship? The only rationale behind this seemed to be that the relationship held some benefit for him. Was it the intimacy? The status it afforded in Tashi’s eyes? “How did you find out?” You asked, seeking clarity on the matter.

“First of all, you never feel like doing it anymore, and you’re the horniest person I know.” He said. You barely had enough energy to fuck him, plus you couldn’t scrub yourself hard enough to remove the dirty feeling. “You have marks that I know aren’t just accid—” He poked at the bruise on your thigh, an obvious bite mark.

“And you don’t care?” You cut him off. You withdrew slightly to study his eyes, but he remained silent, offering no response. “God, you really don’t care.” You slightly raised your voice at him. You disentangled yourself from his embrace and slid out of the bed. Standing before him, hands firmly planted on your hips, you confronted him directly. “I truly wonder what I am to you. Don’t you think I went and fucked someone else because I just got tired of my boyfriend ignoring me to spend so much time with his ‘friend’ Tashi…?” You emphasized the word 'friend'. It was wrong, shifting the blame for your infidelity onto him. But you couldn't help it. You couldn't bear to be the villain in this story. Patrick was your soulmate, and Art was just there in the meantime.

“You know she needs us." Art attempted to explain, perched on the edge of his bed, his gaze fixed on you. "Us? She doesn’t need me, believe me." You reassured him. Tashi couldn't care less about you, and now that she was out of Patrick's life, you felt no obligation to keep her in yours. "Maybe because you're playing besties with her ex." He said, the way he phrased it sparking doubt about what he truly knew. Was he aware of your secret relationship with Patrick?

"Maybe someone needs to. You barely treat him like he's your best friend. And for what? Because he satisfies your little girlfriend in ways you never could?" You intended to talk about Tashi, but the parallels with your own situation felt uncomfortably apt. From the way Art glared at you, it was clear he understood the message perfectly. "You're a coward, Art. If you made a move, you could have her. But you prefer your comfort. You like having me around to keep your dick wet, but you don't love me. I'm just convenient." His eyes were red, though he wasn't shedding tears. You couldn't discern if he was sad or simply enraged. That was the perpetual challenge with Art : his reluctance to communicate. Even now, he maintained a stubborn silence. "Why her, by the way? Is it because she chose Patrick and you can't get over it? Just fuck her already. Get it out of your system. Or maybe you already have? Did she get down on her fucked-up knee and worship your talent?" You regretted mentioning Tashi's knee, but it was at the heart of the matter. The catalyst for everything.

“I fucked someone else and you won’t even react. Call me a whore, insult me, be disgusted by me. I don’t care, just say something. Grow some balls and end things with me.” You practically begged him. Patrick had no issue calling you all the names in the world. Why couldn't Art do the same?

"Let's end it." He finally muttered. You weren't sure if that was truly what he wanted, but it was definitely what you desired, and the ever-so-accommodating Art might have just said it to please you.

“Finally.” You clapped at him, more mocking than applauding his courage. "Thanks for everything." Grabbing your shoes, you left his room without looking back. Walking barefoot down the dorm hallway, a lump formed in your throat and tears streamed down your cheeks. You were crying. Who would have thought Art fucking Donaldson would ever make you cry?

You wouldn’t miss Art, but you couldn’t believe that you had let the opportunity to be with the man of your dreams slip away because of a relationship that had ended with a snap of a finger. Art had shattered your life's blueprint, the plans you had crafted since adolescence.

●

You were finally free, and you had to tell Patrick right away. At last, you could be together with the man you were meant to be with. Practically sprinting through the corridor, you hoped to reach your room before his bedtime. Grabbing your laptop, you opened AIM, hoping to see a message from him. Thank goodness he was online, but there was nothing from him. You clicked on his username and opened your chat box, scrolling through the dozens of nude pictures you had sent him.

You: I just broke up with him. Can I see you, please? Patrick: You truly love making my life insanely complicated.

You watched the "typing" indicator flash, but despite your endless waiting, nothing ever appeared on the screen. He was now offline. In a final desperate attempt, you sent him a ‘Please,’ only to be met with an automated response:

zweigpat can't receive IMs right now. Status is unavailable or offline.

●

As you lay in bed, tears staining your cheeks, you couldn't shake the feeling of rejection that hung heavy in the air. The weight of Patrick's silence felt suffocating, leaving you to wonder if he had blocked you out of his life completely.

Hours passed, the room growing darker as evening fell. Your stomach rumbled with hunger, yet you felt emotionally drained, as if life had been sucked out of you. A knock on the door shattered the silence, momentarily pulling you out of your misery. Could it be Art offering explanations? He had to be the last person you wished to see at this moment. Was it Tashi coming for a fight? She would destroy you. You had to admit, dying in her hands sounded quite sweet at the moment.

You hesitated before making your way to the door, the anticipation gnawing at your insides. With a shaky hand, you turned the doorknob, half expecting to see Art standing there with a remorseful expression. Instead, you were met with the sight of Patrick, his face etched with a mixture of uncertainty and longing. Your breath caught in your throat as you took in his presence, your mind struggling to process the sudden turn of events.

Before you could say anything, Patrick had closed the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours in a desperate, hungry kiss. It felt surreal, almost too good to be true. There he was, standing before you. Patrick Zweig. And he was yours.

He yearned for you with an intensity you had never seen before. His desperation for your touch, his craving for your lips and body, his longing for your love. All of it consumed him completely, making him a shell of himself. The roles were now reversed, and Patrick Zweig, once unattainable, now laid vulnerable at your feet. The power had shifted to your side. The longing in his eyes, the very thing you had waited for since you were fourteen, now seemed pitiful. He truly looked pathetic, and a twinge of revulsion began to creep into your thoughts. Patrick Zweig was yours and it felt disgusting.

♠♣♥♦

Tagging : @starrgurl46 @egcdeath @izzywags478 @serenadingtigers @justzluv

n/a : Here is part 2 of Silent Devotion. I'm not sure if this calls for another sequel. Is this turning into a series? I don't know, to be fair. I like writing about obssessive!reader (even though, she's not as remotely freaky as she was in part one) but it's always A LOT. I lose sleep over this. I also love that we got to see more of Patrick in this. Hope you liked it! (The amount of researches I had to do about facebook in 2006 and AIM.... I don't want to talk about it.)

See you next time!

616 notes View Post

ijustwannareblogstuff

1 year ago

Everytime you post about smut blurbs, my Eddie loving brain goes 😵‍💫🫠 Any chance you have something for inexperienced!Eddie being completely overwhelmed with fooling around for the first time and just cannot get over how lucky he is to be touching/tasting reader? He’d be so overcome with lust and desire that he wouldn’t be able to control all his pretty noises 🥵

"You okay?"

You pulled away from Eddie's kiss, lips clicking apart and your nose bumped the boy's. He was breathing heavy, lips swollen and cheeks pink, flushed with the excitement from having you atop him. He'd been making soft noises, little groans every time you shifted, your fingers sweeping over the back of his neck and into his curls until he'd gasped.

Eddie nodded, looking up from his place underneath you, eyes hooded and pupils blown wide. He was all stumbling movements and unsure hands, petting softly at your sides before he got really into it, gripping the skin on your hips almost too tightly when your tongue licked into his mouth.

"Yeah, yeah, m'good," he breathed out, words wavering, each syllable tripping over his own tongue. "You're just really fuckin' pretty."

You scrunched your nose at his compliment, hid your smile and your soft eyes by dipping back to kiss him again, chest to chest and arms wound around his neck. Your tongue touching his made him groan, a sweet, pretty sound that made you kiss him harder, deeper. Eddie let out huffs of breath every time you parted, chasing you for more like he couldn't get enough.

And when you rocked your hips over his, the soft cotton of your shorts catching against the zipper on his jeans, you whined and Eddie grunted, lashes fluttering and his blunt nails pressing half moons into your sides. He held you tightly, like he couldn't believe you were there - like you'd fly off at any moment.

"Still good?" You whispered and god, you sounded smug, you couldn't help it. The resident bad boy was putty underneath you, clinging onto you like you were the one thing keeping him on this earth. "Eddie?"

The boy nodded dumbly, eyes on you mouth, wondering if his was as pink and swollen as your own, kiss bitten and pretty.

It was.

"Yeah, fuck-- you're just, you-- can't believe you're making out with me, y'know? Shit, you're just really fuckin' pretty and oh, fuck--" Eddie cut himself off with a gasp when you attached yourself to his neck, lips trailing over his skin, the stubble along his jaw. "Christ, don't stop, fuck-- fuck, keep doing that."

You grinned into him, lips on his neck, right underneath his ear and you let your teeth graze the skin, felt him shiver against you. His hands crawled up your back, slipping under your shirt to trace the line of your spin and Eddie let his head fall back onto the couch cushions, eyes closed.

"What're you doing to me," he groaned and it didn't sound like a question at all. It came out like a plea, like a prayer.

"Want me to stop?" you asked softly.

"No, fucking hell, please no."

928 notes View Post

ijustwannareblogstuff

2 months ago

solus | elliot

pairings — elliot/reader | stranded!au | “__” = Y/N

word count : 10k

summary : you and elliot wake up in a world where everyone else magically vanishes.

warnings : fingering, dirty talk, alcohol, weed, angst, oral sex (f) receiving, riding, missionary, multiple orgasms, hickies, dirty talk, elliot calls you a brat, degrading, spanking

authors note : the ending creeped me out lolz

elliot masterlist latest fic

Making your way a bit faster towards the gymnasium, biting your lip in anticipation of getting there on time—you felt your phone vibrate leading you to release a frustrated groan.

Pausing in your steps, you snatched your phone from your back pocket, eyes scanning over the dimly lit screen. You squinted as you read the text.

mads 💌

i left something in peterson’s class. can u plsssss get it for me

Your brows rose, letting out a scoff at the audacity your best friend had.

sent

get it yourself. i don’t wanna be late

Your phone dinged almost instantly after, as if she knew you were going to tell her to go fuck herself. Rolling your eyes at her reply, you caved in.

mads 💌

im in the bathroom blowing my ass out bitch

sent

fine. what is it?

mads 💌

pads. pls and thanks hoe 🙏

sent

cunt.

Shutting your phone back off, you sighed before changing your path and heading towards the English class. How did she even leave them in there? They must’ve fallen out or something—you don’t know. Constantly checking the time on your phone, you began to panic when you only had five minutes left, and began to quicken your pace.

When the maroon colored door came into sight, you let out a huff before pushing open the heavy surface. Your hand fell from the knob as you released a shout, covering your face with your hands, a squeal falling from the girl that was making out with none other than Elliot.

Elliot.

God, you hated him.

The picture burned in your mind of his hand around her neck, sitting on the teacher’s desk while he pressed his lips to hers making you want to projectile vomit. You felt her push past you, making your shoulder hit the door, letting out a curse before sending her an icy glare. But she had her back turned towards you as she scrambled out the halls.

Looking at him with a raised brow, he only sent you an irritated scowl; crossing his chiseled biceps over his broad chest, “Nice going, cockblock.”

You placed your hands on your hips, before cocking one of them, “Cassie Howard? Didn’t know you fucked blondes too.”

His scowl stretched into a smirk, rubbing his chin with a smug look, “I fuck anything that has a pussy, babe,” he teased, approaching you slowly. Your figure stiffened as his eyes flickered up and down your face, before setting back onto your eyes, “You would know, wouldn’t you?”

Your nostrils flared, fists balling at your sides.

“Don’t call me babe ever again.”

His brow roses, eyes flashing.

“I thought you liked that?”

Clenching your jaw, he let out a dry chuckle before brushing past you; making his way over to the door. Shutting your eyes in relief, glad that he was about to leave, the knob turned. But you didn’t hear the door shut, causing your brows to furrow, and spin around to face him.

His hand kept trying to turn the knob, but it wasn’t working. He had to be faking it.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his veins protruding from his flesh on his neck as he tried again; but failed, “I think it’s jammed or some shit.”

You snorted, knowing he was only fucking with you, causing a new wave of annoyance to wash over his features, “What the fuck are you giggling at? I’m serious,” he snapped, delivering a harsh kick to the door afterwards to seal the show he was putting on, “It won’t—fuck—open.”

When he didn’t let up his act, you began to grow a bit worried, blinking quickly, “Stop it, Elliot,” you mumbled, shifting back and forth on your feet, “I don’t have time for this. I can’t be late—“

“Try for yourself,” he spat, stepping aside with gritted teeth. Elliot gestured to the door,

“Go on. See if I’m fucking with you or not.”

Gulping, you puffed your chest out and walked over to the door, and confidently tried to open it. But when it didn’t work, like something was blocking the other end, your eyes rounded as you looked at him. He rolled his eyes, plopping down onto the chair for the teacher, legs far apart as he slumped.

He twirled a marker in the air, before pointing it at you with a fake smile, “See. Told you.”

There was no fucking way you were stuck in a classroom with Elliot.

Ignoring the cocky expression he was sending you, you began to pace back and forth across the class after trying to open the door for another ten minutes. Elliot just sat there, watching you with that stupid fucking grin on his face, while you tugged at your strands while trying not to panic.

This was your luck. You were going to miss the assembly because your friend needed fucking pads.

“How is this even possible?” You muttered to yourself, hand landing on your chest, “By the time someone finds us, the assembly will be over and it’ll look like we did something together,” but then you paused, eyes widening in horror over at the wall, “—or even worse, I’ll get detention. Fuck!”

Elliot’s chuckle rang through the class, earning a glare from you, “Surprised that you think getting detention is worse than being seen with me.”

“It’s not like we actually did something,” you muttered with a huff, causing him to raise a knowing brow at you.

“We haven’t?”

“I mean now. In here,” you picked up a notebook from a random desk, and tossed it at him. He dodged it before narrowing his dark eyes at you, whilst you pointed a finger at him,

“—and we agreed you’d never bring up what we did. It was a mistake.”

His upper lip curled, features tightening.

“Well the feeling’s mutual.”

Pressing your lips together, you decided to save your own breath and simply ignore him. You did a pretty good job of acting like he didn’t exist for the past year, and now wasn’t going to be any different.

When it was close to an hour to go by, you walked over to the glass window, which was a tiny slit that probably was five inches in size. The air wafted inside the small room, giving you oxygen, as you watched the door with intent eyes.

Wasn’t the assembly finished by now? They usually took about 45 minutes.

“It’s almost two,” you muttered, furrowing your brows, “Sixth period should be happening by now.”

But where was the teacher?

Walking over to the window, Elliot spun in the chair he was still in, letting out a quiet fuck before shoving his phone into his pocket, “I have no service. Fucking shitty ass wifi,” he grumbled, “Can’t wait to get the fuck outta here.”

Bringing your thumbnail to your lip, you chewed with your teeth while nervously tapping in front of the door. Your fist collided with the cool surface as you let out a call, “Hello! Can someone get us out?” Hearing your phone echo in the halls, you perked up, before trying again, “Hello! Hell—“

“Your giving me a headache,” Elliot snapped, sniffling before wiping his nose. He shrugged with hooded eyes, “If anyone was going to come, they would. It hasn’t even been an hour yet. Just chill the fuck out and sit down somewhere.”

“We didn’t have a half day, so we should be in class right now,” you mumbled, chewing on your thumb even harder.

Elliot’s jaw clenched, “So you think we’re stuck in here?”

“Maybe.”

He kicked the desk, “Dammit,” he grunted, letting out a heavy breath before standing up. His long, thin legs strode over to the door, his sneakers padding against the tiled floor, before bringing his fist up to slam against the wood,

“Yo! Let us out—before I fucking—“

“Yeah, threaten them,” you laughed dryly, shaking your head before looking to the side, “Like they’re doing this on purpose. Everyone probably just went home.”

He tightened his lips at you, “Don’t teachers stay after school?”

“Not all the time.”

“Great,” he slammed his hand on the door, letting it slide back down to his side before leaning his forehead against it. His thick lashes fluttered as his eyes fell shut, voice coming out quiet yet bitter, “This is all just—fucking great. Can’t even smoke a fucking joint.”

“That’s what your worried about?” You tilted your head, “A joint? What about using the bathroom? Or water? Jesus,” your hands flew to your temples. Trying to soothe the overthinking thoughts that made your brain pound, “Not only am I stuck in here with an idiot, but an idiot that’s also an asshole.”

Elliot chuckled, pausing in front of you, a smile quirking onto his pink, plump lips, “Hold still,” he held a hand up in front of your face, raising his brows, “I’m just trying to imagine you without the bitchy prude personality.”

“And I’m just trying to imagine you with a bigger dick,” you hissed, smirking as his smile slipped off his face, being replaced with a scowl, “You know, one that could actually make girls come.”

“Fuck you.”

“Never again,” you snapped, pushing past him before going to sit in one of the corners, snatching a book off the shelf before making yourself busy. You heard Elliot laugh in disbelief before mumbling to himself; keeping his distance from you.

After a few hours passed, it dawned on you that you would have to spend the night there. Using your jacket as a pillow, you kept tossing the boy glances that was drawing on the board with a marker. He probably wasn’t going to sleep. You didn’t trust him enough to sleep around him, but you were really tired, and didn’t have much of a choice.

A yawn tore through you, before feeling your eyes flutter close, and falling asleep. By the time you had woken up, it was because the door had screeched open, leading you to shoot up from your laying position with round eyes. Your sights flew to Elliot, who had passed out in the teachers’ chair, letting out quiet snores as he drooled onto the desk.

Grabbing your backpack, you didn’t even bother waking him up, throwing an asshole towards his limp figure before storming out the class.

But then you paused, realizing that no one was to be seen. Who had opened the door?

Perhaps the janitor? But how did he know you two were in there?

You had never seen the halls so empty before, not a student in your gaze, which was a great relief. You had looked like utter shit, wearing the same clothes from yesterday, makeup dried out and ruined. Eyes still puffy from just waking up, you began walking down the hall.

After taking a shower, you felt extremely refreshed, peering your head out your bedroom doorframe before calling out for your father, “Dad!”

He should’ve been home by now. It was like—almost eleven o’clock at night. Furrowing your brows, you slipped on a hoodie and some sweats before walking into the kitchen; then the living room. They were both empty. Gulping, you figured he must’ve been working late, and plopped onto the couch to turn on Netflix.

Before you knew it, it was the next morning; and your father was still nowhere to be seen. You had fallen asleep on the couch, slobber dribbling down your chin, realizing that you didn’t have school today since it was the weekend.

You checked your texts, and noticed that you had no new notifications. You had texted Maddy last night about being locked in a class with your worst enemy; and figured she was busy when she didn’t reply right away.

But now—it’s been almost an entire day. Something was up.

Sending a quick text to your dad asking where he was, you called the brunette girl, but it went straight to voicemail. Rolling your eyes, you tossed your phone onto the cushion, before getting up to go piss.

After coming back, your phone dinged, expecting it to be your best friend—but your face instantly fell when you read the text.

unknown

meet me at the school.

You knew it was Elliot, since you had deleted him as a contact—and he was the only person that would boss you around through messages. Letting out a sigh, you typed back a quick response with pursed lips.

sent

no 😍 fuck off

About to shut your phone off, he sent you another message, making irritation begin to boil in your blood.

unknown

i’m not fucking kidding

unknown

hurry up and come

Your finger flew to the block button, before pressing the red circle, and deleting the conversation.

You did not want to give him the time of day.

Moving over to instagram, your feed wouldn’t refresh, saying there was an error. Same for your twitter. Frowning at your screen, you checked to see if Maddy or your father had messaged you back—but your messages had turned green.

That was weird. Your messages with Elliot were blue.

Beginning to get creeped out, you poured yourself some cheerios before scooping some into your mouth; glancing at some random episode of shameless that played on the wide screen.

Chewing with your mouth open, you swirled your spoon in your milk, before taking another bite. But as you ate another spoonful, a harsh knock banged at your door, causing you to bite down onto the medal.

“Fuck,” you cried out, rubbing your jaw before dropping the spoon. A dull ache pounded in your gums as you whimpered, approaching the front before swinging open the front door, and feeling your insides churn with pure annoyance, “What the hell do you want from me, Elliot?”

He had his arm leaned up against the doorframe, looking at you with narrowed eyes.

“You blocked me?”

You shrugged, “You were annoying me.”

“You petty little—“

Letting out a fake yawn, you were about to slam the door in his face—but his palm slapped against the wood before tightening his jaw, “Wait a sec,” he mumbled, leaving you to roll your eyes, but comply. He gulped, eyes flickering, “Look—I didn’t come here to fight. But you were the only number I could message.”

Your brows knitted.

“Were you able to contact anyone else since you got home?”

You blinked, “Well…no, but—“

“Check this out,” he cut you off, pulling out his phone from his back pocket. You chewed on the inside of your cheek whilst he dialed 911, making a gasp tear from you, about to pull the phone from his hands. He stretched them from your gasp,

“Wait—just look,” he grunted dryly, and for a moment, it rung once before a long drawn out beep played for about ten seconds before hanging up the call automatically. Your chest rose in confusion as he looked at you, “See? Not even the police is answering.”

“Maybe it’s just your phone,” you replied, holding up your phone before doing the same. You both watched intently as it did the same thing that it did to Elliot, making your heart drop into your stomach, knowing something definitely was wrong, “What the hell is happening?”

Elliot rubbed the back of his neck, “I dunno, but it’s hot as fuck. Can I come in?”

You were about to reject his request, but were a bit freaked out about what was happening, and didn’t have the never to argue with him. Nodding, you walked over to the couch, taking a seat as you heard him shut your door, “Nice place.”

You didn’t reply, sending a bunch of texts to your friends, hoping at least one of them would answer. But none delivered, becoming a green bubble, making you let out a curse before your head fell in your hands.

This isn’t happening.

Snatching your keys from the table, you jumped to your feet before walking past Elliot, “Where—“

Stomping onto your driveway, your thumb dug into the button in your keys before unlocking your car. Hearing it beep, you climbed inside, shoving the key into the engine before it rumbled.

Hearing the passenger door shut, your eyes snapped over to Elliot, who looked at you with an amused look, “Who gave you permission to come in here?”

He flashed you a sarcastic grin.

“You gonna throw me out? I’d like to see you try.”

Flaring your nostrils, you growled before changing your gear to reverse before exiting the driveway. Elliot turned on the air conditioner, making you scoff at how comfortable he was with being in your car. Twisting the dial to turn up the radio, he lightly hummed to a Blink-182 song that rose through the static; leaning back in his seat as your shoulder remained frigid.

His voice was musical, “You know, I’m sure one joint would do wonders for how tense you are most of the time.”

Sending him a look, he snickered before plucking the stick between his lips; but you snatched it before tossing it out the window. His eyes squinted, tone furious, “What the fuck? That was my property.”

“And this is my car. No smoking allowed.”

“Of fucking course. Almost forgot,” he sneered, “You literally have a big ass warning label on your face that says I’m a fucking prude. Silly me, always forgetting.”

You made a sharp turn, making his shoulder bang against the side, earning a groan from him. You smirked coyly, “Rather be a prude than a douchebag that has at least three sexually transmitted diseases…from different people.”

“I’d say one of them would be from you, but you were a virg—“

Your tires screeched as you pulled into the parking lot, hopping out your car before he could finish that sentence. The seatbelt dug into his chest, resulting in him letting out a shouted curse. Refraining from slapping the fuck outta him, you sped walk towards the grocery store, hoping that there would be workers. If there weren’t, then your suspicions would be true.

Feeling the air conditioning fan you as the electric doors slid open, you paused.

It was like a movie. Nothing you’d ever seen before. Blood curdling in your veins, your stomach depleted as a gust of wind sent chills down your spine.

Mouth falling open, your eyes scanned the empty mart, all registers vacant and not a single person being seen in the aisles. Your eyes turned glossy, from shock, as you began to pant heavily due to panic.

It was fucking impossible.

Where did everyone go?

“You know you’re supposed to lift your foot off the brake rig—no fucking way,” Elliot walked in from behind you, stopping beside you, looking around with his own jaw dropped. He emphasized the curse word, scratching the top of his head, features twisting as he rose to his tip-toes as if to make sure there wasn’t anyone hiding, “That’s…horrifying.”

He turned to face you, raising his brows, “What do we do?”

You thinned your eyes at him, “We?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, attitude in his voice, “It seems like we’re the only fucking people here right now—so yeah. We.”

“I don’t know, Elliot, how the fuck would I know what to do?” You shrugged, “It’s not like I’ve been in this situation before.”

“Oh, so the person that always claims they know everything—doesn’t all of a sudden? I thought you always had a plan,” he barked, waving his hand in the air, “Whoopty fucking doo!”

Pressing your lips together, you looked down at the ground, beginning to ponder what the hell was happening.

You and Elliot were the only people in town. The only reasonable explanation was that a mysterious virus hit town, and everyone evacuated, all in the span of the twelve hours you both were locked in the classroom. But your father wouldn’t have left without you; not unless he was forced against his will.

There was still shopping carts filled with items, meaning that the shoppers had left their things in a rapid rush. Your theory began to make much more sense, since the clues were adding up.

Hearing bottles clinking, your head snapped to the direction of the sound, raising your brows at Elliot—who was trying to pop open a bottle of whiskey.

“What are you doing?” You scolded in a harsh whisper, “You’re eighteen—“

“Who’s gonna come arrest me?” He shrugged, before finally twisting the top open. You let out a groan, rubbing your forehead, as he tossed his head back and took a sip—letting out a cough before his face scrunched up, “Here,” he muttered, handing it to you, “It’ll make you stop thinking so much.”

You pushed it away, “I don’t want to get drunk, Elliot. Especially not with someone like you,” you spat, folding your arms, “Unlike some people, I enjoy having coherent thoughts. And respect for myself. I would never get intoxicated in the same room as you.”

He shot you a brow, “You sure?”

You scoffed.

“As I’ve ever been.”

“Do you listen to asmr?”

Elliot furrowed his brows, leaning his head against one of the aisles as you babbled drunkenly, keeping your back against the case of water bottles. His leg was kicked up, resting his elbow on the other one, as his eyes hooded from intoxication while taking a sip of the whiskey, “At first, I thought it was like, really really weird— but then it felt like, so euphoric inside my ears—“

“__,” Elliot took the bottle from you, pulling a giggle from you, before placing it on his side.

“I think you’ve had enough of this.”

You pouted, stretching your arms to steal it from him, but he only shook his head before you gave up, sitting back onto your bottom, “You always told me to loosen up.”

He chuckled, “Yeah, by pot. You talk too much when you’re drunk.”

“Well that’s just poo.”

His face twisted, “Poo? What are you? Nine?”

“I suppose so,” you replied in a posh british accent, earning a weirded out look from the boy before he chuckled again, shaking his head as you laughed too.

His chuckles died down, his smile faltering as he tipped his head toward you, “Why do you always want to control everything, __?”

Your smile faded away, “I dunno,” you shrugged, brushing a few strands away from your face whilst letting out a thick breath, “I’ve just always been like that I guess. Easier to like it if it’s your way.”

“That why you regret having feelings for me before?” He told you, pink tongue poking out to wet his lips. You gulped while your fingernails dug into the fabric of your sweats,

“—because you couldn’t control me? I was too much?”

Eyes flickering, your shoulders fell, hues dropping whilst hugging yourself. You cleared your throat,

“I don’t have feelings for you anymore.”

That was a lie. You knew that you still cared for him, as much as you hated yourself for it, and wouldn’t think twice smashing his lips against yours. But then again; you were drunk out of your mind at the moment— so that could affect your judgment.

His chest sunk, nodding his head quickly, “Yeah I know,” his voice came out quiet, mustering up a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “I guess I deserve that though.”

You didn’t say anything, watching as he rubbed his thighs with his large palms, looking at you with soft eyes.

“I’m sorry, by the way.”

You swallowed thickly at his words. You had waited two years for him to apologize for what he did. For never speaking to you again after you told him he had been your first. Sure, it was a night one stand, but you at least wanted to stay friends with Elliot afterwards.

But no. He didn’t follow you back on instagram, nor added you on snap. He had acted like you didn’t exist. Like you were nothing.

So yeah, you hated him; or so you thought. Because right now, you didn’t feel like you hated him.

Your eyes threatened to gloss over with tears, remembering how low your confidence had been after, shrugging before looking off into the distance,

“Thanks.”

He nodded, a silence crossing over you two. Your eyes flew back to his, which were on you, his attention completely focused on the person before him.

“Elliot.”

He hummed, his gaze flashing down to your lips, making you do the same to his, “Yeah?”

Your throat went dry, “I think I’m really drunk right now.”

“You are?”

“Uh huh,” you licked your lips, feeling a heat bloom in your chest before meeting his eyes once again. This time they were glazed over with something cloudy, a small sparkle in them, “—I wanna kiss you.”

As soon as he heard those words, he pounced onto you, letting his lips mold into yours. Your hands flew to his shoulders, sneakers creasing against the floor, as he slid his body in between your legs while your back fell against the floor.

It felt like fireworks, as odd as it sounded. Like ears ringing, limbs shaking, adrenaline washing over you as his warmth radiate onto your flesh.

“__,” he groaned against you. His hips grinded into you, his clothes cock rubbing against your core, boosting the level of lust that pumped through you. His hands roaming under your soft skin beneath your hoodie, making your back arch, as you moaned into the kiss, “So fucking hot.”

He swallowed them with greed, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, before swiping his soothing tongue over the wound. The pleasure was accentuated by the pain, making you wiggle your hips, trying to rub yourself onto him.

But then an alarm shot through your head, realizing this isn’t what you wanted. You didn’t want to have drunk sex with some dude that broke your heart.

Shoving him off you, he let out a grunt, rubbing his lower back before shooting you a confused look, “What—“

“Was this your plan? To get me drunk and hook up with me?” You spat at him, standing up onto your feet. His eyes narrowed as you scoffed, “I wouldn’t put it past you. All you think with is your dick.”

His jaw clenched, eyes turning hard as his tone came out plucked.

“I wasn’t trying to do anything. You said you wanted to kiss me,” he pointed out before standing up as well, straightening out his black and white flannel, “I had no intention of ever fucking you again. It was like fucking a dead person!”

You gasped, gritting your teeth.

“Excuse me?”

He chuckled, nodding, “Yeah. You were too afraid to moan and were boring. Why would I ever want to sleep with you again?”

“I was a virgin you asshole!”

“I can see why,” he spat out with venom, tearing into your chest, “I almost fell asleep while ins—“

“I can’t believe you broke my fucking nose,” Elliot grumbled, trailing behind you while holding a sack of peas to his nose. You grabbed a hair of bread and butter pickles before plopping it into the basket, heading him sigh, “You get to accuse me of wanting to take advantage of you but when I call you a corps—“

You snapped your head over to him, voice sharp, “Do you want a black eye to match your broken nose?”

Rolling his eyes, you hummed in content, before turning back around and scanning the items. Cereal, grains, oatmeal, white bread, english muffins…

Your eyes followed Elliot snatching a box of granola bars, the ones meant for kids, with chocolate coated all over the treats.

“You’re such a child,” you snorted.

He flipped you off, “Fuck off. These are good as fuck.”

You sent him a look, before spinning around, and heading towards the exit. He caught up with you, tearing open one of the wrappers, before munching on a bar.

By the time he was on his second one, you were both at your house, sitting on your porch while you sucked the juice from the pickles. Elliot looked at you with a grossed out look, smoking a joint now, finished eating at the moment whilst a cloud of smoke swirled around you both.

The sour taste of the juice contrasted with the sweetness of the pickle, making you happily tap your feet on the ground, hearing Elliot snicker, “You have an eating dance?”

“There’s people that aren’t miserable like you, Elliot, y’now,” you snapped, giving him the side eye before looking off into the sunset. It was about to make your two days in this weird, isolate version of the world.

“Yeah? Ever think I might just be a little miserable because you punched me?”

“It was well deserved.”

“I’m sure it was, __.”

The wind blew away the hairs from your face, “Why don’t you just go home? I mean, why are you still here?”

“I don’t feel like being alone right now,” he muttered,

“I’m desperate for company— even if it’s you.”

And although you despised him, you did feel a bit better not having to go through this crisis alone. And so for the rest of the time; he stayed at your place.

Nothing much happened the next day. You two didn’t interact with one another, Elliot sitting on your couch while watching tv; stuffing his face with popcorn due to him having the munchies.

Across from the living room, you were seated at the counter, trying to figure out what the hell was happening and how. But every theory you came up with—didn’t really make sense.

If it was a virus, you would’ve at least seen one person or a helicopter by now. But no; there hasn’t been any other source of human life.

Aliens.

Explains itself.

Purgatory.

Somehow, you and Elliot could’ve both been dead; and were waiting together in a sort of dimension for the dead. But it wouldn’t explain why you two were alone together, instead of being with other ghosts. Or saw anything by now.

On the fifth day of being at this place, Elliot broke the vow of silence, by knocking on your bedroom door. Putting the book you were reading down, his eyes rounded as they landed on your laying position.

Your tank top had ridden up, breasts spilling from the top, glancing up at him confused, “Uh,” he stuttered, gulping before looking back into your eyes, “I’m gonna hit the mall. Sick of staying in this house.”

Your tone was dry, “Are you asking me to join you?”

“Obviously.”

“Why would I go with you?”

“Fine, stay here in this house all by yourself; if that’s not creepy to you,” he barked before walking away, making you sit up. Shit; he was right. Throwing the covers away from you, your feet sped down the stairs, heading him snicker. You slapped the back of his head, “Knew you would bre—ah!”

Slipping on your sneakers, you snatched your keys from the table, “I just didn’t want you driving my car. Now hurry up before I change my mind, asshole.”

After arriving to the mall, Elliot suggested raiding the pretzel store; resulting in him stuffing one of the plastic bags filled with cheese sauces. You had no idea why he needed so many of them.

Growing bored, you went over to this one vintage store next door to the hot dog joint, finding a small stereo behind the employee desk. Flicking it on, a random pop tune began to play, bobbing your head up and down whilst dancing around the store.

Mumbling to the lyrics, you let out a squeal, Elliot popping out from behind one of the stores’ aisles with an old woman scarf around his head. You couldn’t help but feel a laugh leave you, pushing his forehead away as he snickered.

“ooooooh i’m in love with judas—judas”

The song began to ring throughout the store, lady gaga’s voice echoing in the room. Your brows raised in surprised when Elliot grabbed a random hanger and used it as a microphone before jumping onto the counter with little to no effort, lip syncing to the lyrics.

Slapping a hand over your mouth, he jumped back down, throwing a pair of glasses at you before sending you a suggestive look. Biting your lip, you looked down at the object, then sighed.

Fuck it. It’s not like anyone else was going to see this.

Sliding them onto your eyes, your vision darkened, beginning to bounce onto your toes like Elliot while singing out the words, both of you letting out giggles like kids while dancing in the store.

You knocked over a stand of hangers, Elliot doing the same after you, trashing the store. He let out a cheer before grabbing your hand, and spinning you.

Then you moved over to the dressing room, a thin sheet of sweat covering your forehead while continuing to dance to the music. It felt great; finally letting go for the first time without any worries. You didn’t have to worry about the consequences, or what kind of grade this would give you.

Beginning to grow tired, you walked back out, Elliot laying on the ground while breathing heavily. Usually, you would send him a sassy remark about how many germs must be on the floor, but instead sank down beside him while you both stared up at the ceiling.

“Didn’t know you were fun, __.”

“I’m full of surprises,” you quipped back, smiling gently even though he couldn’t see it, “I don’t think I’ve ever danced like that.”

His tone came out higher, “Like…not even alone in your room?”

You shook your head, popping the p, “Nope.”

“Interesting,” he muttered, “Very interesting.”

After a few more minutes, you both went exploring a bit more, before heading back home.

You were both now stationed on the couch, Elliot smoking yet neither joint, which hung loosely from his lips.

“I’m gonna sleep,” you announced, curling onto your side on the floor. Elliot nodded, not even glancing at you to keep his eyes glued to the tv, as your eyes fluttered shut.

The tv kept playing in the background, and after a few moments, you felt someone crawl into the blanket beside you. Your body stiffened when Elliot’s cold fingers landed in the bare flesh of your hip, due to your tank top riding up once again, his hot breath fanning your ear.

Body growing rigid, his fingers tapped on the waistband of your boxer shorts, hearing him hum gently. His voice was a whisper, “Say yes, __.”

Your core began to pound, giving you against him, wiggling your hips against his hard on before whimpering, “Please.”

Inhaling sharply, he mumbled fuck before dipping his nimble, talented fingers beneath the elastic and cupping your mound, making your toes curl. He left open mouthed kisses on the open side of your neck as you breathed heavily.

His two fingers rubbed your sensitive pearl, before collecting some of your slick and using it to slide inside your folds. One of your hands flew to his wrist, holding onto him as he gently fingered you in your house under the blanket, “You’re so tight; holy shit, __.”

Letting out a pleading mewl, he chuckled, using his thumb to press harsh circles into your puffy clit. Your hips jolted as he pressed you against him.

“Does that feel good, __?”

You nodded, squeezing your eyes shut as his musky scent swarmed your mind, “So good. D-Don’t stop.”

Growling at your words, his chest rubbed against your back as you began to rock onto his fingers. He increased the pace, teeth sucking and nipping at the flesh of your throat, but you didn’t dare face each other.

It you had looked at one another—it would make it too real.

“Wanna see you fall apart on my fingers,” he breathed in your ear, biting at the shell of it, “Feel your tight pussy clamp down on ‘em. Missed that feeling.”

“E-Elliot, gonna come.”

His fingers left your slit, rubbing over your beet red clit, “Yeah? Show me, __.”

A high pitched moan rose from your chest, puffing out your breasts as you began to fall over the edge. Shoving his fingers back into your pussy, he added another finger; three of them pulling inside of you.

The knot twisted in your tummy, letting out tiny pants while he added another finger; the stretch setting you off.

Trembling on the floor, your lips fell open and cried out while you came undone by the boys’ hand. He groaned as your warm, wet walls choked his digits— just as he had asked you to do.

Once you came down, he pulled them back out, but kept his hand on your hip; leaning you confused. He didn’t make a move on doing anything else, just wanting to be beside you.

Your chest still tingly from your orgasm, your voice came out small, “What—“

“Just for tonight,” he muttered, digging his nose into your hair before draping his arm over your waist posessively, “Wanna sleep like this just for tonight.”

You gulped, but melted into his presence, snuggling into his arm as you sighed.

“Just for tonight.”

When you had woken up the next morning, your cheek against his chest, you jolted from the position before standing up from the floor. Elliot let out a small groan, rubbing his eyes, as panic began to set in your eyes.

You let him use you again.

Gulping, you brushed your hair away from your face, slapping a hand over your neck where he had kissed you prior.

“Does that feel good, __?”

Elliot rolled over onto the other side, prolonging his slumber with muffled grumbles. Letting out a huff, you raced to the bathroom, in attempt to shower his touch off your limbs completely.

You kept feeling his fingers down in your core, making lust bloom in your tummy—as you scrubbed your flesh with the orange loofa. Until it felt raw, you shut off the water, and threw on a pair of sweats and a baggy, baggy sweater.

Walking back to your room, you approached the window, looking outside with narrowed eyes. You missed your father. You missed Maddy.

It was so fucking exhausting, living with the only person that you ever had real feelings for. And pretending like he didn’t exist; when he was the only person here.

What if you stayed here forever? Would it really be that bad?

Feeling a pair of hands slither around your waist, his warm lips pressed a lingering kiss to the crook of your neck. You melted for a second, but then jumped from his touch, looking at him with wide eyes.

Elliot chuckled, reaching for you with puffy eyes. He must’ve just woken up. His voice rasped lowly, “What’s up with—“

“Last night was a mistake,” you told him, the drowsy smile on his face slowly fading at your words, “I was just lonely—and you were there. But there’s no time to fuck around anymore. I need to figure out a way to get the hell out of this place.”

His jaw tightened, his gaze flickering.

“I’m not going to leave like last time, __. You don’t have to worry about that,” he spoke softly, a tone you weren’t really used to. He took his bottom lip between his teeth, “And we can both figure it out together. We can still be friends.”

You scoffed, “No—we can’t. I wouldn’t be friends with you even if you were the last person on earth.”

His eyes squinted, “That wasn’t the best metaphor.”

“I’m not doing this,” you muttered, snatching your notebook filled with your theories before tossing it onto your bed, “I need to focus. So please; just go back to your fucking house and leave me alone.”

“Fine,” he spat, sending you a fake smile, “Fuck you.”

He stormed out the room, leading you to bitterly chuckle.

“How grown of you!”

Yeah, you didn’t get much anything done.

You just couldn’t figure it out, and eventually gave up when your skull began to pound. You couldn’t help but feel guilty for treating Elliot the same way he had treated you after you initially slept together.

But then again, that was two years ago. You were both kids then.

Going downstairs, you cooked spaghetti, before packing the delicious noodles into a container and walking over to Elliot’s house. It felt eery, there being no cars and no people walking on the sidewalk.

He was right. It was really fucking creepy.

Knocking on the front door, he didn’t answer, so you tried again. No answer. You debated on leaving, but had made this stupid pasta for him, and he was going to eat it even if you had to shove it down his throat.

Turning the knob, you walked inside, gulping while walking down the only hall. Hearing the light strumming of a guitar, you peeked your head around the bedroom door, and rose your brows at the boy seated at the foot of his head.

He must’ve not heard you knocking earlier.

You recognized the instrumental, being I’m A Mess by Ed Sheeran. It was kinda humorous, actually, that he decided to play this song.

He really did have a talent, though. You knew he sang, but wasn’t aware that he played guitar as well. And he was really good, talented fingers sliding up and down the tail of the guitar while humming to himself.

His eyes were fluttered shut, sunlight shining down onto his golden curls; making him appear like a fallen angel. Feeling your heart turn warm in your chest, you didn’t notice yourself smiling faintly as you watched him— not until his eyes opened and aligned with yours.

He stopped, furrowing his brows while a nasty sound played from the instrument when he smacked his palm against the strings, “You don’t hate me for the time being?”

“You can’t cook for shit,” you bit the inside of your cheek, placing the container onto his desk.

“Figured you were hungry.”

He snorted, looking back down at his guitar, “Yeah, thanks.”

You took that as your cue to leave, pressing your lips together before spinning around.

“Stay—if you want.”

Gulping, you turned to face him, but he kept his eyes drawn to the object in his hands; beginning to play once again. You took a seat on the floor though, hugging your knees as you watched him with a new outlook.

Listening to him for a while, your eyes began to grow drowsy, his voice soothing you so much to the point where you almost fell asleep.

But your eyes bulged when he tossed a pillow at you, wearing a smile that hung from his lips, “Wake up, bitch.”

“The food is getting cold,” you mumbled, grabbing it and handing it to him. He thanked you before going to grab a fork, and ended up bringing two, giving you one before sitting on the floor beside you.

You blushed as you both ate quietly, until his voice broke the silence, “Surprised you didn’t burn it.”

“Shut up,” you laughed softly, putting down your fork as he took another bite, “Fun fact—the only think I can cook is spaghetti.”

“I believe it.”

He wasn’t eating anymore, his gaze falling back onto your lips. The sun had set a while ago, leaving you both under the dimly lit lamp in his room. The tension could’ve been sliced with a knife; his teeth sinking into his plump bottom lip as his eyes bored into yours.

You wanted to bite that lip for him.

But you also needed to be logical, and the only logical—

Eh, fuck it.

You pounced onto him, his hands instantly landing on your hips as you smashed your lips against his. His throat slid up to your throat, “Say you want this,” he breathed into your mouth, flipping you onto your back before grinding his hips into yours. His pupils were blown as he looked down at you, “Say you want me to fuck you; and I will.”

“Fuck me,” you whispered, his eyes flashing, “Fuck me, Elliot. Make me fucking scream.”

He growled before tugging off your hoodie, doing the same to him, bare chests pressing against each other as the rest of your clothes became a pile on his bedroom floor.

The hair on his chin scraped against the inside of your thighs, as he nipped at the flesh, making your slick drip down to the area, “Look at me when I eat this pussy, __. And don’t you fucking dare look away,” he ordered, slapping your clothes pussy when your hazy mind didn’t respond.

His eyes narrowed, “Okay?”

“Okay,” you mewled, arching your hips, “Please—just…”

“Fucking brat,” he spat before pulling your panties down your legs, throwing them behind him. He spread your thighs with his big hands before sucking in sharply when he saw your glistening, pink clit poking out from its hood, “Only like me when you wanna fuck me.”

Your hand flew to his curls, “I barely like you right now, Elliot.”

He chuckled, your eyes squinting into a glare, as he wrapped his lips around your puffy pearl and sucked harshly. Scowl shifting into your mouth falling open, a long moan ringing in his bedroom, his wet tongue flicked at the sensitive nub repeatedly while shaking his head to apply more pressure.

Your nerves were on fire. The strands on his hair tickled your skin as he lapped at your folds, before pulling away and intently looking at them. His lips were glossy from your slick. Spreading open your slit with his two fingers, he didn’t break eye contact before licking and sucking at the sensitive warm walls.

Breathing in deeply, your legs shook around his head, “Oh my god. I fucking hate you, but your mouth is l—like g—god.”

He hummed against you, making a spark of pleasure add a new wave of arousal from your cunt. He lifted his lips, before spitting onto your pussy, and roughly tonging your clit while your eyes begin to shut. His teeth nipped at the pearl, making you gasp, “Don’t fucking close ‘em. I won’t tell you again.”

“But I’m gonna—“

“I don’t care,” he grumbled, “Look at the person who’s making you cum, fucking brat. Show some respect.”

Gasping for breath, you lost composure as the coil snapped inside of you, “Fuck—I’m coming!”

Your eyes squinted as he looked up at you with those puppy dog eyes of his, catching every single drop of cum into his greedy mouth. Slurping loudly, you blushed as he kept going, letting out a squeak before pushing him off.

He wiped his chin, chuckling, “That was some pretty fucking good dessert.”

You didn’t know where your newfound confidence came from, but your hands pushed him down onto the floor; taking his cock from within his boxers and rubbing it against your folds.

Elliot widened his eyes at you, leaning on his elbows to really look at you, “Fuuuuck,” he let out a drawn out moan as you sunk down onto his thick, bulbous head—stretching you out. You winced before stopping once he was fully inside you, his size burning your walls, but you didn’t care, beginning to bounce into his length.

“Holy fuck, just like that,” he encouraged, one of his hands slapping your ass. The stinging sensation made you mewl, before he rubbed it after, taking one of your nipples into his mouth, “So sexy. So fucking hot.”

Your hands flew to his shoulders, tipping your head back as you whines out and moaned his name, “Don’t stop.”

“Roger that,” he huffed, moving his lips to your neck, sinking his teeth into the flesh making sure to leave a bruise. The pain went straight to your core, making it clench around him, “You’re so tight. Like a—fuck—fucking glove, __.”

He pinched your nipples, “Does it feel good? Fucking the boy you hate the most?” He hissed, spanking your ass again, your thighs growing strained from how hard you were bouncing on his cock. His eyes turned dark, “Jumping on my cock when you couldn’t even stand me two hours ago.”

His filthy words made your orgasm come closer, but you stopped, panting heavily as your body became worn out. He snickered, flipping you onto your back, before throwing your leg over his shoulder, “It’s all good. Now it’s time for me to fuck the brattiness outta you.”

His thumb rubbed at your clit, both of you watched his cock vanish in and out of your folds. You spotted his stomach clenching as he kept toying with your abused pearl, “Love watching this pussy try to take me in. So fucking cute.”

“God, I’m close,” you announced, making his thrusts become more erratic. Your hand flew to his wrist to hold onto something as he began to reach your cervix, “Holy fuck, Elliot, I—“

“There we go,” he breathed, your cunt so asking around his cock as you convulsed repeatedly. Your high hit you out of nowhere, eyes turning glossy as he smirked down at you, “There we fucking go. All over me.”

He pulled out his cock, rubbing it on your clit quickly, making a few drops of your cum splatter across both of you. You let out a scream as he shoved himself back in, ignoring the fact that you just came, making you began to scramble away from his length.

“Take it like a good girl,” he grabbed both your arms, forcing you to keep still as he began to now completely give it to you; chasing his release. His teeth gritted, “Don’t run away from me. Need you to come again for me.”

You didn’t know how you came so fast again, but as soon as his fingers began to messily rub your clit, you gritted your own teeth before the knot snapped. This time, Elliot came with you, his lips falling onto yours as he moaned against you. You both shook against each other as you came down, and after he caught his breath, he pulled out of you.

“Ow,” you whispered, and his eyes flickered.

“My bad.”

You waved your hand, “It’s fine.”

Putting your clothes back on, Elliot watched you with careful eyes, clearing his throat as you buckled your bra, “__.”

You hummed, looking at him with shy eyes. He bit his bottom lip, “I don’t want this to be just another—one night stand.”

You pondered for a moment, and then spoke.

“Let’s just see how things will go from here.”

“But what if we go back—and you don’t want anything to do with me?”

You didn’t know what to say, so you just swallowed before mumbling goodnight, and turned on your side. Elliot let out a sigh before sitting in the chair by his desk, and you tried your best to sleep.

You were woken up by someone slapping your cheek, eyes bulging as you met Maddy’s. She was bent on her knees, looking over at Elliot, who was holding you in his arms. You recognized the classroom you both were in, and realized it had all been a dream.

I mean—it had to be..right?

“Did you two fuck?”

Elliot jolted awake, wearing the same thing he was wearing the day you both got locked in the class; leaving you to believe perhaps it really was all just a figment of your imagination. You gulped as he looked at you, confused as well, brows pulled together as Maddy cackled, “Oh my god, you did! In the class too? Shit!”

“What’s going on?” You muttered, scratching your head.

Her eyes squinted at your neck, “Yeah, that hickey on your neck is what’s going on.”

She stood back up onto her feet, “Whatever. The assembly was boring as fuck without you, come on,” she sighed before walking out the class, swaying her hips in her pink joggers, “I’m fucking starving!”

Elliot leaned upwards, “We’re back.”

Oh. So it wasn’t a dream.

“Yeah,” you mumbled, “Guess so.”

He was about to stand up, but you pulled him in by his collar, pressing your lips to his. It was a sweet kiss; reassuring that you did want more than just sex. He kissed back, before biting back a smile when you pulled away, “See you later?”

He nodded, “If that’s what you want.”

Smiling while blushing, he sent you a salute, “Later, __.”

You chuckled as he skipped out the room, making you giggle more, bedore Maddy peeked her head around the room, “Did I just see Elliot skip out the room? Is your pussy that enchanting, bitch?”

“Thanks to you. Would’ve never been locked in here if you hadn’t texted me.”

A puzzled look crossed her features, “Texted you what?”

“For the pads,” you reminded, brushing off your jeans, “Remember?”

Her tone was confused.

“__…I never sent a text.”

1K notes View Post

ijustwannareblogstuff

11 months ago

pregnancy, parenting, and toddler mods to enhance realism | the sims 4 | all mods and cc mentioned

hi tumblr! i just posted a video of some family gameplay mods that i'll be using in my let's play, here's all the links mentioned:

pregnancy / parent mods

parent at home - semi active career by loryna

expanded pregnancy interactions by loryna

parenting styles mod by loryna

realistic childbirth mod (llamaze class update) by pandasama

toddler mods

patty cake mod by ozzy sims 4 mods

functional drawing station by pandasama

makeup bag / makeover parents by pandasama

education overhaul mod (preschool) by adeepindigo

functional kids trampoline by pandasama

functional play food truck by pandasama

cozy nursery set (slide) by hydrangea

toddler basketball hoop by pandasama

time out chair by ozzy sims 4 mods

h&b pro toddler tablet by littledica

high chair lock by pandasama

functional squishamallows by bellasims

no puddles under bathtubs by littlemisssam

infant / toddler bath sponge override by vixonspixels

healthy porridge for toddlers by somik and severinka

cartoon movie override by midnitehearts

misc mod / cc / lot

clean day clutter + cleaning items override by simkoos

white willow memorial hospital by hyggetrait

kaira's outfit : lil one recolor set by themintsimmer

you can see all gameplay + functionality of these mods here

2K notes View Post

ijustwannareblogstuff

1 year ago

this is so cute aww

It’s Grandpa!

Aged Up! Miles G

Summary: Miles Takes a Special Person To See His Dads Mural.

A/n: This was inspired by a request I got 🫶🏽

Miles walked out the door of his mother's house. Each step up the stairs towards the roof of the building felt harder than the last, but he knew he had to do it. He had to confront the past, especially for the little boy cradled in his arms, his son Kai Jefferson Morales.

As Miles looked down at his son, he saw a mirror image of himself, a reflection of his own childhood. It brought back memories of his own father, holding him in his arms, walking the same path they were now taking. Kai's eyes twinkled with innocent curiosity as he looked up at his dad and asked, "Are we there yet, dada?"

Miles couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. "We are, buddy," he replied, his voice filled with a mixture of pride and tenderness. With that, he pulled open the heavy rooftop door, allowing the warm air to caress their faces.

Setting Kai down gently, Miles felt a slight stiffness in his body as he took in a deep breath. No matter how many times he came up to the roof, it was always emotionally challenging. But he had made a promise to himself and his son to his dad.

"Woah, dada, look!" Kai said excitedly, pointing towards the bustling streets of Brooklyn spread out beneath them.

"Don't go too far, son. Be careful," Miles said. He knew that Kai was just thrilled to be in this special place.

Miles turned his body, letting out a exhale as he gazed at his father's mural. The vibrant colors and intricate details seemed to come alive, as if telling a story of their own.

"Hey pops, it's me and Kai. He's getting so big, turned 4 last week. He's got your sass," Miles said with a chuckle. His laughter was tinged with a touch of sadness. "Wish you could've met him," he added, dropping his head and staring at his shoes.

In that moment, Miles felt small arms wrapping around his leg. Looking down, he saw Kai, his eyes wide with wonder.

"It's Grandpa, dada," Kai said, pointing at the mural.

Miles smiled, a mixture of pride and longing in his eyes. "You're right, buddy. That's your Grandpa. He would've loved you," he whispered. He lifted Kai into his arms and asked, "Can you read that for me?"

Kai's face lit up with excitement. "Jefferson Morales. Just like me!" he exclaimed, a wide smile spreading across his face as he turned to his dad. "Exactly like you, Kai. You're named after Grandpa. Pretty cool, right?" Miles replied, a sense of joy and pride evident in his voice.

"Yeah, dada, cool," Kai echoed, his little voice filled with admiration.

Miles held out his fist, and Kai eagerly bumped it. In that simple gesture, a bond between father and son, past and present, was strengthened.

You, silently watching from afar, couldn't help but smile. Seeing Miles share stories of Jefferson with your son brought warmth to your heart.

"Mommmyyy!" Kai suddenly said, spotting you.

"Hey my baby," you said, a soft smile gracing your lips as you walked towards your family. Your son's eyes sparkled with excitement, pointing eagerly towards the distance.

"Look, mommy, grandpa," he said, his tiny finger directing your gaze towards the mural.

Miles, wrapped his free arm around you.

"He would've loved you too," Miles whispered,before placing a tender kiss on your lips