Latest Posts by iliveinafantsyworldlol - Page 2

shoutout to all the people that want to fuck james spader

Everyone needs to read this at least once

Sun - Peter Pan/gn Reader

warnings // none. this is more or less a comfort read for anybody who needs it.

"Come away with me," he said. "Come away, and they'll never make us go anywhere or do anything ever again."

✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

It is very common knowledge that life isn't fair.

As a child, you understood that before a lot of your friends did. You were forced to grow up fast. You were always a little different, a little misplaced, and often alone. School was a place of stress and home wasn't as sweet as they made it look in the movies.

When you were a little kid, you'd escape into stories; Worlds of adventure and wonder where you could be whatever you wanted. You could save princesses and princes. You could sail a raft through storms using the stars. You could fly.

But stories don't protect you from the world. You had to let them go eventually. So life became studying and applications, part time jobs and debt, losing touch with your few friends and constantly grappling with the feeling that you'd lost *something* a long time ago.

It was a winter night and you sat in your car, far away from home. The stupid thing had broken down on you, and you'd just managed to pull to the side of the road in the middle of a town you didn't recognize. You shivered and climbed into the backseat, bundling up in your jacket and praying that you'd fall asleep before the chill began to ache your bones.

After a while, for seemingly no reason at all, you began to cry. Softly, with the tears being the only thing to warm your cheeks. It was just so dark, so freezingly uncomfortable, and you'd just realized that there was nothing in your life that you really wanted to return to.

What were you missing? You weren't a child anymore, so why did you still feel this way? Why couldn't you just be normal, like every other functioning human being on the planet? Why did you feel so heavy?

Suddenly, something else was warming your cheek- a soft hand caressing your face and wiping a tear away.

You jolted, automatically jumping to the other side of the back seat. You stared at the window, which you didn't remember rolling down. Outside of the car was the face of a boy.

It was hard to make out his features for two reasons. One, it was dark.

Two, he was hanging upside down.

But hanging from what? The top of your car?

Either way, his bright eyes peered at you with an unruly head of hair hanging from his head. You were too startled (and cold) to speak.

"Hello, angel," he said softly. His voice was... warm, and somehow inherently playful.

You stared at him in confusion. "...what?"

"You're an angel," he said sincerely, cocking his head to the side. "Aren't you?"

".....what?" You leaned forward a little, trying to get a better view of him. "Why are you... How are you...?"

As if suspended in tue air, his head turned upright like a dial and you had to guess that the rest of his body was turning with it. "You're cold," he observed simply. He flashed an inherently boyish smile. "Sillly one. You're not wearing any furs. If you stay like that, you're just asking to get sick."

You blinked at him before sniffling. You looked out of the windows and saw that there were no nearby houses with the lights on, nor any cars stopped nearby. He must have just wandered up to you from the road. Maybe he was hitchhiking, or homeless. Either way, he seemed harmless enough, and it was absolutely freezing outside. "I'm sorry," you said gently, "you must be cold, too. Do you want to sit in here until morning?"

The boy looked at you curiously before nodding. You opened the door and he poked his head in suspiciously. He looked around as if he'd never been inside a car before. He crawled carefully inside and sat next to you, shutting the door behind him.

You could see him much better, now. He seemed the same age as you, probably in his late teens. His clothes were... strange. You were slightly more convinced that he was homeless, now. The dirt smudged on his skin attested to that.

"I can turn the heater on," you offered, "but only for a while."

He turned to look at you. "Why were you crying?" He asked, ignoring your words. "I didn't know angels cried."

Despite yourself, you gave a small smile. "I'm not an angel," you said, feeling silly.

He quirked his brow and smiled as if he didn't believe you. "Yes, you are. I've heard stories about them. They're strong and beautiful, like mermaids with wings. And they sing, too! You sing. I've heard you."

You blinked at him, before realizing that you'd been trying to hum yourself to sleep while you'd been crying. He must have heard you through the window.

He might have been crazy, but something about him charmed you. As the two of you spoke, you exanged stories about home. You told him about the stress, about making other people happy and struggling all the time. He would interject only to ask questions- more than once inquiring if any of this made you happy. More than once, you found yourself being depressingly honest.

He told you stories about his home. You didn't believe it for a second, but he seemed to believe it, so you didn't protest. He came up with adventures about pirates and mermaids, about living on a magic island where the winter never came and all the things that had ruined this world never made it to the shores of Neverland.

You couldn't help but listen to him eagerly, like a child absorbing stories they knew could not be real but loved anyway.

It was evident that he loved talking to you. He became animated, miming things out with his hands and reenacting swordfights the best he could in the cramped space of the car. When you laughed, he glowed.

He talked about the boys that he lived with- either friends or maybe siblings of his. He spoke about one of them, who had told him about angels in the first place.

"He told me that angels lose their wings sometimes," he continued. His bright eyes scanned you with interest. "I think you lost yours. Unless you're hiding them beneath your coat, but I don't think they'd fit under there- unless you have little wings like a fairy. But you're too big-"

Suddenly, a firefly zipped in through the window. It flew over the boy's head and began flying around the inside of the car. It even flew into your face, and you gave a little yelp.

The boy chuckled and picked the bug out of the air, holding it in his palm. "I told you to let me talk to them. You don't make good first impressions."

The bug chimed back at him, talking like the sound of a bell.

"No, that's not what I- Well, yes, Tink, but- Okay, okay! You can have one look, but then you've got to let us be. You promised."

The firefly fluttered out of his hand and once again passed by your face. It settled down on your knee. You had half a mind to swat it away, but as you stared at it, you began to see a strange shape in the glow.

Your eyes widened and you gasped. It was a little... person. A fairy. She perched atop your knee and looked up at you, studying you appraisingly. She turned to look at the boy and spoke with her chiming voice in way you could not understand.

"I'm Peter."

You turned to look at the boy and he grinned at you. "Peter Pan. Her name's Tinkerbell, but she also answers to 'royal inconvenience'."

The fairy shook her hand at him and seemed to be scolding him. A sense of wonder filled you and you laughed at the sheer strangeness of the situation. "Oh, hello, Tinkerbell." You looked at her with your eyes shimmering and looked back to Peter. "She's very pretty."

The fairy seemed pleased at that. She flew up to your cheek, patted it kindly, as then began to explore the rest of your car. She seemed to enjoy looking through the miscellaneous trinkets in your glove box.

"That's a fairy," you whispered, watching her excitedly. "A real one. Oh my god."

But Peter only watched you. Something twinkled in his eyes, something knowing that seemed beyond his years and seperate from his boyishness.

"Angels don't belong with other people," he said. "They belong in the sky. In a good place, with other angels like them."

You weren't sure what to say, so he kept going. "I have a shadow. He's a quick, mischievous thing, but he completes me, I guess. You, however."

He scooted forward, ignoring any common semblance of personal space between strangers. His eyes scanned you curiously. "You look like you are a shadow. Like the bright part of you has been put away into another room. Maybe it's gone back up to the sky, or maybe you lost it when you lost your wings."

You still weren't sure what to say. Without any warning, you felt the tears want to well up, again. He saw it, and frowned with sympathy. He reached a hand out and caressed your face, the same way he had before. You closed your eyes and melted into the warmth. "Don't cry. It's okay. Please, don't cry."

You sniffled and hid your face in your hands. You heard him shuffle around in the crambed back seat, before he pulled you into his arms and held you to him. He was so warm, like the sun sat inside of him. He put one hand on your head and tucked you beneath his chin.

"It's too cold for an angel, here," he said. "Let me take you somewhere warm."

You chuckled gently. " 'm not an angel."

"A fairy, then. You're a little fairy who can't fly. They won't let you fly, here. They can't teach you how."

He pushed away to look at you. "But I can," he said proudly. "I can show you."

Tinkerbell's voice chimed, and you both watched as she zipped around the car before zooming out of the window. She did circles around you, shining like a shooting star through the windows. It was beautiful.

Then, she aimed up towards the sky and never came back down

"Where is she going?" You whispered.

"Home," laughed Peter. He opened the door and crawled out excitedly. He took your hand and pulled you with him. "If we go now, we can get there before morning. I can show you the stars, and we can help hunt for breakfast, as maybe even ruin Hook's beauty sleep-"

But he tugged at your hand and staggered. He looked back at you. You weren't moving. You were still in the car.

You looked at him with a strange feeling brewing inside. Not a good one. A fearful, doubt filled one.

He knew that look and smiled at you, shaking his head. "You just have to believe silly one," he said. "You just have to think happy thoughts and trust me. The rest is easy."

But you still did not budge.

He sighed and let your hand go. "Alright. But don't act all suprused."

And without warning, he rocketed from the ground.

You watched in pure awe as he flew through the street, looping around lamp poles and wire towers. He giggled as he went, and brought the biting wind with him.

It was exhilarating.

He dropped to the ground before you. He kneeled down and held your hands in his.

"You," he said, still panting from his laughter, "are a lost one. I just know it. I can feel it. You'd be perfect with us. We'd have fun every day and every night. There's still time to escape," he whispered. "There's still time. We can be free."

He stood up, keeping your hands in his. He walked backwards, and you left the safety of the car, walking with him, mesmerized.

"Second star to the right and straight on till morning. You cant miss it. We'll outrun the dawn, if we go fast enough."

He squeezed your hands and the biting cold wind whipped at your side. You ignored it completely.

"Come away with me," he said. "Come away, and they'll never make us go anywhere or do anything ever again."

His feet began to lift from the ground. His eyes glimmered like stars. His hand was warm in your's.

"Come with me, angel. Come back to the sky."

You looked up at him, and it felt like staring into space itself. Like staring into the sun.

"I know you can still fly," he promised. "I'll let you in on a secret. You don't need wings."

And without any effort at all, your feet lifted.

literally heartbreaking. see that crack.. he just BROKE his pussy.

Okay normally I think the writers of opinion pieces for large newspapers should shut up but-

The Lion King: It is impossible to CGI photorealistic lions who can also emote!

Chronicles of Narnia:

big 4

🙋🏻‍♀️

disclaimer: it was me

Drabble for Multi

********

Trying to sneak into your boyfriend's office while making sure none of his coworkers can see you is not the brightest idea you've ever had especially when you're carrying a lunch for him meaning you only have one hand free.

Dr. Gregory House, Many people know him for his sarcastic voice and dominating way especially when it comes to his patients. Most don't seem to know that one of the nurses that he seems to always ignore is his serious girlfriend whom he's been dating for the past 2 years.

That girlfriend has noticed for the past few days that House's sleeping schedule is even more chaotic than usual dark bags have settled beneath his eyes and he's been eating less and less as House desperately tries to figure out what's wrong with one of his newest patients.

Even after cracking the case and starting to fill out the paperwork for the patient, so they can be released back to their family he still hasn't fully settled back to his old sleeping schedule. House seems to be still very stressed out and ignoring his need for food so that's why you've decided to break into his office and force-feed him.

--------------

You really didn't think this through, somehow while arguing with House you ended up on your knees with his cock down your throats.

Your pants are shoved down to your ankles and your hand begins to cramp as you desperately attempted to finger your soaking wet cunt needing to cum.

You watch tears in your eyes and falling down your face, as House groans and throws back his head.

You chock as the fingers he buried into your hair tighten, House is now desperately trying to release his stress into your mouth as his cock pounds its way into your spasming throat. House pulls out slightly to smirk down at your flushed and teary-eyed face letting out a moan as he wraps a hand around his cock as he watches you whine and grind down onto your fingers.

Before he can shove into your mouth again someone knocks at the door causing you both to freeze up.

Before you can truly start panicking house shoves his cock back into his boxers and helps you stand up after you start shifting your pants up before you can even try to start buttoning your pants back on House is soon shoving you beneath his desk and sitting down on his chair.

Gathering the cold food that had been placed on his desk in front of him to pretend that he was eating after opening up the food containers and making sure that you can't be seen beneath his desk and that you're somewhat comfortable he then calls out for the person to enter.

------

(Yeah, I'm not the best but hey I tried and I'm getting better)

{ THIS IS WONDERFUL STOP }

I just need to say I love your work it’s so good and the way you write Joe too? Don’t even get me started. Could you maybe do one where the reader has a bad day and hasn’t slipped in a way and Joe kinda has to help them slip and he’s really sweet to her and kind (very much fannon Joe) by yk Joe being Joe he thinks about what he’s gonna due to the person that made your day bad if you could that would be great! No rush!!!!

A/N: Thank you!!! Again I LOVE getting Joe requests, I put a lot of effort into writing them, there's no sfw content anywhere for him so I take great pleasure in making it for people! Joe's great to write for too because his character is just soooo unique so it makes it easier to get that inside voice he has right if that makes sense. Ok I'm rambling, enjoy!

Worth It

Pairings: Cg! Joe Goldberg x Fem! Little!reader

Word Count:1.1k

Warnings: usual warning for Joe! Language, reader is called stupid (not by Joe), implied violence.

Joe's waiting for you when you come home from work as always. He likes to wait for you with a homemade meal or simply a warm smile. You have a stressful job and he helps you relax afterwards because that's just the kind of boyfriend he is. Usually you come home stressed, giving him a weary smile and a kiss before heading to the shower to wash off your long day. But not today.

He can tell somethings off when you walk in. You're biting your lip anxiously, not giving him your usual loving greeting. Something's up with you.

"Hey baby, you ok?" He questions softly, moving towards you for a hug.

Before he even gets to you you break down into tears. "He was s-so mean to me!" You cry, clutching on to Joe when he pulls you to his chest.

"Who was baby?" Joe questions, a hint of panic lacing his voice. "What happened?"

Who hurt his girl?

"My boss." You say, voice breaking as you say it. "He literally s-screamed at me in front of everyone. He made me feel so stupid." You sob, burying you face into his shirt, body shaking with the impact of your sobs. Joe brings his arms around you, kissing your head while shushing you. He's incensed.

What kind of low life fuck gets off on making a pretty, smart little thing like you cry? When all you do is work your ass off to please him? This is not gonna fly.

"Oh baby I am so fucking sorry. Why would he do that? You've been working so hard recently."

You shrug your shoulders, shaking your head. "He s-said my work wasn't good enough n that I-I didn't try hard enough but I did Joe I promise." You look up at him, your oh-so-innocent eyes now bloodshot and puffy.

Oh this fucker has to die. Of course you tried! You always try you're his, he loves you because you try- ok Joe gotta focus. She needs you.

"Oh baby I know. You've don't have to explain to me I know you've been trying. It's not you're fault that your boss is an idiot."

"Was so mean." You mumble. "Do you think I'm stupid Joe?" You look into his eyes with that borderline puppy-dog expression on your face and you look oh so sad.

You just need his reassurance. Your dumbass boss doesn't get to make you feel like this. He's going to make sure it never happens again. After he makes you feel better.

He brings his hands up to your cheeks, cupping your face. "Of course not baby. It's your boss who's stupid. He doesn't know how good he's got it."

You sniffle, shaking your head. "Bad day."

Joe nods. "I know." He coos, wiping stray tears from your cheeks using his thumbs. "But you're home now. Daddy's here baby."

You don't know when you started slipping but it's happening. Joe can always tell, he's good with things like that. "Gotta get changed." You mumble tiredly.

"Want some help?" Joe offers with a slight smile. You respond by simply holding your arms out towards him. He picks you up swiftly and carries you into the bathroom, grabbing you some pjs on the way.

He places you down onto the granite counter top beside the sink, turning on the warm water and wetting a cloth before helping you wipe your make-up off. When it's all off he rinses it out and puts it under cold water.

"Close your eyes, good girl." You do as he says, letting out a muted whine as you feel your eyes instantly cool as he places the cloth on them. After a minute he lifts the cloth back up and you feel him put something cold on your face. You open one eye, keeping the other screwed shut, looking up at Joe.

He chuckles. "It's just your moisturizer baby, don't give me that look."

This makes you smile, closing your eye again as you let him rub the moisturizer into your skin in small, languid circles.

"There's that smile." Joe murmurs, finishing up with your skincare and tucking a few loose strands of hair behind your ears.

You open your eyes, feeling thoroughly smaller now.

God. You're adorable. How could anyone purposely hurt you ?

"You want me to help you get dressed little one?" You nod your head, thumb drifting up to rest on your lips, dangerously close to slipping into your mouth.

Joe gently takes your wrist and pulls it down. "Uh uh" he reprimands quietly, lifting you down from the counter and helping you into your pjs. You lift your hand up to your lips again but you stop when you see the look Joe's giving you. You can't help the little frustrated whine that escapes you but Joe is quick to soothe.

"Shh shh, I'll get you your pacifier soon, ok? C'mon, let's fix your hair."

He softly pulls a comb through your hair, detailing the knots and putting it up into a bun.

"There." He says when he's finished, booping your nose, smiling when you giggle at him.

"Beautiful baby."

You blush at the attention, burrowing your head into his shoulder.

"Alright, c'mon kiddo" he says, sweeping you up into his arms yet again and bringing you into the kitchen, not before grabbing your pacifier from your bedroom. He makes you a sippee cup full of hot chocolate and gives you a snack.

"Thank you Daddy" you say in between bites, looking up at him with a smile, mouth covered in hot chocolate.

Joe's heart clenches. Even when you're small you're so polite. You just want to please. That's all you ever want to do. His minds starts spiralling again at the thought of your boss. You worked overtime! You clearly put huge amounts of effort into that project, just needing some recognition and your he called you stupid? The jackass with a comb over called his little girl stupid? No wonder his wife left him, guy has the emotional intelligence of a fork.

He's roused from his thoughts by your voice.

"Daddy?"

"Yeah pumpkin?"

"Colour now?"

Joe smiles. "Of course sweetheart." He cleans off your face with a napkin before pulling out your colouring books and crayons to let you scribble happily beside him, occasionally calling out to him so he can see your masterpieces. As the evening wears on you slow down, pacifier in and colouring abandoned, breathing slow and even as you sleep in his arms.

Two weeks later your boss doesn't show up for work and you never see him again. Joe seems to share your slight worry but that's immediately overshadowed by the fact that you were promoted to your bosses old position.

That night Joe falls asleep with a smile on his face.

Worth it.

“HOPE” found in Washington D.C.

Part 2 of "Back the Future Us" AU Castiel hasn't told Dean that him and Future Dean are married and live together Dean, after a night of sleep in Castiel's guest room, wakes up to snoop around, trying to find his Future Self's phone number or something He's surprised to learn that Castiel doesn't take his shit anymore

Everyone needs to read this now.

the boy beneath | dean winchester x reader

summary - even though john has forced him to be a man, he's not fully one yet. the boyish grins and youthful desires still hold him prisoner. and in these rare moments with you, he allows himself to be that boy again.

tw: fluff, mention of john winchester, itsy bitsy angst, season one dean being a cute little shit.

The golden afternoon sun glints off the polished chrome of the Impala.

Huddled under its hood, you're helping Dean fix a blown engine in the middle of nowhere. The scent of pine and motor oil mingles in the air, a strangely comforting amalgamation that's become synonymous with these moments.

Grease smears your faces, laughter echoing through the woods before dying into a comfortable silence. Dean works his wrench as you watch him, mesmerized by the fluid motions of his hands.

There's a softness to him still, despite the harsh life he's led. Even after years of hunting and killing, he's a little shit with puppy dog eyes and a pretty boy smile.

He's got an old Canon EOS camera he roams around with everywhere nowadays. It's become as much a part of him as his leather jacket or the samulet. And yes, it's a bit battered, much like Dean himself, but it's efficient at it's job, just like him.

"What'cha lookin' at, sweetheart?" he asks amusedly, without looking up. If he had, he would've caught the longing in your eyes.

"Nothing," you reply, trying to keep your voice steady, but the slight tremor betrays you.

A gust of wind blows across your face, tickling you with your strands of hair. You giggle at the sensation, the sound coming out light and carefree. It steals Dean's attention away from his beloved car, soft eyes landing on your face.

Dean's heart skips a beat as he looks at you. God, you're beautiful, he thinks, drinking in the sight of your windswept hair and the laughter in your eyes.

A grin tugs at the corner of his lips. He reaches for the camera in the back seat. The shutter clicks, immortalizing your joy.

As he lowers his camera, he thinks of all your hours spent in between sheets. Naked bodies pressed together, crevices into crevices. He's enamoured by the way his hands mould your body to fit the curves of his.

Even though John has forced him to be a man, he's not fully one yet. The boyish grins and youthful desires still hold him prisoner. And in these rare moments with you, he allows himself to be that boy again.

The thought of losing you feels like the ache Achilles must have felt when Patroculus died. It's an ache that gnaws at his insides every second of his existence. He wants to hold onto this feeling, to you, with everything he has.

And for a fleeting moment, as he turns back to the engine, you both pretend that this is all there is — just you, Dean, and the open road ahead.

I just want someone to love me.

destiel make out scene 2026 <3

rereading a midsummer night's dream and the amount of trust the craftsmen have for the nobles' reading comprehension is just hilarious

"i wonder if they will understand that i'm actually not a lion" "i think we should make it clear that i'm a person playing a wall and not actually a wall" "are they in fact at all familiar with the concept of acting"

I CANT DO THIS RN GUYS

artrick phone sex

I gotchu, my love <3

CW: 18+ !NSFW! First time dynamics, angst, Art has avoidance issues like me.

Apologies this may be too long and full of my own personal angst I fear.

—-

“Art?” It’s Patrick.

Art feels his stomach sinking and now he wishes he’d avoided his call, again. He rolls over on his bed and looks at the sparsely decorated wall of his dorm room. It’s his first time talking to Patrick since… since…

He shivers and tries to put it out of his mind.

“Hey,” Art says and clears his throat. “What’s up?”

Patrick chuckles.

Art shivers again. Did his voice always sound that way? Or is Art just crazy still? He’s been really crazy lately. It’s been two weeks and he’s still…

“Really? What’s up?” Patrick mimics. “That’s all you have to say?”

Art shrugs for the benefit of no one but himself. “What—um— what’s wrong with that?”

“Oh I don’t know…” Patrick hums and then he sighs. “Okay fuck it. I’ll go with it. Are you okay?”

Art is still anxious, his stomach still uneasy. It’s just Patrick. His oldest and closest and best friend and yet he can’t relax. He can’t settle down and they're just talking on the phone. He can’t imagine seeing him in person when he inevitably shows up to Stanford again to watch Tashi play. Everything is different now.

“I’m fine, Patrick.” He lies.

“But you don’t want to talk to me?” Patrick sounds weird. Worried? A little. Disappointed? Probably. Sad? Definitely.

Art sighs, he doesn’t want Patrick to be sad. “No I— I’ve just been busy. We had finals last week. And um…. practice has been crazy. I’m um… I started seeing this girl and—” he hears Patrick huff a laugh but barrels through, ignoring it. “Sorry I missed your calls.”

“And texts,” Patrick adds.

“I’m sorry,” Art says again.

They’re quiet for a while. Art turns back to look at the tv. He was watching Sports Center, they were talking about gymnastics. Apparently there had just been some kind of qualifier competition.

“Who’s this new girl your seeing?” Patrick asks. This time Art can’t tell what his tone is.

“Uh well she’s nice, pretty. She’s actually not on the team. She’s an English major.”

“Sounds hot,” Patrick says, flatly.

“Yeah, she’s um— she’s nice,” Art says. “Are you—are you high?”

“A little. I won’t lie. Me and the buddy I was telling you about we smoked a couple and then went and got tacos and Margaritas. So fucking good. Who knew Dallas was a food town?”

Art laughs. He begins to relax, this feels more like best friend stuff. Maybe he was overreacting. Avoiding him for two weeks. But of course that wasn’t the only reason Art was avoiding him. “What happened to your match?”

“Uh well— I lost again. This shit is so fucking rigged.” Patrick complains.

“Dude that fucking sucks,” Art says. He sits up on his bed and looks around for his own weed stash.

“Yeah, it’s fine though. I’m going against this guy tomorrow, stats are all over the place but I think I can take him.”

“Whats his name?”

“Moussa or Mousso… I can’t remember but he’s French. Kinda hot, actually.”

Art feels his stomach flip flop again. “Uh… so what about Tashi?”

“She’s good, she actually answers my calls. I mean not tonight but she told me her cousin would be in town so…”

”Do you want me to beg for forgiveness or something?” Art says, smirking.

Patrick takes a breath and doesn’t say anything while Art is rummaging through the bottom drawer of his night stand. He finds the baggy he was looking for and sits up on the bed, legs crossed as he opens it.

“I’m sorry but I was honestly busy.” Art adds when Patrick still hasn’t said anything.

“Are we ever gonna talk about it?” Patrick asks.

Art stops moving. His stomach begins doing all kinds of things again.

“Look I don’t want to… I don’t want it to be weird,” Patrick continues. “I can do whatever you need. If you want me to pretend I didn’t fuck you… okay fine. But you have to talk to me because I’m going fucking crazy.”

Art stares at the television but he’s not seeing anything. He gives up on the weed and tosses it on the nightstand. “Yeah um… okay.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing,” Art mutters. “I’m— we can talk.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“No,” Art says. “I—“ he lays back down on his side and looks at the wall, pulling his knees up. He wishes with everything in him that they hadn’t done it in here. In his fucking bed.

He’s got it on a loop playing in his head all the time. Patrick crawling between his legs. The way he looked, hair still damp from the shower, freckles all over, pupils too big, blue eyes all sparkly. How he smelled, like vanilla soap and cigarettes. What he sounded like, voice so much deeper and softer than normal, saying stupid things like “You’re so fucking pretty”, “Gonna make you scream my name,” and then moaning when he got it in.

And how it felt.

God.

How it felt.

That’s the part that stays with him. How much it hurt. And then how much it didn’t hurt at all. By the end Patrick was touching something inside him and he was seeing stars. In between consciousness and some other plane of existence is how good it felt. That was the silly part. Feeling like he wanted it again and again and again.

He let Patrick do it again in the morning. Patrick’s arms wrapped around his waist fucking him on his side while he stared at this wall his whole body blooming with pleasure. And then just sitting with it for the rest of the day. The ache. The stretch. The feeling like everyone could tell. Patrick left that afternoon for the airport, sent Art a text. Well that was fun. Which he ignored. Called him that evening. Also ignored.

Art had been trying to avoid thinking about it ever since (it was impossible). He’s thrown himself into school, tennis, he’s even tried to talk to a new girl. It didn’t go anywhere. In his worst moments he’s even tried to flirt with Tashi. But then he remembers she’s fucking Patrick and his mind swings right back around to the way Patrick fucked him. And that makes him more crazy because now he doesn’t know what the fuck he actually wants.

And every fucking night, late at night he’s lying in bed staring at the wall touching himself over and over… thinking about it.

He doesn’t know how to say any of this to Patrick.

“Did you die?” Patrick asks, dryly. Even now since they’ve been on the phone, just hearing Patricks stupid voice is making Art’s stomach hurt, and his cock fill up.

“No… I’m just confused okay,” Art says.

“About what?”

“I don’t know.”

”Did you hate it?” Patrick asks.

“Not really,” Art murmurs.

“You’re so fucking full of shit,” Patrick groans.

Art sighs and realizes he just mindlessly put his palm on his cock because of how gravelly Patrick’s voice sounds. And fine. Patrick can make him crazy all the way in whatever fucking city hes in however many fucking miles he is away from Palo Alto.

“I’m sorry if I don’t know how to feel. I’ve never… I’d never done any of that before.” Art says quietly.

“And yet you practically begged for it in the morning.” Patrick says softly.

Art swallows thickly.

“I can’t get it out of my head.” Patrick continues. “The way you were rubbing against my dick before you even woke up properly. Fuck. I can’t get you out of my head.”

Art’s rubbing himself now. “I can’t either,” he sighs, he’s starting to lose it again. He feels silly. Too silly to care if Patrick can tell.

“Yeah?” Patrick sounds eager, breathy.

“It was… I still… I still feel it. Is that crazy?” Art says quietly.

Patrick takes a deep breath. “Fuck. You drive me so fucking insane. Are you fucking touching yourself?”

“’m sorry. I just…” Art says, closing his eyes. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Art knows he’s never gonna recover from this but right now it doesn’t matter. He would stop if he could but he can’t.

”You still feel me?”

“Mmhm.”

“Feel me stretching you? you’re so fucking tight I don’t even know if it’s all gonna fit,” Patrick says, his voice sounds like it did. When Arts eyes are closed it’s almost like he can feel Patrick’s breath on his skin.

“Ah—“ Art gasps, grabbing himself properly. “I like the stretch.”

“You love it.” Patrick says. “You don’t even want to wait. Don’t want me to take my time, you’re just so eager you’re pushing that pretty ass back on me.”

“Yeah,” Art gasps, he rolls onto his back and puts the phone on speaker, letting one leg fall open as he jerks himself. “It feels so good—when you fuck me. Its too much. Im too full please… please I don’t think I can take anymore.”

“Oh you fucking liar,” Patrick moans. “You can take it baby. I know you can. You’re a little cock slut already and its only your first time. Fuck. You’re so tight.”

”So tight,” Art says mindlessly as he tries to ease two fingers along his ass, the way Patrick had done before he entered. “I wanna… I want you to… I—I miss you.”

”I miss you too,” Patrick says. “If I was there I’d have you on all fours taking my dick all night.”

“Ah—mmh— Patrick I’m gonna— you’re gonna make me—“ Art cries. The fingers are enough… even dry.

“Come on, yeah… fucking come on my big fat dick sweetheart… come on.. nngh…” Patrick moans.

It’s enough. Hot strings of pearly white are suddenly spurting out of him and spilling everywhere, on his fingers and clothes. On the bedspread. He’s breathless, as his whole body goes lax.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck… I need to be in you again, gahhh..” Art can hear Patrick’s bed squeaking wherever he is and then he’s groaning loudly, and gasping through his own orgasm. “Oh god, oh shit… that was…”

“Yeah,” Art says breathlessly, looking up at the ceiling.

”Mm don’t fucking ignore me again,” Patrick says.

As relaxed as Art feels right now. Distantly, the pit in his stomach is returning. “Patrick… are we… I mean… are we still gonna be… friends?”

“Yeah of course,” Patrick says, easy. He yawns. “Always.”

Art feels tied up in knots but he can tell Patrick’s relaxed, sated, relieved even. If anything he’s going to be asleep in five minutes. No point getting any deeper now.

“You wanna fall asleep on the phone or—?” Patrick asks, yawning again.

“No it’s… it’s fine.” Art says. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Mmkay. Sweet dreams.”

Art bites his tongue to keep himself from saying something fucking stupid that he can’t take back. The line goes dead. Art stares at the ceiling for a minute, the three words he can’t say platonically to his best friend who he’s now fucking, are flitting about in his head. And Patrick wonders why he’s confused. He grabs his second pillow and pulls it over his face. He’s so fucked.

the fact i think about matt every second of everyday is quite concerning, but so worth it.

why do i fall for fictional characters that have dead or literally no fandom

LIKE LOOK AT THIS MAN AND TELL ME HES NO THE HOTTEST SWEETEST BOY IN THE WORLD

SONY??????? 😭😹

not to make it political but if ur a trump supporter get off my blog rn and don't fucking come back

by destiel this can’t be happening

I’ve gotten physically ill multiple times tonight