Mar 9
rip gerard gibson you would’ve loved making 67 jokes
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rip gerard gibson you would’ve loved making 67 jokes
shannon lynch i miss ur clumsy awkward self you made me feel so normal 💔
𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺
𝘫𝘰𝘦𝘺 𝘭𝘺𝘯𝘤𝘩♡
Your old bed creaks under the shift of your bodies as you fall with a thud, but neither of you notices. Joey’s hands are on your thighs, thumbs rubbing circles into your skin. You straddle his hips, bare chest flush to his as you press kisses along his jaw, slow and reverent.
His voice is husky, low. “You sure?”
You answer by grinding against him, the heat of you through your panties dragging a groan from deep in his chest.
“Fuck…” he mutters, hands sliding up to cup your ass as he presses you down against his hard cock. “You feel so good, baby.”
You kiss him again—hotter this time—biting gently at his bottom lip. “I want you, Joey. All of you.”
He flips you with a quiet whimper, settling between your legs, his mouth already trailing down your chest. “Gonna take care of you. You know that, right?”
You nod, breathless, he doesn’t really give you the time to respond properly. Dragging your panties down and kissing the inside of your thigh so softly you whimper. Then his mouth is on you— more specifically inside you—tongue slow and deliberate.
His hands pin your thighs open and his eyes stay locked on yours while he devours you like a man starving.
You moan his name, hips twitching under the weight of his grip.
“Joey—fuck—don’t stop…”
He hums against your clit, that smirk ghosting over his face even as he’s making you fall apart. “That’s it. Let me hear you, baby.”
When you finally come, it’s with a cry muffled into your forearm, body trembling under his mouth. He keeps going through your orgasm, lapping you up like he’s memorizing the way you taste.
When he finally pulls back, his chin slick and his eyes dark, he’s already pulling his boxers down.
“Please” he pants, the head of his cock rubbing against your slick entrance. “I need to be inside you.”
He pushes in slow, stretching you open inch by inch until he’s buried to the hilt. Both of you moan, breath mingling in the quiet air of the room.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he groans, starting to thrust, deep and deliberate. “Takin’ me so good…”
Your nails dig into his back as he fucks you slow—hips grinding in a rhythm that makes your toes curl. His hand slips under your knee, pushing your leg up to go deeper. Every roll of his hips brushes against that spot inside you that makes you see stars.
“Look at me,” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours. “Look at me while I make you feel this good.”
You do. And the way he looks at you? Like you’re the only thing in the world that’s ever mattered.
When you come again, he’s not far behind—his thrusts turning desperate, rougher. He buries his face in your neck as he groans your name, spilling deep inside you with a trembling moan.
You both lie there, breathless, bodies tangled in the sheets and each other.
Tucking a hand behind your neck he leans down kissing your forehead.
“Nothing’s gonna hurt you” he murmurs, still inside you. “ I’ve got you.”
When Joey has been LITERALLY fighting for his life all day against his abusive dad and battling his intense addiction and then Shan comes home and asks 'So how does it fit'
I alwayss see people making sad or hot stuff abt Patrick Feely, and as u said your request of BOT are open I just thought that asking you to do a fluff Patrick Feely would be a great idea, something like friends to colored friendship to lovers ig or something just friends to lovers (I love that trope)
CROSSING LINES- Patrick Feely
Warnings- absolutely zero, just Patrick Feely my man in all his glory🌟
A/n- I am SO SORRY I’ve been away for so long, I’ve started a new job and I’ve been so busy. I’ve also tried doing pictures and a bigger title so please let me know if it looks good??? Also let me know what you think of the story ofc, thanks besties xxxxx
Patrick Feely had always hated the rain.
Not because it soaked through his school blazer or turned the roads of Cork into rivers of muck and puddles, but because rain meant thinking too much. Rain meant long walks home with nothing but his own thoughts and the sharp ache in his chest he never talked about.
And lately, all he could think about was you.
You and Patrick had been best friends since the age of 12 years old when you both joined Tommen.
The girl who sat beside him at the back of chemistry because she was the only one who could read his awful handwriting.
The girl who stole chips off his tray at lunch and wore his hoodies without asking.
The girl who had become so woven into his life that Patrick genuinely didn’t know where he ended and she began.
Which was exactly the problem.
Stood at the lockers in school with his friends around him, Patrick felt a sense of unease, he knew it was because he hadn’t seen you walk through the school doors yet.
The school corridors were buzzing with students bustling by, going about their own days. Taking no notice of them, Patrick kept his eye trained on the door.
“Jesus, Feely,” Gibsie said around a mouthful of crisps, “you’re staring holes through the entrance.”
Patrick shoved him lightly. “Am not.”
“You are.”
“Shut up.”
Gibsie grinned. “Waiting for your wife?”
“She’s not my wife.”
“Yet,” Hughie muttered.
Patrick flipped both of them off.
Then the doors burst open, letting in a gust of cold October wind and you stumbled in, laughing breathlessly as you were fighting with your umbrella.
“There she is,” Gibsie sang.
Patrick ignored him, taking no notice
Because you looked freezing and he hated it.
Cheeks were pink from the cold, dark curls damp around your shoulders, tie hanging loose around your neck. Spotting Patrick instantly caused your face to light up in a way that always did strange things to his chest.
“There you are,” you said, marching over. “Your mother made those scones again, didn’t she?”
Patrick blinked. “Hello to you too.”
“Do you have them?”
He sighed dramatically and reached into his bag. “You only love me for baked goods.”
Snatching the container from him with a victorious grin you answered. “Correct.”
The boys around them groaned.
“That’s romance if I’ve ever seen it,” Gibsie muttered.
You rolled your eyes and leaned against Patrick’s shoulder while opening the container.
And there it was again.
That feeling.
Warm.
Patrick swallowed hard.
Later that night, after Patrick had spent all day trying to keep you warm after your lips had started turning blue in first lesson. You both lay on his bedroom floor surrounded by books that weren’t being read.
Music played softly from Patrick’s stereo.
Patrick’s arms had your calf resting in them as he was strumming against your leg like it was his guitar
Looking back at him giggling, you turn back round and carry on doodling in your notebook, when a thought came to mind.
“You ever think about leaving Cork?” You thought out loud
Patrick looked over. “Where would I go?”
“Anywhere.”
He shrugged. “Never really thought about it.”
“I want to see everything.”
“You hate flying.”
“I know but still”
Patrick smiled faintly.
He knew that you always dreamed bigger than everyone else . Bigger than their town. Bigger than expectations.
He admired that about you.
However, it did bring fear to him as well, he realised that one day you might discover your worth and grow out of Cork, leaving him on his dads farm with all his aspirations in the mud.
“You’d come visit me, though?” You added quickly, hating how much your voice shook with worry.
He looked at you then, as you had finally took your leg from his hands and turned to face him, legs crossed .
He looked into your eyes, taking in all features of your face like it was the last time he’ll ever see it
Taking in all the freckles scattered over your nose and cheeks
At the softness in your eyes
At the way you trusted him completely.
“Always,” he said roughly.
Something shifted in the room. You felt it as well as you felt your smile falter a little. The silence was stretched and too long to feel comfortable.
Patrick’s pulse thudded painfully in his chest.
Sitting up abruptly you decided to put and end to the awkward silence, not liking the places your brain was taking you to during it.
“Right,” you announced too brightly, “I’m starving.”
And the moment disappeared.
Things changed after Christmas. It was a subtle change at first, it wouldn’t be noticeable to the outside eye, but to the two in the friendship the change was unbelievably drastic.
Patrick became hyperaware of every touch, every glance that landed on him from across the classroom during school. Every time you curled up against him during your weekly movie night.
He didn’t realise you felt the same, deliberately stealing his hoodies, not because you were ‘cold’ but because you loved the smell of them. It reminded you of him.
Patrick even began to feel fire at the pit of his belly when you spoke to any other boys.
When you started talking to Darren Murphy from sixth year, Patrick nearly lost his mind.
“He asked me to the social,” you said to Patrick one afternoon while you both sat outside near the rugby pitch.
Patrick forced himself to sound normal.
“Did he?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s…good.”
You frowned slightly. “You don’t sound excited.”
“I am”
“You hate Darren don’t you”
“I don’t hate him” he huffed
Patrick absolutely hated him.
Studying him carefully you gently added “you’re acting strange Pa”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
He stood abruptly. “I’ve got training.”
“Patrick—”
“I’ll see you later.”
He walked away before you got the chance to stop him.
Because if he didn’t walk away that moment in time he realised he may have said something he didn’t want to just yet.
Such as don’t go with him.
Such as I’m in love with you and it’s ruining me.
The winter social was absolute torture.
Patrick stood near the gym wall in a shirt that suddenly felt too tight around the throat while watching you dance with Darren beneath flashing lights.
Gibsie winced beside him. “Mate.”
“I’m fine.”
“You look homicidal.”
Patrick dragged a hand through his hair.
A familiar laughter shot through the air, and Patrick felt irrational fury claw through him.
He looked over and noticed Darren’s hand was resting on your waist.
He couldn’t believe the utter jealousy that was coursing through his veins at this moment.
“You should tell her” he heard a voice come from next to him, the voice belonging to his close friend Hugh Biggs
Patrick scoffed. “And ruin everything?”
“Maybe you already are.” Hugh added with a shrug
That hit harder than Patrick expected.
Before he could answer, you looked across the crowded gym.
Straight at him.
And suddenly the smile wasn’t on your face anymore.
Twenty minutes later you walked out the front of the hall for some air.
Patrick stood beneath the covered entrance, rain hammering the pavement beyond, a puff of smoke blew out of his mouth as you caught a glimpse of the cigarette in his hand. Glassy eyes looking out into the distance, he hadn’t realised you were there yet.
“You left,” you said softly.
He shrugged.
“Patrick.”
“What?”
“Talk to me” you sighed “please”
He laughed bitterly. “About what?”
“Whatever’s going on with you lately.”
He stayed silent.
You took a tentative step closer. “Did I do something wrong?”
That nearly broke him.
“No,” he said immediately. “Jesus, no.”
“Then what is it?”
Patrick looked away, because he couldn’t pluck up the courage to say it, couldn’t survive the thought of hearing she didn’t feel the same
You had known him for too long to know this wasn’t about nothing, taking a step towards him and placing yourself directly infront of him, slotting yourself in between his knees.
“Look at me Pa, please” you softly begged.
He did.
Big mistake.
Taking one look into your eyes just about broke Patrick, they were so soft and full of emotion, the one emotion coming to the forefront was worry.
“I miss you” was the most painful three words that could have come out of your mouth, they cut Patrick so deep. “You’ve been pulling away from me for weeks now” you sighed.
Patrick’s throat tightened.
“I’m trying not to.”
“Why?”
Patrick exhaled shakily. “Because I can’t watch you fall for somebody else.”
You froze, at the exact same time a crack of thunder shot out above the both of you, none of you two moved a muscle, staring into the others eyes
“What?” You whispered.
He laughed once, miserable. “There it is.”
“Patrick…” you breathed out
“I’m sorry, alright? I never meant for this to happen.”
Your expression changed then. Not horror or pity or any of the other emotions Patrick expected to flash across your face when he told you, instead it was something positive, something hopeful
“You idiot” you breathed out, hitting him on the shoulder
Patrick frowned. “What?”
You stepped closer until your legs were fully nestled into his and your bodies were so close he had no choice but to stare up directly into your eyes.
“You really don’t know?” You asked causing his heart to pound violently.
“Know what?”
“That I’ve been in love with you since second year”
Everything stopped. Patrick just stared at you, almost as if he was waiting for you to say you were joking, or for his friends to jump out and start laughing like this was all one big prank.
Shaking your head and laughing nervously you added “I thought you knew. Everyone else seemed to.”
Patrick sighed, a mixed between content and confusion
“You’re the person I look for first in every room,” she whispered. “You’re my favorite part of every day.”
Patrick felt like he couldn’t breathe.
“You’re serious?”
She rolled her eyes watery-eyed. “No, Patrick, I came out into freezing rain for a laugh.”
And suddenly he was smiling. Really smiling, from ear to ear for what felt like the first time in forever.
Then you reached up slowly, fingertips brushing his jaw and Patrick swore he felt like he might burst into flames on the spot, no matter how much rain was pouring down.
“If you don’t kiss me now,” you murmured, “I might actually scream.”
Patrick didn’t hesitate again.
He kissed her hard and desperate beneath the stormy Cork sky, one hand cradling the back of her neck while she clung to his shirt
And the strange thing was it didn’t feel new or like they had to get used to it, it felt inevitable. Like every moment of their friendship had slowly but surely led them to this moment.
You pulled back and took the time to really take a deep look into Patrick’s eyes which were swimming with yearning and love.
“Took you long enough,” you whispered.
Patrick laughed softly, still stunned.
“I was terrified.”
“Of me?”
“Of losing you.”
Your expression softened instantly.
“You never will.”
And for the first time in his life, Patrick Feely believed someone completely.
Siren Sounds | joey lynch
summary: 1k. on a cold night by the sea, everything is finally said—except the one thing that scares them both the most.
cw: childhood best friends, angsty, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, unspoken feelings, english is not my first language xx.
currently playing: siren sounds
Joey Lynch had loved you for as long as he could remember.
Before the bruises.
Before the shouting.
Before Ballylaggin felt like something he had to survive instead of just attend.
You were there when he was five, sitting on the curb outside your houses, legs swinging, sharing a packet of crisps like it was sacred. You were there when he was ten, holding his hand after his dad’s voice cracked the walls again. You were there when he was thirteen, when he learned how to shut down, how to disappear into himself.
You were always there.
And that was the problem.
Because loving you felt like standing too close to the sea—beautiful, loud, impossible to ignore. And Joey had learned early on that beautiful things were usually the ones that dragged you under.
Tonight, the waves were loud.
You sat beside him on the beach, knees pulled to your chest, hoodie sleeves covering your hands. The sky was dark, the water restless, the wind sharp with salt. Joey lay back on the sand, staring up at nothing, pretending his chest didn’t ache with every breath you took.
“You’re thinking again,” you said softly.
He huffed a laugh. “I always think.”
“No,” you replied, turning to look at him. “You’re spiraling.”
That made him turn his head. Your face was half-lit by the moon, familiar in a way that hurt. He knew every version of you—laughing, crying, angry, exhausted. He knew the sound you made when you were trying not to cry. He knew how you smelled like clean laundry and the ocean.
He knew he was done for.
“Why do you stay?” he asked suddenly.
You frowned. “What?”
“With me,” he said. “You know me better than anyone. You know how messed up it all is. So why don’t you leave?”
You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you scooted closer, your shoulder brushing his. That tiny contact sent electricity through him, like a warning siren going off in his bones.
“Because I love you, Joey,” you said, like it was obvious. Like it wasn’t the most terrifying thing he’d ever heard.
He sat up too fast. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Say it like that,” he snapped, panic flaring. “You make it sound easy.”
Your eyes softened. “It is easy. It’s you.”
He shook his head, hands trembling. “You don’t get it. Loving me—” He swallowed. “It’s dangerous.”
You reached for him anyway, fingers curling around his wrist, grounding, warm. “So is the ocean,” you said quietly. “Doesn’t mean people stop swimming.”
Joey laughed then, broken and breathless. “You’re going to drown with me.”
“Then we drown together,” you whispered.
Something inside him gave way.
The sea didn’t quiet down after that.
If anything, it grew louder, waves crashing harder against the shore as if trying to intrude on the moment. Joey noticed it distantly, the same way he noticed everything when his thoughts started to spiral. Except this time, he didn’t pull away. He stayed.
You were still there.
Close enough that he could feel the heat of you through the cold night air. Close enough that moving even an inch felt dangerous.
“You shouldn’t say things like that,” he murmured, breaking the silence first.
You frowned slightly. “Like what?”
“Like you’re staying,” he said. “Like it’s a given.”
Your jaw tightened. “It is.”
Joey shook his head, a bitter smile tugging at his mouth. “Nothing about me is a given.”
The words hung between you, heavy and familiar. He’d said versions of them before—half-joking, half-warning. This time, you didn’t let him hide behind them.
“You don’t get to decide when I give up on you,” you said quietly.
“I’m not deciding,” he snapped, then immediately softened. “I’m trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
“From me.”
That was the truth he never said out loud.
Joey turned away, staring at the dark water. “You’ve always been… good,” he continued, voice low. “You deserve someone who doesn’t flinch every time things get real. Someone who doesn’t carry this much damage.”
You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you reached out and took his sleeve, not his hand. Careful. Like you were giving him room to pull away if he needed to.
“I don’t want easy,” you said. “I want you. I always have.”
His chest tightened painfully. He closed his eyes, fighting the urge to lean into you, to give in to the pull he’d been resisting his whole life.
“You don’t know what it’s like inside my head,” he whispered. “Some days I can barely stand being there myself.”
You shifted closer, your shoulder brushing his arm. Not a kiss. Not even a hug. Just presence.
“Then let me sit with you in it,” you replied. “You’ve been sitting with me in mine since we were kids.”
Joey laughed softly, hollow. “That’s not fair.”
“I know,” you said. “Love never is.”
Silence settled again, thick and fragile. The wind tugged at your hair, at his jacket, at all the things neither of you were saying.
His hand twitched where it rested in the sand, inching closer to yours but never quite touching. You noticed. Of course you did.
“You don’t have to choose tonight,” you added gently. “I’m not asking for anything.”
He finally looked at you then, eyes dark and tired and full of something dangerously close to hope.
“That’s worse,” he said. “Because I want to.”
Your breath caught.
But he didn’t move.
And neither did you.
The waves kept crashing, relentless and patient, and the space between your hands felt louder than any confession ever could.
⋆˚࿔ "Hey stud" "Hey queen" ꒰ঌ ໒꒱ the it couple.
late nights. half finished cigarettes. shaking hands. soft touches. healing. messy kitchen. rolos. silent touches. shared glances. baby giggles. milk bottles. tired eyes. and even after all they've gone through, they stuck together, their hearts healed each other's broken pieces when their body couldn't.
Kinktober day one - Gerard "Gibsie" Gibson
Kink(s): - cunnilingus, face sitting, overstimulation (fem!rec)
pairings: - Gerard "Gibsie" Gibson x fem!reader
warning(s): - cunnilingus, face sitting, face riding, squiring, overstimulation
Word count: - 1064
A/N: - my first Kinktober fic is here and it's for Gibsie! I hope you all enjoy it and have a wonderful day, eat, drink and keep safe. xoxo - Eva
taglist: - @ivysprophecy (lmk if you want to be added)
