#What Makes a Sour Beer Taste Sour?

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [3.4K] request from anon: what about Steve teaching reader how to really kiss? Like she’s only ever had bad ones before? 

“Sloppy?” Steve grimaced, smiling through your word choice despite the disappointment he felt for you. 

You shrugged, nose crinkled as you remembered. “Yeah. Wet, y’know? And not like— it was just too much…tongue.”

There was a silence, a sad kind that filled the room. Steve wasn’t sure what to say. You kind of regretted telling the boy. So you sighed and shrugged it off again, biting the head off of red Sour Patch Kid.

“Maybe I just don’t like making out,” you sounded defeated and Steve hated it, frowning as he watched you chew your candy mournfully, your back pressed to the side of his unmade bed. “That’s normal, right? Like, some people just don’t like things like that and—”

“Hey, hey,” Steve knocked his foot against yours, legs stretched out across his bedroom floor. The pack of playing cards had been abandoned beside some unopened twizzlers and Steve’s can of cherry soda. “Look, of course that’s normal. And— and if that’s how you feel, that’s totally okay, alright?”

The boy hesitated, worried his bottom lip between his teeth and wondered if he should keep talking. You watched him, brows raised expectantly. 

“I just think—” Steve cleared his throat, his pointer finger dragging patterned across his carpet. He shrugged, all faux nonchalance. He didn’t want to sound like a creep, not to his best friend. Not to you. “I just think that maybe you’ve not had a good kiss, y’know?”

You didn’t answer, not right away. And Steve didn’t try and backtrack, or explain himself, he just waited, watching you think. His bedroom window was open, the sounds of the early evening slipping through. Someone’s backyard pool filter, their sprinklers out the front, the quiet spin of a kids bike going down the sidewalk.  

You didn’t look at Steve when you finally asked, “well, what is a good kiss?”

You felt stupid, asking such a thing at your age but maybe you’d grown up picking all the wrong kinds of guys. Impatient boys, greedy boys, selfish boys. Boys who turned into men who didn’t have the time of day to take it slow with a girl like you. Boys who thought they were men, who used too much teeth and tongue and pressure and tasted like cheap party beer and the leftover smoke of their cigarette. 

Guys who got too handsy too quick, guys who didn’t care that when they pulled away from your lips, you swiped the back of your hand over your mouth and tried not to frown. 

Steve shifted a little, cheeks turning pink as his eyes found yours. “Well,” he gestured at you, awkward. His gaze settled on your lips before he blinked and looked away. “I mean, it helps when you really like the person, y’know? The uh, the chemistry of it all.”

You swallowed, throat feeling tight, chest feeling too warm. You remember Nancy talking about those kinds of feelings when she first kissed Jonathan, a dopey, soft smile on her lips as she recounted it, telling you of the buzz under her skin, the flips that her stomach did when he leaned in to meet her, eyes closing. 

“Sure,” you agreed. You don’t think you’d ever felt that way about the boys you had kissed. “Right.”  

“But I guess you’re supposed to take your time with it? I mean, at first, when you’re getting to know someone.” Steve smiled, soft, reassuring. His knee knocked yours. “You find out what they like.”

“What they like?” You asked, voice cracking a little. You didn’t know where to look, what to do with your hands. You picked up a green sour patch and bit its leg. “What does that mean?”

Steve looked bashful, miles apart from the boy you’d know in high school, with a girl on his arm in the hallways, a different one in his lap at a party that weekend. 

“I’d, uh, I mean— person A would go slow with person B, right? They’d start soft. Gentle, I guess? You gotta— they’d have to figure out how the other person likes to be kissed. Not everyone shoves their tongue down your throat, y’know.”

You huffed out a laugh but it sounded weak, too breathy. You wanted the boy to keep talking, you wanted to watch his pink cheeks and his pretty eyes dart across your face, like he was searching for something. 

You wondered if he’d find it. 

“Not everyone?” You whispered. 

“No,” Steve shook his head, his smile wry. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and he was closer now, closer than before and you could smell his cologne, the cherry soda fizz that hung in the air along with Mr Jackson’s freshly mown grass. “No, no, not everyone. I’d give the girl a peck at first, yeah? Just something PG-13. Then, when she relaxes and you know, she moves closer, kisses me back, I’d—”

Steve broke off, blinking like he was getting rid of something hazy. He’d been looking at you as he spoke, words coming too easy, the air between you both warm despite the setting sun. He licked his lips, suddenly nervous, awkward again, a bashful thing that made him suddenly even more endearing than you thought he ever could be. 

“You’d what, Steve?” You blinked, feeling warm, wondering if the boy could tell. You didn’t know what to do so you moved, leaning forward until you could fold your legs underneath yourself and your thigh bumped Steve’s shin. “You’d what?”

Steve’s eyes searched yours, his gaze falling to your lips and back again. You thought he found it then, that thing he seemed to be looking for. Because he cleared his throat and let one hand fall to the carpet between you, his fingers brushing over your socked toes and you almost jumped at the contact. 

The silence was too loud now. 

“I could show you, if you wanted.”

Someone’s lawn mower started up a few yards over, white noise buzzing in the distance as you tried to take in what Steve had just said. He was watching you, head tilted to the side, cheeks still rosy and when you looked at him carefully, you could see the barely concealed panic in his brown eyes. 

He pressed his lips together and tried to smile, tight and nervous and he was picking at the carpet, fingers fidgeting as you sat there dumbly. You heard the shake in his voice when he tried to say, “I am—,” he choked on his words, panicked. “—so, so sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“Steve,” you stopped the boy with a hand on his shin, your warm palm against the denim. “We’re friends, right?”

The word seemed to burn on your tongue, like it tasted like a lie, like it was as dangerous as one. You waited, breath held, wondering if you wanted Steve to agree or not. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, suddenly so serious. “Yeah, yeah, ‘course we are.” He worried at his bottom lip again, looking at your own. “Best friends.”

You nodded, tongue feeling too big for your mouth to speak. Words felt clumsy, your skin too warm. Buzzing. Fizzing. You weren’t sure if it was you or the air. 

“Show me.”

You thought Steve would maybe hesitate, maybe he’d back out or shout, ‘got you!’ like those prank shows Dustin liked to watch. You thought he’d maybe lay down some rules, maybe he’d tell you how this didn’t mean anything and really, he was only doing his sad friend a favour. 

He didn’t do any of that. In fact he didn’t say anything else at all. Steve just let out a breath and nodded once, almost to himself before he let his hand curl around the back of your calf and he tugged, gentle. 

He lifted his chin, a casual ‘c’mere’ that had your heart thundering and you wondered if this confidence, this way of acting so sure of himself, was how he got all the girls. 

A quiet sort of assertiveness that made your stomach flip inside out. 

You unfurled yourself from your sitting position, shuffling to your knees as you moved across Steve’s bedroom floor, bare shins burning against the carpet. You leaned back on your heels, brought yourself down to Steve’s level where he sat against his wall, legs stretched out before him. 

He didn’t warn you when he brought his hand to your face, fingers cupping your cheek and his thumb brushed the corner of your mouth and you were suddenly left wondering when Steve’s hands had gotten so big. You’d watched him grow, from a middle school kid to king Steve the senior. You’d seen the new muscles, the height, the hair. You’d never noticed his hands before but now they were on you, it’s all you could think about.

Dizzy. You felt dizzy. 

“Okay?” Was all he asked, voice softer and quieter now he was so much closer. 

You nodded, face too warm and licking across your bottom lip like a reflex. You weren’t sure where to look. Or where to put your hands. Most kisses you’d shared had happened in the crowds at parties or in the front seat of a boy’s car after a date. You usually lay your palms on their shoulders, holding on and wondering if every boy took these opportunities to grope your ass like a pile of dough. 

“We can stop,” Steve told you. He looked nervous and if anything, it made you feel more anxious than ever. “Whenever you want, ‘kay?” 

You nodded again, unable to really speak, too scared that your voice would crack or something equally stupid would happen. And maybe Steve knew this, maybe he knew you so much better than you ever thought he would, because he smiled and nodded too. 

“Okay,” he announced, quiet and soft and he was moving closer, noses bumping, his eyes fluttering shut. “Here goes.”

“Wait.”

Steve paused, gaze back on your own and he looked concerned, he looked worried and before he could ask you what was wrong you were sucking in a panicked breath and asking: “what if I’m the bad kisser?”

“What?” Steve let out a laugh, breathy and disbelieving and he was still so close, his hand on your jaw and his thumb rubbing absentmindedly over the apple of your cheek. He was shaking his head, smiling, looking too pretty and suddenly this seemed like a monumental thing, something gargantuan. “No, there’s no way.”

You squirmed on the floor, shifting further and then closer and Steve loosened his hold on you but you didn’t go anywhere. You just blinked at him, pained with worry. “How could you know?”

Steve paused as he thought and you wondered if he had an answer, if he was going to say something truthful or he was simply thinking of something sweet to say to placate you. Instead, he looked into your eyes and seemed to search for that… thing, again. 

I— I just—” Steve didn’t say anything, he didn’t give you an explanation or a reason. 

He simply pressed his lips to yours. 

It was chaste and sweet and entirely innocent, lips closed and nothing close to scandalous. But then he parted from you just a breath, looking at you from heavy lidded eyes, watching you from beneath his lashes. And when you didn’t move, you didn’t panic, Steve leaned in again, kissing you the same way until he nudged your chin up with his hand and his lips slotted between your own. 

He moved slowly, carefully, with a practised ease that made your toes curl and it was still sweet, it made your tummy warm and your head spin and Steve’s lips were soft, tasting like cherry soda and sugar. 

You caught up after a beat or two, your hand that wasn’t braced on the floor reaching up to cling to where you could reach. Your fingers found the collar of Steve’s t-shirt, fisting the soft material and doing everything to make sure he didn’t move away. You moved with him, lips meeting and parting over and over until Steve sucked in a breath and tilted his head to the other side, pressing closer, a little deeper. 

After another soft peck, he pulled away, eyes still closed and his thumb on your chin as he whispered, voice hoarse. “See? Nothin’ to worry about.” He brushed your hair behind your ear, pressed his fingers under your jaw. “And now, a guy should be testing the waters, right?”

“They should?” You whispered back. Your eyes were still closed too, your fingers sneaking up past Steve’s collar to stroke at the skin at the base of his throat, experimental, adventurous. “How’d they do that?”

You were sure you felt the boy smile, sensed it. A warm breath across your lips as he moved closer again. “Like this—” 

Another kiss, the same as before, once, twice and then Steve was parting his mouth over your own and letting the tip of his tongue lick over your bottom lip. It was a fleeting touch, a zap, a buzz, a tingle down your spine and you gasped without thinking about it, lips parting for the boy and you followed suit, tongue moving past Steve’s lips to meet his own. 

He groaned then, a vibration against you, his hand skating back from your cheek to thread into your hair and he let his tongue move over your own, lips clicking every time they parted. It was slower than you’d been kissed before, something sensual about it despite being sat on your best friend’s bedroom floor and it made your insides somersault, the skin where Steve slouched burning. 

“Told you,” he murmured, breath heavy as he spoke. “Nothing to worry about,” he repeated and when you finally opened your eyes to look at him, face blazing with heat, Steve was looking at you like he didn’t know what to do with himself. 

“Mhmm,” you agreed, barely listening, eyes still on the boy’s mouth, fingering the collar of his shirt, not ready to let go yet. “You must be a good teacher, or something.”

Steve looked distracted, Adam’s apple bobbing, gaze on your lips too. You weren’t sure he had stopped looking at them. “Yeah, yeah. Or something.” He swallowed, throat tight. “Do you wanna stop? Or—?”

“No,” you said, maybe too quickly. “Do you?”

“God, no,” Steve agreed just as fast. “You can keep going— just— what do you want…?”

Steve’s words died on his lips as you moved suddenly, rising to your knees only to push Steve back to the wall. His hands fell to his sides, hovering in mid air as he stared, watching as you swung a leg over his knees and sat carefully on his lap. You were cautious, more on his thighs that closer to anything else but you tried to breathe evenly as you took in the position. 

“Okay?” You asked him, voice caught sticky in your throat with nerves but Steve nodded, head bobbing hurriedly. You sucked in a breath, smoothing your hands over Steve’s shoulders before you did as he had, smoothing them up the sides of his neck and holding his jaw carefully. “What do I do now?”

‘Whatever you want,’ Steve wanted to beg. But apparently this was a lesson of sorts and he  had something to teach you. So he cleared his throat to make sure his voice wouldn’t crack and held your hips, hands gentle and polite. “You, uh, you find out what I like.”

You nails scratched at the back of his neck, unconsciously. You licked your lips. “How do I do that?”

Steve’s hands flexed on your hips, climbing to your waist, holding you a little tighter. Something seemed to shift then, his eyes lighting up. He looked like he was ready to fight, like you’d asked him if he were up for a challenge. It made you grin. 

“Kiss me.”

 So you did. 

You did as Steve had at the start, kissing him soft and slow and chaste, pulling away before he could catch you, teasing, nose bumping his and breaths mixing, cherry soda to fizzy candy. And just before Steve was about to groan, frustrated, you shifted closer, chest pressed to his and you parted your lips, catching his bottom lip between your own. 

It was a greedier kiss and Steve let his head fall back against the wall with a dull thunk, opening his mouth for you, nails digging into your sides when you licked over his tongue, exploratory, gentle. You felt him nod, the tip of his nose smushed to your cheek and you smiled, amused at his praise. 

“Like that?” You asked, breathless, barley parting from him to speak. 

“Yeah, like that,” Steve agreed, sounding just as wrecked. “Keep going, please.”

He didn’t have to ask again. Fuck, he didn’t even have to ask as nicely as he did because you were back on him in a heartbeat, kissing your best friend like you didn’t want him to remember anyone else. 

“Slower,” he whispered, muttering instructions against your mouth and you didn’t feel scolded, you didn’t feel embarrassed you just followed Steve’s instructions, pulling back slightly to kiss him softer, lips moving with his slower, slower, slower. 

You heard him groan, felt his chest rumble and his hands squeeze at you in silent praise and you knew then he liked it like that, liked to be teased. You nosed at his cheek, did as he had done and pushed your thumb under his jaw to bring his mouth up to yours, his head tipping back, back, back. You pecked over his cheeks then, over the bridge of his nose and at the corner of his lips until he was panting, waiting for you. 

“Yeah?” Was all you asked. 

“Yeah,” he hummed, feeling like he was vibrating. He let his eyes shutter closed, waiting for your next touch. “Yeah.”

You felt bolder, brazen, pushing your lips back to Steve’s and when you pulled away this time, you nipped at the boy’s bottom lip, pulling at it gently with your teeth and until it popped softly back into place and Steve swore, he cursed, he grunted and his hips shifted under yours. 

“You like that,” you noted with a smile and it wasn’t a question. 

Steve didn’t speak, he couldn’t. Instead he stared up at you and nodded, dazed, throat bobbing as he swallowed tightly and tried to get himself under control. 

You moved into each other again without discussion, an unconscious need that didn’t need a conversation. Your hands went to his hair, holding onto the messy ends at the nape of his neck as his travelled the expanse of your back, fingertips lifting the hem of your shirt every downstroke, his skin on yours. It was enough for you to make soft noises against him, nudging closer and Steve helped, his hands pulling at your waist until your chest pressed against his and were seated over his crotch. 

You felt him then, hard and pressed underneath his jeans and it made you kiss him like you had something to prove, mouths moving together, open and panting, tongues touching teasingly, teeth grazing against lips to try and make the other moan louder. 

And when Steve’s garage door opened, a groaning, grating sound below his window, it was an interruption that told you both his father had arrived home. 

You slid from his lap, chest heaving and eyes heavy on Steve’s pink cheeks. His lips were shiny from your work, his hands leaving your waist at the very last second, your butt hitting his carpet rather ungracefully as you backed away, suddenly so aware of the line that had been crossed. 

You were burning still, an ache between your legs that hadn’t quite been satisfied and your lips buzzed from Steve’s kisses, the slow, careful way he’d pressed his to your own. He’d paid attention, you realised, picked up on every noise you made, every shift against him, the way you kissed him back eagerly when he did something you liked. And you’d done the same, taking in his gasps and sighs, stomach flipping when his hips bucked and his chest moved a little quicker than before. 

Your fingers touched your bottom lip before you pressed the back of your hand to it, as if to hide the evidence. Steve was still staring at you, panting, doing nothing to hide the obvious bulge in his jeans. 

And when his front door opened and closed and you could hear his fathers footsteps lead into his office, Steve stayed quiet. Only when the sound of the door clicking shut filled the silent house did he smile, boyish and all charm.

“See?” He reminded you, cheeks still burning. His hair was a mess from where you’d pulled on it. He looked rumpled, undone at the seams. “Told you, you weren’t a bad kisser.”

[spookylilbimbo]

So fucking happy to find this last night! 😍🥒

[murdrdocs]

death do us part

description. there's murders happening at camp half blood, and you and LUKE CASTELLAN care about them. really, you do. but you can't help but sneak off and break a few of the rules of survival laid out by luke's brother. besides, what's really the worst thing that can happen?

includes. SMUT 18+, mutual masturbation (kinda), oral (f receiving), fingering, handjobs, mentions of vibrators (m and f receiving), shower sex, some mentions of death, subby luke vibes, dom reader vibes, whipped luke, situationships, slightly bitchy reader

wc. 3.4k+

a/n: art is record separator by phil hale. barely edited

Both of you are being selfish. 

Distantly, in the back of your mind beneath the raging hormones perhaps, you’re aware that this is not only disrespectful but also irresponsible. 

Luke’s brother’s words ring in your head, reminding you over and over again. 

You had been sitting around an unsanctioned campfire at the time, a dozen or so of you all passing around bottles of alcohol that had been snuck in by one of Luke’s younger siblings who was desperate to impress and please all of you. With the buzz taking over your body and providing a general feeling of elation, you must admit that they impressed you. Maybe Luke too, who was surely delighted to have you all over him. Your little game of cat and mouse was finally coming to an end, likely spurred on by the havoc that had taken over Camp Half-Blood. Everyone was on edge, wondering who was next. Because according to Chris and a few other kids who were slasher fanatics, there would be a next. And soon. 

Which is likely why all of you were down by the shore and letting off steam. Simply existing before something happened by the time the sun rose. 

Usually, come morning you would blame your touchiness towards Luke on alcohol. But now, if either of you made it to the morning, you swore you would stop playing hard to get, throw caution to the wind, and kiss him during first daylight, a signifier that your relationship, whatever was going on between you two, withstood the test of the night and could now be official. 

You two could do it. If that was tipsy delusion or rationale talking, you didn’t know. 

All you knew was that Chris Rodriquez was definitely drunk, but there had to be some truth to his words. 

“Listen, listen.” He stood, raising his beer bottle as if he were about to toast. You hoped the bottle wasn’t empty yet, for Chris had a habit of pulling you all into a game of spin the bottle whenever he got like this. Sometimes, you didn’t mind it. Not when you got to kiss Luke. But watching Luke kiss someone else always left a sour taste on the back of your tongue. 

When Chris took a swig, you sighed a bit and slunk further into Luke’s side. 

“If we’re going to survive this–” each of you knew what he was talking about. The grieving families and empty beds made sure you each knew what was happening. “We’ll have to live by a set of rules.” 

“Rules?” Luke spoke from beside you for the first time in a while. You turned to look at him and immediately got distracted. His scar shined in the warm lighting, the orange making the slight flush along his cheeks a little more distinct. His eyes were heavy. They were relaxed. He was relaxed, and the irony didn’t fly over your head. 

Weirdly enough, you found yourself relaxed, too. Tucked into his side with his arm slung over your shoulder like the two of you were together. It was normal for you both to get like that late at night, but the difference in the air made it seem more sentimental. 

Luke, likely sensing your staring, turned to look at you. He smiled just a bit, and you didn’t hesitate as you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his. The two of you separated soon enough to hear Chris’ rant. 

“Yeah. Rules.” When no one around the bonfire seemed to understand what rules he was referring to, he took a swig of his beer, sat it on the log behind him, and stood on his soap box. 

“There are a set of rules to surviving something like this. Rule number 1: never say you’ll be right back. Trust me, you won’t.” 

One of the girls raised her hand, her face scrunched into a pout. Chris stopped to look at her, pointing a finger as an indicator for her to speak. “What do we say instead?”

Chris took a second. He hesitated, his dark and glassy eyes searching around him for an answer, then, “Just leave and come back. Don’t announce it.” 

The answer seemed good enough for her and Chris continued. 

“Rule number 2: don’t shower alone. This is just an invitation for the killer to sneak up on you, and slash you up. Next thing you know, we’re finding you stark naked.” This rule seemed to make sense for everyone else and no one spoke up. “Rule number 3: do not have sex. And if you’re a virgin, now is not the time to lose your virginity.” 

This incited a low level of outrage from a few people around the camp. Your hand settled on Luke’s thigh, and you could feel him staring at you. Still, you continued to stare ahead at Chris. 

“It’s not safe!” He exclaimed. “You’re left vulnerable, just like in rule 2, and for some reason, killers love to prey on the promiscuous. Just keep it in your pants until whoever is doing this is caught. That’s all. And rule 4, the most important one: never ever, ever go off alone. This will single you out and make you an easy target. You follow these rules, and maybe you’ll survive.” 

Chris finished his rant, took a final swig of his beer, and sat back down. 

Luke’s hand fell to your thigh. He ran his touch up and down once, and then squeezed your flesh twice. From the corner of your eye, you saw the grin grow on Luke’s face and turned to him. Neither of you had to say anything. Luke raised his eyebrows, smiled at you, and you nodded. 

Luke opened his mouth to likely spew out some bullshit excuse, but everyone’s attention turned towards one of the kids sitting next to Chris who suddenly broke out of a stupor to protest Chris’ rules. Which left you and Luke an opening. 

He took his arm from around your shoulder, placed his hand out for you to take, and then stood with you on his heels. 

“Where’re you two going?” Silena asked from beside you. 

You grinned down at her and communicated all you needed to in that one look. “To sleep. Chris said not to leave alone, right?” 

She was clearly unconvinced, but she still nodded and kept her mouth shut. 

And the two of you walked away to the sound of Chris pitching yet another spin-the-bottle game. 

Which brought you here, in the bathrooms instead of your cabin. Your poorly formed excuse spoken to Luke was something along the lines of needing to scrub off the grime from the day, and especially the thick layer of bug spray that you’ve recently had to use. Some of the more superstitious kids in camp attributed the increase in bugs to the increase in deaths. You attributed it to a malfunction of the Mist. 

You knew that Luke, being the gentleman that he is, wouldn’t dare let you shower alone. Not since his brother laid out the rules. You also knew that Luke, being as infatuated with you as he is, would take any chance he could to get with you, even if it was selfish and irresponsible. 

But you don’t think he’s considering either factor right now as he’s kissing you as if he has a one-track mind. 

One of the showers is running behind you. The two of you had originally been waiting for the water to turn hot, but that happened a while ago, and now Luke was keeping you busy in the center of the bathroom, his hands gratefully roaming over your body, feeling you up. 

He has one hand settled along the back of your thigh, just right under the end of your jean shorts. His other hand grips your cheek, holding your face steady for him to messily kiss you. You don’t mind the mess of it, you’re not bothered by the way his tongue clumsily slips outside of your mouth a few times, because it’s a sign of how he’ll fuck you. Unabashed, uninhibited, maybe he’ll even whimper in your ear when he cums. 

Just the thought alone is enough to encourage you.

You hook your fingers under Luke’s shirt, a faded graphic tee you thrifted and brought back to camp for him, and lift it just over his navel. He gets the message and pulls away from your lips, but there’s a force pulling him back once, twice, and one final time before he pulls back just enough to pull his shirt over his head. He looks like something out of a movie as he lifts the black shirt off by the neckline and tosses it to the floor. You don’t know if he means to, but he flexes while he does it, his abdomen taunt and the veins in his arms popping out more than usual. 

You’ve seen Luke’s body many times and in many different scenarios, but each time you have to take a moment. And he knows you well enough to anticipate it. 

He stands within arms reach, watching you watch him. You can’t tell since your eyes are focused on the way his abs frame his navel, the way his skin has deepened a shade, and the scars and moles that are dotted across his body, but he’s smiling. A small, barely there quirk of his lips. 

Eventually, you take a step closer to Luke, pressing your fingers into his skin and sliding your hands back until your fingers interlock around his back. You pull Luke closer to you, lifting your head and nudging the tip of his nose with yours. 

“You done?” he asks, referencing your prolonged staring. 

You hum, nodding as you reach for Luke’s lips with your own. “‘m done.” And then Luke kisses you again. 

There’s some repetition when Luke lifts your shirt over your head, but he appreciates your frame with his lips. He kisses your shoulders and neck as he unclasps your bra and pulls it off of you. He litters kisses into your stomach as he sinks to his knees, pulling your now unbuttoned shorts with him. He helps you step out of them, taking your shoes off as he does so, and when you’re only left in your panties, he looks up at you. 

“Mind if I do the honors?” 

You answer him through a grin. “Only if you let me return the favor.” 

And he does. 

It has been clear that your shower with Luke was likely going to be more than a shower, even though it was previously unspoken between you both. It doesn’t need to be spoken, not whenever there’s an obvious wet patch in your panties when Luke pulls them down, or when you’re face to face with his semi when you pull his boxers off of his hips. 

You look up at Luke, your eyes slightly narrowed and a tiny smile on your lips. You don’t say anything, but Luke still rolls his eyes. He scoffs, jerks his head in a motion that tells you to stand. As soon as you do, he has your face in his hands and his lips on yours. Your hands grip his sides, keeping him pressed close to you. 

Luke blindly walks you both back to the shower. He turns when your back faces the shower head, and lets the water flow down onto him first, pulling away only when his hair starts to get wet. 

He has his eyes shut, water cascading down his body in a way that makes him look like one of the Greek sculptures that now sit locked in museums. 

He pushes his hair off of his forehead, tipping his head back. 

“Hair,” he tells you. And it takes you a second to tell that he’s asking you if you’re gonna put yours back. You quickly throw your hair up and out of your face, putting it back enough to avoid the stream of the shower, and then you pull Luke closer to you. 

“Not even gonna pretend to shower? Maybe do a quick rinse?” He’s teasing, but you roll your eyes, move Luke out of the way, and then stand beneath the stream, lifting your arms and turning around to let the water roll over your body. 

You look up at Luke and catch him staring. His eyes trail along your tits, deep gaze following individual droplets of water as they collide with your shoulder and roll all the way down to the peak of your tits, where they drop off to fall to the shower floor. 

You scoff but don’t say anything. You’re not a hypocrite. 

“Happy?” You ask him as you step out from the water. 

His answer comes in the form of grateful hands pressing into your lower back. His fingertips pinch your hips as he directs you to the side wall. You don’t have to be told to tilt your head up. You’re already waiting for him, unable to resist smiling into the kiss when Luke brings his lips down onto yours. 

He trails a hand down between your thighs, knocking them further apart with a tap of his knee against yours. 

When his fingers, the middle and index, pull your lips apart, you sigh into his mouth. When they press against you, spreading the wetness already gathered there, you mewl against his tongue. 

Luke’s good with his fingers, you both know it. At this point in your relationship—or whatever both of you decide to call it in the moment—with Luke, he knows you well. He knows that you like it when he hooks his fingers and slightly grazes the top of your walls. He doesn’t have to ask if you’re feeling good, but he does it anyway. 

“Good?” Spoken against your lips, the ghost of his own lips brushing against yours as his words enter your mouth. 

You nod, knocking your head back against the wall without much care of the water there. 

Luke’s other hand clasps behind your knee where he lifts your leg, pressing the inside of it to his hip. He has you opened up for him, giving him free range to practically piston his fingers inside of you. It’s a fervorous pace, more hungry than you’ve known Luke to be. But you don’t mind it. 

It’s late, the two of you are as tired as you are horny, it’s nice to rub one out quickly and then knock out. It’s a routine both of you are used to. 

Like usual, you reach forward and wrap your hand around Luke’s cock. 

It’s no surprise when you swipe your thumb over his tip and are greeted with precum. Truthfully, you’re shocked there’s not more. But tonight, unlike other nights, you hadn’t given Luke the workaround. You wanted him. He knew you wanted him. And you were tired of pretending, tired of acting like you didn’t want to really and truly be with Luke. 

You would tell him. You were gonna tell him tonight. 

… After you came. 

It doesn’t take much more of Luke’s work for you to feel the beginnings of an orgasm creeping in. The urge to reach it is what has you locking your fingers in Luke’s wet curls and nudging him down. 

He doesn’t protest. He just smiles and sinks to his knees, settling his head between your thighs. Without much hesitance at all, he latches his lips onto your clit. 

Soon thereafter you’re arching into his mouth, your standing leg locked while your bent one hooks over Luke’s shoulder, pulling him closer even though your hand in his hair has already assured that he’s as close as he can get. His fingers curl within you, massaging your fluttering walls as you cum around them. Your moans are loud, echoing off of the walls and barely shrouded by the thunder of water meeting the tiled floors. Distantly, you hope that no one else has decided to come for a shower tonight, but the thought in the forefront of your mind is that you hope your orgasm never ends. 

It feels so good when Luke makes you cum. It always does. Rather he does it like this, with his fingers and mouth, or even his cock, or if he does it with one of the toys you brought back from home with you, a recent fascination of his. 

The image of when you had used the toy on Luke, pressing the vibrating shape onto his tip, pushes an aftershock out of your body, one that is pulled to completion by Luke’s eager work between your legs. 

When he pulls himself from between your legs, he swipes his palm, spread out as flat as it can get, along your cunt. You don’t realize that he did it to gather your wetness until he has that same hand wrapped around his cock. He tugs, spreading your arousal with the movement. 

It does the trick, Luke’s eyes fluttering shut as he twists his wrist. 

You tut and pull his hand away from his wrist. He doesn’t question it, only watching you through heavy eyes as you spit a large glob into your hand and replace Luke’s work with your own. 

His arms wrap around your waist. They wrap around your shoulders. He rests his forehead against yours and then lets his head fall to your shoulder whenever you pick your pace up a bit. 

He’s noisy, you can feel his chest vibrating from where you have your hand pressed into his sternum. But he’s too quiet for you to hear. His volume, paired with the noise of the shower, frustrates you. You dip your head to the side, attempting to get your ear closer to Luke. 

It works a bit, you’re able to hear his low groans, but it’s not enough. 

Eventually, you call his name. It comes out as a mix between a request and a demand, existing somewhere in the middle where you hold a considerable amount of control of Luke Castellan, practically the leader of leaders at Camp Half-Blood. 

Yet, you’re his pied piper. 

He hums, his eyebrows pushed together. You can’t tell if his look is one of confusion or pleasure. You figure it’s both. 

“Look at me. I wanna see you.” This is a plea. 

Luke nods once, and then he looks at you. 

It’s something you wanted, but it makes you flush a little. Having Luke’s undivided attention always made you squirm a bit, even when it usually made your ego flare. But that was when you weren’t here. When you were fully clothed and surrounded by the protection of your friends. When they giggled and nudged your side to tell you that the Luke Castellan was staring at you. This look isn’t much different from the one he gave you then, but there’s weight to it. He’s staring at you, with something so sincere in his eyes. Beyond just horniness, beyond a desire for you to make him cum. 

It’s so much, too much, but you were the one to request it, so you don’t back down. 

You square your shoulders and jerk Luke off with more determination. 

His eyes start to flutter shut as he gets closer, getting heavier and heavier as if he’s fighting off sleep. But each time they close, they open back up in a couple of seconds. He’s so determined to obey you, it’s flattering. It’s impossible for the way Luke Castellan treats you to not go to your head. Especially when he starts speaking to you. 

“Feels so good. ‘m so close. A little bit more.” 

He knocks his forehead against yours, holding you still by cupping the back of your neck when your head lolls from the force of the collision. 

He kisses you as he cums. His cock twitched in your hand as warm cum spurts onto your stomach and thighs. His lips move slowly, languidly, not kissing you as much as they just linger. 

But it’s fine that way. You don’t mind it that way. 

By the time both of you have come down, really came down, you’ve washed yourselves clean of the bug spray, cum, and general grime of camp. Luke shuts the shower off, he pads over to the linen closet at the end of the bathroom and you’re momentarily grateful that the kids have actually done their chores and restocked the closet with fresh towels whenever you realize neither you or Luke have clothes. 

Not only did you not have clean and fresh clothes, but the clothes you were wearing before were gone now. 

When you alert Luke of the problem, he groans. He tosses you a towel, wrapping his own around his waist, and stands in the center of the bathroom with his hands tossed onto his hips. He thinks for a second, clicking his tongue a few times. 

“Okay,” he turns to face you. “I’m gonna go grab us some clothes. You stay here.” He kisses your forehead, readjusts his towel on his hips, and tells you, “Stay put. I’ll be right back.” 

[lovebugism]

“I’m not the easiest person to talk to, or be around. It’s… hard for other people to love me. I get that.” with Eddie? Maybe he and reader are sorta rivals or frenemies?

here's an unsolicited part 2 to this fic! hope you like it :D — eddie knows you like him now, so you find it extremely hard to be normal around him accordingly (enemies to lovers, grumpy!reader, more succession references, 2.3k)

You walk into the Hideout behind Steve and Robin, hands trembling and sticky with sweat. 

The humid air of the overcrowded bar and the overwhelming stench of cheap beer do little to quell your swirling stomach. The too-loud music and bustling bodies are hardly more than a harsh reminder of the last time you were here — pouring your heart out to Eddie Munson in the form of anxious word vomit, only to be hopelessly turned away. 

Not quite rejected but hardly embraced, which is somehow more embarrassing. 

“You alright?” Steve asks once you’ve ducked into the dim hallway of the backstage area. 

The music and muddled chatter are mostly stifled now, but the walls continue to pulse with life — riddled with chipping paint and dubious stains that only add to your unease. You try to swallow down your distant ennui, hoping it isn’t as obvious as it feels. (It is). Your loud feelings are too big for your body, and it’s got your face softly screwed together like you’ve tasted something sour.

The concerned glint in Steve’s eyes makes you cower. “Yeah. I’m peachy,” you deadpan with an unconvincing shrug. “Why?”

“‘Cause you look like we’re leading you to slaughter,” Robin scoffs.

“You’re asking me to be nice to Eddie Munson for two hours,” you grouse. “So, excuse me if I’m not the most chipper.”

The brunette girl flashes you a look over her shoulder, ocean eyes smudged with dark liner. “Scared you’ll spontaneously combust?” she jokes with her hand wrapped around the rusted knob of the faux greenroom. It feels more like her chipped maroon nails have grabbed your heart and twisted.

“Terrified,” you monotone just before she swings the door open.

The tiny, windowless room smells like sweat and grocery store cologne. It’s crowded with vanity mirrors, plastic folding chairs, and suitcases — hardly big enough for a heavy metal band. 

The three of you run into Gareth and Jeff on your way in. The two look nothing like themselves as you shuffle past them in the doorway, sharing fleeting glances and awkward greetings as you go. A couple of D&D nerds in leather and eyeliner feels almost uncanny.

It’s the same with Eddie, sort of. Curls drenched with sweat, eyes smudged black, tanktop damp around the neckline — a total rockstar. You’re not sure if it’s the raucous outfit stirring your stomach or the body wearing it.

“Oh, shit— You assholes actually showed!” Eddie beams at the sight of you. “And you dressed for the occasion, too.”

The boy in all black and silver stands before the three of you, still dressed in corporate attire after working late shifts. Steve and Robin look at least mostly normal without the Family Video vests and branded name tags. You, however, look like one of those businesswear catalogs brought to life — glaringly out of place. 

“You sayin’ The Gap isn’t proper Hideout attire, Munson?” Steve quips, holding his arm out for a friendly (only slightly awkward) side embrace.

Eddie slaps the back of the boy’s collared shirt with a ringed hand. “Claire’s is more metal than The Gap,” he teases, then turns to hug Robin. “At least Buckley looks halfway normal.”

“And by normal, you mean hot, right?” she jokes, voice deep and gritty and effortlessly sultry.

He scoffs. “Obviously.”

Eddie has no trouble greeting Steve and Robin but loses most of his cool when he turns to you.

The not-so confession at Benny’s Burgers seemed to change more things between you than the heart-felt one you shared here not too long ago. He feels a bit weird, knowing now that you meant what you said — that you actuallyliked him, and that it wasn’t just some cruel joke. 

He feels like he’s got cool points to win with you now. And it makes him achingly aware of when he inevitably loses them.

“Look at you,” Eddie grins, tossing his chin back to shake wild curls from his face. A few chestnut strands cling stubbornly to his sticky forehead. The milky white tendons of his neck shine with sweat, too. “You look like an actual human person.”

“Wow. Thanks, Eds,” you monotone, unsure of whether or not to take his words as a compliment. You cross your arms over the chest of your fitted turtle neck and joke, “I’d say that same, but… you look like a poodle that just washed up on shore.”

Robin mumbles your name through gritted teeth, flashing you a look and poking you on the shoulder. She scolds you like a parent, as though to say be nice without actually saying the words out loud.

“What?” you shrug.

Eddie only chuckles — a low and honeyed sound he presses to your ear when he brings you suddenly in for a hug. His lean body meets yours, soft and strong and slightly clammy. His skin smells like deep cologne, minty aftershave, and very faintly of boy. You tense when his hands cradle your back.

“Oh,” you mumble in surprise, floundering at the affection as you attempt to hold him back. “Okay.”

“How’s the nine-to-five?” Eddie asks after he parts from you, sounding almost like he cares. “Boring the absolute shit outta you?”

You shrug with an air of nonchalance and hope you don’t look as flustered by his attention as you feel. “Oh, you know… Burying the bodies, counting the cash.”

“Gotta picture of me in your little cubicle?”

“Tons,” you answer. “It’s basically an Eddie Munson shrine.”

His smile widens to show all his teeth. His chocolate eyes glitter with mischief, too, like he knows what he’s doing to you. 

Eddie gives you a break from his suffocating stare and looks to Steve and Robin standing on his other side. You feel like you can finally breathe. “I told Greg at the bar to give my friends free beer tonight— just show him your ID or whatever,” the boy tells them.

“Oh, my god— I could kiss you right now,” Robin mumbles.

Eddie’s plush pink lips curl into a half-smirk when he turns to you again. “So try not to run up your tab tonight, alright, sweetheart?” he quips and pats you on the arm. It’s easier to joke that he hadn’t mentioned you at all when your name was first from his lips. Which is totally a joke you would’ve made.

You flash Steve and Robin a wide-eyed look of annoyance, jaw clenched to contain all the insults you instinctively want to spew. “He got us free beers,” the former cautions with a sympathetic shrug. “Don’t ruin it.”

You roll your eyes and hear them leave behind you — not even trying to pretend like they didn’t swing byfor the beers. Eddie’s stupid grin widens when you stay. “You heard the man. Means you gotta be nice to be all night.”

“Right,” you scoff like it’s funny. Steve The Hair Harrington doesn’t exactly scream figure of authority to you. Robin Buckley, maybe. But definitely not Steve.

“Think you can do it without spontaneously combusting?” he quips.

You hate that he knows you so well. “Not particularly,” you deadpan.

Eddie tilts his wild head to the side and sends you a pretty, tight-lipped smile. “Well, you’re doing a great job already.”

His praise is sarcastic. You know this already, so you’re not sure why it has your stomach doing backflips. “Thanks…” you mumble, inherently shrinking inside yourself as you attempt to make small talk. “How, uh— How was the show?”

“Fine,” the boy hums, shrugging his pale shoulders. “Same set from last time. Same crowd of drunks.”

“Sorry I missed it.”

“Eh. Don’t be. You’ve actually got important shit going on— Don’t worry about me.”

“Your shit’s important, too,” you argue without thinking, perhaps more shocked by your sincerity than the boy ahead of you. You follow quickly and much more harshly, “I guess.”

Eddie smiles wordlessly. You start to squirm in place. He watches you grow suddenly uncomfortable in your own skin as you seem to look everywhere but back at him. The pink expression ebbs into a more concerned one. “You okay?”

You hate the question more the second time. 

“Fine,” you monotone, hardly convincing.

He squints. “Then why aren’t you looking at me?”

“I am looking at you,” you argue just to argue, giving him a measly glance before turning away a moment later.

“No, seriously,” Eddie chuckles, reaching out to touch you. “What’s going on?”

His ringed hand caresses the outside of your elbow. You jerk back on instinct, more aggressive than you mean to be. 

“Nothing!” you huff, looking so far away from him that he can only see your profile. You grumble like a storm cloud, “You just— You make me go all weird. As you know. And fully intend.”

“That’s what this is all about?” Eddie chuckles. “You got a little crush on me?”

He reaches out for you again, this time digging his fingers into the junction of your neck. You swat him away with a harsh hand. You hate the way his touch makes your skin buzz. 

“You’re such a dick,” you groan before spinning on your heel. Your slacks swish around your ankles as you walk the very short distance to the door. Eddie’s footsteps sound much heavier in comparison as he rushes behind you. 

“Hey, hey, hey! C’mon. I’m just kidding,” he assures, still laughing as he slides his body between you and the exit. He meets your glare with a crooked smile. “It’s okay. I got a crush on you back— you know that.”

You hate how easily the words spill from his mouth, how cool he is about all of it compared to the time bomb you’ve become — tick tick ticking away as your anxiety builds. You figure this stupid crush (or whatever he wants to call it) must mean more to you than it does to him. So again, you turn away.

Eddie knocks his worn sneaker against the toe of your pleather boot. “Just because you don’t believe me doesn’t make it any less true, you know?” he tells you, quiet and suddenly serious as he tilts his cheek to his shoulder. “Doesn’t make me like you any less, either.”

His confession makes you feel funny. It makes you giddy and fills you with dread all at once. “It’s just… It’s weird,” is all you can think to say, after several long moments of silence.

“Why?”

“‘Cause I— I’m not— I don’t know,” you groan, bringing your hands to your face to hide behind your palms. “God, I did not intend to talk about this today.”

“Well, too late. We’re talking about it.”

Eddie takes a step away from the door, moving impossibly closer to you. He ducks his chin to meet your sheepish gaze, dark eyes sparkling with visible concern. 

You step back from him on instinct and talk wildly with your hands. “No! Tonight was supposed to be about you— about you’re fucking show— not about me!”

Brows raised and hidden behind his sweat-drenched bangs, he monotones. “Say it.”

A stubborn sigh puffs out your lips. “I just… I know I’m not the easiest person to talk to. Or to be around. I know that,” you confess. “I know it’s hard for people to like me, but… you do, and I really don’t fucking get it, okay? It just feels like you’re playing a big, dumb prank on me.”

Eddie stays silent for a moment, chocolate gaze unwavering as he ponders your words. 

“Wait, so…” the boy trails off, eyes squeezed shut in concentration. “You’re mean to me, but I like you anyway, and because I can see through all the— faux bitchiness or whatever— You have a hard time… being around me?”

Your eyes flit to the ceiling for a moment. You look back at him and nod. “Yeah, that’s… That’s pretty much the gist of it, yeah.”

Eddie beams before he can help it, filling the dingy room with golden sunshine. “Well, you know how we get past that, right?” he wonders and scrunches the bridge of his nose.

You get the feeling he’s teasing you still, but you entertain him anyway. “What?”

“Us being boyfriend-girlfriend—”

“Eddie,” you groan with your head tilted back, only partly pretending to be annoyed. You don’t step back from him when he inches closer to you this time, though. You don’t jerk away from his touch when his hands caress your forearms, either. 

“I know you wanna…” he lilts, pulling you closer with ringed fingers wrapped gently around your wrists. Your shoes scuff the carpet as you stumble into his chest. “It’s why I make you go all funny, right?”

You squint up at him, with hate in your eyes and your heart in your throat. “You’re so annoying,” you deadpan.

“Okay, how about this? We can just go on one date, alright?” Eddie offers, smoothing his guitar-string calloused fingers up your shoulders. “Nothin’ fancy, I promise. Just bottomless breadsticks at Enzo’s at seven. And you, bottom-less at my place at eight.”

Your knotted stomach does a backflip at his words, but you keep glaring at him anyway. “And who says you don’t know how to flirt?” you squint.

Another chuckle spills from his plush, pink lips. His tongue darts out to wet them a second later — mouth desperate to be kissed. “‘Kay. Fine. How about we just makeout in my van after closing? And I try not to be a total idiot and ruin it like last time?”

He’s much more serious now. You can see it in his very expressive button eyes. He’s borderline pleading now, for a second chance he never needed to ask for. 

You cave, far quicker and with a lot less fight than he expected. “Fine,” you shrug with an unenthusiastic huff.

Eddie smiles so big, it’s like you’ve just told him you loved him or something — all his teeth on display — so wide and full of adoration it almost hurts. 

[ariestrxsh]

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

⚠️ content warning: ⚠️ smut, utter filth, public, exhibitionism, oral, fingering, getting caught, praise, threesome (ish)

✍️ Summary: ✍️ You walk into a bar/club with the intention of grabbing Chris' attention and taking him home. Chris buys you a drink, you flirt a little bit, and he challenges how loose your morals are in a public setting. By the end of the night, you're walking around with no panties on under your little black dress, and both Matt and Chris are coming home with you.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

both part one

I caught Chris' gaze from across the room as I walked in the door. I didn't usually go to clubs, especially this one, but when I did, I always knew Chris would be there, and I always secretly hoped he'd give me attention. The music was loud, and there were several different colored lights flashing around the atmosphere. I caught an aroma of sweat, alcohol, and pheromones.

I'd smoked a joint in the car before coming in to calm my nerves, but I was worried about it having the opposite effect. I had on a little black dress, a pushup bra, and red-bottomed heels that matched my lipstick, simple but classy. It wasn't my usual style, but my goal tonight was to be Chris' type, and it seemed like the plan was working. Chris took a sip of his drink without taking his eyes off me as I made my way over to the bar to order. I stared back at him in a stoned haze, and I playfully bit my lip.

"He's trouble," the brunette girl behind the bar said, picking up on the energy between us. "I'm telling you. Stay away from him. He's trouble." She said as she filled a tall glass with Blue Moon from the tap. She strode off in the other direction to deliver the beer, and I knew she was right. The fact that a random bartender at a club where Chris frequents was warning me about him was definitely a sign to follow my gut. After all, he was bad news. But I couldn't help that when I looked at him, my face would feel all hot, and I'd feel a warmth between my legs. I knew my curiosity about Chris could get me burned, but I didn't care. I imagined how hot he'd look while ruining my life.

Oh God, he's coming this way. I admired how sexy he looked in that black sweater and silver chain around his neck. He approached me, "Can you move? I'm trying to order a drink for a hot girl," he said, flatly. Oh my god, how embarrassing. "Oh God, of course. Sorry," I moved out of the way. "You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say it looked like you were staring at me before I came over here," he smirked, his icy blue eyes locked on mine. "Sorry, I didn't mean to," I gave half a smile. "I didn't say I didn't like it," he said, "So what are you drinking?" "Um, I don't know. Probably gonna order a whiskey sour or something." Chris flagged down the brunette bartender from before who was clearly giving me the side eye. "Hey Mindy, get me two whiskey sours, will ya?" he slid her a $20. "Sure, but I'm keeping the change for my troubles," she shot back at Chris. Chris didn't seem to mind this, and instead he just gave her a smile that said something like, well played, Mindy. She exchanged a small look with me that told me, this is your last chance or else he's got you on the hook. But I wanted to be on Chris' hook.

"Why does that bartender have it out for you?" I asked once she walked off to go make our drinks. "Oh, I fucked her and her friend in a three way, and I never called either of them back," he chuckled. I rolled my eyes. I knew Chris was a player and that women and sex were all just a game to him, but maybe I didn't mind. Maybe he could be a fun game for me to play. Mindy returned, scoffed, and handed Chris two whiskey sours. His fingers grazed mine as he handed off my drink to me. "You've got good taste," He looked at me with his bedroom eyes. "Thanks for the drink. Don't you need to go deliver that other drink to whatever hot girl you were talking about?" I asked, motioning to the second whiskey sour. "Oh, I already did. This one's for me." He smiled at me, took a sip of his drink, and I blushed. It's too late. He's got me.

"Hey, you don't think Mindy like poisoned our drinks or anything, do you?" I said, realizing I sounded a little paranoid. "No, the only reason she hates my guts is because I rearranged hers, and on the off-chance that I would do it again, there's no way I'm more valuable to her dead than alive." He glanced back at Mindy and winked at her. I watched her go from a look of contempt towards Chris to a look of deep desire, but it was almost a microexpression, one you could easily miss if you hadn't looked at Chris that way before.

"You know, we should go somewhere a little quieter," Chris said, turning his attention back to me and motioning towards the speaker that was blasting Tove Lo's 'Stay High.' We locked fingers and he pulled me into an area where we could actually hear eachother, and we sat down at a round table with a long black table cloth. It was towards the back of the club, a little secluded, with a lot fewer flashing lights. I felt myself relax a little. I didn't know why Chris suddenly seemed so enthralled with me, but I liked it. I was good friends with his brothers, and it's not like Chris and I were on bad terms, he just kept me at an arm's length mostly, where as Matt and Nick were more open and vulnerable with me. Chris always seemed a little cold and more aloof than his triplet brothers.

"Hey, what are you giving me so much attention for?" I asked him directly. "What do you mean?" He responded. "I just mean, I hang out with Nick and Matt a lot, and you've always seemed a little uninterested, and now you seem... interested.." I trailed off, expecting him to cut me off and correct me or deny it. Instead he leaned in and practically put his mouth on my ear, "You just seem like a really good girl, and I know I'm a degenerate, and I feel like I'd ruin you... so I keep my distance," he said. "Yeah, does that work on all the girls?" I knew his game, because I watched him work it on several other women before, and I couldn't deny that I was about to walk into the trap. "Actually yes," he laughed, not able to hold back his satisfaction. "But it doesn't make it any less true. I guess I have a thing for good girls. Can't stay away from 'em, especially when they look this good, just can't help myself," he said, grabbing onto my thigh, and glancing down at my cleavage. Hearing Chris say "good girl" and grip my leg like that tied my stomach into a million knots, and the warmth between my legs was becoming a wetness. "What makes you think I'm a good girl? You don't think I take risks?" I got a little defensive.

"When's the last time you took a risk?" Chris asked me. "I've cheated on tests before." "Boring." "Well, I snuck out in high school a few times.." "So long ago, doesn't count." "Okay, I smoked a joint in my car before this." "No way, you're lying." "No I'm not, maybe I'll smoke you out tonight if you're nice to me," I teased him.

"Well if you're not as good of a girl as I thought you were, what's the riskiest place you've had sex?" Chris' question caught me off guard. I wasn't a virgin, but I wouldn't have said I was super experienced, and I certainly hadn't done anything very risky. "Lots of places," I lied. "Yeah, like where?" Chris said, squinting his eyes at me skeptically. I stared at him in silence, and I found my eyes dancing over his lips as I bit my own, and I knew he could feel my eyes wandering. "That's what I thought. Mind if change that?"

Before I knew what was happening, Chris looked around to make sure nobody saw him, and he slid underneath the table and got down on his knees in front of me. I couldn't believe what was happening. I felt Chris' hands, the way he grazed the inside of my thigh with his fingertips. He then moved his fingers to the front of my thong, and I let out a small gasp as he started rubbing my clit in circles over my panties. I knew he knew just how wet I was, and this embarrassed me quite a bit. I felt his hair tickle my inner thighs before I felt his mouth. He left a trail of wet kisses up my thigh and stopped right as he got close to the sweetspot. Chris moved both of his hands under my dress and onto my hips. While he ran his fingers down my curves, he took my panties off. I felt so vulnerable and exposed having my pussy out in public, even if it wasn't a very crowded place. It was still public enough for me to be nervous, but what surprised me was how much I liked it. Chris ran his hand back to my pussy and started exploring my folds with his long, slender fingers.

Just as I was about to sink into the good feeling I was experiencing with Chris under the table, I looked up and saw Matt. He smiled, nodded his head in my direction, and then I realized, oh God. He's coming over here! I tried to kick Chris under the table to warn him his brother was about to walk up to the table and catch us with Chris between my legs, teasing me. However, this elicited a dominant response from Chris, and I felt him spread my legs apart further, holding them in place, and I felt Chris' middle finger line up with my entrance. As soon as Matt approached the table and greeted me, I felt Chris enter me. My mouth fell open as he did this, but I tried to play it off.

"Matt! Good to see you!" I said loudly, hoping Chris would take the hint and stop what he was doing. What a sick bastard. This made him start finger fucking me faster. "Glad you could make it out tonight. You look so good in that," Matt said, and I saw that same microexpression of desire on his face as his eyes danced from my lips to my chest. I didn't know my outfit would get Matt's attention to, but I wasn't mad.

"Mind if I sit with you?" Matt asked, already sitting down, assuming there was no good reason he couldn't, and I couldn't give him a good reason without telling him that he was interrupting my first public sexual encounter and first with his brother. I tried to act casual and take a sip of my drink, but I nearly choked on it when Chris decided to replace his hand with his tongue. "Are you okay?" Matt asked, noticing me sputtering on my whiskey sour. "Yeah, I just feel a little hot," I said, wiping a sweat bead from my brow. Matt looked intently at me while his brother started gently sucking on my clit. He put the back of his hand on my forehead. "You do feel really warm. Do you wanna go outside and cool off?" He asked. I shook my head no. "Th-thats okay, th-thanks," I could barely get out. "Hey by the way, where's Chris?" Matt inquired. "Chris..." I moaned. "Oh um dunno I haven't seen him," I lied. Matt shot me a look, "I saw him with you ten minutes ago? You guys were at the bar, talking to Mindy?" Matt looked at me like he knew something was up.

I felt Chris between my legs, working his tongue in fast circles on my bundle of nerves and suckling on it again. This elicited a sound from me I couldn't control. "Oh Chris," I moaned out again, latching onto Matt's arm because of how close I was. When I did this, my legs started to lock up and I began to shake while Matt was right next to me. Matt moved closer to me to make sure I was alright, when he bumped Chris under the table with his leg. "What the -?" Matt was definitely suspicious now, and I was utterly humiliated as he pulled back to the table cloth to reveal Chris' head between my legs. When he realized what his brother was doing, he gasped, but instead of being disgusted or angry or walking away, he bit his lip and took in the sight. He was clearly shocked but I could tell he was a little turned on by what he was seeing. "Oh. Found him," Matt said, licking his lips and looking up at me with lust in his eyes.

Chris stopped for a moment, ruining my orgasm, looked up at both of us with the bottom half of his face glistening with my wetness. "Matt, you have to try her. She tastes so fucking sweet," Chris said as if recommending a meal to his brother and continued eating me like a man starving. Matt hooked his arm around my waist and held me while Chris explored me with his mouth. I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. "Do you like that? Do you like the way my brother's tongue feels?" Matt asked, leaning in to kiss my neck. I moaned in approval and found myself grinding against Chris' face. "Good girl," Matt growled into my ear, which got me even closer to the finish line. I threw my head back and let out a few louder moans. Chris continued to run his tongue skillfully all over my most sensitive places, and he did so with the perfect speed and perfect pressure. I felt his finger at my entrance again, and just when I thought I couldn't take it much longer, he slipped it in. My legs started to shake again.

"That's it. Good girl, you got this," Matt said, talking me through it. I looked down between my legs at the beautiful boy under the table, and he had his eyes on mine. The combination of the eye contact, how Chris was eating me, and Matt's melodic voice whispering sweet nothings to me sent me over the edge. I clamped my legs shut around Chris' head and grabbed onto Matt's arm so tightly I was afraid I might have bruised it, but neither one of them seemed to mind. I almost forgot we were in a club with other people around, but thankfully everyone else was so wrapped up in their own business, no one noticed me bucking my hips wildly against Chris' tongue while Matt held me and encouraged me through my orgasm. Chris looked up at me after pulling his face away. His lips and chin were covered in my juices, and he smiled seductively at me. "Oh, look, you made a mess all over my brother's tongue. I bet he loved it," Matt said, still enthralled by what he just witnessed.

Chris pulled himself out from under the table and came to sit on the other side of me. "You guys are fucking crazy," Matt said, readjusting his erection in his pants. "Yeah, but you liked it," Chris teased Matt. Chris then turned to me, "You were so wet before I even started touching you, I thought I was gonna drown at some points," he smirked. I felt my face grow red, and I buried it in my hands. "Don't be embarrassed, sweetheart. I loved it." Chris smiled and ran the backside of his index finger over my cheek after I pulled my head up from my hands.

"Mind if I have a taste?" Matt asked as I felt his index finger reach under my chin to tilt my head towards him. He looked at me, biting his lip. I couldn't believe what he was saying, but I felt that knot in my stomach form again and a warmth between my thighs. I slowly nodded, but Chris interrupted. "Hold on, Matt. Give her a break. Let her recover. Let's go smoke that joint." Chris smiled at me, knowing he had been very nice to me, and so had Matt. The least I could do was roll us all a joint. Before we got up, I realized I had a breeze in a place I didn't normally, and then I remembered.. my thong! "Wait, Chris. You still have my panties," I glared at him. "Yeah. Trust me, you won't be needing them with all the things we'll be doing to you tonight." Chris and Matt both exchanged a devious grin with one another and then both looked back at me like they were hungry, and I was their next meal.

to be continued...

part two posted now

[skzdarlings]

sharing a bed ; seungmin ; sequel

masterlist.

original one-shot.

pairing: kim seungmin/reader content info: sexual content. enemies2lovers. sequel to sharing a bed one-shot linked above. morning afters. running from feelings. making reader jealous. confrontation with a creep and light violence. sexual content includes blow-jobs, hand jobs, strap-on blowjobs, 69ing, rimming, pegging, light choking. some brat seungmin and sort of brat tamer reader (kinda just likes the brat lol). word count: 7k.

-

Kim Seungmin, the perpetual thorn in your side and ache in your head, is torturing you. 

Not the fun kind of torture, either.   You had your fill of that two nights ago when a silly scheme resulted in a horny happenstance and you let yourself get carried away.  Your careful control not only slipped, but fell right into the hands of someone you once disliked. 

It left you befuddled in the light of the day, when you woke to Seungmin curled around you, his cheek pressing into your bicep and his leg hooked around yours.  Not to mention his morning wood digging into your hip.  It surfaced memories of the pretty and unexpected piercing you found there, how your idea of this guy was so so wrong.  And it made you wonder what else you were wrong about, and all the ways this burgeoning something could go wrong in turn.   Your thoughts spiralled. 

You were no longer handcuffed, so you slipped out of bed and walked right out the front door.  You hoped a walk through the brisk winter morning would help clear your mind.  It did, but only momentarily.  When you got back to the vacation house and ran into Seungmin, you fumbled.  Badly.  You meant to be pragmatic but came across dismissive.  Something about how last night was the only night.  Something about how you were bad at commitments.  Something about being better off friends. 

Seungmin was silent the whole time, letting you ramble like an idiot.  Then his eyes narrowed and he laughed.  It was an airy, unpleasant, and derisive sound.    

“Trust me,” he said.  “We will never be friends.” 

“Well, fine,” you said, bristling despite the fact you were the one rejecting him.  What did you care if he hated you again?  You didn’t.  You shouldn’t.  “Good.”

It was not good.  Saying it left a sour taste in your mouth and a pit in your stomach. 

And despite it all, your stupid horny hindbrain did not relent, purring like a kitten when Seungmin gave you a judgemental once-over and scoffed.   You could not help but remember the very different noises he made last night, again and again, in your hands and mouth, from your actions and words. 

You will never look at him the same way again.  You have no idea how to move forward, but you know you can never go back.  Pretending nothing happened will not work for once.   

It freaks you out.  You are usually good at shucking attachments.  His cold acceptance should not have hurt.  What did you care?  This vacation would end and you would go back to your own lives, right?   So you let Seungmin shove past you.  He ignored you for the rest of the day.  When he started an argument later, causing everyone else to groan, you replied like always, but it was half-hearted at best.   

Oh god, you think now, rubbing the bridge of your nose, I can’t start thinking with my damn heart. 

Emotional attachments and long-term romantic liaisons never turn out well.  You cut a dashing figure but your many flaws eventually find their way to the surface.  It is not worth the inevitable heartbreak when someone sees under the charming mask to the real you.   

Rather than suffer later, you are suffering now, brooding over a beer while doing your damnest to not look across the bar.  You know you will not like what you see. 

You and your friends only have a couple more nights at the vacation lodge, so you all went down to the nearby resort to drink and dance and enjoy a fun night out. 

You are not having any fun, of course.  You are sitting on a bar stool, all alone at the counter, in your signature leather jacket as you hunch over your drink and glare at nothing in particular. 

Seungmin, on the other hand, is suddenly a dazzling socializer rather than an obnoxious stuck-up jerk like he used to be.  You expected him to sit in a corner, making snarky remarks all night, but instead he has been moving from person to person, flirting with anything that breathes. 

He is also wearing an obscene pair of jeans.  No one else in the friend group seemed to notice, not a single eye so much as twitching in his direction, but you noticed.  Oh, yeah, you fucking noticed.  The second he came bounding the stairs, swinging on a stupid baggy letterman jacket like the twerpy little prep he is.  His dark hair neatly combed, bangs swept off his forehead, brightening his gaze. 

The jeans.  The stupid fucking jeans.  Straight-cut denim that has absolutely no business cupping his ass the way it does.  And why does he have such a nice ass anyway?  It also has no business looking that way. 

Kim Seungmin.  What a nightmare. 

You take a swig of beer and glare at the wall.  You tell yourself not to look at him.  He is probably leaning over some equally prissy knob and offering to buy them a glass of milk or whatever people like them drink. 

So, no.  You will not give him the satisfaction.  It is no coincidence that in all the time you have known him, Seungmin has never  been flirtatious or promiscuous, but the second you turn him down he is slobbering all over anything that moves. 

You will not let him get to you.  You will not look at him.  You will not react. 

Except he is already getting to you.  So you look over.  You react. 

“For fuck’s sake,” you grumble, abandoning your beer and stomping down from your stool. 

Seungmin is huddled in a booth with some colossal bitch of a man.  You recognize him from the other night, remembering how much time he spent harassing the bar staff.  Seungmin doesn’t know that.  He might be your enemy – or whatever – but you are not gonna leave the guy with that kind of jerk.  And you are not secretly thrilled that you are justified in storming over there, drawing up to the table with all the aggression that has been building inside you. 

You slap a hand on the table, bringing their attention to you.  Seungmin gives you a once-over, then smiles that stupid smile of his, all boxy and puppyish, like you are the funniest punchline to the funniest joke in the world.  There was a time you used to fantasize about swiping that smile off his mouth.  You are still thinking about occupying his mouth, just not like that. 

“Move along,” you say to the creep. 

“Excuse me?” 

He is already drunk.  You can smell it as much as see it.  Seungmin is looking very smug and you start to feel like he picked this guy on purpose. 

Seungmin drives you crazy, he really does.  One second he is all good boy, the next he is purposefully throwing himself at a creep just to get a rise out of you.  You feel like he would take a running leap off the mountainside if he was inclined to a prove a point to someone.  He is fearless and ridiculous and you want to hate him.  You want him to be the boring two-dimensional snob you thought he was.  You have no idea what to do with the complicated man in front of you. 

That’s a lie, you think, meeting his gaze.  You know exactly what to do with him.

You swear his eyes are twinkling.  He slouches back comfortably, arms crossed. 

“I told you once,” you say, tearing your gaze from him to look at the creep.  “Now move along.” 

“Try me.” 

The guy was only bothering women and seems uninterested in Seungmin so you suspect he just wants to piss you off, but then he puts a hand on him anyway, grabbing Seungmin by the arm so suddenly that it surprises him. 

Before Seungmin can shake him off, you snatch the guy by his wrist and twist.  He yelps, struggling to wrestle his arm back from your iron grip.  You slam him against the back of the booth. 

“Touch him again,” you say, “and I will break your hand.  You wanna try me?”

He opens his mouth, no doubt to spew some smelly rejoinder, but you don’t stick around for it.  You grab Seungmin by the elbow and yank him out of the booth.  You drag him away. 

“Excuse me,” Seungmin says, not politely, ripping his arm back.  “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I think I’m saving your dumb ass from getting felt up by every creep on this mountain.” 

“Meh-meh-meh,” he mocks, dodging when you reach for him again.  “I’m having fun.  I don’t need you to do anything.  It’s not like you’d really care if something happened to me.  Bad,” he smirks, “or good.” 

He knows he has you cornered.  You might have the physicality over him, but he is holding this entire scene in his hands.  You can only rub your jaw and shake your head, trying and failing to remember how to act indifferent. 

He has the tiniest drop of cream on his upper lip, leftover from the sugary abomination someone bought him.    

You say nothing in reply to his deliberate antagonizing.  You plant one hand on your hip and reach for him with the other.   When he tries to dodge, you grab him by the shoulder, firmly putting him in place.  He does not move the second time, standing still while you wipe a thumb across the sugary residual. 

Then you push at his bottom lip, press down, flicking your thumb so it bounces back.  His stare is unwavering.  He is not the blushing type, but he noticeably swallows. 

“Come on,” you say, zipping up your jacket.  “We’re leaving.  Now.” 

“What if I don’t want to?” he asks. 

You grab the back of his neck and drag him right up against you. 

“I didn’t ask,” you say.   

“Friends don’t get to make demands, dumbass,” he says, sneering the word friends.  He does not wriggle away, but he does not fully surrender either.  He meets your stare head-on, unmoving and unintimidated. 

He is going to make you say it.  He is not going to let you act sexy and charm your way out of it.  He is going to stand in this bar with your hand uselessly holding his neck until you do.   

“Fine,” you say.  You exhale.  “I’m sorry.  I’m sorry I said all that dumb shit.  I’m a moron.”

“Yes,” he says.  “You are.” 

“I didn’t think it would matter that much anyway.”

“Because you aren’t the romantic type,” he says dryly. 

“Because I didn’t think you’d care,” you admit.  “You don’t like me and we don’t get along anyway.  I just—”  You finally drop your hand, waving at nothing and looking away.  You can feel him glaring at you.  “Look, I suck, I get it.  Believe me, I know all the ways I suck.  I figured I’d spare us the mess when you figured that out so I just walked away while it was still good.”

“You’re an even bigger idiot than I thought,” he says.  He is still frowning at you.  “I already know how much you suck.  It was the first thing I noticed, you arrogant, womanizing ass.”

“Hey now…”     

“You’re vulgar and loud and, for someone without a dick, you think with it constantly.”  

 “I… don’t…”  You do.

“And for some reason even though you are the biggest idiot and the worst person I have ever met,” he says, still glaring, “I still like something about you.  Because even though you’re determined to not let anyone see your good side, unfortunately you have one.  Even though it’s buried so deep you have to walk into hell to find it.” 

It did not really occur to you that Seungmin has already seen your worst qualities.  Because you did not get along, you never felt a need to hide those attributes.  Inadvertently, you have been more open and honest with this annoyingly handsome brat than anyone else you have ever known.

You cannot help the smile tugging at your lips.  Seungmin rolls his eyes. 

“You’re hopeless,” he says, shaking his head as he shoves past you.  “Take me home, idiot, before I come to my senses.”   

You turn to follow him, only to get bopped on the nose when he shoves a pointed finger in your face. 

“If you even think about acting like a moron in the morning,” he says, “I will kill you and make it look like an accident.” 

You draw a cross over your heart and nod.  He huffs in aggravation, turning on his heel and stomping outside. 

“You’re the worst,” he says.  He swings open the door and stomps into the snowy night, seemingly unbothered by the fluffy bits of snow swirling around his face.  He just swings up his hood and marches through the downy white carpet.  “You better make this worth my while,” he says. 

Your eyes are on his ass in those jeans, thinking about how you very much will be making it worth his while.  You look up when he keeps grumbling to himself, a marked sign he is maybe more nervous than he is letting on.  You remember his stubbornness before his eventual acquiescence, the way he hid his face at his most vulnerable moments. 

You might be in the habit of ducking out the door, but he deflects just as much with his wit.

You hurry your pace, catching up to him.  He is still muttering to himself, head down, a soft layer of snow dusting his jacket and hood.  It must be all over your head but you hardly feel the cold.  Your mind is on warmth, that stupid heart of yours suddenly flooded with it. 

You want this to be good for him, even if he would never outright ask for you to be kind.  It is all the more reason to make sure you are.  You really were such an idiot. 

Your grip is firm but not rough, hand curling protectively over his shoulder.  This touch invites more than demands. 

He stops in place, looking at you with a wary glare.  It disappears when you swoop in.  His hood falls as you tug him close.  He goes without protest, lips parting under yours with a claiming so heated that the cold does not stand a chance against you. 

You try to keep it romantic, a rare act of restraint on your part, but the supposed good boy drags the zipper of your coat down, down, down, then grabs your belt and tugs.  You stumble, uncharacteristically shaky, gasping against his lips when he grinds his knuckles against the zip of your jeans. 

“Tsk,” he says, lips still brushing yours.  “Not prepared.” 

“I was planning on sitting around feeling sorry for myself,” you say, with a helpless laugh despite his teasing.  You grab his wandering hand, leading it away from your crotch.  You are eternally grateful your dick is the kind you can leave in your sock drawer, because resisting him right now would have been impossible otherwise.     

“Trust me,” you say.  “I’ll make up for it.”

“Fine,” he says.  “I will.  You better not let me down.”  He looks at you when he says this, as close to imploring as Seungmin ever does. 

You feel the weight of that trust.  You nod, swallowing, looking at his lips, full and pink from the hard press of your kiss.  You lean in for more when he abruptly zips your coat again, all the way up to your chin so he smacks your jaw. 

“Come on then,” he says with that mean little laugh as he scampers away, grinning at you.  “Are you gonna prove it or not?” 

It is a short drive back to the cabin, and a torturous one to boot.  Not because Seungmin touches you, but because he doesn’t, and he won’t let you touch him either.  You try to put a hand on his knee but every attempt is rebuffed.  All you get is that cheeky grin or a glare, then a mere flick of his wrist as he brushes you away like lint.

Somehow it is more maddening than a direct touch.  You can feel him everywhere just by his proximity.  He even jumps out of the car before you unbuckle your seatbelt.  He is inside the cabin before you reach the door. 

You are panting from the sprint up the driveway, trying to keep up, not entirely convinced he won’t play you for a sucker and run right out the back door.  It would be like Seungmin to make you chase him up the mountainside.  You wouldn’t blame him for making you prove yourself, considering what an ass you were. 

But he is waiting inside the cabin.  Everyone else is out for the night and should be gone for hours.  When you close the door, sealing out the cold and the world, this cabin feels flush with more heat than you know what to do with. 

You do not hesitate. The tantalizing promise of more is like a touch on its own, heightened by his stubborn refusal to give you anything easily.  It makes catching him that much more satisfying, that soft sound all the sweeter when you pull him into your arms and finally steal that kiss. 

His skin is cool from the weather but his mouth is warm, the kiss searing hot.  He digs his blunt nails into the arms of your jacket, pressing the whole length of his hard body against yours. 

You remember his unexpectedly tender places, how just a faint stroke behind his ear will have him curling into you, how looping some hair around your fingers and tugging will deepen the rumbling sound that spills past his lips.  

You unzip his coat while kissing, licking into him while he scrambles to help strip.  The coat hits the floor in a damp heap.  You separate for just a moment, giving him the chance to tug his hoodie up and off.  You toss your own jacket over the nearby couch, then hook your fingers into his belt loops and pull him close.  

His hair is in an endearing state of dishevelment and he looks flushed from the rush of warmth after the chill.  Just looking at him like this has you throbbing.  You try to imagine telling the old you that you would feel that way, that the annoying friend-of-a-friend who mutually hated your guts would be looking at you like he wants to devour you and let you return the favour. 

You can’t imagine believing it.  Now it feels completely natural, letting him walk you backwards until your back hits the wall and his chest is pressed to yours, rising and falling with the quickness of his breath. 

He is looking aside, contemplatively.  You cup his jaw and draw him back to you, unable to resist a breathless laugh when he nips at your fingers.  You do not shy away or let go, and that seems to placate him.  He practically melts against you, your hand curving around the shape of his cheek, lowering to curl gently around the side of his neck.

“We should go upstairs,” you say.  The stairs are right beside you, but somehow the bedroom seems too far.  

Impossibly, ridiculously far, when Seungmin flicks some hair out of his eyes and looks at you intensely. 

“Don’t you want me on my knees?”  he asks. 

Your response is not a real word, just a rough sound.  He smirks, but is still flushed and a little shaky as he sinks onto his knees.  He gets your belt open, tugs it free, and tosses it to the side.  The sight of him licking his lips has you seeing stars before he even leans in. 

You brush some of his hair back, looking down at his face as he focusses on unzipping your jeans.  He has the fly down when you catch your breath and your senses. 

You gather the hair at his nape in your fist and tug, firm and sharp.  His mouth falls open and his breath stutters, eyes so dark and lips so wet and plush that you are tempted to drive his face right between your legs, where is obviously offering to be. 

But that’s not how you want to do this, not yet.   You move from his hair to his neck, wrapping your hand around his throat and watching his eyelashes flutter with surprise.  There is always a breath of panic in that surprise, adrenaline fueling the flood of desire that follows.  He is visibly hard, straining in those sinful jeans, breathing harder as you none-too-nicely push him down onto the stairs. 

“What are you doing,” he says, though it sounds like less like a question than acceptance.  Continue, waving his hand like a prince on silk sheets even though he is sprawled on his back on the staircase.    

“Making it worth your while,” you say.  He is not wearing a belt because these jeans are made for his body, snug and perfect and fitted everywhere, so it is just a matter of unbuttoning—

Oof. 

He plants his foot on your chest like last time, pushing you back.  He blinks innocently.    

“Shoes first,” he says. 

You smile, though it less playful than predatory, a promise in the flash of your teeth.   You nonetheless obey his silly whim as you tug off one shoe than the other.  It leaves a damp patch on your shirt which he remarks on.   You roll your eyes but tug your shirt off, sports bra following. 

The second time you push him down, you are even less nice.  You gather his hands in yours and pin them above his head, holding him there when he squirms ineffectively. 

“You’re kind of a brat,” you say, yanking his zipper down.  “Anyone ever tell you that?”

“You,” he says, panting around the word.  “Jerk.” 

You laugh, then cover his mouth with yours, swallowing the moan that takes him by surprise.  His hips buck towards you when you reach into those jeans to take him in hand.  He wriggles in your hold, arms straining while his hips lift toward you for more, following the snapping rhythm of your hand.  You trace the dick piercings that caught you by surprise last time, the metal smooth under your rolling thumb. 

You only release him when you duck down, tasting for yourself, relishing in the sounds that spill out of him.  He claws at your bare shoulder, spreading his legs to make room for you to lay between them.  His head falls back, resting on the step above while you work him in your mouth. 

“I’m—I’m—”  His voice gets lighter, breathier, his orgasm hitting him all at once.  He throws an arm over his face instinctively, head thrown back, hips lifting.  It catches you by surprise, making you choke just a bit, but he is already coming so you ride it out.   

He is still twitching when he finishes, gasping behind his arm when you roll a thumb around his piercing again.  When he hisses, knees jerking, you let go. 

Knowing him better than you ever thought you would, you move, stretching out alongside him.  You tug him into your arms and he goes without hesitation, burying his face in your neck.  You snake a hand under his shirt, stroking his back affectionately. 

Once more, you are genuinely endeavouring to be sweet. 

Once more, he shoves his hand down your pants. 

“Hello—”  It is all you manage before he is touching you, finding all that wet desire and rubbing a little haphazardly.  It makes you laugh and you grab his wrist, slowing him down.  “Easy,” you say, showing him a better pace.  “Just like that is good.” 

He learns quickly.  It was the same last time.  Every idea you introduced, he contemplated, experimented, then excelled.  With just a nudge now, he skillfully obliges.  He is breathing hard against your throat, pressed so close to your whole body, his fingers finding all your secrets and working them out.  You slide a hand down his backside, squeezing a handful of his ass.  The sound he makes has you coming faster than usual.

He puts his hand on your thigh, then lifts his head and grins at you.  

“I’m still winning,” he says.

“It’s still not a contest,” you reply, quirking an eyebrow. 

“It is,” he says.  “And I’m winning.” 

“I see.”

You scoop him into your arms and cart him up the stairs.  He situates himself by the time you reach the bedroom, legs around your waist and arms around your shoulder.   

“Still winning?” you ask. 

“Obviously,” he replies. 

You shake your head and sigh but with no real animosity, just like his smirk is more playful than vicious.  You still whole-heartedly believe he is capable of catching you off guard, so you are prepared for the brat switch to flip at the slightest provocation. 

You drop him onto the bed with a gentle thump, then cross your arms and look down at him. 

“Can I leave you unsupervised for two minutes while I get my dick?” you ask. 

“I don’t know,” he says, blinking innocently.  “Can you?” 

“Probably not,” you say, but retreat nonetheless.   Your equipment is in your travel bag.  You left it behind when you went to the bar because you were not in the mood for a hook-up, which should have been the first sign you were hopeless.  You were already in waters far too deep when you tried reaching for that shitty life preserver.  Learning to swim is not easy but infinitely more rewarding. 

You change into packing boxers and tuck your toy into it, buttoning up the pocket.  You grab some lube and a towel, then walk back to his bedroom, certain that he has somehow caused trouble in the five minutes it took to do all that. 

He’d naked.  Of course he is.  Sitting where you left him, perched on the edge of the bed, but his clothes are folded in a pile on the dresser and he has nothing but a bedsheet pulled over his lap.  He is not wearing his usual cheeky expression, though, and you are about to ask if something is wrong.  Then he says, “I’ve never done this before.” 

“Oh,” you say.  “That’s fine.”  It is the unthinking response, automatic as the admission is not too surprising.  You live in a world where strap-ons and gender games are the norm, so sometimes you forget that most people consider it inherently kinky or an anomaly.  A lot of men are new to it.  Seungmin didn’t even know what was packing was when you first mentioned it. 

But then he says, “Any of it.” 

And you say, “Huh?” 

“I’ve never done,” he says slowly, “any of this.” 

“Any.”

“Any.”

It takes a long minute to compute.  You think about his clumsy touches and experiments followed by his quick learning.  Unabashed and unjudgmental regardless of what he encountered.  Testing and figuring himself out just as much as you. 

“Oh,” you say.  Then, “Oh.  Fucking shit.  I’m such an asshole.” 

Because that was his first time doing anything with someone, and you just walked out the door without a word the next morning. 

He does not look upset about it anymore.  In fact, he laughs, though he tries to hold it back.  It turns into a snort he barely catches, amused eyes gazing up at you. 

“Yeah,” he says.  “You are.  We already knew that.” 

“I really, I just—” 

“Can you shut up and come take my virginity before I get beatified for involuntary chastity?”

“But you’re so fucking hot,” you blurt. 

It is obviously not the retort he anticipated, because he blushes profusely, which is not the response you expected. 

He clears his throat and looks away, rolling his eyes to compensate for the obvious vulnerability. 

“Thanks,” he says.  “Stating the obvious.  I’m also picky.  And apparently I scare people.”

“Scare them?” you ask, quirking an eyebrow.  “Who’d be scared of you?”

“Evidently not you,” he says.  His tone is snarky but he looks at you, up and down, and the look is a thoughtful one.  “Not ever.” 

Agh.  There’s that heart again, pounding away.  Who knew that thing could race so fast. 

“Well,” you say, finally putting the bottle and towel on the bedside table.  “That is their loss.  Not everyone is built for chasing luxury, I guess.” 

“Luxury,” he says with another snort, grinning despite himself.  “I’m high-end,” he says it like a fact, not a question.

“Naturally,” you say, approaching where he is sitting. 

“I’m going to be honest,” he says, eyes wandering your body before landing on your face.  “I thought you were going to be weird and egotistical about being with a virgin.” 

It suddenly pings in your head that you are his first, that there is a certain responsibility that comes with that.  That the wrong person could make this terrible for him.  That you want to make sure it feels better than anything he could dream.  These thoughts are completely and truly unselfish. 

And there is one admittedly egotistical and selfish thought, of making him irrevocably yours with one really good fuck. 

He glares when he sees the look on your face, his lips pursed, though a breath of a laugh escapes nonetheless. 

“Wow!” he says.  “You’re a pig, go away.”

“No, no, I’m not, I swear!” you say, laughing. 

He laughs too but shakes his head, pushing you away when you reach for him.  “No way,” he says.  “You and your ego.  Gross.” 

“Please, I promise,” you say, getting on your knees and lacing your hands together like a praying supplicant.  “I’ll be so normal,” you say.  “I have no ego at all.”

“You’re the worst,” he says dryly. 

“Yeah, but…”  You wiggle your eyebrows at him.  “You kinda like me anyway, right?” 

It is a more vulnerable question than you thought it would be.  It prompts him to look at you, really look at you, before he huffs and rolls his eyes. 

“Unfortunately,” he says. 

You giggle and he swats your head. 

“Are we just going to sit here all night and look at each other?” he asks, crossing his arms. 

“No, no, of course not,” you say.  You get back on your feet, standing bedside so you are looming over him. 

“What are we doing then?” he asks.   

“Well, you know what we’re doing,” you say, laughing when he rolls his eyes and huffs again. 

You reach out, cupping his face in both your hands and guiding him to look up at you.  Your heartbeat hammers away not only in your chest but everywhere else, a rapid current of heat that thunders most prominently between your legs as shiny dark eyes gaze up at you amorously from such a suggestive vantage.  

“First, before anything else, this.”  You speak in a lower voice, watching his spine straighten as the sound.  You run your thumb across his bottom lip like you did earlier, except this time it is a bruised pink from kissing.  It really makes you feel like that extra weight in your boxers is coming to life, connected to you intimately, ready and wanting as you are.  Especially when you tug on that bottom lip, when he leans towards your hand like he needs it, needs you. 

“Now,” you say. “Now I want you on your knees.” 

There is a sharp intake of breath before he nods, subtly, then shifts.  The sheets falls away from his lap, revealing he is already half-hard again.  There are goosebumps along his skin, from his nudity and the chill or just anticipation. 

Last time, he needed almost no direction.  He followed his own instinct, logically deducing that the part of the toy you could feel was the part at the base, closest to your body.  He uses his usual deductions when unbuttoning your boxers, taking a second to first press the base of the toy against you before leaning back and opening his mouth. 

It is not easy to come like this, but you are so worked up that it might happen.  It does not matter if you do.  It is not always about chasing the perfect orgasm.  This time, it is touch and sensuality.  He lets you teach him, rather than stampeding like last time.  You wonder if his heart is pounding given how red the tips of his ears are, blood rushing everywhere in a hurry.  You hold his face and slide back and forth, taking your time getting wet, both yourself and the toy, pushing him a little further each time. 

When his mouth is full and he blinks slowly, contently, every bratty remark and combative tone far from his mind, you smile and tug his hair.  He moans and you push a little more, gliding back and forward again. 

“You’re a fast learner,” you say.  “Bet you could get used to this.” 

It is a testing tease, to great success if the returned moan is anything to go by.  He squeezes his eyes shut and starts touching himself, finally moving his head instead of letting you guide him.  Before he gets too lost in the rhythm, you ease him back.  You smile and rub your thumb across his shiny lips as he blinks up at you.    

“Come here,” you say, and kiss him. 

He falls into the kiss, arms wrapping around you as you lay down with him.  He is eager in the searching heat of the kiss, long and deep and hungry.   You get on your back and pull him on top of you, give him one more drawn-out kiss with a filthy wet lick into his mouth, then smile. 

“Turn around,” you say.  “Keep going.”

It takes him a second to work out what you mean, but he really is a fast learner.  Soon he is laying on top of you, face where it was before, mouth wrapping around the end of your dick and his fingers searching beneath it to stroke you directly. 

You snatch the lube off the table and wet your fingers then him, taking it slow and easy, using your mouth and spit then more lube until everything is slippery and he gives in so easily into you.  He is breathing hard down between your legs, resting his cheek on your thigh and no longer using his mouth on you.  His eyes are closed and his hips are rocking, focussed on the sensations that you are certain are overwhelming him. 

You move him around, at which point he comes to attention, looking back at you.  This is the quietest he has ever been, all the action in his heart as you expected; you can feel it racing when you touch his chest.  

You lay him down in front of you, sidling up behind him.  You lay a hand on the wildly fluttering race of his pulse, throat cupped in your palm.  You turn his face to kiss him, your wet hand stroking your wet dick.  You probably should have thrown that towel down before getting started.  The sheets are a mess already. 

“Ugh, hurry up,” he says, reaching back to smack your thigh.  “You’re the worst.  I hate you.” 

You laugh.  Oh well.  No time to worry about bedsheets.  You give his throat a gentle squeeze and smile at the noise he makes, strained and needy, his hips rearing back into you. 

“What?” you ask, sliding the toy down his backside.  “You want something?”

“I will bury you in the mountain pass,” he says.  “They’ll think it was a skiing accident.  And that you got mauled by a bear.  And eaten by wolves.  And—”

To be honest, having him distracted and rambling is for the best.  It means he is more relaxed, not so focussed when you finally start pushing in.  Of course, he feels it pretty fast, and instinctively rebels.  You stop clutching his throat and hold an arm across his chest instead, holding him protectively and kissing that sweet spot behind his ear.  His groaning turns into a whine. 

“Okay?” you ask. 

“Gonna kill you,” he says. 

“That a yes?”

“Yes.” 

“Thank you.”  You hook a hand under his leg and pull it up, giving yourself leverage, then fuck into him completely.  His whine turns to a sharp yelp, hand scrabbling against the arm on his chest.  You let him catch his breath and adjust.  “Still okay?” 

“It’s weird,” he says. 

“Bad weird?”

“No,” he says.  “It’s… it’s good.  It’s just…”  You move a little and his whole body clenches then loosens.  He makes a strangled noise but softens in your arms, though his nails have dug a pretty picture into your skin.  You are surprised he hasn’t drawn blood.  “Ugh,” he says.  “It’s so wet.  I feel like a river rafting ride.”

“Not… what most people usually say… but okay…” 

“I’m… not… most people.”

“No,” you say, kissing that spot again and finally moving your hips.  “You’re not.” 

You are not sure if his little sound of submission is in response to your actions or your words, but with it he seems to all at once open to you.  You find a rhythm, holding his hand when his fingers search for yours on his chest.  He ends up biting your arm, which you should have seen coming, but it’s fine because you leave a visible bite mark on his neck in return. 

At that he gets into it, meeting the pace you set, altering it to what he wants.  It is a good thing the house is empty because you are not quiet at all.  If your fooling around was enough to send an aggravated Minho storming after you, then this probably would have led to him burning the cabin down. 

The thought makes you snicker, which makes Seungmin ask what is so funny, so you tell him then he laughs too. 

“Ugh, stop making me laugh,” he says. 

“You can laugh while making love,” you say, kissing his neck.  “It’s okay.” 

That does not make him laugh but it does make him sigh.  “Making love, huh,” he says dryly.  “That doesn’t sound like you.”

“It didn’t,” you say, finding another sweet spot that has his whole body rearing into yours.  “I guess I’m a fast learner too.”

“Ew, you’re so annoying,” he says, but squeezes your fingers in his hand. 

“I think you’re not getting fucked right if you’re still this bratty,” you say playfully, prompting him to roll his eyes. 

“What are you gonna do about it?  Make love at me?  Sap.” 

You laugh, kiss his neck, then move away to roll him onto his back.  He wriggles a bit, surprised with the change and sudden emptiness.  His legs part easily when you move between them, but you still snap, “Spread.  Good.”  Because it makes him swallow hard, his dark eyes sparkling and his mouth bruised, hair mussed and body flushed.  He is already a fucked out sight, but he wants more, and you give it. 

You snap your hips together and fuck into him.  This time you do hold his throat, gently, not repressing air but showing control.  He holds your forearm with both hands, his face scrunching up, eyes closed as he focusses in that intense way of his.  He breathes hard, makes sweet sounds, and not a single antagonistic or bratty word leaves his pretty mouth. 

“I think I’m finally winning,” you tease, to which he just makes a hiccupping sound of pleasure.  “Yeah, that’s right.” 

You hold his ridiculously pretty dick and give it the expert treatment it deserves.  The combination of sensations has him throwing his head back, clawing your arm as you work him in your head.  You cannot feel the end of the toy, but there is a magic in this kind of fucking, and when he comes and he clutches your arm and he screams your name, when the muscles in his abdomen clench and you know he is feeling sensation in every part of his body, you can feel him wrapped around you, wholly and completely, like you could feel him when he wasn’t even touching you at all. 

He writhes almost desperately as you keep touching him until he can’t take it anymore, then you ease him down and pull back. 

“Good?” you ask, sitting back, looking down at him, blissfully fucked out and dishevelled. 

“Yes,” he murmurs.  “I won. Again.” 

“Gonna need to supply me with that rubric one of these days,” you say. 

“Meh-meh-meh,” is the half-hearted retort, delving to a sleepy sigh. 

 “Gotta take care of yourself before you go to sleep,” you say, though you have a feeling it’s a losing battle, his eyelids already heavy. 

“That’s what you’re for,” he grumbles. 

That damn heart really does have a mind of its own.  It has clearly decided to make its presence known whenever it damn well pleases. 

You run your fingers through his messy hair, smiling when he blinks up at you. 

You tidy him up then scoop him into your arms to carry him to your bed, because that one is not a filthy sex nest.  He wakes a little on the journey.  And when you lay down and pull a sheet up, he rolls towards you and throws an arm and a leg around you, pinning you to the bed. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say.  “I promise.”

“Good,” he says.  “You’re too stupid to be out there on your own.” 

You laugh in spite of yourself, shaking your head, but you put an arm around him and nod. 

“You’re right,” you say. 

“Of course I am.”  He snuggles in close and sighs.  “Now go the fuck to sleep.  Your dick is in the sink so you have no excuse.  Good night.”  

“Good night,” you say with a laugh. 

I think I won too, you almost say, but decide let him believe he is the only winner for now, because he is already falling asleep with his head on your shoulder.   

You can tell him in the morning. 

[meadowscarlet]

practice makes perfect ━━━ jj maybank.

pairings: jj maybank x fem!kook!reader.

summary: you wouldn't say that you were good at kissing; in fact, you had no idea how it worked. sure, you've kissed a few guys, but not without the tongue and more; just a simple peck and it's embarrassing but what else can you do but ask jj—a pogue you shouldn't be seen with but who you grew close, since you know he's an expert at this—for help?

warnings: nsfw, dry humping, riding, brief jealous!jj, uses of pet names, praising and cursing.

author’s notes: this was clearly rushed but oh well made this in honor of obx s3 !!! do not copy, post on another site, translate or claim any of my works as your own or you will be reported! nav.

It was only supposed to be kissing.

Not that JJ was complaining; in fact, almost everyone knew how completely infatuated he was with you. Obviously, you were clueless of it, constantly misunderstanding JJ's flirting for simple teasing since you two are clearly friends and are simply not a match. Many people were baffled as to how you came to be friends with someone so polar opposite of you.

JJ is wild—always in the mood to party—and spends his evenings drinking beer with John B and Pope in the midst of large crowds of people listening to loud music and grinding drunk couples till they become more drunk, careless with just about anything, and have nasty hangovers the next day—someone you shouldn't like. He was the kind of boy that your parents would warn you to stay away from, the type who would just tarnish your good reputation and influence you to do things that aren't really “good.”

It wasn’t surprising, he was a pogue and you’re a kook; those shits never get along.

You were too perfect, something JJ would find too disgustingly boring and spotless like any other kook he met. They were all condescending, flaunting their richy asses, too proper, and thought highly of themselves and treated others like shit, but surprisingly, you weren't like that. You radiate a beautiful aura that makes it seem as though there is nothing about you that anyone could possibly dislike.

Maybe it, and not simply your beauty, is what drew JJ to you. But he wasn't the only one who seemed captivated with you and captivated to you irresistibly.

He would notice it, guys giving you lingering looks that would piss JJ off at first he was just being protective, of course you’re his precious friend so it would be automatic to him to feel protective but he would notice how he wasn't as seriously upset whenever Kie received this treatment or his jaw wouldn't clench; that was another special quality about you; you had this power over JJ that he wasn't aware of before.

You had him wrapped around your pretty little finger.

So when you asked JJ to teach you how to kiss, he immediately replied yes without any hesitation. At first, it was awkward because you appeared peculiarly twitchy and JJ was concerned because you had been quite quiet and had barely responded to him. When the words escaped your lips, all reason left JJ's mind, and his response came quickly and without consideration.

“Could you—like, well, teach me how to kiss?” you asked sheepishly, looking adorably embarrassed. “Properly.”

“Yeah, sure, love.”

JJ learned two things when his lips touched yours.

One: your lips was the sweetest fucking thing he had ever tasted. At first you were reluctant, even shy, but JJ taught you how to wrap your arms around his neck, pull him closer, and kiss him. The way your soft lips caressed his drove him insane. He showed you how to do it by licking your bottom lip, which made your lips part and allowed him to further explore your mouth until he forced himself to stop before he could get ahead of himself.

You’re here to teach her how to kiss, not make out with her, you asshole, he thought quietly, and he found himself feeling sour about it.

Second: JJ can't help but think about the fact that you just asked him to teach you how to kiss expertly so you could kiss other guys, and for some reason, that thought makes him want to explode. The idea that you were going to kiss another guy made him feel a rush of unflinching rage. The only thing that ever made him feel jealous was the idea of another guy touching you, kissing you like he is doing right now, or worse, fucking your pretty self.

You drew away from the kiss, appearing out of breath, with swollen lips and sparkling eyes; you are so gorgeous, JJ could gaze at you for hours.

“What is it?” you asked, finding him staring at you in dazed. “Did I do it wrong?”

“No—it’s perfect,” JJ said and without thinking, he added, “You’re perfect.”

You grew flustered but asked, “So I did good? No problem?”

“There’s one problem,” JJ frowned. Unconsciously, he drew you closer to him and pulled you to sit on his lap as your chests brushed against each other and you both were breathing heavily. “I can’t stop,”

You were quiet for a moment and JJ was ready to curse himself for being too attached to your addictive self and couldn’t help himself when you suddenly shifted on his lap, your crotch brushed against his already hard dick from his shorts, and he knew you could feel it since your eyes gleamed with unexpected need, he had to restrain himself from groaning.

A shiver wracked through your body. “Then don’t stop.”

That’s all it takes for JJ to snap. He snaked his hands under your skirt, pulled you dangerously close to him, and found a way to cup the supple skin of your ass. You moaned in surprise as he attacked your lips with a hot, rough kiss, and you unconsciously started rocking your core against his clothed dick. He runs his hands through your hair, he slightly tugs on it, causing you to moan once more. As he left your lips, he skimmed his teeth against your jaw to your neck and began kissing on the soft skin of it.

“You have no idea how fucking long I’ve waited for this,” he whispered against your neck.

He was driven wild by the whimper that escaped your luscious lips. As you began to grind firmly against JJ's clothed dick while tightly grasping his shoulder, JJ could see you were getting frantic. His eyes grew dark as he guided you against his lap with his hands on your hips, grinding you back and forth as he continued to teach you.

JJ murmurs, “Come on pretty girl,” and then he trails his hot mouth down your neck and into your ears, biting on your earlobe to make you mewl with pleasure. “I can feel how soaking wet you are even when you’re not naked, ride me, come on, let me feel you more.”

He could feel you were doing well as his hands guided you into grinding against his crotch. He then continued kissing your neck, almost marking you and giving you the impression like it would definitely leave a mark. JJ was happy to think about this. Suddenly remembering how this happened in the first place—you asking him to teach you how to kiss—he tightened his hold on you till he felt you whimper against him, riding his clothed hard dick almost desperately, JJ could feel his anger bubbling at the thought of you doing this with someone else.

“You’re not kissing anyone else after this, do you hear me?”

You briefly looked at him, confused. “What—?”

JJ’s eyes darkened with jealousy. “Tell me I’m the only one who can make you feel like this.”

He could feel the desire through you, and he fucking loved it. You were grinding against him, and JJ had to restrain himself from tearing your clothes and his just so he could fuck you deep and hard.

You were close, he could feel it, you were clinging to him tightly, rubbing up on his dick almost like you were bouncing on him. He glanced up at you, your eyes briefly closing in ecstasy, your pretty lips half open, and your beautiful face transforming into something vibrant.

“Yes,” you gasp. “Only you, JJ—fuck—only you.”

The corners of his mouth turned up slightly into a pleased smile. “Such a good girl. I can’t wait to fuck you.”

You grew flustered but your eyes sparkled in mischief. “Teach me that?” But JJ was already pulling you much closer with a hungry look in his eyes.

“I’ll teach you everything, pretty girl.”

[ccrites]

chokehold

listen, I've had this idea in my wips for a while (since the begnining of the year actually) and the fat reader worms have been wiggling in third gear with all the awesome stuff early ( @391780 ) has been putting out lately. So have 6.4k words of Soap being an absolute pussy eating freak but you know you love him

(also on ao3 if you prefer the formatting there, or if you want to drop a kudo)

.

The second the doors swing back closed behind you, you start feeling the scratchy feeling of doubt at the back of your throat.

It was predictable, really.

A small gym in a small town, heads turn when the hinges creak, not because they’re staring at you specifically, but because it’s a reflex.

Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself to keep the scratchy feeling from turning sour in your mouth. Or make you throw up from embarrassment.

Perhaps your New Year’s resolution should’ve been to start on a home gym type of situation. Buy yourself some girly weights, a mat, and some sort of stepping device, and do those easy exercises every slim, pretty, high-ponytailed YouTube instructor seemed to preconize people out of shape do. Like a hamster on a wheel inside their cage. A rat chasing its own tail, maybe.

No, you promised yourself no more fake promises. Perhaps the money spent on the gym membership (stupid fucking New Year’s promotion) would motivate you to use it, lest it’s just money down the drain. 

You wore the stretchiest, thickest pair of black leggings you owned, hoping no one would see the terrible shape of your underwear through it. On the opposite spectrum of things, you knew the largest hoodie you owned would smother you and make you boil with sweat, so you chose the next best thing: the widest black t-shirt you owned. It was definitely not black enough, the dye faded into a dark gray from use over the years, but it was the only thing that camouflaged your body enough from the others’ sight. God forbid they imagine what your body actually looks like underneath.

The heads pretty quickly turned back around as you started walking towards the empty treadmills. It couldn’t have been more than a second, but the combined weight of at least a dozen pairs of scrutinizing eyes would’ve been enough to make you turn on your heels and back to your car, fuck the membership price.

At the very least, you could convince yourself that walking in place (no better than a hamster on its wheel but oh well) would be enough to get you started. Baby steps, and all.

It doesn’t take long for you to realize the treadmill fucking sucks. Why would anyone suggest looking at a parking lot while suffering instead of the pretty scenery of a park or forest (while also suffering, but still).

The timer you’d set for the warm-up (ten minutes, just like the pretty blonde coach suggested!) crawls by way too slowly for your taste. You’d be all but whooping with joy when it beeps if you weren’t so out of breath and conscious of a gaze on you.

You’d seen him as soon as you walked in.

Between figures of balding men trying to get rid of their beer gut with abs, two thin women whispering to themselves in a corner while trying to look inconspicuous, and a few other, completely average-looking men and women, there he stands, eyes meeting yours in the mirror as he deadlifts an impressive amount of black plates.

He immediately looks straight ahead, correcting his stance, as if there were anything to be corrected, in your unathletic opinion. The muscles in his arms bulge even through the thin, grey hoodie, and the ones in his legs coil tight as the weight is lifted off the ground in a slow, controlled motion. Not even a grunt escapes his lips, at least no one you could hear from where you stood, completely mesmerized.

There was always something almost unappealing about overly muscled men. Their wife’s not feedin’ ‘em enough, your granny would grumble when passing by the rows of magazines at the checkout of the supermarket. 

Yet this man.

Yeah, he was muscled. But in a way, he looked… almost normal. Like he was built for strength, not necessarily vanity. Each bend of his legs, each twist of his arms…

You’d swoon if you hadn’t lowered your standards so low he’d trip on them. Accepted it a long time ago. Fats belong with fats, thins with thins, and if there’s a thin with a fat, either one’s getting fattened up, or the other’s getting dumped. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, and one you’d rather not be a part of.

You walk with shaky legs to the water dispenser, then get ready to grab the second to lightest weights to try some bicep curls.

You try to remember the positioning from the videos. Rotate in… or out? Should the wrists be like this? You go through ten repetitions on each side, before you think that you should’ve gone for the abs straight away. God knows there’s fat to burn there, and that the flab under your arms can wait.

You turn back from the rack and walk straight into a wall.

No, a chest.

Fuck.

“Sorry there, miss,” says a deep voice. You detect some sort of accent, unable to quite place it right away.

Your eyes run up, instinctively stopping for a second at chest level (holy heavens that’s a Chest with a capital C if you’ve ever seen one) before finally meeting that same pair of eyes you met a few minutes ago, through the mirror.

Double fuck.

“S-sorry, it’s me, wasn’t watching,” you stammer out, gesturing to the weights in a panicked way. “Just, y’know, switching exercises,” you sputter with a nervous laugh, like it was a completely normal thing to switch exercises after one rep.

He chuckles, and you really need to start planning your escape, because holy shit the way his pectorals rise and fall as his chest puffs up is getting a bit too much for your poor little humiliated self to handle, but he doesn’t let you as he speaks in a soft tone.

“I’m getting arms aren’t really your thing, eh?” he asks, not unkindly. Gosh, did it have to be a Scottish accent?

You can’t meet his eyes, they’re too blue, too piercing for your liking. “To be fair I don’t know what’s my thing yet, I’m just starting out, y’know?” you shift your weight on your legs, conscious of the size difference, and not in the way you wanted to be. Your neck is very warm all of a sudden.

He laughs again, like it’s the funniest thing in the world, and you almost want the floor to open up and swallow you whole, but the words that come out of his mouth are completely unexpected.

“Figured! A girl with thighs like yours, I’m sure you can deadlift more than me with just a lil’ training. I’m Johnny, by the way,” he adds in passing, as if offering his name is the least of his concerns. “You ever got someone to train you?”

You’re entirely unsure if you’re dreaming or not. Did this Scottish hunk of muscle really just offer to be your personal trainer?

“Never - uh… lifted anything, I guess. Just when moving, my couch and bed and all, but I had a friend help me.” You definitely feel like you’re oversharing and you’re struggling to ignore the weight of the gaze of the two thin women, burning through you as they whisper among themselves, when you realize you hadn't answered the second part. “Oh and, uh– no. I’ve never… trained. Been trained. It’s my first time in a gym since- a while. I don’t want to bother you.”

You finally look up at him, and you’re unable to read his expression. There’s a sort of curiosity, a fascination, that blends fast into a wide-eyed joy that’s so open, so sincere that it makes your head spin as he gently but firmly grabs your wrist and pulls you where his bar stands on the thick mat, ignoring your sputtering protests. “Not a bother at all, lass!” He lets go of you as he bends down and effortlessly racks the barbell, starting to remove plates as he continues. “We can start by measuring your max lift, then the one where you can easily do three reps, then we’ll hike it up till failure, so I can calculate your starting training weight!” he rambles on excitedly. You nervously shift on your feet, conscious of more curious gazes on you, but then he’s back in your bubble, pulling your attention towards him like a magnet.

His smile is like a blazing sun, and you don’t have the heart to tell him to prepare for disappointment.

He’s infinitely patient as he shows you how to place your feet, and the angle of your hips (oh, how you feel your knee weaken at the feel of his light tough through the leggings, nothing short of electrifying, despite being perfectly friendly), the hold on the bar. It’s all a blur till you find yourself bent over in front of him, looking in the mirror at your position and trying not to feel conscious of the way he’s placed behind you. Or let your mind wander in inappropriate places.

“Whenever yer ready, hen.”

You brace yourself, close your eyes for a brief second, wondering how the hell you’d landed on this planet, then breathe in, open your eyes-

The weight is in your hands. Not on the floor. You’re holding it.

You almost drop it when he cheers behind you, warm palms rubbing down from your shoulders to your elbows and back up. “Easy! I told you you’d be a natural! ‘S all in the legs and you’ve got awesome legs, bonnie! Let’s add twenty more.”

It’s a blur of racking and de-racking and lifting once and setting back, and redoing it again and again. You’re out of breath, sweating like a sinner in church, but you’re smiling along with him, finding yourself giving him double high fives, and doing small, excited jumps.

“Next one’s exactly my weight, if y’can lift that, I’ll be losing my bloody mind! D’you realize how well yer doin’ for a first-timer?” He says as he bends next to you, adjusting the bar for the next set of weights. With a wipe of his forearm over his forehead, he crouches slightly down, placing his head right above your shoulder and looking your reflection in the mirror straight in the eyes with a conspiratory grin. “Swear to God, if ye can lift it off the ground, I’m buying you the most expensive drink at the bar next door!” he says, grin blending into a blinding smile, too genuine for your own good.

He’s just friendly, just friendly, just friendly, you say to yourself like a mantra as you position yourself. He stands again to his full height behind you, hands ready under the bar, a safenet.

Deep breath in– hold it…

Slowly but surely, you lift the weight off the floor, your ears ringing from the effort. You see his lips move as he cheers you on, but the blood pumping in your eardrums makes it impossible to hear him. Suddenly, the weight is back on the ground and your feet are off the floor as you’re lifted in a tight embrace and spun around like you weigh nothing.

You yelp and flail but he’s holding you tight, face pressed smack-dab in the middle of your chest, between your tits, rumbling praises about your prowess while you’re trying to figure out whether this can be something that your brain is capable of summoning as a dream.

“Put me down, Johnny, oh my God, put me down!”

He thankfully complies but not before squeezing your ass tighter, and suddenly nothing feels real anymore.

“Jesus, I knew ye were perfect,” he says, pulling back reluctantly to rerack the bar and put back the weights. “I cannot wait to properly start training ye’ tomorrow, but for now, I have a promise ta’ keep, and, uh, let’s just say I wouldn’t mind using those strong thighs as earmuffs with this freezin’ weather. On the way back from the bar, what d’ya say?” he adds, wiggling his eyebrows with a crooked smile that lets you know he’s joking around. (Is he?)

You laugh with him and for a second, you forget what you were here for.

+++

The way to the bar is short. It was just a block away (Good for business, he jokes), but the conversation with Johnny made time really fly by. 

He seems genuinely glad when you tell him you’d decided to head to the gym not just as a New Year’s resolution, but trying to simply become a better you. There’s no condescendence, no talking down, no (God forbid) pity, just an overall nice interaction the whole time. He tells you about being on leave as a soldier (Medical leave, he specifies, a fucked up knee can work in a gym, but it’s a different story out in the field), you tell him about your studies and how that led into a “big girl” job that left you no time for yourself.

“But I’ve always been a big girl,” you feel the need to justify. “Just… gotten bigger as I stopped finding time to move. The desk and the laptop are pretty stationary,” you joke, still trying to make sense of why a man like him (broad, and tall, and strong, and… gosh, just perfect-looking) would even deign to accept being seen with you.

(It’s not a date, you dumbass)

“I happen to like big girls,” is what you don’t expect him to say.

Wait, what?

His blue eyes glue you to your seat, and you respond dumbly. “What?”

“I mean, why do you think I’d offer to train you?” he continues, placing his hand, big and warm over your thigh. It’s squished as you sit, wide and flattened in your seat, yet his hand covers a good amount, almost covering the whole width.

Your brain is short-circuiting but you have to answer something.

“Out of– uh… out of niceness?” you stammer out, feeling your insecurities climb back out of the hole they’d been sleeping in all this time, making you shrink even more, trying to cover yourself as if he didn’t see right through you with that piercing gaze. “To feel good seeing you be the reason I lose weight?”

He chuckles, squeezing your thigh as his head hangs down, almost as if to hide the smile that spreads on his lips.

“Strength training doesn’t work like that, bonnie.” He looks back up, and his eyes are blue, and wide, and so pretty, that you can’t find anything to argue back. “Ye’ think building glutes underneath that fat arse does anything but make it bigger?” He shifts, inching closer as he licks his lips and drops his voice lower. “Ye’ think growing your quads will make this,” he gives an even firmer squeeze, wiggling the fat back and forth, and you tense under his grip, but he’s got you pinned down, “any less wide and soft?”

He presses closer, and the booth has no escape room, you’re practically squeezed into the corner as he pushes his body against yours, bending to whisper lowly in the crook of your neck.

“I did not joke when I said I want yer pretty thighs wrapped tight around my head.”

You can’t be blamed when you don’t remember how you ended up in the back of a cab, Johnny barely taking the time to bark an address to the poor driver and throw fifty quid on the front seat before kissing you absolutely senseless, shamelessly groping your tits with a hand and wrapping the other around your thigh, squeezing you close.

You should probably think more about going home with basically a stranger, no matter how hot, but when he presses his entire palm against your cunt, cupping it over the quickly dampening pair of leggings that didn’t seem so thick anymore, you can’t think at all. He swallows your quiet moans, and hums contently against your lips, taking each gasp for air as an invitation to slither his tongue into your mouth. God, you’d forgotten what a good makeout session was like, and you can’t even find it in you to be embarrassed when you see the cabbie’s eyes in the rearview mirror, instantly looking away when you see him staring. 

Johnny doesn’t seem to mind either, and when he notices you looking in the front again and again, he crowds you against the door behind the driver with a huff, half-climbing over you until his knee is pressed against your core, and the only thing in your field of vision is him.

“Johnny,” you try to say, but it’s getting hard to think, with the way you’re being squeezed in a corner, this hunk of a man of pure muscle pressing against you like a weighted blanket, kissing you like you were a drop of water in the desert and he was a parched man drinking you for his salvation. You feel his excitement pressed against your thigh, and it gives you enough lucidity to try again. “Johnny,” you gasp out again, “aren’t we going a little fast?”

He laughs instead, choosing to focus on the side of your mouth, pressing fervent little kisses down your neck before starting to suckle the delicate skin over where your clavicle is. “I can go as slow as you’d like, bun.” He takes the spot an inch next to the previous one into his mouth and sucks again, this time more forcefully, marking you, and oh God you’re going to have to conceal it before work tomorrow, unless you can find a turtleneck to wear–

The cab driver clears his throat, and you notice that the car is stopped in front of a small apartment complex. Johnny says a cordial thanks as he pulls you out of the car and throws another twenty on the backseat, before wrapping his arm around your shoulders and taking all of the thinking out of the equation as he walks you to the entry.

His flat is pretty well furnished, all things considered, but he doesn’t give you enough time to observe the deco as he presses you against the door and slides his hand under your leggings.

“Got me starin’ at that ass the second you walked in, best fuckin’ thing I’ve seen in months, d’ye realize that, bonnie?” he breathes out against your ear as his entire palm cups your sex, and you can only whine as you press your forehead into the crook of his neck. “And by how wet this pussy is, I think you liked starin’ at me, too.”

“You are–” you say, but he curls his middle finger in, spreading your lips and spreading the wetness to your clit, making you choke on your words, “-very nice to stare at.”

“Yeah?” you hear the grin in his voice.

“Mmhm,” you nod, as he keeps the back and forth of his finger, never dipping in too far, just keeping you hungry for more.

“Then how’d ye like to stare down at me as I taste this wet cunt of yours?” he purrs in your ear as he stops moving completely, letting the words process.

Brain.exe has stopped functioning. 

Had you ever had a boyfriend willing to speak filth like that to you when you were down to do the deed, maybe you would’ve gotten enough practice to know what to answer something sensible and intelligible to that, but as it stands, all you can muster is a very dumb-sounding “Huh?” as you stare back at him.

And that, apparently, is the funniest thing in the world to him, because he dips his head down and laughs, almost like a boyish giggle. Not only does that not stop him from kneeling in front of you, but it also somehow gives him more confidence to keep talking like that.

“How about you look down into my eyes as I eat out your pretty little pussy and make you come around my tongue, how’s that sound?” His baby blues bear no trace of maliciousness, no trace of a joke, as his fingers hook around the waistband and trace it around your stomach. You have to make a very conscious effort not to suck it in immediately in preparation for the letdown, but he doesn’t pull them down yet, only moving his hand alongside the edge. Your silence as you try to process what is happening only seems to spur him on instead. “In fact, how about you close your eyes, I close mine, and you hold my head close as I devour you, would you let me do that, pretty girl?”

“I’m not-” you can’t think of any way to properly let him down, not when he looks up with such pleading eyes, so the words stumble out gracelessly. “I’m sweaty, you don’t wanna–”

But he interrupts as he pulls your leg closer by gripping your thigh and squishing it against his cheek “But I do.” He inhales deeply, and your own breath shakes at the sight of how blissed out he already looks. “God, I want it. Let me have this.”

A voice somewhere inside yells at you that this has to be some sort of weird fetish, and that he most certainly won’t be having the same aura of desperation around him tomorrow, when post-coital rationale shows up and he sees your body past the veil of lust, but for now, you think that getting some with Johnny cannot be that bad compared to any one of your past encounters. Might as well enjoy it when you still can.

You wrap your hand around the one he still has around your waistband, and see his face positively light up as you softly caress his cheek.

In the end, you’re the one that pleads.

“Johnny, please.”

Your pants are off you and your leg is over his shoulder before you realize what is happening.

The feel of his warm tongue against your slit makes any thought, any doubt, any fear positively vanish, and the content sigh that he lets out as he licks at you is the same sigh as finally removing a bra at the end of a long day, it’s the sigh of laying down carelessly onto a soft bed after standing up for hours, it’s the sigh of the first bite of the best meal a man has after starving for weeks.

It should be awkward the way his arm wraps around your thigh and sinks into the softness of your stomach, using it to pin you up as he uses his other hand to spread you out enough for him to work his jaw the same way he did when he was making out with you in the car… Yet it’s not. It’s natural, the way his hand squeezes you as he licks, and sucks, and kisses around your pussy, unhurried yet passionate, languidly but firmly, pressing his tongue in, licking around your lips, and maddeningly avoiding the place you wanted him to touch most.

“Johnny,” you moan as he grazes his teeth around your sensitive nub in response. You almost buck out of his hold, but he’s firmly keeping you in place. “Please, don’t tease.”

He hums in response and dives back in, eyes fluttering closed as he ignores your whines. Every time his tongue or lips graze your clit, he works his mouth the opposite way, holding your thigh harder and pressing his palm up as he counters your hip movements with a clever swipe of the tongue. It’s absolutely maddening. “Johnny, please!”

He chuckles as he pulls back, an obscene string of spit lengthening as he pulls back, only breaking when he runs his tongue against his reddened, swollen lips. “Thought ye’ wanted me ta’ go slow, bun.” His eyes sparkle with challenge, but you can also discern a veil of unhidden desperation, of waiting for you to give the go-ahead for him to let loose.

“I’m fine with faster–” you start, but the words dissolve into a barely restrained moan as he hikes your leg up more, getting you closer to him, and immediately singling onto your neglected clit.

His forehead rests onto your belly now, and if you had more than two functioning neurons you’d wonder how he is that he’s breathing, but his hums and moans let you know that he’s perfectly content burrowing his nose in your pussy, nudging at your clit with the tip of it as he licks you with all the dedication you’ve never been shown from a man of his caliber.

He builds it up, and soothes it down, knowing exactly when to put more pressure, or when to teasingly swirl his tongue around your entrance, or to lave broad strokes of his tongue, so much so that the knee that’s not hooked over his shoulder almost gives out on a particularly forceful suck of your clit.

“Easy there,” he groans almost petulantly, as if you’re interrupting him. “Can’t have you fallin’ over when I’m not done wit’ ye.”

“My legs are gonna give out,” you say honestly, trying to catch your breath and avoid having the perfect man at your feet steal it again. “You’re a bit too good at this.” He grins up at you, “Am I?” and you want to give you a playful swat, but instead decide on carding your fingers through his now disheveled mohawk. “Guess the mess on my face speaks for itself… Shall we take this to the bedroom?”

You throw a glance around the apartment, assessing your options. “Couch is closer.” His smile is blinding. “I like how ye’ think.”

It’s now the second time he surprises you by scooping your legs from under you and picking you up like he couldn’t wait any longer and that carrying you bridal-style was the only way he could think of moving you. You yelp out a protest but he swallows it with another hungry kiss, shamelessly smearing your own wetness over your cheek as he walks you both to the couch.

You sink into the cushions where he places you gently without so much as a grunt of effort, and oh God, there they are, the standards are rising.

You reach over to pull him closer as he straightens up, but he only gives you a peck on the lips in return, like he hadn’t been kissing you sloppily the entire time.

“Come back,” you whine, hoping you can get it done before he comes back to his senses, like they all do, but he just smiles and kneels between your feet, hands pressing your thighs apart. The squelch of your lips parting should be embarrassing were he not looking up at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, eyes full of adoration, like a child staring up at the full moon on full display on a clear night’s skies. Maybe you are his moon, his goddess, judging by the lust-clouded look directed at you.

“I did say I was gonna make you come on my face,” he says lowly, the gravel in his voice making you squirm as he places a trail of kisses up your thigh. “And I intend to keep that promise.”

With that, he dives in again, using his forearms to pin your legs open on the couch and his fingers to tease around where his tongue can’t reach. You mewl when you feel his tongue at your entrance, circling it around it briefly before delving in as deep as he could, his right hand stroking your clit rhythmically. The fact that he’s so good at somehow playing all your buttons like a maestro directing an orchestra has you thinking that he must be some sort of womanizer, some freak who does this kind of thing every night, but then his lips wrap around your nub and he gives a firm, long suck, and any restriction that you could’ve conjured up simply vanishes. Your thighs want to close around his head, but you can’t move under the iron grip he has on you.

You fist his hair more forcefully than necessary, and he looks up, wet eyelashes framing his beautiful eyes as he hums in response.

“Please,” you moan, and he hums affirmatively again, closing his eyes to focus on licking and suckling harder. He heard you, he simply doesn’t seem to care. “Johnny.”

“What,” he asks, voice muffled and why is this so hot? 

“I need… I need,” you whine, unable to string the words together, and desperately trying to buck your hips under him, for lack of strength to actually close your thighs how you want to.

That seems to get his attention, and he chuckles, before pulling back with a gentle kiss on your mound. “Guess you’ll have to keep tryin’, pet,” he sussurs, a condescending pat on your thighs before he dives in slower than before.

Oh, the absolute asshole. Now he wants you to work for it?

You think that doing the opposite, relaxing your thighs open and letting him go to town however he wanted would help, but he seems hell-bent on riling you up every once in a while, getting you closer and closer with each lave of his tongue over your poor, overstimulated clit, but never enough to actually push you over the edge.

After what seems like an eternity, and almost, almost starting to think that this was a mistake, halfway ready to let him do this thing before your hip starts to cramp up, you feel a finger nudge at your entrance.

“Fucking finally–” you start, ready to curse him out, but he’s faster than you can think in your blissed-out state, and he slides a second finger alongside the first one, immediately zeroing in on that spot that makes you go cross-eyed and buck under his hold.

“Thassit– there you go, pretty girl,” he murmurs against your clit, and oh, okay, maybe you were closer than you thought, because the rhythmic curl of his fingers doesn’t need to last long before you’re off like an arrow, back arching and thighs squeezing, coming harder than you ever thought was possible. If he were any less skilled at making you completely lose the ability to think, you’d maybe notice that you’d managed to close your thighs almost completely around his head, but he wasn’t, so you don’t, twitching helplessly in the aftershocks of the most wonderful orgasm a man had ever given you.

Limbs that somehow still belong to your body hang uselessly off the side of the couch, and you struggle to catch your breath. You blink lazily, noticing him smugly wipe his face with the back of his hand, his half lidded eyes not any less blissed-out than yours. 

You didn’t believe a man like this ever existed, until now. It aches that this might not be something that would last, so you make grabby hands at him, unable to find the will to speak just yet. 

He laughs softly and gently grabs your arms, kissing from your knuckles slowly up your arm, to the crook of your neck. The patience he has is almost inhuman, as he takes the time to let you regather your senses, matching the marks he made earlier on the other side of your neck. You cup your hand around his head in response, and he smiles at you.

“Ye’ with me, bun?”

“Mmhm.”

“That slow enough fer’ ye’?” He holds himself up, an inch fron your face, and you reach up to kiss him.

“I’m gonna kill you dead,” you mutter against his lips, and he chuckles.

“Let me at least fuck you properly, first,” he whispers, and you notice that he’s long since unbuttoned his pants. You barely get a view of the massive size of him over your belly as he holds himself in his hand, large palm not enough to cover the whole length of him as he strokes himself, angled in such way that his tip rubs against your clit on each downstroke. The word “Please,” is not even halfway out of your mouth when he sinks into you in one swift motion, the rest dissolving into a long, drawn-out moan.

“Fuck-” he grunts, “so tight, cannot believe it.”

He guides one of your legs to wrap around him, keeping it flush against his body with his elbow as his palm grips your ass tightly, the other holding him against the backrest, forearm near your head as he pulls you closer for a sloppy kiss as he starts rolling his hips. You moan into his mouth and he swallows them greedily, leveraging each trust of his hips with a pull with his hand, helping you move in tandem with him, readjusting when your thigh threatens to slip out of his hold. The slaps of his pelvis to yours should sound obscene, his hard muscles hitting against your soft, jiggly skin, but his groans into your mouth are like music to your ears, the fact that he’s vocal about it has you almost reaching your peak again in no time, but he seems to sense it, and slows down immediately.

You try to kiss him harder, but he makes a small noise of protest, muttering something that sounds vaguely like “no, let me, let me just–” and you want to ask what he wants to do, to help him, but he instead reaches down both hands to grab your hips and pull you off the backrest. You yelp as your ass suddenly hangs in the air, his cock speared inside you the only secure point as he pulls you halfway off the couch, but he directs you firmly, “Here, around me,” helping you wrap your legs tightly as he starts thrusting again, harder than before.

“Oh, God, oh God,” you flail around, but each thrust in pushes your back into the cushions, and he reaches behind his back to hold your feet in his hand as he presses his palm near your head for support, spewing more filth as he does.

“That’s it, hold me tight, squeeze my cock like ye’ almost squeezed mah heid off earlier, huh, bonnie? Show me what those thighs can do, fuck-”

Your whole body is jiggling with each thrust, and you don’t have it in you to even feel self-conscious with the way each time he fills you, the tip of his cock nudges against the spongey spot inside, making you mewl in tempo with his relentless rhythm.

“Johnny, Johnny,” you moan, and he bends over to kiss you again, swallowing his name like communion while you chant it like a prayer.

“Don’t give up now, bonnie, keep squeezin’, fuck, I can feel ye’, yer so close.”

You try to get some leverage with your upper body, trying to push yourself up the cushions, but his cock suddenly slips out of you as your thighs almost give out, and an apology is already halfway out your mouth when he kneels back down and burrows between your legs, tongue first with a rushed “Need ta’ taste us, fuck, both of us, together-”

One hand wraps around your hip and over your pelvis, reaching up to knead desperately at your stomach, to pull you closer or push you away, you can’t tell, the other pulling your lips apart to settle his entire lower face against your pussy firmly– before letting go as he starts humming.

Your thighs are free to squeeze around his ears, and he nods encouragingly as he keeps licking, and then you hear it: the sounds of wet stroking. You don’t see him fisting his cock, but you hear it, fast and desperate. As your hand tangles in his hair to pull him closer, and another hum– no, another moan vibrates through your core, it’s the last thing you hear before you’re absolutely gone, gasping out a curse as you tense up in his hold, trembling as you come.

It’s even more intense than the first one, and as you buck out of his hold, he stands up shakily, his hand moving faster and faster around his cock, the angry red of his tip at the same level as your face. You gesture for him to sit down, trying to signal to him that you want to reciprocate despite the post-orgasmic haze and exhaustion, but he shakes his head, and, seconds later, you feel warm wetness land on your belly and slowly trickle down as he moans your name when he comes.

You feel like you still have to give something back, and, when he slumps down next to you with a content sigh, you climb over to place a delicate kiss on the tip of his cock, letting out a huff of laughter when it twitches under your touch.

“Ye’ absolute menace,” he whispers fondly as he pulls you up and tips his body to the side to lie down, using his legs to push you up halfway over him, trapping you between his body and the cushions, yet protectively shielding you from falling over. You place another kiss on his stomach, and you see his abs tense under your touch as your warm breath moves his hairs as you hover for a second, before deciding to shift up and use his pectorals as a cushion. He hums softly as his arm wraps around under yours, reaching to pull the plaid off the back of the couch and settle it around you both. Ticklish, eh? That’s a piece of information best stored for later.

You’re still breathless, absolutely done for. God, best decision of your life, going to the gym. “Now what?” you can’t help but ask. It’s the same fear that always creeps up, the fear that he got to try out a fantasy, and now that he was done with it, he had no need to want to continue anything possibly serious. Not that eating a girl out on a first date, if you could even call it a date, was a sign of a one-night stand, you can’t help but feel awkward and insecure now that it’s all done, despite the comforting cuddle.

He chuckles in response, that same chuckle from earlier in the day, a What a silly question chuckle. Like he’d read into your thoughts and insecurities and found them absolutely laughable.

“Same time at the gym, tomorrow? I want you to squeeze my head off next time.”

“Next time, huh?”

He pulls your leg over his pelvis, trapping his still half-mast cock between his belly and the crook of your knee, hand firmly wrapped to shift you up, almost completely on top of him. When both of you are comfortable and you start feeling the tendrils of sleep pull you deeper, he gives a last, playful squeeze to your ass.

“Next time.”

[traveler-at-heart]

Brave

Summary: The sudden loss of someone in your family leaves you broken. Natasha tries to help.

A/N: Special thanks to @happychopshoppenguin for helping me to sort out ideas for this plot.

It was a regular day for the Avengers.

Mission, explosions, fighting some bad guys and then fly back in the Quinjet.

“Fury’s gonna be mad” Clint taunts, looking at you.

“He didn’t say how to stop them from sharing the drive with the Chinese” you smile, thinking that blowing up their entire control room was a bit much. But, you were in a hurry to finish the mission and go home.

Clint rolls his eyes and steers the Quinjet.

“Alright, it’s gonna be at least seven hours. Go get some sleep, dynamite. Tasha, you ok?”

Natasha had been quiet, which was nothing new around you. To most people, it was probably the contrast in personalities; while the Russian was reserved, you were very outgoing.

You’d hope it was just that, and not that she disliked you. After a few attempts at conversation that turned cold, you decided to be cordial, but give her space.

Right now, she’s sitting in the back of the Quinjet, no visible injuries. But still, her hand is over her ribs, and she seems to be deep in thought.

You know what’s happening and that she’d never ask for help.

“Do you need to clean any wounds? I’ll take over the Quinjet while you do” you offer to Clint and he shakes his head no. Walking to the first aid kit, you pull out a bottle of water, painkillers and a pack of ice. You’re about to walk to sit next to Natasha, when you bring a hand to your forehead.

“Great. Blood and sooth. I must stink” placing the first aid stuff next to her, you mumble to yourself about taking a quick shower.

By the time you come out, Natasha has already taken a pill, and has the ice pack over her bruised ribs. Her eyes are closed, and much as you’d like to stare, you go sit next to Clint, hoping to get home soon.

—

Maria is waiting on the hangar when you land.

“Told ya” Clint mocks and you turn to glare at him.

“Did you snitch on me, Barton?”

“Y/N” Maria says, and her tone alone erases your smile.

“What’s wrong?” you say, going over every possible scenario. This is your last mission before a two week break to go back home. “Is it…?”

Your mom was supposed to have surgery. But she was fine. It couldn’t be…

“I’m sorry”

It’s as if a bucket of ice cold water was poured over your head. Your hands are so numb, you can’t feel Natasha taking one of them, her arm around your shoulders.

—

It’s been a week. Natasha tries not to think about you, mainly because there’s nothing she can do to help.

And it’s none of her business when (or if) you come back. Still, she feels a certain heaviness in her movements as she makes her morning coffee.

You always made enough for the two of you. And it tastes so much better than the one Natasha makes.

“Is Y/N around?” Maria walks in, looking for you.

“I thought she was still with her family”

“She came back earlier. It didn’t… it sounded bad. Like a family disagreement had happened on top of everything else” Maria sighs.

“Do you know what it was?”

“All I know is that her mother’s condition had been bad for a while… and then they did emergency surgery but her heart was too weak”

Natasha nods in silence, imagining how hard it must be for you. How your mother always sent something she knitted for everyone on the team on their birthdays, or how your parents would fly to visit at least once a month.

“If you see her, will you let me know? I just want to make sure she’s alright”

“Of course”

—

No one saw you, not even for movie night. It’s not like the team was expecting you, but it was quiet as the movie played on the screen, and only Sam seemed to be paying attention.

Natasha looks at the table in the middle of the room.

You always got her Dr. Pepper. Her guilty pleasure, a little indulgence in her life of strict physical activity and healthy meals.

This time, there’s only beer that no one bothers to drink. A headache threatens to sour her mood even more, but the cupboard with medical supplies is almost empty.

That’s how everything feels without you around.

Natasha had hoped you’d be at the staff meeting next Monday, but everyone took a seat, your chair remained empty.

“We have to do something” Steve says, looking around. His eyes meet Maria’s.

“Well, she’s been going on solo missions”

“And you think that’s a good idea?” Barton challenges, clearly annoyed. Would it be so hard for Fury to give a damn about his team?

“Listen, any one of you is welcomed to join her but I don’t think…”

“I’ll go” Natasha says.

“Good. Maybe she needs some… girl talk” Steve says and everyone laughs for the first time in weeks.

“Yes, we’ll braid our hair while we wait for the bad guys, Steve” Natasha mocks.

“Nice one, Capsicle” Tony says.

Truth be told, Natasha wasn’t expecting such a strong reaction when you saw her at the hangar.

“I’m on solo duty, Natasha” you say without looking at her, getting inside the small aircraft.

“Fury’s orders” the redhead lies, following you. She almost crashes against your back as you stop and turn around.

“If you’re coming, I don’t want to hear any scolding or complains. I’m running this operation”

“That’s fine by me”

Either way, from what she read on the file, it was only information extraction. And yet, you were gone for thirty minutes, after she successfully hacked into the database.

“Where the hell have you been?” Natasha scolds, forgetting about her previous promise.

“Can you get us on the air? I’ll take over in a minute” you answer, your face evidently beaten up, as one of your eyes was starting to swell.

Natasha is torn between concern and anger, but she figures it is better to talk to  you once they’re away from the enemy. With a sigh, she starts the engine and sets the coordinates of the Compound.

A spot on the floor catches her eye.

Blood. A lot of it.

“Y/N?” she stands up, looking around. Following the trail of blood, she opens up the door to the small bathroom. She sees you, your uniform torn around your thigh, a gash exposed. “Oh my God!”

“Ever tried knocking?” you say, without looking at her. Next thing you do is use the surgical stapler to close the wound, not caring to use anesthesia.

“You need stitches”

“I’m fine” you stand up, taking off the top of your uniform. Natasha spots bruises that are just starting to heal.

Maybe that’s why the medical supplies were gone the other day.

“Y/N…”

“If you’re not gonna fly, I’m taking over” you walk towards the cabin, and she stands there, looking at all the blood that you left behind.

What the hell is she gonna tell Maria when you come back?

There’s a moment of silence as you land the Quinjet. You hope that Natasha will not even start about your injury, so you wait for her to leave.

“Y/N?” 

“I’m fine, Natasha”

“I’m worried” she admits in a low voice, which catches you off guard. You’ve never thought she cared enough, not about you at least.

“I’ll stop going on missions until I’m better”

She wants to tell you it’s not enough, because an injury isn’t the issue here. But Natasha also recognizes when she’s about to cross a boundary. 

So, she just nods and leaves the hangar. The feeling of defeat comes with her as you’re left alone on the jet.

—

Another Monday, another staff meeting. 

To everyone’s surprise, you’re the last through the door. Steve sits up, but the rest of the team just looks at you, afraid that saying anything else might scare you away.

For your part, you ignore everyone but Natasha, placing a paper bag from her favorite bakery in front of her. 

She smiles at you, because it’s something you always do on Monday meetings. This time, you don’t mutter your usual excuse of being around the bakery first thing in the morning. You do give a little smile in return, and Natasha tries to ignore the warm feeling she gets from the gesture.

“Everyone, have a seat” Maria says, trying to pretend she isn’t surprised to see you as well. “We have word of a HYDRA base storing potentially dangerous technology. It’s big enough to send the whole team”

“Surely some of us could stay behind if we’re not up for it” Barton says, avoiding your eyes. He’s the only one that knows about what happened on your mission with Natasha. 

“It’s not ideal, but if anyone wants out, speak now. Very well”, she continues after a beat of silence. “Here’s the map of the facility. You leave in an hour”

—

The mission was completed. 

Barely. 

You’re holding a gauze against your side, to stop the bleeding from a bullet graze. Fury’s been called to go over what happened. 

He doesn’t seem pleased.

“You better do something about her” Tony says, his finger pointing at you.

“Stark” Barton warns but you don’t even react to his confrontation.

“No, I don’t want to hear it. If she wants to go and get killed, that’s her deal. But we were just about done with the mission when she decides to fight a dozen HYDRA agents on her own”

“We need to calm down” Steve says.

“No, there was a town a few miles south and HYDRA had nuclear warheads. Have we learned nothing? This could have been catastrophic” 

“But it wasn’t, so…”

“If you have some mommy issues to deal with, do it on your free time. I’m not gonna burden myself with civilian deaths over your trauma” 

“Tony!” Steve reprimands, standing up. They’re so busy facing each other, they never see you approaching. You throw a punch that hits Stark square in the eye, followed by another one that breaks his nose.

“Say that again, you fucking asshole” you shout, throwing a kick that never lands. It takes Steve and Bucky to hold you back. “Talk shit, Stark, see what happens” 

“That’s enough. You’re suspended, effective immediately” Fury says.

“I’ll do you one better. I quit” you push Rogers and Bucky away, not bothering to look at the rest of your teammates. 

It’s better this way.

—

It’s not hard to find you. Being a professional spy works in Natasha’s favor, but you’re basically bouncing from your apartment to the bar around the corner.

Sit and drink.

That’s all you do from the moment you walk in, around noon and then you leave past midnight. Before going up your apartment, you stop by the bodega to get another bottle of whatever cheap booze they have and call it a night.

Natasha looks from across the street, debating between going inside and talking to you or just going home.

What can she tell you to make it all better?

That’s the question she asks herself all week, and come Friday Natasha still doesn’t have an answer. 

The bar is crowded and the redhead figures it’s safe enough to go inside without being spotted.

You’re in your usual spot, leaning against the bar while sitting on a stool. The loud music and conversations make you dizzy, but you still ask for another scotch and drink half of it in one gulp.

“Are you moving anytime soon?” a twenty something year old pops out of nowhere and you don’t even look his way. “We want to sit at the bar and watch the game, I’m sure you can go be a sad drunk somewhere else”

“Fuck off” you say after finishing your drink and asking for another one. When they give it to you, the idiot knocks it from your hand. 

“You have ten seconds to apologize or leave” you rub your temples, thinking how much worse your headache will be after kicking his ass.

“I don’t think so” he says, throwing a punch at you. Even with all you drank, you’re able to avoid his fist, knocking him down in one swift motion.

“Crap” you kinda forgot he was not alone. Three more guys show up, and while you’re busy blocking some kicks, one of them manages to punch you in the face. You fall to the ground, feeling a kick to your side and a fist that connects with your nose.

At this point, you give up, thinking that getting your ass kicked in a bar is just as effective as drinking the day away.

But the next attack never comes. In fact, all three men are down.

“Get up” you hear someone say. 

It sounds like Natasha.

You try to stand, but there’s a pain in your side. Before you can collapse on the ground, arms go around your waist and help you stand, walking side by side all the way to your apartment.

The lavender scent and the gentle touch confirms it’s Natasha, and you try not to think about how much you’ve missed her.

The redhead opens the door to your apartment, letting you down on the couch. You grunt as you sit, blood running down your nose and temple.

Yeah, this is going to be the worst hangover of your life.

“Where’s your first aid kit?” Natasha says looking around the place. 

You really did miss her and the thought finally breaks you.

“What’s wrong? Where does it hurt?” Natasha kneels in front of you the minute you let out a sob, tears mixing with the blood.

“It’s not worth it, Nat. I’m not worth the trouble. You should go” you plead, overwhelmed at the guilt that’s been consuming you for weeks now.

“What are you talking about?” 

“She kept asking for me. When they were at the hospital. She wanted to see me, she was scared and in pain and I wasn’t there. My mother died and I didn’t get to say goodbye” 

“Y/N…”

“What kind of person does that? How can you fail so badly to the people that loved you?” 

“You didn’t fail”

“Yes, I did” you say, struggling to breathe.

“You didn’t. It’s ok” Natasha tries to calm you, her hands going through your hair until your breathing evens out. 

The rush of adrenaline leaves your body, and pretty soon, you’re slumped against the couch, Natasha’s hands still in yours.

—

There’s light. And pain.

A different kind than the one you’ve had. As you sit up, you feel your bruised ribs and when you grimace, the split lip reminds you your face didn’t fare any better during your fight.

Natasha…

“How are you feeling?” you turn to find the woman standing in the middle of your kitchen. 

“Like shit” you reply and she chuckles.

“There’s some coffee. It’s not as good as the one you make, but it will do. I should go” she sets her cup down, sighing.

“You don’t have to…” you want her to stay. But you don’t know what will happen if you ask her.

“I do, actually” she walks towards the door, but you endure the pain to meet her at the threshold. 

“Nat”

“No” she shakes her head, without looking back at you. “You have no idea how hard it is to watch someone you love hurt themselves”

The word love echoes, making you take a step back.

Natasha turns to look at you, a tear rolling down her cheek.

“I guess you were bound to find out eventually”

“Natasha” you plead, not knowing what to say.

“No, I don’t want to hear it. I won’t go into this when you’re going through hell and all i’ve done is watch you from afar. I guess I just want you to know…” she wipes the tears and looks at you. “You buy my favorite brand of peanut butter. You wake up one hour before I do, but the coffee is done only when I’m up. My water bottle is always full and cold before going to the gym. You charge my phone when I forget to, and when it’s late and I’m still working you stop by and tell me you made too much pasta just so I eat something…. You’re not a bad person. You’re wonderful and I wish I could have told you sooner. I’m sorry” Natasha turns around and leaves.

You don’t stop her this time.

—

It’s been three days and Natasha hasn’t heard from you. To be fair, she said a lot of things and didn’t wait for you to reply, so that might have been a bad idea.

Talking to Clint might be the only solution and she’s looking for him when you leave the conference room, followed by Maria and Steve.

Tony approaches you from the other side and Natasha waits around the corner.

“I’m sorry about what I said” Stark says and you nod.

“Fair enough. Not sorry about punching you, though”

“Fair enough” he repeats, smiling.

When they all leave, you turn back, your eyes meeting Natasha’s.

“Hi” you approach her, hands inside your pockets.

“How are you feeling?”

“Sober”

“That’s good”

“Mhm” you nod, holding her stare. Your eyes travel to her lips and you sigh. “Can we talk?”

“We don’t have to…”

“I wanna show you something. It won’t take long, I promise. What do you say?” you offer your hand and she stares at it for a second.

When Natasha nods and takes it, you hold her tight, leading her out of the Compound.

—

“She loved Central Park” you remember, walking around the benches, Natasha’s hand still in yours. “The whole city, really”

“She liked it because you live here, I think” Natasha says and you nod.

“Well, that and the pizza”

“Right” the redhead nods. You find a bench and lead her to it, pointing at the plaque.

Love is only for the brave, followed by your mother’s name.

“Is something she said often. Figured it might be nice to have it here, for people to read and gather courage”

“That’s a beautiful way to remember her” Natasha nods, aware that you’re moving closer.

“I didn’t get a chance to tell you what I thought back at my place, Nat” 

“You don’t need to explain anything” she interrupts, giving you a way out.

“I didn’t think you liked me that much. And I absolutely thought I was being more discreet about my feelings for you” 

“It’s hard for me to think that love makes you brave… or strong” Natasha says, taking a step forward so you’re inches apart. 

“I know. Please let me show you?”

“I think I’d like that” she nods, leaning forward until your lips meet in a short kiss.

When you break apart, you remember that time your mother visited. How she insisted Natasha looked at you in a special way. 

“What’s so funny?” Natasha asks against your lips when you smile.

“I love you” you say and she pulls you closer.

Everything will be ok, as long as you have each other.

[moamidzyism]

[12:30am] (c.yj)

☆。.:*·ﾟwc 2074 smut ౨ৎ minors DNI ˚⁺。˚ // repost ୨୧ frat boy!yeonjun x fem!reader, friends with benefits, mentions of alcohol, college!au, unprotected sex [masterlist • reblogs + feedback appreciated]

“come to my party tonight.” yeonjun was all but on his knees begging you.

“you’re throwing a party?” the rays of sun peeking in from his blinds shone on you as your were digging through the mess on the floor looking for your clothes.

“my frat is,” he confessed, “i promise, it will be fun.” he quickly added when he saw your face turn sour from the side.

“you know that i don’t like these things.” you finally turn to face him as you pull up your pants. the t-shirt you wore to his place last night was still somewhere in the mess.

“i know,” he drags you back down into bed with him. “but i’ll be there with you the entire time.” he pulls you into a kiss, despite your contests about your class that was starting in half an hour.

in the five and a half months that you had been hooking up with him, you’ve come to know yeonjun as many things – the corny, unserious, silly loser that was posing as the super cool, ultra confident frat social chair – but you didn’t know that he was also a liar. because you had been at this party for an hour and you had only seen him a grand total of once, when you walked in and he told you to wait for him in the kitchen.

so you do as he says and wait in the kitchen for twenty minutes while he’s in the backyard playing some drinking game with his frat brothers. for a moment, you think about going outside to meet him, but you ultimately decide that you were not one to beg for attention. instead, you weave through the sweaty bodies that filled the house and find yourself on the living room couch. looking around the room, you start to wonder why you’re still here.

you’re pulled out of your thoughts when you feel a figure beside you. “hey, y/n, right?” you turn to the side to see who called your name and see a tall boy sitting beside you. he looks familiar but you can’t quite place your finger on where you had seen him. “it’s taehyun.” he says after noticing the look of confusion on your face as you try to place where you know him from.

when you still fail to do so, he sighs. “i’m yeonjun’s little. we have advanced comp together.”

“oh, that taehyun. i knew you looked familiar.”

“not familiar enough, if you couldn’t remember me.”

“i’m really bad with faces,” you try to excuse yourself, “and names,” you add, making him chuckle.

“i thought yeonjun would have for sure mentioned me to his girlfriend.” he says to himself, but loud enough for you to hear.

“oh, i’m not his girlfriend.”

“really? i always see you two together, especially around here.”

“we’re just friends. we are not together.” you made sure to especially emphasize the last sentence.

“so, what are you doing here?”

“i was just wondering the same thing,” you mostly say to yourself.

“well, i was going to go outside to play beer pong, but i saw you sitting by yourself.”

“aren’t you the sweetest?” you tease him, making him blush.

“yeah, and i need a partner.”

“oh, i appreciate you keeping me company, but i’m not really a drinker.”

“well, i don’t plan on losing.” he stands up, reaching his hand out for you to join him. you take it with a shy smile and follow him outside to play.

you soon realize that taehyun was right. he was actually really good at beer pong. you guys had already played against two other pairs and you hadn’t once tasted alcohol.

as you guys celebrate your second win, you feel a familiar presence behind you. “i call next round,” you hear your friend’s voice. you and taehyun turn around to see a glaring yeonjun. even though you’re outside and the air is cool, you can’t help but heat up as your blood rushes up to your face when you meet yeonjun’s gaze. to say that this moment is awkward is a gross understatement.

still, taehyun remains as cool as the night. his hands find solace on the back of his neck, rubbing ever so slightly. “yeah, sure, do you have a partner?”

“i think i can take both of you by myself.” yeonjun responds, ever so confidently. you roll your eyes.

tonight you’ve uncovered two important facts about yeonjun that you were not privy to prior. the first, obviously being that he is a liar, and the second being that he is very good at beer pong. not surprising, given that he is a member of a frat, but now intimidating because before you knew it there was only one cup in front of you and it’s his turn again.

taehyun, who has really been the main player of your team, is now barely standing straight. throughout the game, yeonjun has been egging him to drink all your losses for you because he knows that you can’t handle your alcohol, and taehyun, was really a trooper, not wanting to disobey his big.

a crowd begins to form around the three of you and yeonjun carelessly throws the ping pong ball that effortlessly falls into the red solo cup in front of you. the crowd erupts in cheers, yeonjun, seemingly unfazed by the attention, smirks directly at his frat brother, who picks up the cup with despair in his eyes.

you take the cup from him and pour the content onto the grass below you.

yeonjun, still riding the wave of his victory, seizes your arm and pulls you away from the crowd. you shoot taehyun a regretful look, or at least try to. yeonjun is pulling you away too quickly, and he is still looking down, trying to stabilize himself, before he too is dragged off into the party. 

yeonjun leads you upstairs to his room. as the door closes behind you, the jubilant cheers of the crowd are muffled, and it’s just the two of you in the warmth of his bedroom.

“that was so uncalled for,” you tell him, your hands planted firmly on your hips. 

“he’ll be fine,” yeonjun reassures you, his voice low and seductive. he inches closer to you, sliding his hands between you, pulling you into an intimate embrace. “he should know better.” his lips trail along your jawline, peppering kisses in a way that makes your heart race.

“he’s a freshman,” you state, trying to maintain a semblance of seriousness amid the growing intensity. yeonjun’s kisses continue, like he’s deliberately trying to distract you from the brewing conversation.

“and you’re mine.” he declares between kisses. “he shouldn’t be touching what’s mine.”

“i’m not yours, one.” you retort, pushing his head away from you. “two, he wasn’t touching me. and three, you left me in the kitchen for twenty minutes.”

“i’m sorry about that. i shouldn’t have left you alone when i invited you.” yeonjun conceded, trying to bridge the gap between the two of you with another kiss. however, you dodge him, demanding an explanation with a straight face.

“y/n, i’m not going to apologize for telling people in my frat that you’re my girlfriend.”

“wait, you’ve been telling people that i’m your girlfriend?” you move his hands that were previously around your waist. he stands opposite you now, with his hands by his side.

“well, you kind of are,” he responds with a nonchalant shrug.

“no i’m not.”

“you should be.”

“you were the one who said that you weren’t looking for a relationship.”

“but i like you. why is that a problem?”

“because this is the first i’m hearing about this.”

“so do you want me to show you how much i like you?” he proposes, a lingering question that hangs in the charged air between you.

“can we at least talk about this first?”

“we can, but i’ve been wanting to kiss you since i saw you playing with taehyun.” he looks at you with his signature pout. “can i just kiss you first, and maybe we can talk?”

“not maybe. we are going to talk.” you concede and he pulls you into a passionate kiss.

you try so hard not to succumb to him, but his arms are wrapping around your waist in the way that he knows drives you crazy. he pulls you closer to his bed, laying you down gently, his lips still attached to your jawline.

“j-jun,” you moan out his name.

“i know, i know. we’ll talk.” he assures you. “i just wanna make you feel good first – show you how much i like you.” he repeats.

and so you let him.

you let him push your skirt up and slide your panties down. you let him trail kisses along your exposed stomach and down your legs. you let him hide his face between your legs, his head moving up and down as he moans against you. the vibrations send chills down your spine.

his tongue laps your pussy eagerly, his sloppy ruts causing his nose to bump against your clit. “pussy always tastes so sweet for me.” you feel him smile against your core.

you tighten your grip on him using your thighs as you inch closer to your orgasm, but before you could cum, you feel him pull away. “no,” you cry out.

yeonjun looks up at you from between your thighs, his pretty plump lips wet from your arousal. “lemme fuck you. I wanna make my girl feel so good.”

“your girl,” you repeat after him.

“yeah, you’re all mine,” he leans down to kiss you. “my girl.”

yeonjun lines himself up with your entrance and pushes in so gently, you can’t help but gasp at the feeling of him filling you up so well. “feels good, baby?”

you hum in response before wrapping your arms around his body pulling him closer to you. with every subsequent thrust, you feel yourself unraveling around him, his hands exploring the contours of your body. your moans echo through the room and for the first time that night you’re so grateful to the universe that the music from the party downstairs is so loud that you can barely hear yourself think.

yeonjun accelerates his thrusts, his movements becoming less steady by the second. as he inches closer to his climax, he hides his face in the crook of your neck, nibbling on your ear occasionally. his eyes cloud over and his hips begin to stutter. your eyes flutter closed as you feel him pumping his load deep inside you.

yeonjun gently retreives and damp cloth and quickly cleans you up. once he finishes, he joins you in bed, the warmth of his presence settling beside you again.

“i’m not opposed to the idea of being your girlfriend,” you begin after a while, breaking the silence that had settled in the room.

“but?”

“but, you have to make up your mind about what you want.”

“i know what i want,” he assures, tracing patterns on your skin with his fingertips.

you take a deep breath before continuing, “if you want me to be your girlfriend, you can’t just say it in the heat of the moment.”

his gaze meets yours, and there’s a sincerity in his eyes that wasn’t there before. “i know, i get it, y/n.” the two of you lie in silence for another moment. “i really do like you, y/n. it’s not just something i say in the heat of the moment,” he admits. “i guess i’ve just been trying to figure out how to say it properly.”

“i do like you too.” you confess to him. “why do you think i came to this stupid party?” the room feels warmer as you admit your feelings, and yeonjun’s eyes light up with joy. he leans in, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

“but you still have to apologize to taehyun.” you remind him, gently pulling away from his arms.

“oh, he’ll be fine.” he chuckles, his fingers brushing through your hair.

“i’m serious,” you shoot him a playful scowl. his laughter resonates throughout the room, yet he relents. satisfied, you settle back into his embrace, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you. the sounds of the distant party below serves as a reminder of a world outside, but in this moment it’s just the two of you.

taglist: @boba-beom @dearlyjun @atinyniki @isabellah29 @wiisoob

fill out this form to join my taglist! author's note :: this was inspired by my txt as ariana grande songs post from way back when!! this is the literal fic version of yeonjun's part

[perlukafarinn]

Usually when Claire works the closing shift at Rocky's, she and Dean will wind down with a couple of beers at the end of the night. It's a nice little ritual Claire looks forward to every time she comes around, though she'd never admit as much out loud.

Tonight, Dean has mixed up a batch of one of his specialty cocktails - The Queen of Moondoor. It's bright, a sort of red-orange color, and has a sweet and sour taste that makes Claire's jaw ache.

"Do you like it?" Dean asks, like Claire's opinion really matters.

She nods. "It's good."

She's not lying. Dean isn't really a cocktails kind of guy but he's put a lot of effort into every detail of Rocky's. From the various pride flags carefully hung behind the bar, to the salt painted into the windowsills, every inch of the place is meticulously planned out. Rocky's isn't officially a hunter's bar - though it is explicitly a gay bar - but it's become an unofficial gathering place of queer hunters across the continental US.

Even the cocktails on the menu are Dean's own invention. All of them have a backstory, some of which Claire isn't privy to. She knows enough to understand why the Queen of Moondoor is Dean's personal favorite, though.

It also packs a surprising punch. Two drinks in, and Claire already feels herself tilting from tipsy into full-on drunk. She slows down her pace.

"How long are you planning on sticking around now?" Dean asks, because free booze is never just free booze with him. There's always the interrogation. He's almost as much of a mom as Jody is.

"A few days," Claire answers vaguely. "Maybe longer, who knows. I don't have any hunts lined up right now and you pay pretty well."

She knows for a fact he pays her double what he does his other bartenders. Neither one of them ever mentions it, though.

"Weren't you heading back to Jody's?"

Claire shrugs, uncomfortable. She had been, before last night's call with Kaia. They're good most days, even with the strain of Claire being on the road half the time, but sometimes when they talk, they'll hit on a sore topic for one of them and things will get stilted.

The anniversary of Mom's death is coming up in a couple of weeks. Kaia wanted to join Claire for her visit to the cemetery.

"What's on your mind, Strawberry Shortcake?"

Claire is supposed to roll her eyes now. Tell Dean to fuck off and mind his own business.

She doesn't really want to do that. But she doesn't know how to explain to Dean what she's feeling, either.

"It's stupid," she says. "I'm being dramatic."

"You? Never."

Claire scoffs, and Dean's eyes soften.

"You can talk to me, you know."

"Yeah," Claire says, because she does. He gets her, weirdly enough. They get each other. It probably doesn't say great things about either of them. "I just... I feel like I'm making up problems."

Dean takes a sip of his drink. It's difficult to look dignified, drinking out of a straw, and he does not remotely manage it. "Let me be the judge of that."

"Kaia wants-" Claire stops herself, because that's not the point of it. "I - we're good. Me and Kaia. I don't feel ashamed about it."

Dean waits for her continue.

"I'm a lesbian," Claire adds, even though, duh.

"Congrats," Dean says, and it feels like it could be sarcastic but it's not. He means it.

"I don't think -" no, that's not right. "I know my parents wouldn't be okay with that."

The statement lands heavily between them. It feels bitter on Claire's tongue, an ugly truth held at bay for far too long. She feels awful saying it, like she's failing her parents. Speaking ill of the dead. But it's the truth.

Mom and Dad would make these... comments. And Claire remembers each one with perfect clarity, because she's known something was different about her for a very long time. She knew those comments were aimed at her, even if her parents didn't.

They were wonderful parents in every other aspect. Up until they abandoned her, that is. Claire still can't help but feel like she's failing them, sometimes, being who she is.

"They might have changed their minds," Dean offers. "If they'd known. It's different when it's your own kid."

Claire eyes him, curious. "Was it different for your parents?"

Something crosses over Dean's expression, too quickly for Claire to catch it.

"No," he admits after a beat. He runs his hand over his face. "Maybe - Mom might have been fine with it. She didn't know."

Claire swallows. "But your dad did. And it wasn't different."

She feels cruel, pushing the topic. But there's some perverse part of her that needs the confirmation. Dean reminds her of herself, in a lot of ways. He'd say it was the other way around. If he experienced the rejection that Claire feared as a kid, the one that still scares her even if it's purely theoretical now, then that proves something.

"It wasn't," Dean admits. "But Jimmy Novak was no John Winchester."

Claire's chest aches. There's some hollow triumph at the abstract confirmation of her worst fears. Mostly, she just feels like shit.

"For what it's worth," Dean adds, "I think you're perfect. No notes."

Embarrassingly, Claire's lower lip wobbles. She clears her throat, looking off to the side as she tries to regain her composure.

"You think you're my dad or something?" she asks, voice rough.

Dean shrugs, looking embarrassed himself. "I kind of think of you as my kid, yeah. If that's okay."

Claire crosses her arms, feeling warm and aching and off-kilter. "I - yeah. Yeah, that's fine."

[rainrot4me]

Pretty Girl

Summary: The bar was Nina’s scene, her favorite place to be with you by her side. But when some creep tries to extract revenge in the middle of a crowd, you’re both forced to do what you do best. But when confidence falters, you have to show just how worthless guys like that can be.

Characters: Nina the Killer x Female Reader

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Alcohol, creepy guy, mentions of a gun, violence, harassment, depictions of death, murder, they have sex in the same room as a dead body, sex in a bathroom, public sex, vaginal fingering, vaginal eating out, scissoring

Words: 5.7k

Nina felt the most comfortable in a crowd.

Every creep had their own preferred environment: Jeff enjoyed the tight alleyways in dark streets, Toby and EJ liked the dense woods right before sunset, Masky and Hoodie felt the most comfortable in abandoned warehouses or dead buildings, and Slender felt the most at ease in his own mansion. Nina wasn’t any different, and neither were you.

When the two of you paired, the one place you always wound up was a dingy bar or way-too-loud club off the highway. They were always shrouded in darkness and colorful lights, packed to the brim with people of all shapes and features, nobody could ever tell you two looked different. Or at least they weren’t sober enough to. But you both preferred it that way.

Nina was a socializer for sure, caking on good amounts of makeup to disguise her smiling scars so the guys she talked to wouldn’t notice, acting giddy enough to get them to buy her a drink. You sat at the high-top table she had snagged, sipping slowly on your beer as you watched her, ensuring none of the guys got too handsy or pushy. While Nina enjoyed being in the crowd, you preferred to just watch it, surveying the drunks and their poor dates being left for the cute little killer. She stood out, that’s for sure. The bright rainbow lights accentuated her dyed hair, making her eyeshadow and hair clips look even more neon than they already were. She just looked right at home here, almost blending in with the smoke fogging the room.

“This guy got us some pineapple vodkas!” Her flushed face smiled at you, hauling up onto the stool perched in the corner of the dark club, sweaty bangs being pushed out of the way. Setting the tiny glasses on the table, you swirled them around, giving the liquid a small sniff before deeming the alcohol good enough to drink. “Havin’ fun?” You half-yelled over the blaring music, Nina leaning forward to read your lips. She nodded quickly, sipping the drink before cringing at the sour taste of the vodka and quickly setting it back down. She was more of a seltzer girl anyway. “Yeah! Real busy tonight, I don’t recognize any of the guys here!” Even though you frequented the same hotspots, it was unusual to see the same person twice. These bars were always off some random interstate exit with only those passing through interested enough to stop. Wasn’t much else in this town.

Nina pushed her drink towards you and you gladly accepted, smiling as she hopped down to the concrete floor and disappeared back into the crowd of sweaty nobodies. You decided your beer was more enjoyable, finishing off the freebies and swigging the stout alcohol down. The bar was littered wall to wall with trashy posters and signatures of singers you had never heard of, the loud music thumping in your ear as the lights flashed in your eyes. Even though it was overstimulating, you loved the feeling of just getting to exist in the crowd, accompanied by your favorite person.

Now, Nina and you weren’t anything serious. Sure, you shared drunken kisses and wrapped around her just a little too tight when she slept over, but it was just love for your closest friend. Despite her being an adult and fully capable of taking care of herself, you always felt called to watch over her and make sure nothing happened when she wasn’t looking. She was crafty with a knife, easily able to take down everyone in this room if she wanted, but to you, she was just a pretty, sweet girl in need of your protection. This stood evident now.

Her giddy expression pulled through the crowd towards you, your back already straightened as she stumbled to your side, wrapping her arms into yours. “Come dance, already! You just keep sitting here!” She laughed, tugging your jacket sleeve off of the stool and into the crowd, your half-empty beer still firm in hand as you playfully rolled your eyes. “I’m not much of a dancer, Nina…” You smiled, letting her hands intertwine in yours as she began to bounce along with the rhythm, her energy contagious. “Yeah, but you can try!” She teased back, tugging your arm over her shoulder as she sunk into your side, pushing your hips against hers as she giggled. The music thumped loudly, feeling the base under your feet as people pressed against you, shoving you two closer. You let her lead, jumping when she did and swaying to the rhythm, slowly sipping on your drink and trying your hardest not to spill it when she suddenly turned you around.

You laughed along with her, enjoying being in her presence, this small little moment in this big room, just you and her. Until she gripped the back of your shirt, holding tightly as her swaying stopped. You looked at her, confused as to why her excitement seemed to fade, following her eyes up.

A larger man had his phone held out, scrolling onto something as he stared at Nina, eyes glaring. Nina pressed closer to your side, looking towards the floor to avoid his gaze as you just stared back, wondering what the hell he even wanted.

“Hey, I know you.” The man shouted over the music just enough for you both to hear. You glanced at the girl beside you, letting your arm rest on her shoulders as you tried to figure out who he was and why he had his phone pressed in your faces. He was much taller than either one of you, dark hair and a stern look that felt like trouble. You had to find an out before he got to looking too close. “I don’t think so, man.” You returned, taking a step backward and pulling Nina along with you. But the man just shook his head, turning his phone towards you as you finally caught what he was scrolling to. This guy was sober, or at least, sober enough to recognize you two in the dark.

It was an older picture, a couple of years ago maybe. The shot was blurry and bright from the flash, but you could tell exactly what it was. You and Nina cringed, looking at a picture of yourselves in the middle of a mission mid-stab on some guy. Blood-soaked and crazy-eyed, your glares shot right into the camera, your faces disheveled. Your blood ran cold as you saw yourself half-crazy, already taking a step toward the person behind the phone. You couldn’t recall what you were doing it for, but it was very clearly the younger two of you. Looking back up at the man, his expression was more upset now, confirming his suspicion from your reactions and closing the space. You pushed Nina back, sliding your jacket off of your hip to show the revolver you had holstered to your belt, the man planting in front of you as Nina tugged at your sleeve.

“Found this on my buddy’s phone after he was killed. Filed reports, nothin’ ever came up. Guess the universe just wanted me to get to you myself.” He scoffed, leaning in towards your face and spitting his words, closing the distance no matter how much you backed up. The crowd pulsed inwards, pushing you closer as your headache grew from the music. You had to get you both out of there. This guy was insane, his demeanor switching on a dime, full intentions on acting some revenge he thought he was owed.

That’s when you remembered the beer bottle still clutched in your fist, flipping the glass over and hauling it upwards. Only a few members of the crowd noticed as you swung it up into his chin, the bottle shattering and cutting into his jaw. The man rears back, gripping his already bloody face. “C’mon!” You shouted at Nina, grabbing her hand and pushing through the patrons oblivious to your panic. Breathing heavily, you shoved your way to the bathroom, miscalculating which way the exit was and landing yourselves in a deeper part of the bar, swearing as you made it through the swinging door.

Nina followed in as you slammed it shut, turning the small lock and pushing her into a disgusting stall. The bathroom wasn’t any brighter than the bar, flickering linoleum lights shining just enough to see in front of you but doing little to hide the amount of trash and filth there was in there. Graffiti lined the walls, your pants loud as the music muffled in the other room. You had no clue if that guy had seen you come in here, but you shoved the stall door shut just in case, locking it as well and trying to push Nina back further. “[Y/N]...” She whined, her hands on your shoulders as she was crammed beside the toilet, pressing her into the corner as you both stared at each other. “Who the hell was that?” She gasped.

“Friend of some guy we killed, I guess. He has a photo.” You cursed as you heard sudden knocks against the door, and then the knocks turned to pounding. Nina gripped your shoulders tighter, her free hand tugging up her skirt to grip the knife she had holstered to her thigh, the weapon concealed. You reached for your gun too, cocking it as you pressed your back against her, shielding her from the threat that was coming.

Very obviously, Nina could hold her own. She was tough, a little demon when she needed to be. But your instincts overrode her own, some primal protective thing that made you throw yourself out in front, willing to take anything for her sake. “Just stay put.” You grit back, reaching to grip her thigh and rub your thumb gently across for comfort, your body tense as you hear the bathroom door finally slam hard enough to open, the door ricocheting off the concrete walls.

“Where the fuck are ‘ya?!” The man shouts, his voice loud as the muffled music becomes audible again, footsteps heavy against the tiled floor. You grit, pressing your shoulders back harder as you point your gun up, aiming through the closed stall door ready to shoot. Broken bottles and trash crunch under his shoes as the haze of smoke from the bar wafts through the open door, your senses overloaded as you breathe heavily, trying to stay concealed. “Fuckin’ whores.” He snaps again, tossing open a stall a little ways down and cursing when he finds nothing. You can see his boots stomping closer under the door, Nina panting behind you as she watches too, trying to hold her breath.

Another stall door slams open, closer this time. “I’m gonna fuck you both up. Little shits, show you who you’re fuckin’ dealin’ with. Show you what you deserve.” He growled, stepping in front of the stall you two were crammed in. Nina held her breath, clutching your shoulders so tight it began to sting, but you just held steady, pointing the barrel right where his head would be.

As his body slams into the door you scowl, finger heavy on the trigger. His chin was sliced up, blood still gushing down his neck and soaking his shirt, the shattered glass making deep gashes into his flesh. He was breathing heavily, fist clenched around the broken bottle you had hit him with, pointing it towards you. “Gah, you’re both fuckin’ freaks, too.” He spat, wiping his shirt sleeve across his chin and hissing at the burn, glaring at you. “This is what you get you fuckin’ demon.” He snapped, pressing forward. Gritting your teeth, you pulled the trigger, his stance shifting suddenly as he charged you and left the bullet to graze his shoulder.

“Fuck!” He roared, hauling back to grip the now torn clothing that was spurting dark blood, hunching over as you pressed off of Nina. You had a pretty nice silencer equipped onto your revolver, it was necessary for the work you did, especially now. Sure it made the weapon bulky and hard to sway, but it was worth it to drown out the noise with the music still thumping on the other side of the walls. “Move!” You hissed, toeing forward to push Nina in front of you, shoving her past the man and towards the door in a scurry. You followed, barely making it two paces before you were jerked back by your hair, his bloodied fist clamped into the strands.

“You bitch.” He panted, tugging you back towards him as he gripped the bottle, clicking his tongue in your ear. Nina turned, steady movements as she watched, trying not to make him react if she pressed too close. You panted, reaching back to grip his fist tangled in your hair but he only pulled you closer, wrapping his arm around your neck. Pressing the shattered bottle to your cheek, you stilled, breath catching in your throat as he nicked your skin and smiled. “Maybe I’ll make you look like her? Carve some ugly-ass scars into your cheeks too, huh?” He snickered, gritting his teeth against your ear. This guy was so much larger than you, his arm taking up your entire neck as he choked you, threatening by pressing the glass at more of an angle. Nina cursed, you both at a standstill as she let her knife rest back into the holster around her thigh, her eyes focused on his movements. “Let her go. I’m the one who killed your friend, she doesn’t deserve this.” She grits, raising her hands to either side of her head in surrender, breathing steady. He only snagged you tighter, growling. “Neither did he, but you cut him up anyway. I think it’s only fair I take yours too, yeah?” You choked as he clamped his arm in, pressing the glass until it cut into your cheek, hissing as you tried to pull back. Hauling your knee up, you slammed your boot back into his knee, a curse ringing from his lips as he hauled you around.

Nina took the chance, brushing her skirt out of the way to grip the handle of her knife, closing in faster than you could see. It took no time before you felt that arm unwrap from your throat, the big guy being hauled back as Nina’s body jumped onto his, hooking her legs around his torso and latching on, her thin frame hooking around every limb as she gripped his jaw, turning his head to the side with a snap. Her knife flashed up, your disheveled breathing distracting you as you watched the blade cut into the skin of his throat, tugging the skin until it sliced open, warm blood splurting out. Nina hauled herself up, swinging her leg over his shoulder to get a better angle as she cut deeper, wrapping her fingers into his hair and forcing his neck open, making sure to catch his esophagus, cutting off his scream before it even had the chance to come out. He was sputtering blood across his lips, hands reaching to paw at Nina’s clothes as he kneeled, coughing for air.

Unhooking her legs, she let her feet hit the floor, stepping back as he clattered onto the concrete. With a few final chokes and blood pooling underneath, Nina gripped your arms, hauling you up as she checked you for any injuries. “You alright?” She smiled, swiping her thumb across the tiny prick the glass had made into your cheek, rubbing your cheeks. You nodded, still out of breath as you looked down at the lifeless body that was still jerking from the aftershock, kicking at his limp legs. “Go to sleep, motherfucker.” Nina groaned, bending down to wipe her blade with his sleeve, cleaning the metal, and repositioning it back into her holster. You did the same with your gun. Stepping over him, she stepped to the door, locked the bolt, and stepped back to your side to survey her work. “We gotta clean this up.” You groaned, letting her hand intertwine with yours as she leaned close. Nodding, you both sighed.

-

Locking the bathroom stall door, Nina climbed back under the opening at the bottom, wiping her knees off as she turned to you. There was no telling how many paper towels you had used to get most of the blood-soaked off the floor, but there were still noticeable stains in the tiles. In a bathroom this dark, who could really tell anyway? You had propped this guy up on the toilet, locking him in so someone would find him at a later date, unaware of the horror inside. There was still no telling who he was or why he had thought himself a personal savior of his long-dead friend, but the two of you brushed it off, stepping to the sink to clean yourselves up.

Blood sunk into the drain, your hands feeling less grimy as you looked over to Nina, her expression locked onto herself in the mirror. She was prodding at her scars, pushing her cheeks together and apart, watching the tissue separate as the insides of her mouth became visible. You dried your hands, leaning back to catch her view. “You good?” You teased, elbowing her as she snapped back, smiling and nodding. “Yeah. Just thinkin’.” But her gaze kept catching back to the mirror, looking at her mouth. You elbowed her again, giving a more serious look as she groaned.

“Am I really, like… that ugly?” She shied away, looking towards the floor as you groaned, sliding your hands down her arms to grip her hands, squeezing tight. “Nina. That guy doesn’t know wha-” She cut you off, shaking her head and pushing back, tensing. “No, I’m being serious. Like, I know these were for Jeff and everything, but no one but him even likes them…” You scoffed, leaning down to meet her eyes, eyebrows raised in offense. “I like them!” It was awkward now, nothing you could say would bring her back from this hole she was digging herself. She just looked so defeated.

“Nina. You are the most beautiful girl ever, and if some asshole with a savior complex is going to let you get all down on yourself, then you have seriously got to re-evaluate.” You grit, reaching your hands to cup her cheeks, running your thumbs across the healed scars, her actual smile spreading slowly. “Thank you…” She quietly smiled, letting her hands grip your sleeves as she looked at you, gazing slowly from your eyes and across your features, landing on your lips. You then realized you hadn’t let go of her face, suddenly very aware as you tried to think of something to say. It all got lost when you realized she was leaning in.

You followed, eyes hooded as you watched her eyes close, fingers sliding up your shoulders and wrapping behind your neck. It was brief, but you pecked the other, disconnecting as you breathed each other’s air slowly, contemplating.

But Nina pressed forward again, letting her lips spread across yours as you groaned, wrapping your arms around her waist. It was slow, desperate movements that had your heads turning in rhythm, kissing so gently but so hard as you both panted. “[Y/N]...” The killer breathed against your lips, letting her hands tangle up into the back of your hair as she pushed further, her tongue sliding against your bottom lip. You groaned, pushing yours into her mouth and sighing at the feeling, the sweet kisses turning heated way too quickly. You both clawed, palming at the other until you were dizzy, clinging for more.

You pulled back first, lips wet with her spit as you panted, gazing into her eyes. She was so pretty, you really did think so. Pretty and insanely dangerous, perfect in her little way.

You pressed back, missing her mouth to kiss against her scars, humming as she gasped. “So pretty…” You smiled, planting another kiss at the jagged corner where the tear ended, letting your hands run along her waist. She was blushing pretty badly, tugging at the back of your shirt and giggling at every press of your lips, her smile growing. You giggled, letting yourself pull back to face her again, hugging her close. “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world, Nina. No matter what you think.” Her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes caught in the flickering ceiling lights, casting a nice glow on her cute face.

Her hands tugged you closer, pressing her lips against your cheeks and down your jaw, planting onto your neck. You gasped, her hands hooked around your waist as you pushed against her shoulders, confused. “Nina? What’re yo-”

“Let me thank you.” She smiled, sucking gently onto your skin, tugging your jacket down your arm, and pulling your shirt to expose your shoulder, peppering the skin with gentle kisses. You blushed, her actions throwing you off, her eagerness unclear. “Thank me? For what?” You groaned as she nibbled into your skin, the area reddening as she kissed again, moving back up to your jaw. “For being so brave… For being so sweet…” She slid your jacket off of your shoulders.

“For being so kind… For being so strong…” Her hands pressed up into your shirt now, your skin riddled with chills as her nails grazed your skin, your jacket now pooled onto the floor. “Nina…” You whined, hands planted onto her shoulders as she pushed up further, letting her hands palm against your bra. Gasping, you looked at her, the mischievous expression lacing her smile easing you back against the wall as she tugged your shirt over your head.

It was cold in this bathroom, her warm hands rubbing against your arms, lacing down to your belt. “Nina.” You warned now, watching as she slowly sunk to her knees, your eyes going wide as you leaned back into the concrete wall, hands planted behind you. “For being so pretty… For being so loving…” Her hands tugged at your belt now, unlooping the mechanism and tugging the leather out from between the loops, careful to lay your holster down carefully as she returned to your jeans. You could only stare as she ran her palms against your thighs, leaning forward to kiss your lower abdomen, planting kisses every couple of inches until she was at your crotch, mouthing at the area. “Let me thank you, okay?” She smiled sweetly, her words full of thick desperation. You couldn’t stop yourself from nodding, lips parting as you watched her slowly unbutton your jeans, tugging them down your shaky thighs.

You were already wet, panties bright in the dark bathroom as the music continued to thump outside, the patrons oblivious to what had happened in here. Or what was happening now. Nina kissed against the cloth, her hands palming at your thighs as you gasped, shoulder blades pressed back into the concrete as your hips angled, desperate for her to move those kisses downwards. “Nina…” You whined, nails digging into your fists as she looped her fingers into the waistband of your panties, ever so slowly tugging them down, pushing past your knees. She smiled at the view, kissing her way closer again.

You died at the anticipation, legs spreading as she kissed right at the crook of your thigh, lips grazing your soft cunt. You hissed, letting one hand come off of the wall to wrap behind her head, cupping her jaw as she smiled up at you, finally pressing in.

Your head fell back against the wall as her tongue slid through the folds of your cunt, spreading you around the muscle and driving your hips forward to chase the sensation. “Fuck-” You groaned, hand gripping her jaw as she rolled her tongue up, pressing against your clit and stimulating it to life. “You taste good, too…” She giggled, letting her nails clench into your thighs as she slid back in, pushing her tongue across your folds. You gasped, jaw loose as you watched, her mouth sucking and lapping at the arousal that was spreading, your cunt already aching. She pushed up, letting the muscle press against your entrance, your hips pushing forward as she slid in. You moaned, both hands lacing into her hair as she slowly rolled her tongue, collecting every lovely taste that poured from your cunt until she was moaning too, the vibration overwhelming.

“Oh god…” You moaned, hugging her head closer between your thighs as she grinned into your folds, her lips becoming soaked with your juices and her own saliva. Probing her tongue, she slowly tugged it out, your groan soon cut off as she found a new home latched onto your clit. You whined, her tongue flicking at the sensitive nub as she sucked, your hips jerking with her. “Yeah, oh fuck, yeah-” You gasped into it as you felt her hand trail off of your thigh and up towards your cunt, her fingers sliding through the wetness she had created and pushing your folds apart. They slowly circled your entrance, her tongue flat against your clit as she pushed two digits up, curling them immediately.

Gasping, you lurched forward, your fingers tight in the strands of her hair as she began to slowly pump her fingers, dragging louder moans from your lips. The bass echoed through the walls, Nina feeling the vibrations under her knees as she worked, desperate to make you feel good. Her fingers pressed against your walls, angled to push your insides and make you whine, the sensitivity a wonderful feeling. You rolled your hips in time, her tongue focused on your aching clit as she sucked, arousal soaking her fingers the deeper she went. You were falling apart, eyes half open and voice tired as she drew you closer, every movement a step closer to driving you mad. The worst part: she looked so pretty between your legs.

“Keep going…” You mewled, gritting your teeth as you let your hips grind in time with her fingers, dragging each sensation out as she smiled, popping off of your clit. “Cum for me, love… There you go…” She teased, eyes wide as she looked into your eyes, her doe eyes making you moan as she reconnected with your clit, keeping her gaze steady. You blinked quickly, eyes slowly beginning to roll as you felt your cunt clench down, your abdomen swelling as you cried out, her fingers driving you past your limit. “Nina-” You grit, cumming on her fingers as your hips pressed down, dragging out the stretch the best you could as she lapped at your orgasm, tongue pressing around her fingers and relishing in the sweet taste. Her fingers tugged out of your cunt as you panted, popping the digits into her mouth and smiling. “Thank you.” You rolled your eyes.

Regaining your breath, you stood straight, Nina still perched between your knees as you kicked off your pants, sliding them to the side as you hauled her up to her feet. With her fingers still latched in her mouth, you turned her back towards the wall, pressing her back and quickly pushing your hands up her shirt, tugging at her tits. “My turn, sweet girl.” She giggled, hands wrapping around your neck as she melted into your touch. Her panties were next, reaching under her skirt to tug the lacy fabric down, kicking them off as you pressed between her legs.

Nudging your knee in, you planted your hands onto her hips, pushing her down until her wet cunt made contact with your thigh. She gasped, fingers gripped into your shoulders as she began to rock her hips, grinding herself down onto your leg and nudging her clit, her gasps so sweet. You kissed her cheeks, letting you guide her to get herself off on your thigh, hips desperately jittering as her arousal soaked your skin. “You gonna cum like this?” You teased, pushing her down harder and digging your nails into her skin, her answering whine enough to make you wet again. “I know you can…” You grinned, tugging her off of the wall and turning her around, her chest pressed against the concrete as you repositioned your knee, pushing your leg up to meet her cunt again.

She immediately began to thrust her hips, grinding her hips back against the sensation as she arched, digging her nails into the concrete. “[Y/N]...” She mewled, your hands pressing her skirt up to grip her ass, the view stunning as you watched her arousal spread across your thigh, her movements getting faster. “Come on, Nina…” You teased behind her, the indents of your nails appearing on her ass, little red marks contrasting against her pale skin. Reaching around her hip, you pressed your fingers to her clit, swiping the bud until she was whining and leaning back against your chest. “Oh, fuck…” She smiled, reaching behind to wrap around your neck, stuttering her hips in time with your fingers, chasing her orgasm that was quickly approaching. You let your fingers dip into her cunt, pushing past her clenched entrance and stretching her, her orgasm quickly following.

She clamped down around the digits, hips jerking up off of your thigh to chase the feeling, grinding her clit against your palm. You smiled, her whines and moans fluttering to your clit again as you rubbed yourself, fingers swiping across your clit as Nina panted against your chest. Turning back around, she chased your touch, tangling her fingers into your hair as she smashed her lips to yours, her body sinking down the wall to the floor. “I need you, love…” She mewled, reaching down to tug your hips closer, thighs spreading. You smiled against her lips, desperate tongues swiping against lips as you cupped a hand under her knee, pushing it back.

Her legs stretched, knee pressing back to her ribs as she held her leg, spreading her cunt wide for you to see as she sunk into the wall, contorting for you to climb on top of her. You pressed in, wrapping your legs intertwined, gripping her shoulder as you rolled your cunt against her, clits grazing. She moaned, leaning in to latch her lips with yours again, rolling her hips as your folds slipped between the other, arousal damp. The floor was cold, goosebumps riding up your bodies as you moved, desperately trying to sink your cunts in closer.

Her face was dark, the flush of her cheeks desperate as she jerked her hips, chasing the post-orgasmic feeling until you were panting into her mouth, biting her lip. “So good at taking me, yeah? Such a pretty girl when she’s falling apart on my cunt…” You teased, her lids heavy as your clits fluttered, folds soaked as they slid, thighs shaking. She blushed deeply, dragging her lip from your teeth to plant kisses across your neck again, fully jerking into you as you sped up, grinding her cunt down against your own as she reached up to grip the sink counter. “Faster-” She breathed, panting against your skin, sweat dripping down your brows.

Obliging, you angled differently, clits catching sideways now and drawing even louder moans from her lips. “Nina…” You groaned, legs getting tired as you stretched, determination and arousal driving you both as you clawed at the other, hips stuttering. “Feels so good…” She smiled, her mouth finding its way back to yours as you breathed deep, letting her kiss swallow you as you felt your cunt clench, clits grinding statically against the other.

Gripping your shoulder, Nina began to sit up, pushing you down to the tiles as she climbed on top. You smiled, her arms wrapping around your leg and holding close to her chest, arching her back to sink down again. “Gonna cum…” She whined, slowly sliding her hips back and forth, arousal spreading across your folds and making you jerk, moaning. She was antsy now, clawing at your thigh and digging her knees into the ground, redness blotting her skin. You watched, sweaty and exhausted but so willing to keep going. “C’mon hun, c’mon…” You groaned, reaching to wrap your fingers into hers and angle your hips up, clits bumping and jerking against the friction of your movements.

Gazing at you, she hissed, rutting down until she lost eye contact, pupils rolling back as she came, biting into her lips while her nails dug into your skin, clawing. Muffled moans echoed against the concrete walls as you did the same, hips locking in place as you rode out the feeling, cunts soaking and dripping down the other’s thighs and onto the floor.

Gasping, you both held the other close, insides rippling with your orgasms and exhaustion, chests heaving. You panted against one another, hugging whatever you could touch close and just breathing the moment. Leaning forward, you swiped her colorful bangs out of her face, her pale skin patchy with redness as she smiled at you. “Still pretty.” You grinned, and her smile answered enough.

Dragging your clothes back on, it was impossible not to wrap your arms around each other as you sauntered through the bar. The stench in the little bathroom was already getting bad with rot, but that was someone else’s problem now. You would never be able to tell the killer was this cute girl with rainbow clips in her hair and loud makeup slightly smeared across her eyelids. The crowd had dwindled, the lateness of the night getting to you both as you pushed through the still-present crowd, holding hot bodies close.

Even as she climbed into the passenger seat of your car, pushing your hand away from the wheel and climbing onto your side, straddling your lap, you still thought she was so pretty. Her hand reached to the side of your seat, pushing the lever to lay your seat back, your hands already pushing up into her shirt as she giggled, unbuttoning your jeans again.

The prettiest.

This was an anonymous request!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

Thank you to my wonderful editors, @h3llw1 and @solarbites!

[baddywronglegs]

You hear quite often that humans liking spicy food is weird:

Spicy food evolved to discourage mammals from eating it, because we chew up the seeds so mammals are bad at spreading more plants so our shit isn't worth shit to them - birds, who are famously bad at chewing so can shit out a perfectly intact chilli seed, aren't affected, but to mammals it tricks heat receptors into thinking a Bad Heat is happening.

But then along came humans who go "You know what, put that pain in me, I want to be hurt on the way in and the way out" but this is also the species really reliant on cooking so I guess it makes sense that we'd have less aversion to something in our mouth appearing hot.

But bitterness? That's weird.

So how you taste the primary tastes is a reall loose categorisation done on what simple chemistry your tongue can manage:

Sweet is things your mouth thinks are sugars. Sugars mean quick energy, and body like quick energy so its reaction to them is "yum".

Sour means it's acidic, that's literally just tasting hydrogen ions which are what make acids acids (mostly anyway but you don't want to taste any that are acidic any other way). Sour can mean "This fruit has gone from having sugar in it to having bad in it" so it's a not-great taste.

Umami is protein taste for the most part, and we need that to make more body, so yeah generally positive response.

Salty is salt. That's pretty much all I have for you there. It's your body looking out for sodium ions it needs *some of*. So it's pleasant in a modicum but your mouth has a way of telling you that's too much salt. Some people like their mouth telling them it's too much salt. It's not a perfect system.

And then there's bitterness. Bitterness is really vague, lots tastes bitter, because it's a really scattergun sense to detect poison.

That's literally all bitterness is to detect. Poison. It's your mouth telling you not to eat this.

Humans... Do not care. We name drinks after this taste, voluntarily buy and drink them. We cultivate plants for this taste. Hmm, this gin could do with tasting more like poison. What's your favourite kind of beer? Going-off fruit taste? Oh, mine's tastes-like-poison.

I'm not saying everything that tastes bitter is poison. But I am saying the most bitter thing known to man is strychnine. And the Victorians were so obsessed with the idea that if a sensation is unpleasant it must be good for you led to them trying strychnine as an anti-malarial.

It had some success, as it doesn't take much strychnine to guarantee you don't die of malaria.

[themotherofblood]

put it on me | d.t x reader x r.t | vampire au | bloody baby au

an: heyyy ya’ll missed me? had a tove lo song stuck in my head it’s talking body.

synopsis: baby knows she has been made to forget, she knows they are pretending to, everything is alright but is it?

warning: overconsumption of alcohol, compelling, argument.

You were dead sure something was off, like visually not a hair out of place but you just knew, like a nagging intuition burning holes into your stomach. Though it could have been the last shot oqf tequila you took.

They let you off the fucking island, it made no sense. What four months of playing a captured princess and out of nowhere “Go birdie go fly and be free.” something was off it was sour milk in your mouth. One could even say it was because you were touch deprived, but the more shocking detail to take note of was the lack of puncture marks in your body. This wasn’t some insecurity bullshit again, this was them hovering over you from the balconies watching you dance with you friends and not lifting a finger to feel you up.

Absurd isn't it?

Something happened, you can only feel it in your dreams, something deeply wrong— something that you were not supposed to see but you hadn't been compelled, at least you think you weren’t. You simply woke up in their bed three weeks and they’ve pretended like you would break from a single touch, and they watch you—constantly. When you eat, when you read on the lawn and sometimes you could swear they watch you sleep.

This uneasiness was tearing at you, were they done with you? Their own martial relations seemed to be a little too close, they always were but you never felt left out but now you did, you felt nervous even to walk up to Rhaenyra for a hug in the morning. And now this.

A taste of caged freedom. Freedom.

Who knew you'd grow so fond of the cage that housed you, a golden stone castle far from any life you’ve ever seen? Yet here you were now, at a cheap club your friends and you had graced every weekend after working on your thesis to chug fireballs and vodka.

Freedom? That's what the wanted you to feel, to help you transition back to your mortal life. Well then, a taste of it should have been fair for all. So you didn't hesitate after pulling another bill from your bra and ordering another round for your girlfriends. You loved them, you missed them, but right now your sense of celebration wasn't for them. As the bitter liquid burned at your throat, you shot daggers at the balconies again and disappeared into the crowd.

Deep in the sea of sweaty bodies jumping with no care in the world, thick into where the intentions of every one were similar, “We’re free game” You didn't care who touched you, just as way before when you didn't. You never know the person, hell you couldn't even make out their face from the lights but you felt the hands, the grinding.

It did feel freeing, compelled or not, you could do it— slip further into the crowd and just slip out of this dingy club. Disappear with the money and ID tucked into the lining of your bra, they won't find you. Strom City was far too vast to find a little scorned soul nearing the bottom of the bottle. You closed your eyes and just felt the music and the alcohol making you feel weightless, you lifted your hands into your hair to cook the back of your neck as you continued to sway, a stranger’s beer can pressed to the back of it. You smiled at your friends dancing, reaching for the coolers in one of their hands and took a big swig. You could feel the bile at the back of your throat, but you knew you'd been fine if you just kept dancing.

You could still feel hands on you and yet no faces, it wasn't until you turned that you could finally register faces— or well a face.

Daemon stood still amongst the dancing crowd, arms crossed and neck just slightly titled. Silently questioning as to the fuck were you up to.

You didn't stop, looking right at him you kept dancing when the beat dropped stealing the last of your friend’s drink. Hips swaying and still holding your wild hair so you don't overheat, you knew you were playing with fire. What's the worst that could happen? They’d drain you of all blood until there was no life left in you? You’d come to terms with that possibility months ago.

You could feel him nearing, shrugging off the mortal bodies coming in contact with him. You could hear your friends giggling as she reached for your hand and yanked you through the crowd.

“What the fuck were you thinking,” Daemon said, looking very visually irked as he sat comfortably on the hotel couch.

Rhaenyra had barely anything to say but she was angry, you could see it. A conflicted hurt. The rules were clear, they were crystal and you'd broken them.

You scoffed sipping on the glass of water you were forced to drink as you leaned against the bathroom door, still heeled and dizzy. You couldn't digest their discontent when they were ones playing games with you.

“We have very simple rule-”

“Oh fuck your rules!” you cut him off

“It's just bodies isn't it,” you said holding in a hiccup “We are just bodies.”

Rhaenyra opened her mouth but you raised your finger to stop her, stumbling of the bathroom door and walking to the middle of the room.

“How many? How many girls? How many men? I mean fuck!” you shook your head stumbling a bit.

They entertained your outburst, usually you were so placated that this was beyond the unusual.

“Don't you see, you've lived the two of you have each other, have been married for like a forever long time, and me. I'm twenty— human years mortal, simple-bodied.” you tap your head to see if they saw your point.

“I have barely loved, and now that I do—” you hiccup blinking your drunk tears away “its with two blood-sucking—” you stopped yourself laughing.

“I’m just a body to you that you use for fun.” you laugh, mascara tears coating your face.

Rhaenyra finally speaks “that is not true.”

You scoff once more, this time breaking the glass of water you'd been drinking against the bedstand “Turn me then.”

Daemon turned his face, looking out the window and Rhaenyra now stood shaking her head at you.

You could feel the glass imbedded into your palm, you raised the broken shard at her— lil quivering. “Turn me.”

“Turn me.” it sounds like a pathetic prayer.

This time Daemon turned to you, eyes narrowed staring at your bleeding palm, he looked at his wife. He knew this would have come to this conclusion, it always does.

You knew you’d die soon, whether it was to come back as one of them or dead for good. You’d made your peace with it a week before, pouring your heart out in the pages of your journal. Though what were you expecting, that the sex with you was that good that they’d have you around for a life time.

You served one purpose for them, to be their walking blood bag, a toy for them to use and dress as they pleased.

“Turn me.” you said once more.

This time Daemon pushed off the couch, he was in front of you within a blink of an eye, nostrils flared as he grabbed the back of your hair and yanked it back.

“You want to sell your soul that bad? You’d break even before it began sweet girl. The pain of the turn, but sure since you want it that bad.” he bit into the back of his hand and pressed it to your mouth.

The taste of bitter copper filled your mouth, it was true human blood tasted far sweeter, and you’d tasted it on their lips countless times. Your own blood.

“Daemon stop.” Rhaenyra said this time, approaching her husband.

He did not budge, still staring your soul down as he pulled the glass shard from your hand. He didn't hesitate to press it against your carotid artery, the faintest if pressure and he’d dig in. You bleed out and either come out as one of them or a feral— a demon of sorts. They wouldn't take that risk but Daemon was so done for it.

He knew the truth of what he’d compelled away from you, the attack, the threat that somebody was after them— he feared not for him or Rhaenyra but if they found you. He had thought of turning you a thousand times over, and so had Rhaenyra, though the possibility that you may not make the other side. Not many survive the pain, not many come out looking like their mortal bodies but mangled creatures from hell.

However Daemon had snapped, he grew irked from having to hide the truth, from having to pull away. True he had Rhaenyra to come to with his ails but she would sway him otherwise. Rhaenyra battled the guilt of nearly killing you for days, she still does and cannot touch you without remembering her teeth digging into your flesh. You may not remember it, but she had torn you within an inch of your life.

“Daemon we have to let her go.” Rhaenyra urged.

This time your eyes snapped to her and then back to Daemon.

“No turn me.” you urged, this time pushing yourself against the shard of glass “turn me.”

Daemon threw the shard away, shaking his head as he held your shoulders.

“No no, you're not leaving me.” the panic set into your body, death would have been easier. “Just turn me, I can do it.” you hiccuped.

Rhaenyra this time finally touched you, pulling you closer and embracing you, your senses were completely engulfed by her. The way she smelled, her touch, her hair.

You kept mumbling “no” incoherently as she sat you down on the bed.

Her eyes dilated as she shushed you, you looked at Daemon, his stern expression held pain to it if you looked close enough. He leaned against a wall. He knew Rhaenyra had to be the one to do this.

You felt no pain as Rhaenyra pulled the small pieces of glass from your hand, they were already healing because of Daemon’s blood.

“I’m so sorry my love,” she kissed your palms as she sat them back down onto your lap. “It isn't safe anymore.”

“Please don't,” you pouted, more tears flowing down your cheeks. “Don’t leave.”

“You were away on a vacation in the Summer. Isles, you needed a break. You won't remember us, anything about the past six months, it will be as though time stopped and brought you back to reality.” Rhaenyra whispered, kissing your forehead.

“Please.” you cried.

“The pain you feel now will be gone, we will be gone.” her eyes dilated one more as she shuffled your body back into the bed. “Go to sleep.”

Okie and that's a wrap!! I had so much fun writing this chapter, kinda poured my own breakup pain into it. Either way, I can't wait to start writing more!!

[fuctacles]

A tale as old as time

For @subeddieweek Day 7 | M | 2696 | cw: age gap (about 25-30y difference, Eddie's age is not stated, Steve's aligns with canon) | camboy Eddie, transmasc Eddie, kinda sugar daddy Steve?, modern AU, simp Steve, virgin Eddie, chatfic, pre-anything, gray ace Eddie | Ao3 Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Ao3

"Hawkins High '86? How old is this guy?" Eddie asks himself, his eyebrows raised. There is a letterman in front of him, a gift from one of his top subscribers. Hell, his top subscriber. His number-one fan, who was responsible for about half of his revenue.

He's opened a PO box recently, with no little amount of worry about what kind of stuff he might get. He only gave the address to his top subscribers but he knew that the ones with the most money were usually the most unhinged. He went to the post office with his heart in his throat but all he got was a set of lingerie, a toy, and the letterman he was now holding.

He tried not to think about what kind of people would pay for his content. As long as he was making money he didn't care. But now he got a piece of one of them in his hands. Staring back.

1986.

Meaning the guy must be nearing 60. Double Eddie's age. 

He tries to imagine that. An older guy, with wrinkles, maybe a beer belly, a gross old t-shirt, and his hand permanently in his sweats, beating it to his photos. 

It was gross. And in a way, alluring.

Though someone with so much money to spend on a camboy must have a well-paying job. Some rich asshole, exploiting others to do the work for him. That's a more likely scenario. He tries not to think about big, rough hands on him when he puts on the jacket and takes pics for Shar.

He edits them a bit before sending them, knowing the guy will get a kick from seeing him in his jacket. The appeal of wearing your boyfriend's letterman eluded him in high school, but being claimed like that gave him a heady feeling. The fact that the guy could be his father apparently worked for him too. 

He doesn't put his phone away fast enough and sees the message that pops up.

Shar: So hot. You look like every repressed teen jock's dream

Shar: Definitely like mine

Eddie thinks a moment about his response, channeling the persona he takes on for the camera. 

PuppetOfMasters: Would I be your dirty secret?

PuppetOfMasters: Would you fuck me in the locker room behind your girlfriend's back?

Shar: I'd make YOU my girlfriend

Shar: Wait no

Shar: NOT LIKE THAT

Shar: A girlfriend but in a manly way

Eddie snorts.

You're good, he types. I know what you mean, don't worry.

He wouldn't keep around someone who didn't respect him. Besides, he made it clear he's saving for a transition with his Only Fans.

Thank god, Shar types. I respect who you are 

Shar: In fact, I spend so much money on you because of it. 

Eddie rolls onto his other side, his mood souring. One of those trans fetishists, then. That's fine, as long as he's being respectful and paying... Even if it leaves an unpleasant taste in his mouth. 

Ah, a connoisseur! Well, I hope I'm your favorite tranny, then, he jokes. He waits for an answer, but it doesn't come for a long while, so he flips his phone screen down and turns away, hoping for sleep.

A response is waiting for him when he wakes up. 

Shar: I guess it sounded that way, but I'm not that kind of pervert. You're the only trans sex worker I follow, but not the only trans person I've sent money to.

Eddie sauntered to the bathroom, not taking his eyes off his phone. He wonders if continuing the conversation is even the right move. He's talked to one too many guys who thought sending him a dick pick was okay after ten minutes of small talk between a content creator and a fan.

But he's kind of curious. When he has money to spare, he sends some change to other trans folks to help out, because he knows how hard it is from his own experience. But why Shar, a seemingly loaded old guy, would spend his money on queers instead of, let's say, starving children?

PuppetOfMasters: So you're just an ally with cash? Or is there more to it? I'm curious.

He goes through his morning routine, washing his face, and brushing his teeth, not expecting Shar to get back to him any time soon. So he's surprised when he picks his phone back up and a response is waiting.

Shar: Long story short, I hope my father is rolling in his grave while I spend his inheritance on people he hated so much.

That's not what Eddie expected at all. 

PuppetOfMasters: So I'm a means of rebellion against your bigoted dead father? I'll take that. I hate rich assholes

Shar: Me too

They don't talk for the whole day after that, but when Eddie's done running errands and editing in the evening, he looks back at the letterman hanging on the door of his wardrobe. 

How is sending me your letterman an act of rebellion? he asks. Because he's a curious little shit. 

The response comes fast like the guy is glued to his Only Fans chat. Gross. Eddie wonders briefly if he's talking with other sex workers there.

Shar: A souvenir of his precious high school fetishized on a queer ssex worker? He'd die if he hadn't already

So it is a fetish thing! Eddie smiles triumphantly at his phone.

Shar: Okay, fine

Shar: Sticking it to my father is just a bonus for you being really hot. 

Shar: And I do love seeing you in my letterman, I've jerked off to it three times already

Shar: is that what you wanted to hear?

Eddie grins, rolling on his bed.

PuppetOfMasters: Yes 

Shar: So yeah, I'm an old man who peaked in high school, laugh it up

PuppetOfMasters: I'd rather you peaked in me

Shar: Insufferable

Shar: Menace

Shar: Yeah, I'd love that. A man can dream, right?

Eddie bites his lip. How far is too far? The guy seems genuine and after the amount of creeps that's been chatting him up, he thinks his creep radar is quite good. Tentatively, he starts typing.

PuppetOfMasters: I don't know. I think people would like seeing me get railed by an older guy

Shar: An old guy, you mean

Shar: You'd make a video with me?

PuppetOfMasters: I record most of the sex I have, yes

Shar: Huh. I've never seen one before, then

PuppetOfMasters: warm, warmer

Shar: ... There aren't any?

PuppetOfMasters: din ding ding! ya boy is a virgin

Shar: shit

Shar: fuck

Shar: that's so hot

Shar: you'd let me?

PuppetOfMasters: Would I let my best-paying subscriber be my first time on camera? Probably

Not necessarily to be released but he couldn't lose the possibility of such golden content in case it was watchable. 

Shar: I'd better keep my spot then. Just in case.

PuppetOfMasters: No worries, you seem the most trustworthy so far anyway.

But as he types it, a new notification appears. Shar sent him a hefty tip on one of his photos.

PuppetOfMasters: That's really not necessary

PuppetOfMasters: But I hope your father is kicking and screaming in his coffin

Shar: I fucking hope so

----

It takes Eddie another day to google Hawkins High's yearbook photos. He'd thought about it before but didn't want to break the bubble of anonymity between himself and his fan. But the thoughts of big hands on his hips, and beard rubbing against his neck, took root in his brain and were tainting his mind.

Not fully in tune with his body and distrustful of others, Eddie has been single for most of his life. And now his stupid horny brain was drooling at the thought of losing his virginity to a grandpa on the internet. 

Hoping it would help his thoughts calm down, he looks through the photos from the year 1986, in search of a Harrington. And he finds him.

Steve Harrington. Basketball captain and swim team co-captain. His hairdo was magnificent and his smile was self-confident. Eddie would hate him in high school. Should probably hate him now. So he expands his search further, beyond the Hawkins High memory lane.

He finds one single photo on a LinkedIn profile. 

The current Steve Harrington's hair is no less magnificent, just peppered with silver. He wears glasses now, which accentuate the line of his jaw and make his neatly trimmed facial hair pop out. He's wearing a yellow jacket and a white golf, which should be hideous but weirdly, works for him. Eddie doesn't get to see his eyes, unfortunately. The photo looks like a candid photo shoot take-out after someone told him a joke. His head is tilted down, eyes scrunched and lips pulled in a smile, as a bubbling laugh got immortalized on camera.

Eddie shouldn't be finding a sixty-year-old man this endearing. 

PuppetOfMasters: I like your LinkedIn photo

PuppetOfMasters: Well, I hope it's you. 

PuppetOfMasters: Steve, right?

He can't forget about this for the whole day, not as he budgets his income, and especially not when he records a short video jerking off in the shower. He tries not to look at his phone but it's his only one, so he does while trying to budget in a second one, just for sex work. Maybe then he wouldn't be feeling so insane about not getting a response from a stranger who is an old pervert spending loads of money on him. 

He tries to be normal when a chat notification finally pops up. 

Shar: If you saw the golf and yellow jacket photo, that's me

Shar: though please don't make me type my full name in here.

no worries, Eddie types back so fast he should be embarrassed. It's a good photo.

Shar: Thanks. My best friend took it 

PuppetOfMasters: Your friend has a good eye

Shar: I'll let her know

Shar: I'm surprised it took you this long to search me up

Eddie's surprised too. Usually, his curiosity would take over him sooner.

PuppetOfMasters: I tried not to pry. But I had to in case we were gonna meet up one day

Shar: So you were serious?

Shar: I've been wondering if you sweet-talk all your followers like that 

PuppetOfMasters: Only the ones that don't send me dick pics

Shar: I knew holding back would pay off

Eddie snorts at his phone. 

Though I might need one before we meet up, he types. Gotta know what I'm working with

Shar: Right. Of course

Shar: So how would that work?

Eddie hasn't thought about it this far.

PuppetOfMasters: I need to read about OF's policy on collabs. Never had to before, since I work solo. Would probably have to hire you, well, sign a commission/gig contract or something like that. So it's all legal and shit.

Shar, Steve, doesn't answer for a long while, and it might be the end of his devirginizing journey. Well, if the guy doesn't want to make this legal, put his name on some paperwork, then he isn't trustworthy, and that's the end of it.

It's half an hour later and Eddie's bitten all his nails off trying not to follow up with any messages and focus on anything else when an answer finally comes.

Shar: Sorry my friend was bothering me

Shar: this sounds more complicated than I anticipated. So I would be like, a co-creator, then?

PuppetOfMasters: Precisely

Shar: Holy shit okay

Shar: Thought I'd be you know, less involved

Though you could hit it and quit it, huh? Eddie scrunched his nose. What was he getting himself into? Gods.

Shar: If that's what you wanted I'd take it

Eddie shouldn't be blushing over this one. It's like he's throwing the man scraps and he's licking them up.

PuppetOfMasters: Simp

Shar: I am what I am

Shar: With that said, I'm willing to make it work. Do all the paperwork you need

PuppetOfMasters: Doing paperwork just to fuck me? so romantic

Shar: I suck at paperwork so my friend would be doing it anyway

Shar: If that's okay

PuppetOfMasters: I think it's best if someone looks it over, yeah

Eddie hesitates for a moment.

PuppetOfMasters: That friend doesn't happen to be your wife?

Fuck no, comes the immediate response

Shar: I'm perpetually single and she's as gay as they come. 

PuppetOfMasters: Good. Wouldn't want to be the other girl

Shar: If I had the chance you'd be the only one

PuppetOfMasters: Jesus.

Eddie squeezes his legs together unconsciously.

PuppetOfMasters: Stop sweet talking me, I've already agreed to fuck

Shar: But we haven't signed anything yet. Even then, I'll keep sweet-talking you. It's what you deserve. 

For the first time, Eddie thinks he might not survive their meeting. And not because of the possible killer scenario. Thankfully, Steve gets back to business talk.

Shar: How would this work, legal stuff aside? Do you script this?

PuppetOfMasters: Do I look like I script shit?

Shar: I'm not the one with Only Fans

PuppetOfMasters: Fair. I think we could just set up cameras and do whatever we feel like. Then decide together if the footage will be released or not. 

Shar: Sounds reasonable

Shar:When would you want to do this?

When?

Eddie hasn't thought that far. In fact, he felt like he hadn't been thinking for the past couple of days. 

I'm the sole god of my schedule so I'm open to anything, he types evasively.

Shar: I have some time off next month, could fly to wherever you need me

Next month seemed close. Extremely close. Or maybe it wasn't? He never worked with anyone before. Hell, he didn't even have that many friends to meet up with. 

Next month works I guess, he answers despite his nerves.

Shar: Wanna face time before we start the legal work?

His nerves escalate, making his mouth dry. He reminds himself he's done this before, he's on camera all the time. 

PuppetOfMasters: Like, right now?

Shar: Yeah?

PuppetOfMasters: Ok, give me five minutes.

Eddie shoots up, checks himself in the mirror, and finds a good angle for his phone to set up. He lowkey hopes Steve picks up with his dick in the frame so Eddie can block him with a clear conscience and forget about the whole thing. When six minutes from his last message pass, he hits 'call'.

"Hi," Eddie squeaks when the video connects. Steve Harrington's arms are in the frame, crossed on the desk, and toned where he's leaning on them.

"Hi," he greets him with a dazzling smile. 

It is the guy from the photo, so at least he's not being catfished. And he has none of the creepy simp energy Eddie feared. He's just... a guy. It's both a relief and a disappointment. 

"Well?" the guy asks.

"Well, what?" Eddie frowns. 

"Are you disappointed? Am I too old?"

Eddie looks at him properly. His hair is lighter on the sides, but not grey yet, and the video quality doesn't make any wrinkles stand out to him. Maybe some worry lines, crow's feet if he squints. He looks like he keeps in shape, too. Eddie wouldn't call him old. Mature, maybe. A DILF slowly transforming into a Silver Fox. 

"You look fine. Good. You look good. Attractive," Eddie fumbles with his words and barely stops himself from facepalming. This is why he mostly texts.

Steve smirks at him. And holy shit, a dude twice his age smirking at him shouldn't be doing things to his body.

"You sure? You're not gonna block me after we hang up, are you?"

Eddie shakes his head.

"I stand by our plans. You're passing my creep radar so far, but uh..." He scratches his cheek nervously. "I'd like to keep in touch in case, you know. A red flag pops up. I hope you get it."

Steve nods, his expression growing serious.

"Absolutely. We're strangers, after all."

"Yeah." Eddie nods, relieved. It would give him ample time and opportunities to back out.

On the screen, Steve leans more on his arms, closer to the camera. 

"So I think dick assessment is next on the checklist?"

Eddie might not even survive video calls with this guy, after all. 

[nkogneatho]

𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆

ೀ kuroo x fem!reader ft. iwaizumi

—cw: exhibitionism, blowjob, webcam sex, male masturbating, pet names (kitten), cum swallowing, deepthroat.

—a/n: this was supposed to be a small blurb but oh well. Also this was supposed to be just kuroo but being the hajime whore i am i had to include him.

Tetsu made sure to give you all his time and attention. He was there when you needed a shoulder to cry on, arms to hold you into and of course a dick to fuck you stupid when you were horny.

But today he had a meeting with Iwaizumi to discuss the financial aspects while funding and sponsoring the volleyball tournament the recently partner for. He wasn't close to Iwaizumi, more to the former captain of Seijoh, but Hajime and Tetsuro clicked during their first proper meeting. They even went out for a few beers and shared laughs. He told him about you so since then Iwaizumi would always ask how you are. You met him once during a party Kuroo organized and the man looked big. Bigger than Kuroo but you love your rooster head too much so you don't care about any other man.

You walked into the bedroom to find kuroo in his sweats. He had tight wine red tshirt on with black sweats and you peeked to find iwaizumi wearing a black compression shirt. It was obvious he was an athletic trainer the way his body flexes at ecah move. But your eyes were fixated on your man. Or rather his grey sweats. Shit. The fabric was loose but the way he sat, you could see his dickprint. Shit. shit. shit. You didn't know what plagued over you—maybe lust, maybe desperation, but you carefully drop to your knees and crawl to him. He doesn't notice you, his eyes fixated on the calculations he was writing on the desk, that until your freshly manicured nails trace his dickprint and his eyes shoot to you.

"wh—"

"Shhh." you gesture putting your pointer on your lips. "don't want him to find out baby," you grinned. Kuroo pushed his chair a little forward dragging the wheels from his weight. If he wanted to, he would've excused himself, turning off the camera and tell you that he'll let you do whatever you want later. But the man has always fancied adventures.

When you start stroking his boner, he lets out a heavy sigh, audible enough to catch the attention of the man on the other side of the screen.

"Is everything alright?" Hajime's processed computer voice pulls Kuroo's attention back to the meeting.

"Y-yeah yeah. Dude, I just had a pretty tiring day," he replies.

"It's 12 pm, man."

"Ah, right. I meant morning—fuck." He wasn't someone to lose his composure so easily but the last fuck was something he needed to moan because now your mouth was wetting his dick, taking him inside.

"We could've just resched—uhm...Kuroo," Hajime's tone shifted. Drenched in curiosity, drenched in something dark. "I can see her head."

You stopped. You literally stopped while he was still inside your mouth. You expected Kuroo to make up an excuse. He always handles these thing easily, right? Only now this man decided to drag the chair a little backwards so the man on this laptop screen had a clear view, a clearer angle to see what was happening. You peer up at him with a dumbfound expression.

"Don't look at me like that, kitten. You're the one who wanted to play games while I am working." His fingers wallowed in your hair, pulling you further close to his inner thighs. "Don't you dare run now." And you didn't. You obeyed him like a pet wanting to impress his master.

"Aw shucks. Would you mind turning sideways, Kuroo? So I can see her take that dick in clearly."

"I wouldn't mind," he shifted you to the side, turning his chair. "Enjoy the Show."

You started bobbing your head up and down. Even though his hands were in your hair, he didn't force you down his cock. Atleast, not yet. Your tongue tasted a hint of sourness, probably his precum. As you moved, your eyes prompted to the corner to find Iwaizumi's cock full on display as he stroked it with his big hands. Your cheeks burnt up immediately. Tetsuro caught the change in your expression and his pupils were fixated on you. He didn't know you enjoyed this so much.

"Iwa-chan."

"Don't call me—ugh that," he spoke in between moans.

"Aw c'mon. Why not? Shit, baby no teeth. You've seen my cock so I guess we're pretty close now."

"I am more focused on her. Ngh—look at her. Now I know why you call ker a kitten. fucking hell. lapping her tongue and all'at" Iwaizumi's balls were tightening. He was getting closer and closer. You knew because his gruntsbstarted getting heavier and louder. You were a few meters away from the laptop but it felt like he was right their, groaning in your ears.

"ah! fuck. yeah. Keep going, kitten. I am close. He is too—gorgeous fucking girl. yeah. fuck fuck. shit. ah! ah!" Now was the time when his hands started pushing you further down his cock till your nose bumped in his crotch. "fuck yeah. yeah. yeah 'm close. ah ah ngh—" tetsu's hand held your held in one place, forcing his dick until all his seed spilled down your throat. he knows you alwayd swallow it like a good girl. and you did. Noticing you gulping down his cum, gave Iwa the sweet release he was chasing.

"NGHH! Holy fuck," hajime cursed. You looked at the screen to find thick white ropes spilled all over his knuckles. Some even managed to shoot up to his black compression.

"Hmm," Kuroo chuckled. "Wanna say something to him pretty? Go ahead." You bit your bottom lip, still gazing at his softened cock. It looked big even when it was soft.

"Wish I could taste your cum too, Hajime." And his dick sprung up again. He didn't expect you to call him by his first name let alone say nasty things like that. That innocent image of you in his head was gone.

"Haha. See? Isn't she so cute?" Kuroo petted your head. "Aw look. Our meeting time is almost up." Hajime looked a little disappointed but Tetsu knew better. "How about we reschedule...in person?" And the smile at the end of a sentence confirmed that he was not going to discuss anything even remotely related to volleyball in the next meeting.