#a little arrogant frat boy

[terrorbitch]

closed starter for @remaineds

"careful, babe. if you keep tossing around words like 'asshole' and 'dickhead' when yalking about me, i might fall in love with you."

[ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat]

california gurls - spencer reid x fem!reader

reader's beach partying gets interrupted by the fbi... she finds a way to make it fun when she realizes a cute doctor is around and so is her jeep

genre: smut wc: 2133 warnings: early seasons spencer, subbish!spencer, he whimpers, reader wears a bikini, mentioned rapist and murderer, mentions of harassment, reader has been with asshole men, reader has a jeep, car sex, unprotected sex, reader is on birth control, brief nipple play a/n: based off california gurls by katy perry!!

California is absolutely a cliché. Sunkissed skin, bikinis, Daisy Dukes. The golden coast holds parties–like this one–scantily clad girls and slurring morons that look exactly how every other frat boy looks. Here you are, representing that very image. With your red bikini and sand-covered feet, you’re the epitome of a California girl.

In the corner of your eye are palm trees, under which are several tanning ladies. Boys are practically drooling, necks craned to get a peek. Speakers play pop that seems to move everyone–including you. Bodies splash in sparkling blue, hips rock to the rhythm. The music booms. That is until it comes to an abrupt stop.

You look over to see a group of men in sunglasses approaching, one of them evidently responsible for the music-murdering due to his apologetic shrug. He’s obviously not that sorry. Male voices seem offended by it.

The one that turned off the fun stands tall, a black man that–if you didn’t know any better–you’d say was from around here. Another is shorter and older. The one you find most interesting, however, is tall and scrawny, with hair curling around his ears and a permanent nervous smile. To be completely honest, it’s cute. If you could see beneath his sunglasses, you’re sure you’d find overwhelmed eyes bouncing between each tanned body.

The big one–the black one–lifts credentials from his belt.

“Listen, we’re with the FBI. There’s been a string of rapes and murders in the area and we have reason to believe that the UnSub has been here. He might even be one of you.”

Someone–you’re not sure who–raises a hand and asks, “UnSub?”

“Unknown Subject. Bad guy. Perp. You get the idea.” He takes off his eyewear and hooks it in his shirt. “I’m Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan. This here is Supervisory Special Agent David Rossi and,” he points to the cute one, “Dr. Spencer Reid.”

Dr. Spencer Reid awkwardly waves before crossing his arms, lips pressed in a tight line. You wonder what kind of doctor he is and if you should pretend to faint.

“We’ll be asking you questions one by one,” Rossi explains.

Quickly, without even a moment to think, you’re split into groups. One for each agent. To your absolute joy, you’re waiting your turn to get evaluated by the only one labeled doctor. You get closer and can hear the helpless way he asks his questions. With the girls, it’s awkward like he doesn’t know how to talk to girls wearing so little. With the guys, he seems to be keeping a distance. He analyses them–for good reason–but he also seems nervous because he knows the type. He knows the difference between them. To be more precise, he knows how they treat guys like him.

You’re the last in the long line.

When you get to Spencer, you’re pleased when his eyes flick over you before he swallows.

“Hey,” he starts with a tight grin, “I’m Dr. Spencer Reid with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI.” You tell him your name. He smiles that same awkward smile.

“Uh, right, so… the guy we’re looking for is socially skilled, arrogant, easily aggravated, and will most likely be bold with the way he talks to women, becoming hostile when turned down.”

It’s not in the least appropriate but, in-between gawking at him, you laugh. “Unfortunately, that sounds like every guy out here.”

His perfect brown eyebrows pull together. “Really?”

You nod. Now, up close, your eyes trace his figure, taking in the grey shirt, blue tie and the gun on his hip. It’s weirdly attractive. You wonder when you started being attracted to authority.

“I guess guys around here aren’t gentlemen,” you shrug.

“And girls actually date them?”

Something about the shock in his eyes and the scowl on his lips makes you swoon. “Guess so.”

“What about–uh–harassment? Is there any of that?” Spencer looks down at you.

Shrugging, you sigh, “sometimes. Usually just frat boys. Nothing extreme. Sometimes the gross ones might try too hard. We’ve all been there.”

His lips part and he nods at your answer. Surprisingly, those pretty brown eyes trickle down your body, mapping out each and every curve with a purpose, as if to memorize. The idea of him locking you away only to take back out when he’s alone turns you on more than you’d care to admit. It’s flattering to think you’re that interesting.

It could also be wishful thinking.

But that could be tested.

More specifically, that could be tested by one sentence. That sentence being, “do you want to go to my car? It’s cooler in there. You know?”

After what could only ever be described as a brain short-circuit, Spencer clears his throat and hums a squeaky, “yeah.”

A delighted smile forms on your face as you nod, taking a few steps back to your Jeep. You unlock it, opening the door and leaning over to put the key in the ignition. Spencer’s eyes fall on your ass in the tight, red fabric. You hear him clear his throat behind you before you straighten up. But he’s much closer to you than anticipated.

Chest-to-chest, you look up at him, eyes wide and cheeks burning hot not because of the sun. A rough swallow and then a quick glance to your breasts proves that maybe the attraction isn’t unrequited. He wets his lips and you’re sure you can’t hold back.

Inappropriately, sloppily, and with force, your lips crash together. You hold yourself up only with your hands on the back of his head. And it’s not like you expected any less with lips like his, but he’s an amazing kisser. It’s messy, sure, but it’s hot, your teeth clumsily clacking together every time your mouths open. Only, he doesn’t seem to be enjoying it as much as he wants to be.

“This isn’t–” he huffs into your mouth, hands finding your shoulders. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

Although you know it’s true–he’s supposed to be questioning you not sticking his tongue down your throat–you really don’t care. “Why not?”

“I–I’m not here to–” He takes a frustrated breath. “I’m not here for this… reason.”

You almost wish he wasn’t so perfect but it kind of made it better. When your lips press against his this time, he moans and you’re right back where you started. You think he doesn’t really want to say no. He just knows he should.

You look up at him, your eyes wide and doe-like. Like a little girl capable of begging for a lollipop, you frown. “Please?”

A rough gulp. An exhale. A nod.

Lips reconnect and you’re soon enough in the front seat, on his lap, fingers curling in his gelled hair and cheeks bright red. The door haphazardly shut, you hold onto the handle for balance. Your hips start moving in circles as his tongue dives into your mouth. The prettiest whine falls from him as his hands finally move to your bare waist. One of those hands drift down to the string of your bottoms.

He breaks the kiss and his sickeningly deer-like eyes find yours. “C–Can I?” Spencer mutters carefully. His eyes shine, sparkles of lust floating over the hazel.

“Yeah,” you breathe shakily. Bobbing your head, you lean back as little as you can while still giving him room. But, what you weren’t expecting was him not taking off the fabric. Instead of untying the string and letting it fall down to show off your already wet center, he slides the inadequate polyester to the side, revealing your core.

The way his steady–but honestly heavy–breathing hitches and turns whiny makes you clench. Like handling the finest porcelain, his index and middle finger drag between your folds before reaching a settlement on your ready clit.

A long, pleased sigh leaves you as your hips resume their messy pattern of rocking. He can’t choose between watching you slide across his fingers or your lips part in ecstasy. The feeling of him touching you is heaven but you want something else. At this very moment, you’d crawl, bare, to the ends of the earth for him to please you the way you want.

Oddly steady fingers find his belt. The clanging it makes flips your stomach. You pull his pants down just enough to reach into his purple boxers. A whimper slips out of his mouth as you take him out.

He’s big, pale and pink at the tip. Thin but the perfect length, however. His nails dig into your waist.

You press your forehead against his and slide your hand up and down his length. “I don’t have–uh–any condoms in here but I’m on birth control and I’m clean.”

Spencer’s lips part, an uneven whimper leaving them. “I’m clean, too.”

You release him and position yourself. The tip of his cock brushes through you before you set him at your entrance. His grip on your waist never lets up as you start to lower.

An embarrassingly loud moan slips out of you. You take him to the hilt. Inch by inch until he’s reaching so deep you can’t think. To hide how disgustingly far you’re being stretched, your mouth meets his messily. He takes in your bottom lip and devours it. It’s when you can’t stop yourself that you pull back and put your heads together.

You lift yourself up until only the last inch of him is still inside. You’re sure you’ll have perfect indents left on your skin from his fingernails. You slam your hips back down quicker than you should.

His panicked voice rings high-pitched in the hot car, “i–it’s been a while, I might not last–”

Part of you is glad because you know you won’t either. “That’s okay. That’s–that’s really okay,” you pant.

You revel in the way he whimpers with each movement of your hips. You revel in how pink his cheeks are and the way his eyes can’t stay off your chest no matter how hard they try. You revel even more in how wide they go when you pull the string of your top and let it fall. One of his hands you take, bringing it up. He rolls the sensitive flesh between his fingers as you start a rhythm.

You’re unrelenting, body moving quick because you can’t get enough of how good it feels to have him so deep. It’s bad for you to be feeling him twitch inside you. It makes you lightheaded.

Spencer’s neediness comes in the form of him thrusting up to meet you every time. With one rough thrust, his cock hits your innermost point forcefully and you whine, bringing his lips back to yours. Tongues sloppily collide with no grace. Moans are exchanged while you roll your hips back and forth. In a momentary rush of confidence, his hands move to your hips.

And then your ass.

He’s uncertain why he would do such a thing because now he’s fighting back his orgasm, his length throbbing against your cervix.

Luckily, you’re in the same place. Your walls flutter each time he brushes your sweet spot. Each time he mutters an expletive.

It seems he’s the one to break first, however.

“I don’t think I can–”

You mumble breathlessly, “me, neither, it’s okay.”

Sweat runs down your chest as you pant out desperate moans with each intake of needed oxygen. That knot builds in your gut–a feeling that’s rarely due to a man. You suppose he’s a separate being than the regular assholes around. When his fingers find your clit again, you’re sure. Spencer’s whimpering turns into heavy exhales and you take that as your cue to swiftly tell him not to pull out.

Droopy eyes meet his before you firmly mutter, “inside.”

He sighs shakily and nods.

A few more times of his cock hitting your cervix has both of your orgasms hurtling towards you. Your forehead falls onto his shoulder. His hips slam into yours and you’re coming instantly. Your walls clench around him, triggering his own release effortlessly. His cum drips down your thighs, creating a sure mess.

Words–swears–that make no sense fall from your swollen and parted lips.

“Oh, my God,” Spencer whispers–mostly to himself.

Eyes blown wide and legs cramping, you concur with a soft, “yeah.”

Hesitantly and with great despair, he mutters, “I should really get back to my team…” What follows is a guilty gulp.

You nod and maneuver yourself off of him. You ignore the irritating sensation of the emptiness after being so full. The only thing wrong is that, in moving, you accidentally honk the horn with your ass. Twice.

Half mortified and half amused, you giggle. Your cheeks flush red.

You believe it’s appropriate to assume that his team definitely knows what–or rather who–he spent his paid time doing.

[coolwyous]

┈─★ 𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 ( 𝘀𝗼 𝘀𝗮𝘆 𝗶𝘁 𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸 — 𝙙𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙤. )

   ⊹ ࣪ ˖ your professor contacts you to ask if you’d be willing to share your notes with a classmate that has requested a bit of help. you’re more than happy to help, until resident hockey star megan skeindiel is hitting you up every week, expectantly waiting for you to hand them over...

   ˎˊ˗  ❄️  ⊹ ࣪ ˖  🔓୭˚.  ⠀ ᵎᵎ ⠀ 🗝️

   ➴ pairing: hockey player! megan skiendiel x english major!f!reader

   ➴ genre + wc: 10k, college au! one-sided enemies to friends, friends to lovers, dorky hockey jock megan, mostly fluff tbh

   ➴ you might want to tune in...: ditto - njz

┈─★ a/n: wigline was giving boyfriend in that livestream and i was trying to decide what sport before i was struck w the idea of megan and her beanie bros as wanna-be-frat-boy hockey stars. planning on making this part of a larger universe, goalie!lara and captain!dani coming next. enjoy!

eng121: intro to british literature. meets tuesday and thursday from 11:00 to 12:15. 

you’re always a few minutes early, an easy walk considering your world history lecture is just upstairs. you’ve always been punctual, thus why you’re first to class every time. it’s definitely not so you can get a front row seat in the lecture hall to make a good impression on your favorite professor teaching your favorite subject. 

the lecture hall starts to slowly trickle in. you don’t know anyone in this class, which is okay– you’re there to focus anyways, and given that your grade is an impeccable 98% by the end of week 5, you figure you’re doing something right. of course, minji and belle would say you’re doing way too much, every late night study session you pick instead of joining them for another party celebrating the hockey team–

your mind trails to thoughts of that damn women’s hockey team. they’re loud, they’re arrogant, and worst of all, they’re everywhere.

you hope they’re gone on an away game today. it’s so much easier to focus when they’re not there. 

but unfortunately, you’re not that lucky. the idiots come bursting in through the door. a curly haired blonde, a grinning brunette with red tips, and the tallest of the three, a button-nosed ginger. each wearing the team’s signature letterman jacket. you hate the sight of that damn letterman jacket.

they’re rough housing with each other, pushing and shoving, until eventually, one of them crashes into your desk, sending your bookbag and its contents flying. you feel your teeth grit together— any closer and it would have been your coffee all over your brand new laptop. 

“sorry, sorry,” the blonde screech-laughs, scrambling to catch herself before she tumbles. you spot the hickeys shamelessly scattered on her neck. you wouldn’t be the slightest bit surprised if she had showed up half drunk to class.

“bro, pick them up for her at least,” the red-haired one laughs.

“i got it,” you say through gritted teeth. you want to say as little as possible to these idiots.

but it’s the tall one who is kneeling down with you, scooping up your pens in her hands, offering them to you all while avoiding your gaze. “uh, sorry ‘bout that.”

“it’s fine.”

“cool miffy eraser.”

“thanks.”

is she expecting you to thank her? for picking up four pens and an eraser that her friend dropped?

your professor clears his throat once the teaching assistant arrives, signaling the start of class. the three stooges share a look between themselves before hurrying up the steps of the lecture hall, making their way up to a back row where you’re certain they’re planning to just good off and distract everyone for the rest of class.

you sigh as you return to your seat and focus on the words in front of you on your laptop. you hate hockey.

“hi y/n,” sophia, the delightfully nice upperclassman TA of your course approaches you as class ends. “got a minute?”

you nod, packing up your backpack. sophia has taught a few lessons in the course, her powerpoints engaging and meticulous, and you can’t help but admire how perfectly she navigates the content. talk about goals. 

“the university resource center reached out to us and said a student is requesting accommodations. a note-taker is all they’re asking for. that means we can find someone in class to assign to take notes for the student.”

“me?” your eyebrows arch as your realize what she’s asking.

“i’ve been grading your class’ discussion posts. you very clearly love british literature.” she smiles, and you feel your neck burn at the compliment. “it’s a decent pay, and you can just offer whatever notes you’re already taking. we just need to let the student know by friday. let me know?”

minji gives you the push you need when you get home to your dorm later that day and explain your situation to your roommates. 

“you’re already taking the notes. might as well get your bag,” she shrugs from her bed where she’s playing animal crossing.

belle nods in agreement. “plus, you love being helpful. our bleeding heart.”

you roll your eyes and shoot an email to sophia, receiving a smiley face as her reply just a few minutes later. 

-

you printed out your notes up to that point in the quarter to have them ready for thursday’s lecture. sophia said she’ll introduce the two of you at the end of class, all you have to do is hang back. you ruffle through your backpack once class ends, tucking your laptop away as the last of your classmates begin to trickle out the door.

your professor waves to you as he leaves, and you happily get up from your seat to approach sophia.

at least– until you’re cut off by someone clumsily stepping in front of you, in a flash of ginger hair.

your heart drops. no way in hell.

“hi.” she says simply, face unreadable. today, her and the three stooges kept showing tik toks to each other in the middle of lecture, at least three accidentally blasting at full volume. you want to tell her the hell off for always disrupting your favorite class, but sophia’s eyes are eagerly on you, and you want to impress your new mentor.

“hi,” you manage to get out behind gritted teeth.

this girl is way too overdressed for an 11am english lit course. white button up shirt, a messily knotted tie, dickies and that stupid letterman jacket with the leather sleeves. the beanie she usually sports is nowhere to be found, letting you get a better look at her features. 

not that you particularly care to look at her. she’s not even giving you the decency to look you in the eyes, instead, just fixing her glance at your hand and pointing.

“i need that,” she finally says after an awkward pause. she points again. “uh, those.”

“you?” you’re still in disbelief. you’re going to spend every thursday after class giving your beautiful, pristine notes to this entitled fuckboy jock?

“unless uh, if you’re not y/n y/ln, and those aren’t for me,” she adds, peeking down at her phone to confirm the details. 

“i typed today’s lecture.” you feel a scream bubbling in your chest, but you manage to suppress it. “let me send them to you. let me give you my email.”

“ah, cool.” she hands you her phone, already opened to her student email account. you glance at the cinamoroll phone case, when she finally catches you off guard, adding a quick “thank you.”

“no problem.” well, yes problem, but maybe it’s more of an ego thing. at least she finally said thank you.

“if you could send, uh, all of them. that’d be easier.” the athlete scratches awkwardly at the back of her head. you’re a bit irritated that you wasted all that paper trying to print them and be polite, but whatever. bleeding heart or whatever belle said, you figure you can’t exactly be choosy about your good deeds if you want the karma. 

“and we have an away game next week, so i’ll be missing class on tuesday. if you can email me then too…”

“got it.” when did you sign up to be a freaking personal assistant?

“thank you.” she dips her head down, lips pressing together into a fine line. “i’m megan.”

“bye megan,” you wave, before snatching up your backpack and getting the hell out of there.

-

you’re left in peace next week as the three stooges aren’t there on tuesday.

thursday rolls around, and megan is waiting for you in the hallway by the door again, leaning against the wall. you’re starting to feel extremely irritated by the whole situation. she didn’t even reply to your emails from last week or this week to say thank you for the notes you emailed. at the very least, she could let you know that she got them, right?

“you can just email them, all of them, in the future. save the paper,” she tells you as you hand her your annotated paper copy of that week’s powerpoint. you squint at her and walk off without a word.

-

the one good thing that comes out of this arrangement is that sophia invites you to get coffee with her after class, and your mentor becomes one of your favorite friends in the span of a week. 

“i didn’t know you got accommodations for being a jock that misses half a semester’s worth of class,” you say irritatedly as you pick your order up off the counter. 

sophia laughs. “i’m so sorry… they don’t tell me why they need the notes, just that they’re approved for them.”

“ugh, i’d kill for someone to give me all their notes,” minji, who tagged along, complains. “stupid hockey players get everything handed to them.”

“do you think that’s really it though? like they get free access to a notewriter because they miss so much class? and the university obviously wants to keep making money off of them,” you speculate. “holy shit. that’s so unfair.”

“i don’t know anything about how the student athlete system works,” sophia wrinkles her nose. 

you’ve already made up your mind. come this thursday, you’re putting your foot down.

-

thursday’s class comes. megan’s stupid blonde friend does actually spill your coffee this time. now, you’re not only pissed with megan, but pissed with everything that surrounds her. her friends leave the lecture hall with the taller girl trailing behind them, but you grab her by the sleeve to stop her. she’s dressed normally today: beanie, hoodie, sweats, and that stupid jacket on top of it all.

“y/n,” she greets, almost cheerfully. “you don’t have to keep waiting for me, the emails are fine-”

“i don’t think you deserve my notes any more,” you cut her off. you’re waiting for it, the entitlement, the meltdown, whatever it is that shitty people who take advantage of you do, but it never comes.

megan simply wrinkles her nose and shrugs, scratching awkwardly at her forehead.

“well, i’m dyslexic, so there’s that.”

“oh my god.” that’s why she got the accommodation approved. not because she’s a jock. you’re swept over by a wave of instant regret. you pray to god you’ll live this down. “i am so sorry.”

“your notes are also really, really helpful.” megan holds up the paper she had been hiding in her hand. a bright red 72 is circled on the quiz. 

“a C?”

“technically a C minus,” she corrects you playfully. “and it’s the best i’ve done on one of these stupid quizzes since the semester started.”

you feel your nose burn with embarrassment. “i’m sorry.”

“i’d be annoyed too if someone took advantage from all my hard work.” she offers a tilt of her head. “i promise i’ll be more grateful.”

“no, you don’t have to do that.” you’re still reeling from megan’s quiet confession. “i was being neurotic.”

“here, ah, put your number in,” she hands you her silly cinnamoroll phone case. “i’ll send you a QR code, you can scan it for free drinks at the cafe. student athlete discount.”

“i’m sorry again,” you grimace. 

she shakes her head. the smile playing on her lips stirs something in the pit of your stomach.

“it’s no worries. i’ll see you next week.”

-

two weeks after your whole expose on megan, you two have fallen into a cordial rhythm of nodding to each other at the end of every class. you appreciate that she acknowledges you now.

however, this does not diminish your burning hatred for the hockey team as a whole. 

you’re in the middle of impressing your professor, explaining the contrast between romanticism and modern cynicism, bringing in points you had connected from your intro to philosophy class. 

but it’s hard to finish the thoughts when the three stooges are causing a ruckus from their corner of the room. you see lara smack dani in the shoulder, the two struggling to catch their breaths in between silent laughs. megan, stuck in the middle of them, looks clearly distressed. 

your eyes meet, and you swear there’s something apologetic in the way she looks at you. 

your professor is equally as unpleased as you are, glaring at the trio as you finish your thoughts. 

“miss skiendiel? any thoughts?”

you can’t help but feel bad. if anything, megan was the least guilty of the three. it was the other two that were giggling like little stupid frat boys. 

“uh yeah,” megan leans back in her chair, clearing her throat. she’s quiet for a few moments before she simply shrugs and scratches at her nose. “ditto, y/ln.”

dani bursts out into laugher and a few other snickers are heard throughout the lecture hall. you grit your teeth. is she too cool to care? you had started to let yourself think that maybe she was more than a mindless jock just coasting through classes so she could focus on playing. but every chance she gets, megan just feeds the fire. 

she tries to nod at you after class, but you’re not having it. it surprises you when she steps into your way, ducking her head down to meet your gaze. you curse silently at how much taller she is than you.

“hey,” she chirps. 

“what do you want?” 

“i’m sorry about them. they’re—“ she pauses, processing your tone. “hold up, are you annoyed with me?” 

“i shouldn’t be?” you snap. 

“why would you? i was trying to tell them to shut up.”

“and then you opened your mouth, and it was like you couldn’t be bothered. you act like you’re above it all.”

she’s staring at you in disbelief, that stupid beanie obstructing her brows but you can see the confusion in her eyes. those big round puppy dog eyes widen. 

“that? y/n, you think my dumb ass is gonna be able to come up with something on the spot right after you just sounded so smart? much less in front of everyone?”

“you’re always so over it.”  you roll your eyes, reaching down to grab your backpack. “care at least a little.”

“y/n, listen to me.” megan holds her hand out to stop you and her voice drops, but it’s not threatening. it’s almost… shy?  “y/n, you scare the fucking shit out of me. that’s why i’m so quiet. i’m trying to think of what to say.”

you blink back in confusion. “i’m not scary.”

“you’re like a super genius.” the athlete gives you a pleading look. “my brain feels like i dropped it in the toilet and soaked it in rice.”

you laugh at her comparison. she grins and you figure you can forgive her, at least this time. 

“that’s dramatic.”

“i’m hopeless. your notes are the only thing keeping me holding on.”

you feel an ache in your chest. megan isn’t all that bad— just a girl desperate to make progress even if she’s sinking. 

“are you busy tonight? i can come help you study,” you offer, and you can already hear belle clowning you for your charity work. 

her grin widens, exposing the whites of her extremely nice teeth. you feel yourself soften, even if just for a moment.

“you’d be saving my life. i’ll text you my dorm after practice.”

“don’t stand me up,” you warn. you wonder if it went to your head, hearing megan admit you intimidate her.

but then her lips curl into a playful smile, nodding as she strides backwards out of the classroom. “yeah, ditto, y/n. i better see you then.”

you’re in her building as soon as she texts you that she’s out just a few hours later. you double check the number on the door and feel your heart pound as her neighbor walks out, eyeing you up and down before heading down the hall. ugh, you pray you don’t look desperate.

“megan?” you call out, knocking on the door. the door gives way, clearly not locked or even closed all the way, and you immediately spot the flash of bright orange hair. she’s hunched over in front of her bed, eyes fixed on the laptop with a set of headphones covering her ears. her hair is in two braids falling over her shoulders.

“y/n! sorry, these things are noise cancelling,” she apologizes, motioning for you to come join her. you step in, and she tries to turn the laptop away from you, which you flag as suspicious. “i got started without you.”

you lean over a little further and roll your eyes as you see what’s actually pulled up. it’s a hockey game. 

“so much for studying time, skiendiel.”

“no, no,” she says hurriedly, pulling the headphones completely off her head.  “i’m listening to your notes. look.”

she pulls up her phone and true to her word, she’s using speech to text to read the document out through her headphones. 

your heart breaks at her brows furrowing together, those dark eyes pleading up at you. she’s just a fucking puppy. 

“it’s the only way i can focus. i have to watch my games back to relax. i already did my workouts, ate, packed for tomorrow. it’s the only way i can fit everything in and not go crazy.”

“i can read them to you,” you offer.

“i can read,” megan wrinkles her nose. “i just waste more energy trying to figure it out than actually retaining anything.”

“i can read, and explain it to you,” you modify your initial suggestion, before you even realize what you’re doing. why are you so eager to help this girl? a month ago you were complete strangers, and she was the bane of your existence.

but there she is, the jock you hoped would never show up to class again, looking up at you with the most round brown eyes that keep rustling something in you. is it pity?

“you must think i’m so fucking stupid,” she grimaces, shaking her head. 

“i think you’re willing to work hard,” you tell her gently. “that counts for a lot in my book, actually.”

she says nothing, flipping open her copy of the class textbook. but the look she gives you, warm and full of gratitude, says everything.

you two spend the next hour, criss crossed on her floor, papers and books strewn around you. your review is going better than you anticipated: she’s quiet, focused, and attentive to all the comparisons you draw.

“i hate this fuckass romantic period,” megan hisses as you finish your next reading of a lord byron piece. you noticed her brows furrowing halfway through as she tries to keep up. “so much poetry bullshit.”

“you’re good at poetry. it’s all metaphors for big feelings,” you encourage her, before a memory that comes to mind helps carry your point across. “the thing you said about your brain the other day was an amazing metaphor.”

“that? my brainrot? i speak like that ‘cause i can’t figure out how to say what i really want.”

you realize what it is, your question from earlier. it isn’t pity. megan is just a nervous, hard-on-herself girl, stuck in the expectations of others, a victim even to your unfair judgement. literature has always come easily to you– you can’t imagine how hard it must be for someone to be trying to navigate that at a disadvantage and still give it their all. 

you put a finger on it. it’s not pity. it’s admiration. 

“it paints a picture, perfectly,” you tell her, pushing back against what you realize is her constant cloud of self-doubt. she shakes her head, but the smile is there, telling you you’ve broken through to her. you press on, preparing the next passage to read out loud. “just imagine these old white dudes are trying to do the same.”

you don’t finish up until 10pm, when her roommate enters and seems genuinely surprised to see you both.

“hi marsh,” she greets.

“ah, i was wondering why our neighbor warned me that you had a girl over,” the accented girl greets, grinning cheekily. “they couldn’t possibly imagine you’d just be studying.”

you see megan’s face burn red. you laugh to cover up the flash of heat that takes to your neck from the speculation. 

“they’re conspiring against me ‘cause i’m really not like that,” megan groans, standing up hurriedly. “you’re gonna make my tutor think i’m a piece of shit.”

“don’t let her fool you,” the brunette smiles warmly, pointing at megan. “heart of gold, this one.”

“ah okay, now that’s too much.” megan tries to bury her face in her shoulder awkwardly, handing you your shoes. “let me walk you out.”

belle texts you to remind you that she’s outside the dorm to pick up dinner with you, like you had agreed. megan walks you down, waving awkwardly to your roommate before turning to you with that same awkward wave. 

“uh, bye. thank you again. made a lot of sense when you broke it down.”

“i’m happy to come by again soon, if it made a difference,” you smile.

“only if you were already planning to study by yourself. don’t go out of your way for me,” she tells you forcefully.

“i’m happy to,” you reassure her. “good night megan.”

maybe you catch her off guard by saying her name, but the way her eyes widen makes you laugh. there’s something charming about her undeniable awkwardness. she waves again, and watches carefully from the building doors as you stride up to belle, waiting for you on a nearby bench.

“that’s your charity project?” she questions, “your horrible hockey jock?”

“i might’ve been quick to judge,” you admit, looking over your shoulder. megan is still there, leaning against the doorframe, watching you guys walk off. “she’s not all bad.”

“not all bad? you made her seem irredeemable,” belle laughs, looping her arm in yours. 

her only crime is liking hockey and being awkward. you sigh, and belle changes the subject, but you’re stuck thinking about it for the rest of the night. megan deserves a chance to show you who she is before you decide it for her.

-

and she does exactly that. megan, once she feels more comfortable, turns out to be a complete goofball. you’re laughing so hard at her stupid jokes one study session that you cough up red bull out of your nose and megan nearly passes out laughing with you. megan exposes that despite the hockey player stereotype, she is completely harmless. you watch her awkwardly let people cut her in line, or sip a drink made incorrectly when you get coffee together, all because she’s too nervous to speak up. megan is a mama’s girl and has nightly calls with her mom, sometimes interrupting your sessions, but she’s quick to mumble an ‘i love you too, mom,’ when she thinks you can’t hear her. and you learn that  megan, more than anything, loves hockey.

megan is also insanely humble, and is used to hard work. you start to realize just how much the athlete has on her plate.

you guys are leaving class one day, trying to decide when your next study session should be, when she explains what a normal day looks like for her. conditioning, nutrition, physical therapy for an old back strain, at least a half hour every night of reviewing her game tapes to see how she could have played better. and that’s not even including the hour-and-a-half practices she attends every day. and in megan’s case, you realized, she shows up an hour early to get a head start. that’s not even to mention the travel time involved with away games.

no wonder she only hangs around those stupid jock friends of hers. with the exception of her roommate, it doesn’t seem like she’d have much time to make friends outside of that. 

you’ll admit, however, that lara and daniela are slowly growing on you. dani lives in your dorm building, and lara is the only one with a car on campus, so megan will sometimes end up inviting them to come and study with you guys. lara, confident and forward, is extremely friendly and makes you feel at ease once you stop seeing her as some frat boy wanna-be. dani, a self-proclaimed attention whore that you discover also is extremely emotional, has a laugh so infectious it’s easy to see why her and lara are usually distracted in class.

and then megan, tagging along like their dorky little sibling, constantly begging them to stop drawing attention to themselves. you start to read her face, noticing when she’s dying of embarrassment from something they do.

you start to really know megan, and she lets herself be known, an open and honest response for every question you ask as your friendship deepens over the weeks.

“why do you come to class so dressed up sometimes?” you ask one night, trying to figure out how to help her pre-loop up her tie for the next day. you’re sick of seeing that crooked knot on her neck and offered to teach yourself on youtube to help her out.

“you’re supposed to dress formal on game days.” she explains. “like, to respect the sport or whatever.”

“i see,” you hum, trying to focus on remembering where the next loop goes through. you realize on the days megan is dressed up, you see a ton of people wearing their fan merch. you finally connect the dots. “i didn’t realize this many people liked hockey.”

“yeah, ‘cause you’re a giant nerd and don’t pay attention to sports. hockey is our biggest sport here.” megan teases. “half of our graduates go pro.”

“oh,” you blink. you’re becoming painfully aware of how close you two are, your fingers sliding behind her neck to tuck the tie behind her collar. “you must like the attention.”

“no. i like the game.” megan’s still awkward, but as your friendship has grown, she’s gotten better at correcting your incorrect assumptions. “the attention makes me lose focus.”

“do you wanna go pro?” you ask.

“yes,” megan says, and it’s quiet like a confession. 

“i think you can do it.” you say it so confidently, but megan lets out a deep breath that tells you she’s doubted this. you hope she takes your faith in her to heart.

“i would say you should come see a game, but you wouldn’t know the difference if i played great or got my ass beat out there,” she laughs. 

“i think you’re the hardest working person i know. you’ll make anything happen.”

“that’s really nice, y/n.” she watches as your fingers finish the final loop, pulling the knot into her collar snugly. “you’ve always been so down to believe in me.”

“promise you won’t forget about me when you make it big?” you grin teasingly. you smooth out her collar around her tie before feeling your neck burn at the proximity between you two. and yet, you don’t find yourself rushing to move away.

megan’s eyes draw to you with something in them, something gentle and different than before. 

“of course,” she smiles, but there’s something more. you’re not brave enough to ask her about it. 

-

your phone buzzes you awake. you don’t bother to reach for your glasses, simply seeing 1:29am is enough to irritate you. but then you see the contact photo, a goofy candid of megan with her beanie pulled down over her eyes, and you figure you can’t be that mad.

you slip into the hallway to not wake belle and minji before picking up.

“hi.”

“y/n?” her voice is raspy and so, so sweet. you wonder if she’s just as tired as you are. “what’s up, what do you need?”

“you called me, dumbass.” you laugh. “in the middle of the night, i might add.”

“oh shit, right right,” she says cooly. 

you laugh again. megan’s humor is so, so stupid, and you have no clue how she can manage to make you laugh every single time.

“how’s the hotel?” you ask. it’s an away game against washington state.

“too stuffy, and we have a red-eye in like three hours.” she sighs. “daniela just got back from partying and woke me up.”

“at least she didn’t bring anyone back to the room this time,” you say.

“god, please do not remind me of that, y/n,” megan pleads, and you can picture the way she’d give you that panicked glare at the memory. you laugh at the way she told the story when it had first happened– rooming with dani for a game against oregon when the blonde made megan sleep in the bathroom so she could hook up with a sorority girl. megan described being traumatized by what she could hear through the door, and you nearly died of laughter.

“try to sleep. red-eyes can be brutal.”

“i’ll nap when i’m back home,” she reassures you. you’re already planning out what you’ll bring her for lunch as a celebration. you didn’t know much, but you knew that these semi-finals were no joke. 

(you don’t mention minji clowning you for tracking the score of the game, and sophia giving you a questioning look when you screamed in the middle of the dining hall once megan’s team had won.)

“i’m literally whispering and dani says i’m making too much noise. i’ll kill her,” megan adds, and you can practically hear the eye-roll.

“you’re not killing anybody, you big dork,” you laugh. “you should go to sleep.”

“fine fine, bye hater.”

“good night, megan.”

“good night, y/n.” 

you attempt to pay no mind to the flutter in your chest as you make your way back into your dorm, diving into your bed. before you close your eyes, a text from megan makes that flutter even harder to ignore.

wanted to hear your voice

yeah?

i get homesick on the road :/

aw you poor baby

thanks for picking up

sure jsyk u can call whenever, you big baby

ditto

-

“what are you doing tomorrow?” she asks you, after a session in your room where you’ve finished drilling the different dates of publications into her head with a stupid memorization song. 

“i don’t have any plans besides–”

“besides reading books by boring dead dudes,” megan gripes. “some of the older girls are having a party to celebrate making it to the championships. you should come. you can bring your roommates. the house is so close, it’s like a 20 minute walk from the dorms.”

“i’ll think about it,” you smile.

“think about what?” belle’s voice rings out as she enters the room at the perfect time. 

“just a small house party. i’ve never seen you out before, y/n,” megan says.

“y/n’s a homebody, but i’ll get her there. send me the details?” belle grins. 

you groan as the two exchange numbers, seeming much too devious for your liking. but the night ends, the next day passes by, and you won’t give megan the satisfaction of letting her know how excited you are about this as your uber drops you and your roomies off far later in the night than you’d like to be awake. 

minji squints as the music pounds from the house, barely containing the people that you see through each window. the three of you let yourselves in, immediately met by familiar faces. 

“i thought you said small?” belle laughs as lara and daniela greet you with hugs.

“dani posted it to her public story instead of her private,” lara snorts. “half the university is here.”

“if my crime is to love being surrounded by beautiful women, fuckin’ arrest me,” dani defends herself, hands in the air. 

“y/n.” megan’s voice rings out from behind you. your heart thuds as she stands there smiling, like a puppy wagging its tail. “you made it.”

“take this with me!” dani grins, handing you a cup of god knows what. you haven’t had enough experience to know your tolerance, but you figure you can start with one and go from there. the blonde cheers as the drink disappears down your throat, megan giving you a concerned yet amused look.

“you’ll die if you try to keep up with her,” she laughs. “she’s fucking crazy.”

“thanks for the tip,” you smile back. you see the cup in her hand. “should i keep up with you instead?”

“it’s gatorade,” she grins sheepishly. “i’m play to win, and i don’t like to take risks the week of such a big game. i try not to even let myself get upset. gotta focus, y’know.”

“well let’s pour one out for baby megs,” lara toasts, pouring from a bottle into everyone’s cups. “and y/n, who saved our girl from academic probation!”

“alright lar, not too much now,” megan wrinkles her nose. 

you laugh, and her eyes meet yours, a smile behind their warmth. you’re surrounded by some of the most exciting people you’ve ever met, and yet all you want to do is find a quiet corner and talk to this dork. you feel your chest tense with a weight of something, but you shake your head before the thoughts can develop.

“gonna go get another drink,” you excuse yourself quickly. maybe you need something stronger, just for tonight.

you’re in the kitchen pouring yourself something random when the flash of ginger hair catches your attention from the other room. except, megan’s not alone, and there’s a girl standing a bit too close, touching something on megan’s forearm.

your mouth goes dry. you’d spent so long getting to know the side of megan the world doesn’t see, it hadn’t occurred to you that she could still have a bad side to her. is it even a bad side to be flirting with a cute girl at a college party? you swallow a lump in your throat and drink whatever you’ve put in your cup. of course she’s allowed to do what she wants, and that doesn’t make her a bad person.

you look up again, and megan leans down to whisper something in the girl’s ear. the girl laughs a little too hard, touching her arm again in the process. megan’s funny, but there’s no way she’s that funny, and plus, the only person who ever laughs that hard–

you pause. the only person that laughs that hard at her is you. 

the shots you took are catching up to you. you race outside to the front yard to try and get some fresh air, accidentally shoving into a guy who’s lingering by the door.

“woah, slow down there,” he snaps.

“please don’t talk to me,” you reply quickly, head still spinning

“don’t come to my house and be rude as shit,” he growls in response. “i’ll stop talking to you when i want to stop talking to you.”

you try to diffuse it by walking away, but he grabs you by the arm to make you look at him. you feel hot tears spring from your eyes. an angry frat boy is the last thing you can handle right now.

“no smartass comebacks? c’mon, push back you little bitch.”

before you can even do anything, she’s there, like a knight in shining armor, the outside of her forearm crushing against his windpipe as she shoves him into the wall. the movement comes easily to megan, no doubt her 15 years of aggression on the ice. her eyes are wide, darker than you’ve ever seen them before.

she barely registers him before those brown eyes come to you. you feel your breath catch in your chest with the way she looks at you.

megan drops him in an instant, instead coming to chase you down. 

“i couldn’t think of anything cool to say to scare him.” you realize she’s shaking, her voice quivering. she’s unnerved, but her presence is so so comforting, her rambles are somehow exactly what you need. “i wanted to say ‘i’ll fucking kill you’ and then ‘i’ll kick your ass’ but instead i almost said ‘i’ll fuck your ass.’”

you manage a snort through your tears. somehow, megan makes you laugh even through this.

“‘i’ll fuck your ass’ may have been scarier, actually,” you laugh, sniffling. 

“god, y/n.” her brows are knit together in concern. she looks up at the sidewalk, the dorm lights barely visible down the street. “can i make sure you get home okay?”

“it’s so late already, i can’t let you walk back alone.” you shake your head.

“i’m sure as hell not letting you walk alone.” she scoffs, before giving you a nod of reassurance. “dani lives in your building, i’ll sleep at her’s once i’m in the dorm, i have her keycode. please.”

somehow, despite it being god knows how late, you know nothing is going to happen as long as megan is there. she insists on giving you her jacket and as much as you push back, she ignores you and drapes the zip-up over your shoulders anyways. she chats your ear off about how excited she is for friday’s game and before you know it, you’re back in your room, wobbling on unsteady feet through the dorm, grateful your roommates are still partying it up.

“thank you, for everything,” you tell her, watching as you sit on your bed and she quietly unlaces your shoes. 

“i owe you a lot, that was nothing.” she shrugs, tossing your shoes into the corner. “if i’m good for anything, i’m good for shoulder checking weirdos.”

you laugh. “hopefully that’s the last time i’ll need your services.”

“you can need me forever,” megan tells you softly, smile on her lips. “i’m here.”

“i judged you so hard when i first met you,” you confess, falling backwards onto your bed. you blink, staring up at the ceiling.  “i was so wrong about you.”

“yeah?” she laughs, taking a seat next to you to help put your hair into a bun. 

“you’re such a sweetheart,” you sigh, sitting up. your hand brushes a tress of her hair out of her face. “biggest, most thoughtful dork i know.”

“i’m not dorky,” megan furrows her brow. you laugh as her nose scrunches up. 

“you were talking to someone, i’m sorry.” 

“she was talking to herself and calling it a conversation. i promise, as soon as i saw you walk out, i followed you asap.”

you feel yourself studying her, your heart pressing against your ribcage with something eager to come out.

“i bet you kiss so many girls.” the words spill out of you as the alcohol takes its toll. “how come you’ve never tried to kiss me?”

you see megan’s cheeks flush red, her gaze fixed on the tv as she pulls up a 10 hour dancing fruit video to leave on in the background. 

“i don’t kiss that many girls,” she defends herself softly. 

“you’re so special. megan the future superstar.” you groan, realizing how fleeting your friendship is. all you’ll probably be is a footnote in her life’s story. you furrow your brows. “i want a kiss from megan the future superstar.” 

as drunk as you are, you’re shocked when she seems to comply.

your breath hitches as she leans in. her lips press gently against your temple. 

“there.” she whispers, checking down at her phone. “minji and belle will be here soon, okay? good night, y/n.”

she pulls your blanket up over your shoulders and slips into the hallway. you’re too out of it to ask her to stay.

-

you wake up, and realize someone is in your bed.

you panic for a brief second before you realize that person is playing animal crossing on their switch, completely unbothered by you gaining consciousness. you’ve never been so grateful to see minji before, even if she is smothering you as you cram into the twin sized bed.

“she’s alive,” minji calls out from next to you. belle comes out of the bathroom, freshly showered, and pulls something out of the mini-fridge for you. a pedialyte in your favorite flavor and some pain relievers. 

“thank you,” you sigh to your roommates, feeling your head pound as you sit up and start to chug, swearing off college parties for the rest of your years.

“can’t take credit. your jock left them for you this morning,” belle informs you, a teasing grin.

“oh god, megan,” you wince, recalling your behavior from the night before. 

“she wouldn’t go away,” minji complains. “not until i texted her a picture of me in your bed so she knew i was there.”

“she does the same thing when i walk home with y/n from their study dates.” belle says.  “just watches us from the doorway until we can’t see her any more.”

“y/n adopted a stray,” minji teases.

“if you say some shit about a bleeding heart, i’ll throw up in your bed specifically,” you threaten belle, and your roommates laugh at you as you let out another groan. you figure skipping class for the first time all semester won’t kill you as you lay back down.

-

after skipping all your classes, you’re at a table in the dining hall, meal untouched, your focus instead on trying to draft a text to megan that even begins to fix the mess you left behind last night. you’ve been at the same table for at least an hour, trying to figure out how to even start.

“hey, y/ln.” you recognize the voice as dani’s, calling out from behind your booth. “can’t hang?”

“leave her alone, dani.” the voice makes you freeze in place. you didn’t even get a chance to send your text.

“we missed you last night for spin the bottle,” dani grins. “meg had to get it on with that cheerleader.”

despite all the work you did last night to remember megan’s allowed to do what she wants, your stomach drops at dani’s reveal. 

“yeah, okay, go away,” megan groans, shooing the blonde. dani complies, and megan sits so you’re alone in the booth together, side by side. she rests her head in her hand on the table. “so…”

“i’m really sorry about all i put you through last night,” you immediately start, feeling the regret press in your ribs.

“you don’t have to be,” she tells you softly, head shaking.

“no, i am.” you insist, realizing how stupid it was of you to think anything would ever come of this. megan doesn’t see you as anything but a tutor, a familiar face at best who she’ll leave behind as soon as she makes it big. “i got so caught up. in the game, the party, the celebration.”

“oh. um, yeah?” she asks quietly.

“you’re not a hockey star to me. you’re just megan.” you furrow your brows. “i’m sorry again for all that.”

you were hoping it would clear things up. but it’s like a cloud comes over megan, her gaze hard and more importantly, avoiding yours.

“no yeah, totally,” she wrinkles her nose, eyes clamping shut. you wonder what’s coming over her and panic that you’ve done something you can’t take back. you try to pivot away quickly.

“your game’s tonight, right?” you ask, but she’s already getting up from the table, gathering her bookbag in her hand.

“megan?” you check in.

“yeah, don’t worry about coming,” she tells you, shaking her head. “i know it’s not your thing.”

and before you can utter a single word more, she’s gone.

-

you take a couple of hours to try to do homework in the library, but you couldn’t possibly focus. not with megan’s final expression haunting you, the pained scrunch of her nose, her inability to bring herself to look at you. you have a tab open to a youtube livestream of the game that you can’t seem to draw your eyes away from.

“you look constipated,” minji says plainly as you get back to the dorm. 

“you are such a-” you stop yourself. you’re not angry at minji, you’re angry at yourself. no need to take out a civilian in the crossfire. you suck in a deep breath and try again. “minji, please be nice to me for once. i’m having a shit day.”

“cheer up.” she says so devoid of emotion, you wonder if she was dropped as a baby. but then she’s handing you a card, in handwriting familiar to you but definitely not minji’s own. “your puppy dog gave this to me when we got coffee.”

your eyes nearly bug out of your head. “you got coffee together? today? since when do you hang out?”

“when you were passed out this morning. and i said she was determined, not that i didn’t like her.” you’ll never understand how this girl’s brain works. “anyways, letter, for you.”

you want to ask so many more questions, but a lightbulb goes off as you try to think about the web of connections at this university. 

“and your friendship has nothing to do with the fact that you’ve been admiring her roommate from afar with absolutely zero rizz to approach her with? are you trying to have her put in a good word?”

you would pay to watch minji’s demeanor crack like this again. 

“wah, shut up. you spread lies on my good name.” she shakes her head furiously, but nothing ever triggers minji, so you know you’ve hit a soft spot when she gets this worked up. “megan is…”

“the closest you’re ever going to get to danielle marsh,” you burst out laughing. 

“shut up and read your letter.”

you open the envelope and a ticket falls out. today’s date, 7pm, the championship game at your university ice arena. 

y/n. i wrote this by hand and took my time. thank you for everything this semester. i think meeting you was my favorite part of this year. i’m grateful you saw me, the way you really saw me. hope that makes sense. hanging out with you felt like being a book that someone finally took off the shelf and opened up. hope to see you at my big game. i saved you a seat by the box, so you can help me study in between plays.

 – megan

ps. just kidding about the studying thing, don’t you dare bring a book into my sacred space. anyways, thanks again.

“minji, i think i fucked up,” you breathe quietly. how unfair to keep judging megan when this whole time, she’s shown you exactly who she is. was it easier to say megan was this or that in order to soothe your own confused feelings? who did it ultimately hurt in the end? 

“what would belle say?” the girl asks. “go bleed your heart out or whatever.”

you don’t correct her. it’s honestly the perfect advice. 

you check your phone and see the game is at halftime, and they’re down 0-2. the stadium is on the other side of campus, but you remember megan’s words from the party. she doesn’t even try to let herself feel upset the week of a game, and there you are on the night of her team’s championship game, being the worst friend possible to her.

your heart races, then aches. you have to make this right, the sooner the better. you order an uber and pray this is the right call.

you race into the stadium and realize it’s absolutely packed with thousands of people, and thunderously loud. it looks like a professional stadium, even at the college level. the game is tied now, 2-2, but you remember enough of what megan’s told you to recognize that they’ve gone into overtime. next to score wins.

you stumble hurriedly down the steps before you make it to the front row. just as the note said, there’s an open seat directly in front of the player box. you see the flash of ginger hair from under a helmet, hunched over on the bench as she watches the play, clearly nervous. you lock your gaze on her and run up to the plexiglass wall. 

there’s a tiny slot in the glass, usually where the players hand a dead puck or a broken stick through the slot to an eager fan, but you’re too desperate to get a hold of megan that you yell to her through it, hoping she can hear you over all the noise.

“megan!”

she looks around confusedly, before turning around to see you against the glass. 

“y/n?”

“you deserve so much more than an apology, but i can at least start with saying i’m sorry,” you know the confession is terrible timing wise, but you’ll never live with yourself if you don’t get it off your chest, especially on such an important night for megan. “i’ve been so horrible to you, assuming all the worst, and you’ve been nothing but an angel to me. ugh, i just…i feel so stupid, because i know how this ends, and i don’t want to get hurt, but i feel like i’ll regret it if i don’t say something.”

“how this ends?” you see megan’s brows furrow together underneath her face guard. “y/n, i could never even dream of hurting you.”

“you didn’t want to kiss me,” you remind her, but you don’t want it to feel like a guilt trip. “and that’s okay, i just know that changed a lot and-”

“because you were drunk.” she cuts you off, shaking her head quickly, her nose wrinkling as she clamps her eyes shut. “that’s- it’s just- fuck.”

“what?” you ask, but before you can finish, daniela slams into the player box and leans in towards megan.

“kazuha’s getting killed out there. she needs a stronger center out, coach is gonna put you in,” dani yells over the roar of the crowd, reaching over to grab a fast sip of water. she shoots a look at you, then a warning glare at megan to wrap it up. “30 seconds.”

“y/n—“

30 seconds is all you need. you won’t waste your shot. 

“megan, i really like you. as in, really like you.” you feel the hot tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you finally hear the words out loud. “as in, i think i’m falling for you, which is so scary. i’m sorry for messing up our friendship. these feelings are way too huge for me to push away. knowing you was amazing and i don’t want you thinking for a second that it wasn’t.”

“skiendiel, in for center. push up and get that puck into that damn net!” coach yells, tapping the back of the ginger’s helmet to get her attention. 

megan gives you a look, your confession hanging in the air, before she leaps over the door and back onto the ice. 

she’s so insanely fast. you don’t have to know hockey to know she’s zipping circles around the other team, their yells of frustration loud and clear as megan swipes in to intercept pass after pass. 

she’s so focused. you watch in awe. 

dani is yelling something to which kazuha nods, dropping her shoulders to book it towards megan. megan uses their proximity to take the pass, running the puck once more up the ice. the defense of the other team are playing dirty, a high stick to the eye immediately taking daniela flat down onto the ice. lara calls for a foul from her spot in the goalie’s box, but the ref didn’t see it, so the play goes on at break-neck speed. 

despite the chaos, megan is locked in to what she needs to do. 

she spits the puck back out in a blazing pass back to kazuha, spinning off an incoming check from another player. she eyes the goal for a split moment, the clock trickling down into its final seconds, before kazuha’s pass is already blasting towards her. 

megan shows no hesitation. she checks a defense into the wall before spinning off, stick lifting into the air to take the most perfect shot off kazuha’s pass. 

your breath catches in your throat as the puck seems to suspend in air, everything going in slow motion. then, your eyes meet, in the middle of it all. 

the goal lights up red just as the buzzer hits. the entire stadium erupts into a deafening roar as you watch megan get swarmed by her entire team. final score 3-2. 

they’re cheering as a team, but you see the flash of ginger hair as a helmet comes off and a body starts skating back towards you. you move to the tunnel, where megan comes off the ice and can finally be face to face with you. she’s breathing heavy, stray hairs clinging to her face through the sweat. 

“i didn’t kiss you that night because i wanted it to be perfect.” megan’s still catching her breath, but she seems desperate to clear her name. you feel frozen in front of her, but she presses on earnestly. “i didn’t want it to be another kiss with a random stranger i’d forget about in a week. i’ve spent too much time thinking about kissing you. i didn’t want it to be anything less than perfect for you.”

“i’m crazy about you, y/n,” she gasps breathlessly, arm wrapping around your waist without hesitation. “i like everything about you. i like you so much it scares me.”

“why didn’t you say anything?” is all you can manage, shaking your head in disbelief. 

“are you serious?” megan lets out a high pitched laugh. “look at you. you’re the most brilliant, incredible, hilarious, kind person i know. i didn’t think i stood a chance. i’m nowhere near cool enough or smart enough to think i was good enough to talk to you, let alone getting to be your friend. it was so worth it to just be your friend. i would have been happy with that forever.”

you feel your head spin. megan thinks all this about you?

“i literally asked you to kiss me,” you press, confused about how it could have been misread.

“i didn’t think you were being weird about me being popular. when you cleared that up, my next thought was that you were pitying me, like how you pity-tutored me.” she confesses. “i overthought and it messed me up. i’m sorry.”

“if you don’t just damn kiss already,” lara barks at you guys as the team starts to trickle off the ice and into the tunnel, daniela grinning teasingly right behind her as she ices her eye. you wince at how bad her eye looks following that high stick, but then you realize what she’s teasing you about. 

you look back at megan, those perfect brown eyes searching for something in yours. you can’t possibly understand how someone who just won her team a national championship can still seem so hesitant. 

“may i?” she tilts her head eagerly. 

“oh my god, asking permission after all that.” you groan and wrap your arms around her neck, head reeling from all that’s just unfolded. “megan, you chivalrous loser, i swear to god.”

she grins something so angelic, you choose to forgive her. 

and the kiss she gives you, gentle yet eager, her arms wrapping around your waist to anchor you in place, is so, so perfect. so insanely worth the wait. 

-

you walk into your 11am intro to british literature class that tuesday, door held open for you by your chivalrous loser. 

sophia’s grading papers at the professor’s desk when eyes drop to your hands (your interlaced, holding-hands-with-megan hands) and smiles at you so giddily, you can’t help but smile back at her just as big. she’s never going to let you live this down. 

dani and lara sit in the row directly behind you guys, hooting and making kissy noises to taunt their younger teammate. you won’t admit how much these idiots have grown on you. 

megan’s arm snakes behind your shoulders as she leans back in her seat next to you. her laptop is already out, open to a new document. you’re so insanely proud of her for her determination. 

you’re too busy admiring her to realize you’re staring, and by the time you’re aware, she’s side-eyeing you. 

“eyes on your own paper, cheater.”

“oh my god, class hasn’t even started yet. you literally haven’t even typed anything.”

her fingers quickly hit the keyboard, a few strokes before she turns the computer to face you. 

i <3 my super cool gf

girlfriend. your heart races at the memory of how you made it official over the weekend after being her date to all the celebratory dinners. you smile and type something back. 

i <3 my dorky sweet gf

megan won’t ever let you catch a break. “oh, so you get to be cool and i’m just a dork again?”

“my dork now,” you remind her. 

“you’re on thin ice,” she rolls her eyes. “you’ll have to take me on a date to make up for it.”

she reaches forward to take your hand in hers, letting them dangle between the desks. you give her hand a gentle squeeze. she peers at you from the corner of her eye, scrunches her nose, and re-focuses on the board as the professor sets up his presentation. 

this stupid letterman jacket you’ve always talked shit about is actually kinda warm. at least, you like it a whole lot better when you’re the one wearing it. 

“i like you so much,” you breathe quietly as the lecture begins.

she smiles eagerly, bringing your hand up to plant a kiss along your knuckles. she’s been so open about her affection for you, you feel like you’re in a dream.

“the guy is trying to teach,” she chastizes you, and you roll your eyes at the change in roles. the way she looks at you tells you she has so, so much to say, and your heart pounds as she focuses back on the lecture. your responsible girl. 

she doesn’t leave you hanging, however, adding a final thought.

 “but yeah, ditto.”

[sematarygirls]

i think one of my favorite things about writing rafe is that any way you write him WILL be correct because he's like a new person every season

s1 rafe: frat boy, lowk submissive and breedable, total bitch boy

s2 rafe: actually batshit insane, definitely master manipulator, evil little man boy

s3 rafe: arrogant little rich boy prick, thinks he's sooooo cool and awesome, daddy material tbh

s4 rafe: literally babygirl boyfriend ??? sugar daddy lover boy who just wants to take care of his girl by all means necessary

and of course, these are all oversimplifications because his previous traits don't simply disappear. we still see his anger issues and violence in s4 just as we did in the other seasons, but it's toned down to a degree, overshadowed by other traits like his desire to have his family back together and be with his girlfriend.

but, my point stands that whether you write him as dominant or submissive, manipulative asshole with homicidal tendencies or doting boyfriend, confident or easily influenced, you will be right on the mark. he's such a versatile character that you can literally write him as ANYTHING, and it will be canon.

[usedtobecooler]

frat boy!steve except he’s just fucking mean and fucks you mean. has you on all fours with a rough hand pushing your face into the bed, cheek smushed against the pillow as he pounds into you so hard the frame rattles against the wall, barely drowned out by the drone of edm music blasting throughout the house.

“oh my god,” you gasp, high pitched and breathy, incoherent and babbling as you’re fucked within an inch of your life, “steve, fuck. fuck. s’good, so good. haaah, right there!”

“that’s it, baby,” steve grunts, the smirk evident in his voice as he palms at the globe of your ass, smacks his hand down roughly and pulls, “tellin’ me how much you love my cock like a good girl.”

it’s relentless. brutal enough to leave you aching for days and relishing in the sting his mark leaves behind, and he keeps you coming back for more. has you on a leash like a dog and you go willingly, would bark and pant for him if he told you to.

the hand in your hair snaps your head back, shakes you out of your fucked out state as his middle finger hooks into your cheek, pulling your mouth open as you moan and drool like a common whore, pushing back against every brutal thrust like you need more.

“look at you,” steve chuckles, grins wolfishly with sharp teeth as his other hand snakes around your neck to grip below your chin, snapping your head back further, “aw, honey. you cryin’ for me?”

you sob pitifully, staring up at him with bleary eyes, pussy clenching as he continues to slam his hips into your ass, the thick length of him slipping in and out with ease — he’s barely breaking a sweat, hair still perfectly pulled back behind a burgundy snapback.

“shit, baby. this pussy’s meant for me,” he coos, cocky and arrogant as he pulls out only to bully his way back in violently, taking your knees out from under you, “my perfect little sex toy, huh?”

you nod as best you can despite yourself, eyes rolling into the back of your head as your ears are infiltrated with the sopping wet clap of skin on skin. tummy coiling with each bite of his thick head dragging against your inner walls.

your orgasm is pulled from you forcefully, steve’s toned torso practically plastered to your back as he chases your body despite how you slide away from the overstimulation. he cums with a rough grunt in your ear, sends you off with nothing more than bruises littering your body and an empty promise to text later.

he doesn’t acknowledge you in class the next day, never does. doesn’t even take a look in your direction. but the following weekend, at the annual toga party, when you’re being hit on by another student, all it takes is one flirty glance at the poor unsuspecting boy, before steve’s hauling him away by the scruff of the neck.

fire in his eyes and shoulders squared in a warning. he needs to remind you of what’s his.

[im-constantly-fangirling]

pride and prejudice

Summary: Rafe Cameron is your typical frat boy-- and you hate those types. But what happens when a night out gives you a peek of who Rafe Cameron is behind all of that?

obxau!Rafe x afab!Reader

Word Count: ~3k

Warnings: underage drinking, the word 'rapist' (no one gets raped or anything), cursing, terrible attempts at humor

A/N: This is definitely not a product of me watching pride and prejudice after watching 22nd jump street. Definitely not. I'm planning on making this a series, so stay tuned for more!

Edit: guys I’m working on part 2!! Hopefully I’ll have it up in the next few days, before my classes start :)

Masterlist

You weren’t one for frat parties; you were more of a kickback kind of girl. You’d been to exactly two frat parties during your time in college, and they both disappointed you immensely. But your friend had a thing going on with this one guy, and that guy was best friends with someone from a frat– so for the sake of her love life you put on a frat party-esque outfit. And that’s how you found yourself sipping on a drink, talking to your friend when her almost-boyfriend crashed your conversation with someone.

You were swaying slightly along to the music that was being blasted throughout the house, trying your best not to bump into the severely drunk people that surrounded you. Your friend laughed and grabbed her almost-boyfriend’s arm. “There you are,” she said, slightly slurry. “I was having so much fun without you!”

He laughed and poked her nose. “Just wanted to introduce my favorite girl to my favorite guy. This,” he said, pointing at his friend, “Is Rafe Cameron.” 

You let your eyes roam over Rafe Cameron as he shook your friend’s hand. Typical frat boy, you thought. Loose-fitting shirt, black pants, slightly unkempt hair, rings. All he was missing was a silver chain and earrings and he’d be the poster boy for a homewrecker’s association. He extended his hand to you, but your body lagged momentarily. Rafe Cameron. Rafe Cameron. 

He probably was the poster boy for a homewrecker’s association.

“Wait,” you said, hesitating. “Rafe Cameron? I’ve heard of you!”

He smirked a little. “I figured.”

You almost rolled your eyes. Arrogant. Should have known. You shook his hand out of respect, but you weren’t too eager to do more than that. 

Rafe wasn’t on the same page. “So what’s your name?” he slightly shouted over the music.

You gave him your name and took a sip of your drink from your silo cup. You elbowed your friend. “You just about done for tonight? If you drink even a drop more I feel like I’m gonna have to airlift you out of here.”

Your friend laughed and shrugged before looking at her almost-boyfriend. “But I’m having so much fun!”

He put his arm around her loosely, and they both drunkenly grinned at each other. You looked at Rafe and fake gagged. “They’re disgusting. Especially him, just cause I’m not gonna insult her.”

“He never told me his girl had such a beautiful friend, you know,” Rafe said, his hand reaching up to comb through his hair. Your eyes trailed his arm, watching as his short sleeve fell back and exposed his bicep– and then you remembered whose arm you were just staring at, and looked back at his face. 

Judging by his smile, he knew you were looking. 

“Don’t waste your lines on me, Rafe Cameron. I’m not gonna sleep with you,” you retorted.

“Who said I wanted to?” he teased, crossing his arms.

You pursed your lips. “So is that how you greet everything with a pulse that walks through your door?”

Rafe chuckled and took half a step closer to you. “That’s how I greet people I find interesting.”

“Aha so you do wanna sleep with me!” you exclaimed. “Oh, how I love being correct.”

Rafe rolled his eyes. “Yeah, must not be a regular occurrence with how excited you are.”

You pouted at him, swatting at his shoulder. “That’s not very welcoming of you. I thought the job of a host was to be kind to their guests?”

“You don’t seem like you want to be my guest,” Rafe said, a slight implication in his voice. He took your red silo cup out of your hand. “But I’ll give you some time to change your mind.”

You tilted your head at him. “I’m not that easy, Cameron.”

“I like a challenge.” He took a sip of your drink, eyes wincing. “Holy shit, this is strong!”

“Yeah, I can’t hold my liquor for shit, but I sure love to try.” You took your drink back from Rafe. “Thank you for leaving behind exactly two drops,” you said sarcastically.

Rafe put up his hands in mock surrender. “Relax, I’ll get you a refill.”

You smiled at him with a poisonous smile. “Better get hoppin’, Cameron.”

“You’re not gonna come with?” He questioned. You started nodding when, out of the corner of your eye, you saw your friend and her almost-boyfriend making out, their hands wandering. When you looked back at Rafe, he looked like he could barely hold in his laughter.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll come,” you said, resigned. Rafe laughed, his alcohol-tinged breath fanning over your face lightly. “Shut it before I tackle you.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, turning to walk toward the drink table. 

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ

You and Rafe had finally fought through the sluggish heap of college students, reaching the kitchen only to find mostly empty bottles. Rafe put his hands on his hips and hummed to himself. “Actually,” he said, “Wait here. I’ll go get some from my room. Can’t let a pretty girl walk around here without a drink.”

You smiled at him slightly. “Flattery isn’t gonna get you anywhere, Cameron.”

“Not with that attitude it won’t,” he said before he disappeared into the throng of students, making his way to the stairs. You just pulled your phone out and stood in the corner, hoping that no one would bump into you. 

Your phone vibrated with a text from your friend. 

Gojng bck to his place, get hom cafe! ill pay u back 4 uberrrrrr 

That girl really needs to pace her drinks, you thought to yourself. Crossing your arms around yourself, you tried to blend into the dark corner of the kitchen you planted yourself in. Maybe just one drink with Rafe and then I’ll go home. 

As if on cue, you felt a slight poke on your right shoulder. You turned to find Rafe standing with two cups, filled almost to the brim with coke and god knows what else. “I have returned,” he said.

“Very medieval of you,” you teased, taking the glass from him. “What’s in it, exactly?”

“Just some Tito’s and coke. Can’t go wrong there,” Rafe said, taking a sip of his drink.

You looked into the brown liquid and, when you noticed no bubbles or anything else strange, you took a little sip. “I’ll give you that one. Sometimes basic is good.”

“Woah, doth my ears misunderstand? Art thou agreeing with me?” Rafe said sarcastically.

You laughed. “It’s just the alcohol, alright? I don’t usually have more than two shots, and right now I’m no shot number three.”

Rafe laughed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re such a lightweight!”

An immediate, stubborn fire lit in your stomach at those words. “Hey! You might be right but would a lightweight do this?” You brought the cup to your lips and chugged the slightly bitter drink, ignoring the ache in your throat from the sheer volume of liquid. 

“I could do better than that,” Rafe countered, downing his drink in three large sips. You watched his Adam’s apple bob slightly. You hated to think it, but you saw the appeal. The sarcasm, charm, chill attitude– and it didn’t help that it was attached to such a nice body.

You definitely drank too much. 

“Let’s pour another then, mister big shot!” you slurred slightly. Fuck, my head hurts a little. 

Rafe shook his head vigorously. “I don’t think that’s the best idea. You’ve just had five shots.”

Your eyebrows shot up to your forehead. “There were two shots in there?”

Rafe leaned in, just a few inches between your faces. “And that was me restraining myself,” he said in a low voice. “I think I win our alcoholic contest, sweetheart.”

You felt a slight blush creep into your face. It’s just the alcohol, you thought. It’s definitely not his voice. 

“Well,” you slurred. “I should probably head home anyway. My lovely friend and her make out partner have decided to abandon me high and dry, so it’s not like I’ve got much entertainment here anyway.”

“Okay, now I’m offended. I’m not entertaining?” Rafe put his hand on his chest in mock hurt. “Let me call you an Uber, then.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “You think chivalry is gonna get you in my good graces, Cameron?”

He shook his head. “I know it will.” He pulled out his phone, the brightness illuminating his face slightly. You could see every crevice of his pores, his plush lips—

I need to go home, you thought. Too much drink. Toooooo much. You shook your head and then immediately winced, regretting the sudden movement. 

“You okay?” Rafe asked. 

You nodded your head lightly. “Yeah my head is just spinning reallllyyyyyy fast,” you said, chuckling. “It’s like my head is moving and my brain is taking a bit to catch up with me.”

Rafe put his phone in his back pocket. “Alright, how about we get you sobered up a little before I send you home, alright? I don’t need the RAs to get you in trouble for drinking.” He lightly grabbed your upper forearm and guided you out of the kitchen before you stopped him.

“Wait, Rafe,” you said, your eyes wide. “I’m really really dizzy.” You blinked your eyes open and close over and over again, as if that would get the alcohol to process through your system faster. “I don’t wanna walk.” I probably look like a clutz right now. In front of Rafe Cameron, no less. 

Rafe sighed a little before he guided you to lean all of your body weight into his side. “Come on, let’s go sit on the couch, alright?”

You shook your head. “Noooo I don’t want to,” you slurred, your head throbbing at this point. “Too many people there. It’s embarrassing,” you whined. I wanna go home, I don’t want anyone to see me like this, you thought to yourself.

“You wanna go upstairs then? There’s no one in my room.” Rafe put his arm around your shoulder, and you leaned into his support, your face falling into the space between his neck and shoulder. You could smell his cologne just slightly, and you had to give it to him– he picked out some good cologne. He smelled just lightly of sandalwood and pine. It distracted you for a little bit before you remembered to respond.

“Okay, but if you kidnap me then I’m gonna be sooooo mad at you.”

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧‧͙⁺˚･༓☾:･ﾟ

When Rafe got to the stairs, he looked at you and the stairs and back at you again. “So how do you want to do this?”

You shook your head in the crook of his neck, frustrated. “I don’t knowww,” you whined. “My brain isn’t working right now and I hate it, I hate it, I hate–”

“Alright, sweetheart, how about I just carry you up the stairs? You don’t have to do anything, you just have to sleep a little, okay? I promise the second you wake up I’ll drive you home.”

You hummed for a really long time, harmonizing to Phantom of the Opera. “I’m so sorry for being this annoying,” you started rambling. “I don’t really drink this much and like I wanna take care of myself but it’s so frustrating cause I tell my legs to move and they just don’t- ah!”

Rafe put his hands under your knees, lifting you up and climbing the stairs, weaving in and out of the small groups of people who were standing on the staircase. “It’s okay, trust me. You’re not an annoying drunk, you’re kinda funny.” He poked the area behind your knee and you snorted. “Woah, what was that sound?” he asked you.

You clutched his shirt and buried yourself into his neck even deeper than before. “If I hear a word about this tomorrow, I’m going to order an Osama bin Laden level hit squad on you, you hear me Cameron? I’m anti-gun but I’ll change my mind just to get rid of you.”

“Harsh words from the girl who couldn’t figure out a flight of stairs,” Rafe teased you. 

He brought you down the hallway, and the loud noises of the party slowly started getting a little quieter. The lights were off in this part of the house, and you found the dark a welcome cool for your pupils. Your eyes closed. 

“You doing alright there?” Rafe asked you. He leaned all your weight onto his one hand and thigh and you heard the turn of a doorknob– and then the click of the door as it shut behind you. 

“Don’t kidnap me, Cameron,” you slurred. “Remember. Osama bin Laden hit squad.”

Rafe chuckled, and you felt the vibrations through his chest. “Relax, sweetheart. I know some people think I’m a dick, but I’m not a rapist.” He lowered you to what you could feel was a bed and a slightly wrinkled comforter of some sort. Comfy. 

You peeked an eye open to look at him. “That’s what a rapist might say.” Rafe’s face was still a little close to you, having just put you on his bed, and you couldn’t stop your eyes from wandering to his lips. And then back to his eyes when you remembered who he was. And then back down to his lips when you forgot. 

“You talk a lot, don’t you?” Rafe commented, making no move to get away from you. Rather, he did the opposite– he sat on the edge of his bed, leaning his weight onto his thighs. His basketball shorts rode up a little and you could see the slight muscle of it. 

You opened both of your eyes and found yourself in a small, secluded room. The only light source was his desk lamp in the corner, the soft yellow light giving the area a cozy glow. He had a few basketball posters up on the wall across from where you were lying. Typical frat room, you thought. No surprises there. 

You sat up against his headboard and looked Rafe defiantly in his eyes. “Didn’t hear you complaining.”

“Never said I didn’t like it,” Rafe said. “Between the two of us, I think you’re the one who’s got a heart full of hate.”

“Just because I don’t say yes to sleeping with you doesn’t mean I hate you, Cameron,” you said slightly irritated. “Sorry, I don’t fall onto your feet immediately.”

“You don’t hate me, huh?” Rafe said, smirking. “That’s a start.”

“And that’s all it’s gonna be. I’m not easy,” you repeated. “Not much works on me.”

“So what does? Asking for a friend.” Rafe motioned you to scootch over, and you did, cornered between him and the wall. You sat with your back against the headboard, and Rafe sat opposite you, putting his hands behind him. 

You hummed for a really long time. I’ve been humming a lot lately, you thought. “I don’t knooooow,” you drew out. “I’ll tell you if you give me 20 Monopoly dollars.”

“How about 20 Life dollars?” Rafe countered.

“Deal!” you said, laughing. You sighed, the question sobering you up a little bit. “I want a man who’s genuine,” you decided. “I’ve done the whole casual, hook-up thing. I hated it, I always felt used afterward.” You looked at him. “Guess I just want something real for once.”

Rafe didn’t break your eye contact, and you could practically see the gears in his head processing everything you said. 

Shit, you thought. Not very casual and funny of me to just drop this on a frat guy. 

You leaned your head against the headboard, a drunk smile on your face. “But I don’t expect you to get that. Not exactly the fun conversation you wanted to have at your party, right? Hey! Hopefully I don’t remember telling you this tomorrow morning!” You laughed at your own stupidity. “Wait, fuck, if I forget then you might still remember!”

Rafe cleared his throat and got on all fours, reaching behind you to pull up his pillow. You moved forward naturally. “What, are you gonna hit me with it?” you joked with Rafe.

He didn’t laugh, chuckle, give a quip back. Nothing. He just laid the pillow down flat and gestured for you to lay down. You did. “You should get some sleep,” he said solemnly. 

You nodded lightly, happily noticing your head throbbing less than before. When your eyes closed, you felt Rafe’s weight get off of the bed. You didn’t know why, but you felt something clawing at you in your stomach, telling you that you’d fucked up somewhere. He’s helping you, you thought. He’s helping you and you just insulted his character two seconds ago. 

“Wait, Rafe?” you called out. You heard him give a soft grunt in response. “Why’re you being so nice to me?”

There was a pause and you heard him take in a breath. “Guess I’m just a good host,” he said softly, slight jest in his voice. But it was tinged with a heaviness that you hadn’t heard all night. You opened your eyes to find him sitting at his desk, looking at you.

“You know,” you started, the alcohol making you more vulnerable than usual. “That light makes you look really good. Kind of like a painting.”

Rafe chuckled. “You’ve definitely had too much to drink, sweetheart.”

You turned your body to face him. “Maybe. But I’m not gonna remember this tomorrow, so did this even happen?” you said. “Are we in a matrix? Have we been in a simulation this–”

“You sound like a podcast junkie right now,” Rafe said, laughing. You heard less of the heaviness in his voice and rejoiced silently. Frat boy or not, you didn’t like making people sad.

“You’re a little different than I thought you’d be, Cameron.”

Rafe shook his head. “I still fuck anything that moves, don’t worry. And I can hold my alcohol, but we already established that, didn’t we?”

You slapped your hand over your eyes. “Too soon, man. Too soon.” Your eyes started drooping behind your palm, and you yawned. “Wait, if you want I can go sleep on the couch. I don’t wanna take your bed, and you’ve been so nice to me even though I’m like an annoying amount of drunk. It’s the least I can do,” you begged.

“There’s like fifty people on the couch,” Rafe pointed out.

You dragged your hand down your face and pouted, your lower lip jutting out slightly in thought. “Then I can Uber back home. I don’t wanna bother you.” Tears started lining your eyes. 

Rafe rolled his chair next to his bed and grabbed your wrist lightly, drawing your attention. “Listen to me. I’m not letting you Uber home in this condition, and I’m definitely not going to make you try and sleep on a couch that is probably covered in fifty STDs right now. I’ve got no problem with you sleeping here, you hear me? Besides, you seem chill so far. I don’t hate spending time with you, you know.”

You looked at his hand holding your wrist, noting how it dwarfed you. I’m not easy, you reminded yourself. I deserve more than a hook-up ridden frat boy. “Or maybe you just want to hold it over my head that I slept in your room the first night I met you,” you joked, trying to break the tension.

Rafe chuckled. “There’s that, too.”

You brought your hand up to his wrist and gently pried his fingers off of your wrist. “I charge thirty dollars for physical contact, Cameron.”

“You must owe me thousands, then,” he retorted. You laughed.

“Where are you going to sleep?” you asked.

“Will knowing that make you feel better about sleeping here?” he questioned you. When you nodded your head yes, he sighed.

“Wasn’t planning on sleeping anyway. I’ve got an exam in my marketing class tomorrow and I’ve skipped half of the lectures.”

“Hah! Marketing major. That’s what I thought,” you said. But you were content with his answer, and you closed your eyes. 

“Put down your pitchforks, ma’am. I’m an Information Systems major.” You heard Rafe roll his chair back to his desk.

“Not much better, Cameron.” You paused for a second. “But again, thank you. I owe you one.”

“Go to sleep already. You’re gonna need the rest for when I make fun of you in the morning,” said Rafe.

You chuckled lightly, sleep starting to take you over. You muttered quietly, drunkenly: “Goodnight, Rafe.”

[yuujispinkhair]

We never go out of style

The thing with Sukuna and you is that it's fun. It's fun to kiss him at parties and to take him home and sleep with him. It's fun to just have this casual little on-and-off romance with him because, after all, you both know that you will always come back to each other.

Aka, I listened to Style by Taylor Swift and got the biggest butterflies when I pictured a modern College boy version of Sukuna to this song.

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: fluff + smut, College AU Word Count: 2k Warnings: 18+, smut, mentions of sex at semi-public/public places. Reader and Sukuna have an on-and-off fling, but both develop feelings over time. During one of their breaks, they both kiss other people and get jealous about it. All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

You aren't even sure how you got into that on-and-off fling with Sukuna. It was supposed to be just a little fun at a frat party. A few heated kisses in the kitchen while you were sitting on the counter, and he was standing between your legs, one large hand cupping your chin and tilting your face up to kiss you in a way that made your head spin.

Just a little fun. Just a few sexy kisses with a sexy boy who had too many tattoos, too much confidence, and a reputation that should have sent you running.

You never planned to go home with him. But somehow you did, and somehow you ended up in his bed with him on top of you, in all his naked glory, tall and sexy with all those toned muscles and tattoos. And somehow, your hand was caressing his undercut and tangled in his slicked-back pink hair, ruffling it in a way that made him look almost cute. And somehow, the way he was grinding against you and fucking you into his mattress was the best sex you ever had.

Maybe that's why you walked over to him when you saw him on campus on Monday morning, leaning casually against a fence with sunglasses pushed up into his slicked-back hair, smirking that boyish smirk at you and lifting a large hand to wave you over with one long tattooed finger.

Maybe it was a combination of his skills in the bedroom and his confidence and boyish charm that made you agree to meet him again. Maybe it was the way he flashed you such an attractive smile when you said yes that made your knees feel strangely weak when you walked to your next class.

No matter what the reason was, ever since that day months ago, you have been in this little on-and-off fling with Sukuna.

Never quite the real thing, but also never not a thing.

Sometimes it's a few drunk kisses at a party, where you suck on his tongue and moan when he lifts you up to set you on the kitchen counter. Sometimes, it's loud, excited laughter and a fluttering pulse when he takes tequila shots where he licks the salt off your neck, letting his tongue-piercing glide over your skin. Sometimes, it's a wink and a flirty greeting while passing him in the hallway. Sometimes, it's a passionate hour spent in his bed, forgetting all the College stress when he dicks you down so good you almost cry.

Sometimes, you go weeks without talking to each other, both doing your own thing. But then you'll receive a text message at 3 a.m. asking you how you're doing.

"What's up, princess? Wanna meet up? I kind of miss your laugh."

You meet him every time. And it's always the same after a few weeks of not seeing each other:

A racing heart and a loud laugh when he stands in front of your door with a bottle of cheap wine and a single red rose. Needy, hungry kisses when you pull him into your apartment. Impatient hands tearing at each other's clothes as you stumble to your bedroom.

Your friends start to notice and ask you if you are dating Sukuna. You deny it, laughing and shaking your head. Who would be stupid enough to date him? You know this is something that only leads to a broken heart. No, Sukuna isn't someone for a relationship or anything serious.

But he is fun. So much fun. The bad boy with the charming grin. The arrogant asshole with the sweetest sweet talk you've ever heard. You know he is dangerous. A heartbreaker, a big flirt. Everybody wants him in their bed. He could have a pretty girl or boy on each finger.

You make sure not to get too invested. You keep it casual. A little fling when you feel like it. When you feel like getting fucked so good, you forget your own name. You make sure to push him away a little bit when things seem to become too intense.

You tell him you won't have time for him during the following weeks because you have to study. He doesn't have to know that, in reality, it's because you can't get his stupid charming smile out of your mind or because you catch yourself rolling over in your bed one night and sighing "Kuna" when you think you can still smell his cologne on your pillow where he slept a few nights ago.

This is dangerous territory. It's best to keep your distance for a while. You go out with your friends. You go to bars and clubs Sukuna doesn't frequent, meeting new people, flirting with someone new, maybe kissing one or two others just for the fun of it because you are young and free and you can do whatever you want. Or maybe it is to convince yourself you aren't falling for a pink-haired bad boy with the world's most charming smirk.

Your dormmate asks you if you and Sukuna broke up because lately, she hasn't seen him leave your room in the mornings with his hair ruffled and hickeys adorning his neck.

Another friend of yours approaches you with a sympathetic look and gently informs you that they saw Sukuna with some other girl last night, kissing her against the wall at a party.

You smile through all the comments, shaking your head and brushing it off.

"Oh, that's fine. We aren't dating or anything like that. He is just a little fling. It's not that serious!"

You try to ignore the uneasiness those comments cause. You smile and buy a new sexy outfit, and go to more bars to kiss more strangers, and Sukuna does the same.

Until you bump into him at another party. You turn the corner after grabbing a drink from the kitchen, and suddenly, you run into his tall, muscular figure, your face practically knocking against his chest. And he laughs and raises an eyebrow at you while his maroon gaze trails lazily over your body.

"It's been a while, princess. How was the studying?"

"It was good..."

"What were you studying again? Making out with strangers in bars?"

His eyes glitter challengingly, and his velvety low voice is carefully playful and teasing, but you can hear the edge in it. You glare up at him, 

"Oh, you mean the thing you were studying too? I heard you were hanging out with some other girl."

For a long moment, no one says a word, and you just stare deeply into each other's eyes. But then Sukuna laughs and cocks his head, 

"Well, it's true what you heard, but it was only two or three times. I'm not interested in her. Especially not now, when you seem to have time for me again."

You know he is leaning down on purpose, knowing full well how hot you find your height difference. You know he is brushing his lips over your ear with the intention of making you weak. You know he is calling you princess in that low sexy voice to make you come home with him tonight and forget all the dumb shit both of you did during the last few weeks.

You know now would be the right moment to tell him it's over for good. But you don't do it. You don't want to.

What you want is to put a hand on his toned chest and grab the front of his white shirt to pull him closer. 

"I have time for you, Kuna. I have time tonight and maybe tomorrow, too."

You can feel his smirk when he kisses you, and his muscular, tattoed arms wrap around you and pull you against that tall, strong body that feels so fucking good against you.

"That's good, princess, since I couldn't stop thinking about you and me those last few weeks. It's more fun when you're with me."

The two of you are back at your typical shit again. Passionate kisses at various parties, loud moans, and entangled sweaty bodies in either Sukuna's bed or yours. Once a week, twice, maybe more often. Sometimes, he stays the whole night and makes your dormmate complain about him using up all the milk in the fridge.

The occasional late-night texts turn into nightly calls. Lying in your bed in the dark with a racing heart as you listen to Sukuna's low voice telling you random things he did today, smiling when he tells you to sleep well.

You go to parties together and make out on kitchen counters. You go to clubs and dance and kiss and make it look so dirty that strangers come up to you and tell you to get a room. You give Sukuna a good luck kiss in the morning before his exam and laugh when he walks around with your red lip print on his cheek. 

People start commenting again on your relationship status, but you just laugh and roll your eyes.

Just like you roll your eyes when Sukuna pulls up at your place on a Wednesday at quarter to midnight, his car window rolled down, long fingers casually flicking off the ash of his half-smoked cigarette as he smirks at you,

"Wanna go on a ride, princess? Jump in. Let's drive to the beach."

"It's almost midnight, you idiot!"

"So what? I didn't say just for tonight, did I? We can stay for a few days, check into a hotel, have some fun tomorrow at the beach, go swimming, sip sweet cocktails at a shabby little bar, fuck in the warm sand, things like that. I know you want to."

You do.

You know you have an exam next week and really shouldn't miss any courses, but what can you do when Sukuna is here in front of you with his sexy smirk and that enticing sparkle in his maroon eyes, offering you the chance for a spontaneous adventure you will probably never forget?

You get into his car. You let him rest his large hand much too high on your thigh, and you let him kiss you breathless at every red light, giggling when he misses the traffic light changing, and the cars behind you honk. But Sukuna just grins against your lips and keeps kissing you while he lifts his hand to flip the guy behind him off in the rearview mirror.

You listen to him complaining about his teammates and his coach and make sure to nod understandingly and do the "Oh, no, he didn't!" and "Ah, that sucks!" at the right moments, earning you a smile and a kiss on the cheek.

You check into a cheap hotel down at the beach, feeling your heart beating like crazy because it feels like you are a criminal couple on the run in some noir movie. Or maybe two forbidden lovers meeting here in secret, far away from the cruel reality where everything is too serious, and people expect you to be a responsible adult.

Sukuna fucks you like he's starved for your body. Hard, deep thrusts and bruising kisses. Passionate sex that makes the old bed creak loudly while the sound mingles with your gasps and moans of Sukuna's name. Rough fucking that turns into surprisingly gentle lovemaking later that night, and Sukuna's soft moans against your neck and sweet little nothings whispered in your ear.

You return home two days later, feeling lightheaded and a bit sore from all the sex you had with Sukuna during those two days. On the hotel bed, in the shower, at the beach at night, on the drive home in his car.

His hand is on your thigh, slipping a bit under your short skirt, caressing your skin while he kisses you thoroughly in his parked car in front of your dorm. Maybe his hand tightens a bit on your thigh, not wanting to let go. Maybe you do the same, your fingers tangling in his soft pink hair, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away and saying goodbye.

When you finally exit his car, he grins at you with lips that are swollen from all the kissing and smeared with your lipstick. The red one that he likes so much on you.

"I'll call you when I'm home, princess. And let's meet again on Tuesday or something. I heard there's a party at Choso's dorm."

"Alright… or you could just stay the night."

The smile that lights up his face is enough to make your breath quicken. He is out of his car in a second, a large hand on the small of your back, steering you towards your front door. And you are grateful for the darkness of the night that helps you hide the stupid big grin on your face.

You don't know if you will ever be more than this on-and-off thing. You don't even know whether you would want it to be more. You don't know if you ever want to date Sukuna for real or if you ever want to call him your boyfriend.

But you know he is your boy, and you are his girl.

It doesn't matter how long your little fling will last this time, just a week or maybe a month. It doesn't matter if you'll go your separate ways for a little while again at some point. In the end, you will always come back to each other. Because one thing is for sure: Whatever the two of you have will never go out of style.

I HAD SO MANY BUTTERFLIES WHILE LISTENING TO THE SONG AND WRITING THIS AAAHHH!!! College boy Sukuna is my weakness. I'm so in love with him!!Help meee!!

So yeah, I decided that 1989 is a great College Sukuna album, and I will now go back to listening to it again and daydream about him.

I hope you enjoyed this little story and that it could give you butterflies too, maybe!! Please tell me how you liked it.

Comments and reblogs would be sweet.

[xomakara]

After Midnight

SUMMARY |  You are on a blind date, and the guy turns out to be a total jerk. Increasingly uncomfortable, but too polite to get up and leave, you are grateful to be rescued by Yangyang, the cute college frat boy in your class and the object of your affections, who comes over and gives you an out. PAIRINGS | Yangyang x Reader RATING | Mature, NSFW, EXPLICIT, MDNI, 18+, Any Minors and Ageless Blogs will be blocked GENRE |  smut, college au, non-idol au, blind date gone wrong CONTENT/WARNINGS | profanity/strong language, unprotected sex (wrap it up ya’ll!), fingering, slight dirty talk, praising, vaginal penetration LENGTH | 8,887 words TAGLIST |  --- NETWORKS |  @k-vanity @ksmutsociety AUTHOR’S NOTE | Finally managed to get something written for Yangyang! Finally! Thank you @shadowkoo for the beautiful banner! I hope you all like it and enjoy it 💚

NCT Main Masterlist

The dimly lit bar feels like a scene out of someone else’s life. The hum of conversation buzzes around you, but it feels distant, muffled by the tightening knot in your stomach. You shift uncomfortably on the barstool, your fingers tracing the condensation on your glass. Across from you sits Wooseok—your blind date. A guy who seemed charming over texts but now drips with an arrogance so thick it could coat the walls.

“So,” he says, leaning back arrogantly, his smirk as cocky as his tone. “You into sports? Or are you one of those artsy types?”

You force a smile, trying to mask the irritation clawing at you. “A little of both, I guess.”

His laugh is sharp, dismissive. “Yeah, I heard that one before. Bet you love yoga or something, right? All that ‘namaste’ crap.”

Oh god. You glance at your half-empty drink, wishing it were stronger, faster. Anything to numb this awkwardness. Why did you agree to this? Why didn’t you just ghost him when his condescension became clear over text? But no, you’d been raised too well for that. Too polite. Too much of a people-pleaser. And now here you are, stuck.

He picks up the thread again, his voice rising above the ambient noise. “Anyway, I’m more of a gym guy. You know, real fitness. Not that flaky stuff. Gotta stay in shape, especially if you want to keep up with me.”

You nod absently, your eyes darting across the room. Relief floods through you as you spot Yangyang, the cute frat boy from your class. He’s sitting with a group of friends a few tables over, laughing and sipping beers. His smile lights up the room, and you feel a pang of longing. 

If only this were a date with him.

As if sensing your gaze, Yangyang glances over. Their eyes meet, and for a moment, everything else fades away. His lips curl into a reassuring half-smile, and you feel a flutter of hope. Maybe—just maybe—he’ll save you from this nightmare.

But then your date leans closer, his cologne overpowering even the faint smell of beer and smoke. “So, what do you say we get out of here? Maybe grab some dessert? My treat, of course.”

His tone is smooth, almost too smooth, and there’s something in his eyes that makes your skin crawl. You open your mouth to decline, but the words catch in your throat. Before you can muster a response, Yangyang stands up, his attention shifting fully to you.

“Y/N!” he calls out, his voice warm and playful. “How’s it going?”

Your date frowns, his annoyance obvious. “Who’s this guy?”

You feel a surge of gratitude as Yangyang approaches, his presence radiating confidence. 

“I’m Yangyang,” he says, extending his hand to your date. “A friend of hers. Classmate, actually.”

Your date shakes his hand reluctantly, his jaw tight. “Nice to meet you.”

Yangyang’s grin widens, and he turns to you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You weren’t answering my texts earlier, so I figured I’d come find you. What’s the deal? Having fun?”

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden shift. But then you realize—he’s giving you an out. A way to escape this unbearable situation. “Oh, uh… yeah, sure. It’s been… interesting.”

Yangyang chuckles, his gaze flicking between you and your date. “Well, I hate to interrupt, but we’ve got that group project meeting tomorrow, and I need to go over some notes with you. You free to head out now?”

There’s a pause, and you can practically see the gears turning in your date’s head. Finally, he straightens up, his pride clearly wounded. “Sounds like you’ve got plans. Guess I’ll let you go.”

You stand quickly, relief washing over you. “Thanks for… uh, dinner? Drinks? This.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “Yeah, no problem. Have fun with your… homework.”

Yangyang steps closer, his arm brushing yours as he guides you toward the exit. “Don’t be rude, man. Have a good night.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, once you’re out of earshot.

Yangyang grins, his dimples deepening. “No problem. Couldn’t let you suffer through that alone. You looked like you needed rescuing.”

You laugh softly, the tension easing slightly. “You have no idea. How did you even know it was me?”

“Oh, I saw you walk in earlier,” he admits, his voice lowering. “Figured I’d wait a bit, see how things went. When things got weird, I knew I had to intervene.”

You glance at him, your cheeks heating. “That’s… kind of amazing, actually.”

He shrugs, looking away briefly. “Happens to the best of us. Anyway, you okay? Want to grab some coffee or something? My treat.”

Your heart skips a beat. Coffee? With him? 

“I’d like that,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

You both step outside, the cool night air hitting your faces. Yangyang walks close enough that both of your arms brush occasionally, sending shivers down your spine. 

“So,” he says, his tone light but teasing. “What’s next?”

You turn to him, your pulse quickening. “Depends,” you reply, feeling bold suddenly. “What do you want to do?”

“Funny you should ask,” he whispers, his voice low and husky. He meets your gaze, his eyes dark and intense. “Because I’ve been thinking about this all night.”

Before you can respond, he steps closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “Do you trust me?” he asks, his voice barely audible.

You swallow hard, your heart racing. “Yes.”

He smiles faintly, his hand reaching out to lightly touch your waist. “Good. Because I don’t wanna take this slow.”

And then, without waiting for an answer, he presses his lips to yours. His kiss lingers on your lips, a sweet, dizzying sensation that makes your knees weak. You glance up at him, his dark hair catching the faint glow of the streetlights, and he grins, a playful glint in his eyes.

“So,” he says, his voice light but teasing, “coffee? Or do you want to see if I can make this even more interesting?”

You laugh softly, feeling a strange mix of nerves and excitement. The date with Wooseok feels like a distant nightmare now, washed away by Yangyang’s effortless charm. 

“Coffee sounds good,” you reply, tilting your head slightly. “But if you’re trying to impress me, you might have to work harder than that.”

He chuckles, the sound low and warm, and nudges you playfully. “Challenge accepted.”

The two of you walk side by side down the dimly lit sidewalk, the quiet hum of the city surrounding you. Yangyang leads you to a small, cozy café tucked away from the main street, its windows glowing warmly. Inside, the air smells of freshly brewed coffee and baked pastries, and the soft murmur of conversation fills the space. A young barista behind the counter glances up with a bright smile as you approach.

“Hey, Yangyang,” the barista says, their tone friendly but subtly flirtatious. “Long time no see. What can I get for you tonight?”

Yangyang smiles back, leaning casually on the counter. “Hey, Ruby. Two coffees, please—something strong. And maybe a slice of that chocolate cake.”

“Coming right up,” Ruby replies, their fingers already moving deftly over the espresso machine.

As Ruby works, Yangyang turns to you, his expression shifting to one of curiosity. 

“So,” he begins, his voice dropping just enough to feel intimate in the bustling café, “what made you agree to a blind date with him? He seemed… not your type.”

You sigh, shaking your head as you think back to Jake’s arrogance. “I don’t know. I guess I thought it was worth giving it a shot? But yeah, he was… not my type. At all.”

Yangyang nods, his gaze lingering on you as if he’s trying to read something deeper. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that anymore. Not when you’ve got me around.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you meet his gaze, feeling a sudden intensity in the air between you. Before you can respond, Ruby sets down two steaming mugs on the counter, each topped with a swirl of foam.

“Here you go,” Ruby says, sliding the plate with the chocolate cake toward you. “Enjoy.”

“Thanks,” Yangyang says, taking the mugs and handing one to you. “Let’s grab a table.”

You follow him to a small corner booth, the dim lighting casting shadows that make the space feel private. As you sit across from him, the warmth of the mug in your hands contrasts with the coolness of the night outside. Yangyang takes a slow sip of his coffee, watching you over the rim of his cup.

“So,” he says again, setting his mug down carefully, “tell me something about yourself. Something real.”

You raise an eyebrow, feeling both amused and intrigued by his directness. “Something real? What kind of question is that?”

He shrugs, leaning back in his seat, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. “You seem like someone who doesn’t open up easily. So, I’m curious. What’s something most people wouldn’t know about you?”

Your heart skips a beat at the question, and you shift uncomfortably, unsure how much you want to reveal. But there’s something about the way Yangyang looks at you—calm, attentive, and genuine—that makes it hard to resist.

“Okay,” you say slowly, picking at the edge of the cake with your fork. “I… write poetry. Like, really bad stuff, mostly. But it helps me process things.”

Yangyang’s lips curl into a slow, appreciative smile. “That’s pretty cool. Do you ever show it to anyone?”

You shake your head, feeling a flush rise to your cheeks. “No. It’s just… for me. Private.”

He nods thoughtfully, his gaze never leaving yours. “Fair enough. Maybe one day, though, you’ll let me read some. If you want to.”

The suggestion hangs in the air, heavy with possibility, and you find yourself wondering what it would be like to share that part of yourself with him. Before you can dwell on it too much, Yangyang reaches across the table, his fingers brushing lightly against yours.

“You don’t have to answer that,” he says softly, his touch sending tingles up your arm. “But I hope you know I’d listen. To anything you wanted to say.”

You swallow hard, feeling the heat of his words settle deep in your chest. 

“Why are you being so nice to me?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Yangyang’s expression shifts, a flicker of something raw crossing his face before it settles into a gentle smile. 

“Maybe because I like you,” he admits, his voice low and sincere. “And maybe because I saw the way he was treating you, and I couldn’t stand it. I wanted to fix it. For you.”

The honesty in his words leaves you breathless, and you realize, with a jolt, that you’ve been holding onto so much tension since the start of the night. With him, though, it’s different. Easier. Like you can finally exhale.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you say quietly.

“Yeah, I did,” he replies, his voice firm but warm. “Because you deserve better than that. And if you’ll let me, I’d like to show you how much better.”

The sincerity in his tone catches you off guard, and you find yourself nodding slowly, a knot of emotion tightening in your throat. 

“Okay,” you manage to say, your voice shaky.

Yangyang’s smile returns, brighter this time, and he leans forward, his hand slipping beneath the table to rest on your thigh. The contact sends a spark through you, and you bite your lip, glancing up at him with uncertainty.

“I really like you, Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice filled with promise. "Tell me if I’m moving too fast.”

Your pulse quickens, and you feel the weight of his hand on your leg, warm and deliberate. “You don’t waste any time, do you?”

He laughs softly, his breath feathering against your cheek as he closes the distance between you. “Like I said before, I don’t wanna take this slow.”

And then his lips are on yours again, soft and insistent, pulling a quiet gasp from deep within you. His hand tightens slightly on your thigh, drawing you even closer, and you melt into the kiss, your fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie.

The world seems to fade away, leaving only the two of you and the electric hum of connection. His tongue traces the curve of your bottom lip, and you part your mouth willingly, deepening the kiss until you’re both breathless. When he finally pulls back, his eyes are dark with desire, and he presses his forehead against yours, his breath hot and uneven. 

“God, you’re incredible,” he whispers, his voice ragged. You don’t have the chance to respond before he speaks again, his voice thick with urgency. “We should go somewhere quieter. Somewhere we can focus on each other.”

Yangyang’s hand slips into yours, his fingers interlacing with yours as he leads you out of the café. The cool night air nips at your skin, but his touch is warm and grounding, a steady anchor in the otherwise chaotic evening. His hoodie swishes against his jeans as he walks, and you can feel the faint hum of excitement radiating off him.

“Where are we going?” you ask, your voice just above a whisper, curious and a little nervous.

He glances at you, his smile soft and mischievous. “Trust me?”

You hesitate for only a moment before nodding. “Yeah.”

He squeezes your hand tighter, like he’s trying to reassure you without saying it aloud. And then he breaks into a light jog, tugging you along with him. You don’t question it, following his lead with a laugh bubbling up in your chest. There’s something freeing about running through the streets with him, letting go of all the awkwardness and tension from earlier tonight.

The park comes into view after a few minutes, its gates already closed for the night. But Yangyang doesn’t seem fazed. He pulls you along the iron fence until he finds a small gap where a section of bars has rusted and bent outward. 

“Shortcut,” he says with a wink, crouching down to slip through first. You hesitate again, looking around nervously. The park is eerily quiet, the shadows of trees stretching across the ground like skeletal hands. But Yangyang sticks his head back through the gap, his eyes bright and encouraging. “Come on, I promise it’s worth it.”

Swallowing your doubts, you duck through the gap after him, brushing dirt off your jeans as you straighten up. Yangyang takes your hand again, guiding you deeper into the park, away from the well-lit paths and toward the darker, more secluded areas. The crunch of leaves underfoot grows louder, and the scent of damp earth fills the air.

Finally, he stops near a large oak tree, its branches twisted and gnarled, reaching out like they’re trying to embrace the sky. The moonlight filters through the gaps in the canopy above, casting dappled patterns on the ground. It’s quiet here—peaceful, almost magical.

"Here?" You asked.

"Yeah," Yangyang nods. "Look up."

You tilt your head back, feeling a rush of awe as you take in the view. The stars glitter against a dark blue background, like tiny pinpricks of light in an infinite canvas. The air feels clear and fresh here, free from the noise of the city, and the wind rustles softly through the trees, adding to the serenity.

"I wanted to bring you to my spot," Yangyang murmurs. "Where I go when everything gets too much. When the world feels overwhelming."

You looked at him. "I'm sure you bring other girls here."

"Nah," he replies, a flicker of regret crossing his eyes. "I came here before I even joined the frat. Back when it was just me, getting by on scholarships and part-time jobs."

You reach for his hand, running your thumb along his knuckles gently. "You had a tough time?"

He smiles sadly. "Yeah. And even now, when I've got help with tuition and the whole student life deal... the pressures are still there, you know?"

It's strange to hear him talking like this, opening himself up to you. It feels vulnerable and intimate. You take a tentative step towards him. "I think I can relate. Even though I have a scholarship and good parents, I still have to balance work, studying and finding time for social life, and it can be a lot."

Yangyang nods, and you can tell he understands. He tilts his head, searching your face as he searches his next words. "What would help you deal with all that?"

The question takes you by surprise. You think it over carefully. "Spending time with friends. Releasing emotions through writing. Watching tv." You look back up at the stars and try again. "But the thing that helps most, the most soothing thing for me, is just going somewhere alone, listening to nature or the city. Finding somewhere peaceful and calming."

"Somewhere like here?" He asks.

"Yeah," you sigh contentedly. "I haven't found somewhere quite like it, though."

His hands settle on your hips as he pulls you in for a sweet, lingering kiss, his teeth lightly grazing your lower lip. You smile against his lips, and the butterflies in your stomach turn into something wild. He backs you up against the trunk of the tree, his body flush with yours, and you can't help but run your hands up his neck and into his soft, dark curls. The moonlight illuminates his face, revealing the hunger in his gaze. You close your eyes as he trails kisses down your neck, sending a thrill up your spine. He lifts his head and searches your gaze again.

God, he tastes so good, you think, your mind hazy with desire. His flavor is sweet, like the coffee you shared earlier, but there’s an undercurrent of something wild and untamed, something that sets your pulse racing even faster.

When he pulls back, his breath comes out in uneven puffs, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “Fuck,” he mutters, leaning his forehead against yours. “I’ve wanted to do that since the first day I saw you in class.”

Your lips curve into a smile, giddy and breathless. “Really?”

He nods, his curls bouncing slightly. “Every time you walked into the room, I couldn’t focus on anything else. You have no idea how many times I almost asked you out, but I kept chickening out.”

You laugh softly, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Well, I’m glad you finally did.”

“Me too,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. Then his lips are on yours again, softer this time, more deliberate. His hands roam down your sides, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt to rest on the bare skin of your lower back. The coolness of the night air contrasts sharply with the warmth of his palms, sending a shiver up your spine.

You press closer to him, your own hands fumbling with the zipper of his hoodie. When you pull it down, he shrugs it off his shoulders, tossing it aside without a second thought. Underneath, he’s wearing a plain white T-shirt that clings to his torso, outlining the muscles you only catch glimpses of during class. Your fingers dip beneath the fabric, skimming across his skin, feeling the tautness of his stomach beneath your touch.

He groans into your mouth, his body tensing under your exploration. “Jesus,” he breathes, his hands gripping your hips tightly. “You’re killing me.”

You smirk against his lips, feeling a surge of confidence. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” he growls, pulling you even closer. “Not even close.”

His hands move higher, sliding up your ribcage until they’re cupping your breasts over your bra. You arch into his touch, a needy sound escaping your throat. His thumb brushes across your nipple, teasing it into a hard peak, and you gasp, your head tilting back as pleasure shoots through you.

“Yangyang…” you murmur, half-pleading, half-whining.

He presses a quick series of kisses along your jawline, his breath hot against your skin. “Tell me what you want,” he says, his voice thick with hunger.

You bite your lip, suddenly shy. “I…”

He grins, his teeth flashing in the dim light. “That’s okay. Let me guess.” 

And without waiting for your answer, his hands shift again, one sliding down to palm your ass while the other slips beneath your waistband, his fingertips trailing dangerously close to where you need him most.

Your breath hitches, your whole body trembling with anticipation. “Yangyang…” you say again, this time more urgently.

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his dark eyes gleaming with desire. “Yeah?”

“Please,” you manage to whisper, your voice barely audible.

His answering smile is slow and triumphant. “Anything for you.”

Your breath catches in your throat as Yangyang’s lips press against yours again, this time with a hunger that sends shivers down your spine. His hands move to your hips, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. You melt into him, your fingers threading through his dark curls as the world around you fades away. The cool night air is no match for the heat building between you, and you can feel the rapid beat of his heart against your chest.

Just as you’re about to deepen the kiss, a sharp voice cuts through the silence. “Hey! You two! What do you think you’re doing?”

You freeze, your body stiffening as you recognize the authoritative tone. Slowly, you pull away from Yangyang, your eyes widening as you turn toward the source of the noise. A tall, broad-shouldered park ranger stands a few feet away, his arms crossed and his jaw set in disapproval. His uniform fits him like a glove, emphasizing his muscular build, and his sharp, observant gaze locks onto you both.

Yangyang curses under his breath, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Crap,” he mutters, tugging at your hand. “Let’s go. Now.”

Before you can respond, he’s already pulling you deeper into the shadows beneath the tree. Your pulse races as you follow him, the thrill of being caught making your stomach twist in knots. You glance back over your shoulder, your heart pounding as the ranger takes a step closer, his flashlight sweeping across the ground.

“I said stop!” the ranger calls out, his voice echoing through the park.

You press yourself closer to Yangyang, your breaths coming in short bursts. “What do we do?” you whisper, your voice trembling.

Yangyang glances around frantically, his mind working quickly. “We need to lose him,” he says, his eyes darting toward a small trail leading deeper into the park. “Come on, let’s go this way.”

Without waiting for your response, he drags you along the path, his grip firm but reassuring. The trees close in around you, their branches creating a natural barrier from the ranger’s view. You stumble slightly, the uneven ground making it difficult to keep up, but Yangyang’s hand stays locked around yours, guiding you forward.

The sound of heavy footsteps grows louder behind you, and you can hear the ranger muttering under his breath. “Kids these days… always causing trouble,” he grumbles, his frustration evident.

Yangyang smirks despite the situation, his playful nature peeking through. “Don’t worry,” he whispers, squeezing your hand. “We’ll give him the slip.”

You can’t help but laugh nervously, the tension between you and Yangyang growing stronger with every step. As you round a corner, Yangyang pulls you into a dense bush, muffling your laughter with his hand. You hold your breath as the ranger’s flashlight beam passes by, illuminating the leaves around you momentarily.

When the light disappears, Yangyang releases a shaky laugh. “That was close,” he says, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

You nod, your heart still racing from the adrenaline. “Too close,” you agree, your voice barely above a whisper.

Yangyang’s gaze softens as he looks at you, his playful demeanor melting into something more serious. “You okay?” he asks, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You nod again, feeling a warmth spread through you at his concern. “Yeah,” you say, smiling faintly. “Just… a little shaken.”

He chuckles, his confidence returning. “Well, I guess we showed him, huh?”

You roll your eyes, but the smile on your face doesn’t fade. “I wouldn’t exactly call that showing him.”

Yangyang shrugs, his dimples deepening as he grins. “Close enough. Now…” He pauses, his expression turning mischievous once more. “How about we get out of here before he comes back?”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued by his suggestion. “And go where?”

His grin widens, and he steps closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “My place,” he murmurs, his voice low and inviting. “It’s not far. We can be there in ten minutes.”

Your pulse quickens at the thought, a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling in your chest. Part of you wants to playfully protest, to tease him about his boldness, but the other part—the part that’s been drawn to him since the moment he walked into your life—is already saying yes.

Yangyang must sense your hesitation, because he adds, “I promise, it’ll be worth it.”

You look into his eyes, searching for any hint of insincerity, but all you find is sincerity and a flicker of desire. And maybe, just maybe, a touch of vulnerability. It’s that last part that seals the deal, pushing aside any lingering doubts.

“Okay,” you say softly, your voice barely audible.

His answering smile lights up his entire face, and without another word, he takes your hand and leads you out of the bush, navigating the dimly lit paths of the park with ease. The cool night air brushes against your skin, sending goosebumps down your arms, but Yangyang’s touch keeps you grounded, his presence a steady anchor in the chaos.

As you leave the park behind, the streetlights guide your way, casting long shadows that stretch and shrink with each step. Yangyang’s pace quickens, his excitement palpable, and you can’t help but match it, your own anticipation building with every passing second.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity but is probably only a few minutes, Yangyang stops in front of a modest apartment building. His free hand reaches into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys as he unlocks the door. He ushers you inside, his movements almost frantic with eagerness.

The apartment is cozy, with simple furnishings and a faint scent of laundry detergent and fresh air—just like him. Yangyang leads you to the living room, where he finally lets go of your hand, turning to face you. His chest rises and falls slightly, his breathing still a little uneven from the rush of the escape.

“So,” he says, his voice low and teasing, “what do you think?”

You take a moment to survey the room, your eyes lingering on the small details—the bookshelf filled with textbooks and novels, the worn couch draped with a blanket, the faint hum of a refrigerator in the background. It’s nothing fancy, but it feels lived-in, comfortable. And somehow, that makes it even more appealing.

“It’s nice,” you admit, your voice soft.

Yangyang’s smile returns, warmer now, less playful and more genuine. “Good,” he says simply, stepping closer. “Because I didn’t bring you here just to show you my apartment.”

Your breath hitches as he closes the distance between you, his hands reaching up to cradle your face. His touch is gentle, almost reverent, and you can feel the sincerity in every brush of his fingertips. When his lips meet yours, it’s slow and deliberate, a marked contrast to the urgency of earlier.

This time, there’s no rush, no fear of being interrupted. Just the two of you, lost in the embrace that neither of you seems willing to break.

Yangyang breaks the kiss, his eyes locking with yours. His hands slide down to your shoulders, then lower, tracing the curve of your back until they settle on your hips. The heat between you is palpable, a tangible force that seems to push and pull at the edges of your restraint.

“Do you trust me?” he asks quietly, his voice low and steady.

You nod, though the question sends a shiver through you. Trust. It’s such a simple word, yet it feels so heavy in this moment. You realize, almost suddenly, that you do trust him—completely. There’s something about the way he looks at you, like you’re the only person in the world who matters, that makes it impossible not to.

“Good,” he says, his lips curving into a sly smile. “Because I want to show you something.”

Without waiting for a response, he takes your hand and leads you deeper into his apartment. The hallway is dimly lit, the soft glow of a lamp casting long shadows across the floor. The air is quiet, save for the faint sound of your footsteps and the occasional creak of the wooden floorboards beneath you.

Yangyang guides you to a door at the end of the hall, one you hadn’t noticed before. He pauses for a moment, glancing over his shoulder at you before reaching out to turn the handle. The door swings open with a soft click, revealing a cozy bedroom bathed in the warm light of a bedside lamp.

His bedroom. The thought flutters in your mind, sending a fresh wave of excitement coursing through you. Yangyang steps inside first, pulling you in after him. The door closes softly behind you, sealing the space as your own private world.

The room is simple but inviting, with a large bed taking up most of the space. A pile of pillows rests against the headboard, and a few books are scattered haphazardly on the nightstand. A faint scent of cedar lingers in the air, mingling with the familiar smell of laundry detergent that seems to follow Yangyang everywhere.

He turns to face you, his eyes dark with intent. “I wanted to bring you somewhere… quieter,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Somewhere we could be alone.”

You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, the rhythm accelerating as his words sink in. Alone. The word carries a weight that’s both thrilling and terrifying. You glance around the room, taking in the details—the softness of the carpet underfoot, the warmth of thelighting, the way the shadows seem to dance along the walls. It’s intimate, cocooning, and somehow perfectly fitting for what you know is about to happen.

Yangyang steps closer, his hands settling on your waist again. This time, there’s no hesitation in his touch—just confidence, laced with a tenderness that makes your knees weak. He leans in, brushing his lips against your ear. “You don’t have to say anything,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. “Just let me take care of you.”

The request hangs in the air, a silent promise that sends a jolt of electricity through your veins. You nod again, unable to find the words to respond. Yangyang smiles, a slow, knowing grin that makes your stomach flutter.

With one hand still resting on your waist, he reaches up with the other, sliding his fingers through the loose strands of your hair. The gesture is gentle, almost reverent, as if he’s savoring the texture and weight of it. You close your eyes, tilting your head slightly to give him better access, and feel a soft hum of pleasure ripple through you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve wanted to tell you that since the first day I saw you.”

The confession catches you off guard, sending a rush of warmth flooding through your chest. You open your eyes, meeting his gaze, and see nothing but honesty reflected there. It’s overwhelming, the depth of feeling in his expression, and it leaves you momentarily speechless.

Before you can respond, Yangyang shifts his grip, guiding you toward the bed. His movements are deliberate, each step calculated to draw you further into the moment. When you reach the edge of the mattress, he stops, his hands sliding from your waist to rest on your hips.

“Sit,” he commands softly, his voice a velvety rasp that sends shivers dancing down your spine.

You obey without hesitation, lowering yourself onto the plush comforter. The fabric is soft beneath you, and the faint scent of linen fills your nostrils, adding another layer of sensory overload to the mix. As you settle in, Yangyang kneels beside the bed, his eyes never leaving yours.

For a moment, there’s silence—a charged, electric kind of stillness that seems to hold the weight of everything unsaid between you. Then, slowly, deliberately, Yangyang reaches out, his fingers brushing against the buttons of your shirt.

“May I?” he asks, his voice a teasing half-whisper.

You nod again, your throat too tight to speak. Yangyang grins, his eyes gleaming with mischief, and begins working on the buttons with expert precision. Each pop of the closure seems to echo in the quiet room, a symphony of anticipation that heightens the tension between you.

When the last button slides free, he tugs the fabric apart, revealing the thin layer of lace beneath. Your breath hitches as his eyes flick downward, briefly scanning the sight before returning to your face. “So pretty,” he murmurs, his tone a mix of awe and desire.

Without warning, he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the hollow of your throat. The sensation is fleeting but insistent, a tease that leaves you yearning for more. You instinctively tilt your head back, giving him better access, and feel a surge of satisfaction when he obliges by trailing kisses along your collarbone.

“Yangyang...” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling with a combination of need and uncertainty.

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips curved into a wicked smile. “Shh,” he says gently. “Just let me love you.”

And with that, he resumes his exploration, his hands and mouth working in tandem to unravel every thread of resistance within you.

Yangyang’s hands move with an almost reverent grace as he undresses you, his touch light but deliberate. Each piece of clothing he removes feels like a revelation, not just to him but to you as well. You feel suddenly exposed, yet entirely safe in his presence.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice low and gravelly with emotion. His fingers brush against the edge of your bra, hesitating for a moment before carefully unclasping it. The fabric slips away, revealing you to his gaze, and you catch a flicker of awe in his dark eyes.

“You don’t have to say that,” you whisper, your cheeks heating under his intense scrutiny.

Yangyang shakes his head, his smile soft and genuine. “I know what I see,” he says simply. His hands cup your shoulders, thumbs brushing lightly over your collarbones, and you shiver at the tenderness of his touch. “And what I feel… it’s overwhelming.”

He leans in then, his lips finding the sensitive skin just below your ear. A sound escapes you, half-laugh, half-groan, as his teeth graze the lobe gently. His hand trails down your arm, fingertips leaving a trail of fire in their wake before wrapping around your wrist. He guides your hand to his chest, pressing your palm flat against the rapid thudding of his heart.

“Feel that?” he asks, his voice thick with desire. “That’s all you.”

You nod, unable to speak, your own heart pounding in response. Yangyang’s free hand snakes around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The solid warmth of his body against yours is intoxicating, and you cling to him instinctively.

His lips find yours again, this time with a hunger that leaves no room for hesitation. The kiss is deep, consuming, every stroke of his tongue igniting a blaze within you. His hand slides lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your panties, and you gasp into his mouth as his fingers tease the soft curve of your hipbone.

“Yangyang,” you breathe, clutching at his shoulders for balance.

“Tell me what you want,” he rasps, his breath hot against your cheek. His fingers dip lower, brushing against the wetness between your legs, and you clench your thighs together, both resisting and inviting his touch.

“I—” Your voice falters, uncertain, as his fingers ghost over your most sensitive spot. You arch into the sensation, your hips tilting involuntarily.

Yangyang chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through his chest and into your body. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, his tone reassuring. “Take your time. We have all night.”

His words send a shudder through you, a mix of relief and anticipation. You relax slightly, letting go of some of the tension that had been coiled tightly within you. Yangyang takes advantage of your momentary surrender, his fingers sliding back between your legs, this time with purpose.

The first tentative touch makes you jerk, a sharp intake of breath escaping your lips. Yangyang holds still, watching you intently, his expression a blend of concern and arousal. “Too much?” he asks, clearly trying to read your reaction.

You shake your head quickly, your cheeks burning. “No,” you manage to whisper. “Just… unexpected.”

A slow grin spreads across his face, and he resumes his exploration, his fingers tracing delicate patterns against your folds. You bite your lip to stifle a moan, your body responding eagerly to his ministrations.

“So responsive,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with admiration. “You’re incredible.”

His fingers press harder, delving deeper, and you gasp, your back arching off the bed. Yangyang shifts his position slightly, angling his fingers to hit that perfect spot inside you, and you feel yourself spiraling closer to the edge.

“Yangyang,” you choke out, your voice trembling with need. “Please…”

“Please what?” he teases, his voice low and husky. His free hand cups your breast, thumb flicking over your nipple in rhythm with his finger movements.

You whimper, torn between the dueling sensations of his touch. “I… I don’t know,” you admit, frustrated by your inability to articulate the raging storm within you.

Yangyang chuckles again, the sound dark and intimate. “That’s okay,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss you deeply. His fingers quicken their pace, stroking in and out of you with increasing urgency. “Let yourself go. Let me take care of you.”

The combination of his words and actions is too much, and you feel the wave building inside you, cresting higher and higher with every thrust of his fingers. Your breath comes in shallow pants, your body tensing as you approach the precipice.

“Yangyang, I—”

He doesn’t let you finish. Instead, he presses a hard kiss to your lips, swallowing your cry of release as you come apart in his arms. Your body shudders, waves of pleasure rolling through you, leaving you boneless and gasping for air.

Yangyang pulls his fingers from you slowly, watching your face with rapt attention. His eyes are dark, filled with a mixture of awe and possessiveness. “Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, his voice raw with emotion. “You’re amazing.”

You blink up at him, still dazed from the intensity of your orgasm. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you manage to joke weakly.

Yangyang laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “Oh, we’re just getting started,” he says, his voice dropping to a teasing purr.

Yangyang’s hands trail down your body, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. His touch is deliberate, almost reverent, as if he’s memorizing every curve and dip of you. When his fingers brush against the side of your thigh, you shiver, the sensation sending a spark of electricity through your veins.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. His eyes never leave yours, their intensity making your breath hitch. “I want to see you touch me.”

His words send a jolt of arousal through you, but there’s also a flicker of uncertainty. You’ve never been this intimate with anyone before, not like this. The thought of exploring his body feels thrilling and terrifying all at once. But when he guides your hand to his chest, the moment becomes too electric to resist.

Your fingers curl around the soft fabric of his hoodie, hesitating for just a second before you tug it up and over his head. The movement exposes the warm skin beneath, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. You can feel the heat radiating from him, the thrum of his heartbeat underneath your palm. It’s intoxicating.

“Go on,” he whispers, his voice thick with desire. “Touch me.”

You do. Your fingertips trace the ridges of his collarbone, the muscles of his shoulders, the faint dusting of hair that trails down his sternum. Each touch sends a shiver through him, his breath hitching as your exploration grows bolder. When your hand skims lower, brushing against the waistband of his jeans, he groans, the sound raw and needy.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his voice breaking. “Don’t stop.”

His reaction emboldens you, fueling the fire that’s already burning between you. You let your fingers dip beneath the hem of his shirt, sliding along the taut planes of his abdomen. His skin is warm and smooth, the muscles beneath tense with anticipation. You can feel the way his body responds to your touch, the way he shifts closer, his breath fanning across your cheek.

“So good,” he rasps, his hands gripping your hips tightly. “God, you feel so fucking good.”

His praise sends a thrill of pleasure through you, your confidence growing with each passing second. You slide your hand higher, brushing against the edge of his nipple, feeling it pebble beneath your touch. He gasps, arching into your hand as a low moan escapes his lips.

“Turn around,” he says suddenly, his voice commanding yet laced with urgency. “I want to touch you.”

You obey without hesitation, turning to face the bed and leaning forward slightly. The position puts you on display, your back arched and your ass lifted slightly. Yangyang’s breath hitches as he takes in the view, his gaze darkening with hunger.

“Jesus,” he mutters, his hands coming to rest on your hips. “You’re perfect.”

He strokes your sides, his fingers trailing up to your ribcage before dipping lower, pushing the material of your dress aside to expose the lace of your panties. The sight of them makes his grip tighten, his fingers pressing into your skin as he pulls them down slowly, revealing the curve of your ass and the delicate skin beneath.

“So fucking gorgeous,” he breathes, his voice rough with need. “I want to taste you.”

Before you can respond, he drops to his knees behind you, his hands cupping your ass as he presses a series of light kisses along the crease of your thigh. The sensation is electrifying, sending shivers of anticipation rippling through you. You can feel the heat of his breath against your skin, the promise of what’s to come making your core throb with need.

When his tongue finally makes contact, you cry out, your hands clutching the sheets as waves of pleasure crash over you. He licks a slow, deliberate path up your folds, his tongue darting inside you with relentless precision. The sensation is overwhelming, your body trembling as he works you with expert skill.

“Yangyang,” you gasp, your voice breaking as he grazes his teeth along your clit. “Please—”

He doesn’t let you finish. Instead, he bites down gently, the sharp sting followed by a rush of warmth that sends you spiraling. Your thighs tremble, your body tightening as he continues to stroke and tease, his tongue flicking faster and harder until you can’t take it anymore.

“I’m close,” you manage to whisper, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, his hands gripping your hips as he redoubles his efforts. The sudden surge of pressure builds rapidly, your body tensing as you teeter on the edge. And then, with one final thrust of his tongue, you shatter, your orgasm crashing over you in waves of pure bliss.

Your legs give out, but Yangyang catches you, guiding you gently to the bed. You collapse onto your back, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. He climbs onto the bed, hovering over you with a predatory smile.

“That was incredible,” he murmurs, his voice filled with admiration. “But we’re not done yet.”

He leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss as he positions himself between your legs. You can feel the thick ridge of his cock pressing against your entrance, the heat of him making you ache with need.

“Are you ready?” he asks, his voice low and strained.

You nod, unable to form words as your desire consumes you. With one swift movement, he pushes inside you, filling you completely. The sensation is intense, your bodies perfectly aligned as he begins to move.

Yangyang’s breath hitches as he slides into you, the heat of his body pressing against yours. You feel every inch of him, thick and demanding, filling you completely. His hips move with a slow, deliberate rhythm, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. His lips find yours again, kissing you deeply as he sets a steady pace, drawing out the moment.

“You feel so good,” he whispers against your lips, his voice low and trembling. “So tight… so perfect.”

His hands grip your hips, holding you firmly as he continues to thrust into you. You can feel the way he’s holding back, wanting to savor this moment, but the strain in his voice tells you just how much he wants to let go. Your own desire is building, spiraling higher with every movement of his hips. You wrap your legs around his waist, urging him on, desperate for more.

Just as the tension between you reaches its peak, a loud POP echoes through the apartment, followed by the sudden absence of light. The room plunges into darkness, the only sound now the heavy breathing of the two of you.

“What… what was that?” you ask, your voice shaky and breathless.

“Power outage,” Yangyang replies, his tone amused but still strained. “Looks like we’ve got the place to ourselves for a while.”

The darkness seems to heighten everything. Without the distraction of sight, your other senses become sharper. You can feel the warmth of Yangyang’s body pressed against yours, the weight of him grounding you. His breath tickles your neck as he kisses your collarbone, his movements growing more insistent as the adrenaline of the unexpected outage pushes him closer to the edge.

“Let’s not waste it,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with desire. He shifts slightly, adjusting his angle, and you gasp as a new wave of sensation hits you. His thrusts become deeper, harder, each one bringing you closer to the edge.

“Yangyang…” you moan, clutching at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin.

“Tell me what you want,” he demands, his voice rough with need. “Tell me how bad you want it.”

“I want you… I need you,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “Don’t stop.”

He growls in response, his hips snapping forward with renewed urgency. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the silence, mingling with your ragged breaths. You feel yourself teetering on the brink, the pressure building inside you with every thrust. Yangyang’s hand moves between your thighs, his fingers finding your clit and stroking it with expert precision.

“Almost there,” he promises, his voice a harsh whisper. “Come for me. Let go.”

The darkness feels like a cocoon, wrapping around you both as you fall apart. Your body shudders, your muscles tightening around him as you reach your climax. Yangyang follows soon after, his movements becoming erratic as he buries himself deep inside you, letting out a deep groan as he spills inside you.

For a moment, all you can do is cling to each other, the weight of your bodies the only anchor you have in the dark. Yangyang rests his forehead against yours, his breathing slowly returning to normal.

“That was…” he starts, but trails off, his voice soft and vulnerable.

“Perfect,” you finish for him, your voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckles softly, kissing your forehead before pulling out of you and lying down beside you. You roll onto your side, facing him in the dark, your fingers tracing the contours of his face.

“What now?” you ask, your voice curious.

“Now…” he pauses, his hand reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Now we wait. See how long this lasts.”

The thought sends a shiver of excitement down your spine. There’s something thrilling about the uncertainty, about being forced to slow down and enjoy the moment. You nestle closer to Yangyang, feeling his arm wrap around your waist as you rest your head on his chest.

“I could get used to this,” you murmur, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

Yangyang’s chest rises and falls with a soft chuckle, his voice warm against your ear. “I could too,” he admits, his tone laced with contentment. “There’s something about the dark that makes everything feel… simpler. No distractions, just us.”

You smile into the darkness, feeling the weight of his words settle between you. His fingers trace lazy circles on your back, the gentle rhythm soothing yet electrifying all at once. The power outage has stripped away the usual comforts of light and sound, leaving only the raw connection between you two. It’s intimate in a way you hadn’t anticipated, but now that it’s here, you realize how much you crave it.

“Do you think we’ll be stuck like this for long?” you ask, your voice soft as you nuzzle closer to him.

“Who knows?” he replies, his lips brushing against your temple. “Maybe it’s a sign. A chance to slow down, to really feel each other without anything else getting in the way.”

His words send a flutter through your chest. You can hear the sincerity in his voice, the way he’s embracing the moment rather than letting it frustrate him. It’s one of the things you love most about him—his ability to find beauty in the unexpected.

“You’re right,” you murmur, tilting your head to press a kiss to his collarbone. “This is kind of nice. Just… being together like this.”

Yangyang hums in agreement, his arm tightening around you. “Yeah,” he says after a pause, his voice low and thoughtful. “It’s perfect.”

The silence stretches between you, broken only by the occasional rustle of sheets or the soft whisper of his breath. You trace the lines of his chest with your fingertips, marveling at how familiar yet endlessly fascinating his body feels. Each curve and plane feels like home, like something you never knew you needed until now.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks suddenly, his voice curious.

“I was thinking about how glad I am that you were there to bail me out of that bad date,” you admit, your voice soft but laced with gratitude. “If it wasn’t for you… I don’t even want to imagine how that night would’ve ended.”

Yangyang chuckles, the sound warm and comforting against your ear. “Well, I couldn’t let you suffer through that alone, could I?” he teases, his fingers brushing lightly over your shoulder. “Besides, I think we both know how much better this turned out.”

You smile, feeling a blush creep into your cheeks despite the darkness. “Yeah,” you agree, tilting your head to press a kiss to his chest. “This was definitely better. So much better.”

He hums in agreement, his hand moving to cup the back of your head gently. “I’m just glad I could be there for you,” he says, his tone sincere. “You deserve someone who makes you feel as amazing as you make me feel.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you tighten your hold on him, nuzzling closer. “You do,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “You really do.”

The silence between you is comfortable, filled with unspoken words and lingering touches. You trace the lines of his chest again, your fingers pausing over the faint scar near his ribs. It’s a mark you’ve grown familiar with, one that tells a story of its own.

“Do you ever think about how different things might’ve been?” you ask suddenly, your voice tinged with curiosity. “If you hadn’t shown up when you did.”

Yangyang pauses, his hand stilling on your back. “Honestly?” he says after a moment, his voice thoughtful. “I try not to think about it. Because the way things are now… this… it’s exactly where I want to be. With you.”

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at his words. “Me too,” you murmur, pressing another kiss to his skin. “Me too.”

The power outage may have thrown you into darkness, but in that moment, you realize it’s brought you closer to something infinitely brighter. The moonlight and the stars seem to be flittering brighter above you and you decide, maybe, for tonight you won't wait for the lights to come back on.

Because this is perfect as it is.

[flowery-mess]

kill the silence

Pairing: frat boy Noah x female reader

reader has a name (Ella Thompson, but the story is written in 'your' POV)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! / argument with reader's mother / mother's asshole boyfriend mentioned / mentiones of alcohol / I think that's it, let me know

Words: 2,8k

Author's note: don't you just love when writers self project themselves in their works? Because that's exactly what I did lol. Hope you like getting to know more of Ella's story💕

frat boy Noah masterlist

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“Can we talk about it?”

“Ella please, act like an adult.”

You rolled your eyes after reading your mom’s messages. Yesterday she called you on facetime to show you the big diamond on her finger, throwing the news of being engaged at you.

Your parents divorced when you were 4 and it has been a wild ride since then.

You stayed living with your mum, seeing your dad only a few times a month. You’d think that something like this would make your and your mom's relationship stronger, but it was the opposite.

She started dating different guys, but no one was serious enough for her to bring him home for good. She introduced you to some of them, but you never liked any of the men that walked through the door of your home. And you didn’t hide your dislike.

You never crossed a line with doing something rebellious, but you always made sure that they knew you’re not a fan of them with the way you talked to them or about them behind their backs.

Your mom always put up with it, but it brought lots of fights between you two. She never blamed you for her failed relationships, because they weren’t meant to last. Until she met him, Richard.

Richard was a few years older than her, with no kids and with a nice house. Moving to his place wasn’t a question, she just told you to pack your stuff. “You’re my child, you’re gonna follow me wherever I go. I don’t care that you don’t want to.” will probably replay in your head until the day you die.

Sadly for you you were still underage and with no other place to go, so you moved to his place and that’s where the hell started.

Heated arguments with your mom every day, silent treatments from both of you and cold shoulder for Richard. Poor guy didn’t stand a chance, you dismissed him at the very beginning.

You hated the house and you cried yourself to sleep every other night.

He turned out to be a narcissistic and arrogant guy which you couldn’t stand. You were counting the days until it was time for you to move away for college. The best thing that ever happened to you.

Seeing your mom and Richard less was a good thing for keeping the family relationships at least somehow working. After a few months of not seeing them you finally found the courage to come back for a weekend and somehow you three acted like the hell before you left never happened.

You got along with Richard for a few hours and then left their place again. It wasn’t home for you, it was just their place. And since then you visit them occasionally.

You got used to their relationship and swallowed all your opinions for your mother’s sake and happiness.

That was until yesterday though.

You didn’t know what reaction from you she expected, but it probably wasn’t “Are you fucking serious?” and hanging up on her. Since then you didn’t pick up any of her calls nor replied to any of her messages.

“Ella please, just a few minutes so we can talk about it.”

You read the next message and rolled your eyes again. You finished the drink in your hand before standing up and going outside.

Little did you know Noah was watching you look at your phone every other minute, rolling your eyes and making sad faces. He could tell something was wrong so he wasn’t surprised to see you storm out of the crowded living room.

He wanted to give you a few minutes and see if you come back, if not, he knows where to find you.

In the beginning of your friendship with benefits you two sometimes sneaked away from your friends and met in the backyard in a small place that was separated from the rest of the big garden by bushes. There was an old swing, too small for both of you, but it provided you lots of fun. Also the almost broken fence where Noah pinned you many times just to steal kisses from you was there. It became “your place” any time you two couldn’t find each other and texted the other “our place?” and time, you both were there.

Your place was exactly where you ran off. The drink you just finished gave you enough courage to face your mom’s voice over the phone and tell her your opinion.

She picked up almost immediately and started talking, but you cut her off.

“Finally darling, ca-”

“No mom, you let me talk now.” you started, taking a deep breath before letting it all out. “I’ve been silent for the past few years, but I can’t let you marry him without telling you my honest opinion.”

You kicked a few rocks that were laying around and walked back and forth, a habit of yours when you were too nervous.

“I don’t think he’s good for you. I don’t think he’s enough for you. You were always a strong independent woman who knew her worth, I never thought I'd see you running around a man like you do now. You always laughed at women who served food under their man’s nose or had to pack a bag for them. But now that’s you mom.” you stopped talking, expecting some protest from her, but there was just silence at the other side of the line.

“You do everything he says, you’re like his maid mom. That hurts me to see. You should find a man who’s gonna carry you in his arms and worship the ground you walk on, not someone who tells you he won’t eat the food you made because it tastes weird, but also refuses to cook his own meal. He’s a child mom.” you threw your hands up and down in a frustrating gesture.

She finally spoke and you could hear the hurt in her voice. “That’s not true Ella.”

“You know it is, you just don’t want it to be.”

“Listen, I know you don’t agree with my relationship, but you need to respect it. I’m finally happy.”

“I don’t think you really are.” you whispered back and couldn’t stop the tears running down your cheeks. Of course you want your mum to be happy, but if this is how happiness looks like, you hope you’ll never find it.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion. I just wanted to tell you that we will be sending invites next week and I’d really appreciate it if you’d come to the wedding.” there was a short break before she added “Please.”

She rarely used “please”, “thank you” or “I’m sorry” with you, so you knew how hard it must’ve been for her to say those words out loud.

“I have to think about it.” you told her the truth. You didn’t want to make any promises in case you’d decide to not attend in the end.

“You’re hurting me Ella.” there she was, back at attacking you for your feelings.

“Bye mom.” and before she could say anything else you pressed the red button and silenced her voice that could only say more hurtful things.

Your eyes stayed on the ground, colors of the grass and dirt mixing together as your tears formed in your eyes, one blink of your eyelids sending them down your cheeks.

You were hurting too. You were hurt, sad and angry. The anger took over your body and before you could think of what you were doing, you threw your phone away and only heard a loud bang when it landed somewhere in the dark in front of you.

When Noah thought you were gone for too long he decided to go after you. He found you with your back facing him, your hands by your sides, but you weren’t talking or moving, you were just standing there.

“Did something possess you?” he joked. He expected a silly comment back or you saying “shut up”, but you stayed silent.

The tears kept running down your cheeks, because you suddenly felt so small. You felt betrayed by your mother and you felt like you were standing in your childhood room listening to her “I don’t care what you want” speech all over again. You just wanted to cry.

You heard Noah's question, but what possessed you was just a pure sadness that was making it impossible for you to move or speak.

Noah made a few steps to be closer to you and reached for your hand, but before he could do that you finally spoke up.

“Can I have your phone?” even with your back still facing now very confused Noah, he could hear the tremble in your voice.

“What?”

“Your phone.” you turned around to face him. When you did, his confused face turned into something softer. He saw your wet cheeks and the small shakes of your chin. “I threw mine somewhere in the bushes and I need to find it.” you said it like it was the most obvious thing and waited for Noah to give you his phone.

He didn’t ask any questions and just handed you his phone, turning the flashlight on for you.

You turned around and went in the direction of where you thought your phone could be. Noah just stood there in silence, his eyes following your every move.

Well, now you really looked like something possessed you. Your hands were snapping the twigs that came your way, some of them got stuck in your hair while you tried to find your phone.

With no luck finding it, you got out of the bush and dived straight into another one.

“For fucks sake.” Noah couldn’t keep watching this shit show in front of him and yanked you out of the bush, took his phone from your trembling hand and started looking for your phone himself.

You cleaned yourself from the mess and leaves that were stuck to your clothes and hair. The need to escape this loud place made your body shake. You were thinking about telling Noah to stop and come for the phone tomorrow or even buy a new phone with a new number so your mum couldn’t call you again.

“Here.” Noah’s voice took you out of the trance you were in, looking at you with a proud smirk and leaves in his hair, but he had your black phone in his hand. And it looked like you didn’t break it when you threw it away.

“Thank you.” you took it out of his hand and put it in your pocket.

Noah, scared of what you’re going to do next, stood in silence and waited for your next move. But you just kept looking around, avoiding his face. You for sure didn’t make it easy for him.

“Do you want a hug?” he asked you, unsure look on his face.

“What?”

“Isn’t that what people want when they're sad?” just as he finished his question your hands were wrapped around his torso.

You didn’t want him to see you cry again, so you just hid your face in his sweatshirt. You tried to hold your sobs and cries in, but you felt like you’re going to explode, so you let everything out.

Noah didn’t know what else to do than just rub your back and gently sway you from side to side.

After a few minutes your breath calmed down and you stepped out of Noah’s arms, cringing at the wet spot on his grey sweatshirt.

“Sorry for that.” you whispered and pointed to the place that was covered in your tears.

Noah just looked down and laughed. “It’s okay. Come on, let's take you home.”

He took your hand in his, but you realized how crazy you must look after this meltdown, so you stopped in your tracks, making Noah stop too.

“I can’t go there. I look crazy.” you panicked.

“Yeah you do, but everyone is drunk at this point, they won’t notice.”

“No, Molly and Clara will and I don’t want to explain it to them.”

Noah just sighed and looked around, rubbing his jaw with his palm and thinking of ways to leave the fraternity without anyone seeing you.

“We can jump the fence.” he proposed.

“Are you out of your mind?” you looked at the tall metallic fence around you.

“It’s either that or the main door.”

“It’s impossible for me to jump over it Noah.”

“I’m gonna help you.”

You looked at the fence, then at Noah and then back at the fence.

He’s tall and strong and falling on your ass in front of him was better than doing the walk of shame.

“Okay.”

He led you in the direction of the fence. “Okay, so, you’re gonna put your feet in my hands and I’m gonna push you up. Then you have to carefully move over the top and jump down, okay?”

“How are you gonna do it?” you asked him, because there's no way you're going to help him from the other side.

“Haven’t thought of that yet.”

“God, don’t laugh at me if I fall.” you made him promise before he leaned forward and intertwined his hands low enough for you to step into them.

“Grab my shoulders. I’m gonna count to three and then push you up okay?”

“Okay.” when he started counting you were sure that neither of you knew what you were doing.

You felt yourself being lifted from the ground, reaching for the top of the fence and swung your leg over it, then the other one.

“Jump!” Noah yelled at you, because he was scared you’re going to fall back at him.

You closed your eyes and jumped, landing perfectly on your feet.

“I did it!” you turned around to see Noah through the metallic barricade between you, laughing at the situation.

It was Noah’s turn to jump over the fence and after a few failed attempts you had to hold in a laugh and said “You know you can walk through the inside and meet me in the parking lot?”

Before Noah gave you an answer, he was happy to hear you wanted to leave with him. He was scared you’re going to push him away and won’t let him comfort you like you did to him many times.

“Can’t let you have all the fun.” he snorted, laughing at himself after another failed attempt.

After he finally managed to climb to the top of the fence, one of his legs betrayed him and he fell down on his ass in front of you.

You gasped, not knowing if he was okay, but then you started laughing. He looked up at you, shame all over his face, but he couldn’t help laughing too.

“You know, I did that just to make you laugh. It was intentional.” he shrugged his shoulders after he stood up and used his hands to get rid of the dirt from his clothes.

“Smooth Sebastian, real smooth.” you laughed, but appreciated his attempts to lift your mood.

—

Noah paid for the cab to his place even though you insisted that after everything he’d done for you it was your turn to pay.

He sent you in the direction of his bathroom after he found a few leaves in your hair in the elevator and ordered some food while you washed the dirt of that night of your body.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Noah asked after he swallowed his food, looking at you at the other side of his sofa.

“Not really. Long story short, my mum is engaged to her ass boyfriend, we had a fight over the phone and I’m probably gonna have to buy a new dress for their wedding.”

“I’m sorry.” he didn’t know what else to say. Your mood was better now, no more tears and throwing things around, so he thought he did a good job.

He wasn’t good at those things, taking care of people, so he was proud of himself for returning the care you gave him many times before.

“Don’t be, shit happens. I just need time to process it.” you put away the take out box. “And maybe some cuddles would be nice.” you made your puppy eyes at him.

“Ugh, women.” he acted annoyed, but you didn’t miss the smile on his face when he lifted the blanket on his lap so you could lay down on his chest.

He put on his favorite show and you two watched in silence.

You were happy he found you in the garden. You loved your friends, but they wouldn’t give you the comfort you needed.

You realized that you want comfort from Noah just as much as you want to comfort him when he’s feeling unwell.

His fingers played with your hair and his eyes were focused on the TV. You laid on his chest, playing with the fabric of his t-shirt and thought about the upcoming wedding.

As if Noah could read your mind he suddenly said “You know, I could be your plus one at the wedding if you decide to go.” his gaze stayed on the TV.

“Shut up, you mean it?” because if you’re going to go, in a place so uncomfortable and full of people you haven’t seen in years, you’d appreciate someone by your side.

Do you want part two?

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This story is a work of fiction, with the plot and characters entirely made up. The appearance and name of the main male character are inspired by Noah Sebastian Davis, but the storyline bears no connection to the real person. Please do not steal or repost this work on other platforms without permission.

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[horuslupercal]

ranking the primarchs as boyfriends

Lion: honestly I can't see him dating cause he doesn't like women and Caliban homophobia but let's pretend. he is better than you. you both know this. makes no particular effort to pay attention to you. bad at social cues. will take care of you, kind of. will tell his astartes to guard you in a dangerous situation at least. uncommunicative. 2/10 loveless political marriage

Fulgrim: canonically emotionally tapped out. okay boyfriend in public, does not really interact much in private. RSD.Primarch. decent amount of gifts. might actually catch feelings for you and then pull away even more. 1/10 are you really dating

Perturabo: also RSD.Primarch. it's difficult to make him happy and very easy to upset him. you will end up on life support when he kills you in a fit of rage and then panics about it. if you tell him you like his artsy endeavours he WILL shower you in them so there's that. you cannot fix him. 3/10 more unstable ground than eggshells

Khan: knows what he's about (sexual). writes very pretty letters but this does not quite make up for him being gone all the time. more interested in his friends. emotionally mature primarch. pretty good at interacting with mortals like he respects them. not a guy who's good at (or likes) commitment/being "tied down". 5/10 you should just be fwbs

Leman: well groomed. likes to feed you good food. more interested in his friends than you. braggart. surprisingly good at remembering important things and dates. 6/10 a thoughtful frat boy

Dorn: primarch most likely to indulge in a "shut up" ring. has emotions about you and literally tortures himself about it. claims he's controlled or whatever but he is an emotional time bomb. won't engage in relationship conversations. knows he's better than you. 3/10 dime a dozen in a philosophy class

Konrad: well fuck if he doesn't love you. believes in thought crime and possesses some moral OCD qualities. will trail bits of guts home. might accidentally kill you during a vision. he really does love you. swinging between obsession and apathy very quickly. 2/10 you knew what you were getting into

Sanguinius: afraid of you? (or of hurting you). half the time he has no energy for anything he gets off work (campaign) and lays down on the couch and doesn't answer his texts. impulsive. kind of incapable of turning "off". sad. tries to be sweet. 4/10 is he really interested in you?

Ferrus: throws tantrums. knows he's better than you and his legion knows it too. jokes about your weakness with a little too much regularity for it to feel like a joke. won't fix this if you express being upset about it. 1/10 /fit/ (4chan) regular

Angron: will kill you in his sleep. will cry about it. doesn't really think of himself as a complete person anymore and makes it the problem of everyone around him. doesn't want to date you and ruin you. won't even tell you his newest scheme for glorious combat based suicide. 1/10 he's not in a good place

Roboute: arrogant. busy. "I was a TA for a logic class-". says he's willing to communicate but leaves halfway through because something happened and doesn't pick it back up. will bring you to beautiful cliffside locales and spin you like a movie. 5/10 you are a side project

Mortarion: unwashed. kissing him will poison you. doesn't come to bed on time. appreciates you from a distance but does not pay much attention to you. would be very upset if something happened to you. his legion definitely thinks you're stupid. 1/10 he doesn't you he needs SSRIs

Magnus: knows better than you. horror movie protag's boyfriend who says it's just a joke as he reads the ancient texts from the creepy book. flaunts you around, he's very proud of you. either constantly asking what you want or completely dead to the world distracted in some project. 5/10 he will get you killed

Horus: lovebombing: the primarch. knows what he's about (sexual). more than a little self absorbed. occasionally loses his temper and then is very good about explaining it away until you feel bad. you are spoiled to hell. 4/10 emotionally abusive boyfriend with a magic aura

Lorgar: you are his world. his light. his life. he knows best and you should just do what he says. you will no longer be human but something higher (socially) (literally). gets so invested he lets other things fall to the wayside and it's kind of disastrous. 5/10 at least you're god

Vulkan: trying his best to actually respect you. occasionally fails. means to spend time with you and then gets wrapped up in duties and projects. cuddlemaster. cute relationship gestures. 7/10 your best option

Corvus: won't communicate. ghosts away when things get awkward. really random, overly intense opinions and he will slay you on those hills. busy. hypocrite. 1/10 teenager

Alpharius Omegon: either they're both in on this so they can use you or only one of them is in on this and the other one is plotting your death because this wasn't the plan. 1/10 actively dangerous

[specific-dreamer]

stay gold is for darry too

“when you’re young and the world is new / it’s easy to forget when you’re trying just to make it through”

bc, cmon guys, darry is twenty. 20, two-zero. idk how different college was back then, so bare with me.

he’s from tulsa oklahoma, the south, and he’s twenty years old. assuming he didn’t take a gap year (i’m going off the musical sayin he had to drop out, instead of not go all together) he would’ve been in his second year of school.

(i’m putting a break here because this turned more into a headcanon than an analysis i fear)

and we know darry’s a lil extroverted social butterfly, i’m sure he made so many friends. do you think he told them he was going home for the weekend but would totally be back for that frat party? or do you think he had a best friend on campus that he couldn’t wait to introduce to his family and the gang because he just knew how’d great they’d get on?

because he’s at a state college likely, there’s gonna be greaser/soc rivalries still but chances are so high that the max tension will be arguments. so it’s likely he even got to (freely, and guilt free) make friends with socs.

his biggest worries sophomore year was if he would finish his homework and papers before the weekend so he could go home for his birthday. his biggest worry was working up the nerve to still his dad he blew his allowance that month on some girl. his biggest worry was struggling with being a first gen college student, juggling his papers and football practice, and his work study.

i’m willing to bet he didn’t even tell his parents he’d be home that weekend. i’m thinkin he told dally, because dally would likely forget to tell the others he was comin and everyone else can’t keep their mouths shut for shit.

i think he went to Oklahoma State, which is only 2 hours from tulsa. so, i’m thinking he caught the greyhound really really early that morning, like crackass of dawn early. and when he gets there it’s probably 6:00 and through the window darry can see his parents rousing soda and pony up for school. (school may start at 8:30, but they got two rowdy teenage boys one of whom hates school to get ready, they’ll wake up an hour earlier than necessary)

darry, in all his older brother glory, probably waits for the perfect moment to make his grand entrance. he’d wait until he hears ponyboy loudly complaining that “darry doesn’t have to wake up this early” and he fuckin grins because that’s the most perfect entry for him.

but he can’t get excited, not yet. he’s gotta act like it’s no big deal that he’s here, so he opens the door all casual like and starts toeing off shoes as he closes it behind him. and in his arrogant, i’m-the-eldest-of-course-i’m-right voice he says, “you’re so right, little brother. i actually woke up three hours ago.” and darry tries his damndest he really does, but he can’t help the way his chest loosens and his grin widens and it feels like every stressful thing he’d been worried about rolls off back when he hears the gasps and “sweet mother mary” from his family when he announces himself.

he probably doesn’t even get his second shoe off before he’s knocked to ground by pony (soda would have too, if he was anymore awake, instead he’s just staring at darry in confusion).

i’m gonna write a fic BUT BACK TO WHAT I WAS SAYING

do you think darry feels guilty for not having called ahead of time? do you think he wishes he stayed at school that weekend so parents wouldn’t have gotten in that wreck? do you think a small of darry, a part that he hates as each day passes, wishes that he let the social workers take his brothers? only to instantly regret that train of thought when his brothers crawl into his bed at 10pm trying to stop shaking and crying so they don’t “wake” darry

do you think that it was in that moment, that all those childhood jokes with his parents and phony arguments with paul suddenly became real. that sodapop and ponyboy are his babies. they may not be his in the same way that curly and angela are tim’s kids, but his friends at school are always sayin darry needs to stop referring to pony as his “littlest”.

we know darry didn’t cry at the funeral (or at all, at least to pony’s knowledge) but i really think college was such a breath of fresh air for darry that he was probably holding back sobs when he called his schools admission office to drop out.

i think before they could bury their parents properly, darry had to convince his brothers to go down to school with him so he could pack his things up. (i say convince because i think pony might’ve cried himself hoarse thinking that darry was going back to school and leaving them alone)

do you think darry cried the night before they went down to oklahoma state? because his friends were finally going to meet his littles that he could never seem to stop talking about. he’d have to find some way to apologize for missin the frat party (and his 20th birthday, hell, darry thinks his might’ve been more excited than he was) because saying his parents just died and he legally became a father of two is a little too comedic to sound real despite things.

or do you think he avoided his friends like the plague because he knows he’d break down if he saw their pitying eyes? he knew he’d break down if that one girl he couldn’t keep his eyes off of from his psych class saw him and soda carry his boxes to the car and stopped and ask him why he was leaving.

do you think after the funeral when darry made sure his brothers were alright, tucked in for bed and knew they could go find him if they needed anything at all, instead of going to his room he went to his parents room? just to feel their presence one last time. he probably went under their covers too, in the middle like when he was a kid so he could turn left and smell his daddy’s cologne or turn right and smell his mamas rosy perfume, just so he could get one more hug from them. just one more hug before he had to let them go

(do you think when ponyboy inevitably came lookin for darry to scare his nightmares away later that night he got scared when darry wasn’t in his room? do you think he started crying all over again unable to be tough because what if darry’s dead too or worse what if he really did leave them? do you think that’s when pony started sleeping with soda instead. that that’s when his image of darry being a hero cracked because what kind of hero leaves when people are still needing to be saved?)

[strawberriesandhotmen]

Hypnotic

a/n: This one is based on a request one of you lovelies sent in! Absolutely ate down with this, baby, I had a lot of fun writing it and I hope y’all like what I did with it. This did take me way longer than expected, exams on top of work and everything else is a lot babes. I didn't put any of the other boys in this one because I didn't really see how to put them in. Anyways, hope y’all enjoy it, love you babies 😜

pairing: fratboy!dom!Niall Horan x fem!reader

CW +18: swearing, oral (m receiving), piv unprotected (wrap it up!), dom Niall, reader gets really fucked out and cockdrunk because it’s Niall obviously, degrading (not much, slut is only used like three times I think), praise (we can have both, shut up), Niall is COCKY and we love it

word count: 4.3k

You hated this fucking bar.

You came here for a drink. One. Singular. Drink. Not an endless barrage of insecure members of the male species unleashing their arrogance on you.

It was exasperating, to say the least. Really, how difficult could it possibly be for a man to simply ask you out? Must they, instead, employ foul innuendos and caress you with their grubby hands, as if that would make you more inclined to their advances? If they did believe that, they were so painfully incorrect.

A couple of them had, admittedly, caught your eye, but the moment they opened their mouths the mirage had been spoiled. The story of your life, frankly. When wasn’t a perfect vision ruined by reality?

Most of the men had kept their attempts relatively tame, with one or two drunken exceptions. That was to be expected, of course, but not tolerated in the least. What woman would find an absolutely plastered stranger fumbling for the zipper of her dress in the middle of a bar even remotely attractive, or wanted for that matter? No one you knew of.

You hadn’t even come here in search of a one-night stand. You hadn’t even worn your sexiest dress, for fuck’s sake. It seemed only the seediest of patrons had chosen this location tonight. To be fair, you had chosen it in a rushed reverie to achieve some semblance of rest after the day you’d had. Rest, unfortunately, is that last thing you were finding.

“Two Guinnesses,” A voice sounded from beside you, the thick Irish accent slicing through the din to reach your appreciative ears. It was nice to listen to. Furtively, you shot a glance at the stranger, catching a few blonde tips in your peripheral. As you threw back a swig of your now embarrassedly watered down drink (the ice melted, okay?), you felt the stranger’s eyes on you. He didn’t stare for long before fully turning his body toward you, leaning on the bar like some character out of an 80s romcom. Someone call John Hughes, you thought; I sense a new leading man.

“Hey there, princess.” Princess? Christ. You fought back the urge to roll your eyes as he shot out that nickname right off the bat, instead politely shifting your gaze to him.

“Can I help you?” You truly had meant the words to sound more kind, but fuck if you weren’t tiring of endless pick up lines and bad jokes. You had endured them for the better part of two hours, after all. 

The smirk on his face almost made you blow your top then and there. What the fuck did he think he was accomplishing? This was practically harassment already, in your eyes. He looked like the typical frat guy: backwards snapback, loose white shirt with cutoff sleeves, and surprisingly acceptable-looking jeans. Tufts of blonde hair (likely bleached) peeked out from under the hat, concealing what were surely fading roots. You had always regarded men who dyed their hair to be walking red flags; you were sure this one would be no different. His eyes were striking, truthfully. You didn’t recall ever seeing such an intense blue, before. They were bright, ocean-like. Manipulative. Woah, there’s that feminism creeping in again. You realized you probably shouldn’t judge him so quickly, with such little basis, but at this point you had learned to trust your instincts.

“Actually, I think the question is how I can help you.” And there it is. You huffed out a sigh, rolling your eyes as you spun in the stool back towards the bar. His hand flew out to catch the seat, preventing you from escaping his hungry gaze. “Not so fast, love.”

“I’m not interested.” You shot back, avoiding his tempting eyes at all costs. You were strong, but not that strong.

“Not yet.” He corrected with a grin, craning his neck in an attempt to catch your gaze. “You’re quite pretty, you know that?” You shut your eyes for a moment, setting your drink on the bar before crossing your legs and allowing yourself to face him.

“How sweet.” Your words were not sincere, and he clearly understood that. He also clearly didn’t care in the slightest. He must’ve been quite confident in his “wooing” capabilities. He merely chuckled at your dismissive response, gripping the bottom of your stool and tugging you closer. Now, your knees clashed with his at the proximity, and you couldn’t easily look anywhere but his eyes.

God, his eyes. They were actually fucking hypnotic. You didn’t like that, not one bit. You felt attacked, cornered, and he hadn’t even touched you. Not that you wanted him to, it was just bizarre. You weren’t even conflicted, only acutely aware of the dilemma you might be facing had you not been blessed with such an iron-clad will. You were stubborn, and you liked it. Unfortunately, it was starting to seem like he did too.

“I’m Niall.” He tilted his head as he waited for you to reply, searching your features almost respectively.

“How nice for you.” You mumbled, scooting as far back on the stool as the uncomfortable seat would allow. Whoever owned this bar desperately needed to invest in better furniture; your ass was practically numb. He chuckled again, releasing his grip on your seat now that you didn’t have anywhere to go.

“It’s nice to meet ya’. What’s your name?” You couldn’t deny he had a lovely voice. Speaking voice, that is. His accent lilted through the air like a melody, one you wouldn’t mind hearing over and over. You muttered your name reluctantly, crossing your arms with a huff. What was wrong with you tonight? Usually your resolve was infinitely stronger, but perhaps you had met your match. Perhaps he was just as stubborn as you, if not more. Perhaps…no. No. You would not give in. You couldn’t. You were better than this.

He tested out your name in his tongue, smiling to himself at the sound of it. He liked it.

“Pretty name.” He complimented simply, leaning in so that his breath fanned over your ear. The warm sensation sent a tingle down your spine, and you tensed your muscles to hide the shiver that threatened to dance over your body. “I wouldn’t mind moanin’ that tonight.” He had to ruin it.

“Freak.” You insulted, shoving his shoulder with a disgusted expression.

“Hardly.” He laughed. Like, a genuine laugh. And you hated that you loved the sound. It was so real, so childlike. 

“Look, Niall.” I began firmly. “I have a boyfriend, s-” “No you don’t.” He interrupted, shaking his head knowingly. I cocked an eyebrow, sending him an incredulous expression.

“Excuse me?” He shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing, whatever he was so defiant about.

“You do not have a boyfriend.” You opened your mouth to reply, only to be halted by his finger on your lips. You could feel the calluses on his fingers scratch against your lips as you closed them; maybe he played an instrument of some sort, you thought. “I know this because if I was your boyfriend, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off of this perfect little body for a single second. We wouldn’t leave the fucking house.” This was starting to get a little intense. He sensed the tension on your muscles, dropping his hand to rest on your arm and rub soothing circles into your soft, lotioned skin. For some reason, you didn’t even feel uneasy. You were…intrigued.

“Why so persistent?” You cocked your head to the side, knitting your brow together in curiosity. A playful smirk spread across his face, his eyes lighting up with the expression.

“Why so resistant?” He retorted, seeming to hold back a chuckle of amusement at his own reply. I rolled my eyes, the cycle of becoming intrigued, then frustrated, then intrigued, was quickly becoming annoying on its own. He faked a pout at your poor reaction, hooking a finger under your chin and turning your gaze to his. He leaned in close (too close for a stranger, perhaps), his lips ghosting over your ear.

“Why don’t you come home with me, princess, hm?” He hummed, his hand slowly dropping to your thigh, giving you plenty of time to reject his touch if you so desired. But he was finding that you weren’t seeming to be so averse to it; he didn’t understand the switch up, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. His calloused fingers traced absent little shapes into your plush thighs, staying only just a respectful distance from the hem of your dress.

“I don’t go home with anyone.” You whispered back, allowing him to continue touching your leg. Why were you allowing this? You had absolutely no clue. It had to be those fucking eyes.

He smirked slowly (his signature expression, it seemed), as if he’d just gotten the most genius idea of his young-adult life.

“You ever been fucked in a bar bathroom, love?” His filthy words sent a shiver down your spine that ran straight to your core, which you were just now realizing felt a little warmer than usual. You fought the urge to clench your thighs together, knowing he would immediately give you shit for doing so.

“Can’t say I have.” You replied vaguely, leaning back slightly to look in his eyes again. Big mistake.

“Tonight’s your lucky night.” He slid out of his stool, holding a hand out for you as if he hadn’t just suggested thoroughly ravaging you in a public bathroom. You somewhat hesitantly looked him over before taking his hand, trying to decide if your morals would weigh into this decision. The only response you could come up with is what morals? 

You placed your hand in his delicately, allowing him to lead you to the bathroom situated at the back of the bar. God, it’s going to be fucking disgusting in there, you thought. Upon walking into the women’s bathroom, Niall locked the door behind you, and the scrunched look on his face told you that you had thought correctly.

“You’re not a germaphobe, are you?” He asked, wrinkling his nose as he glanced around the dingy space.

“I just agreed to fuck you, a complete stranger, in not so many words. I think I’ll be okay.” He rolled his eyes at your attitude, unable to keep a slight smirk from creeping back onto his lips. 

“Don’t be a brat, princess. I don’t appreciate the unwarranted attitude.” His tone held a hint of warning as he stalked closer to you, tossing his snapback onto the counter (that would need to be disinfected) and running a hand through his unruly hair.

“Then don’t ask stupid questions.” You shot back dumbly. Maybe not the best idea. One calloused hand flew to tangle in your hair, gripping it tightly before he tugged your head back. You yelped at the aggressiveness, allowing yourself to be cornered against the cold bathroom tiles. The sudden coolness sent a shiver down your spine, raising goose bumps along your back and neck.

“What do I have to do to shut you up, hm? Such a pretty mouth, you should use it more wisely.” He chided patronizingly, not loosening his hold in your hair. It stung a little, but you were oddly turned on. You didn’t like that.

“How would you suggest I do that?” I really need to shut up. One of his hands slid down to your hip, and he shoved you against the wall again, rather roughly.

“Shut your fucking mouth before I shut it for you.” Oh? Niall didn’t miss the way your bottom lip caught between your teeth, or the subtle clench of your thighs at his words. “Oh yeah? You like that, princess? Want me to shut you up nice and good?” He mocked in your ear, pulling back just slightly to observe changes in your expression. You didn’t respond, a little shell-shocked. You knew he was cocky, but you didn’t expect him to be quite so dominant. 

“On your knees.” What?

“What?” Why the hell am I asking questions? He tugged harder against your hair, the stinging in your roots returning. “Shit.” You muttered.

“On your fucking knees.” He hissed, stepping back to give you more room. Despite your pride shouting at you to disobey him yet again, you sunk to your knees, peering up at him in wait. “Good girl.” He muttered, combing his fingers through your hair. You lost his touch for only a moment while he tugged down his shorts and boxers, his throbbing length slapping up against his stomach. He let the useless clothing pool around his ankles, his hand cupping your cheek with a surprising tenderness. Just as you were reaching out to wrap your small hand around him, he caught your wrist.

“Not so fast. You haven’t earned it yet.” You furrowed your brow, momentarily confused, before realization dawned on you.

He wanted you to beg.

You parted your lips to speak, your breath catching with hesitation. He looked expectant, arrogant, staring down at you in such a pompous manner. You desperately tried to ignore the growing heat between your legs, the dampness trickling out of your poor, neglected little pussy. It had been a long time, and as much as you usually hated begging, you found yourself continually entranced by those ocean eyes, those pretty blue stars that glittered with excitement at what he knew you were about to do. He knew how fucking good he was; maybe for once, a man’s arrogance wasn’t completely unfounded.

“Please, can I…” You stopped yourself, your voice meek with the unfamiliar words spewing out of them. This dynamic was so foreign to you, but so delicious. You swallowed thickly, taking in a breath before trying again.

“Please let me touch you.” You could’ve sworn you heard a low rumble echo from his chest at your plea, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment before sliding his gaze back to you.

“Not good enough.” He rasped, and you could tell the denial was forced. He had wanted to accept then and there, but he wanted to draw this out as long as possible. He wanted this to last, and he was already sure that once your pretty lips were wrapped around his cock he would come like a fucking high school virgin jerking off in the middle of the night.

“Let me, fuck…please let me suck your cock.” You tried to hide the whimper that shook your tone, but it couldn’t be hidden from him. God, every fucking noise out of your mouth made his dick twitch in anticipation, his tip already angry red and leaking with precum. He sucked in a sharp breath, composing himself.

“Give me one more, princess.” He breathed, wrapping his fingers around your hair to pull it out of your face. How gentlemanly of him.

“Please…sir.” That was fucking it for him. That was the last word he expected to come out of your mouth, but fuck did it sound pretty as it did. He couldn’t hold back a groan, turning so that he could lean against the wall as you sat up on your knees to get closer.

“Go ahead, baby, use those pretty lips for something good.” You let out a sigh, using one hand to brace yourself on his thigh and the other to wrap around his length. You twisted your small hand around him once or twice, earning a couple of gasps from him. Maybe it was the risque nature of it all, perhaps even the way he could see straight down your dress from his current angle. He was a little bit of a perv, but let’s be honest. Who isn’t?

The moment your moist lips encircled his tip, he was forced to bite his tongue to stay quiet. Your tongue swirled around his little slit, collecting the salty liquid and filling your mouth with the taste of him. He tasted good, and you were almost embarrassed at the way a little whine escaped your lips, your pussy currently ruining your panties.

God, I’m a slut.

You flattened your tongue against the veiny underside of his dick, sliding an inch or two of him into your mouth. Hollowing your cheeks, you wasted no time in bobbing your head up and down, reveling in the slickness of your lips against his spit-moistened cock. 

Niall’s breaths were coming in heavy pants now, his gaze fixed on the way a strap of your dress slipped off of your shoulder, exposing the swell of your breast to his hungry eyes. He could just make out the circle of pink surrounding your pert nipples, admiring the way they poked through the thin fabric of your dress. That would be off soon enough.

Without warning, his hips rutted forward, causing his tip to hit the back of your throat and pulling a gag from you. He was fully face-fucking you now, lost in the bounce of your tits with each thrust, pulling your top further down and soon freeing your chest from its pesky confines.

“Fuckin’ perfect.” He rasped hoarsely, selfishly chasing his release and ignoring the way tears pricked at the corners of your eyes from the depth. “Feel s’fuckin’ good around me.” He slurred, grunting as he felt that knot in his stomach continue to grow. He was almost there. He was so fucking close he could almost imagine it. But shit, he couldn’t imagine that.

He couldn’t imagine the way his orgasm would rip through him as he abused your poor, small mouth, or the way you oh-so-obediently swallowed every drop of his come without being asked. What a good girl you were. Fucking made for him. 

He steeled himself against the bathroom wall to avoid collapsing (God, that would be embarrassing), releasing your hair as he floated down from his high. His jaw nearly dropped as he drank in your appearance, hair severely tousled from his grip on it, lips plump and swollen from their use, tits hanging out of the top of your dress so damned perfectly. You were gorgeous.

Lost in his own admiration, he almost missed the way your hips subtly rocked against the heel of your shoe as you knelt before him, trying to pay some attention to your neglected and dripping pussy.

Almost.

“You need something, princess?” Shit, he still managed to be cocky after that. You nodded pathetically, blown-up irises flickering down to his still-hard dick before meeting his gaze once again. “Stand up, sweetheart.” He coaxed reluctantly, already missing the sight of you on your knees for him. You wiped your mouth off with the back of your hand as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his eyes flitting over your flushed face.

He was enamored.

“Want me to take care of her?” He hummed, cupping your heat underneath your dress as he held your gaze. Your breath hitched as you inhaled sharply, nodding furiously. “Need you to use your words, love.”

“Please, need you.” You whined shamelessly, bending your knees ever so slightly to achieve just the slightest friction. He smirked evilly, very amused and pleased with himself at how cockdrunk you were after a fucking blowjob. He hadn’t even touched you yet.

“What a fuckin’ slut.” He practically growled, roughly grabbing your wrist and pulling you to the counter. He took off his tank top and laid it on the counter, and you realized he did that for you. “Sit.” He ordered deeply, causing another jolt to run straight to your pulsating core. You hopped up onto the counter, appreciative of the thin but sanitary barrier he had placed down for you. He hooked onto your plush thighs, the uppermost parts of them already soaked with your overwhelming arousal. He yanked you forward to the counter’s edge, quickly tugging your dress above your hips.

Just by the look on his face you already knew your panties had become transparent, absolutely ruined by your slick seeping out of you. Without a word, he hooked your panties to the side, breathing out in a way akin to surprise.

“Cute little pussy, huh, princess?” As if you were in your right mind to actually answer him. “Gonna fuck her so good she’ll be ruined for days.” Good fuck. This man knew exactly what in the hell he was doing to you. “Open these pretty legs.” You obeyed embarrassingly quickly, spreading them as wide as your hamstrings would allow. “Good girl.” There it fucking is again.

He ran a finger through your slit, collecting your wetness and spreading it over your puffy folds. You writhed and arched on the counter, mewling softly at how teasing his actions felt. You needed him inside of you this instant. Just before you could plead with him again, the wind was absolutely knocked out of you as he slammed his cock into your delicate pussy. You cried out in a mixture of pain and pleasure, his hand immediately flying to cover your mouth and muffle the sounds.

“Careful, princess, we’re - fuck - in public.” He panted, allowing you only a second or two to adjust to his size before he fucked into you relentlessly. His balls slapped against your ass with each thrust, the lewd sounds of skin smacking echoing off the graffitied walls. Your muffled moans punctuated each buck of his hips, greedily pushing your ass back for more, harder.

“Greedy fuckin’ slut.” A low groan escaped from his lips, his grip on your hips becoming almost bruising as he not-so-reluctantly began to oblige your silent plea for harder. You had never been fucked so roughly, or so well, to be frank.

You could feel your walls pulsing around him, squeezing him, milking him. You could feel that thick vein on the underside of his cock dragging across your insides, his swollen tip punching your cervix every time, filling you up indescribably well.

“Ahh, please - shit - faster.” You moaned, your lips unintentionally kissing his palm as you forced out the words. You could swear he actually growled the moment he heard you, not even having the energy to chide you for your neediness right away.

“Squeezin’ me so good, sweetheart. Fuck, like this pussy was fuckin’ made f’me.” His pants turned into grunts, and you knew he was feeling as good as you. And you were feeling fucking euphoric.

“Please, please, please…” You chanted in desire, your hands gripping onto the edge of the counter for support. If you hadn’t found something to hold onto, your head would have smashed into the sink’s mirror with the intensity at which he was fucking you. Your toes were curled, your eyes slammed shut, your back arching off the counter and wrinkling his shirt that he laid underneath you. It was like nothing you’d ever felt before. Such an overwhelming fullness, so deep at that.

“Takin’ me so fuckin’ well,” He huffed out, his pace not faltering for a moment. But with the way his cock twitched inside of you told you he was close. How you were coherent enough to form that thought, you had no idea.

The knot in your stomach had become unbearable, your walls clenching around his cock so tight you were sure it hurt him. But by the fucked-out look on his face, you decided he was feeling fine. His eyes were locked onto the bounce of your tits, those pretty nipples pink and swollen with arousal.

“M’so close, so close…” You moaned out, your knuckles white against the counter.

“C’mon, baby, want you to come f’me.” His thumb flew down to your clit, pressing harsh yet precise circles against it. “Wanna feel that pussy come all over my cock.” If his hand wasn’t covering your mouth, you were sure everyone in the bar would be able to hear your pornographic moans, or at least the squelching sounds of him fucking into you with how wet you were. The pressure of his thumb abusing your clit, the jolt of his tip slamming into your cervix, just the fucking expression on his pretty face, it was all too much.

“M’coming, m’coming…” Your voice came out in more of a squeal, just barely forcing out the words to begin with. That must have been the final straw for him, because with his thumb still on your clit, he quickly pulled out of you, thick ropes of come shooting out onto your heaving chest. Your orgasm followed half a second behind, ripping through your body with an overwhelming intensity. 

As you were still floating down from you high, Niall cleaned the both of you up with wet paper towels, his gentleness in after-care actually a little shocking considering how he just fucked you. He slipped a hand underneath your back and pulled you to a sitting position, tenderly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You okay, princess?” He asked gently, rubbing small circles into your hip and cheek. You nodded with a tired smile, too blissed out to actually respond. He chuckled at your response, admiring the state of you. “What made you change your mind?” He asked genuinely, tilting his head curiously. You huffed out a small laugh through your nose, peering up at him through your lashes.

“Those eyes.” You began, almost reverently. “They fucking hypnotized me.”

[irisintheafterglow]

in a world of boys, he's a gentleman

summary: a creep walks up to the shake stand window. your favorite customer scares him off. (college au!iwaizumi x you)

wc: 1.9k

cw/tags: college!au iwaizumi, creepy dude but he gets scared off don't worry, buff iwa gets nervous around you

note: so there's a protein shake stand like right outside my school's gym and that's where the inspiration for this little brain fart came from. also this is wholeheartedly dedicated to @shotorus my favorite iwa simp. i really hope you like this, it's my first time writing for your man but it most definitely will not be the last :D

likes, replies, and reblogs are appreciated <3

You didn’t anticipate finding a gym crush outside of the student rec center. Yet, there he was, every day at 5:00 passing the stand and every day at 6:30 ordering his usual, strawberries and bananas with chocolate protein powder. It’s a wonder how strictly he stuck to his schedule and you made it a point to have his order queued up in the system by the time he got to the window. To your detriment, it seemed that your infatuation had become obvious enough to your usually-oblivious coworkers. 

“At this point, I think you took this job just to ogle him,” one of your friends points out as she runs a colander of fruit under the faucet. You give her a lighthearted glare and she flicks a few water droplets at you. “I’d guess you like seeing him more than the tips that other guys put in the jar. You really do so much for this company,” she says patronizingly and you roll your eyes. She had a point; you tended not to notice the phone numbers written on dirty napkins or social media handles hastily drawn on dollar bills. None of them interested you. None of them, except for the dude with a body like a Greek hero that made you want to get kidnapped by some mythological being. 

“I just think he has a nice physique; is that such a bad thing?” She shoots you a skeptical look and you turn away sheepishly to check the clock. Thirty seconds to 6:30. “He should be here in a little bit,” you say quietly to yourself, hoping she doesn’t hear. It’s a nice sentiment, but ultimately futile. 

“You’re counting down the seconds? Man, you’re worse than I thought.” She pats your shoulder sympathetically as she passes behind you and you lean your hands on the register counter. 

“As if you’ve never had a gym crush before,” you fire back. 

“You’re supposed to actually be inside the gym to have a gym crush,” she reminds you and you groan. “Why don’t you just switch your shift so you can see him while you workout?”

“I tutor before this, remember? Plus, I need to be able to charm the evening regulars so I can keep paying rent,” you admit. She nods in understanding and a glance at the clock shows ten seconds until 6:30. Your other usuals had come and gone for the day: the guy in the blue tank top that only seemed to work his forearms and biceps, the girl with the silly socks that had the most muscular calves you’d ever seen, the two frat bros with their backwards caps and arrogant voices. It hits 6:30, however, and your favorite regular isn’t behind the glass. He isn’t anywhere around, you realize. You can’t help the frown that draws the corner of your mouth down and, when you look to your coworker for support, she merely shrugs before grabbing a tub of powder from the top shelf. “It’s odd that he isn’t here yet.”

“Only you would think that,” she teases and you refocus on pulling up his usual order on the payment screen. “Maybe he got sick. There’s that frat flu going around right now.”

“Why would he be in a frat, though? And also, he’s definitely the type to wipe the hell out of every machine he uses.”

“If he uses machines; personally, he strikes me as a free weights-only kind of guy.” Before you can reply, a knock on the glass startles you back into customer-service mode. The man in front of you looked relatively normal, but the way his eyes looked you up and down several times made your stomach queasy. It wasn’t the first time creeps had checked you out through the window, but maybe you were feeling a little extra vulnerable waiting around for a regular who didn’t even know your name. Avoiding the man’s intrusive gaze, you shakily pull up his order, swipe his card for payment, and let him know that his shake would be ready soon. 

“I have a question,” he says slowly before you can run and hide in the back. “What time are you out of here?”

“I’m not done for a while,” you state vaguely, praying that he wouldn’t ask about the remaining two and a half hours of your shift. “I work until closing.”

“I can come back and get you when you close.” His voice makes your skin crawl and his eyes feel like knives on your body.

“Excuse me?”

“Let me take you out to dinner. A nice looking person like you shouldn’t be alone at night.” Your heart drops into your stomach and your feet remain rooted to the floor, terrified in place. Was he gonna try to do something after you were off?

“Look, I’m not interested in any–”

“Hey, man. Are you done ordering yet? You’re holding up the line,” intrudes a voice that feels like a warm blanket wrapping around your shoulders. Somewhere between his usual order time and the creep asking you out, your favorite little crush came to stand in line to pay. His shoulders seemed extra broad today and the muscle of his biceps flexed under his compression shirt as he crossed his arms over his chest, staring daggers down at the guy who was freaking you out. He’d never looked so handsome, all sharp jawline and flexed muscles and piercing eyes. The creep recoils and scurries away, allowing you to take a deep breath that helps relieve some of the tension in your forehead. By pure muscle memory and running on adrenaline, your fingers swipe over the tablet and pull up his usual order before he can even say hello. 

“Strawberry and banana with chocolate protein powder, right?”

“Yeah, that…that’s mine,” he says, slightly taken aback by the lingering expression of panic on your face. While he eyes you warily, you swipe his card and hand him his receipt, suddenly desperate to just disappear into the back for the rest of your shift. “Hey, are you okay?”

“What? No, yeah. I’m fine, totally fine,” you lie and give him a weak smile. His eyebrows furrow slightly and you can feel him try to analyze you, but not in the dehumanizing way as your previous customer. His eyes searched your expression worriedly and you caught him biting skin from his lip in concern. “It’s just that the guy before you was being a little weird.” Calling him “weird” was an understatement, but you didn’t want to inconvenience him more than you already have. “I’m fine, really.” He watches you for a moment more and then nods, murmuring a thank you under his breath and finding a spot to wait for his shake. 

“This fell on the floor by the trash can,” he says plainly when he walks up to the pickup window after you call out his drink. The creepy guy hadn’t left the area yet, so your fight or flight instincts were still going haywire. Your gym crush, however, momentarily takes your attention by subtly sliding a dirty piece of paper across the counter to you as he picks up his cup with the other hand. “Thanks; I’ll see you tomorrow.” Before you can blink, he’s gone, leaving you with a cryptic folded message that makes your head spin. You sputter out an awkward farewell and hastily unfold the piece of paper. 

I’ll be studying in the computer lab until the stand closes. If he’s still bothering you, come find me and I’ll walk you to your car or your dorm or wherever. -Iwaizumi Hajime 

A sturdy rectangle of plastic falls from the paper and you stare at it in disbelief. It was an ID card for the university’s after-hours patrol division with his picture, full name, and student number printed on it. Iwaizumi, you echo mentally, you’re too good to be true. And, true to his promise, he’s a respectful distance away and stands with his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants at 9:00 when you lock up the shake stand. You’d lost sight of the creep an hour after Iwaizumi picked up his drink, but the paranoia didn’t leave your body and you’re only able to relax when he approaches you. 

“This is yours,” you say, handing him his ID card with a small smile. “Thank you for looking out for me.”

“Of course. I’m sorry you had to deal with him,” he replies regretfully, uncomfortably adjusting his water bottle tucked into the crook of his elbow. “None of the guys at the gym like him. He’s always hitting on girls and giving them weird looks.” 

“Looks like he was forced to look outside the gym, then,” you laugh lightly, feeling the tension release from your shoulders as you walk next to Iwaizumi in the direction of the parking lot. “Did your drink still taste okay? Or did my nervousness make it taste funny?” When he chuckles, it sounds like sunshine. 

“It was just as tasty as it always is, thank you. You’ve really figured out how to make me the perfect drink every time.”

“Anything for my favorite customer,” you say without hesitation and your face feels like it’s been lit on fire. To your surprise, however, it seemed that Iwaizumi was just as flustered by your words. His eyes widen and his pretty mouth gapes a little bit, blinking rapidly to fix the short circuit in his brain. “I just hope he doesn’t come around here again. He makes my stomach churn.”

“Yeah, I get that,” he forces out and he’s silent for a while until your car is in sight. “Hey, sorry if this is super off-base, but do you wanna workout with me sometime? I can change the time I go but, if it means you don’t feel scared by that guy anymore, I’ll gladly rearrange my schedule.” 

“You want me to workout with you?”

“I’d like to meet you for lunch sometime, too, but I figured I’d start with baby steps,” he admits, running a hand nervously through his hair while you fish your keys from your bag. “If you don’t want to, that’s totally fine–”

“No, no, I’d love to,” you reassure him and he looks visibly relieved. “I’ll change up my shift so you can still go around the same time you usually do, and I can just meet you outside. I’ve been needing a new spotter since mine picked up extra shifts in the library.” 

“Great, yeah, awesome,” he says, a little dumbfounded by how eagerly you would give him a chance. If he was being honest, he’d wanted to ask you your name for months since you memorized his order, but he didn’t want to come off as pushy and ruin his chance with you. “Do you, uh, mind if I give you my number? Or I can give you a social media handle too if you’re not comfortable sharing your number.” God, he’s so good. He is so, so good. “Can you let me know you get home safe?”

“I will,” you promise. “Thank you for everything, Iwaizumi.”

“You can call me Hajime, if you want,” he offers softly and the fondness in his voice makes your heart flip. “Iwaizumi is fine too. Anything is fine.” 

“Right,” you smile. “Well, goodnight, Hajime. Get home safe.”

“You too. Talk soon, okay?”

“I can’t wait.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[sukuna-ryo]

Jjk Men College Au

Headcannons

Nanami Kento

Finance Major

Blonde neatly styled hair, sharp cheekbones, thin lips, light brown eyes, glasses pushed up the nose bridge, dark circles, well-groomed and tidy, looks more professional than the professor, you thought he was a professor when you first saw him, calm and composed, stoic, mature, responsible and reliable, emotionally intelligent, good with people, helpful, no-nonsense-adult attitude, pragmatic, cynical, intelligent, tactical, tech-savvy.

Early morning lectures, blue dress shirts, khaki trousers, leopard print ties, networking, finance club, seminars, workshops, turns in assignments before due date, stockbroker internships, libraries, desk lamps, late night study sessions, midnight snacks, ink pens, vintage cars, leather seats, cracking knuckles, strained shoulder muscles, working out, not compromising on physical health despite having a demanding major, does jujutsu as hobby.

College-personal life balance, strength of character, disciplined, organized, heartthrob (unaware), husband material, would probably fall for someone just as diligent as him.

Ryomen Sukuna

Kinesiology Major

Red hair, fiery personality, strength, endurance, gym, MMA fighter, training, late night MMA matches, muscles, tattoos, tattoo artist best friend, frat parties, alcohol, girls, messy sex life, doesn’t do relationships, toxic, fans and fan clubs, future MMA champion, media coverage, athletic, strong-headed, willpower, intelligent, calculative, cunning, missing lectures, top ranker despite not studying much, arrogant, crazy, borderline criminal, don’t try to date him pls.

Leather jackets, ripped jeans, cologne, smirk, loud, reckless, always on the move, fights, wins, clubs, stays up late, doesn’t care, bad boy persona, high status, no commitments, love for chaos. Tension in the air when he enters, always the center of attention, fans everywhere, no time for weakness, doesn’t need to try.

Tattoo sleeve, arms covered, history of fights, scars, reputation, strength, untouchable, doesn’t play by rules, barely attends class, still aces it. Smirks, keeps moving, doesn’t stop. Drinks, casual, no relationships, cold heart. Only more battles ahead, all eyes on him, unpredictable, dangerous, charming.

Geto Suguru

Philosophy Major

Long black hair, weird side bangs, manbun, hidden tattoos, sharp dresser, classic casual but always expensive, calm and composed, mysterious yet friendly to those who matter.

Religious studies, top student, always reading something deep, debates with professors over lunch, having lunch with professors, doing pottery in his free time, sharp opinions, loud thoughts, a little racist, has a vision for an ideal society, probably loves Pythagoras and his cult, wishes to have something similar, always scribbling down ideas in random places, likes to keep things classy but low-key, sharp, calculating, deeply invested in his beliefs.

Volunteers at orphanages, good with children, art hobbies, loves to talk about philosophy, sometimes found debating late at night in the library, always in deep thought, a bit of a perfectionist, not easily impressed by others, enjoys challenging people intellectually, likes to put effort into his appearance, always carrying books on ethics, metaphysics, and society.

Popular amongst women, Gojo’s best friend, your grandma would probably like him, friendly but keeps a bit of distance, doesn’t open up easily but will be there for you when needed, composed around strangers, warm to those he’s close to, respects loyalty, his ideal partner would be someone with similar intelligence and values.

Gojo Satoru

Business major

6'4, blue eyes, trust fund guy, loud, jolly, eccentric, talented, arrogant, sarcastic, wants to make friends but misunderstood by those around him, comes off as off-putting, rich family, only heir, prodigy, diamond spoon kid, first in everything, Geto's best friend.

Gets bullied because of his white hair, shades, blindfolds, people think he has some weird kink, has fangirls regardless, popular loner, sharp dresser, stands out, hates attention, smirk always in place, makes people uncomfortable with his confidence, carefree but secretly lonely, sharp-tongued, cracks jokes all the time.

Easily gets on people's bad side, works to keep up his image, loves challenging authority, doesn't care about consequences, fiercely protective of his friends, holds grudges, always first to show up, leaves last, high-profile business role in his future, a bit of mystery that draws people in, keeps everyone at arm's length.

Wants to be understood, still pushes people away, walks into a room and demands attention, but doesn’t say a word, people notice him immediately, no one dares challenge him, but it’s not for lack of trying, takes classes seriously, skips boring ones, coffee in hand, shades indoors, professors secretly like him, students admire or fear him.

Doesn’t attend study groups, pulls through with perfect grades, natural intelligence, picks up info quickly, a bit of a mystery, high-profile events, networking, parties, center of attention at social gatherings, random comments that leave people laughing or wondering, doesn’t care about others, secretly craves connection but too prideful to ask for it.

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Do not copy, plagiarise, translate or repost any of my content.

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[bloodibambiidoll]

Hiii I love your account! 🐇 with Rafe please and “You’re so annoying” and “you look pretty like this” if I can pick two hehe

Omg thank you so much!! Of course you can pick two! I hope you like it! Thank you to my angel @babygorewhore for beta reading🖤🤭

This is for my 1.6k celebration🎀🖤

Warnings: Reader is Topper’s sister, enemies to fucking?, blow job, hair pulling, face fucking, cum swallowing, a lil bit of degradation. 18+MNDI!! W.k: 1.7k

Rafe has been driving you nuts since, well, as long as you can remember, but he’s driving you especially insane today. All you wanted to do was lay by the pool with your fruity little drink and read your dirty romance novel. But no, apparently Rafe didn’t want you to have a moment of peace while you were home from college for the summer. Why your brother had to choose him as a best friend and then also choose to stick with it for this long is beyond you. So he was just always around and it seemed like lately you couldn’t escape him no matter what you did.

The minute they got to the house with beers you asked Topper if they’d fuck off and chill inside but Rafe insisted they hang out in the back.

“It’s nice out, and I just can’t pass up this view.” He smirks at you as he leans back in one of your mom’s plush patio chairs, his eyes drinking in your barely there bikini.

“Rafe, that’s my sister man, how many times do I have to tell you that she’s -“ Rafe cuts Topper off with a scoff and a roll of his eyes.

“She’s off limits, yeah, yeah, I know the fuckin’ drill Top.” That doesn’t stop him from glancing over at you every ten seconds. Sending you subtle little winks over Topper’s shoulder, practically fucking you with his eyes and you hate how much you like it. You can’t stand how much your body betrays you when it comes to Rafe fucking Cameron. He makes you want to rip your hair out, he’s arrogant, rude, and a classic spoiled preppy frat boy in every way. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s so god damn sexy.

“The fact that you guys are being so fucking loud that I can hear you with my music on full blast is actually insane to me.” You slam your book shut as you dramatically pull your headphones off your head.

“Maybe you should stop being so fucking boring and come chill with us then.” Rafe blows out a hit as he holds the bong towards you. “Wanna hit?”

“You? Never.” You scoff, crossing your arm as you glare over at him.

“You think you’re reaaal clever, huh? I know you’re lying, you want me so bad.” Rafe snorts, setting the bong down on the table before leaning back in the chair with his arms behind his head and his legs spread. Fuck.

“You know what? I’m over this. Bye.” You shake your head as you grab your things, making sure to send Rafe a death glare on your way inside the house.

You’re inside for maybe five minutes when there’s a knock on your bedroom door.

“Fuck off, Top! I’m changing, I don’t wanna hear how sorry you are for how much of an asshole Rafe is for the millionth time!”

“Exactly how big of an asshole am I? Huh, princess?” The sound of Rafe’s voice on the other side of your door has you practically growling as you storm towards it and rip it open.

“You’re so annoying, Rafe, you know that!? You’re like a fucking fly or some shit, always buzzing around with no real thoughts in your head!!!” You glare up at him as your eyes meet his own, stomping your foot in frustration.

“You look pretty like this, ya know?” He rests his hand on the side of the door frame as he smirks down at you.

“Like fucking what, Cameron!?”

“All pissed off at me n’ shit.” He chuckles, leaning down further so his face is only a few inches from your own. His breath smells like weed and beer but his lips are so fucking kissable that it actually just pisses you off more. “I think you’re just mad because you wanna fuck me and you’re in denial about it.”

“Are you fucking serious right now?” You scoff and roll your eyes but you don’t even know if you believe yourself because you sound so full of shit.

“I mean, yeah. It also doesn’t hurt that you still have on that tiny little bikini…” He wets his lips with his tongue as his hand reaches out to cup your cheek. He drags his thumb across your glossy bottom lip before releasing it with a pop. “I don’t hear you denying it, baby.”

“I - You know what? Fuck it.” You practically lunge forward to lace your fingers into the material of his shirt using the grip to pull his mouth down to yours in a bruising kiss. He grips onto your hips, pulling you until you’re flush against him. He slips his tongue into your mouth and practically devours you before pulling away with a fucking smirk painted on his face.

“Fuckin’ knew it, knew you wanted me.” He bites his lip while he looks down at you like he won the fucking lottery.

“Shut up, don’t be a fuck boy about it or I’m not letting you anywhere near my pussy, Cameron.” You glare up at him with your lips set into that irritated little pout that makes him want to shove his cock between them.

“Your pussy? Shit, baby, you gonna let me fuck you? I’ve been wanting to wipe that bratty fuckin’ look off your face for years.”

“Yeah? Well maybe I wanna wipe that cocky fucking look off of yours.” You grab onto his hand, pulling him through the doorway, practically slamming it closed behind him. You push him up against it before dropping to your knees and making quick work of undoing his shorts.

“Shit, been fuckin’ dreaming about that pretty little mouth around my cock nonstop.” You pull his cock free and you can’t even hide the shocked look on your face at the sight of it. He was fucking huge. Long and thick and so fucking hard, god you can’t stand him.

“No wonder you’re so fucking arrogant, you would have a fucking monster cock.” You roll your eyes as you look up at him and you can tell by the look on his face that he’s about to say some smug bullshit so you grab onto his shaft and spit on it.

“Oh fuckkk, yeah, get it all fuckin’ wet.” He laces his fingers through your hair with a groan when you start to jerk him off. You pump him a few times before smirking up at him and taking him all the way down your throat in one motion. “God damn, baby, knew you had a mouth on you but shit.”

You pull almost all the way off of him, just sucking his tip as you swirl your tongue around it, flicking it along the slit. You work the rest of him with your spit slick palm as you look up at him. And god. He drives you insane in every fucking way. He looks so hot, you hate him for looking so hot. His mouth is hanging open as grunts and profanities leave it. Those ocean blue eyes keep rotating between boring down into your own and rolling in the back of his head, that stupid ass button up he’s wearing is riding up a little and showing a sliver of his waist and his shoulders fill it out so perfectly.

“Take this shit off.” Rafe uses the hand not in your hair to grab onto the top tie of your bikini top and pull the knot loose. “Fuck, fuckin’ knew you had perfect tits.”

You pull off of him with a pop, a string of drool still connected to your lips from his cock. When it breaks it drips down onto your chest between your tits and the sight makes his cock twitch in your hand.

“Yeah? Bet you wanna touch them sooo bad.” You mock pout at him as you bring your free hand up to fondle your tits.

“Don’t fuckin’ tease me, princess.” Rafe’s grip on your hair tightens and it causes you to let out a breathy moan. “Oh? You like it rough? Open your fuckin’ bratty little mouth.”

You stick your tongue out for him and he uses his grip on your hair to pull your head back down to his cock. He glides it across your tongue a few times, hitting the back of your throat, causing you to gag. You wrap your lips around his cock and swallow causing your throat to constrict around him. He starts to thrust into your mouth while you continue to practically swallow his cock, swirling your tongue while you finally take what he gives you.

“Yeah, that’s fuckin’ it, little brat, your mouth feels so fuckin’ good.” When you reach up to fondle his balls he throws his head back and his free hand flys to his hair, tugging at the strands almost as hard as he’s tugging on your own. “God damn, keep doing that - fuck - you’re gonna make me fuckin’ cum.”

“Yo Rafe, where you at!?” Topper’s voice travels up from downstairs and Rafe’s grip on your hair loosens as his thrusts abruptly stop. But you’re not having that, you start to bob your head up and down, giving his balls attention as you deep throat him.

“Baby - shit - I’m gonna cum down that slutty little throat, don’t stop.” You don’t, you suck him off like your life depends on it, drool dripping down his balls, down your chin, all over your tits. God, your tits, they’re bouncing so deliciously and you look so fucking hot with your mascara running down your eyes like that, it has his cock twitching in your mouth. His cum spurts down your throat and you swallow every drop. “That’s it, good girl, fuckin’ swallow that shit.”

“Where are you man? You better not be fucking with my sister again dude!” You hear Topper’s footsteps coming up the stairs and Rafe turns to lock the door.

“Yeaaah, it’s a little too late for that, Top.” Rafe chuckles as he grabs you by the hips and throws you on the bed causing you to giggle. “I suggest you fuck off if you don’t wanna hear her screaming my name though.”

“Dude!”

“Goodbye, Topper!! Get away from my fucking door!!” You hear him scoff before his footsteps recede back down the stairs.

“Now, where were we?” Rafe smirks at you while he wraps his hand around your throat. “I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin you.”

[ripleyresonance]

First Bite

Vampire Hunter!Rhea Ripley x Vampire!Reader

Summary: How does a hook-up turn into an eternity with fangs. You may not know much about this world, but sometimes one bite is all it takes.

Warnings: Blood,Death, and a Creepy Frat Bro

The icy air clung to your skin, each breath hanging in the cold like an unspoken secret before disappearing into the night. Your heart pounded in your chest, a relentless, erratic drumbeat, each pulse a reminder of the hunger that gnawed at you from within. Every step you took felt heavier, more strained, as you tried to distract yourself from the crowd of humans swarming around you. But it was impossible. They were everywhere. Warm, alive, and oblivious.

You staggered down the sidewalk, eyes darting between the Halloween revelers, all dressed in their costumes. Harley Quinns, firemen, cops—it was all so mundane, yet something about it felt surreal now. You rolled your eyes, scanning the faces of people pretending to be monsters when you were becoming one for real.

Then, one man caught your attention. He was dressed as a vampire, fangs bared, fake blood dripping from his lips. On any other Halloween, the sight would have been laughable. But tonight, your own fangs throbbed, and the fire in your throat scorched hotter with every heartbeat you heard around you. His costume wasn’t funny. It was torment. And no one, least of all him, understood the agony of what it meant to actually be like this. Like you.

It had been a week since your life had changed, since that night when she turned you. You had locked yourself away in your room, trying to drown the hunger with food and water, but nothing helped. You were starving—truly starving—and the thirst was unbearable. You remembered the warning she gave you, her voice teasing, almost mocking.

Her laughter still echoed in your mind as you recalled how easily she had lured you away from the party, her flirty smile disarming you. You had no idea what was really happening, not even when her hands were on you, her lips on your neck, whispering, “I’m sorry... I’m just so hungry.” You thought she meant something playful, but then the bite came—sharp, deep.

You tried to scream, but the sound was caught in your throat, drowned by the growing dizziness as she drained you. You never even saw her leave. One moment she was there, and the next, gone, just like that. And then the pain came—the fangs, the burning thirst, the realization.

Now here you were, a week later, struggling to hold onto whatever was left of your humanity. But as your eyes locked onto the man in the vampire costume, everything else faded. His neck—so exposed, the veins pulsing beneath the surface of his skin—called to you. You could hear his heartbeat. The rush of blood beneath his flesh sounded like music, and it was getting harder to resist.

You didn’t even notice when he caught you staring.

“Hey hottie, like something you see?” His voice was cocky, dripping with arrogance as he swaggered over, oblivious to the danger.

You forced a smile, playing along. “Sorry, I’m just a little shy,” you murmured, your voice surprisingly steady despite the war raging inside you.

He grinned, clearly pleased with himself, and offered to buy you a drink. Normally, you’d blow off guys like this, but tonight you followed, your mind spinning with the possibilities. Maybe you could control this. Maybe you could feed, just a little, and stop before it went too far.

The shots went down easy, and with each one, your mind quieted, the hunger dulled slightly—but not enough. The frat boy’s hands roamed, growing bolder, but you barely noticed. All you could think about was the steady, rhythmic thumping of his heart.

When he whispered in your ear, “Let’s get out of here,” you smiled, but it wasn’t because of him. It was because you knew exactly where this was going to end.

He led you away from the crowded bar, into the shadows beneath a small bridge. Perfect. Isolated. No witnesses. As he rambled on about what he was going to do to you, you barely listened. Your focus was on his neck, the way it pulsed with every word he spoke.

Suddenly, you stopped walking, your eyes darkening with hunger. He turned, confused, as you stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“You couldn’t wait, huh?” he smirked, thinking he was in control.

You leaned in, lips brushing his throat, your fangs aching, desperate to pierce the skin. “I think I need you now,” you whispered, and before he could respond, you bit down.

The rush was intoxicating. His blood flooded your mouth, warm and thick, and for a moment, you felt invincible. He gasped, a strangled sound of confusion and pain, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. The more you drank, the stronger you felt, the fire in your throat finally extinguishing as his life ebbed away beneath you.

He struggled weakly, but you pinned him down, your strength overwhelming his. Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you knew you should feel guilt, but the pleasure, the sheer relief, was too much to deny. You drank until he stopped moving, his heartbeat fading into silence.

It wasn’t until the light of a flashlight blinded you that you realized what you had become. The taste of his blood still lingered on your lips, and as you looked up into the eyes of the stranger holding the light, you knew: there was no going back.

Your head snapped up, eyes locking onto the faint glow of a flashlight. A shadowy figure stood just beyond the beam of light.

“Drop him. Now!” The voice cut through the darkness, sharp and commanding.

Instinct screamed at you to run, but you barely had time to turn before you were slammed to the ground, and pinned to the pavement.

A woman straddled you, her jet-black hair falling like a raven's wing, parted to reveal the metal glint of gauges in her left ear. She held your wrists above your head with ease, her grip unyielding. The way she restrained you was so precise and practiced—it was clear this wasn’t her first time.

You thrashed, trying to break free, even with the vampire adrenaline pumping through you, but she barely flinched.

“You’d think a vampire would be smart enough not to kill on Halloween. I mean, come on—try not to be a walking cliché,” she said with a dry laugh, watching you struggle as if it were a minor inconvenience.

“And to kill him of all people?” she scoffed, glancing at the frat boy's body. “What are you, a newbie?”

“K-kill him? I didn’t—” You twisted to look at the guy on the ground. His lifeless eyes stared back, cold and accusing. A jolt of panic surged through you.

“I didn’t mean to... I was just so hungry. Oh my God,” you stammered, the realization hitting like a freight train. Tears blurred your vision, and before you knew it, you were sobbing. “I didn’t mean to kill him.”

The woman’s grip loosened, clearly caught off guard by your breakdown. “Goddamn, you really are a newbie.”

“I didn’t want to be like this!” you choked out, struggling to catch your breath. “I never asked for any of this. And now... now I’m going to prison. Forever. Because I can’t die.”

She sighed, standing up and dusting off her jeans, almost as if this whole situation bored her. “Calm down, kiddo. You’re not going to prison.”

You blinked up at her, still sniffling. “But I killed him... and you saw me—”

She waved it off. “Trust me, I’ve seen a lot of vampires kill a lot of people. You’re not special. You’re not the first, and you sure as hell won’t be the last.”

You slowly got to your feet, eyes wide with disbelief. “What are you, some kind of vampire hunter?”

She let out a short, sharp whistle. “Look at you, using those brain cells. Yeah, something like that.” She crouched down by the frat boy’s body, closing his eyes with a casualness that made your stomach turn.

As the absurdity of the situation sank in, you found yourself laughing. Hysterically.

The woman raised an eyebrow, glancing up at you. “What’s so funny?”

You wiped at your face, trying to calm down but failing miserably. “I’m sorry, it’s just... a week ago I thought I was going to hook up at a party, and now I’m standing in a tunnel after killing someone, talking to a vampire hunter. This is like some messed-up Vampire Diaries episode!”

She gave you a deadpan look. “That show’s offensive to our kind, you know.”

“Our kind?” you echoed, still reeling.

Before she could respond, the distant ring of a bike bell echoed through the tunnel.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you muttered, glancing around nervously.

“Relax, newbie.” She jerked her head toward the body. “Grab his upper half. I’ll take the legs.”

You stared at her like she was insane. “What? How am I supposed to lift this 200-pound frat bro and get him out of here before that bike hits the tunnel?”

She rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Didn’t it seem odd to you that five minutes ago, you managed to pin him to the ground? And that was when you’d barely fed.”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“And now that you’ve drained him completely, you don’t think you might be a little... stronger?” She shot you a look that could cut glass.

“So, what, I’ve got super strength now?” You scoffed, still not entirely convinced.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said mockingly, “vampires are real, but superpowers are where you draw the line?”

The bike bell rang again, closer this time. Cursing under your breath, you bent down, grabbing the frat boy’s arms. To your shock, he felt light—like he weighed nothing at all. You blinked, processing the eerie reality of your newfound strength.

You quickly hauled the body away from the tunnel’s entrance, moving faster than you thought possible.

“Now what?” you whispered once you were out of sight.

The woman walked over to a car parked in the shadows, popping the trunk without missing a beat. “Now, we put him in here.”

You stood there, frozen, as she nonchalantly pulled out a large garbage bag, slipping on gloves like she’d done this a hundred times before. She slid the bag over the frat boy’s body, tucking every last bit of him inside. Efficient. Unfazed.

“Seems like you’ve done this before,” you said, your voice shaky.

She smirked, hefting the body into the trunk. “Well, have you ever heard of vampires before now? That’s because I’m damn good at what I do. Without me, this town would’ve burned to the ground ages ago.”

She slammed the trunk shut and turned to face you, arms crossed. “Normally, I stop vampires like you before you go feral, but hey, can’t save them all.”

You felt a chill crawl up your spine. “So... what now? You’re just going to leave me here?”

She rolled her eyes. “A thank-you would be nice. I did just take care of the body for you.”

“I mean... I just killed someone. Don’t you think we should talk about this? I feel guilty, and everything’s changing, and—”

She started her car, laughing under her breath. “Oh, sweetie, don’t lie to yourself.”

“What?” you asked, thrown off by her tone.

“You don’t feel guilty. You feel nothing,” she said, voice ice-cold. “You were crying because you thought you were going to spend eternity in prison. Not because you killed him. You. Feel. Nothing.”

You stared at her, stunned. But deep down, you knew she was right. The guilt, the panic—it wasn’t for him. It was for you.

She shifted into drive, her window halfway down. “Can I at least know your name?” you asked, desperation creeping into your voice.

She paused, giving you a look that sent a shiver down your spine. “Let's just say you never want to see me again and if you do…I won't hesitate to kill you.” 

And with that, she drove off, leaving you standing alone in the cold night air, heart racing.

The hunt had begun. Only this time, you were the prey.

Hey guys! Sorry, it has been a while. Life and everything blah blah. But it is October and I hope I can commit to a little mini-series. Let me know if you like it!