#and at the same time sipping on “juice”

[heliosunny]

I've read a manhwa with the plot of MC being in a marriage of convenience with the ML in their first life and they work hard to make it work/feel like an actual marriage but the guy didn't give it much thought so they died and in their second life, the MC just decided to not focus on the guy but that somehow attracted the guy's attention

So that premise with Mydei (or Phainon, I just thought it suited Mydei more) where in reader's first life they had loved him and dedicated their whole being to him but they end up dying so in their second life they were more confrontational and willing to potentially piss off Mydei but that just had the opposite effect on him.

Bonus I guess if he remembers what reader did after a certain time and makes him fall harder (or go full on yan route idm)

Yandere!Mydei x Reader

[Artist]

You had loved him once.

It was a quiet, steady love, the kind built on careful devotion rather than reckless passion. A love that manifested in the way you always reached for his hand in public, in the way you made him pomegranate juice exactly as he liked it, in the way you handled every social obligation so he wouldn’t have to. A love that, despite being arranged, had been genuine on your part.

Mydei, however, had never given you much thought.

Your marriage had been one of convenience, a political arrangement that benefited both parties, nothing more. You knew that. You had known it from the start. But knowing didn’t stop you from hoping, didn’t stop you from trying to be someone he could come to love.

Yet you had tried.

You learned his preferences. You shielded him from trivial nuisances. You defended him against enemies in court. You ensured his home was warm when he returned, even if he never cared whether you were there waiting or not. You gave him everything you had to offer, even as your own needs went unnoticed, unfulfilled.

And then, one day, you died.

It was an illness, slow but inevitable. The kind that ate away at you little by little until there was nothing left to give. You had fought to stay by his side, to live long enough for him to notice you, to care. But as you lay on your deathbed, your body weak, your breath shallow, Mydei had stood beside you with the same unreadable expression he always wore.

“It’s unfortunate” he had said, his voice calm. “But there’s nothing to be done.”

He hadn’t held your hand. Hadn’t begged you to stay. Hadn’t even asked if you were afraid. And so you died, alone in a marriage that had never truly been shared.

But then, against all reason, you awoke again.

A second life. A second chance.

And this time, you wouldn’t waste it on him.

----

The first time you met Mydei again in your new life, he had the same detached expression, but this time, you weren’t the same.

“Oh. It’s you.” he said, mildly surprised.

You stared at him, deadpan. “Tragic, isn’t it?”

He blinked at you, clearly taken aback. In your past life, you would have smiled softly, eager to please. Now, you met his gaze with all the warmth of an ice sculpture.

“You seem different.” he noted, as though observing the weather.

“Yes, well, dying does that to a person.” You crossed your arms. “But don’t worry, I’m not here to cater to your every whim anymore. I have better things to do.”

His brow furrowed slightly, a reaction so subtle you might have missed it if you hadn’t known him so well. It was funny. For the first time, Mydei found himself unsure of how to proceed.

Days turned to weeks, and you continued to avoid him as much as possible. When you couldn’t, you treated him with polite indifference.

“Here, I brought you tea.”

Mydei raised a brow. “Tea?”

“I just grabbed the first thing I saw.” You sipped your own drink with a smirk, watching as he hesitated before taking a sip. No more pomegranate juice, but you made no move to correct it. Let him suffer.

He gave you a long, unreadable look, then quietly finished the tea anyway.

You weren’t sure when it started, but Mydei began seeking you out more often. Not for anything important, just small, meaningless interactions that, in your first life, he would have ignored entirely.

“You’re busy” he observed one day, watching you pour over books in the library.

“You’re perceptive” you deadpanned, not looking up.

“I can help.”

You finally met his gaze, incredulous. “You? Help? With something that doesn’t benefit you?”

“I’m capable of generosity” he replied smoothly.

You scoffed. “Sure. And I’m the Empress of the Universe.”

To your growing unease, Mydei only chuckled, as if thoroughly enjoying the challenge you presented. If he had ignored your love in your past life, he now seemed intent on prying into your every thought in this one.

You weren’t sure which was worse.

What made it all the more complicated was that Mydei had no idea you had already lived and died once before. To him, this was just the first time you had ever looked at him with anything less than quiet admiration. And while he couldn’t understand what had changed, he was undeniably intrigued.

-----

The third prince’s birthday celebration was an unavoidable event. No matter how much you wanted to stay far away from Mydei, you were both expected to attend.

Dressed in formal attire, you entered the grand hall, carefully ignoring Mydei’s presence beside you.

As expected, the noble ladies flocked to him almost immediately, their voices sickly sweet.

“Mydei, you look as composed as ever” one simpered, lightly touching his sleeve. “Surely you must save a dance for me?”

“And me as well” another chimed in. “It’s not often we get to see you at these gatherings.”

You sipped your drink and turned away, uninterested.

Mydei, however, seemed less inclined to entertain them. His gaze flickered to you, watching your utter lack of reaction.

“You’re ignoring me” he murmured, stepping closer.

You didn’t even glance at him. “Congratulations, you’re learning.”

His lips twitched slightly, as if amused. “Are you jealous?”

You turned to him at last, offering the driest look you could muster. “If I had a single grain of salt for every second I cared, I wouldn’t even be able to season a meal.”

He chuckled. And you had the distinct feeling Mydei wasn’t going to let you ignore him forever.

Sensing your chance to leave, you excused yourself quietly and slipped away. You navigated through the bustling crowd until you reached the gardens, where the young third prince stood alone, watching the lanterns flicker above. You wished him a happy birthday, exchanged brief pleasantries before excusing yourself, intent on leaving before anyone noticed. Unbeknownst to you, Mydei had followed—watching from the shadows as you spoke to the young prince with a warmth you had never once given him in this lifetime.

The door shut behind you with a quiet click as you stepped into your quarters, letting out a sigh of relief. The evening had been long. You had done your part, made an appearance, and now you could finally shed the pretense of civility and rest.

You barely had time to unfasten the heavy jewelry weighing on your ears before there was a knock at the door. Your brows furrowed. It was late. Too late for someone to be calling on you unless it was urgent.

Still, you already had a sinking feeling about who it was.

“Enter” you called, bracing yourself.

The door opened, and sure enough, Mydei stepped inside. His usually pristine attire was slightly disheveled, his coat unbuttoned at the collar. But what truly caught your attention was the way he moved, slower, more deliberate, as if something was weighing on him.

He had never been one to drink, and yet, something about him seemed... off.

You sighed. “It’s late, Mydei.”

“You left early” he countered, shutting the door behind him. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it—something quiet and simmering beneath the surface. “Without informing me.”

“I wasn’t aware I needed your permission to retire for the night” you replied dryly, turning away. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

“I saw you” Mydei interrupted.

You stilled. “Saw me?”

“With the third prince” he clarified, stepping closer. “In the gardens. You seemed… close.”

You exhaled through your nose. “He’s a child, Mydei. I was wishing him a happy birthday.”

“And yet, you looked at him with more warmth than you’ve ever spared me.”

You turned to face him then, brows arching. “Are you jealous?”

Mydei didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he studied you. He took another step forward, invading your space, forcing you to tilt your head slightly to maintain eye contact.

“Would it matter if I was?” he asked at last.

You scoffed, stepping back. “No. Because it wouldn’t change anything.”

Mydei was a man of control. To be thrown off balance, to be met with resistance where he once found compliance, was undoubtedly foreign to him.

Good. Let him feel what you had felt all those years.

You turned away, signaling the conversation was over. “Go sleep, Mydei. We have nothing more to discuss.”

For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, finally, he let out a quiet chuckle, a sound devoid of humor. “You truly are different now.”

You didn’t respond. Didn’t look back.

Because if you did, you might have noticed the way his fingers curled slightly at his sides. And you might have realized that Mydei was far from willing to let things be.

-----

Over the next few days, Mydei seemed to have an unusual amount of free time. His duties, which once kept him busy, were now seemingly cast aside. Wherever you went, he was there.

It started subtly: walking in step with you through the halls, his presence a quiet shadow. Then it grew bolder. Sitting beside you at meals, his knee brushing against yours and never pulling away. Standing behind you, fingertips grazing the small of your back under the guise of guiding you forward.

You would have ignored it, written it off as coincidence—if not for the way his touch lingered. The way he reached for your hand absentmindedly, as if it were second nature.

One evening, as you sat by the window, lost in thought, you felt it again, his hand, warm and steady, against your shoulder. A familiar presence, yet wholly unfamiliar in its intent.

“You’ve been avoiding me” Mydei murmured.

“I’ve been living my life” you corrected, not looking up.

His fingers curled slightly, almost as if to pull you closer, but he hesitated. “And yet, somehow, I find myself a part of it more than before.”

You turned to him then, meeting his gaze directly. “Perhaps you should ask yourself why that is.”

A smirk ghosted his lips, though his eyes held something heavier. “Oh, I have.”

You had tolerated it long enough. Mydei’s constant presence, his lingering touches, the way he hovered around you as if he had never been indifferent.

The final straw came when he followed you into the private study, an intimate space he had never once stepped foot in before. You slammed the book you were holding onto the table and turned to face him, irritation burning in your chest.

"Enough!" Your voice was firm, unwavering. "What exactly do you want from me, Mydei?"

He arched a brow, unfazed. "I would think that’s obvious."

You scoffed. "Obvious? You ignored me for years, treated our marriage as a mere obligation, and now—now you cling to my side like a shadow. Why?" Your breath hitched slightly, but you pushed forward. "Is it because I no longer chase after you? Because I finally see this marriage for what it is?"

A flicker of something passed through his eyes—something unreadable. He took a step closer, but you raised a hand, stopping him in his tracks.

"No" you said sharply. "No more. This ends now. I want a divorce."

For the first time since his sudden shift in behavior, Mydei’s expression darkened. "You don’t mean that."

"I do." You met his gaze head-on. "I refuse to stay shackled in a marriage that was never real."

He exhaled slowly, as if reining himself in. "And what makes you think I'll allow it?"

Your fingers clenched into fists. "Because it’s not your decision to make."

"You truly have changed."

You didn’t back down. "And I intend to keep it that way."

His eyes lingered on you, calculating, something darker stirring beneath the surface. Then, as if making a silent decision, he took another step forward.

"Then let's see how far you’re willing to go" he murmured.

-----

Determined to push him into agreeing, you invited Duke Laurent, a respected noble and someone with a clear interest in you, to visit. If Mydei would not agree to divorce out of reason, perhaps jealousy would make him let go.

Just as you began conversing with the duke, Mydei’s arm suddenly snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You stiffened at the public display of intimacy, something he had never once shown before. The duke’s expression remained polite, though there was clear tension in the air.

Mydei leaned in, his lips brushing dangerously close to your ear. "You think bringing another man here will make me release you?"

He turned his gaze to the duke, his expression composed but lethal. "You see, we are still very much married."

Before you could shove him away, he tilted your chin up and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the corner of your lips, just enough to make the moment scandalous.

"Mydei—" You hissed, shoving at his chest, but his grip remained firm.

Then came his final blow, spoken with a smirk against your skin. "If you truly wish to fulfill the divorce, then surely, as tradition dictates, our marriage must bear an heir first. Otherwise, it would be incomplete."

The audacity of it, the sheer arrogance—

Fury surged through you. Without thinking, you leaned in and bit his shoulder, hard enough to make him tense, hard enough to leave a mark through his fine fabric. Just hoping it'll make him let you go. He inhaled sharply, but instead of anger, something else flickered in his gaze. Interest.

His grip on you tightened, fingers pressing into your waist. "How intriguing" he murmured, almost amused. "You’re becoming more and more fascinating."

You could only glare, breathless with anger, as he leaned in even closer. "I’ve decided—I shall never let you alone."

That night, Mydei made his final decision.

You found yourself restless, pacing in your chambers, feeling trapped in a game you never agreed to play. The door creaked open, and you didn’t need to turn to know it was him.

"Leave!" you ordered without looking up.

Instead, he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. "You asked for a divorce. I gave you my terms," he said smoothly. "But I have a better idea."

You turned, narrowing your eyes. "I don't care for your ideas, Mydei. I want my freedom."

"And I want you," he countered effortlessly, closing the distance between you. "So, it seems we are at an impasse."

He reached out, tracing a hand over your wrist. "You see, I’ve realized something," he murmured, his voice quieter now, almost reverent. "I cannot let you go."

"Then you will have to learn."

"No" he whispered, leaning in "I will simply ensure that you never wish to leave."

This was no longer a battle of marriage or freedom.

This was war.

Then, his voice dropped to a chilling whisper. "If you try to run, I will find you. If you seek another, I will ruin them. And if you deny me..." His fingers trailed over your throat, "I will make sure you have nowhere to go but back to me."

"You wouldn’t dare."

"Wouldn’t I?" The smirk on his face only triggered you more. "You forget, my dear, I am not a man who lets go of what is his. And you? You belong to me."

A slow, measured pause before he added, "So fight me if you must. Hate me, struggle, scream. But in the end, you will always return to me. I will make sure of it."

---

Another day passed. Nothing happened. Until-

You were sitting stiffly in your chambers, the weight of Mydei’s last words still pressing against your mind.

Mydei entered, once again without your consent.

A goblet sat before you, filled with deep crimson liquid—the rich, unmistakable hue of pomegranate juice. It was his favorite, something he drank often, something he had tried countless times to get you to enjoy.

“I had the servants prepare this just for you” Mydei said smoothly, swirling the liquid in his own goblet. “It would be such a shame if you ignored my gift.”

You hesitated, glancing at the drink. Something about his tone made you wary, but refusing would only stretch this moment further. You reached for the goblet, only for Mydei to intercept, his fingers ghosting over yours as he picked it up himself.

“Let me.”

His hand cupped your chin, tilting your head slightly. Before you could react, the cool rim of the goblet pressed against your lips, the sweet aroma of pomegranate thick in the air. The moment the liquid touched your tongue, warmth flooded through your body. A strange, numbing sensation curled through your veins, heavy and inescapable. Your limbs felt sluggish, the world turning soft around the edges.

Your breath hitched as your body betrayed you, sinking against the silk sheets.

Through your hazy vision, you saw Mydei standing by the door, watching. His expression was unreadable, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Rest well, my dear”

But he didn’t leave.

Instead, he moved closer, his fingers brushing against your cheek before he slid into the bed beside you. His arms wrapped around you, firm yet deceptively gentle, caging you against him. The warmth of his body seeped into yours, and in your hazy state, resistance felt… unnecessary.

“You’ll understand soon” he whispered, his breath fanning against your ear. “You don’t need to fight anymore. Just listen to me.”

Your thoughts wavered, slipping further into a fog. Your body felt too heavy to move, your mind too sluggish to argue. His presence, once suffocating, now felt… inevitable.

Through the night, he held you close, his grip never loosening. Each time your thoughts stirred, his voice was there, murmuring soft reassurances, reinforcing his presence, reminding you he was always there.

By the time morning light crept through the curtains, your mind was no longer as sharp as before. The idea of pulling away seemed distant, unnecessary.

He was still here.

His arms remained locked around you, as if this was how it had always been. His breath, slow and even, ghosted against the side of your neck, warm yet oppressive.

“Awake already?” His voice was low, thick with the drowsiness of someone who had slept well.

You swallowed, trying to shift, only to realize just how intimately entangled the two of you were. One of his legs had hooked over yours, anchoring you beneath the weight of him. His fingers, idly tracing over the fabric of your nightclothes, stopped just at your wrist, where his hold subtly tightened.

You were trapped.

“I need to get up” you muttered, voice still hoarse from sleep.

Mydei didn’t loosen his grip. If anything, his arms curled around you more securely, pressing you deeper against his chest. “You don’t, actually,” he murmured. “Stay.”

Something in his voice made your stomach twist. There was no plea, no request, just the quiet certainty of a man who had already decided what would happen.

“I have things to do” you tried again, frustration slipping into your tone. “You can’t just—”

“Can’t I?” Mydei interrupted lazily, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look down at you properly. His hair was slightly tousled, falling over sharp eyes that gleamed with something unreadable. “You haven’t been well. I think it’s best if you rest today.”

“I feel fine” you lied, pushing against his chest.

He caught your wrist easily, his thumb pressing against the rapid beat of your pulse. “Do you?” His smile was slow, knowing. “You still look dazed. You’re warm. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were falling ill.”

Mydei had always been perceptive, dangerously so. And in this moment, with your thoughts still sluggish, you knew you were at a disadvantage.

“Mydei,” you tried to keep your voice steady, “what did you do?��

His grip on your wrist didn’t waver, but his expression softened into something almost… fond.

“I’ve merely helped you see things clearly.” His fingers traced over your knuckles before he lifted your hand, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against your palm. His lips curved against your skin. “You always try to run. You make things so difficult for yourself.”

“You drugged me.”

Mydei sighed, tilting his head as if mildly disappointed. “It was just a little something to help you relax. To stop you from making rash decisions.” He leaned in closer, his nose grazing against your cheek before his lips brushed against the shell of your ear. “You wouldn’t want to make any rash decisions, would you?”

A surge of unease coursed through you, your body screaming to move—to fight. But your limbs still felt leaden, and Mydei knew it. He had planned for it.

“I thought we had an agreement” you gritted out. “You can’t keep me here like this.”

“What do you mean by 'keep you'? You’re mine, my dear. You always have been.”

Your breath hitched as he finally released your wrist—only to cup your jaw, forcing you to look at him properly.

“You’ll understand soon enough.”

[mapiforpresident]

Knife

alexia x reader

warnings: child, fake knife

The team breakfast was in full swing at the training camp, the dining hall buzzing with laughter and casual conversation as the players enjoyed a rare relaxed morning together. The air smelled of freshly brewed coffee, toast, and eggs, a comforting aroma that mixed with the sound of clinking cutlery and light chatter.

You sat at a round table, balancing your one-and-a-half-year-old son, Nico, on your lap as he happily gnawed on a piece of toast. Across from you sat Mapi, Ingrid, Patri, Pina, and Frido—some of your favorite teammates and partners-in-crime when it came to pulling harmless pranks.

At another table, your wife, Alexia, was deep in conversation with Irene, Marta, Caro, Aitana, and Keira. Alexia was too focused on whatever Keira was saying to notice the mischievous smirk creeping onto your lips.

You’d been waiting for the perfect opportunity to test out a TikTok trend you had stumbled upon the night before—a harmless prank where people gave their toddlers fake knives and let them waddle over to their other, unsuspecting parent. Given how seriously Alexia took parenting and safety, you knew her initial reaction would be priceless.

Nico, blissfully unaware of your scheming, was happily stuffing a tiny fistful of scrambled eggs into his mouth. You wiped his little face with a napkin before discreetly pulling the wooden play knife from your pocket. It was light, with a dull, rounded edge, and painted silver to resemble an actual blade. A perfect replica—at first glance, at least.

“Alright, buddy,” you whispered conspiratorially into his ear, handing him the toy. “Go show Mamá what you’ve got.”

Nico blinked up at you with big, innocent eyes, that looked exactly the same shade of brown as Alexia's, before gripping the ‘knife’ in his tiny hands. His little legs kicked excitedly as he slid off your lap and began his unsteady walk toward Alexia’s table.

Mapi was the first to notice. “Wait, no way,” she choked out, biting her lip to hold back a laugh.

Ingrid’s eyes widened as she leaned in. “You did not just give him that.”

“I absolutely did.” You grinned, sipping your orange juice like the world’s most innocent partner.

Frido covered her mouth, barely containing her snickers, while Pina and Patri exchanged amused looks, eyes darting toward the other table.

Meanwhile, Nico was making excellent progress. He toddled determinedly, gripping the fake knife high in the air like a victorious warrior. His curls bounced with each step as he navigated the short distance toward Alexia’s chair.

At first, no one at her table noticed—until Irene looked up mid-sentence and suddenly choked on her coffee. “What the hell?” she sputtered.

Aitana turned just in time to see Nico proudly wave the ‘weapon’ in the air as he reached Alexia.

“¡Dios mío!” Marta gasped, nearly knocking over her juice.

Caro, usually the calm one, let out a startled yelp as Alexia finally turned in her seat.

Her reaction was immediate.

“Nico!” Alexia gasped, her chair scraping against the tile floor as she jumped to her feet. Her hands instinctively reached out as if to snatch the supposed blade from his tiny hands.

Murmurs and gasps erupted from both tables, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from bursting into laughter.

“Cariño, where did you get that?” Alexia’s voice wavered between panic and confusion as she finally took the ‘knife’ from Nico’s grasp. She examined it frantically, fingers tracing over the smooth surface—then suddenly stopped.

A pause.

Silence.

Her brows furrowed. She turned the knife over once. Then twice.

Then, finally, realization dawned.

Her jaw tightened as she exhaled a long, slow breath.

You could see the exact moment it clicked.

Her head snapped up, and her sharp gaze locked onto yours.

You grinned, wiggling your fingers in a small, innocent wave.

Mapi completely lost it, throwing her head back in laughter. Ingrid wiped a tear from the corner of her eye while Patri and Pina tried and failed to hide their laughs, not wanting to anger their captain.

At Alexia’s table, Irene let out an exasperated sigh, hand over her heart. “I think I just lost a year off my life.”

Marta shook her head, chuckling. “That was evil.”

Keira, who had recovered, smirked at Alexia. “You married a menace.”

Alexia, still gripping the wooden knife, narrowed her eyes at you. Her lips twitched—caught somewhere between wanting to throttle you and begrudgingly admitting it was funny.

Slowly, she turned back to Nico, who was clapping his hands like he had just delivered the best performance of his little life.

“Oh, you think this is funny?” Alexia said, arching an eyebrow at him.

Nico giggled, reaching up for her. She sighed in defeat, bending down to pick him up. He snuggled against her chest, giggling again. She melted instantly—just as you knew she would.

You got up and strolled over, still grinning. “So… thoughts?”

Alexia turned to face you, holding Nico securely in one arm while tapping the fake knife against her palm. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“And?”

She exhaled through her nose, then—despite herself—let out a soft chuckle. “And… okay, fine, that was good. But I swear, if I ever have a heart attack, it’s your fault.”

“I’ll take full responsibility,” you promised, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “But admit it—you’d do the same to me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Maybe.”

Nico reached out and patted your face with his chubby hands, blissfully unaware of the chaos he had just caused.

Mapi, still wiping tears from her eyes, smirked. “This was a solid prank. I give it a 10/10.”

Alexia shot her a glare but couldn’t hide the way her lips curved into a small smile.

Keira smirked at you. “You better sleep with one eye open.”

You grinned, taking Nico back into your arms. “I always do.”

Alexia sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Well, congratulations. You got me.”

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to her lips. “Always.”

And with that, breakfast resumed, laughter lingering in the air as you and Alexia sat together, your little family once again at peace—at least until your next prank idea came along.

~~~~

Feel free to leave a tip here. Not required at all and I still will write requests without it, but they are greatly appreciated and these requests are guaranteed in 2-3 days. I am an extremely broke college student and literally anything helps.

[ruewritesoccasionally]

Tequila Temptations | Terry Richmond

pairing: terry richmond x black reader

warnings: smut (18+), power dynamics, oral (m+f receiving), teasing, light choking, overstimulation, squirting } lmk if you think i missed anything else !

summary: in a fiery clash of power and desire, they engage in a competitive battle of dominance and submission; a game no-one can win.

word count: 3.2K

a/n: ngl i kinda hate this one 😭 but take a shot for every time i wrote 'tequila' (yes the title and a/n are included) 🤭

They should have never been friends—never even been in the same circle. She didn’t know how the hell he got along with the people she loved, and Terry was convinced she was merely tolerated, not liked. Every group outing, every game night, every holiday trip—it was a cycle. They bickered. They argued. They ruined the vibe just enough for someone to sigh and say, “Can you two behave for once?”

She thought he was self-absorbed, cocky, arrogant as hell. He thought she was stuck-up, too chipper, fake as fuck. And yet—somehow—they always ended up in the same damn rooms, at the same damn events, circling each other like two predators who hadn’t decided who was prey yet.

Tonight was no different.

Terry’s place. A small gathering—good music, good drinks, a little too much tequila. The group thinned out as the night stretched on. Before long, it was just the two of them.

She could have left. Should have left. But there was something smug in the way he leaned against the counter, glass in hand, watching her like he had already won something she hadn’t figured out yet.

Terry took a slow sip of tequila, a smirk creeping onto his lips. “You know, you could go. But there’s still a lot of tequila left, and I’m not finishing it by myself.”

She crossed her arms, unimpressed. “So?”

His smirk deepened. “Unless you’d rather get home early than stoop as low as entertaining me, your greatness.”

She knew it was a trap. She should have just rolled her eyes, grabbed her bag, and left. But she didn’t. Instead, she tilted her head, eyes dark with something he couldn’t quite name yet.

“Little-known fact,” she said, stepping forward, slow and deliberate. “Tequila, aka the Devil’s Juice, will land me in one of three places.” Her voice dropped just enough to make him pay attention. “On top of someone, underneath them, or simply in jail.”

She leaned in, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath against his skin. “Are you sure you’re prepared for that?”

That was when Terry knew.

Knew he was about to test fate. Knew they were both about to cross a line they’d never be able to uncross. And he had never been one to back down from a challenge.

He poured another shot, licking his lips as he met her gaze. “Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

The tequila burned warm in her throat, but it was nothing compared to the heat crackling between them.

She sat opposite Terry, legs crossed, back straight, one arm draped over the chair like she had all the time in the world. The rest of their friends were long gone, leaving behind empty glasses, a lingering rnb playlist, and the kind of silence that made every glance feel weighted.

He rolled the dice between his fingers, smirking. “Truth or dare?”

She tilted her head, considering. “Dare.”

Terry leaned back, slow, deliberate, gaze flicking from her lips to her throat before settling on her eyes. “Take a shot without using your hands.”

A soft scoff left her lips, but she reached for the lime wedge, dragging it between her teeth before knocking the shot back, throat bobbing as the tequila slid down. She didn’t break eye contact, even as she sucked the juice from the lime, tongue flicking against the rind just to make a point.

Terry’s smirk didn’t falter, but something darkened in his gaze.

Her turn. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” he said easily, licking the salt from his thumb.

A slow, knowing smile spread across her lips. “Who’s the best you’ve had?”

Terry’s smirk twitched, just barely, but she caught it. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, voice dropping lower. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Her nails tapped against the glass, watching him over the rim. “You don’t have an answer or you don’t want to say it out loud?”

His chuckle was quiet, almost amused. “Cute. You think you’d make the list?”

She didn’t blink. “I think I’d top it.”

A beat of silence stretched between them, so thick it nearly swallowed the air in the room.

Terry exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as he poured them both another round. “You talk a lot of shit for someone who still has all their clothes on.”

She arched a brow. “Is that your way of asking me to strip?”

He slid a deck of cards across the table. “It’s my way of saying you won’t win a single round.”

They played. Each hand was a battle, not just against the cards, but against the tension threading tighter between them. He lost first, dragging his shirt over his head like it was nothing. She refused to look—refused to give him the satisfaction—but when he sat back, flexing like it was second nature, she felt the tequila settle deep in her stomach.

Then she lost.

Terry drummed his fingers on the table, watching as she peeled off her sweater, revealing smooth, bare shoulders and the strap of a lace-trimmed bralette. His eyes dragged over her like he was committing her to memory.

Her breath hitched—barely—but he caught it.

A slow smirk curled at his lips. “Something wrong?”

She met his gaze, chin tilted. “You’re staring.”

“So are you.”

Neither of them moved. Neither of them blinked. The air between them was electric, pulsing with something that wasn’t quite hostility anymore.

Terry leaned in, elbows on his knees, voice smooth as sin. “If I win the next round, you do whatever I say.”

She mirrored his movement, their faces a breath apart. “And if I win?”

His gaze flicked to her lips before dragging back up. “Then I do whatever you say.”

The corner of her mouth lifted. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Richmond.”

He poured another shot, tongue darting out to catch a stray drop of tequila before he spoke.

“You'll love it, trust me"

The next hand played out in slow motion.

She had him cornered—a queen of hearts against his king of spades, her victory sealed before he even flipped his card. He let out a low hum, jaw flexing, before exhaling through his nose.

She tapped the table, smug. “Looks like you’re all mine.”

Terry’s gaze flicked up, slow and heavy. “That so?”

She nodded, leaning forward, elbows on the table. “And since I won, you have to do whatever I say.”

He licked his lips, the remnants of salt and tequila making his tongue drag slow. “What’s it gonna be?”

She hadn’t planned that far ahead. Maybe she expected him to call it quits, maybe she thought she’d be the one to break first, but the way he was looking at her—like he was already three moves ahead, waiting for her to catch up—had her pulse kicking up a notch.

A slow smirk lifted her lips. “Take another shot.”

Terry arched a brow but reached for the bottle anyway. He poured, the liquid sloshing slightly, before tilting the glass back. She watched the muscles in his throat work as he swallowed, the heat in her stomach curling tighter.

His glass hit the table with a soft clink. “That it?”

She rolled her eyes. “For now.”

He chuckled, deep and knowing. “Scared?”

That did it.

She slid her chair back, moving around the table until she stood in front of him. He watched her, amused, eyes dragging over her bare shoulders, the strap of her bralette slipping slightly. She leaned down, hands resting on the armrests of his chair, caging him in.

His smirk didn’t waver. “Bold move, sweetheart.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she murmured, head tilting.

Terry’s fingers twitched on the arms of the chair. “You tell me.”

She leaned in, just enough for her breath to ghost against his lips.

That was all it took.

His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around her waist as he pulled her down—onto his lap, against his chest, into him. A sharp gasp left her lips, but before she could think, before she could react, his mouth was on hers.

The kiss was messy, reckless, months—maybe years—of tension snapping all at once. His lips were hot and insistent, his grip firm as he held her in place. She wasn’t passive—never that—fingernails digging into his shoulders, pressing closer, daring him to give in completely.

Terry groaned, low and deep, as her teeth scraped his bottom lip. He grabbed her jaw, tilting her head just so, before deepening the kiss, tongue sweeping past her lips in a way that made her stomach tighten.

She hated him. She hated him.

So why was she still kissing him like she never wanted to stop?

He pulled back just enough to speak, his breath hot against her lips. “Admit it.”

She swallowed, heart hammering. “Admit what?”

His grip tightened. “That you want this.”

Her chin lifted defiantly, lips still wet from his. “Not if my life depended on it.”

A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest, his fingers brushing over her thigh, warm and possessive. “Liar.”

She exhaled sharply, but before she could form a retort, his lips were on hers again, stealing the words right from her mouth.

And this time?

She didn’t stop him.

The aftermath of the kiss left an electric hum in the air, their lips barely parted, still tasting each other like the heat was a living thing between them. But this wasn’t just about the kiss. It wasn’t just about the brief collision of mouths, the hard press of bodies that came before. No, this was the point of no return. Their breaths came fast, erratic, as if they both realized in the same instant what they were about to do.

There wasn’t time for careful calculations. There wasn’t room to weigh the consequences, not when every nerve in their bodies was set alight by the undeniable pull of temptation. Terry’s hands, rough and demanding, slid down her back, fingers digging into the curve of her waist, steadying her against him. Her skin burned wherever he touched her, and when his lips grazed the sensitive spot on her neck, a soft moan escaped her throat—one that she couldn’t hold back if she tried.

It was all moving too fast, but neither of them cared anymore. They were already on the edge.

Terry’s hands, large and possessive, slid behind her back, undoing the bralette and pulling it off in one swift motion, leaving her exposed to him. He took a moment to study her, eyes dark with lust, before his fingers traced the curve of her ribs, dragging his touch down to her hips. “You really think you can control this, huh?” His voice was low, husky with barely contained desire.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly. “Maybe I don’t want to control it,” she shot back, smirking, her fingers working the button of his pants with practiced ease. “Maybe I just want to see how long you can last.”

He chuckled darkly, the sound almost menacing. “Sweetheart, I’ve been handling you this whole time.” His lips pressed against hers again, urgent, demanding. He wasn’t kissing her for pleasantries now. There was no civility, no holding back. His mouth was a declaration, a promise—I will have you, no matter what it takes.

But then, just as quickly, he stepped back, smirking at the frustration that flickered across her face. “Let’s see if you can walk,” he challenged, voice dripping with arrogance.

Her eyes flashed with defiance. “I’m not the one who needs to be carried.”

Before she could react, Terry’s hands were on her again, this time lifting her off her feet effortlessly, his grip firm around her waist. She gasped, instinctively wrapping her legs around his waist as he made his way to the stairs. The tension between them thickened, both of them trying to outdo the other, but neither willing to break.

She kissed his neck, biting it lightly as he carried her up the stairs, her breath hot and unsteady. “You’re not the only one who’s in control,” she teased, but the words were heavy with lust, her hips grinding into him in an instinctive act of defiance.

Terry’s hand tightened around her waist, and he pushed her gently against the wall at the top of the stairs, his lips crashing into hers again with the force of a storm. His hands were everywhere—gripping, guiding, demanding. And still, they both played the game, each trying to push the other into submission.

The couch—where it all started—was forgotten now. They were past the point of no return. No more teasing, no more games. He flipped her onto the bed with such precision that it was clear he knew exactly what he wanted. And right now, it wasn’t her fighting for control.

It was him.

Her back hit the mattress with a satisfying thud, but she didn’t lie still for long. She tugged at his beltloops, drawing him closer, her nails raking down his body, marking him as her own. The electricity between them crackled, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating.

“You really think you’re in charge here?” she challenged again, her voice breathless, desperate to break him.

He smirked, hovering above her, his breath heavy on her skin. “We’ll see about that,” he growled, before leaning down to claim her mouth again.

The control—the teasing, the simmering heat—they both fought for it, one pushing the other further into the depths of desire until neither of them could hold on any longer. Terry’s mouth trailed down her neck, his hands tearing at her remaining clothes with an intensity that matched the desperation in her own touch. She moaned, but it was a challenge, a dare for him to do more.

And so, he did.

His fingers slid between her legs, pushing her further into the bed as he tested the waters, teasing her until she was trembling beneath him, her body a wreck of frustration and need. “You want me to break, don’t you?” he murmured, pressing against her with just enough pressure to make her want more.

“I want you to try,” she shot back, her voice dripping with defiance, but even she knew it was a losing battle.

She took control next, leaning over and wrapping her lips around him, giving him no room to breathe as she sucked with relentless precision. He gripped her hair, groaning at the sheer effort she was putting into it. But it wasn’t enough. She wasn’t done yet.

Even as Terry’s body trembled beneath her, she didn’t stop. She kept sucking, savouring the feeling of him twitching in her mouth, fully aware that he was drained but too prideful to pull her away. The whimper that escaped him was drowned by her steady movements, her lips drawing him closer, until the overwhelming sensation forced a breathless moan from him.

“Terry,” she murmured, licking her lips, “You really think you’ve won?”

But instead of answering, his hands found their way into her hair, tugging her head back and forcing her to meet his eyes. The smirk on his face was one of both satisfaction and challenge. “You may think you have control, sweetheart... but not for long.”

Now it was her turn. She was already gasping, her body betraying her as his mouth descended on her, devouring her with the same brutal hunger she’d just shown him.

She tried to hold it back, to control the inevitable release, but it was useless. His tongue, his lips, his hands—they had her shaking with pleasure, unable to stop the wave of her orgasm as it crashed over her. She bit her lip, struggling to keep quiet, but the obscene sound of her wetness, the gush of her squirt, only seemed to drive him harder.

“Go on, then,” he coaxed in a low, teasing tone. “Say it.”

Her legs trembled, her body on the edge of climax, but she refused to give him the satisfaction. She wouldn’t let him know just how badly she needed him, not yet. But the words that slipped from her lips—raw and unfiltered—were nothing but lies. “You’d have to fuck me better,” she gasped, her eyes fluttering shut, already surrendering to the storm building within her.

Terry flipped her over once more, making sure she was pinned beneath him, before he drove into her again, claiming her completely. She had no choice but to take it, her body a mere vessel for his pleasure and power.

She would never forget this. Neither of them would.

Terry’s grip on her tightened in response, his hands running down her body as he thrust deeper, more desperate, trying to push her past her breaking point. He knew she wasn’t ready to admit she was losing—he wasn’t ready to either. But everything was becoming harder to deny. The way they both moved, the way they fought for control—it was all leading them to the same conclusion.

But then, with a smirk tugging at her lips, she pushed further. “That all you got?” she taunted, voice dripping with defiance, daring him to prove her wrong.

Terry froze for a moment, chest rising and falling as he took in her words. She was playing with fire, pushing him with that fucking smirk of hers. “You just don’t fucking quit, do you?” he growled, his jaw clenching. He was about to give her what she wanted—only, this time, she wouldn’t get away with it.

“I’ve made myself come harder than this,” she threw out, casual as ever, eyes meeting his with a hint of challenge.

His breath caught in his throat. A fire ignited in him, something darker, possessive, and raw. “From who, huh?” he rasped, his tone dangerously calm as he leaned over her, locking her in place.

She tilted her head, smirking, maybe unaware of the danger she’d unlocked. “Or from other guys.” The words slipped out like nothing, too easy, but the second they left her mouth, she could feel the shift.

Terry’s eyes darkened. His fingers closed around her throat, not in a gentle way, but firm, enough to remind her who had the power now. “Other guys, huh?” His voice was low, threaded with menace. “Bet they didn’t fuck you like this.”

And before she could respond, his hands were on her again, dragging another orgasm out of her, harder, deeper, relentless. She gasped, trying to hold on to some shred of control, but he wasn’t giving her any space to breathe.

“Say it,” he demanded, his grip tightening as he pinned her against the bed. “Tell me who fucks you better.”

Her body trembled beneath him, overstimulated, her entire being in the grip of his power. She tried to fight it, to hold back the admission, but the words spilled from her anyway, a whisper of surrender. “You,” she gasped, breathless, barely able to get the words out. “You fuck me better.”

Terry smirked, the victory written all over his face. He wasn’t done yet, though. “That’s what I thought,” he growled, driving into her again, hard and fast, forcing her to take it, forcing her to feel every inch of him.

The rest of her words died in her throat, her body overwhelmed by him, pushed to the edge until she had nothing left to give. He didn’t let up, didn’t let her off easy. They were both drowning in the competition of who would break first, but by now, she knew—it wasn’t a matter of if, it was a matter of when.

And Terry? He would make sure she never forgot who she belonged to.

taglist: @writingsbytee @venusincleo @nickidub718 @notapradagurl7 @theogbadbitch @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @wildcardmelaninfreak

comments and reblogs are appreciated as well as feedback, i hope you liked it 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

[soneybeee]

Prim & Proper

Summary: Frat!Rafe sees a new face at one of the parties thrown by his fraternity. That girl from his stupid philosophy class.

Frat!Rafe x Fem!Reader <3

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Smut, NSFW, kinda dubcon? (reader absolutely wants everything but Rafe doesn't really give her a chance to say it out loud), 18+ please :]. Alcohol consumption. Minimal, badly written plot. Dom!Rafe x sub!reader, virgin!reader, very slight corruption + innocence kink, loss of virginity (it's not very romantic lol), kinda primal play?, public + outside sex, slight overstim, dirty talk, unprotected PIV (please use protection!), creampie, choking, biting, marking, reader sucks + gags on Rafe's fingers, fingering (F receiving), let me know if I missed any!

If it was up to you, it would be a frigid, icy day in Hell before you ever stepped foot in this building. But, alas, you have the backbone of an invertebrate - which is to say, you don’t have one.

A guy is leaning into you, his hand on the wall next to you, holding him up as he whispers in your ear. You’re pretty sure he’s in your math class, his name something like Jacob or Noah, something biblical, but he sure as hell doesn’t recognize you. He wouldn’t be doing this if he did. You guess you can’t blame him for it - Jenna made sure you looked very different than your everyday. She all but tied you to a chair, forcibly curled your hair, and did your makeup. You used to do these things all the time in high school, but college is a fresh start, and that means fresh priorities. Education! Education is wonderful and valuable and you want to dedicate the next four years to nothing but education! 

Jenna said “fuck that” and now you’re here, under the arm of Abraham or David, wearing a dress even sluttier than one you would’ve worn to homecoming junior year. 

You take a sip of whatever godawful combination of alcohol and juice is in your red solo cup. It makes your face scrunch and your eyes twitch with annoyance.

Fuck fraternities, especially Sigma Chi or Omega Pi, or wherever the hell you are right now.

Rafe is in a similar and yet very different situation. He has a pretty girl, he thinks she might be in a sorority but he’s not sure, dancing and giggling all over him. But he’s only looking at you, his eyes squinted in your direction as he tries to make his inebriated brain remember where he’s seen your face before. Your pretty, bored face. 

You look so clean, even though your eyes are rolling and you’re taking the vodka in your cup like a pro. Rafe would’ve loved to just fuck the girl dancing on him, kick her out in the morning, and move on with his life. Instead, he finds himself walking over to you.

Elijah or Joseph fucks off pretty quickly when he sees Rafe approaching. Maybe he thinks you’re one of Rafe’s many hookups or his sister or maybe he’s just really scared of Rafe. You don’t know. You don’t know if you should be grateful that Gabriel or Jeremiah is gone or if you should be annoyed that Rafe has replaced him.

“Haven’t seen you before.” He murmurs, his hand finding your hip like you’re his girlfriend or something. Pulling away is an impossible task - He just keeps grabbing you again. 

“You have,” You turn your head away when he leans down to kiss your jaw. What the fuck is he trying to do? Is this how he greets people? “We’re in the same philosophy class.”

“Mm… Pretty sure I’d recognize such a pretty face.” His eyes flick from feature to feature, roving over your face with a sense of familiarity. You roll your eyes again, and that only makes it worse. Both his groping and the look in his eyes. One hand grabs your ass. “And such a nice ass.”

Oh, this brings you back, doesn’t it? It’s just like senior year prom! Except instead of your boyfriend, it’s some random frat boy. And instead of telling him to keep his hands to himself, you’re starting to enjoy the touch.

“Y/N.” You tell him, wondering if he knows your name from class or just truly doesn’t recognize a thing about you. 

Oh. You see the recognition in his eyes.

“Y/N.” He echoes, smiling like you’re an old friend. He grabs a handful of your tits.

“Hey,” You flush, trying halfheartedly to squirm away from him. It only makes him more encouraged, big hands grabbing and squishing flesh like he owns it. He’d like to.

“Philosophy, huh?” He kisses your earlobe, catching the golden earring between his teeth for just a second. “Pointless fuckin’ class. Hate the professor.”

Your disagreement is met only with featherlight kisses along your jaw. He keeps it up until your words fade into breathless babbling, and then he pushes his hand into your hair and forces you to look up at him.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty, Y/N.” He bites your cheek until you flinch away, an evil little chuckle following right after. He gets the feeling, just by looking at you, that no one’s ever done this to you before. It makes a twisted, predatory sense of enjoyment flood his system. “You wanna leave?”

You’re not sure if he means leave with him or leave him, but you nod anyway. 

“If I give you a headstart,” A bite on your jaw. “How far do you think you could get?”

It’s a difficult question to answer. If you’re running, you could make it to your dorm. If you’re walking, waiting to get caught, you’re not sure you could make it around the corner. 

“Not far.” You whimper, sighing as he bites down harshly on your neck, smoothing his tongue over the sore skin right after. 

“Good,” It’s more a purr than a word. “How’s ten seconds sound? Fair?”

You get the feeling you’re not supposed to answer. Instead, you take a deep breath and pull away from him. You don’t look back, wading your way through the crowd and counting under your breath so you know how much time you have left.

At four seconds, you open the door.

At seven, you make it outside. 

At ten, you’ve barely made it down the stairs.

Being out on campus at night has always freaked you out. You’ve watched one too many Dateline episodes to leave yourself so vulnerable like this - Drunk, half-naked, not looking behind you. 

You’re still counting even though your headstart is over. It’s twenty seconds when you duck behind the fraternity building, breathing hard and fast and holding a hand over your heart. You feel like an antelope, a lion hot on your tail, his claws on your legs, his hot breath on your skin. Your nervous system apparently can’t tell this is a voluntary chase. Your palms are sweaty, you’re shaking, your heart is racing. Your eyes shut and you try to calm down.

And then someone grabs your upper arms, holding them bruisingly tight.

“Found you…” Rafe whispers, his mouth back on your neck like no time has passed. Barely any has. 

You gasp and instinctively try to wriggle out of his hold, but he doesn’t give you an inch. He pulls your hair to line your lips up with his, and then he kisses you. Harder, rougher, than you’ve ever been kissed. He kisses with expertise, but that doesn’t surprise you - What does surprise you is the way he finds pleasure in your clumsiness. He groans when your teeth brush his lips. His hips jerk when you tilt your head the wrong way. 

His hand absentmindedly wraps around your throat, squeezing in a pulsing rhythm that makes your head feel fuzzy. Rafe’s cock twitches in his pants when you squeak, your jaw dropping open uselessly. He stops kissing your lips, pulling back to admire the face you’re making as he chokes you.

“Oh, that’s it,” He growls, roughly pushing you up against the wall behind you. He keeps you there by your throat and by a thigh that he slots between yours. His free hand pushes your dress up until it bunches around your hips. “That’s a good fuckin’ girl…”

“Rafe…” You whine, squirming and rubbing yourself against his knee.

The hand on your throat squeezes one more time before it moves up to press against your mouth, his salty palm keeping you from making any more noise.

“Shut up.” He’s undoing his belt with one hand. It makes your pulse spike. 

He catches himself, leaving his belt in the loops. His hand moves to your panties, lacy and white, warm and wet. He presses the pad of his middle finger into the damp cotton, slowly dragging it back and forth.

The helplessness you feel is strangely pleasurable. You can’t do anything but squirm, whimper muffled little cries into his palm, and dig your nails into his biceps. They flex under your hands.

“Shh,” He growls again, pressing his thigh into yours to keep you still. “Hold still.”

There’s nothing you can do but comply, your eyes fluttering shut with reluctant obedience. He takes it as a sign that you’re more than ready for more, pulling your sticky panties out of the way with his thumb. His middle finger collects your wetness, spreading it up towards your clit, parting your lips to make space for his ring finger.

“Think we can start with two?” You can’t answer. Even if you could, he wouldn’t take a no. He coats his fingers in your slickness and prods at your hole. “She gonna let me in?”

Oh, yeah, she is. It’s a stretch for you and a fight for him, but he pushes them both in. His fingers are almost uncomfortably thick, much thicker than yours. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” He groans as if it’s his cock inside you and not his fingers, panting as he scissors you open. He pumps them into you, hooking them to nudge against that spongy spot inside you. Your knees go weak. “There we go…” 

You’re practically squealing as he begins repeating the same movement - You’ve never made a sound like this before in your life. It’s embarrassing and makes your face feel hot, but it’s nothing compared to the heat pooling in your stomach. It’s almost nauseating how tightly your stomach has knotted itself. 

More wet gushes onto his fingers as you clench around them. 

“Mm… Y’like this, huh?” Rafe attaches his lips to your neck, ducking his head under his arm to reach your skin. He doesn’t need, or want, a response from you. He’s more than happy to keep talking to himself. “So wet… S’all this for me?” 

You’ve never been fingered before. You almost let a boyfriend do it once, but you chickened out. The most you’ve ever had inside of you is your own fingers and, only a few times, the handle of a hairbrush. Neither of those can compare to this - It’s like Rafe can see straight through your skin and see your G-spot. 

“Ah, ah… there it is…” He coos, holding you up as you thrash, your back arching and legs trembling with an orgasm. It’s difficult for you to make yourself come, but here he is, doing it like it’s nothing. “That’s my girl…”

You shakily push his hand away when the overstimulation starts to hit you. He laughs and catches your wrist, his other hand releasing your mouth to grab the other one. 

“Rafe-”

“Shut up,” He puts both your wrists into his left hand, his right one coming up to your mouth. His middle and ring fingers push past your lips. “There we go. Clean ‘em for me, Y/N.”

Yeah, that shuts you up. You close your eyes and suck on his fingers, tasting yourself and his salty skin.

“Good girl.” He pulls them out of your mouth, wipes the spit off on your dress, and finally pulls his belt from its loops.

You squirm. “I-I don’t know if-”

“If what?” He asks as if he didn’t interrupt you. He drops his belt onto the ground and pops open the button on his jeans. “If this is a good idea? If you can take it? Too fuckin’ bad.”

That shuts you up again. But it’s not like you really want to complain anyway.

“I’m a virgin.” You whisper, instead. That catches him off guard. His head falls forward and he has to support himself by putting a hand on the wall.

“Shit, you are?”

“Mhm…”

He groans. “Shit… Fuck… Oh, I’m gonna ruin you…”

Maybe he is. He collects himself and turns you around, using his hand as a barrier so he’s not shoving your cheek into the wall. Your dress is already hiked up and you’re plenty wet, so nothing is stopping him from pushing into you once he’s lined up. 

Just the tip, at first. “Fuckin’ virgin pussy… Jesus Christ…” 

You gasp. He pushes in further, breathing down the back of your neck. Your back is at an awkward angle, everything vertical until your ass, which is pushed out for him. He’s big, definitely bigger than the handle of any hairbrush you’ve ever seen. Even your orgasm wasn’t quite enough to prepare you for it all.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” Rafe growls into your hair, pressing himself further into you. “It’s insane… Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight…”

“Rafe…” You pant, pussy pulsing around his cock.

“Oh, shush, baby,” He suddenly thrusts all the way in, shuddering as you cry out. “You’re so fuckin’ dramatic… It feels good, doesn’t it?”

You nod mindlessly, mouth hanging open and legs shaking. You’d be on the ground if he wasn’t holding you up. 

“Thought so…” He smirks, biting down where your neck and shoulder meet. He only bites harder when you try to pull away, using your shoulder to keep himself quiet as he sets his pace, only pulling out halfway before thrusting back in. “Y’feel too good, baby… I can’t even pull out all the way…”

“Rafe…” You whine.

“Shhh…” He pushes his fingers into your mouth again. “Fuck… I’m gonna cum in you, ‘kay, babe?” 

You give a halfhearted attempt at a disagreement, only because it’s the sensible thing to do. No one would say yes to that without a little fight, right? He shoves his fingers further down your throat until you gag. 

“I thought you’d say yes,” He murmurs before biting your shoulder again. He speeds himself up, humping into your pussy instead of giving proper thrusts. “Gonna get this virgin pussy filled with cum, aren’t you?”

You moan around his fingers. His hips stutter.

“Yeah, you are…” He kisses the teeth-shaped indents on your skin. 

He moves his free hand down to your hip, digging his nails into your skin and holding you in place as he fucks you. He already made you come, and he’s feeling a little selfish at the moment, so he uses you solely to get himself off, rambling in your ear about how good your pussy is, how pretty you are, how warm your mouth feels around his fingers. Your eyes are filled with tears, your body trembling on the brink of an orgasm, when he comes.

His jaw goes slack and his fingers press down onto your tongue, holding you tightly against him as he fucks his cum deeper inside you, flooding your cunt with his warmth. 

Just the thought of him filling you with cum makes you shudder, let alone the actual feeling of it. You clench around his cock as you tip over the edge again, sobbing around his fingers. You try to push his slowing hips away when you come down.

“Hold on, I’m gettin’ there,” He huffs, pushing your hands away. He slows to a stop and carefully pulls out, quickly putting your panties back into place to catch any cum that might bubble out of your hole. He pulls your dress down and gives your ass a finishing tap. “There we go.”

You press your palms into the wall to hold yourself up as he takes a step back, pulling his pants up from his ankles and grabbing his belt off the pavement.

“You feelin’ alright?” He places a hand on your shoulder blade once he’s put himself back together. “Need help gettin’ home?”

You look up at him. A complete mess. You’re trembling, your hair is disheveled, your mascara is smeared under your eyes. You nod.

Rafe’s gonna have to make use of you again. He loves philosophy.

[blueishspace]

Hero, Villain God 58

(Prev) (Next) (First)

*Scar's pov*

You don't even have to wait that long for Altostratus and Ocean Queen to arrive, It's a bit impressive to be honest... You hope they didn't violate the speed limit to get here or something, you really don't want anyone to get in trouble for you if you can avoid it.

The black windowed car stops in front of the building, It's definitely property of the association...not fair, you weren't given a car... You don't know how to drive one but still, unfair.

The front door opens, It's Altostratus at the wheel with Ocean Queen sitting next to him, she waves at you. He lowers his sunglasses (Who even wears sunglasses during a storm???) and looks at you.

"Get in losers we're going shopping"

... Eh?

"But we are going to see Cuteguy"

"I know, jeeze, just wanted to say the quote"

"Oh!"

Yeah that makes sense! You would do the same for Star Wars quotes. You nod and make your way onto the backseat, Cub follows quietly behind you.

You expected the car ride to be silent but almost immediatly Ocean Queen turns towards you and Cub to ask about Cuteguy.

"Oh Sheriff is so mean, he won't tell me anything about the guy! Can you believe it?"

"I mean, I doubt he's allowed to" Responds Cub while sipping on sone kind of juice...where did he even get that!?

"Well, as his sister I feel like I'm owed at least the bare minimum! So! Hotguy, Cub, what is Cuteguy like?" She fully turns her head around, you can hear Altostratus protest at the sudden movement.

"Well, I've met the guy few times, seems like a nice guy and all even if sarcastic. Can't tell you much more then that though, Hotguy is the exper here."

Two sets of eyes turn to you, you didn't expect this to become an interview. "Cuteguy... he's great actually! He...well, I'm not going to say too much without him agreeing to it but he's really kind. And brave, he put himself in front of a bullet for me."

The conversation continues from them and when you tell them all you think you can tell them the conversation somehow turns to movies and from there to cartoons to you ranting about the decline in quality of Disney films.

Cub ends up shutting down 5 minutes in and Altostratus almost slams his head into the steering wheel at one point, Ocean Queen seems pretty interested though... It's at this point you remember the one question you had.

"So...uh, are the two working are working a case together? Oh! Is it a big super secret thing?"

Cub focused back. "If it was a 'super secret thing' I doubt the would be telling you".

Ocean Queen turns to Altostratus. "Should we tell him?"

In response he straightens up in his seat."What? Why?"

You are... Very confused... and suspicious. Especially suspicious. Are they hiding something from you? Why?

Ocean Queen just pouts in response. "He's our coworker, he should at least get know that much... Plus he did tell us about Cuteguy, It's the least we could do."

"... I ...I guess??? Just-" he sighs. "It's not something you can take back."

She turns her body so that's she's now somewhat looking at you again...

"So uh...me and J- Altostratus are actually married. So uh ... Surprise?"

Wait, is she serious? That's awesome! Really, you don't get why they didn't say so earlier.

"Congratulations-"

You are interrupted by the car coming to a stop.

Altostratus shuts off the car and steps out. "We're here lads, try not to let too much rain into my car when you get out, It's just been cleaned. If you do I will know and I won't be happy about it."

[esamastation]

Gamer girl gets transmigrated into a farm boy Chapter 5 [<<Prologue | <Chapter 4 || Chapter 6>>] Ao3 link

-

The rest of the day goes by much the same way it did in the game. They make their way back to the farm, where Van helps Mr. Gylcross unload his purchases and carry some of them to the barn and the rest into the house. Janelle welcomes them with a warm meal and freshly made batch of apple juice, made from, "Apples I picked myself just this afternoon!" as she says. It's delicious.

"What did you buy in town?" Josel asks as they eat.

"Nothing much," Van answers, and ain't that the truth. "Mostly I just looked around, took in the sights."

Josel hums. "Yeah, you haven't been to the town a lot, have you?"

"I guess not," Van agrees, thinking back to the player character's messy background as a hand on the Gylcross farm, and how it might be revealed here - if it even was.

"How did you like it? Did you see anything interesting in town?" Janelle asks curiously.

"It was fine. It was all pretty interesting," Van admits and takes a bite of bread, wondering if she made it herself.

The System journal had updated while he'd been in town, and going by its writing, it was the most amazing thing ever to happen to Katie. Most of the journal entry was her detailing every event that happened, but there were some interesting titbits in between, which Van had noticed but not really thought about at the time.

… Oh my god, the town looks exactly like it did in the game! Only now I'm seeing it all in first person! It's so wild. There's so much more people here than there were in the game, too - probably since the limits of rendering capacity have been thrown out of the window. Real world isn't held back by RAM. Hah.

Also? Kids. There are children here - and not just one-age-fits-all like in some games, no, there's older teenagers and younger teenagers, and I also saw a toddler in the marketplace - and I think one woman had a baby in a sling? A baby! Definitely didn't have any of those in the base game - not a single kid to be had in all of Age of Tales, except in pre-rendered cutscenes. I wonder if it's just for humans, or will we get to see dwarf or elf babies - I've never seen a dwarf baby, ever, in anything I've ever seen or played. Probably not elf either, unless it was like a half-human-half-elf situation brought forth by an illicit cross-species love story.

I wonder if Van can have babies - like, conceive them? I mean, there's romance in Age of Tales, such as it is. There's sex scenes and stuff. Can those now have, like, consequences? Does this world have contraceptives? Is that something that I have to now think about?

Van with a baby would be pretty cute, though. I wonder if I can somehow get him to hold a baby…

And that's where Van had to stop reading in order to preserve the delicate equilibrium of his mental stability.

"There were a lot of people in town," he concludes with a cough to clear his throat, and takes another sip of the apple juice.

Janelle gives him a sympathetic look. "Yeah, it's a bit different from how it's around here, huh?" she says and pats him on the shoulder. "I'm glad you had fun."

"Yeah," Van agrees.

By now he's kind of starting to feel the limits of Katie's social meter, though. She'd never been a particularly extroverted person, and while it's different inside a videogame… this isn't a game, not really. It's been a whole day of interacting with people and trying to figure things out, and Van is feeling mentally kind of worn down.

Plus, he's got an existential crisis scheduled up, and it's starting to feel kind of urgent.

"You mind if I turn in for the day, sir?" Van asks once he's done eating, turning to Mr. Gylcross. "I'm kind of tired."

"Of course, my boy. Just get Bell settled in for the night and get the cart in the barn," Mr. Gylcross says.

Thankfully, Josel has apparently done all other farm-related duties off screen. All Van has left to do is get the cart inside and Bell brushed up, fed, and settled in a stall, all of which happens by automation. Josel, who's got a more permanent berth in a little hutch next to the farmhouse, bids Van good night, and with some relief Van heads up to the hayloft.

There he lays down in the hay, mentally preparing to Think About Things and Handle Them… only to find his mind full of static. He needs to deal with the Realisation and he needs to come up with a plan for tomorrow, because there's a lot coming his way tomorrow.

And yet, even though he lies there for a while, staring at the ceiling, not a single coherent plan comes to mind.

Finally, Van gets up again and goes back down to get a bucket of water. It's not quite as good as a real mirror, but in a pinch…

His reflection is very faint on the water's surface, but he can just about see himself and make out his features. The caramel ice-cream hair is really not looking its best. It's curly in the game, kind of fabulous in a way that doesn't fit Van's body type at all - here it sticks every which way, unkempt and not exactly flattering.

No permanent magical hairstyling in real life, huh.

Combing his fingers through his hair to push it away from his face, Van turns his head this way and that, taking in his features again. The jaw, the cheekbones, the forehead - he really looks like he was drawn by a comic book artist. Except made real. 

He's really - Katie is really in Van's body. This is Van, made flesh and blood. Well, he doesn't actually know if the body can bleed, but it probably does. It gets hungry and thirsty. And, judging by the feel of things right now, it also needs to relieve itself. Which is… another thing he hadn't been thinking about.

Sitting on his knees for a moment, Van weighs the oncoming mental health crisis against probably mortifying body function weirdness and chooses the latter, standing up. Time for a true fantasy adventure - figuring out how men piss.

Delightful.

Though as a man he should be able to go wherever - so long as he wasn't flashing someone, anyway - seeing as this is the first time and Katie only sort of knows what she's doing… yeah, some privacy is called for. There's a wooden outhouse behind the farmhouse, which Van slinks his way to like he's doing something wrong and illicit. The outhouse is pretty small and forces him to bend over, and it's overall very awkward. It stinks. The seat is tiny and looks kind of uncomfortable to actually sit on.

Katie has a feeling she's going to miss Earth's modern day plumbing before long.

Right now she has other concerns, though.

Van takes a deep breath - and then regrets it, because of the outhouse smell - before looking down. The trousers are easy enough to figure out, they're basically normal trousers except fastened with a string instead of zipper. The underwear, not so much. While Katie has seen it before and actually spent quite a bit of time trying to figure it out, seeing it on Van now…

It's a kind of cloth wrap thing, like the whole thing is one long stretch of fabric wrapped around the waist and down. The final effect is not unlike briefs, and it's actually kind of comfortable and it definitely keeps everything contained… but if Van takes it off, he will definitely not be able to put it back on again.

Hm, maybe he can, sort of… move it aside…?

Touching it is a bit weird. Katie does a little gibbering flailing thing in the back of his mind while Van tugs at the fabric, feeling all the stuff beneath shift - feeling all the stuff feel the movement. It's weird - having sensations in bits Katie never had before. 

Kind of cool though, too. In a sort of unreal way.

Van gets his fingers beneath to pull his penis out and then… there it is, sticking out past the cloth, with its two buddies still nestled in the wrapping.

It would probably be inappropriate to call it a tool. It kind of fits, though. It's very… proportional. 

And Katie is suddenly very aware of her long stint as a single woman, because damn. Like, she's never been that into the look or size of a guy's dick - a penis is a penis, they're all kind of the same in the end - but damn. Van has one hell of a dick. Like, Katie probably wouldn't want to have sex with Van, because ouch… but damn.

"Okay, don't play with it, just do your business," Van mutters, thinking back to Katie's stint in the kindergarten and wincing at the memory of potty training. As extremely unsexy thought as there ever was, he thinks with a grimace and then attempts to… manoeuvre himself into position. "Just point and aim."

It's weird, and very… fleshy. But at least the rest of the operation is roughly the same for a man as it is for a woman - bladder is a bladder, apparently. It's still weird - as is not needing to wipe afterwards. It doesn't feel like it's enough, to just shake it. Not that there's anything to wipe with in the outhouse.

"Weird, weird, this is so weird," Van mutters, shaking himself and then quickly tucking the weapon away.

There's nowhere to wash his hands afterwards.

"Great," he mutters and then slinks back to the barn where he sleeps at night. His mirror water turns into hand washing water, and he still feels a bit dirty afterwards. He's hyperaware of what's going down below the belt, all of a sudden. Also, maybe getting a bit hard? Is it really that damn easy to get riled up as a man? Van's not even thinking of anything sexy, and apparently it's going up on its own. What the hell?

Climbing up to the hayloft, Van lies down and tries to not think about his dick. He's got an existential crisis on his hands. Woman stuck in a man's body here. This is no time for any kind of self-inflicted fun times. He needs to experience the horrors of being not in a body of his own. Her own. Whatever. Body dysmorphia, here we go!

Yeah, no, apparently not. His mind keeps slipping downwards along with the blood pooling there, as though the damn thing has a gravity of its own. He can feel his penis straining his underwear - taking it out, putting his hand around it, it would feel… probably pretty good right now. And it's not like Katie doesn't want to - like she hasn't been curious what it was like, how it would work. Porn and smut painted a pretty vivid image, of course, but nothing beats hands on experience.

Mmm, hands on…

Van stares at the ceiling for a long moment, biting his lip. There's no one in this end of the barn but him. The Gylcrosses are in their house, Josel is off in his little hutch… there's no one here. No one but him.

… Right, okay. Fine.

With a grunt Van gets up to find a rag or something.

It would clear his head too, probably, if all the post nut clarity memes are to be believed. He would have his existential crisis with a clear mind afterwards.

-

Katie wakes up the next morning to the cock crowing somewhere outside and has a moment of flailing confusion at the feel of all the hay around her and sight of the wooden ceiling and beams above her head… before everything comes back.

Right. She's still here. She's transmigrated into Van and to the very start of Age of Tales. And it's now day two.

"Shit," Van murmurs, running a hand down his face. His chin feels bristly - apparently that's a yes on the needing to shave going forward, if he wants to keep Van's chiselled chin in view. Which is probably not all that important, considering that, well…

Tonight, the plot would finally kick off in earnest.

Breathing in and out for a moment, Van lets his arm drop to his side. He hadn't even thought of what he would do, beyond the usual. Even with all the dramatic consequences, the Rift opening was still part of the tutorial, and so all the enemies were pretty low level. The character was meant to run, of course - at this point there was not much they were supposed to be able to do against them.

Emphasis on the supposed. This is, however, Age of Tales.

The whole tutorial section is a bit… Well, overall, Katie gets it - the whole point of the tutorial section is to paint the illusion of peaceful normalcy and introduce the player to the base mechanics and the NPC shops before the plot can kick off and burn the whole idyllic place to the ground for shock value. The first time Katie went through it, it was pretty epic, overall.

But giving the players the chance to shop before the fight was kind of dumb.

Because, while the game didn't get that popular, it had some players, and just about everyone who did play it went about the tutorial the same way. They gambled for cash and kitted themselves out as best they could as soon as they could… and in so doing, turned the whole Rift thing into a bit of a joke by actually standing up against the invasion, something they plot-wise weren't supposed to be able to do. And most of them didn't even realise it, breaking the game completely by accident.

And when you went about it perfectly intentionally, well… the Rift stopped being a threat at all and became the perfect spawn kill camp.

That was what Van had been planning to do - until reality nerfed Katie's money-making tricks.

"System, open inventory," Van calls.

[Inventory] [Simple Knife, lvl. 1] [Shepherd's Slingshot, lvl. 1] [14 x Basic Stone Ammunition ] [3 x Spearhead] [1 x Apple] [Empty Jug] [Dirty Rag]

Yeah, not exactly winning starter gear, especially considering that he still doesn't have a single shred of proper armour. He hasn't been this poorly prepared for the Rift since the very first playthrough - and even then he at least had some armour and a sword! Reality is really kicking his ass this time.

He can't figure out if it's frustrating or exciting. Probably the first one.

"Guess I'm making some spears," Van muses and then sits up with a grunt. Finger-combing the hay out of his hair, Van eyes the dirty rag and then winces. He would need to get rid of it, and maybe he could wash up somewhere before getting started. Unfortunately, he doesn't think there's a washroom or anything around here…

[Farm Chores, Lvl. 1.] [It's a new day on Gylcross farm, and it's time to get to work!]

[Farm Chores 1, Lvl. 1.] [Let the chickens out.] [Let the goats out.] [Let the cows out.] [Let Bell out.] [Quest reward:  10 exp, 3 Apples.] [Farm Chores 2, Lvl. 1.] [Muck the pens and stalls.] [Quest reward:  10 exp, 5 Fresh Eggs.] [Farm Chores 3, Lvl. 1.] [Take a look at the garden and weed Ms. Janelle's vegetable beds.] [Quest reward:  10 exp, 4 x Mixed Herbs] [Farm Chores 4, Lvl. 1.] [Milk the goats and the cows.] [Quest reward:  2 exp, 1 Bottle of Milk.] [Accept?] [Yes.] [No.]

Van winces a little at the sudden bombardment of pop-ups. Looks like he has some work to do. How much it all will matter when this time tomorrow the farm will be in ruins aside… exp is exp. And if he could squeeze in another level up before the Rift, it definitely wouldn't hurt.

Standing up - and bending over to duck below the ceiling beams - Van shuffles to the ladder to start the day with a quick rinse in a bucket of cold water.

By the time he heads out of the barn, Janelle has breakfast ready and set in front of the farmhouse. "Good morning, Van!" she calls, waving. "Come have some eggs and pancakes!"

Josel is already there and already stuffing his face with eggs. "Good morning," Van greets them both and then asks, interestedly, "Pancakes?"

"Yeah - Daddy bought flour and sugar yesterday!" Janelle says excitedly. "We've got some honey too - come here and try it."

Van does, sitting down beside Josel, accepting his share with a, "Thank you, miss." It looks great, and it smells even better.

"It's Janelle," the farmer's daughter says firmly and sits down across from him.

The breakfast is great, as are the pancakes. Mr. Gylcross doesn't make an appearance, but no one comments on it, and so Van doesn't either - maybe the man sleeps in when it's not a market day, or something. After they're done eating, Josel helps Janelle clear out the table, while Van considers his quests.

"Are you going to let the animals out?" Janelle asks, wiping her hands in her apron. "I'll come with you - I'll collect the eggs while I'm at it."

"Sure," Van agrees and offers Josel an apologetic nod before following Janelle towards the chicken coops.

It's a perfectly pleasant day, with only a few fluffy clouds in the sky and just the barest hint of a breeze in the air. The sort of day when nothing bad is supposed to happen, of course. Perfectly normal day.

"Daddy says you visited the tailor yesterday," Janelle comments. "That you ordered some kind of armour."

Van blinks and looks at her. "Uh, I didn't realise he knew about that," he says. The man hadn't mentioned it. How did he find out, anyway? "I did, yeah."

"Why?"

Well, there's going to be a battle in Westbrook the day after tomorrow, and then the place is going to be set on fire, and Valthor's most annoying minion is going to make a grand appearance. Van is really hoping to curbstomp that guy's smug little face to the ground, and armour would make that much, much easier. "Well," he says, because clearly he can't say any of that. "I don't know. Just felt like it, I guess?"

Janelle looks at him carefully, and asks, "Have you… remembered something?" she asks. "About your past?"

Van hesitates, because in the game the player character never remembers time before the farm - but he does learn about it from others. "No, not really," he says finally. "I just… have a feeling I'm going to need something. Actually," he adds and takes a spearhead out of the satchel. "I also got a few of these."

Janelle accepts the dull spearhead, tilting her head with confusion. "Is that a weapon?"

"Head of a spear - I'm going to find some pole to stick it on," Van says and shrugs. "And then I'll have a spear."

Janelle shakes her head, looking a little upset. "But what do you need a spear for?" she asks.

Van shrugs again. "I don't know. It just feels like something I should have."

Janelle hums unhappily, turning the spearhead in her hand. "So, I was right," she murmurs and looks at him sadly. "You are a soldier."

In the game you learn the main character's background in flashbacks and  hints from the designated Mentor character at Ulgor's Camp, but it's a pretty cliché dealio overall. The player character has amnesia - of course - and was left at the Gylcross farm by a Mysterious Hooded Person - of course - while the Mysterious Hooded Person ran away all suspicious-like. Janelle Gylcross eventually found the player character hiding in the barn hayloft, all confused and out of it and bleeding from the head. Through some interrogation and arguing with her father, Janelle got him settled in as a new farm hand.

It's all shown to the player in this grainy sepia cut scene, a collage of moments as the player character learns how to swing a hoe and milk the cows and stuff. It's pretty wholesome. And the fact that it's shown to you only after the farm has been burned down and everyone there was killed, well… Katie has some issues with the arrangement of narrative there, but it was kind of a punch to the gut, the first time she played the game.

Also absolutely hilarious, watching this brick shithouse of a man do these cute farm chores, like carrying baby lambs around, delicately harvesting berries from the bushes and weeding garden beds.

"I'm not a soldier," Van says and accepts the spearhead back. "I just feel like it'll be better to be prepared than not."

"Right," Janelle says and hugs herself, looking uncomfortable. "Are you going to leave the farm? I know Daddy only contracted you until the harvest, but… I thought you liked it here."

"Well… it is nice," Van says. And it really is. He looks at the farmstead around them and hums thoughtfully. It's very peaceful and idyllic and wholesome. In the game it's often implied how much the player character wishes he could've stayed there, wishes none of the terrible things that followed wouldn't have happened, and the world could've stayed as it was.

More than another day of it and Katie would be climbing the walls, bored out of his mind.

"I guess we'll see," Van says and smiles at Janelle. "You never know what will happen."

-

[<<Prologue | <Chapter 4 || Chapter 6>>] Proofread by @nimadge, many thanks

-

I call this the Tool Inspection Chapter. And I hope it made at least one person laugh as much as it made me to write it.

[hellsballz]

watching dr s2 made me realize that we really need a season where lloyd is send on a vacation and for the entirety of the 20 episodes we see or hear from him maybe twice or thrice because hes on a beach somewhere relaxing (or forced to relax).

like this would just be so fucking funny. now that he is very officially master lloyd he will def overwork himself like he always does, just image all the other ninja look at eachother and the next shot is them rushing lloyd on a plane telling him they are sending him on a vacation for a week or two and to only call if he is in immidiate danger

[la-cocotte-de-paris]

La vie à deux (1958), dir. Clément Duhour

[myrfing]

actually i shoueldnt drink on the weekdays i feel like im going to overshoot my sleep and be late for work

[sinkuna]

Nanami Kento, who enjoys it when you tug on his tie, forcing his mouth back to yours as you bounce frantically on his lap, chasing your high.

The same man who's impressive girth makes you feel utterly stuffed, stretching you to your absolute limits.

"That's it, my love," he always whispers, "Ride me just like that."

Nanami Kento, who can be gentle one minute, and the next, will throw you on your shared bed and fuck you senseless.

The same man whose hands grip your ass- spreading your cheeks as his tongue licks up and down your slit. That man who has his head between your legs for hours, making you cum so many times that your thighs shake and your toes curl- his mouth the perfect wet heat.

Nanami Kento, the one whose lips will be red and swollen when he emerges from between your legs, the same man who kisses you- the taste of your juices lingering on his tongue as he holds your face in his hands, the one whose fingers will caress your cheeks and whisper how much he loves the taste of you, "... Just like honey."

The same man who will fuck you until the sun rises- the one who will never stop until you cum so many times you pass out against his chest, his name the only word on your lips even as you slumber.

Nanami Kento, who without fail, always wakes up before you just so he can watch you sleep for a few moments before getting out of bed.

The same man who is still amazed that you're still here with him despite his dangerous occupation.

Nanami Kento, who makes you the perfect cup of coffee every morning. He spent weeks secretly learning your exact preference.

The same man who's frame curls protectively around you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he leans against the counter while you sip on your cup.

Nanami Kento, who keeps a small photo of you in his wallet. The same photo he takes out at times when he's in a mission, when he needs to ground himself and remember why he has to come back alive.

The same man whose eyes will always find yours, even in a crowd- the one who will always know when you need him and where.

Nanami Kento, who would give up everything he's built for himself just to live on a beach somewhere- anywhere- with you, his wife.

[seeking-elsewhither]

Evie your tags are making me cry

My headcannon about tcw is that since all clones are technically minors, 79s doesn't actually serve alcoholic drinks, but the clones sure think they do

[darylsfavoritegirl]

warning: age!gap (reader is in her 20s, Logan is in his 40s)

۶•ৎ

Logan loves your thighs.

Logan locked eyes on you all along, from the very first day you had joined the x men as a mutant.

You had tried to have control over yourself many times, not give in with the wolverine for he was much older than you.

Though harmless flirting couldn't harm anyone, you believed. There would be plenty days where you would play along with his fancy words he'd utter, trying to get a reaction out of you, fluster you next to others.

It turned into a brittle, passive-aggresive game easily. If he was trying to get under your skin by putting you into tough situations next to others, you were going to do the same.

One day he was in the kitchen of the apartment you were in for a quick meeting together in washington with the others, he was sipping a cup of water as he put it on the countertop, his hands resting on it. You had to grab yourself something to eat quickly as you hadn't eaten a piece all day. You had to reach to a cupboard he was standing infront of, when you murmured "Logan, could you-" softly and before even letting him move even a little, you got infront of him as your ass grinded against his jeans and he had to take a step back as he looked down at your hair. He smelled in your perfume, for a second he had to close his eyes, not letting his animal urges control him when you were obviously doing this on purpose. He was fine with it all when he had set eyes upon you, looking at you like a piece of his favorite meal and working towards having it, nevertheless, you had never responded back for quite a time but once you did, he had your game figured out. Yet it was only driving him more insane.

The way you'd wear the skimpiest shorts and skirts and bend over infront him on a windy day, the way your thighs would be much times larger when you sat down, the way you were inside of his head all times and he wouldn't complain, the way your eyes would form that special look of yours you'd have whenever you flirted with someone else, the way your hair would look after a shower, the way your skin send off a radiant, pure, angelic smell and the way it was so soft and he'd get a feel of them whenever you'd stand next to eachother, the way yours would graze his. All of this would cause him to want more of you, crave you and your body and everything of you.

You couldn't believe yourself how you'd feel a flicker of jealousy sparkling inside of you whenever you'd see him with other women. Whenever he'd have one next to him, entering his own room at a random hotel you stayed.

"Busy as ever, huh?" You'd joke

He would raise his eyes and point the woman he was with in an insinuating manner. He was a charming man after all, women would drool all over him as he knew how to have his way with them.

The second he was out of sight, your smile would drop leaving you with a stoned face. You'd keep working on your plans to shrug off the distracting thoughts in the lobby.

One of those days, you found yourself on his bed all dazed, all eager for his hands on you. "I've finally managed to steal you for the night, baby." He'd say slowly as he was undoing his belt and jeans.

He loved stretching you out with his girth, he loved making you watch yourself take him all in on a mirror, or a with video he begged to take. The more you would take him deep in your cunt, the more your eyes would roll back, so overwhelmed with him in you, the way he forced you to have an eye contact with him, the way he wanted nothing but to study your face and expressions as he was balls deep in you, going deeper and deeper. The way your cunt released juices, coating his cock and wetting down your thighs.

The way you'd whimper, the way you'd moan, the way you'd stutter his name between shaky breaths, the way your brows would crease against his touch would make him lose it.

And oh did he adore your thighs.

Some mornings you'd get ready together to go wherever you were needed. You'd put on your panties on first and before even letting you put on anything else he'd call for you.

You'd go to the room he would be in, he'd usually be sitting down on a chair next to the bed, topless. He'd wrap his hands around your waist, right above your hips as he'd bury his face at the bottom of your stomach and he'd stay like that for a few seconds as you'd run your fingers through his hair and feel his beard tickling your belly, and his strongs arms welcoming you in.

He'd place kisses on the front of your thighs as one of his hands would be grabbing your ass.

Sometimes he'd find you lying down on his bed, he'd sit down at the end of it, eyes deviantly roaming your legs. And then he'd pull you to himself by grabbing your thighs, with his body placed between two of your legs, he'd lean in, gripping your thighs as he'd travel his kisses up your body, from your thighs to your lips.

He'd bite your inner thighs softly time to time, enough to make your face grimace but nothing more as he'd chuckle while his head being buried between your thighs.

[moonstruckme]

ok yeah. i can't stop thinking about that doctor pls i need doctor remus follow up or something im dead

Based on this ask

cw: mention of giving blood, lightheadedness

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 447 words

You rouse to hands on your shoulders. Cold tile against your backside, and the hum of a nice voice. 

“Hi, love,” it says. The hands seem to get you where they want to, your neck and shoulders resting against something warm and soft. One cups the back of your head gingerly. “Could you open your eyes the rest of the way for me, please?” 

You think you’d do anything for someone who talks to you like that. The lights in the room are harsh, but a figure cuts through them, a man perhaps just older than you. His head, gentle features and a mop of tawny brown hair, hovers over yours. It’s then that you remember where you are. 

You’re at the doctor’s office, in the small private room they took you to for your blood draw, and you appear to be in this doctor’s lap. 

“There we are,” he says, using a hand to shield your eyes from the fluorescent lights. “I’m Remus. Do you know where you are?” 

“Doctor’s?” you mumble. 

Remus smiles. “Very good. I have some juice for you here.” He looks away from your face, reaching for something on the floor beside you. “Could you tilt your head down a tad to drink it, please? Yeah, like that. Thank you.” 

You drink from a juice box with his hand supporting your head. Remus encourages you to take small sips, wiping the corner of your mouth gently when you’re done. You worry you might faint again at the brush of contact; though, really, you probably ought to be more concerned about the contact you’re having with the rest of him. 

“It seems like you had some trouble with the blood draw,” he says in a kind voice. “Is that something that happens often?” 

You try out your voice, clearing your throat. “No. No, I’ve never done that before.” 

Remus hums. “Do you feel okay?” 

Honestly? You’re not sure. You feel deeply, horrendously out of sorts, having woken to find yourself in the lap of the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. At the same time, you think you might be the best you’ve ever been. 

“I—I think so,” you manage. 

Remus gives you a little smile. “It would be perfectly normal to be a bit shaken up,” he says. The hand not behind your head has found your forearm and begun tracing small, seemingly thoughtless, circles into your skin. “Losing consciousness isn’t easy on the body. It’s alright if you feel out of sorts.” 

“Yeah,” you breathe, woozy all over again. “That must be it.” 

Remus hums sympathetically. “Let’s just stay here for a while, then. I’ll have someone get you a snack.”

[wonderjanga]

Marvelous Fate

Billy, and Dr. Fate, otherwise known as Kent Nelson, were childhood friends. I mean, both their fathers were archeologists after all. Who’s to say they wouldn’t have met at least once.

Billy: “Hi, I’m Billy!” *waves*

Kent: “I’m Kent.” *waves back*

Sven (Dr. Fate’s Dad): “Well isn’t that just precious? Why don’t you boys go play together while we adults talk about work?”

Kent and Billy: “Okay!”

And the rest was history. They played together often whenever their dads were assigned the same excavations. Then, y’know, Billy’s parents died and Mary disappeared.

The Nelsons went the funeral.

Billy and Kent: *sipping juice boxes together as they watch people pay their respects*

Kent: “I’m sorry, Billy. But maybe they’ll let you live with us or something!”

Billy: “I hope so. But I think they’re just gonna stick me with my uncle. He’s creepy. And mean. At least whenever dad or mom aren’t around.”

A year later, Kent inadvertently killed his father resulting in Nabu and him meeting. This same year, Billy was kicked out by Ebenezer. They never saw each other again, until they were both heroes.

Marvel: “It’s wonderful to meet you Doctor Fate.”

Dr. Fate: “You ask well, Champion.” *cranes his head to look up at Marvel because the man is tall, and pauses when he feels Kent remember his old friend’s dead dad*

Marvel: *stares for a solid minute because, wait, this guy is familiar* “Kent…?”

They did some catching up, and it turns out they still rock with each other till this day. The JL were a little, tinsy-winsy bit jealous when they found out Fate knew Marvel’s identity because they’d thought they’d known Marvel for longer.

Flash: “So… Cap, how’d Doctor Fate find out your secret identity? Magic or something?”

JL: *all hiding around a corner, eavesdropping*

Marvel: “No? Me and Fate are childhood friends.”

Flash: “Huh…? Isn’t Fate an old ass man?”

Marvel: “Yeah, I guess.” *shrugs*

Flash: “Then how are you guys…?”

Marvel: “Time bubble.”

Flash: “What.”

Marvel: “Time bubble.”

[choslut]

u asked for vi thirsts and i simply couldn't NOT show up for our girl.

uhm. care to discuss asking vi as a +1 to a council gala? (and perhaps. the semi-public hooking up that occurs as a consequence of vi just chugging the fancy champagne???)

warnings : semi-public fingering, oral sex, drinking, dirty talk

a/n : this kinda carries on from my most recent vi fic, pussy talk, but also not really… imagine an alternate ending where you do end up going to the gala and vi just can’t keep her eyes (or hands) off of you…

mental note : keep vi far, far away from the drinks at galas.

it started with the welcoming drinks, carried around in tall bubbly flutes by uniformed waiters. vi was more than happy to accept — there’s no limit on welcoming drinks, right? — and by the time everyone is seated, vi has downed at least 5 flutes of champagne.

it's dangerous, having a tipsy vi next to you whilst the councillor's give their welcoming speeches. unlike you, she fucking hates formal events. they're so and boring and so very painfully formal, and she'd much rather be at home with you, strewn across the couch, doing much less formal activities.

now, sober vi would keep these thoughts to herself and instead just fantasize, zoning out to the sound of droning voices as she ogles at you in your gorgeous gala getup. but right now, vi is not sober, and the speeches are getting on her last fucking nerve, so she decides to take matters, or more so, you, into her own hands.

going to council galas with vi can be risky, because as the speeches reach their climax, so, subsequently, are you, writhing in your seat as vi rubs at your clit under the table. your girlfriend is impatient, even more so when tipsy and even worse when drunk, and try as you might to pry your hands away from the wet haven in between your legs, all efforts prove futile.

you're fighting to keep your mouth shut, to appear like your girlfriend isn't threatening to spear you on her thick fingers in the middle of the regal event hall. if there weren't so many eyes on you, you would probably whisper at her to stop it, but that would bait you out, so you let her continue.

vi may have hands dirtied by the juices flooding from your cunt, but her mouth is even dirtier. fueled by the champagne and the glass of ridiculously expensive whiskey she's sipping on, her lips begin to quietly whisper dirty nothings in your ear, words that would shock anyone who had the (dis)pleasure of hearing them.

"let's get outta here baby, fuck," she drawls quietly, powdery blue eyes staring at the point where her wrist is surrounded by the bunched up silk of your skirt. " 's boring, no?"

"you're such a slut for letting me at you like this in public, cupcake. what d'you think they would say if they knew, hm?" that's precisely what you're worried about, what the attendees would say if they knew your current position. so, to appease vi (and to save yourself from degrading public scruitny), you stand up and drag her out silently by the wrist of the same hand she just used to finger you silly.

bonus : you most definitely drag vi off to the bathrooms just to kiss that stupid, triumphant smirk off of her face, and the night ends (somewhat early) with the door of the bathroom locked, and you hoisted up onto the sink, back against the mirror and hands carded through her mussed pink locks as she eats you out like you're her last meal.

it doesn't matter anyways. vi wasn't in the mood for fancy steak and potatoes, much preferring to have you for dinner instead.

© choslut — do not copy, repost or translate my works without permission.

[munson-blurbs]

Summary: Your lab partner, Eddie Munson, might be the most irritating person in your life. But when he unexpectedly comes to your rescue at a party, his chivalry is too hard to resist.

A collaboration with the absurdly talented @corroded-hellfire 🥰

WC: 3.8k

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), fem!Reader, enemies-to-lovers, drinking, Billy Hargrove being a douche, fighting, blood, praise, fingering, accidental voyeurism if you squint, unprotected p in v, fluff because Red & I are some corny motherfuckers

Thank you @blueywrites for your idea that upped the spice 🌶️🌶️ Divider credit to @saradika

“Okay, so we need to mix the magnesium with hydrochloric acid,” you start, carefully measuring each substance and pouring them into a test tube, “and then we light the splint and see if it creates a squeaking noise.”

“Right,” Eddie says, not bothering to hide his disinterest. “And, uh, why are we doing this, exactly?”

You clench your jaw and exhale through your nose. Eddie getting under your skin is bad enough, but if he knew how much he annoyed you, he’d likely double down. 

“We’re testing for the presence of oxygen,” you say with as much patience as you can muster. “And you need to wear safety goggles.”

He rolls his eyes and mimics you in a high-pitched and highly unflattering tone. “You need to wear safety goggles.” 

He reaches for the matches, but you pull them away before he can grab them. 

“I’m serious.”

Eddie scoffs. “Please. We’re not even blowing shit up. Besides, I have a gig tonight, and I’m not getting on stage with goggle marks on my face.”

Now it’s your turn to roll your eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure that’ll be the difference between your shitty band getting a record deal or not.”

“Whatever.” But he begrudgingly snaps on the protective gear, and you hand over the matchbox and the splint. 

“So just li—seriously?” You watch, dumbfounded, as Eddie strikes a match and uses it to light the cigarette perched between his lips. Where had he kept it this whole time?

“What?” He asks with a smirk. “There’s, like, a million of these left. I’ll use the next one for the experiment thingy.”

He doesn’t get that far; Ms. O’Donnell marches over and yanks out the cigarette, snuffs it in the tray, and orders him to the principal’s office. 

Leaving you to complete your work alone. Again. 

Last week, it was because he’d kicked his feet up on the table and took a swig of Mountain Dew from a beaker. The week before, he’d blown up a rubber glove like a balloon and popped it right in Jason Carver’s ear, causing him to shatter a test tube on the ground. 

You often felt more like a babysitter than a lab partner. 

What you needed was a night out, so the party Steve Harrington was throwing tonight could not come any sooner. It wasn’t your usual scene, but all of your friends were going, and it certainly beat raiding your parents’ liquor cabinet alone. 

Music blasts from an overpriced stereo system as you pull up to Steve’s house. Barely audible over the reverberating bass is the sound of drunken cheering as someone does a kegstand. You sigh, plaster a smile on your face, and make a beeline for the punch bowl. 

Heather Holloway ladles jungle juice into an already pink-stained cup; you’re grateful for at least one kind face in a sea of Hawkins High students and recent graduates. 

“Heather, hi!” You smile at her, plucking a new cup from the stack and filling it nearly to the brim. “How’s college?”

Heather takes a sip, wrinkling her nose at the vodka’s pungency. “Way better than high school,” she says with a laugh. “I’m taking an intro to biochem, and my lab partner actually shows up.”

You raise your glass in a mock toast. “Maybe you could take mine. He’s more trouble than he’s worth.”

She laughs. “Can’t be worse than when I was stuck with The Freak last year. He never showed up to class.” 

“Really?”

“Mhm. And Ginny Anderson was his lab partner during his first senior year, and he pulled the same shit.”

Lucky them, you think wryly. Guess he decided to be a star student for his third go-around. 

Frat boy-style cheering echoes from behind you and when you spin around you see Billy Hargrove strutting through the crowd, towards the kitchen. He throws a wink to a few girls and slaps five to one of the guys on the basketball team. If he’s coming into the kitchen, it’s the last place you want to be.

The living room is smoky and loud, but it beats getting stuck next to the booze with a jackass like Hargrove. Every thump of the bass has the little sips of alcohol you’ve taken sloshing around in your stomach. It’s hard to tell where you’re going or even what direction you’re going with so many people, so you just keep wading through groups until finally you come upon some space to breathe. 

Unfortunately, this space brings you right back to where you began: in front of the kitchen. Just in time for Billy to sidle up next to you, the scent of whiskey and tangy cologne wafting off of him in waves. 

“Where have you been all my life?” he asks, as if it’s supposed to be charming instead of nausea-inducing. 

“Was better a second ago,” you mumble, not caring if he hears you or not. But when you move to step away from the blonde, the smarmy look slips from his too-pretty face and is replaced with a mask of set determination. 

Strong fingers curl around your wrist, just tight enough to cause the barest amount of pain. The audacity and possessiveness are what piss you off the most, though. 

A gentle tug of your arm does nothing to free it from his grip, so you try a little harder. Still nothing.

“Let go,” you seethe. The words are biting, but you’re a chihuahua up against a doberman. 

Somehow, above your pulse pounding in your ears and the music thumping throughout the large house, you hear the distinct clang of a metal lunchbox snap shut and heavy boots on polished wood floors headed in your direction. 

You sense Eddie over your shoulder before he appears in your peripheral vision. A moment hangs in the air where he and Billy stare at one another, and you watch them both, unsure of what is about to happen. 

Eddie steels his jaw, unmoving. “Let her go,” he says, a slight rasp in his tone. 

The jock remains unfazed, unthreatened. “Shouldn’t you be worshiping Satan’s asshole, Freak?”

“Shouldn’t you be worshiping Tommy’s? Or does he only worship yours?”

A cacophony of laughter stirs up an anger inside of Billy. He grabs Eddie by the jacket collar and slams him against the counter. “If you don’t fuck off in the next three seconds, I’ll kick you ass so hard that your uncle won’t even be able to identify your body.”

Eddie smirks. “One…two—”

Billy’s fist crashes into Eddie’s cheek with a sickening crack. Eddie returns with a punch to Billy’s abdomen, but not before his face sustains a few more hits. 

Shock loosens its grasp on you and you call out for help, knowing it’s no use getting in the middle of their brawl. Someone—Tommy H, maybe—is chanting “fight!” and it takes all of your willpower not to clock him yourself. 

Billy finally lets up when Eddie falls to the floor, clutching his stomach in agony. “Maybe next time, you’ll mind your fucking business,” he spits through his split lip—one of the few punches Eddie managed to land. 

His smarminess is enough to provoke a reflexive response in you. As he gloats, you deliver a swift kick square to his crotch. A choked whine slips from Billy’s parted lips as he doubles over. You snort a laugh to yourself thinking about how the dumbbell is probably going to spin this story so he doesn’t seem like any less than the King of Hawkins High in front of his fellow party-goers. He’ll never be able to take away your satisfaction at using a pair of your nicest shoes to crush Billy’s balls though. 

Eddie is still on the ground, wiping blood that’s trickled out of his right nostril onto the back of his sleeve. Turning your back to Billy, you bend down and offer your hand to Eddie. He accepts it with a weak smile and you help him to his feet. 

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Eddie says with a shrug and a sad smile that knots your stomach. He’s been hurt worse than this?

Unable to follow that train of thought, you reach out and slip your hand into Eddie’s. You give a small tug and he readily follows you down the hall of the Harrington home, the thumping beat of the bass becoming softer the further you walk. 

In the back corner of the house you manage to find a bathroom that’s not occupied by someone puking the mixture of alcohol they’ve consumed or a couple hooking up, going at it like wild animals. This one looks like it’s been hardly touched all night and you click the lock into place once you and Eddie are inside. 

Eddie takes a seat on the closed toilet lid, his calloused fingers coming up to gently touch the gash right across his chin. He winces at the tenderness of the wound while you crouch down and look in the cabinets underneath the sink for a first aid kit. 

“Ah, here we are,” you announce as you pull out the small white box with the red cross on it. On your knees, you shuffle over towards Eddie and slide the kit along with you. “It’s not so bad,” you tell Eddie as you dab some rubbing alcohol on a small swath of gauze. “The face just bleeds more because—”

“Because the blood vessels in the face are so close to the skin,” Eddie finishes for you. 

“Wow,” you say, raising your eyebrows at him. “I’m impressed.”

“We are in the same science class, you know,” Eddie teases with a playful smirk. It quickly turns to a grimace though as you begin to dab at his wounds. 

“I thought I recognized you from the seat next to mine,” you joke back. There’s silence for a few moments while you clean off all the excess blood and bandage up the open cuts. “Why are you suddenly interested in science this year? I mean, I was talking to Heather before and she said you never showed up when you were her lab partner. So, what? Renewed attempt to graduate?”

“Uh,” Eddie says with an awkward chuckle. He avoids your eyes and rubs his hand along the back of his neck. “Something like that.”

“Got the hots for O’Donnell?”

He belly laughs at that thought, grimacing at the pain it causes. “Fuck, no!” He shakes his head. “She looks like a walrus and a naked mole rat had some sort of freaky baby.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Ew.”

“You were the one who suggested I’m into her,” Eddie rebutted, and fairly so. 

“I didn’t make you compare her to a—”

A loud crash stops you mid-sentence, followed by someone drunkenly lamenting, “not the punch!”

“We’re probably safer hiding out in here for a bit,” Eddie says softly, “unless you want to volunteer to clean up whatever mess they made.”

“I think cleaning up your mess is more than enough for tonight.” To punctuate your point, you swipe a clean piece of gauze over a small cut you’d previously missed. “Besides, I wanna know what’s suddenly got you showing up to class.”

Eddie’s eyes roam your body far more conspicuously than he’d like, but the attention fills you with a newfound warmth. “You.” He snorts out a little laugh, startling you slightly. “Fuck, I’m drunker than I thought.”

“W-Wait.” You fight off the embarrassment that accompanies your stuttered words. “I’m the reason …?”

He noticed your reaction, mistaking disbelief for discomfort. “Does that make things…does that make you feel weird?” Nerves marr whatever joking tone he was trying to convey. 

All you can do is shake your head. “No. It makes things…good.” Good insufficiently describes your reaction, though part of you waits for the other shoe to drop. It’s a prank, his way of getting back at you for—

A hooked finger in the belt loop of your jeans snags your attention, Eddie gently tugging you closer to him. “And now?”

“Still good. Better, actually.” Resting one hand on his sore chest, you lean in and add, “will it hurt if I kiss you?”

“Don’t care.”

Despite him not caring, you certainly care if you’re going to hurt him or not. Your mouth moves slowly towards his, lips just barely brushing against each other as your breaths co-mingle. It’s not enough for Eddie though, and he presses his lips against yours with more force, stealing the air from your lungs as your body melts against his. The back bathroom at the Harrington household is not something you would’ve considered romantic before, but right now it’s the only place you want to be. Tucked away in the corner with Eddie, trading explorative kisses as your hands roam each other's bodies. 

Your body buzzes when Eddie’s tongue sweeps against yours, heat immediately pooling between your legs. 

Instinctively, gingerly, you press your torso to his, one trembling finger hooking into his belt loop. A moan escapes you, soft but saturated with need. Eddie clocks it immediately. 

“Mhm.” His smile threatens to break the kiss. “That’s it.” 

You feel the button of your jeans unfasten, the sound of unzipping music to your ears. His hand slips between the denim and the newly exposed lace of your panties, grin widening when it reaches the damp patch. 

Eddie’s hardness strains against the confines of his own pants, and you rush to relieve that ache. His exhale when you touch him—over his boxers, but not as gently as he touches you—makes you even wetter. 

“Gotta have you.” He toys with your waistband but doesn’t explore further until he hears your ‘yes,’ pathetic and whimpering but consent nonetheless. “Good girl,” he growls, sending a shiver coursing through you. 

The pads of his fingertips find your clit without struggle, rubbing precise circles over it that have you groaning his name. “Every time you say my name from now on,” he murmurs, “I’m gonna think about this.”

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.” It’s part taunt and part truth; only his name is on your mind. Your back arches against the sink, porcelain digging into your skin, but you barely notice. 

One strong hand reaches for the strap of your tank top, pulling it down so harshly that the fabric tears. He mutters a soft swear, tugs the rest of the shirt down until your bra is completely visible. 

“Fuckin’ perfect.” Eddie kisses your chest, groaning when the sensation of his lips causes you to squeeze his throbbing cock. “Careful, or I’ll—”

He’s interrupted by the door swinging wide open, Billy and Heather wrapped around each other in drunken lust. Billy’s eyes widen, their blueness dulled from the liquor, when he sees that the bathroom is currently occupied—and by whom. 

The intrusion startles you as well, but you’re much quicker at recovering than the inebriated asshole gaping at you from the doorway.

“Get the fuck out!” you hiss. 

Heather turns her head to look in your direction, as if she hadn't been aware there was anyone else in the bathroom until you’d spoken up. It’s clear she’s had quite a few more drinks since you’d seen her in the kitchen.

Whether it’s the alcohol, the shock, or his own stupidity, Billy doesn’t make a move towards leaving, let alone tug Heather along with him. The blonde shakes a few curls out of his eyes, causing Heather to reach up and twirl one around her finger.

“Jesus Christ, is this douche even capable of hearing a woman if she isn’t moaning his name?” Eddie mutters to you before rounding on the drunken pair and raising his voice. “The lady said out. Now.” 

Something finally snaps Billy out of his dazed state and he curls his lip, giving the two of you a half-hearted sneer. He pulls Heather out of the doorway so quickly that it looks like she gets whiplash as he slams the door closed behind them. 

Eddie leans over and locks the door, giving the knob a twist for good measure. “Do me a favor, honey?” His voice is a ribbon of silk down your spine. “Turn around so you’re facing the mirror.”

You do as he says, hands planted on the sink ledge. Your shirt is torn, make-up smudged, and you’re out of breath from the impromptu make out session. Ducking your head, you’re determined to avoid your reflection until tobacco-scented words tickle your ear from behind. 

“Be a good girl and look at yourself while I fuck you.” Eddie moves your thong over, exposing your pussy, and exhales with a tremble. His middle finger glides over your folds before pushing into you slowly. “You got wetter when I called you a good girl, didn’t you?”

“Mhm,” you manage, stifling a moan as his ring finger joins his middle. 

A teasing pout graces Eddie’s lips. “Such a good girl. And only for me.”

“Only for you,” you echo. 

He taps the head of his cock on your bare ass, leaving drops of pre-cum in his wake. “Gotta be inside you,” he growls. “Gotta fuckin’ feel what a good girl you are.”

The sensation of his cock dragging down along your folds mixed with him knowing just what to say to get you squirming has you dropping your head forward with a soft whimper. A strong, calloused hand quickly finds its way up to your throat though, and presses with just enough pressure to remind you that you’re supposed to be looking at yourself in the mirror. 

When you lift your head, you’re greeted by the sight of a smirking Eddie behind you in the mirror.

“Atta girl,” he praises. 

At a torturously slow pace, Eddie begins to push inside of you. A guttural groan slips past your gritted teeth as he stretches your walls, the pleasure causing you to curl your toes inside your shoes.

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes out before pulling his hips back. “Pussy’s even tighter than I imagined.”

The mental image of Eddie laying in bed with his hand wrapped around his cock, thinking of you is enough to make your knees weak. They can’t buckle too much; Eddie has one hand gripping you tight and the other trailing down to your clit. Each deliberate circle is punctuated by a thrust, pleasure from every angle. 

He kisses your shoulder blade, groaning when you tighten around him. “Look at yourself,” he growls his reminder. “Look how beautiful you are, all fucked out like this.”

You catch another glimpse; this time, you see Eddie’s lust-filled expression along with your own. He’s even further gone than you are, so focused on burying himself within you to care about the sweat matting his bangs to his forehead or the way his teeth dig into his lower lip. 

“Say it.” His voice is half-commanding, half-pleading. 

“S-Say what?” Each word is a struggle, your orgasm building to a peak you’d never before reached. 

“That you’re beautiful.” He tugs you even closer to him, and there’s no mistaking his dominance for anything else. “So—goddamn—beautiful.”

You follow his order without a second thought. “I’m b-beautiful, all fucked out like th-this.” 

Eddie’s hips snap against the plush of your ass at a frenetic pace. “That’s it; that’s my good girl.” Not a good girl, you note. His good girl. 

One hand atop his, desperate for as much contact as possible, you moan: “your good girl.”

“Oh, fuck.” Everything is you—you and him together, and it drives him to the edge. “You…you gotta…’m so close,” he rambles. 

“Me, too.” Panting breaths mingle with his groans, your walls tightening around him as you come. It’s so much, so intense, and tears cloud your vision resulting from the overwhelming bliss. “Eddie, oh, Eddie.”

He spills into you with a cry of your name. “H-ohmygod, holy fuckin’ shit.” His thrusts don’t stop until every last drop of his cum is inside you. 

Eddie’s chest presses against your back, but he’s careful not to put all his weight on you. The feeling of him so solid and warm behind lulls you from pure ecstasy to warm contentment, not wanting to move out from beneath him. 

A few silent moments pass before Eddie pulls out of you, both of you disappointed by the loss of contact. But Eddie’s hands refuse to let you go entirely, gently running over your hips and up your sides. The touch is featherlight and sends a comforting tingle throughout your limbs.

“You with me?” Eddie’s worn-out voice asks you.

“Mhmm,” you hum in acknowledgment. “Don’t wanna move.”

Eddie gives a husky chuckle in reply before he stands up, reluctantly taking a step away from you. Your own muscles whine in protest as you stand straight, the tell-tale signs of a good fucking already settling in. 

The two of you begin to clean up, each slipping back into articles of clothing along the way. One question prickles the back of your mind in the quiet room and you know your brain won’t be able to rest until it has an answer.

“Uh, Eddie?” you ask once you’ve cleaned up your smeared lipstick.

“Yeah?”

“Are you still going to come to class? Or, you know, now that you’ve had me you won’t have a reason to anymore?” You try to hide the insecurity in your tone but there was no mistaking the slight edge your words had. 

Eddie pauses mid-buckling his belt and gives you a frown. 

“Sweetheart,” Eddie says and the nickname alone already has your engine revving for a round two. “I wouldn’t sit through O’Donnell’s class for someone I only wanted to fuck. If I’m gonna listen to that hag drone on and on then there’s a damn good reason I’m sitting my ass in that classroom.” With a sigh, Eddie steps closer to you and after a moment’s hesitation, cups your face in his hands. “Can I take you out? Do things, ya know, the right way?”

A little trill of a giggle bursts out of you, which makes Eddie frown. But you’re quick to let him in on what you found amusing.

“You mean having sex in a bathroom at Steve Harrington’s house isn’t the typical way romances start?”

A grin slowly slides across Eddie’s mouth and you swear it’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen. All you want to do is keep that smile on his handsome face as much as you possibly can. 

“A romance, huh?” He clicks his tongue. “If I’d known that’s what this was, I would’ve at least fucked you in a guest room.”

You let your fingers brush over the fly of his jeans, feeling a gentle twitch from behind the zipper. “How about for round two?”

Eddie holds your face in his hands as he kisses you deeply, only breaking it to smile and murmur: 

“You read my mind, Beautiful.”

--