#holler and glow

[utoshi-san]

У кого снова косметические обновки? Праааавильно 😆 у меня. Пришёл набор масок с Амазона, а остальное я купила в Тиджей Макс. Очень рада, что наконец купила себе набор пилочек и пинцетов. Ну и куда ж без набора горячих масок для глаз?

[thesparrow1996]

unironically rocks that the tone of the entire epilogue is so dire oh my god. that they originally showed the last three minutes of it with the sweet little memorial for ruby and the reunion but the reality is that everything has gone to shit

[nerdierholler]

I’ve been motivated to sew something. I’m going to try my hand at making t-shirts. Have I sewn a shirt before? No. Have I worked with stretchy fabric before? Also no. We’re going to try it anyways! Why should kids be the only ones to have fun shirts with spaceships and sharks on them?

[inkskinned]

hello. you left a neon pink post-it with pgs 194-359 due 9/12 in the book, by the way. it is now May 23rd and the library's printer is running out of ink. it jammed and tore my passport application. one of the librarians dutifully blacked out all my information (front and back!) before proceeding to use every unmarred inch as scrap paper.

i think maybe our (plural, inclusive) lives are connected. all of them. i have been thinking a lot about borrowing. about how people move through the world in waves, filling in the same spaces. i have probably stood on the same subway platform as you. we held the same book. all of us stand in the same line at the grocery, at the gas station. how many feet have stood washing dishes in my kitchen?

i hope you are doing well. the pen you used was a nice red, maybe a glitter pen? you have loopy, curling handwriting. i sometimes wonder if it is true that you can tell a personality by the shape of our letters. i'm borrowing my brother's car. he's got scrangly engineer handwriting (you know the one). it's a yellow-orange ford mustang boss. when i got out of the building, some kids were posing with it for a selfie. i felt a little bird grow in me and had to pause and pretend to be busy with my phone to give them more time for their laughing.

i have a habit of asking people what's the last good book you read? the librarian's handwriting on the back of my smeared-and-chewed passport application says the glass house in small undercase. i usually go for fantasy/sci fi, but she was glowing when she suggested it. i found your post-it on page 26, so i really hope you didn't have to read up to 359 in that particular book. i hope you're like me and just have a weird "random piece of trash" "bookmark" that somehow makes it through like, 58 books.

i wish the concept of soul mates was bigger. i wish it was about how my soul and your soul are reading the same work. how i actually put down that book at the same time you did - page 26 was like, all exposition. i wish we were soul mates with every person on the same train. how magical to exist and borrow the same space together. i like the idea that somewhere, someone is using the shirts i donated. i like the idea that every time i see a nice view and say oh gosh look at the view, you (plural, inclusive) said that too.

the kids hollered when i beeped the car. oh dude you set off the alarm, oh shit is she - dude that's her car!! one was extremely polite. "i like your car, Miss. i'm sorry we touched it." i said i wasn't busy, finish up the pictures. i folded your post-it into a paper crane while i waited. i thought about how my brother's a kind person but his handwriting looks angry. i thought about how for an entire year i drove someone to work every day - and i didn't even think to ask for gas money. my handwriting is straight capital letters.

i thought about how i can make a paper crane because i was taught by someone who was taught by someone else.

the kids asked me to rev the engine and you know i did. the way they reacted? you would have thought i brought the sun from the sky and poured it into a waterglass. i went home smiling about it. i later gave your post it-turned-bird to a tiny child on the bus. she put it in her mouth immediately.

how easy, standing in your shadow, casting my own. how our hands pass over each other in the same minor folds. i wonder how many of the same books you and i have read. i wonder how many people have the same favorite six songs or have been in the same restaurant or have attended the same movie premier. the other day i mentioned the Book Mill from a small town in western massachusetts - a lot of people knew of it. i wonder if i've ever passed you - and didn't even notice it.

i hope whatever i leave behind makes you happy. i hope my hands only leave gentle prints. i hope you and i get the same feeling when the sun comes out. soulmates across all of it.

[fear-is-truth]

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐎𝐋 part II — nicholas alexander chavez.

summary — 80’s au. popular, rich pretty boy nicholas alexander chavez has laid claim on you / wc: 1.0k

tags — f! reader. mentions of alcohol. nic being a lil tipsy n cute. teensy moment between cooper & reader but platonic

read part I here

The pool party had spilled well into the evening, and the once-golden sunlight had been replaced by the soft glow of string lights scattered around the patio. The music still played, and the air was warm, thick with the scent of chlorine, alcohol and the buzz of laughter.

Nicholas, a little tipsy by now, had dragged you onto one of the lounge chairs near the pool, insisting that you sit with him. You were perched sideways on his lap, head resting against his chest, his arm slung protectively around your waist. He was laughing loudly, completely unbothered as he took in the scene around him. From where you sat, you could see a couple of girls near the edge of the pool, throwing side glances your way—obviously irritated. One of them flipped her hair and whispered something to her friend, both of them glaring as if they could will you out of Nic’s lap and into the pool. But he didn’t seem to notice nor care, as his attention was solely fixated on you. He just chuckled, thumb tracing lazy circles on your hip as he leaned in, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck.

“You’re the best part of this whole party, you know?” he murmured against your skin, voice low and a bit slurred from the drinks he’d had. You tilted your head to look at him, brushing his curls from his forehead.

“That the booze talking?”

“Nope,” he replied, a lopsided grin spreading across his face, before pointing to the place where his heart was. Then, as if making some grand announcement, Nicholas straightened up slightly, cupping his hands around his mouth to form a megaphone. “Hey people! See this hot babe right here? That’s my girl!” he hollered to no one in particular, pointing at you. People turned to look, some laughing, some raising their glasses in response. A loud wolf whistle from the crowd. You groaned, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks.

“Oh my God, Nic.”

He laughed, tipping his head back, and it was impossible to stay mad at him when he was like this. “Just telling it like it is,” he said, squeezing your waist affectionately.

“You’re mine, and I’m all yours.”

“Sappy.”

As much as you were enjoying it, you could tell Nicholas was a little too far gone with the alcohol, and he could probably use some water. You extricated yourself from his embrace, standing up as you gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “I’m gonna grab you some water,” you said, brushing a hand through his hair.

“Be right back.”

You slipped inside the kitchen, the muffled sounds of the pool party fading as you sought a break from the noise. As you rounded the corner, you didn’t notice Cooper standing near the fridge, and before you knew it, you bumped straight into his chest.

“Whoa, whoa, easy there,” his hands gently landing on your shoulders to steady you. You blinked up at him, bewildered, then laughed in embarrassment.

“Sorry… didn’t see you.”

“Always in a hurry, huh?” He teased, his grip light but steady before he let go and stepped back.

“Just grabbing some water for Nic,” you replied, moving toward the fridge. “He’s getting a little too enthusiastic out there.” Cooper chuckled, nodding toward the lounge area visible through the glass doors. “Yeah, I heard him. So did the whole neighbourhood, probably.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t keep yourself from smiling. “Yeah, well, you know him. Subtlety isn’t his forte.”

“Nope,” Cooper agreed, pushing off the counter and opening the fridge for you. “But hey, put any other guy were in his shoes, they’d wanna let the world know too.”

“Well, how ‘bout you?” you teased, grabbing a bottled water from the fridge before closing the door. “Sure I would.” He replied matter-of-factly, his expression softening before adding thoughtfully, “If I was bisexual, though. But I’d probably make less of a scene.”

There was another pause, but this one felt different. You both just stood there, sharing the space, and it was… comfortable. Cooper, for all his teasing, had always been the steady one in your life— a permanent fixture. It wasn’t something either of you ever really acknowledged out loud, but in moments like this, the quiet between you said more than enough. You both burst into simultaneous laughter, you doubling over in stitches. Chortling, he reached out, giving your shoulder a light pat.

“You better get back out there before your man does something stupid, I don’t wanna be the one to haul his ass out of the pool again.”

As you turned to leave, Cooper’s voice called out one last time. “But hey, if he ever fucks up—” his voice took on a playful edge, though there was a hint of seriousness in it, “—I’ll kick his ass. No questions asked.”

“Thanks, Coop.”

“Anytime.”

His words stayed with you, lingering in the back of your mind, but as soon as you stepped onto the patio, your focus shifted completely. Nic’s eyes immediately found yours from across the pool, his whole face lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning. “There she is,” he crowed, reaching out with grabby hands as soon as you got close. You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help smiling as you handed him the bottle of water. He didn’t take it, though—instead, he tugged you back onto his lap, pulling you into his arms like he’d never intended to let you go.

“Missed you so much, baby,” Nicholas mumbled into your hair, arms wrapped tightly around your waist. “I was gone for like five minutes,” you laughed, leaning back against him, feeling the warmth of his body and the way his hands lazily trailed up your sides. He grinned down at you, brushing a few strands of hair behind your ear.

“Five minutes too long.”

You unscrewed the cap of the water bottle and raised it to his lips, but Nic turned his head to the side, pouting.

“Nah, where’s my kiss first?”

You rolled your eyes but leaned in anyway, pressing your lips to his. As soon as you did, you tasted the faint tang of alcohol on his breath. When you pulled back to catch your breath, you giggled, wiping the edge of his mouth with your thumb. You raised the bottle again, and this time, he took a long sip, still watching you with that tipsy, adoring look in his eyes. “Better?” you asked, brushing your fingers through his slightly damp hair.

“Much better,”

MLIST.  fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content

[accioscarheadthings]

ULTRAMINE ~ CHAPTER 1

kenji sato x reader

summary: you are professor sato's student and mina contacts you when kenji finds himself with an injured kaiju baby

pairings: kenji sato x fem!student!reader

author's note: turning this into a series (?) may not follow the movie's timeline completely. future smut, so minors DNI.

masterlist !

you stood beside professor sato in the tube lift as it descended to kenji's basement.

you fiddled with the ends of your shirt, anxiety beginning to spiral within you by the second.

being at kenji’ house was something you never imagined would happen, especially after your not-so-smart first date. 

like kenji, you also had a legacy to bear, with your father as an expert mechanic, he built a titanium-alloyed suit with sato to fight by his side. and with him gone, you had to take on the mantle and the responsibility of protecting the city.

kenji knew you as his father’s student, slightly bitter that his father was spending time with someone who was not him.

but he couldn’t deny, you were a sight for sore eyes.

he would throw his words at you now and then, relishing in your sarcasm and remarks, falling more and more for your fiery demeanour and silver tongue.

and with you both fighting kaiju attacks together, it only pulled you closer to each other.

the baseball player won a bet against you, asking for just one date with you. 

you were skeptical about it, not wanting to get tangled in his spider web of messy celebrity life. but you couldn’t back off from the bet. a deal was a deal.

the date went surprisingly well, with you and kenji bickering back and forth about the most mundane things, just to get a rise out of the other. but as time went by, the sexual tension was increasing between you two.

you couldn’t deny it, no matter how much he annoyed you with his bratty charm. he was hot. 

the date was supposed to end with him dropping you in your place, but instead, you found yourself in his arms in the back of his car- naked, needy, and moaning his name like a prayer.

after that, he took you into your apartment and fucked you good, mumbling praises and promises as he drilled into you. the next morning, he left before you woke up, leaving a note saying that last night was fun. 

no calls or messages after that. he merely acknowledged your presence after that.and you were thankful for it. a bit.

part of you wished he would reach out and check in on you after that night. but you knew he wouldn’t.

it made you feel used and unwanted. took you quite a while to get over it, but you eventually did. 

you only took care of the fights he didn’t pay mind to. like the kaiju attack he ditched when the kdf intervened.

and now with the doom of meeting him again, your nerves were on end.

“fret not, dear,” professor sato glanced at your tensed state, “it will be alright.”

"professor, um, you still haven't told me why we’re at your son’s place. or what we're gonna do. or why you needed me out of all people-”

"i just need you to trust me on this, dear. you're the only one i do at this moment. can you do that for me?"

"you know i'm big on trust, professor, " i commented, shaking my head.

the lift stopped, and professor smiled, "that i do," 

when the lift doors opened, ultramn’s face was right on, big glowing eyes.

you took a step back with a yelp, “what the-"

"oh my-" ultraman gasped, “y/n… hi,” he seemed to be dazed, breathless.

you nodded nervously, glaring at his metal head and glowing eyes, glad that you didn't have to look at his handsome face, “hi,”

“dad! what is she doing here?” kenji hollered, as if you were invisible.

you glared at him even harder, tilting your head to the side at his tone.

"i apologize for my son," professor told you, "kenji, this is my assistant and she knows best about kaiju infants,"

i added, "because i've studied about them.my entire life. what they eat, their life cycle, the metamorph-"

"okay, okay, got it yeah," he waved you off in a hurry, his voice laced with impatience and worry.

you were about to snap when a pained squeal rang out and you leaned past him to sneak a peak, but ultraman obscured your view.

“dad, i’m not asking for pain, complaints, guilt, or criticism. not right now. i just-” he paused, struggling, “i need your help. both of you,” his head turned to you.

when he moved out of the way, you saw it, a gasp escaping your lips .

a baby kaiju lying on its back in the middle of the room, its head resting on ultraman’s knees while he held it down, rubbing its head. a red beam blinked under its skin, signaling its distress.

"wow," you gaped at the kaiju baby, following after professor sato.

“she was hurt, dad. we were attacked, i don’t know what to do. she got loose. i-i should’ve been there,” kenji rambled, guilt evident as he beat him up for what happened.

professor sato examined her, running a hand over a scales, “incredible,”

i held out my fist, metal plates slipping over your fingers and crawling up your arm till your elbow. you held out a hand, shooting a scanning bean from your fist to examine.

“you brought your warsuit?” ultraman asked in wonder. he knew about your identity and was hoping he’d run into you in one of the fights.

“just in case,” you shrugged, eyes on the anatomy chart you had pulled up in front of you as the holograph blinked on the arm of the kaiju, indicating the site of injury.

meanwhile, professor sato ran a chem analysis of the tranquilizer that had hit her.

"oh, hello mina," you greeted the ai when it floated towards you, “it’s been a long time,”

"indeed," mina responded, "you look well,"

"thanks,"

the kaiju baby whined in pain, squirming. you rested your metal palm on its tummy, easing your way up and down on its body, "shh, hey, hey- it's okay, we're gonna help you, baby, mkay?” you cooed.

the kaiju baby seemed to somewhat calm down at your words, its body still trembling.

“is it a he or she?” you asked, tapping and prodding her arm juncture.

“a she,” mina responded.

"she's beautiful," you looked up at her in awe, “professor, i suppose she has fracture. there’s fluid build-up in her elbow. mina, can u confirm?,”

“yes, she had a mid-humeral fracture with associated hematoma,” mina added.

the kaiju baby cried out again.

“it’s okay, you’re okay,” professor sato uttered softly caressing her arm.

mina was filling in the professor about the analysis of the tranquilizer while you got a closer look at the baby, running your metal hand over her palm.

her fist closed around your hand, the kaiju baby cooing slightly. your heart melted at the action.

“poor thing. does it hurt too much?” you reached to touch her arm where she got hurt, only for her to squeal in alarm.

“it’s okay,” kenji soothed, “she’s-” he stammered, looking at you now fully and taking in your appearance and feeling somewhat flustered, “she’s not gonna hurt you,”

you spared a glance at him, turning away, your face turning red at the mere sound of his voice. pathetic, you scolded yourself.

“can you synthesize a 100 ccs?” professor sato asked mina. 

“yes, professor,”

“good we’ll need more,”

 “more?!” kenji snapped, “for what?”

“kenji,” “you may not agree with me on anything else, but right now, i’m the best chance she has. and with y/n, it will be easier. so please, please just let me help,”

kenji glanced at you, agreeing, “okay,”

professor sato held up a ragged bunny in the air. the kaiju baby beamed at it.

“dad,” kenjis sighed in nostalgia, “bunny?”

“it always worked on you,” he placed it on the baby’s arm. he notched his walking stick between her shouler and arm, making sure it was right. i nodded in approval.

i placed my hand on the kaju baby’s palm, “hold her tight, kenji,”

two mechanical arms appeared from the ground, grabbing onto the baby’s arms.

taking a deep breath, you mumbled along with the lullaby mina played in the back and pushed her dislocated bone into place. kenji turned his head away to the side, unable to watch while the kaiju baby screeched in pain.

you sat by the stairs of the containment unit as the kaiju baby slept in it, snuggling a half-crushed car.

you were watching the footage of the kaiju baby loose in the streets, observing its movement, behaviour—

“hey,”

you slapped your watch shut and looked up at kenji, blinking, “hi,”

your eyes locked for a moment longer adn you both looked away, feeling bashful and flustered. 

you felt him sit on the stair beside you and rest his elbows on his knees, fiddling with his fingers nervously.

“so, uh, how are ya?” kenji turned to face you, his hair falling all over his forehead.

you bit back the urge to brush them back, “fine. so how’s life being a single mom with two jobs?” you teased, hoping to ease the tension.

kenji gave a small smile, his chest rumbling with a groan, “exhausting,”

“i can tell,” you noticed the fading dark circles under his eyes, the fatigue in the paleness of his skin.

“watching me that closely, sweetheart?” he tipped his head to the side, leaning forward a bit, his flirty tone showing up.

“you wish,” you rolled your eyes at him.

“it’s good to see you,” kenji spoke genuinely, “after the last time we met turned into-”

“oh dear god-” you sputtered, “don’t just don’t,”

“was it that bad?” he seemed offended that you were shutting out that incident so quickly, “was i that bad?”

“no, no, ken,” i laughed carelessly, missing the way a shy smile crept up kenji’s face at your sound, “its just that,” you tried to find the right words, “it was amazing, but the days after that, not so much. we-”

“-drifted apart,” kenji completed, understanding now.

"yeah,"

“i’ll just,” kenji jabbed his thumb to the couch area and walked towards it, muttering and scolding himself for being so clumsy and flustered around you.

you smiled at his back, watching him sit down. you turned back towards the containment unit, watching the kaiju baby snore away.

you crossed your legs, getting comfortable, "mina?"

"yes?" the ai floated towards you.

"give me everything you have on the kaiju baby. and you might wanna get filled in on the kaiju anatomy and life cycle info i have in my database," you held up your watch for her.

“sure thing,” a mechanical arm took it from you.

"and also, could i get a cup of coffee, with three-,"

a cup was thrust beside your face to hold. 

you looked up and saw kenji holding one for you, having one for himself, “three shots of espresso. just how you like it,”

surprised but touched, you accepted it with a kind nod, watching him walk back to his father.

he relaxed back, leaning into the couch and spreading his legs apart shamelessly, one arm resting on the head of the couch.

you lips parted at the sight.

kenji did a double take and caught you staring, a grin quirking his lips as he did so. it only widened as he saw how you fumbled and turned away from him, finding your reaction adorable.

he couldn't believe how captivating you were, and he knew he was in danger of losing himself to your charm. 

 the way your hair draped over your shoulder, only if he could wrap his fist around them and pull you flush against his back-

“pure thoughts, ken. pure thoughts,” he chided himself, his mind struggling to process the mental image it created.

he silently chastised himself for letting you slip through his fingers last time, but he knew that he couldn't ignore you any longer. 

as he looked at you, he felt his heart skip a beat and he couldn't help but sigh, "sweetheart..." knowing that you were too tempting for him to resist this time.

[slu7formen]

So I got this from a book but a truth and dare game with Luke where she has to lick whip cream of him. You can do whatever you want with this prompt but like a smut could be nice.

MDNI. luke castellan x fem!reader

this single request itself made me wanna try it, love you <3

warnings: teasing, kissing, s3xual tension, food play, drinking, oral (f receiving), mutual m4sturbation, unprotected s3x, possessive!luke at times, biting, f1ngering, chocking, also this is SO LONG, I’M SORRY

reminder: english’s not my first language so I apologize for any spelling mistakes.

₊˚⊹♡

The flickering firelight cast dancing shadows on the faces gathered around the hidden clearing. You all had managed to sneak away from the watchful eyes of Chiron and Mr. D for a game night in the woods. The air buzzed with the energy of a rebellion and contagious laughter – a night of games for the older campers, fueled by salty and sweet snacks and stolen alcohol —a sweet thank you to the Hermes’ cabin—. Laughter and playful groans punctuated the evening as truth or dare, with a twist, played out. Two decks sat in the center of the circle – red for dares, blue for truth.

Silena patiently waited as Clarisse read a red card out loud. "Whoever you find most handsome, kiss them" the card declared, "or take a shot." A playful smile spread across Silena´s lips, her gaze lingering for a beat too long on Charles Beckendorf. A blush crept up her neck as the others hooted and hollered.

"Come on, Silena" Connor Stoll, Hermes' resident prankster, prodded her with a playful jab. "Don't be shy, show us who the lucky guy is!"

With a playful toss of her hair, she leaned across the circle, her eyes meeting Beckendorf's for a fleeting moment before landing a quick, chaste kiss on his lips. Beckendorf, caught off guard, sputtered and stammered, his face mirroring Silena's blush. The clearing erupted in cheers and teasing whistles.

The teasing went back and forth, fueling the already lively atmosphere. Next, it was Beckendorf's turn. He scanned the circle, eyes falling on a tall and skinny guy sipping on the last drops of his beer.

“Travis” he called. “Truth or dare?”

Travis, ever the clown, leaned back on his elbows, a confident smirk plastered on his face. "Dare" he replied, popping the r out.

Beckendorf announced the dare after picking up a card: "Take off the socks from the person on your right with your teeth, or take two shots." A collective groan rose from the circle. Lee Fletcher happened to be Travis' unfortunate neighbor.

"Come on, Trav" Luke chimed in, a playful look in his eyes. "Those feet are all fresh and sweaty for ya'." The rest of the group roared with laughter, picturing the image of Travis attempting the sock removal with his teeth.

Travis, with a grimace that contorted his face, finally managed to grab Lee's sock with his teeth and yank it free. He held the sweaty trophy aloft, earning another round of cheers and jeers.

Meanwhile, Luke couldn't help but steal glances at you, sitting next to him. The firelight cast your features in a warm glow, highlighting the soft curve of your lips and the way your hair cascaded down your shoulders like a waterfall. The scent of your perfume, a mix of strawberries and something else he couldn't quite place, filled his senses, making his heart pound a little faster. He found himself captivated by your laugh, the way your lips curved into a smile as you spoke, or the way your brow furrowed in concentration when you contemplated a dare. Sitting next to you felt like being next to a goddess, both exhilarating and intimidating, just like the rest of your sisters; girls from cabin ten.

Wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, Travis scanned the circle, his eyes stopping on you. You met his eyes, a playful sparkle in your own, as if daring him to choose you.

“yn, truth or dare?”

You took a swig of your beer, the cold liquid a welcome contrast to the warmth blooming in your cheeks under his scrutiny. "Dare" you replied, your voice laced with a hint of flirtatious defiance.

A surprised whistle escaped his lips. Clearly, he hadn't expected you to choose the more daring option, you´ve been picking truth all night. He reached for a card from the red deck, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. The silence grew thick as he scanned the card.

A barely audible chuckle escaped his lips as he read the card. "Alright, pretty girl" he began, drawing out the words for dramatic effect, " 'Lick whipped cream out of the person on your left's neck, or take a shot.'"

A collective gasp rippled through the group, followed by teasing comments towards Luke. "Castellan's lucky tonight!" Connor hollered, patting his back. "Looks like you owe cabin ten a thank you, man."

Luke felt his cheeks burning like rubies. He tried to appear confident, as he always was, a casual slouch to his posture, but the rapid thump of his heart betrayed his cool facade.

You just stared at him for a moment, a nervous yet malicious smirk on your lips. You enjoyed the sight of him suddenly all red and flustered, a stark contrast to his usual cool demeanor. He looked as cute as ever. "Well?" Katie asked, shrugging your shoulder playfully. "Whip cream or a shot?"

And how could you resist the dare? A chance for your lips to brush against the warm skin of Luke's neck in a gesture that was more intimate than any game dared to be? The thought sent a shiver down your spine, a delicious mix of excitement and nervousness. Licking the sweet whipped cream off him, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breath beneath your lips... it was too tempting to pass up, and the possibilities were simply intoxicating.

Ignoring the teasing catcalls and whispers, you turned to Katie with a sly smile. "Where's the whipped cream?" you asked, knowing full well that Silena had brought a large bag of candy, a can of whipped cream nestled amongst the chocolate bars and sour gummies.

Your question erupted into another wave of cheers and whistles. Luke, meanwhile, felt like his insides were about to explode. He felt like a churning cauldron of emotions – nervousness, excitement, a burning desire dancing in his stomach.

Silena tossed the can to you. You caught it in the air, the coldness of the metal a stark contrast to the heat burning in your cheeks. You met Luke's gaze once more.

"Looks like you're about to get a little messy" you declared, getting on your knees now for a better access. With a sweet but weirdly evil smirk, you shook the can, the hiss of the pressurized cream a prelude to the sweet mess you were about to create.

As Luke held your gaze, a slow smile spread across his face. He knew this was a chance, one he couldn't afford to miss. "Alright" he sighed, chest heaving up and down in one hard and heavy movement, his voice rough with suppressed nervousness but laced with an undercoat of confidence. He tilted his head slightly to the left, offering you a better angle, his final invitation. "Do your thing."

The weight of his words, the vulnerability in his gesture, sent a jolt through you. Luke's neck, bathed in the warm glow of the fire, looked impossibly inviting, the smooth skin a stark contrast to the dark fabric of his shirt.

Taking a slight breath, you placed a few dollops of whipped cream on the side of his neck. The coldness sent a jolt through him, making him flinch and hiss lowly. A wave of whispers rippled through the group, a mixture of nervous anticipation and excited curiosity.

Luke caught a glimpse of you from the corner of his eye. You tossed your hair to the side, the movement exposing completely one of your shoulders. In that moment, under the watchful gaze of the fire and their friends, he felt himself going faintly insane with a mixture of desire and nervousness.

You leaned closer, the sweet scent of your perfume filling his senses. As you both closed your eyes at the same time, the air crackled with electricity. Your tongue, soft and warm, darted out with boldness. Pulling down on the collar of his shirt to avoid a mess, your other hand flew to the back of his neck, holding him gently in place.

The gentle rasp of your tongue against his skin sent shivers down his spine. It was a slow, deliberate movement, almost reverent, seductive, as you savored the sweetness of the whipped cream and the warmth of his skin beneath it.

Your actions were hot enough for his cock to start hardening against his cargo pants, painfully. But he has to thank the gods for luckily sitting in a position in which he was covering it.

He pressed his lips together, and apparently, that made his friends laugh. He could hear the soft gasps of your breath as you worked your way around the whipped cream blob, the sound echoing in his ears like a siren's song.

Luke felt like a live wire, every nerve ending tingling with awareness. He couldn't believe what was happening. The gentle touch of your lips made him feel as if a hundred ants walked down his spine, his heart thundering in his chest. He was trying so hard to hold back a moan.

He tried to imagine something else, literally anything, but whenever he tried, the only thing he could picture was you with him in his room, pouring whipped cream all over his neck and just licking, like a cat, as he tilted his head back and you bit down on his pulse, you whispered in his ear, you moaned loudly, you let him touch you.

He was a dead man.

Finally, with a satisfied sigh, you pulled away.

"There" you said, your voice barely a whisper. "All clean"

Luke opened his eyes, his gaze lingering on your lips, cherry lip-gloss long gone, as you finished licking off the last bit of your sweet treat. You met his gaze. Neither of you spoke.

A loud cough from Connor broke the spell. "Well, that was..." he began, searching for the right words, "intense."

“Yeah” Chris joined in, suddenly grabbing Clarisse’s hand and turning to her. “Can we do it?”

The moment was broken, the playful environment resuming its place. A wave of laughter washed over the group when the night took an unexpected turn. Soon, the whipped cream became a must along your friends.

Travis´ eyes landed on a weak Lee. The following minutes were filled with chaos and laughter as Travis chased Lee around the nearby trees, whipped cream can in hand, finally managing to catch him and plant a sloppy glob of cream on his neck. Lee's retaliatory attempt at tickling Travis only resulted in both of them collapsing in a heap of loud laughs.

The game continued, couples forming and reforming with each dare. Beckendorf and Connor, fueled by a rivalry, ended up smearing whipped cream on each other's faces, resulting in a food fight of sorts. Silena and Katie shared a non-stop giggly mess as they licked cream off each other's cheeks.

Even Clarisse, despite her initial resistance, found herself cornered by Chris.

By the time everyone´s face was sticky, exhaustion had settled in. As the fire crackled down to embers, casting long shadows across the clearing, everyone decided it was time to head back to their cabins.

The walk back was filled with drunken stumbling and whispered jokes. Silena and Clarisse, whose tolerance for alcohol was notoriously low, were stumbling back to their cabins, supported by their patient friends.

You walked behind them, a smile playing on your lips as you watched the scene unfold, bag of leftovers snacks swinging on your wrist.

Behind you, Luke admired your figure bathed in the soft moonlight filtering through the trees. Your hips, swaying with each step you took, were basically asking him to be grabbed, to be pulled. So did your hair, bouncing and shining on its on and he wondered what it would feel like to have it wrapped around his hand. His mind couldn't help but flash back to the way your tongue had felt, flat and warm, against his skin. It was a sensation that gave him goosebumps even now, a memory that made his brain feel like melted butter.

He also found no way of getting rid of his boner. His pants were a little baggy, and his friends were drunk, but still, he was just walking around camp, with a boner, and the girl that gave it to him was walking just five feet ahead.

His train of thought was abruptly derailed by a booming voice. "Alright, guys" Beckendorf announced, his voice thick with concern, "I think I'm going to take Silena back to my cabin" he turned his head behind him. “She seems a little too excited, actually” he says, as you all watch Silena´s figure almost falling to the ground as she reaches the Hephaestus cabin.

The others murmured agreement, offering sleepy goodbyes and pats on the back. You joined the chorus, your voice a gentle murmur.

Unlike many of the other campers, whose siblings populated Camp Half-Blood year-round, you were one of the few who stayed all year, along with Silena some months. With the winter season in full swing, your cabin stood empty, the silence broken only by the rustle of leaves and the occasional curious critter.

"You alright?" you heard beside you.

Luke, walking next to you now, seemed to pick up on your quiet contemplation. He cast you a sidelong glance, his face unreadable in the dim light.

You pulled a small smile from the corner of your lips. "Yeah, just-, realizing I have the whole cabin to myself tonight."

Your heart hammered a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

"Well, then" he began, his voice a low rumble, "Want me to walk you there so you don´t go alone?"

A soft chuckle escaped your lips as Luke's offer hung in the air.

"My cabin's not too far away, Luke" you teased, pointing towards a cluster of trees in the distance. A flash of pink peeked through the branches – the lace curtains that adorned the windows. "See? I can practically see it from here. You just really wanna spend more time with me, don't you?"

A faint blush crept up Luke's neck. He wasn't used to being so transparent, especially not around you. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure.

"Then I guess" he stammered, a hint of amusement dancing in his voice. "that my company is not wanted?"

You couldn't help but laugh, a melodic sound that echoed through the stillness of the night and ringed inside Luke´s ears. Deep down, you knew that was the furthest thing from the truth. The dare had awakened something inside you, a flicker of something warm and exciting burning in your belly. Looking at Luke now, bathed in the cool moonlight, you saw him differently. The way his hair tousled in the gentle breeze, the way his dark eyes held a depth you hadn't noticed before – it all made your stomach twist and tighten.

You placed both hands on the back pockets of your jeans. “When did I say that?” you ask.

A slow smile spread across Luke's face, mirroring your own. He couldn't deny the truth in your words. This playful back and forth shattered a barrier, revealing a connection neither of you had anticipated. His gaze drifted down to your lips for a second.

You noticed. Just as you noticed his hardened dick hidden inside his pants.

As you continued walking, a comfortable silence settled between you, punctuated only by the soft crunch of leaves underfoot. The thought of him, his touch, his nearness, sent a hot wave through your stomach. It wasn't just about his good looks, though you couldn't deny his attractiveness. It was the unexpected intimacy, which was in fact, not so intimate due to your friends’ stares but, it left you with an empty feeling in your chest. It left you wanting more. More about Luke.

And then, it all just made sense.

As you reached the front door of your cabin, you turned around on your feet towards Luke. His eyes were wide and shiny in anticipation, waiting for you to speak. "So," you began, your voice dripping with feigned innocence, "since my company is apparently so delightful, how about you come inside for a bit?"

Luke blinked, surprised by your sudden offer. "Inside?" he echoed.

"You've never even been inside my cabin, have you? Don't you at least a little bit curious about what it looks like?"

You knew your question was a blatant and dirty lie. Luke likely knew the layout of every cabin at Camp Half-Blood, even though it is true that he only took small look from your cabin when the door was open, never fully stepping inside. But it was a way to gauge his interest. You knew how to play.

Luke shifted on his feet, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. He wasn't sure if you were serious or just messing with him, but the invitation, whether genuine or not, was tempting. The thought of spending a little more time with you, alone, in the privacy of your cabin, made him think twice.

"Well," he began, his voice rough with well hidden desire, "if you want me to”

The sweet, cloying scent of perfume hit him first, a heady mix of flowers and vanilla that instantly relaxed his nerves. The walls were painted a soft, rosy pink, trimmed with crisp white molding. Pastel blue and green curtains adorned the windows, their gentle hues echoing in the twin beds adorned with pale blue sheets, a stark contrast to the brown bunks of his Hermes cabin.

Instead of the communal sleeping arrangements he was accustomed to, each camper here enjoyed the luxury of their own space. Twin beds stood side-by-side, separated by a blue dresser that boasted a large mirror and neatly organized drawers overflowing with what he could only assume were makeup and beauty products. In the corner, a chest with your name painted in a cheerful font held your personal belongings, and the space above your bed showcased an assortment of pin-ups – Hollywood starts and sultry singers plastered across the wall alongside a few candid photos of your friends, their faces beaming with laughter.

As Luke took in the scene, you walked further into the cabin, the plastic bag of leftover snacks crinkling in your hand. You tossed it onto the bed, rummaging through your chest for a change of clothes.

Suddenly, a small, gushing sound startled you. You looked up to find Luke standing directly in front of your bed, eyes sparkling like a little kid. In his hand, he held the can of leftover whipped cream, a playful white dollop clinging to his finger.

"Really?" you asked, a surprised laugh escaping your lips as you watched him contemplate licking it off. The audacity of the move, the playfulness in his eyes, made your insides twist.

"Don't judge me" he said. "I didn't get to lick it off someone's neck like everyone else did"

Your heart hammered a frantic rhythm against your ribs. His words were a playful accusation, but the way he looked at you, the way his gaze lingered on your lips for a beat too long again, it was more than just whipped cream he craved.

You stood up slowly, a smile playing on your lips. Walking towards him, you stopped just out of reach. "Because you didn't want to" you teased, your voice laced with a hint of playing.

Luke met your gaze, his smile fading into a more serious expression. "Honestly, no, I didn't" he admitted, looking down at you from his taller height. "In front of everyone, I mean."

You tilted your head, a knowing smile gracing your features. "Why not?" you pressed, your voice a gentle murmur.

"I was thinking," he began, you immediately catch up on his nervousness, "that maybe... maybe I could do it privately."

A slow smile spread across your face again. “Privately, huh?" you echoed, your voice a teasing murmur. “Who with?"

He scoffed. “Isn´t is obvious?”

A shiver danced down your spine at his words. You couldn't deny the thrill that coursed through you, the delicious anticipation that hung heavy in the air.

With a playful and exaggerated sigh, you sat on your bed, sinking down onto the soft mattress. You look up at him, resting both of your hands behind you, making yourself as comfortable as possible.

He stared down at you, his dark eyes sparkling with amusement. He took a second to sit down next to you, the close proximity making your heart beat just a little louder, and the tip of your fingers sweat. The scent of your perfume, a sweet and intoxicating mix, filled his senses.

"Can I?" he asked.

You simply nodded. “Sure” you say. Every fiber of your being was waiting for him to follow in your footsteps, to recreate the intimate touch of your earlier dare.

Bingo.

You were convinced he was going for the same part of your body that you did on his, but instead, you felt the coolness of his fingertips against your skin as he gently pulled down the collar of your tank top, exposing the delicate curve of your collarbone and the top part of your breast.

A gasp escaped your lips as the coolness of the whipped cream hit your skin. Without missing a beat, Luke took tossed the can aside and, mimicking your earlier action, swiped his tongue across the exposed skin.

The cold sensation of the whipped cream mingled with the warmth of his touch, sending a shiver down your spine. You closed your eyes, savoring the unexpected intimacy of the moment.

His movements were slow and deliberate, his tongue tracing a lazy path across your skin. It was a stark contrast to the playful swipe you'd given him earlier, a wet touch that made both of you realize, very clearly, what this whole thing was about.

A soft moan escaped your lips, barely audible but undeniably present. Luke's breath hitched at the sound, a low growl rumbling deep in his chest.

Suddenly, you felt a sharp nip on your collarbone. Luke had bitten down slightly, the sensation sending a confusing feeling towards your chest.

"Gods, Luke, that's-" you gasped, the word dying on your lips as a wave of pleasure washed over you when his teeth grazed over it again. You didn't even care to finish your sentence, too lost in the whirlwind of emotions his touch ignited.

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through you. He licked off the last bit of the sweet treat from your skin, mimicking the way you'd cleaned him earlier.

"There" he said, his voice thick with mockery. "All clean."

You stared at him, your eyes glazed over with a desire that mirrored his own. You felt like a wild animal, unleashed and untamed. Sweat beaded on your forehead, your breath coming in ragged gasps from your parted lips. Your collarbone glistened with saliva, a testament to the intimacy you'd just shared.

You couldn't take it anymore.

You smashed your lips against his in a hungry kiss. It was a kiss unlike any you'd ever experienced, raw and desperate, fueled by the tension that had been building between you all night.

Luke, caught off guard for a moment, quickly responded, his kiss turning passionate and possessive. He slipped one hand behind your back, pressing you closer, the other finding its way into your hair, tilting your head for a deeper kiss.

You tangled your fingers in the collar of his shirt, pulling him towards you as you fell onto the bed. He followed willingly, his body hovering over yours. That dare. That fucking dare. It had morphed into something far more intense, a stolen moment of passion that threatened to consume you both.

The taste of whipped cream was there, with the heat of his kiss, a bizarre yet strangely intoxicating combination. Your senses were on fire, your body yearning for more. You reached up, your fingers tracing the planes of his face, memorizing the feel of his strong jawline, the slight stubble that brushed against your skin.

As the kiss deepened, his hand found its way under your shirt, sending a fresh wave of shivers down your spine. You gasped, a mixture of surprise and delight at his touch.

Your response was immediate when he started to graze his fingertips down your spine. You arched your back into his touch, a wordless plea for more. When he reached to your lower back, he grabbed your hip and pulled you impossibly closer to his body.

You felt his boner pocking on your inner thigh. You wondered how many hours he just spent with his dick painfully hardened, because you don’t really remember how many hours have passed since you chose dare as an option.

Your hands were quick to start pulling Luke’s shirt over his head. He only stopped kissing you to fully remove it and toss it to the ground, lips slamming against yours once again. He held a tight and possessive grab at your jaw, he didn’t want to let go of you.

The tip of his fingers trailed down your neck, your collarbone, a slow path down your body and over the fabric until his finger hooked your jeans, using a single had to get rid of the button, and quickly making it disappear along with his shirt.

“Why are you wearing this?” his voice had gone lower, his throat dry. He looked perfect like this, lips glistening with your saliva, hair messy and a finger hooked on the side of your light pink laced thong.

You couldn’t help but roam your eyes down his torso. The many years of training gifted him with a toned and well-worked body. His veins popped out with ease, starting on his biceps and getting more and more noticeable on his hands, manly, big and rough hands. You bit down on your lip for a moment, fingers tracing down his abdomen, he hissed at your cold fingers against his heated skin.

“It’s just my underwear, Luke” you explain. “Don’t like it?”

Instead of answering, the hand that was holding onto your tiny peace of underwear started trailing up your torso, flat against your stomach and all the way up to your sternum. He felt the soft fabric of your bra and gave you a lopsided smile. “I’m just hoping that this is matching”

And he got rid of your tank top. And it was, in fact, a matching set.

Luke couldn’t help but think that maybe you planned it all. Your cute lacy matching set, the empty cabin, the game. His mind started to race, circuits inside his brain working like a machine.

He hovered over your body again, trailing kisses around your neck. You moaned at the first one since he immediately found your sweet spot on the right side of it, goosebumps all the way from your skull to the bottom of your spine. “Was this all-, some plan of yours?” he asked, rushed voice and breaths coming out in gasps as he started to suck on your neck.

You giggled. “No, it wasn’t. But I was hoping for it-, oh” you moaned, pulling on his hair when he released his suck on your skin with a bop, but you felt his fingers trail up your inner thigh, knuckles brushing against your heated core.

“How?” he asked, slow and painfully teasing movements against your panties, occasionally focusing too much on your clit, making you gasp a little louder as you gripped on his bicep.

“I might have read all the cards earlier” you begin. “And I might have asked Silena to get me some whip cream with your cabin. Just in case I got to-, to do it with you. That’s why I wanted you to sit next to me”

Luke chuckled lowly, beads from his necklace tickling the skin on the base of your neck. “So it was a plan”

“No” you shrug off, feeling his lips against your neck again, sucking greedily. “I just, I wanted it. But I wasn’t sure it was gonna happen. I didn’t know this was gonna happen either”

Luke enjoyed so much the way you couldn’t even speak without letting out a moan or two in every sentence. He felt the fabric of your underwater getting wetter by the second. He listened to you and replied with little “hm’s” as if it was a casual conversation; a conversation in which you had him in your bed, almost naked, as he left bruises down your neck and you had his fingers teasing your entrance, hips rolling against his touch.

“You’re evil” he says. But it’s not you who’s touching him so boldly. It’s not you who leaves him wanting more, it’s not you who teases. But him.

So you let your hand make its way to his cargo pants, slipping past them and his boxers, directly going for his cock. A strangled moan escaped his lips, followed by his chest heaving up and down, surprised by your sudden movement. It felt hot against your hand, hot and heavy and you knew, that it was the hardest Luke has even been.

Your cupped hid balls just for a moment before you started to slowly ascent, finally reaching for his tip. Your fingers wrapped around his length and your thumb started torturous circles around his sensitive head. He sucked in his stomach constantly as you touched him, momentarily forgetting about your pleasure, but you enjoyed this a lot more.

“You really don’t want me to be evil, Luke” you say. “I could be evil and just stand up and make you walk to your cabin, or not letting you fuck me. But I’m not, ‘cause I really wanna feel you inside me, Luke. I really want you”

He let out a long and shaky breath full of relief when you started to bob your hand up and down, and that encouraged him to pull your thong aside, fingers teasing at your entrance. Your own breath came shaky as well when a single finger entered you.

Luke shook his head. “You’re so fucking wet” he pants. He didn’t even touched you properly and you were soaking his finger, lips glistening in your own arousal and leaving a wet patch on your pink underwear. “I need to taste you, doll. Please”

Your chest shakes when you laugh. You think it’s so cute that even though he has a finger buried inside you, your hand wrapped around his cock as you pump him slowly, he still says please, he still asks.

“Do whatever you want to me, Luke. I’m yours tonight”

That’s all the needed to hear. You let go of your hot grip as he steadies himself on your bed. But his hand reaches for something beside him, next to his calve. He brings the whip cream out again. “Can I try something?” he asks.

And how could you say no to his face?

You hold your breath when he leaves little balls of whip cream down your abdomen. You figure it’s empty now, because Luke throws it carelessly to the ground, a soft thud against the carpet on the side of your bed.

He holds your waist steady when you squirm slightly, as if you were about to run away from him. He glances at you for a second, his eyes, dark and dominant, basically telling you to not move a single inch. The plain sight of him, looking at you like that, while his big hands are gripped on your sides, only made you wetter.

He lowers his head to the first blob, tongue agonizingly slow as he only takes the very tip. You whine, you want him to touch you more, you want him to kiss you everywhere, to lick you everywhere, but he only makes it seems like a torture when he stops his movements.

“The more you complain, the more time I’ll take” he said. You nodded to his words, closing your eyes as you tried your best to patiently wait for him to start again.

Soon, you felt his tongue against your skin. This was so much better than your cleavage, so much hotter. You felt his teeth teasing you, attempting to bite but then pulling again, licking the last bit of whip cream before moving down to the next blob. By the time he reached under your belly button, you let out little gasps as his hands massage your inner thighs, dangerously close to your cunt.

He’s not directly touching you, but you feel the arousal getting ticker, and how close Luke’s breath was now to you, so hot and dry. You felt like dripping, even though you weren’t, but you were surely more than ready for whatever it is that he wanted to do to you.

It feels like heaven to him when he finally gets to taste you. He pushed his own head deeper in between your thighs as he groans, as if what he’s getting is not enough. Your high pitched moans fill his ears when his tongue starts slow, little kitten licks over your clit, too soft to even consider them as licks, but it has you squirming and grinding your hips down onto his face, pulling at his curls and asking him for more.

Oh, your sweet pleas. Your moans. Luke feels like a mad man as he start to gently rut his hips against your mattress. And to this point, he’s completely gone in you, too drunk to even care about how loud you were being, how hard he was eating you out, how if someone even tried to walk past your cabin, they’ll hear.

But maybe this is just what he wanted too. He didn’t know how long has it been since he realized he wanted to fuck your brains out, but he always cared about everything too. Where could it be, in a place where no one could see you, how he’d have to cover your mouth to stop you from moaning and letting the others hear you, how he had to pull his dick out slowly and put it back in at the same speed because he knew that if he did it too hard, he’ll become a mess. But he didn’t give a fuck about those things now. He finally had you as he wanted you, why in the world would he care about all those stupid things now?

In fact, he encouraged you. “Don’t hide those pretty noises from me, baby” he panted. “Let me hear you”

He was drooling. He couldn’t help it. You tasted so deliciously sweet, and not because of the whip cream leftovers on his mouth. Yes, it did change things a bit but, he knew how to distinguish what was artificial and what was you. And he loved you. He loved how you couldn’t stop coating his lips with your juices, how your arousal mixed with his saliva and dripped down your ass and onto the sheets.

He never enjoyed a meal so much.

“Luke, wait” you say, pulling at his curls but he only leaned into you more, nose bumping against your clit as his tongue remains inside you. “Luke, I’m gonna cum, wait”

“Then cum” he lifted his head as fast as possible when he heard your words. “Do it, baby.” He noticed the way your thighs were shaking, soothing them down with the palm of his hands.

You shook your head. “No, no” you whine. “I wanna do it while you fuck me, Luke. Please? It’ll feel so good, please”

Luke was starstruck. Oh, how the tables have turned. And how he turned you around too.

You still laid in bed, faced down onto the mattress. Luke had placed a pillow under your hips, ass in the air as he placed himself over you, one knee on each side of your legs. The shaking on your legs had stopped, but Luke noticed how excited you were, how even though you were so fucked up, how a white and sticky mess covered your inner thighs and how your whole body was glistening with sweat, you still managed to crack a smile to yourself as you bit your thumb.

You were driving him crazy. He wasn’t sure he was ever going to be able to look at another’s girl’s face after you. You had him wrapped around your finger and you knew it, and you were just so mean about it, patiently waiting for him to fuck you as he pumps himself a few times, cock harder than it’ll ever be again and his tip leaking with precum.

He placed himself in your entrance, slowly rubbing it up and down your folds, and pushing himself into you at an agonizing pace. His tip was quickly covered in you, glistening with a mix of his saliva and your juices. He tried his best to not let any drop go to waste, getting absorbed by your sheets.

“You wanted my cock, didn’t you, doll?” he asks, pushing himself into you faster than you expected, a loud gasp scraping from your throat. “Then take it”

Your hands instantly reached for the sheets on your sides due to his fast pace, that took the air out of your lungs and started a racing heartbeat inside you, your knuckles quickly turning white as your nails digging into them, but Luke took them both, pushing your wrists together behind your back and holding them there. He used your hands to push himself deeper every time, rock harder, faster.

You were decent enough to muffle your moans in your sheets, but Luke could still hear them mixing with his owns; low grunts, loud gasps and hitched breaths. He had to close his eyes many times to prevent himself from cumming, because what a sight did he have under him.

Your cunt, shiny and coated with a white creamy consistent was sucking him in even when he pulled out. You were so greedy for him. Your walls tightened around him and wanted him to stay there, still, but the rocking of his hips and the gushing sounds of your pussy as he pounded into you was too good to let it pass.

He loved the sound. He loved how you were much wetter inside, making himself feel as if he was pounding into the tiniest and warmest hole ever, creaming his cock and not wanting for him to ever pull out and leave.

He suddenly lowered his body to yours, one hand letting go off his grip to pull your hair aside. “You say you’re mine tonight” he repeated your words in your ear. Your back arched unconsciously, ass slamming back into his cock. “Nah, baby. You’re mine forever”

He let go of your hands, only to place one hand on your throat, pulling you slightly back to him, his fingers squeezing on your sides. Your moans quickly became quite as you tried your best to breathe, but you loved it so much you didn’t even attempt to remove his hand from you.

“You’re all mine, yn” he panted. “Mine. This body,” he gripped on your waist with his free hand, “this pussy, those lips” a ghost of his thumb brushed your bottom lip, pulling down on it. “Mine. Mine. Mine”

He slammed his hips against you repeatedly. You didn’t know when exactly, but you came, and Luke felt it too when the consistent that ringed around the base of his cock became more and more noticeable. And it didn’t take him long to do the same.

He collapsed over your body as you finally gasped for air. You coughed slightly, tears forming on the corner of your eyes but quickly drying out.

“I’m sorry” he said, sliding off you and laying next to you. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah-,” you laugh “Yeah, I’m-, wow”

That made him laugh. His arm wrapped around your waist as he placed a tender kiss on your cheek. His hands then started to run down your hair, all the way down to your lower back. You close your eyes at the feeling, only momentarily opening them to see something red in between your clothes, shining carelessly to the moonlight from your window.

You reach down to grab the empty can. “We should get another one of these” you say.

[kryptonitejelly]

art donaldson x childhood friend reader who he hasn’t seen in a long time (whose had a crazy glow up) visits him at stanford at the same time as patrick and patrick starts hitting on her (him and tashi are in an open relationship) and art gets jealous.

(maybe she tells patrick she knows he’s in a relationship and he tells her tashi wouldn’t mind and she would probably be down to join idk)

art donaldson x reader // challengers // fluff; happy ending

a/n: i did not hit the prompt on the head 100%, but i’m not mad at it. this ended up turning into a monster i had no control off and ended up being alot longer than i expected (i haven’t done a word count, and did not mean for it to spiral into this but i enjoyed writing this very much). i am an art donaldson defender and this is my way of giving him everything he deserves (i hope you guys can see what i subtly tried to do in places - please leave comments/reblog if you see them, it would mean the world). also i typed this entirely on my phone without proofreading - you’ve been warned.

edit - as a disclaimer, i do not purport to comment on the victim/villain/any dynamic in the challengers universe. this space is purely for delusional thoughts and fiction only (see also)

-

Good luck.

Art shoots the text off to you before taking a swig out of cup of diet coke he has in hand. He leans forward, his forearms on his knees, teeth crunching on ice cubes as lets his gaze sweep across the court in front of him. It is devoid of players but already has the umpire and linesmen ready and waiting.

You’ll buy dinner if I win?

Art doesn’t expect to get a text back, so he checks his phone absently, but his face breaks into a tiny grin as he sees your reply. Most other players would have been hyper focused in the moments before a match but you, in the breezy light hearted way you always were, still had it in you to joke around.

Yes, but if you lose…

Art sends his response, the tiny grin still on his face.

I’ll feed you.

Your reply is fast and it makes art shake his head lightly a quiet chuckle dropping from his lips. He is just about to type another reply but is interrupted by the loud cheers that erupt from around him. Art looks up from his phone to see Anna Davies walk out on court in the same colour red as he had on. He claps politely with the rest of the men’s team who he was sitting amongst in the stands, in a show of support.

Art catches sight of Tashi and Patrick, both perched a few rows down from him with the rest of the women’s team both clapping and hollering in support. He notices the turn of Patrick’s head, no doubt to check in on Art but he doesn’t tilt his head or smile back in acknowledgement as he usually would - he is far too distracted by you.

Art can feel his jaw slacken slightly as you walk on court. He knows what you look like, but you in the flesh - Art thinks you are breathtaking. Your top is in a shade of your college’s colour, paired with a white tennis skirt that shows off a pair of toned, long legs. He catches a glint of metal just above your ankle, and he finds himself squinting in a feeble attempt to make out the look of the ankle bracelet that you have on. Art moves his gaze your face, taking in what he can see from his perch on the stands as you walk out towards your designated bench on the court, bright neon green bottle in hand, your tennis bag slung on a shoulder.

You had been close back home for most of your childhood and more formative teen years, and the both had kept in touch since he left for Stanford and you to your own school of choice, but too infrequently - the occasional text, more frequent reaction or comment on each other’s social media and the small conversations that spiralled from those interactions - like two planets orbiting in the same solar system, but not close enough. Life had overtaken, the excitement of moving your separate ways to a new environment, of college - tennis, academics, people, parties, it had overwhelmed you both, individually and together - made you just about forget that you had each other.

Art is transfixed. You are, lithe, glowing and with a hop in your step - Art finds himself questioning why he had never made more effort to keep you closer since you had both gone on your separate paths. He watches as you settle your bag on the bench, turning your gaze to the stands, eyes narrowing from the glare of the sun as you search the stands, only for your gaze to fix on his. Art sees you smile, lips turning up as you wink directly at him. It makes a series of heads turn to look back at him - your fellow team mates, the small group of supporters from your college who had come along, and the Stanford women’s team plus Patrick, half curious, half puzzled. Art can only raise a hand beside his chest in greeting as he remembers to breathe, letting the air he had been holding in his chest out.

He sees turn away while reaching for your phone which you had wedged in between the band of your tennis skirt and skin. Your fingers flying over the keypad briefly before you toss the phone into your tennis bag, hand fishing out your racket. Art feels his phone buzz in his hand and he looks down at the text that had come through.

Stanford still hasn’t taught you the right way to wear a cap huh.

Your text, a reference to his penchant for securing his cap on backwards, makes Art laugh, out loud, the sudden sound causing his team mates to crane their necks in attempt to look at his phone. Art swats them away as he refocuses his attention back on you, watching as you do a few hops, shifting your body weight from side to side before walking to your position on court, racket in hand. You lose the coin toss, and Anna choose to serve and yet your demeanour is one of ease, something Art can’t help but think is so stark in contrast to Tashi before a match. You aren’t smiling anymore, and yet in an unexplainable fashion, Art can feel you smiling as you bend to ready position, your hands flipping the handle of the racket around, poised to receive. He sees Anna toss the ball, her back arching, hand shooting up, before she connects her serve, and he watches you receive it with ease, your body moving in a smooth motion as you hit it back. Your strokes have their own weight and intention behind them, they are careful, thought out - but what surprises Art is he sees little calculation behind each. Instead, he watches as you let yourself feel each shot, as you let your instinct take control with each step. Art sees himself moving pieces of chess across the court when he watches replays of his game, but with your game, - Art manages to see colour, life, ease. He sees something he hasn’t seen in his tennis since he had last played with you, Art sees fun.

-

The match isn’t long drawn out, you win - effortlessly, just as each of your strokes and movement are. It frustrates Anna, as is evident from the increasing number of unforced errors she makes on her art which leads to her swearing loudly as you easily hit the last heavy, driving it quick and to the opposite corner of the court from where she is positioned. Art finds himself clapping enthusiastically along with the crowd as the umpire calls the game.

-

“You never told me you had such good looking friends,” Art feels an arm sling itself around his neck, pulling him close as he stands outside the court, waiting for you to finish your match debrief with the rest of the team.

“Shouldn’t you be with Tashi?” Art questions as he tugs himself out and under, away from Patrick’s hold. His eyes remain focused on the door of the tennis court, waiting for you to emerge.

“Some strategy meeting,” Patrick offers as explanation, “refocusing or something like that.”

Art starts to say something in response only to be stopped by the view of you walking out from the courts. You both lock eyes, not too similar from how you had with you on the court and him on the stand. Art thinks that your smile is more brilliant up close.

Neither of you say a word, as you walk up to him, hands reaching up to tug his cap off his head only for you to pop it promptly on your own head, the right way around.

“The right way,” you say in greeting, pointing towards his cap which is now sitting on your head, the Stanford red a confusing contrast to your your top, now a loose fitting tshirt in your college colours, as Art chuckles while running a hand through his hair, attempting to shake out any flatness.

“The red looks good on you.”

“Perhaps I should transfer.”

“Didn’t peg you for a traitor,” Art teases which makes you laugh.

“Do I get a hug,” you ask, both of you oblivious to Patrick who is just watching.

“C’mere,” Art says, his words inviting, but just almost slightly shy as he opens his arms to you. You step into his embrace, arms slipping around his body as Art brings his arms around your shoulders, hands bumping into the tennis bag you have on your shoulders. His embrace is familiar, and you let yourself relax into his hold.

“Could I get a hug?” you hear a different male voice chime in and you pull away to look curiously at the brunette who is standing just beside you both.

“Fuck off Patrick,” you hear Art say with no bite, but notice as he steps just that one inch in front of you in an attempt to place himself as some sort of barrier between you and the brunette.

“Patrick Zweig,” the boy says, ignoring Art as he proffers a hand to you which you shake to be polite while introducing yourself.

“Do you go to Stanford as well?” You take in his attire of jeans and a white tee, the lack of red - you would guess not but it didn’t hurt to ask.

“I’m just visiting,” he says, “I’m actually playing on tour.”

“Losing on tour,” Art corrects.

“Your tennis is insane,” Patrick comments, ignoring Art, “when will I see you on tour?”

“I don’t intend on turning pro,” you respond with the flash of a smile.

“Why?” Patrick continues the conversation, now slightly befuddled, “you’re a natural.”

You shrug with a laugh, not answering and simply brushing off his question.

“Why don’t I take you to dinner and you can tell me why.” Patrick’s statement makes Art roll his eyes.

“Aren’t you taking your girlfriend our for dinner?” Art chips to which Patrick simply shrugs not phased in the slightest and answers with a no.

“Thanks, but I already have a dinner to cash in on,” you offer Patrick a smile, before glancing at Art.

“I’m sure Art wo-”

“Nope, fuck off Patrick,” is what Art says again, not even giving the other man a chance to finish his sentence. It makes you laugh, but you follow as Art grabs your hand, tugging you off in a direction away from Patrick.

“It was nice meeting you Patrick,” you call out, turning your head towards him giving him a wave with your free hand, “good luck on the tour!”

You walk for a minute or two more until the tennis courts are out of range before Art stops. He lets go off your hand, but reaches instead to grasp the top of the tennis bag on your shoulder. You raise a brow questioningly only to have him tug again with a slight tilt of his head. You relinquish the bag to him and he hoists it on his shoulder instead.

“What a gentleman,” you joke, but with a smile on your face.

Art does a mock bow with a flourish of his hand which makes you laugh with a shake of your head.

“Your chariot awaits my lady,” he extends a hand to you, waist still tilted in a bow, but his head up and looking at you.

“Lead the way,” you place your hand on top of his again.

“My car is that way,” he says jerking a thumb towards his right as he intertwines his fingers with yours. Its the second time in the day where he’s holding onto your hand but you don’t think too much of it and neither does Art. It feels right, comforting, familiar and like it’s supposed to be - and you go with it.

-

“Sorry about Patrick,” Art says as he fiddles with the paper casing of the straw. You are both sitting in a booth, plates cleared, your drinks left in front of you. Art is leaning back but being across him you can feel his knees knocking into yours. Dinner had gone by way too fast for Art’s liking. There had been both plenty to catch up on, as well as new information to learn and yet - it had felt like no time had passed between you both.

“He’s a bit of an ass isn’t he,” you say as you lean back, a mirror of Art. Your comment elicits a bark of laughter from him.

“Girls don’t usually say that about him.”

“What do they say?”

“Well not say, but they usually fall at his feet or into his bed,”

“No,” it makes you crinkle your nose while you shake your head.

“His girlfriend Tashi,” Art says, fingers still fiddling with the wrapper, “we played tennis for her number, she chose him.” Art said referencing the tennis match between him and Patrick. His sentence is blunt, to the point, and yet manages to be vulnerable at the same time. Art surprises himself as the words slip out from his lips so easily but it feels easy to tell you, safe to let himself be vulnerable, fine to let you view him for who he truly is.

You both sit in silence for a beat or two, the only sound between you both being the rustle of paper in Art’s fingers.

“Well,” you begin, “if she made you play for her number, maybe its for the better you didn’t win.”

Art’s fingers give pause and he looks up at you. His expression is unreadable, but you don’t feel like you’ve said anything wrong - just the obvious.

“I guess you are right,” he says after a few seconds of silence, before raising his head to look at you. There is a small smile on his face that you can’t quite place.

“When have I been wrong Donaldson?” You challenge in jest as you lift a leg under the table to jostle one of his lightly. Art leans forward, managing to capture one of your legs, your calf in the warmth of his palm.

“You really want me to start?” Art questions as you wriggle your leg in attempt to get away but no no avail.

“No.”

“Let’s see, the time we were six and you thought that the way to get strawberry milk was to dump pink food colouring in normal milk.”

“Stop,” you protest, but with a laugh on your lips.

“Or the time we were ten and you were convinced that the park we passed by on the way home from school was haunted and we had to sprint past that stretch of sidewalk for 3 whole months.”

“It was creepy!”

“How could we forget the one time we were thirteen and you thought that the way babies were made wa-”

“Arthur Donaldson,” you protest, managing to wrestle your leg out of his grasp which has grown looser with each anecdote. It allows you to set your foot on the ground, body shooting up to lean across the table, your palm coming to cover Art’s mouth to prevent him from announcing any further recollections from your youth.

You can feel his breath hot against the palm of your hand as his muffled laugher fills the space of your booth.

“Art,” you huff, relinquishing his full name for his nickname again. You move to drop your hand from his face, but Art catches a hold of your wrist. You sit back down, butt hitting the seat again, but with your hand still stretched across the table, wrist still loosely wrapped in one Art Donaldson’s hand. His shoulders are still shaking, now with a silent laughter.

“Art,” you try again.

“I’m sorry, it’s just so funny,” Art exhales, trying to collect himself as best as he can. He doesn’t remember the last time he laughed like this, freely and with such reckless abandon over something so innocent.

“Your dedicated court jester, always here to serve,” you mock with a roll of your eyes.

“You’ve been derelict in your duties,” Art says, now calm, but his eyes still twinkling under a mop of strawberry blonde hair. He keeps his tone light but what he really means to say is that it has been too long. You chuckle, not really having an answer for him.

“It’s been a while,” you finally admit, both your hands now resting on the table between you, you wrist now lying upturned in Art’s open palm. You had always been close

“It has, hasn’t it,” it isn’t really a question. Art has missed you - something he hasn’t realised until today. He had let himself be distracted by the complex, focused toxicity that was tennis, Patrick and Tashi, letting himself get sucked into the whirlpool, that he had forgotten to hold on to the things that grounded him.

“Maybe we should change that.”

“We should change that,” Art corrects you and you can feel the tips of your ears burning, and the skin across your cheek bones tingling for some reason.

-

You aren’t quite sure how ended up here, but one thing had lead to another as you both made your way out of the restaurant and back to Art’s car, and the next thing you knew you were heading back to his dorm to watch reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer for some reason.

“How do you not find her hot?” You ask again for the tenth time as you both focus on the screen of Art’s laptop which is perched half on his thigh and half on yours. You are both sitting on his bed, shoulder to shoulder, both of your heads damp from (separate) showers in Art’s ensuite, and you smelling quite like him from having used his toiletries and borrowing a short and shirt set, both of which which were a baggy fit for you.

“I don’t know, I just don’t.”

“You’re rubbish Donaldson,” you snort, nudging your elbow lightly into his ribs with a simultaneous yawn.

“Tired?” Art asks, as you stifle another yawn.

“Yeah,” you accept, seeing little point in trying to hide it. You had after all, played a match today.

“I should really get back to the hotel,” you mumble, the back of your head leaning against the wall beside Art’s bed, eyes closing.

“You could just stay here,” there is a hint of hesitation in his voice because he isn’t sure if you’ll stay.

“Here?”

“My bed’s a double,” Art shrugs, “it would also be quicker for you to get to the matches tomorrow.” You aren’t playing but Art knows you would be expected to show up as a supporter for the series of matches between your two schools that continued tomorrow.

“Are you sure?” You don’t mind, after all - it’s Art, the boy you had known growing up, shared milkshakes and apple slices with after school, but you wanted to be sure he was truly fine with it.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Art moves to shit his laptop, lifting himself to bend over the edge of the bed to place the laptop on the floor, “you can take the inside.”

He flops down on the outside of the bed that is further from the wall too easily, his right hand going behind his head. Him moving forces you to move in tandem as you flop down on Art’s left, legs scrambling under the covers which Art has somehow managed to worm his way under in the flurry of movement.

Art reaches a hand over, his arm extending over you in the process to hit the light switch that he has beside his bed. It plunges you both into darkness, the only light the faint glow from the street lamps creeping in from below his curtains, and the glow of his digital clock.

You flip onto your right side, eyes closed, missing the turn of Art’s head as he observes yours features, closed eyes, lashes, nose, lips, finding his gaze lingering a moment too long on your lips.

“Stop staring Art.”

“Am not.”

“I can feel it,” you respond, lips curving into a smirk. It was a habit he had developed from the sleepovers you both had either in his living room or yours when you were both younger. You would close your eyes, just about to doze off, only to hear the faint shifting of a head against a pillow while Art turned to stare at you, his blue-brown eyes boring into you.

“Am not.”

“Go to sleep Art.”

-

“So I guess I’ll see you around,” You are standing just a distance off the side of the bus which is supposed to take you back to campus. The matches for the day had ended, with your school having won by one match.

“Yeah,” Art replies, drawing out his words as he takes you in, he finds himself think that he had very much preferred you in his clothes despite them being oversized and not as well fitted as your own. You had managed to change into a fresh set of school colours before the matches started earlier that morning, having pleaded with your angel of a roommate to help you lug your overnight bag, which you hadn’t even had the chance to unpack the night before, over to the courts before the matches had begun. She had taken one look at you in Art’s tshirt, shorts with his hoodie thrown over, and had given you the widest smirk known to man despite your insistence that nothing had happened.

“I think you are scheduled to come play next month,” you refer to the Stanford men’s team, “I’ll see you then?”

“Or I could see you next week?” Art says almost shyly as he raises a hand to rub the back of his head. Art was a walking oxymoron, easily grabbing your hand, asking you to sleep in his bed, and yet somewhat bashful in the moments in between, “the drive over is an hour, max.”

“I would like that,” your response earns you a mega watt smile, his eyes twinkling at you. You both hear voices calling Art away from the bus, one male, one female - but Art ignores them both.

-

“Yeah and I told her-” your sentence is cut off by a nudge to your shoulder.

“Stanford” you friend explains with slightly too much glee in her voice. She had seen the smile on your face after returning from your away game last weekend, and the way you had been constantly glued to your phone, grin on your face, laughter peppering your days, the name Art Donaldson a constant fixture in your notifications.

Your head swivels up and to your left to spot Art leaning against his black jeep, hands crossed loosely across his chest. He smiles when he sees you, and your face mimics his expression.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” you friend calls out as she pushes you in Art’s direction. You pull a face at her while rolling your eyes, but letting your legs carry you towards Art.

“Are you stalking me Donaldson?” You ask in jest. Art had texted you half an hour earlier, asking which part of campus your last class of the Friday was in and where he should pick you up from.

“Hundred percent,” he says as he opens his arms; you step into his embrace for a brief hug, before he turns to open the car door for you. You unload your bag from your arm, dropping it onto the floor of the passenger’s seat before climbing in. You move to close the door, but Art is in between you and the door, reaching over to click your seatbelt into place.

“Ready?” He asks, and you nod, gazing into bright blue-brown eyes.

-

“Positivism,” Art says simply at your question of what theory of jurisprudence he found himself most inclined towards. You think for a moment, the side of your face propped up with a hand, elbow on the counter of the bar you both are seated at, your body turned towards Art who is likewise, facing you.

“Positivism,” you roll the words around your tongue, “I guess it tracks,” you shrug, before raising a brow slightly, “but how does an engineering undergraduate so much about jurisprudence?”

“I read.”

“On jurisprudence?” You frown nose wrinkling as you reach your hand out to place the back of it against Art’s forehead as if to check if he had a fever, “are you alright?”

“You mean you don’t read engineering daily in between sets?” Art questions you with mock horror as he reaches up to tug your hand down from his forehead. Your hand ends up, yet again, in Art’s, which is resting on his knee.

“Why engineering, and not something with a lighter course load?” The underlying question is clear - Art had every intent of going the pro track post-Stanford, and it wasn’t that he would be making full use of his degree anyway.

“I don’t want the only skill I have to be hitting a ball with a racket,” he shrugs, “it feels good to know I can do something else.”

You hum in bother understanding and agreement as you feel Art’s thumb begin to stroke the back of your hand. It distracts you, his calloused thumb sliding across your skin.

“In another life I’m sure you would have made a darn good engineer Art Donaldson.”

Your words make Art laugh, something he found himself doing a lot with you.

-

“So, this is me,” you point towards the dormitory buildings up in front and Art slows his car to a stop, pulling the gear into park. He kills the engine before hopping out of his seat. Your hand is on the handle of the door, ready to open it for yourself but Art is faster, his hand on the outside lever, pulling the door open for you.

Art offers you a hand as you hop out of the jeep before he shuts the door behind you.

“I had fun tonight,” you find yourself saying, suddenly feeling slightly shy for reasons you cannot fathom.

“Me too,” is what Art says in response, his hands stuck on the pockets of his jeans, heels rocking in a back and forth motion. You see his gaze on you, locking with yours before flickering to your lips. It makes you bite down one on side of your lip, an action which causes Art to gulp, making the Adam’s apple on his throat bob.

“We should do-”

“Can I kiss you?” Art blurts out his question in a burst and you can see his face flush slightly as he asks, a surprising and yet apt contrast to the Art who had no qualms about holding your hand in his. You feel your heart quickening, and with the silence between you both - you almost feel as if you can hear each beat.

“Yes,” you breathe out, a small nod accompanying your response. You see Art’s gaze flicker to your lips again, but you would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about this.

Art takes a step forward, pulling his hands out of his pockets. You feel him cupping your face gently, and you tilt your head towards him. Your eyes flutter close and your lips meet.

Art’s lips are softer than you imagined. You feel his hands move, slipping down the sides of your body, circling your waist and pulling you closer. You drop your bag off your shoulder onto the floor as your hands move up, one to cradle the side of his face, and the other reaching behind, fingers weaving into soft curls as you tug him closer towards you. First kisses with someone new had always been awkward for you - teeth, lips, noses, as you each try to figure out the grooves and crannies of each other, but with Art - there was no such thing. It felt as if you both had learnt each other long ago, each in and out, the curve of his neck, and the the planes of your body.

You break the kiss first, pulling away, eyes still closed, feeling as if the breath had been knocked out of you in the best way. Your forehead pressed against Art’s, body held firmly against his.

“I hope you aren’t going to send me packing after that.” Your eyes flutter open at his words.

“You packed an overnight bag didn’t you?”

“I might have,” Art pulls you even closer, his arms wound tight around you.

“Presumptuous much?” You run a hand through the front of his hair, pushing his fringe back.

“Just good at reading the room.”

-

12 years later

The skin across your knuckles are visibly tight, your hands clenched into fists, the only sign of the nerves that have taken over and riddled your body. Your eyes are shielded by dark oversized glasses, but your pupils are darting left and right as the final point of the match plays before you. The stadium is silent, save for the pop of the ball and the grunts from the two players on court. You hear an exceptionally loud grunt, the whizzing of a racket whipping through the air, and then you hear it before it hits you - the roar of the crowd, the thundering claps, and you feel your body freeze as even the announcer goes wild.

“Art Donaldson, ladies and gentleman, our new US Open champion.”

You remain glued to your seat despite the commotion around you - family, Art’s team, cheering, jumping, excited hugs being passed around. Your eyes watch as Art runs towards the center of the net, hand raised as he waves to the crowd around. He shakes his opponents hand, before waving to each section of the stadium in thanks of their support and there he is, jogging towards you. His hair is dripping with sweat, plastered to his head, shirt clinging to his body. He extends a hand to you even before he reaches the sideline and your body reacts from habit, standing, your hand extending back towards him. A warm hand, the back of it still slick from sweat grasps yours, tugging you forward lightly.

“Hi,” is all he says as Art’s lips meet yours. Art enjoys the tennis, but he doesn’t need it - doesn’t need the tennis, the fame, the money, or the trophies - all he needs is you.

You hear the crowd go wild at the display of affection, the announcer’s voice booming over the sound system with something about Art Donaldson and his wife, but it all fades - the commotion, the sound, the people, the tennis, because all you see is Art.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[suhsweet]

perv!mingyu ⟡ kmg

wc: 731 | pair: perv!mingyu x afab!reader | genre: roommates au, 18+ (minors go away) | tags: mingyu is PERVERTED, panty stealing, dirty thoughts, mingyu spies on the reader

summary: when your roommate mingyu is a filthy, dirty pervert obsessed with you

authors note: maybe i'm a freak, but i literally thought that mingyu uploaded a pic of himself sniffing either socks or underwear. this is a really short drabble. wrote this in an hour. i might write more about perv!mingyu :) i told y'all that this blog is really self-indulgent...

Mingyu can’t remember exactly when his obsession with you began. One day, you were his roommate. The next, you were the star of all his fantasies. He’s had plenty of roommates before you, but you were different.

Maybe it's the fact that he knows what you sound like when you’re touching yourself. He knows you only do it when you’re the only one at home, where you can freely vocalize your pleasure without being embarrassed by anyone listening in. Except, that is exactly what Mingyu does.

If he tells you that he’ll be back from the gym by eight pm, he’s actually home at 7 and listening to you use your fingers to pleasure yourself. He tells you that he’s going to be at work until six, and comes home at five-fifty to hear the tail end of your orgasm.

Most of Mingyu’s nights are spent leaning against the wall your rooms share, pathetically fisting his swollen cock in his palms. His head would be pressed against the wall, his ears straining to find your moans. If he’s bold enough, he’s right outside your door with his dick out, where it’s significantly easier to hear you.

Right after you cum, he loudly opens and closes the front door to the apartment, hollering, “I’m home!”

He listens to you stumble around your room before you peek your head out. With your hair a mess, and eyes wide, Mingyu finds your flustered state so cute. He prevents a smug smirk from appearing when you innocently ask him how his day was.

He’s well aware that it would take only three strides of his long legs to reach your room. He’s also certain you didn’t have enough time to wipe your fingers clean of your essence. The idea that while you’re smiling innocently at him, behind the door your fingers are coated in your cum drives him insane. It takes everything in him not to burst into your room, take your hand in his, lick your fingers clean, and then make another mess of your pussy.

Mingyu’s perverted habits have been ongoing for several months. Mingyu was too far gone to feel any sense of guilt at this point. Not when you didn’t have to know. Not when he stole a pair of your panties from your laundry hamper while you were out with your friends.

He tries to use it sparingly to preserve your scent. He pulls it out on the occasions where he is so horny that his imagination cannot satiate his needs. It’s erotic, Mingyu thinks, that he’s using your panties while jerking himself off without your knowing.

He’s flat on his back, in the centre of his bed with the sheets pushed to his ankles. His room is plunged into darkness aside from the bedside lamp that illuminates his filthy act of perversion with a warm glow. He has his eyes closed whilst imagining the sight of you seated on his lips. He imagines his nose is buried in your delicious pussy, not the fabric of your underwear. His free hand grips his cock fiercely.

His mind presents him the image of you gripping his dark locks, your hips rotating as you grind into his mouth. His tongue is expertly drawing circles around your clit, the pressure of it so perfect that he brings to you an orgasm that is so shattering that you threaten to fall off of him. His arms would lock around your thighs like a vice. His eyes would look up at you, telling you everything that his occupied mouth can’t. His puppy eyes would be imploring, begging for more. His gaze would track your every movement, every rise and fall of your chest, every ‘o’ your mouth forms, every time your eyes clench shut when he sucks on your pussy.

And when you’re finished with his mouth, you’d come off of him, and clean up the mess you made by licking your release off of his lips. You two would make out as a result, messy and slick with saliva and cum.

While his imagination goes wild thanks to your used panties, Mingyu struggles to keep in the pitiful whine that threatens to leave his throat. He doesn’t want to wake you up. You’re obliviously sleeping on the other side of the wall, unaware that your pervert roommate is thinking such depraved thoughts about you.

[chxrryhansen]

𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐌𝐁 𝐀𝐔

Pairing; Dark!Club Owner Ari x Shy!Reader

Warnings; dark themes, unbalanced power dynamic, daddy kink, no smut in this part but as usual Minors Please DNI!!

Summary; You knew it was a bad idea showing up to the most notorious club in the city, but it’s your best friend’s birthday and you can’t say no, right? So, what happens when the owner himself, Ari Levinson, spots you at the bar, claiming you as his own from the moment he laid eyes on you.

It’s finally here! The first instalment of my very first series, apologies for no smut but i promise the next part will be very smutty to make up for it 👀 bare in mind this is just the introduction!!! please don’t be afraid to ask questions and remember to reblog and comment💗 i love to hear your guys feedback!

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐

You climb out of the uber, reaching to pull the hem of your dress down as you and your friends stumble towards the club.

You had finally agreed to try out the biggest club in the city, "Cherry Bomb.” Since it was your best friend Sarah's birthday your group decided it was only fair she could choose which clubs you were going to tour for the night. You had been putting it off ever since the opening night a few months ago, the reputation not being something you had particularly wished to be involved with.

All you knew was bad things happened there, and from what you had heard the owners, Ari Levinson and Lloyd Hansen, two brothers in arms, were so cruel and unforgiving that even the richest men in the city dared not to step foot in the place, and those who did shortly regretted it. Their names were known around the streets, the most notorious club owners to exist, 70% of clubs in the city all belonging to them, more money under their belt than the government itself.

An incident a few weeks back had became the talk of the town, according to Sarah a well known patron had gotten a little handsy with one of the clubs dancers and when he was given a warning to back off, he refused. Claiming he spent enough money in the club grounds to do as he pleased, including groping innocent dancers without permission.

Long story short the bouncers ended up forcibly removing the man, cussing and struggling on his way out of course, you know, the usual druken male rage and feeling of entitlement. Seemed like a pretty convenient coincidense that the exact same night the man was found beaten to a bloody pulp in a back alley, his face practically unrecognisible.

It wasn't long before the 'rumour' was quickly snuffed out. They were good at that, making things.. people, dissapear. Almost as if it never happened... as if they never exhisted.

Now that you were standing infront of it, you couldn't deny, it was beautiful. Even from the outside, the bright neon sign glowing in the moonlight, multiple bouncers blocking the large glass stained doors, making sure to check each persons id before unhooking the stanchion, allowing said persons entry. The queue seeming endless.

Lucky for you, your friends had been gifted VIP tickets, you didn't even bother to ask who they got those from, or how. You didn't want to know. You flashed your id at the pretty bouncer, his buzzed hair, large muscles and stern face making it quite obvious as to why he had the job he did.

You bounced your foot as he scanned over your card before opening the barrier and letting you inside. Sarah was quick to grip each of your hands, practically dragging you inside once you began to hesitate, not wanting you to change your mind so soon.

"Come on, babe, let's get those sweet legs moving!" Sarah hollers from ahead, her hand intertwined with your own as the rest of the girls hurried towards a booth.

"I-I don't know if this is a good idea, Sare.." you mumbled, fiddling with your fingers as she tugged you towards your friends and giving you a slight nudge into the cushioned seats, the red velvet material instantly soothing your hot thighs as you sat.

She reached down, holding your cheeks in both hands and facing you towards herself, sliding into the booth next to you "Listen, i know you're worried and if it makes you feel better i promise we can leave and go somewhere else, but just give it a try, please...for me?" she pleaded, giving you her famous puppy dog eyes.

"You know i can't resist that face." you whined as she cheered.

As you slowly got more drunk you began to forget why you didn't want to visit. The atmosphere was astronomical, the whole club being fit for royalty. The girls hooted and hollered as you trotted off towards the bar on your way to buy in a round of drinks. You waited at the bar with your card in hand but as you went to hand it over to the bartender he paused you.

“It’s on the house.” he says while he wipes down the bar with a rag, a smile on his face. He was handsome in all fairness, standing at around 6'2, his bright blonde locks and pretty blue eyes causing you to pause for a moment before giving him a puzzled look, tilting your head sideways.

“Is it a nightly special or something? I didn’t see anything about free drinks on the poster outside…” you begin yet he’s already scuttling off to take another couples order, shooting you a sly smile over his shoulder. Leaving you even more confused than before.

You slowly reach for the tray of shots when you feel a large hand on your shoulder, causing you to spin around in shock, ready to fight off any unwanted men. You pause yet again, having to look up to catch the mans face.

His 6’5 form towers over your much smaller figure, dressed in a dark purple suit and tie, his pearly blues shining in the colourful strobe lights, looking down at you with a slight smirk. His dark beard covered most of his face and his long curtains framed his godly sculpted face. Even with his suit on his arms bulged through the material, his thick biceps almost bigger than your head.

You shortly snapped out of your daze as his leather gloved hand squeezed your arm. “C-Can i help you, sir?” you stammered, worried incase you had been caught gauking.

He laughs “Not even a thankyou, Sweetheart? I thought you’d have better manners than that.” he teases, his rough voice sending shivers down your spine. You stutter as you try to find your words, seeming as they were lodged in the back of your throat.

“I’m kidding, name’s Ari…you gonna’ give me the curtesy of knowing yours or you just gonna’ keep starin’ at me with those pretty eyes?”

“A-Ari as in… Levinson?” you question, swallowing harshly as the nerves quickly built in your stomach.

He shakes his head gently with a smirk "So you know me, huh?"

Your eyes widen at the realisation of who the mystery man is, your arms instantly beginning to shake, your card still in hand. You were never good at dealing with situations such as this one, always being labled as the 'shy girl' of your group. Sarah being the complete opposite. Usually men in this situation would back off, sensing your uncomfortable trembles and leaving you alone, but not Ari. If anything the smirk on his face grew wider at the sense of your fear.

"Steve, why don't you head over to booth two, give the girls their shots." Ari calls out towards the handsome bartender from earlier.

The man, Steve, is at your side in an instant "No prob man, have fun you two." he winks, collecting the glasses and sauntering off with a wink.

Ari shakes his head with a laugh, “Why don’t you come with me.” he leans down to whisper in your ear. The vibration of his vocals in your ears sending shivers down your spine before he struts forwards, holding out his thick palm for you to grab on to, and almost as if your in a trance, you begin to trail behind him without hesitation. Sliding your smaller palm into his own as he led you through the club.

Your nerves never allowed you to talk much, or make your own decisions, that being the reason you followed the stranger without any question asked, which is exactly why Sare was usually always there to do it for you. But, your drunken confidence had allowed you to go to the bar alone, which you were beginning to really regret. Your confidence being blown out of the park as the attractive beast watched you from infront with a careful eye.

Shortly you arried at the unknown destination, trailing nervously behind Ari as he unlocked a large door, which was infact bolted shut. He pushed open the door, looking down at you, edging you to enter, and so you did. Your eyes lit up as they searched the vast room, expensive furnature lining the room, bottles of champagne worth more than your house filling the cupboards above his desk.

Ari pushed the door closed, moving to sit on a cushioned purple chair, his thick thighs spread wide as he removed his gloves, pouring himself, and you, a glass of his finest drink. His cold eyes beckoned you forwards, your legs shaking as you stepped towards him, standing inbetween his spread legs.

He patted his thigh with one hand "Sit." he called out, his voice sweet yet stern.

You looked at him shocked, your lips parting slightly, were you really going to sit on his lap? A man you just met? Who you didn't even know? "I-I don't think i should Mr Levinson." you whispered.

His eyes grew shades darker at your refusal, not even giving you time to debate your decisions he reached out, gripping your waist in his thick palm and pulling you down, sitting you sideways on his lap as you gasp in shock. His other hand pushing a strand of your hair behind your ear as you squirmed under the pressure.

"Pretty girl, next time i ask you to do something, you do it. No questions asked. You understand?" he asked in a low growl.

You swallowed your nerves and nodded gently under his deep gaze, your body trembling.

"Ah ah, words baby."

"Yes, M-Mr Levinson, I-I understand."

Ari groaned underneath his breath, not understanding how lucky he had gotten that a pretty little thing like you would just waltse right in at the perfect moment, almost as if you were made for him. Like a lamb in a lions den. "As much as i love the way you say my name, call me Ari, sweet girl."

Again, you followed his command. "Yes, Ari."

"Good girl." he rumbled, pulling your bottom lip gently inbetween his index and thumb, loving the way you felt on his lap. Your innocence and submissive nature automatically triggering his dominance, his cock growing hard in his slacks as your plump ass squirmed on his knee.

You keened at his praise, a fluttery feeling appearing in your lower half. Of course Ari noticed this, the way your pussy pulsated on his thigh told him all he needed to know.

"You ever been with a man before, sweetheart?" Ari asks while he strokes your hair, not even having to shout due to the soundproof room blocking out the clubs music.

"Um, n-no i haven't, my Grandma wouldn't really approve of that sort of stuff, she said i should wait till m-marriage." you whisper shyly.

Ari blows out a puff of air at your innocence, desperately trying to control himself. All he wants is to ruin you, in every way you can imagine, and more. He smirks, leaning into your shoulder, pressing his nose against your sensitive neck and taking a deep inhale. Groaning softly, your sweet scent driving his instincts wild.

"Your Grandma seems like a very smart lady, little girl. You live with just her, huh?"

"Yeah, i never really knew my m-mom and dad, and my grandpa died shorly after i was born s-so it's pretty much always just been me and her. She does her best to take care of me, taught me everything i know." you speak with a bright smile, Ari notices how your stutter stopped when talking about her, he thought it was sweet, how much you must care about her.

However, the dark side of his mind was quick to take a seat, the realisation that you never had a father figure making his cock impossibly harder. Knowing he could be that for you, and knowing you needed a strong man like him in your life to make all those decisions for you.

"I think i changed my mind, baby. Why don't you call me daddy from now on, mkay?" he spoke softly, yet the edge in his tone still clear.

"D-Daddy?" you muttered, confused as to why he would want you to call him that.

He moaned hearing your sweet voice call him by his new found title. Taking a deep breath, he sighed, choosing not to elaborate on his previous statement. "Good girl. I'm gonna' take care of you from now on, yeah? Anything you need, you come to me. Pass me your phone, sweet girl."

"Oh, i-i don't have a phone.. daddy."

Ari's eyebrows knit together softly "You don't have a phone? Why not?"

You shake your head, your cheeks flushing in embarrassment. "We uhm, w-we can't really afford that sort of stuff."

"Well that just won't do." he speaks in a teasing tone, tickling your waist making you giggle softly.

Suddenly a loud bang causes you to shoot upright, you quickly dash off Ari's lap, moving to stand away from him, his office door slamming shut as a tall moustached man enters. Your eyes widen in fright, knowing how violent the man standing infront of you truly was. You knew who he was too, Sare had told you plenty of stories about the cruel Lloyd Hansen. You often wondered if he even had a soul.

"Man it's fuckin' packed down there, what the fuck are you doing up here." the man groans, not even noticing you until he turns. He lifts his sunglasses, staring you down, his eyes scanning over your figure, pausing and licking his lips at the soft flesh beneath the cut of your dress, your pretty pink dress having ridden up your thighs.

"Lloyd." Ari bellows, sighing in annoyance at his disruption.

A smirk similar to Ari's appears on the man, Lloyd's, face. "Well, well, well. What do we have here?" he speaks in a sultry voice. He begins his descent in your direction and the second gets a little too close, Ari shoots up out of his seat, moving to stand infront of you. A low rumble vibrating through his chest.

Ari stood slightly taller than Lloyd, with broader shoulders and thicker legs, the muscles in his back visible as he stood infront of you, almost as if he was protecting you, a hand wrapped around your hips rubbing his thumb in circular motions over your dress….and of course the most important detail, his luscious full beard compared to Lloyds 90s porn stache. They stared each other down, asserting some sort of dominance over one another… Ari seemingly winning as Lloyd begins to back up.

He lets out a chuckle, lifting his hands in a surrender position, taking a few steps back. "I mean no harm, just wanna' ask the pretty girl for her name, s'all."

You begin to quiver yet again, Lloyd's presence scaring you back into your shell. His dangerous aura sending goosebumps across your trembling figure. "I-I think i sh-should go." you whisper, tugging at the hem of your dress in a desperate attempt to calm your nerves.

"Don't move, sweets. Lloyd. Get the fuck out of here man." Ari bellows.

“I think you’ll find this club is mine just as much as it is yours, big bro. C’mon. Introduce me to the beauty.” he chucked yet again, probably at Ari’s fury. Steam was practically pouring out of his ears at this point. He didn’t even want Lloyd looking at you, nevermind talking to you.

“I mean it Lloyd get the fuck outta’ here man-“

Before he can stop you, you make a quick dash for the door and at the sound of Ari's resistance your legs carry you quicker than you could've ever imagined. Not looking back once as you pull the door open, swiftly shutting the door behind you.

You take a deep, your chest heaving at the stress of the situation, wiping your sweaty hands on your dress and making your descent down the club stairs, shaking your head in confusion and fear, eager to find your friends, craving their comfort and hearing a hushed "You fuckin' asshole." in the distance.

[peachesofteal]

Light on - single mom/neighbor fic Simon Riley/female reader This will make the most sense if you read this first

Simon is chopping vegetables when the power goes down.

It happens in slow motion. The lights waver, warm yellow glow from the living room lamp trembling before it goes out with the television, along with the bright white glaze of the bulbs in the kitchen. They flicker, they flare, dipping his world into darkness.

Months ago, he might have panicked. His anxiety might have peaked, he would have considered checking the locks, ensuring the shades are drawn, validated any weak points of entry. He would have gone for closest stashed handgun.

But things are different now. His mind doesn't jump to a security breach, or an imminent threat. He doesn't consider his consider his "go bag", he doesn't reach for his "work" phone.

Instead, he only thinks of you.

He raises his voice to ensure it reaches you through the flat. "Think we lost power."

"Simon!" Your voice is drenched in fear, the two syllables of his name dripping in it, white flash of panic just on the edge, and the knife goes down easy on the cutting board, carrots and celery nearly finished, electric burners on the stove turning from red to black. Candles. There are candles in here somewhere, aren't there? And flashlights.

"Sweetheart?" The flashlight on his cell clicks on, and he double checks the knife is safely away from the edge of the counter. He calls your name, waiting for a response, for an acknowledgment from Emma's room, where the door is open with his girls inside, one of them fresh out of the bath and hopefully, nearly asleep.

There's no answer. He sweeps the flashlight across the ground, hoping to avoid blinding you or Emmaline, working his way closer to the pitch black doorway. The space in his mind that was calm a moment ago, now begins to spiral. Why aren't you answering him? "Honey? You alright?"

Emma begins to cry. It's not her hungry cry, or her full nappy cry, or her attention cry, but something else, something scared. Distressed.

He's in the room with the flashlight pointed at the ceiling to ensure it bounces off the white paint and around the four walls within a second, heart now hammering in his chest, and when he finds you, spine stiff, eyes peeled wide in terror, something in him breaks.

You're standing in front of the crib, Emmaline cradled tightly in your arms, rapid rise and fall of your chest too fast, too uncontrolled, your usual whimsical, effortless beauty marred by a grim absence, your body frozen into a cage around the baby, empty gaze locked on the floor.

He recognizes it immediately. Knows it too well, knows it in himself better than anything else, a cursory reaction pushing him forward- his touch over yours, his hands supporting Emma's weight. You gasp into him, wild, staggered breaths that make his stomach twist, and he rubs a soothing palm down your spine. "It's okay." He coos. "You're okay, just breathe. I'm here. You're safe, mama, I've got you." Emma hollers, confused and scared, and he pulls her into his chest, holding her there with one arm, another still tethered to you, trying to jog you back to yourself, to your body. To him. "Just breathe, sweetheart. You're alright, take a big breath."

It doesn't work, and he can't do both, so he makes a split second decision, one he hopes doesn't make everything worse. "I know, baby girl. I know. Mama's alright, she's okay." He bounces Emma, relaxing a fraction when her crying settles, and then leans in to cup your cheek, tipping your face up to his. "I'm going to put her in the living room, honey. In the pack and play, okay? I'll be right back. Jus' keep breathing." You give him nothing except for an attempt at a deeper inhale, and he soothes Emma with a close cuddle, finding your phone and pulling it from the dresser to make sure the baby isn't left alone in the dark.

She goes into the little pen in the living room so easily, already nearly asleep again, and he pats her back for a moment, ensuring she's comfortable before running into the room, back to you.

You're blinking now, cheeks wet and shining in the dark, breathing a bit less haggard, and it kills him, haunts him, to see you so terrified, so lost in your own head. "Hey sweetheart. Can you hear me?" He touches you carefully, intentionally, the lack of resistance encouraging to the point he feels confident enough to hold you, cradling your head against his chest, curled over your body like a shield.

"Si-Simon." Your fingers tighten into his side.

"It's me. I'm here, I've got you."

"Em..."

"She's in the next room. She's okay." He smooths a palm over your temple, into your hair. "Let's take a look at you, sweet girl, can we do that? Can you look at me?" You tilt back, eyes and lids sluggish, but with it, conscious, and the anxious knot in his heart relaxes slightly.

"The lights." You stammer, and he nods.

"The electric went out. Did it scare you?" You give him a confused look, like you didn't hear him, or didn't understand. He strokes a thumb across your tear stained cheek and repeats himself. "It's okay, did the dark give you a fright?"

"N-no. Not..." You shake with the denial. "It's... is there a fire?"... what? He cocks his head. A fire?

Oh.

Oh.

His sweet, sweet girl. Not afraid of the dark, only lost and tormented by your grief. Terrified of losing again, trapped in a nightmare that is all too familiar to him.

"No, there's no fire, angel. I'm right here. I'm here, with you." He uncurls your frozen fingers to splay them flat against his chest, over where his heart thumps steadily, covering it with his own. "I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

"You promise." You croak, and he hums, rocking you slowly, gently swaying in the dim light of the phone's flashlight.

"I promise." He swallows the shiver in his voice, burying his nose atop your hair, holding you as tightly as he can. "I swear. Nothing could keep me from you, nothing. Remember?" You rasp out a yeah, feathery soft and feeble, and he kisses the crown of your head, sweet and slow, rubbing your back, your shoulders, kneading the tension from your muscles until the glaze of your panic fades, somber expression tightening across your face. "None of that." He whispers, because he knows what you'll say, he know how you'll try to apologize, try to explain it. "I know, sweetheart. I know."

He gets you folded up on the couch in his arms after locating and lighting most of the candles, setting up a few flashlights in the bathroom and bedroom, collection of mix matched scents littering the coffee table. You're weepy and exhausted, watching Emma sleep in the pack and play, her blissful little face sugar plum sweet as she dreams, and he tucks you into his chest, laying you down, facing her, mouth pressing little kisses to your temple, your cheek, your ear.

"Close your eyes." He encourages when you yawn. "You can sleep. I just want to hold you." The fireplace pops, and you crack an eyelid wide.

"She might wake up." You mumble.

"I know, I'll get her." He soothes, and you wilt, easily reassured by him, something that makes his chest swell with pride. He keeps his fingers moving, stroking across your skin, settling you into twilight, and just as you slip into your own dreams, he whispers a final testament, something he carries with him, every second of every day. "I've got you. I've got you both."

[rainydaydreamsideblog]

(The Maze Runner) Imagine: He Protects You

It can be dangerous, especially for the only girl in the Glade.

Warnings: Guys being creeps in the Glade (nothing graphic), bullying, the Maze, danger.

. . .Thomas. . .

It’s a beautiful evening in the Glade.  You’re walking straight along the treeline on your way to run a final errand for Alby at the end of the day.  The sun is no longer visible, as it already descended far enough to be blocked by the walls.

Suddenly, you get the creeps.  It was hard to explain, but you feel goosebumps bloom along your skin, and you get the distinct feeling that you’re not alone.  The lovely glow of the bonfire is in your field of vision, but it’s so far away. It’s where most of the guys are gathered.  You can hear their distant whoops and hollers, reminding you that help is far away too.

A twig snaps, and your suspicions are confirmed.  There’s a figure following several feet behind you, lurking in the shadows cast from the trees above.

So, you veer off your original path to draw closer to the homestead where there would hopefully be someone who hadn’t made it to the bonfire yet.  Whoever it was must have caught on to what you were doing because they instantly pick up their pace.  You begin to hurry, increasing your speed so that they can’t catch you before you make it to what you hope will be a haven of safety.

Your heart is pounding, and your chest heaving with panicked breaths as you finally make it to the homestead.  

“Hello?” you call frantically.  

Suddenly, Thomas appears.  He sees your nervous state immediately, his hand taking yours.  But then his eyes lock onto something behind you, and he moves right past you to intercept your pursuer, effectively blocking them from you.

“What’s going on?” he demands.  Your follower is frozen to the spot, stuttering, failing miserably to offer up some sort of explanation.  Thomas steps forward, towering over the guy.  It’s plain to see that he is furious.  His forearms flex and his jaw is clenched.  You can hear his angry breaths as he speaks again.  “That’s what I thought.  Now, get out of here.”

As soon as the guy is gone, Thomas turns around to face you.  His close presence eases your fearful state when he steps into your space, filling your nose with his scent. “You okay?” he asks gently.

You manage a nod.

“We’re going to tell Alby right away.  This isn’t going to happen to you again.  Come here…” He carefully pulls you into his arms for an embrace, as if you’ll break apart if he’s too sudden. You bury your face in his chest, breathing a sigh of relief.  His heartbeat is close to your ears, like a lullaby.

“Thank you…” you whispered.

. . . Newt . . .

You couldn’t take it anymore.

The teasing, the taunts… The inability of certain individuals to just leave you alone.  Ever since you’d rejected him, Allan had made it his life’s mission to make your existence in the Glade all the more difficult.

Most recently, he had purposely bumped into you at lunchtime so that your meal was spilled all over your clothes and onto the ground.  Resources were limited in the Glade.  It was understood that wastefulness wouldn’t be tolerated.  You couldn’t afford to lose food or have clothing ruined.  Fortunately, your clothes would be fine after a wash, but the discarded food was a different story.

You dab at your tank top with a washcloth and pause to look at your reflection in the mirror.  It was all too easy to recall how quickly you’d reached your limit after Allan’s ridiculous ploy.  Your face is still wet from crying, eyes puffy, and lips parted as you took deep breaths.

There’s no use crying over spilled milk, you thought. Or in my case, spilled lunch.

After composing yourself, you decide it’s time to go back out there and face the music. You toss the damp rag aside and march determinedly out of the empty washroom.  To your surprise, you smack right into another individual coming in.  You instantly recognize the blonde hair and grumbles of complaint as he reels from the collision.

“Oi, shank, watch where you’re going-”  Newt quickly realizes it’s you and clamps his mouth shut, extending his hands to each of your shoulders to steady you gently.  He takes in the sight of your tear-stained face with his eyes showing clear concern.  “Hey, what’s gotten into you?”

“Oh, just… Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Newt looks far from convinced, and you lower your gaze.  He’s about to inquire further, but a familiar voice sounds from outside the washroom.

“Hey, _______!” Allan calls tauntingly, making you freeze up.  “How’s it going in there?”

Newt’s eyes instantly flash, and his face scrunches up anger.  You can hardly believe it when Allan continues.

“Sorry about my clumsiness earlier.  Maybe I can make it up to you.  Come on out before I go in there!”

Newt can’t contain himself anymore.  He turns on his heel and heads out of the washroom, and you follow behind just to see the look on Allan’s face when he realizes he’s been caught.

It is so worth it.  Allan’s stupid grin falls hard into a look of horror as the Second-in-Command approaches him furiously.  He doesn’t lay a hand on him, but he looks like he’s awfully close when he jabs a pointer finger in his direction.

“If I ever catch you bothering her, or even breathing in her general direction again, you’ll be a permanent Slopper for the rest of your time here in the Glade.  Do you understand, shank?”

Allan nods quickly, and doesn’t even wait to be dismissed.  He just hurries away, leaving you and Newt both standing there watching him flee.

“Coward,” he mumbles.  Then, Newt turns to you, resting a hand on your arm in a comforting gesture.  “I mean it, you know.  He’ll never bother you again.”

. . . Minho . . .

It’s hard not to panic when you glance up and can no longer see the sun above you. It’s the end of the day, and you’re nearly out of time.  The lightning pain that shoots through your ankle suddenly just becomes too much.  You lean against one of the ivy-covered walls and exhale.

“I don’t think I’m going to make it,” you say aloud, and the words weigh heavily on you.  You mentally scold yourself.  You can’t afford to think that way.  A Runner knows better.  With a wince, you continue limping on your way.  It’s not that the exit from the Maze isn’t close.  If memory serves you right (which it did), it wasn’t too far at all… but at your pace, it would take a lot of effort and some good luck to get you back in time.

Just when you are about to give up again, you hear footsteps rapidly approaching.  Your first thought is that perhaps your cowardly companion had a change of heart, but the footsteps didn’t match.

“Hello?” you call.

“_________!” Minho’s voice responds, and your heart swells with hope.  You aren’t out of the woods just yet, but your chances were much better with help. Minho nearly slides to a stop in front of you, instantly taking your arm and putting it around his broad shoulders to help you up.  There is no time to stop and compare notes, so you update him as he begins helping you back along the path.

“I sprained my ankle.” You hold onto Minho like he’s your lifeline as you push through the pain to keep up with his pace.  He’s right to go so fast.  Time is running out.

“Where’s Derek?” he asks with a grunt.

“He…he left me,” you gasp in pain.  “I think he was worried he wouldn’t make it out in time if he helped me.”

Minho goes quiet for a moment, and you can practically feel the anger rolling off him in waves.  His eyes are focused straight ahead at the path, and he huffs.  Finally, he bites out a sarcastic comment. “I think it’s safe to say that he’s getting demoted from being a Runner.”

You keep talking, trying to distract the both of you from the familiar groan of the Maze walls shifting.  “Why did you come out here?”

“Because it was getting late in the day, and no one had seen you,” he pants.  “Usually, you check in with me right away.  I knew something had to be wrong.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

You continue limping with all your might toward the gate, feeling your heart jump, as the walls on either side begin their agonizingly slow crawl to a close.  There’s a small group standing on the other side, ushering you both out anxiously.  It was mostly Keepers, a select few who had been informed of the problem by Minho.

The two of you fell onto the green grass, gasping for breath, while the others surrounded you.  Alby knelt down beside you, resting a hand on your shoulder.  You just let yourself breathe, tears welling up in your eyes from relief.

“So it’s true?” Gally questioned, brows raised.  “Derek left her in there.” “Yes,” Minho replied, sitting up.  “And he will face the consequences.”  He looked over at you, finally catching his breath.  “You’re safe now.”

. . . Gally . . .

James had been haunting your steps for far too long.  He was always there, always hanging around, and sometimes showing up at the most alarming of instances.  What could be done about it?  It wasn’t as if he’d taken severe enough action to warrant disciplinary measures, you thought.  He was only ever seen staring at you, smirking, and just being an all-around jerk at times.

This time, he’d snatched your tools away from your working station while your back was turned. After uncovering a particularly tough old root, you turned around to get a spade to chop it up, only to see that your things were gone.

A few laughs caught your attention, and you glanced over to see James and one of his shadows standing there, staring at you from several feet away.  You couldn’t say for certain, but it seemed like they had something to do with your missing tools.

So, now you’re debating with yourself on the best course of action.  Do you ignore him and try to rustle up some extra tools from Newt or Zart?  Or do you bother to give this shank the attention he’s so desperately seeking to get your stuff back?

You don’t really like the latter option.  Frankly, James gives you the creeps. The last thing you want is to play his little game… But every minute that you spend deliberating is wasted time that could be put towards helping the Glade.

As much as you despise indulging him, you find yourself marching right over to his work area.  Both James and his minion are laughing in amusement, shoving each other at the sight of you approaching.

“Do you know where my tools went?” you ask, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“I might,” James replies cryptically.  “And I might be willing to strike up a bargain for that information.”

You fold your arms across your chest.  “What could you possibly want?”

“Ohh, I don’t know…Perhaps a kiss will do.”

You make a face as the disgust hits you.  “Seriously?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

“Yeah, that’s going to be a ‘no’ for me.”  You wave off the concept, turning around.  You decided that your best bet is to find some spare tools.  This just wasn’t worth all the trouble.  Just as you start to leave, James comes running around to block you.

“Hey now, I didn’t say you could go.”

“Yeah, you might want to think about his offer,” James’ lackey said from behind you.  The two of them close in, and you clench your fists in preparation to fight.  If you make enough commotion, you’re sure that someone will notice and come to your aid.

You give him one last chance.  “Let me pass.”

“Come on, just one kiss.  Unless you want more than one after that-” to your relief, James is cut off by a new voice interjecting.

“What’s going on here?” The three of you turn to see Gally standing there, sweating from whatever project he was working on,with dirt and wood shavings on his clothes.  His expression looks expectant as he waits for an explanation, though his tall and bulky form makes him appear positively dangerous as he stares the two guys down with his hands resting on his hips.

“I, uh.. We…”  They break off in stutters and fumbled words.

“I’m fairly certain they have my tools,” you say, and Gally’s famous arched brows raise at the two guys in disbelief.

“Is that so?” As Gally walks forward, he plants his palms harshly on James’ shoulder, shoving him clear out of the way. James stumbles unceremoniously, almost falling straight into the grass.  Gally walks over to the bench and pauses.  He picks up a bundle of leather and tosses it to you, the tools rattling inside.  “Are those yours?”

You recognize it immediately.  “Yes, these are the ones.”

“You shanks had better never even speak to her again.  Understand?” He stares at each of them pointedly with all the authority of a Keeper, and they both nod.  With that, Gally walks up to you and ushers you away with a warm, gentle hand on your back protectively.

“Your timing was impeccable,” you say quietly.  “Thank you.”

“They won’t bother you again.  I’ll make sure of it.”

“I think you already have,” you chuckle.

[greengoblinswifey]

Going Down on Fratboy!Nicholas Chavez

warnings— sub!nicholas, dry humping, oral(m receiving), praise kink, overstimulation, orgasm denial.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

You hadn't stepped foot in the frat house since the incident—when everyone had heard you and Nicholas through the thin walls of his room. You weren’t embarrassed by it, though. If anything, it was just funny how the guys hadn’t let either of you live it down.

Tonight, you decided it was time to pay him a visit. As you walked into the house, the guys turned, their voices rising over the blaring music.

“Chavez’s hot girl is back!” one of them hollered.

“Lucky bastard,” another whistled.

You just rolled your eyes and headed straight upstairs. Nicholas’ door was slightly ajar, and you found him in his usual spot, sitting in his chair, eyes glued to his computer screen. His headphones rested around his neck, and the glow from his monitor lit up his face. When he saw you, his expression softened into that goofy, boyish smile you adored.

“Baby,” he said, swiveling in his chair just as you climbed into his lap, throwing your arms around his neck. His hands instinctively settled on your waist, holding you close.

“Miss me?” you teased, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Always,” he breathed, his voice already thick with that familiar need. He shifted slightly under you, and you could feel him—hard and ready.

You pulled back, raising an eyebrow. “Already?”

Nicholas’ cheeks turned pink, but he didn’t even try to deny it. “I smelled your perfume downstairs,” he admitted, almost shyly. “It drives me crazy every time.”

You laughed, leaning in to kiss him, soft at first, then deeper. His hands traveled along your back, fingertips tracing the strings of your dress. You began to move slowly in his lap, just enough to tease him, your hips pressing down on his dick in a steady rhythm. His breath hitched, and then it started—that sweet, helpless whimper that made you melt every time.

“Please,” he whispered, his head tilting back as you moved faster, grinding against him. His hands tightened on your waist, and his voice grew desperate. “Oh, God baby, I’m close.”

That’s when you stopped, sliding off his lap with a playful smirk. He groaned, almost whining at the loss of contact.

“Not yet,” you murmured, kneeling between his legs. “I’d rather have your cum in my mouth.”

Nicholas’ lips parted as his head tipped back, his Adam's apple bobbing as he exhaled shakily. “You know that’s my favorite thing ever,” he whispered, voice trembling with anticipation.

“Oh, I know,” you replied, a sly smile tugging at your lips.

You knelt between his legs, pulling his sweatpants and boxers down in one smooth motion. He was already so hard, his length thick and flushed, standing tall in front of you. The way he twitched in the cool air made your chest tighten with satisfaction. He whimpered softly when you wrapped your hand around him, stroking him slowly, teasingly, before moving lower to cup and caress his balls.

“Please,” he gasped, his hips twitching forward as he clutched at the armrests of his chair. “Baby, please—use your mouth.”

You chuckled softly, leaning forward to press a kiss to his tip before taking him into your mouth. The heat of him stretched your lips as you moved down slowly, letting him feel every inch. His breath caught, and when you glanced up at him through your long lashes, his eyes were locked on your big brown ones. His mouth hung open, and the silk press framing your face made the sight of you almost too much for him to handle.

“Fuck—baby,” he whimpered, his voice trembling as his hands hovered, unsure whether to bury themselves in your hair. You kept your pace deliberate, the slow drag of your tongue sending shivers through him. You could feel his balls twitch, and his thighs tensed beneath your hands.

Suddenly, you pulled away, his length leaving your lips with a soft pop. He gasped, frantic and wide-eyed. “Why’d you stop?” he blurted, desperation thick in his voice.

You tilted your head, your lips curling into a wicked smile. “I want to get everything out of you, Nick,” you said. “It won’t be so easy.”

His head fell back with a groan, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. “You’re evil,” he muttered, but the way his body leaned into you betrayed how much he loved it.

You returned to him, taking him deeper this time, your pace quickening as you worked him over. His hips bucked slightly, his whimpers turning into soft cries. “Oh, God—baby, I can’t,” he stammered, his body trembling as you overstimulated him, refusing to stop. Your hand moved in sync with your mouth, your fingers grazing his sensitive skin.

By the time you paused again, his head was tilted back, his face flushed, and his chest heaving as if he’d run a marathon. “You’re going to kill me,” he murmured, breathless, but the look in his eyes told you he’d let you do it all over again.

You pulled him up, guiding him over to his bed and giving him a gentle push, sending him sprawling back onto the mattress. With a smirk, you climbed up onto the bed, positioning yourself on your knees, arching your back as you reached out to lift his shirt, trailing soft kisses down his abs.

His breathing hitched, eyes wide as he watched, completely mesmerized. You took him back into your mouth, slow, savoring the way he whimpered and clutched the sheets beneath him. “Please, baby,” he stammered, voice heavy with desperation. “Please, let me—let me cum.”

“Not yet, baby,” you whispered, pulling back for a moment. “Be a good boy and wait.” He nodded quickly, panting, “Yes ma’am yes, anything you say.” His praises were endless, gasping out how good you were, how perfectly you took him, as his hands clenched and unclenched the sheets with the need for release.

Just as he seemed on the edge, you leaned back, teasing him one last time. “If you really want it, beg me,” you cooed, and he broke instantly, pleading and promising with breathless, frantic words. “Oh God please baby, fuck— please let me cum for you. I’m your good boy aren’t I? I’m your good boy please let me cum, I’ve been so good please let me cum in your mouth.

You smirked and took him to the back of your throat and finally, he shuddered, releasing in a rush. He practically exploded in your mouth, ropes of cum going down your throat and as you eased him out of your mouth, he spurted all over your chin and your chest. His body trembled as he murmured soft, almost dazed thanks. You leaned over to kiss him, your hand in his hair as he whispered, “Thank you, thank you so much baby, you’re fucking amazing, no one does it like you.”

[crushpunky]

actress!reader visits drew on the obx set

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

Y/n gripped onto the golf cart as they pulled onto the property they were shooting on that day: a beach filled with kooks and pogues, all lounging about on the sand and floating on their surfboards in the soft lull of the ocean. They came to a halt, a short while back from where the cameras and crew sat, before continuing on foot.

“Y/n!” Madelyn whispered loudly, waving at y/n excitedly as they approached the set. Y/n smiled, waving back at her before settling underneath one of the umbrellas situated in the sand.

“Alright, Rafe and Sofia, action!” One of the directors shouted. Y/n’s eyes finally locked on who she had been thinking about the entire ride to the beach; there, with a pair of dark sunglasses perched on his nose, sat Drew. The sun glistened off of his skin and fresh buzz cut in a way that made y/n’s cheeks flush in the hot, Carolina sun.

“You should talk to her, Rafe.” Fiona, or rather Sofia, said, squinting to look up towards Drew. Drew ran a hand over his buzzed hair, a gruff-Rafe Cameron expression on his face.

“If she talks to me.” Drew said gruffly, slinging an arm around Fiona’s shoulders. She sunk into his side, resting her cheek on Drew’s broad chest. The two of them looked over past the camera where the Twinkie sat for a moment before turning to walk back towards the Jeep parked behind them. As they walked together through the sand, they talked to each other quietly, Fiona laughing as Drew pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

Drew was an actor, and a professional one at that, but something about seeing him be with someone else like that made all rational thinking leave y/n’s mind. She trusted him, of course, and she trusted Fiona… so why was she feeling so weird?

“Cut! That’s… good! We’re good! Thanks everyone.” The director shouted, the slew of extras letting out a holler. Drew removed his arm from Fiona’s shoulders, the two of them taking a measured step away from each other before turning back towards the camera. Once Drew’s eyes locked with her own, a huge grin broke out on his face. Nearly stumbling in the sand, Drew took off at a sprint straight towards y/n. Once he met her, he caught her in a hug, lifting her off her feet as he kissed her slowly.

Chase let out a holler, finally breaking the moment between the two of them as Drew sat y/n back onto the ground. He looked down at her, sliding his sunglasses on top of his head to look at her more clearly. The sun was reflecting beautifully off her skin, making her almost glisten in the salty air.

“Jesus I missed you so fucking much.” Drew groaned, pressing yet another kiss to y/n’s lips, causing her to grin.

“I haven’t seen him smile that much all week.” JD commented, causing Drew to roll his eyes as his cheeks turned a light pink.

“Sorry that I love my girlfriend.” Drew said with a cheeky grin, pulling y/n into his side. Y/n giggled, her arm snaking around Drew’s midsection comfortably.

“He’s not allowed to have any fun without me. None of you are.” Y/n teased, pointing between the cast playfully.

“You must be y/n?” A voice said from behind y/n and Drew, the two of them turning to see Fiona. Her hair was blowing softly in the wind, framing her tanned skin and perfect, glittering smile.

“Uh, yeah.” Y/n swallowed, her eyes stuck on the positively radiant girl in front of her. It’s not like she was “sizing her up” or anything, of course she knew she wasn’t competition, but something about her made her head spin. Could she even blame Drew if he liked this girl? I mean she was beautiful, talented, and had such a glowing presence to her…

“It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.” Fiona grinned, glancing between y/n and Drew as she spoke. Drew nodded as y/n subconsciously pulled him closer to her.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” y/n said. “It’s a shame we didn’t cross paths when I was still hanging around this set.”

“Oh, you miss filming with these dumbasses?” Drew nudged y/n playfully, gesturing towards Chase and Rudy as they chased JD with a clump of some sort of sea moss.

“Maybe a little bit,” y/n looked up at Drew. “I definitely miss filming with you.”

“Well, Drew is a great friend and I’m so happy I got to meet the woman he talks about all the time.” Fiona said with one last smile and wave before heading off the beach. Y/n watched as she walked, stopping to any of the crew members or extras that looked her way, greeting each of them with the same bright smile and lively attitude.

“Hello?” Drew said, finally pulling y/n out of her own racing thoughts. She looked back towards him, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Hmm?” She hummed, causing a smirk to dance across Drew’s lips.

“Ahh, I see what it is.” Drew nodded to himself as the two of them walked towards the water.

“What?” Y/n asked.

“Nothing, nothing.” Drew shrugged, looking out at the waves as he lowered his sunglasses back down.

“What?” Y/n asked again, hitting Drew lightly with her hip. Drew dramatically stumbled to the side with a faux gasp before straightening himself back with a wide smile.

“Somebody is jealous.” Drew said with a small raise of his eyebrows.

“What?!” Y/n nearly shouted. “I am not—”

“Hey, it’s fine. I get it, it’s not… easy to see.” Drew looked down at her.

“I…” Y/n’s response fell as she tilted her head back with a groan of realization. Shit. Maybe he was right, maybe she was jealous. Yes, every rational part of her brain told her it was fine, it was just his job (hell, she had to do it too), but still that little part ate away at her…

“Hey, look at me,” Drew said, his hand slipping off y/n’s shoulder to grab one of her hands. She looked at him, a feeling of embarrassment washing over her at the thoughts she had allowed to get to her.

“I promise you that you have absolutely nothing to worry about,” Drew said, pressing a kiss to y/n’s temple. “Fiona is great, but she’s no you, a’ight? Nobody ever could be. Nobody.”

A smile crept onto y/n’s cheeks before Drew pulled her into an intoxicating hug. She wrapped her arms around him, feeling the familiar shape of his body and inhaling the scent of his cologne.

“I love you…” Drew said as the two of them finally pulled away, his arms still holding her against his chest. Y/n grinned at him before moving to rest her cheek against his chest, the sound of his heart beating steadily in her ear reminding her of what was true. What was real: all the memories and happiness she shared with the man right in front of her. The man who she was hopelessly, head over heels in love with… just like he was with her.

“... even when you get jealous.” Drew added, pinching y/n’s side playfully, causing her to giggle.

“I love you.” Y/n said, the two of them taking in the soft lull of the ocean in eachothers arms, any thoughts of jealousy or anyone else long gone.

[zyafics]

TLC | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (imagine) | x Female Reader

Word Count — 1.0K

lıllılı No Scrubs by TLC

THINKING ABOUT... catching Rafe's eyes across the restaurant. It makes him notice everything about you—the way your cute skirt grazes across your thighs, your short top that's tantalizing enough to reveal a bit of your cleavage but have him wanting more, and your eyes. Fuck, those eyes. He keeps catching your gaze every so often, the innocence gleaming behind them paired with a mischievous look that dares him to move forward and talk to you but also warns that you won't be an easy target.

THINKING ABOUT... you standing from your table, rallying for your entourage to leave, throwing out a hundred-dollar bill to cover the check. You sashay out of the room, your arms linked around another friend, while your skirt rides up just enough to catch a sight of the fullness of your ass, and a trailing of dark ink—as if you have a small tattoo that's begging him to unravel and see. All while you're throwing one last glance over your shoulders to Rafe, with a charming smile that he wonders would be his last.

THINKING ABOUT... Rafe rising from his seat and before he has the chance to think, hustles his friends from the booth and out the door, not wanting to let you slip away. He catches the neon-red glow of rearlights through the window and sees you slip into the backseat of your friend's car.

THINKING ABOUT... you joining the giggles and squeals of your friends, how you're telling you about the boy who's been eye-fucking you all night. But you merely shrug them off. Then, all their easygoing expressions are wiped off their faces as they point to something outside your window, where your back is facing, and turning to discover Rafe hanging out of the passenger side of his friend's car, shouting for your attention.

THINKING ABOUT... how your eyes flit with bright amusement, tilting your head at Rafe as he tries to call out to you. His words are muffled by the closed window, and the high-speed ride down the road, while your friends are laughing and revering over his dangerous act. It's to the point that your best friend, in the driver's seat, slows the car down to match the speed of your courting companion.

THINKING ABOUT... how Rafe is pointing to you, saying something you cannot hear. So, you cup your hand around your ear, mockingly, teasing, asking, "What? What was that?" as Rafe reads your lips in a challenge. He repeats what he's saying, to no avail, before impatience wears thin on his handsome face and he gestures for you to roll down your window. You reluctantly—with the encouragement of your friends—do.

THINKING ABOUT... Rafe asking for your number, the resonance of his volume roars over the heavy grind of car engines, the harsh whistles of the wind, the rich atmosphere of street lamps streaming down the street, the bright lights of towering skyscrapers, and the fullness of traffic surrounding you making your head feel lightheaded. He shouts "I want your number," and you feel an odd mix of endearment from his courage and disapproval at how he's hollering at you from the passenger side of his best friend's car.

THINKING ABOUT... you and Rafe flirting across the flow of traffic. Him asking for your number on several occasions and you rebuffed his each and every attempt. It's exhilarating, how he's sitting on the window seal of the passenger door, while you're unbuckled and twisted, head nearly out of the window. It isn't until there's a traffic light that flashes red that everything changes.

THINKING ABOUT... how Rafe pulled himself back into the car, before opening his door and moving across the stagnant road to open yours. He studies you from head to toe, from the way you sit all pretty and poise on the seat, to your manicured nails that adorns a pretty shade of your favorite color that he can't help but imagine them clawing against his backside. "We don't have space for a spare ride," you would tease him, only for him to respond that he doesn't want a ride. Just a number.

THINKING ABOUT... the ticking clock of your interaction. There's only a couple of seconds until the light flashes green. Your friends are encouraging you, whispering that you'll never meet a guy like him again, who plays dangerous games to make you glance at him; who wants you so badly, that he's willing to defy state laws to grab your attention. You glance at the traffic behind you, the lines of cars waiting, watching, and with great resignation—and the cheers of Rafe's friends from his car—you type the digits into his cell.

THINKING ABOUT... the moment you hand Rafe his phone back, the light turns green. Cars behind goes to honk, telling you to move along, but Rafe refuses to step back to his vehicle. Refuses to budge. He turns to you, with a tilt of his head and a cocky smile. "Kiss for goodbye?"

THINKING ABOUT... how your friends are practically squealing at this invitation. Rafe offers his hand to allow you to step out onto the busy asphalt road, and you step on your tippytoes to give him something on his cheek. But, at the last second, Rafe turns and steals the kiss from your lips.

THINKING ABOUT... how it's the best kiss of your life. He lingers, catching the back of your head as he deepens the taste of your lips, nibbling on the plumped bottom lip, till you part and he swirls his tongue against yours. When you separate, your face is flush with heat, his expression is more than satisfied, and he bids you farewell with a promise of calling you tomorrow. When he drifts back to the passenger seat, he slams the door close, and with a parting glance in your direction, Rafe leaves.

THINKING ABOUT... the aftermath of that. Cars honking snaps you back into reality and you immediately return to the backseat. The moment you return, buckled and seated, your friends are interrogating you about what happened. They were too far to see, to bear witness of what just happened. And when one of their hand lands on your arm, taking in your shocked expression, you answer their question. "Fucker just stole my first kiss."

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[dr4kenlvr]

jjk men + types of kisses

feat. yuji itadori, megumi fushiguro, ino takuma, choso, noritoshi kamo - fluff

nana's note. thinking about ino and noritoshi a lot ... :( just wanna hold them and kiss them pls gege help a girl out

yuji love love loves cheek kisses. when he walks past you—but doesn't have the chance to stop and talk—he'll place a warm palm on one cheek and smooch a quick pouty kiss to your other. "catch you later, babe!" he calls out as he runs after fushiguro. it always leave you flushed, especially if you're with your friends AHH. yuji expects requited kisses in return as well, and glady accepts them whenever you're willing. he's so cute; leaning on his elbows on the desk, palms propped beneath his chin as he patiently blinks up at you. or rather, expectently. and when you finally kiss him, his eyes sparkle. "my day is going so much better already!"

megumi goes for the modest temple kiss. the kind that he can plant on you anytime without drawing too much attention. approaches this super meticulously so he doesn't fuck up and have nobara or yuji start hollering at you two. he'll grab you with an arm either by your waist or your shoulders and pull you into him before kissing your temple softly and letting go. does this alll the time—for comfort, when he's missed you, when he knows you've missed him. megumi'll smile down at you gently before he moves on with his day, you tagging along behind him.

ino HAS to kiss you on the lips, or it's not a kiss to him (jk he loves kissing every part of you but lips top it all). he's lowkey so sensual with it too like WHATTTT ino???? (im giggling). nimble fingers fleeting up your neck while he pulls you in with his other palm, flat against the small of your back. LOVES it when you lift just the bottom of his mask up cause feels like a superhero BAHAHA. specifically, spider-man for obvious reasons—and you bet he has attempted to do the spider-man kiss with you multiple times (many ending with him landing flat on his face or ass).

choso, dare i give myself the mental image—is a knuckles kisser. hear me OUT, this man is so over his heels in love with you. literally worshipping the ground you step on. but you told him he can’t kiss your feet so he opts to kiss your hands, specifically each of your knuckles. his lips brush over the bone so fleetingly, it’s like he never did it. but his thumb rubs soothing circles on the back of your hand and your face flushes every time you look down at him. his eyes are closed and his bangs sweep over his face perfectly. god, you love your handsome man.

noritoshi (i’m giggling as i type this next part) likes to kiss your shoulders. (someone HELP me i am going INSANE.) only ever does it in the privacy of your guy’s rooms. you will NOT catch him kissing you anywhere else. but it’s kinda hot—private, not secret you know? plus, he makes up for the lack of public affection because the private affection goes so hard. i’m talking noritoshi slowly removing your top, revealing in the way your skin glows when you’re with him. his lips pepper light kisses down your shoulder, making sure to pay extra attention to that spot near the juncture of your neck.