#jeans so whipped its insane

[deeppenguinstudent]

Jean telling I hate you to Kevin and being totally standoffish with him after the Nest only to turn around and defend his name in USC like his life depended on it will never not be funny

[loliwrites]

Yard Work | The One You Need

pairing: neighbor!joel miller x f!reader  summary: drabble from the “The One You Need” universe warnings/tags: au, neighbor joel, age gap [reader is late 20s/early 30s, Joel is late 40s], hyper-independent reader, fluff, allusions to a blowjob, body worship [arms], terms of endearment [sweetheart], female reader, reader wears a bikini, no physical description, protective!joel, soft!joel, dare i say ei!joel, no use of y/n. word count: 1.5k series masterlist a/n: for @joelmillerisapunk’s ppcu body worship writing challenge. all about joel miller and them delicious arms

Summer in Austin wasn’t so bad when there was a chaise lounge chair to sprawl out on, on the deck with the sun beating its rays down upon you. It also wasn’t too bad when you had a hot neighbor who, on a fairly regular basis, gave you the best sex of your life, and who also coincidentally did all the manual labor around the house for you. Because while you were sprawled out in a bikini on a less than hotel style chaise, nursing a beer which was quickly losing its cool and condensating on the glass, Joel was out in your backyard, mowing the lawn.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

“Your fuckin’ grass is gettin’ so long, it’s bringing down the value of my house,” Joel pointed out while in bed that morning. All he had to do was look out your window and see the jungle being created by your lack of a gardener.

“Whoever should I get to tidy it up?” You only smirked, leaning over and straddling his body with yours. Surely, soft kisses down his chest would do the trick.

“A gardener,”

Your pouted, lips pressed to his sternum, and continued your way down to his stomach, adding your tongue to the mix for safe measure. If he was going to play hard to get, you could play a little harder. By the time you reached the waistband of his boxer-briefs, you could see the outline of his shaft, now half-hard. “What kind of payment would you like, Mr. Gardener?” You batted your eyelashes up at him while your fingertips coyly tucked beneath his waistband and pulled back just enough for his length to spring out and fall back against his waist.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” He grinned and set his hand on the back of your head, adding just a hint of pressure, “get to work.”

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

His old, gasoline push mower was capable enough for handling the size of your suburban backyard. A riding lawn mower might’ve been more efficient – or at least one of those new-fangled electric mowers that self-propelled. But this old Toro lawn mower, surely from the 90s, was reliable. Just like the man using it.

You paid for it first but now seeing him work, it definitely felt like you’d short changed him. He was putting on quite the show without even knowing it. Midway through your rather unkempt backyard, Joel let the gas lawn mower come to a stop. You’d paid him extra attention when the grumbling of the machine quieted, and found that he was reaching for the hem of his t-shirt. Hands tucked beneath it, he raised the lower half up and dragged it across his forehead, wiping away the sweat. The softness of his belly on partial display. And then as if realizing he was insane for keeping the shirt on in this heat in the first place, pulled the garment over his head. He tucked a corner of it into the back pocket of his jeans, letting the rest of it fly and whip behind him like a flag.

Then, nudging sunglasses down the bridge of your nose, you ogled at the way he bent over and hooked his fingers around the plastic grip of the pull cord. His long arm stretched fully, and then with a quick yank back, he tugged the cord upward. His bicep and tricep flexed simultaneously, the cuts of the muscles showing in his skin. That glorious machine. You could’ve kissed it on the spot. Old. Reliable. But temperamental. It didn’t roar to life with the first pull. His arm outstretched again. The sinewy tendons in his forearm became visible as he grabbed for the cord again. Then another pull back. Every muscle in his arm seemed to work in tandem, from his forearm right up to his shoulder. 

Now the mower roared to life. And the man behind it, ready to get the job done, put some force behind it and got the machine moving again. Cutting down the grass you weren’t sure you’d let get out of control just so you could have this very moment. You pushed your sunglasses up the bridge of your nose and laid back in your chaise, satisfied to revert to the mental image you had of him in your fantasies while the noise of the mower continued on. It wasn’t just that idea of being in the arms of a man. In your experience, there weren’t too many men worth being in the arms of. Though on the surface, the ogling of his arms – those beautiful, strong arms – was nothing but a bit of objectification, the truth dug so much deeper. 

Because it was the time you stopped at a job site after Joel had left his lunch at home. Surely he could’ve bought something, but he’d worked so hard on prepping a full lunch for it to go to waste in the insulated lunchbox forgotten on the kitchen counter. And at the job site, you spotted him with a long two by four propped on his shoulder, arm flexed to keep it steady as he walked it into the framed house. And the way you reached forward and set your free hand on his upper arm; fingers grazing along the cut of his bicep. How he pivoted his head and looked back at you. An instant smile spread across his face. The wrinkles by his eyes accentuated. 

It was also the time you’d had that terrible date. The one that ended on your front porch, hoping this guy would leave without incident despite him being a little more forward than you would’ve liked. How when he tried to push his way in, Joel materialized there. Only finding out later that night that he’d tucked his handgun into the back of his waistband. Just incase. But before that, when the boy, having grown disenchanted with the idea of bedding you walked off, how Joel used his frame to block you. His arms hung almost comfortably at his sides. Big. Muscular. Even later that night, when you followed behind him with your hand in his back pocket as he cleared your house of any potential burglars. How his arms felt like the ultimate protection. As if nothing would be able to touch you as long as you stayed behind them. Behind him. 

His arms were a great source of power. But they were also capable of such gentleness. More than you’d ever known. The same arms that were capable of carrying two by fours upon them were equally capable of wrapping around your waist and pulling you back into the cradle of his chest. The arms that had offered their formidable protection were the same ones that you often linked your hand around as you walked through the neighborhood in the evenings.

Then somewhere between the mental image of you curled up against him on the couch watching tv, and being caged beneath his arms in bed, you felt a weight settle over you and came to the awareness that the lawn mower had quieted down. You blinked a couple times to get your eyes used to the new brightness despite your sunglasses, and found Joel on top of you – hips nestled between your legs; his back pressed against your abdomen, and his head rested against your sternum. 

With a smile, you pressed your lips to the top of his head and trailed your hands down from his shoulders to his biceps. “I don’t pay hourly,” you smiled again and tucked your hands around his torso. 

“You’re a bad employer,” he smirked and took a deep breath. “Jus’ needed a break and you looked comfortable,”

You nodded, practically to yourself and gently dragged your fingernails over his skin. Then, because they just looked so tempting, you trailed your fingers back to his arms. Starting as far down as you could reach since his hands were curled around your legs and hooked over your shins, you settled with the crook of his elbow. The vein there protruded from beneath the thin skin, and you followed up back into his bicep, where the muscle flexed beneath your touch.

Joel tilted his head back with a deep inhale. On the exhale, he released a moan that made you think he might just leave your lawn half-completed. And while you definitely would want to see his muscles flexing as he jostled you around in bed, and then again when he’d surely curl his hand around your throat, you also wanted your backyard to look semi respectable – at least the HOA would want you to.

“That lawn’s not gonna mow itself,”

“Five minutes,” he mumbled. The sound of that made you think his eyes were long closed, “restin’ my eyelids.”

“We both know if you wait five minutes, you’re never gonna get back to it. And if you don’t get back to it, how are you gonna get your next blowjob for completion?”

He started to rile almost immediately. Enough that his arms now jostled you in trying to sit up and get away as quickly as possible. Then with speed you were sure his joints fought against, he ran across the grass, back to the mower, and bent forward for the pull cord again.

That wonderful, glorious, pull cord.

[mrkis]

nct dream reaction :: sending them a dirty text in public

MARK

𝘺𝘰𝘶: 𝘪'𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 ���𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴

the speed at which mark whips his head around the club in search for you has you giggling, the light of his phone illuminating his face in the darkened vip area which allows you to see his expression from your position at the bar. he's in shock, big doe eyes widen open, jaw almost falling to the floor, cheeks flushed. you're proud of yourself for having the effect you have on him. he's still looking for you, even gone as far as standing up from his chair, pushing himself onto his tippytoes to look over the crowd, hoping to find you somewhere in the sea of people before quickly responding back.

𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬: 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦

RENJUN

𝘺𝘰𝘶: 𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘦'𝘳𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪'𝘥 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘮𝘦

your head buzzes as you press send, whether the buzz was from the alcohol or your own arousal, you weren't too sure. but it gave you that confidence boost you needed and you pray you wouldn't get shut down immediately. if you got rejected you could blame it on the drink or maybe tell him you sent it to the wrong person, although its hard to believe when he's your only best friend. but you push your worries to the side for a moment as the delivered sign turns to read. you know he's out right now with yangyang doing god knows what so you don't really expect a reply any time soon, but you giggle uncontrollably when you see that he's typing.

𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘶𝘯: 𝘰𝘬? 𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘶𝘯: 𝘪 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘣 𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘶𝘯: 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘧 ��� 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳?

JENO

𝘺𝘰𝘶: 𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦

jeno's phone buzzes against the table, his hand coming down to cover the notification mid conversation with doyoung, not checking to see who the text was from. you watch from the opposite side of the room in anticipation, waiting for him to pick up the phone and read the risky text you sent his way. he smiles, nods and grips his phone, finally giving it his full attention as he looks down. your stomach swirls with excitement as the smile drops from his face, forming into a smirk as he tongues his cheek, his thumbs tapping against the screen before he places his phone back down on the table.

𝘫𝘦𝘯𝘰: 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦

HAECHAN

𝘺𝘰𝘶: 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘪 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬.

you're playing a risky game. he's doing a live with the members right now, a live that you tuned into on instagram after getting the notification from their groups account. he looks insanely good in his all black outfit, shirt tucked into his jeans as he manspreads on the couch in between renjun and mark. he already has his phone in his hands, spinning the device around as he listens to jisung and chenle bicker over something silly. you watch in anticipation as his screen lights up and his eyes cast down to read the notification. you squeeze your thighs together as haechan's darkened gaze glances up at the camera, as if he knows you're watching him. he shakes his head, bottom lip getting caught between his teeth to hide the smirk.

𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯: 𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦

JAEMIN

𝘺𝘰𝘶: [𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵] 𝘺𝘰𝘶: 𝘱𝘭𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶

you hold your phone tightly in your grasp as you get comfortable on your bed, ankles locked together, grinning down at the screen as you see the text has been read. you've been chilling at home alone for a few hours while jaemin was busy at a meeting with his members, already missing his presence and his touch. you're desperate for him to come home, so desperate that you plugged your ass with a butt plug that jaemin had recently bought for you and sent him it, hoping that he would come to yours quickly. you watch the three bubbles appear and disappear continuously on the screen, wondering what he could be replying back with.

𝘫𝘢𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘯: 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳.

CHENLE

𝘺𝘰𝘶: 𝘪 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵

the look chenle gives you is dirty. you're at his home, surrounded by family and family friends that came over for lunch, made specially by his grandmother who he hasn't seen in awhile. the three of you are bonding on the sofa, letting his grandmother know what you've both been up to lately and what your plans are for the rest of the month. but, even though you enjoy conversations with his family, you can't help but feel the familiar ache in between your legs when you see his hands caress her own in a gentle hold, fingers intertwining with hers. it's so wrong to be thinking this way in front of company, especially getting turned on from watching a sweet gesture. but you still want him to know.

𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘦: 𝘮𝘺 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦. ��𝘩𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘦: 𝘶𝘱𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘷𝘦?

JISUNG

𝘺𝘰𝘶: 𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘸𝘭 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘧𝘧

jisung pulls a face when he sees your name pop up on his lockscreen, wondering why you're messaging him when you're literally in front of him having dinner. he looks over at you, brows pulled together in confusion as you look at him with a blank expression, acting as if you didn't just randomly text him. he chuckles softly, wondering if you were trying to be sneaky and talk about someone that was present in the room, or if you sent him something funny. he unlocks his phone to read the message and almost chokes, knees knocking against the table as he body shakes. you smile innocently, leaning your chin on your hand while you watch him stare down at the message in shock before a flow of messages come through on your end.

𝘫𝘪𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘨: 𝘞𝘏𝘈𝘛?!? 𝘫𝘪𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘨: 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸? 𝘫𝘪𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘨: 𝘞𝘌'𝘙𝘌 𝘐𝘕 𝘗𝘜𝘉𝘓𝘐𝘊?? 𝘞𝘌'𝘙𝘌 𝘐𝘕 𝘈 𝘙𝘌𝘚𝘛𝘈𝘜𝘙𝘈𝘕𝘛 𝘍𝘜𝘓𝘓 𝘖𝘍 𝘗𝘌𝘖𝘗𝘓𝘌?? 𝘫𝘪𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘨: 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘰

©mrkis

[shinestarhwaa]

ENEMY || CHOI SAN

Genre: Smut

Pairing: San x Fem reader

Word Count: 2K

Tags/warnings: Enemies to Lovers!AU, Free Use, Its consented!!!, unprotected sex, rough sex, traffic sign method (safewords), dom!San, rough sex, blowjob, BDSM, spanking (his belt is used as whip), pain kink, hairpulling, name-calling (use of slut&whore), pussyslapping, dacryphilia, choking kink, this is just pure porn lol, pls do not read if you're sensitive to any of these things

this may come off as quite toxic but I mean... enemies to lovers AND free use?

*funfact: the word for hitting someone or something repeatedly with your dick is called swaffelen/zwaffelen and it's Dutch LOL

Taglist: @anyamaris @a-soft-hornytiny @whatudowhennooneseesyou @star1117-archives @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @pyeonghongrie-main @woosanbby @dreamlesswonder86 @lemonhongjoong @babesindestroyland @changbinslovelylegs

ENJOY!

The arrangement you had agreed on was insane, to say the least. You had agreed to let the hottest person on earth fuck you whenevet he wants. What's bad about that, you may think? He also happened to be your absolute enemy.

All through college he had been insufferable, nagging you and playing pranks on you. But now he lived in the same building and on a drunken night you let him take you. With a heavy heart you gave him your key just like you promised. You could barely imagine all the dirty things he'll do to you.

Quickly San started coming over almost everyday. There wasn't a piece of furniture or a room in your apartment he hadn't railed you in yet. The only time he was off limits was when you were on your period or clearly told him no with your safeword; red.

All the other times you'd complain or say no it wouldn't matter. He could do whatever he wanted until you said the word red, and everything would stop immediately. Now you had never have to use your safeword, because you were an absolute slut for this man.

You could already feel your skin tingle when you heard the front door opening. You could tell it was San as you listened to the footsteps. You looked up, stopping with folding your laundry as he walked into the room.

"Hey," he said, undoing his black tie. Man, he looked gorgeous. You swallowed thickly and kept folding your laundry, it was just a regular washing day, but that was gonna change soon enough.

"Hey San," you said. He came up to you, something about him being off. He took the shirt out of your hand and tossed it back in the basket. In no time his lips were attached to your neck, sucking on the sensitive, delicate skin.

You could already feel his hardness press against your thigh, strained against the material of his jeans. "What's wrong, San?" You asked. He sighed, "work frustration. Please just let me take you."

He had never asked 'please' before, so you guessed his work problems might be serious. You had no idea what his job was though and you also didn't care. The contract says he gets to use you whenever he wants but truthfully you're also using him just to get some cock in your pussy.

You knew how much of a slut you could be for him, but no man ever pleasured you the way you wanted to be pleasured, no man would ever treat you the way San did, no man knew how much you loved to be filled up like San did.

San pushed you to the ground and unbuckled his belt, taking it out of his pants. It made your insides flutter, alerting you to his every move. You unbuttoned his jeans and slid them down his legs, taking his underwear down as well.

His big, hard cock sprung free, standing proudly against his stomach. "Suck it, slut," he commanded, gripping your hair tightly. You gasped as he took his cock in his free hand, slapping it on your cheek. "Colour?" "Green, San."

San smirked, you knew he loved hitting you with his cock before he used you. He had a thing for watching it lay against your face, slapping your cheeks and your tongue. You weren't sure what it was about it, but he got a real kick from it, so you let him. Not that you had a choice anyway.

''You fucking love that, you cockslut,'' he grunted as he forced his cock into your mouth, sliding it so far it hit the back of your throat. You gagged and teared up immediately, making him laugh at your helplessness. He thrusted forcefully and quickly, throwing his head back as he threw his head back.

''Fuuuuckkk...,'' San moaned loudly. Tears flowed down your cheeks as you looked up at him. You gagged and choked on his dick repeatedly as he pushed your head down on him, burying himself so deep inside you. He then pulled out of you, letting you regain your breath.

You wiped your tears as you took deep breaths. San grabbed your wrist as he pulled you to the bedroom. ''Undress,'' he commanded. You quickly undressed until you were naked. San ordered you to get on your knees, and you were quick to obey.

San smirked as he watched you swallow thickly. He took his tie and tied your wrists tightly behind your back. You winced slightly from the pain, but it also send tingles down your spine and you could feel yourself dripping between your legs.

It almost brought you shame, to be so aroused by this man, who treated you 'badly' during sex. But how could it be bad when it felt so good, right?

San unbuttoned a few of the buttons of his shirt, revealing his large chest. He wrapped his belt around the palm of his hand twice and stood before you. ''Look at you... eyeing me like that, hungry for some cock...''

His chest was so gorgeous and toned, so muscular you'd die for it. You wanted to lay on it, kiss it, lick it and work your way down to his abs and his crotch but that's not how this worked. San had complete control over you, your body and your sexlife. He ordered you around. He made the rules, and God, you couldn't love it more than you already did.

"So hungry for cock...," you panted out. Before you knew it his belt hit your thighs, making you cry out. San smirked as he brought his belt down again, hitting your breasts. "S-san," you moaned. Your thigh turned red immediately. He was gonna leave big bruises on your body today, but you brought that to yourself after telling him your interests in BDSM.

"You fucking love this, don't you? Being treated like a little whore..."

You closed your eyes, swallowing thickly, trying to control the wetness between your thighs. You loved it so goddam much and it made you so insanely wet. You could practically feel it run down your thighs at this point and it was hard for you to admit how much you loved the way he treated you.

"Open your eyes, slut," he grunted. All his clothes were on the floor and he was standing naked in front of you. "Bend over." You gasped and swallowed thickly. ''I said, bend over.''

"What? Here?" You asked, looking around as you sat on the fluffy carpet. "Yes. Here." You bend over, head on the carpet as your ass was up in the air, exposed for San to hit. Your wrists were still tied on your back, hands shaking ever so slightly.

You could feel your body trembling for him as the anticipation rose. Soon enough you felt another hit on your skin, making you yelp as you felt the cold metal of the belt on your ass. "S-San, please," you begged, even though you weren't sure if you begged him to stop or keep going.

San hit harder this time, bringing tears to your eyes. You mewled and whimpered out his name, clawing at the soft rug underneath you. "Such a whore... You fucking love this don't you," San scoffed as he let his belt come down your behind again.

It started to hurt, the more he hit you. When he used the other end of the belt you could take it longer, but when the medal of his belt buckle hits your sensitive skin it became more serious.

"Y-Yellow, yellow," you panted, the sting of his belt feeling too intense now. San immediately let go of the belt and untied your wrists. Yellow did not mean stop completely, but he knew it meant that it was becoming too much.

San picked you up with ease and laid you on the bed, positioning himself between your legs. You panted out as you rested your head on the soft pillows. The skin on your ass was still burning, but you soon forgot about it as soon as San slipped his tongue inside your pussy.

You moaned out his name as you ran your hands through his raven locks. "Fuck, yes San eat my fucking pussy," you moaned as he moved his tongue inside you, collecting all your juices. You pulled at his hair, making him moan into your cunt.

''Yes! Fuck, just like that, that feels so fucking good San, eat your little slut, fuck me with your tongue!'' You kept desiring him everyday and you could never say no to him, not when he ate your pussy like this.

As San kept working on your cunt you felt your toes curl and your skin tingle. The familiar warmth build up in your abdomen and you soon came undone on San's tongue.

San rode out your orgasm and looked up from between your legs, smirking like a devil. You panted heavily as you came down from your high, sweat collecting on your skin.

The man before you sat up before bringing his hand down to slap at your pussy. You moaned loud as his fingers brushed against your sensitive clit. "S-San, please!" You begged, needing his cock but San ignored you and repeatedly hit your pussy, making you whine loudly.

"Please, please, please! Cock! Give me your cock, now, please!" You cried out, arousal flowing from your cunt. "Why, baby? Are you gonna cry? Gonna sob for my cock? Are you that much of a whore? I know you are, little one," he grunted.

His hand slid over your body to your throat, wrapping around it. Your breath hitched and you just moaned, surprising San and yourself as well. "God, you fucking..."

San didn't know how fast to fill your mouth up with his cock again. You gagged as your throat protested, still being choked as San forced his dick into your mouth. Your eyes teared up immediately and you gagged and let out the most sinful, slick noises as San lost himself in pleasure, using your mouth as his fucktoy. You, as his fucktoy.

"You're such a kinky little minx," San grunted before withdrawing his cock from your mouth and now sliding his big length into your tight pussy. "Such a kinky, naughty, bad little girl."

You moaned and nodded as his hips rocked into you. He fucked you with such a fast pace you nearly saw stars. San gawked at your breasts bouncing around and he only fucked you harder and faster.

"Yes! San, fuck me! Fuck me!"

"Oh baby I'll fuck you, harder than anyone has ever before, gonna fucking ruin your little pussy!" He groaned. "Yes! Yes, ruin it, ruin me, take me," you whined.

The sex that the two of you had was so rough and animalistic that your building must think he was murdering you. You screamed and moaned and grunted loudly, clawing and groping each other. San kept thrusting into you so hard and so deep you swore you'd pass out from the sensation.

Your wetness gushed out of you as you suddenly came, pleasure overtaking you as you clenched on San's cock. "Yeah, fucking cum on my cock, that's it you whore, that's it, cum on my fucking big cock!"

You cried loudly, tears flowing down your cheeks. "Oh yeah, that's it baby, moan for me, fucking cry on my cock, huh? That's a good girl, that's such a good girl."

It was as if San wasn't a person any longer, he was some animalistic beast, thrusting into you and groaning and grunting every word. You sobbed as the sensation became too much, being pushed over the edge once more.

"San! San, S-Sa-an!" You whined loudly. It didn't take long before San filled your cunt with his seeds, moaning loudly as he did so.

You panted out as he pulled away, laying next to you. You sobbed softly, trying to regain your breath and you swore you saw a hint of worry in his eyes.

"T-thank you," San breathed out, closing his eyes. You swallowed thickly and nodded. "No problem, it's what I'm here for." "That's right, beautiful... my little fuck toy," he said with a smouldering look on his face.

His fuck toy. And you didn't even mind.

[lizard-on-a-window-pane]

In more ways than I’ve ever been able to tell you, pt.2!

Hii, this follows straight from my previous angst/fluff friends to lovers fic as things start to get heated… 

smutty below the cut (nothing too raunchy, but still MDNI)

tags/warnings: friends to lovers, smut (kind of), heavy making out and more suggestion than anything too explicit, playful smut

pairing: Sirius Black x reader

word count: 700ish

You swallowed his moan hungrily and gave no resistance as he pushed you up against the counter. His hands came down to your hips, and you jumped up to sit on it, quickly wrapping your legs tightly around him. His firm hands gripped your ass and pulled you impossibly closer. 

“Sirius…” Your voice broke on his name for the second time that night, but now, sweet bliss had replaced desperate anxiety. 

“Yeah, baby, tell me what you want." “I want you.” He chuckled against your mouth. “You already have me, y/n, you’re going to have to be a bit more specific.”

You grunted at his joking tone. How could he still be his easy, relaxed self in this insane moment? How was his head not spinning like yours? his body not burning like yours? It was infuriating, and you were going to have to do something about it. 

Your hand in his hair gave a firm tug, and you ground your hips forward, trying to connect with his. You did, and were met with a large bulge in his jeans and a lower groan than any he had let out so far. 

“Mmm… You’re gonna kill me…” “What is it you always sing to me? ‘To die by your side… is such a heavenly way to die…’” you hummed the familiar lyrics. 

He laughed, nodding. “Heavenly indeed, darling, but there’s a couple of things I want to do to you first…” He bit down on your lower lip, sucking it into his mouth and releasing it slowly with an obscene pop. 

“All these years we’ve secretly wanted to fuck, and you can only come up with a couple?” you shot back. 

“Oh, baby, I’ll have you screaming before we make it any further down my list, trust me.” He looked you up and down, then settled his gaze on your eyes. “I definitely intend to fuck you on every surface of this flat, but I want to take my time with you this first time,” he whispered, pulling you off the counter with the arm he had wrapped around your waist and pulling you toward his bedroom quickly by the hand. 

You couldn’t tell if his words traveled faster to where your heart sat in your chest or where your heat was already throbbing between your legs, the implications of his statement going from hot as hell to endearingly loving by the end. 

As you raced behind him, you couldn’t help but laugh at the familiarity amidst a situation you thought would never occur outside your own head. Too many times to remember, you’d chased after him, hand tightly in his, both laughing as you raced toward some adventure or other. Or, back at school, more often than not, the running part came after the adventure, Filch close on your heels. You internally kicked yourself for thinking of Filch — the turn-off of all turn-off’s — in this of all moments but didn’t struggle to chase him quickly out of your mind as soon as you started thinking about how this adventure with Sirius would be different than all the others. 

You made it to his bedroom, and he whipped around to face you, arms wrapping around you again, lips devouring yours. You swayed with him as if your whole bodies were following the dance your tongues were engaging in. 

He sat down on the bed and pulled you down onto his lap with him, kissing you all the while. You were already shamelessly rutting against each other when the hand he had had splayed out against your lower back, pinning you against him, made its way under your shirt. His other hand held your head close, his fingers entwined in your hair. 

He pulled back just barely; you could still feel his lips moving against yours as he spoke. 

“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this, y/n.” His piercing eyes were lust-blown and heavily lidded as he looked into yours. “You’ve already ruined me for anyone else; all I can ever think about is you. I think it’s time I returned the favor, huh, baby?” You let out the softest whimper. “Let me show you how much I fucking love you. When I’m done with you, you won’t even want to think about leaving my bed, much less our flat.”

[subiysu-chan]

I’m curious, is your book gonna be like a non fiction history sort of thing or historical fiction? Are there any liberties you’re taking? I’m totally gonna buy that when its done my special interest needs more attention omfg

More like historical fiction. Thanks for asking ! It'll be in French, though.

I do take some liberties, but not a lot. Mostly "fill in the blanks" kind of stuff. Like Charles-Henri becoming his father's assistant at 14 instead of 12. Heavily inspired by the Mémoires.

The main plot with Charles-Henri so far would be:

(of what I already written)

-Charles-Henri gets expelled from boarding school

-Charles-Henri becomes his father's assistant for a spell

-Charles-Henri returns to another boarding school were he gets bullied and befriends the school's corrector. (His job is to whip the kids).

-During this time, he has a misadventure. Basically, his friend is in financial trouble and he gets bullied. His main bully is involved in some not good activity, so Charles-Henri tries to kill two birds with one stone. He gets caught, explains everything, but his plan succeeds anyway. Charles-Henri even manages to manipulate his bully into punching him in front of a teacherHe now has to work extra hard to regain the trust of his teachers.

-His identity is discovered when his dad goes to visit him. They leave almost immediately, and there is some father-son bonding time.

-Charles-Henri is privately tutored by Grisel

-Now, I am at the part, were Charles-Henri nearly litterally dies of boredome because he doesn't get jumped any more.

-(Next to be written) Once healed, he gets to see the theater with his big sis and father Grisel (his tutor), they get recognized and have to make a run for it.

-More bonding and learnign with tutor and big sis (who also crushes on him)

-Charles makes his first comunion, and is very happy about it. Father Grisel is very pleased his pupil made it so far, and everything is cute. The priests gets suspicious about father Grisel, but it's quite inconsequencial.

-Father Grisel finally succombs to his illness.

-Now, Charles-Henri has no other option but to become his father's apprentice.

-Brainwashing from granny and executions

-Sibbling bonding time. The shinigans with his sibblings and his father's other apprentices make it so Charles is more willing to become an executioner. Jean-Baptiste and Anne-Marthe encourage this as this helps avoid in-fighting.

-Eventually, Jean-Baptiste has to leave for Brie-Comte-Robert because of either vacations or actually doing some work there. Charles-Henri was picked at random to go with him, and so Jean-Baptiste, La Blancheur, Caboche, Charles-Henri, Nicolas-Charles Zelles and Petit Matelot all leave for Brie-Comte-Robert. They have to stop at an inn because the horses get too tired to carry the carriage further, and Jean-Baptiste randomly share a table with a musketeer and master swordsman, who was one day branded by Jean-Baptiste's hand. The tavern owner thinks the Sanson are nobility, and they get extra nice service, thinking it would later attract a higher end clientel. They recognize each other and the argument rapidly escalades to the Musketeer drawing his rapier. Jean-Baptiste had left his weapons under lock and key in the carriage seat to eat, and only has a butter knife to defend himself. His hand is gashed, but otherwise, he's unharmed and manages to actually win and wrestles his opponant to the ground. He asks his servant to fetch the roughest brush they can find, and uses it to expose the man's brand in front of the audience, as revenge for outing him as executioner. They are forced to leave. Jean-Baptiste ends up paying double than intended and leaves his silk coat, so that the tavern owner has something to survive on now he's probably out of buisness with this scandal.

-After the Brie buisness is done, they all return to Paris.

-Some time passes, and New Year is upon them.

-January is insanely stressful, with all the extra injuries, all the executions that didn't happen in december happen then, and eventually, Jean-Baptiste's heart gives in. He has a heart attack, he survives but half-way paralyzed.

-Runnign the household with a hemi-plegic head requires a lot fo their attention.

-Rivals all flock, and it's time for Anne-Marthe to shine. And brightly she does, she presents Charles-Henri to the magistrates, but surprise !

-Some rivals have already arrived, they failed, but it means someone had been spreading the news about Jean-Baptiste's declining health.

-Spoiler ! Spoiler ! Spoiler !

-So, a few days later, another rival arrives to their house, and places an ultimatum: the eldest daughter's hand, or he would take Jean-Baptiste's post. He's adult, competant, and the magistrates do seriously consider his candidature. So, the wedding takes place.

-The day before she leaves, Madeleine-Claude-Gabrielle confesses her feelings for her younger brother, and says that if he doesn't want her virginity, it's fine. She then does not need her beauty, and disfigures herself and shaves her beautiful hair in an act of both protest, and because if Charles-Henri doesn't want her, she no longer needs or wants her beauty. The card was already played.

-Charles-Henri attends, and his uncle too.

-In the end, the Lescombats affair happen. Charles-Henri falls for Madame Lescombat or Marie-Louise Taperet. In a last ditch at survival, she manipulates him into distracting the jailers to allow her servant and lover to enter her cell one more time. He then has to listen to the woman he falls head over heels for have sex with another man. Boy is fifteen.

-Some few weeks later, Taperet is no longer pregnant and her lover is dead. So of course, she replaces him with another one, and Charles-Henri has to do this entire thing once again. They both did consider doing it together, but Charles-Henri is too cowardly to break the law under the nose of a rival, and should the plan succeed, would not be able to bring himself to bring his own child to the Hôpital Général.

-Soubise thinks Charles-Henri is the father, and would do anything to prove it.

-He fails, but the hanging is a fiasco, and Charles-Henri nearly dies lynched. He survives with a completely broken finger and many severe bruises on his back.

-The epilogue ends with Nicolas-Gabriel being called in to patch him up, and some after-care insues. The nail matrix has to be destroyed in the surgery to save his finger. Charles-Henri is now convinced that if God allowed him to live, it's to continue the Sanson family legacy. The end.

[rustedhearts]

the incident ♡ part i (boxer!steve x librarian!fem reader)

summary: a brutal argument and steve's terrible temper drive you away from your malibu home. steve loses you again, and this time, you're both left wondering: has he lost you for good this time?

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the king of the ring ✶ part ii, part iii ✶ main masterlist

tags: angst, so toxic, more manhandling (mostly just Steve grabbing her), shoving, brutal verbal argument, Steve is genuinely terrible, also there's like no build-up, we get straight to it lol.

a/n: this is it, folks. this is the incident, the one that changes everything for steve and libby. it's rough to read, and this is your warning now that it's bordering domestic abuse. but once again, i will never write explicit violence against women (as in, he will never hit her).

malibu, california, november 1992

"Every time. You do this every fucking time, Steve."

The back of your head was just as pretty as the front, but Steve hated the sound of your voice when it was yelling at him. He deserved it, of course—he always did. But that sharp, scolding snap—it enraged him. No matter how much he deserved it, no matter how awful he'd been. Steve hated being yelled at.

"Do what? He was askin' for it."

"Asking for it? Do you hear yourself? You knocked him out cold, you fucking prick!"

Steve stopped short in the open doorway of your Malibu home, holding the doorframe. Freshly cleaned, scented of lemon cleaner, a little slick on the floor. He watched you stomp up the carpeted stairs in your little heels, bag swinging with every pound of your feet. You had that pursed, scrunched look on your face he knew all too well.

But when you yelled at him, he just wanted to yell back.

So, he followed suit, quickly closing the distance between the pair of you. He reached the bedroom just as you threw your purse onto the bed, whipping around to head toward the closet.

"So fuckin' what? I'm just supposed to let some creep—"

"—oh my god, Steve! How many more times are we gonna do this? Its-it's fucking driving me insane!" you shrilled, turning to stare at him in exasperation from his position in the doorway.

Steve huffed, stepping into the closet toward his array of black fabrics on the other side. He whipped his shirt off and let it pool on the ground, belt clinking as he slid it from the buckle.

"Yeah, whatever. How d' you think I feel when I see guys like that all over you, huh? I mean, Jesus Christ, he was practically drooling on your tits, Libby," Steve snarled, hands waving in those open, empty gestures that you always rolled your eyes at.

You paused in your pursuit of changing clothes. Comfortability could wait. Steve needed to understand how infuriating it was to be tugged at and shielded like a doll. How enraging it was to be treated like nothing more than his object, something to possess and hold onto.

You felt like a toy in the tight grip of a boy that refused to grow up.

"He wasn't doing anything. We were talking, Steve. Would you have reacted that way if it were a woman?"

Steve rolled his eyes this time, shoving his jeans over his thighs toward his ankles. He kicked them off, reaching for a pair of loose, black Nike shorts that he usually wore around the house.

He kept his back to you as he yanked them over his hips, slung low enough to show the newly cut muscles he'd gained over gruesome training for higher-stake title fights. He'd been training at a rigorous pace that worried anyone not on his payroll—you most of all.

He was always littered in bruises, always sporting some kind of migraine bordering concussion—and most of all, his anger was at an all time high. If it wasn't something you did, it was something you hadn't done. If it wasn't you, it was anyone nearest you that breathed wrong. It was anyone, anywhere, anytime. No one was spared of Steve's wrath.

But you bared the brunt of it.

"No, because a woman wouldn't be slobbering all over you—"

"—we were talking, Steve! Something you and I don't seem to be doing lately. So yeah—"

"—what? What the fuck are you talking about?" Steve's face screwed sideways, body turning to face you finally.

"—yeah, I'm gonna talk to someone who actually listens to me. It's like talking to a brick fucking wall with you lately."

Steve reared back, then jutted forward: chin first, eyebrows furrowed, eyes squinted inquisitively. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He hadn't been listening to you?

"Well, maybe I'm fucking tired after working all day, honey. Maybe I don't wanna hear you whine and complain about how boring it is—"

"—ew, God, did you just say that? Do you hear yourself? You think you're so fuckin' important. So fuckin' high and mighty now that you're in Hollywood, right?"

Steve glared at you, jaw tightening. "You know I don't give a shit about—"

"Oh," you snapped, brows raising. "Oh, you don't? No? No, you didn't throw a tantrum after you lost that fight last year?"

"No—"

"You didn't freak the fuck out when Title didn't cut you 'what you deserved' after the Davidson fight?"

"No, don't twist my fuckin'—"

You were standing toe to toe now, Steve half-clothed and barefoot, the dress you'd been wearing all day still sticking to your skin from Californian heat and a humid gym. Your feet were killing you. Your face was flaming hot. Steve's nostrils were flaring rapidly and his breathing was growing unsteady.

This had been building up. After months of fighting and making up, after weeks of giving silent treatments only to be suckered into his kisses and murmured apologies. Months of picking up pieces of picture frames he broke in outburst, deciding to hang them up without the glass to keep from breaking because you couldn't afford his temper. Weeks of wondering when you'd break, when you'd finally snap and ask what the hell happened to the man that protected you, loved you, made you feel like something special and cherished?

Because the man standing in front of you was nothing like the man you first met. The man standing in front of you, millions of dollars richer and all the worse for it, was a cold, hard shell of who you once knew.

"I know you, Steve. You might think you can fool me by pretending you don't care about Hollywood and money and fame but—I know you, Steven. And all you care about," you stepped closer, glaring up the tip of your nose at the broad, fuming boxer, "is your ego."

It was the one-fingered push to his chest that set him off. You were on your way through the door, heading back into the bedroom to put space between the pair of you. But Steve wouldn't let you have the last word. Steve wouldn't let you be right.

"Oh, but it's my 'ego' payin' for all this, isn't it? Huh? I haven't heard you complainin' about all those diamonds around your neck, right?"

The grip Steve had on your arm was all too familiar, and he used it to yank you back around with a force that made you flinch. His hand burned where it wrung your bicep, and you ground your teeth to keep the tears at bay. You wouldn't cry prematurely. You had every right to scream and rage right now.

And with the way Steve was looking at you right now, all condescending pouts and head tilts, chasing your gaze when you wouldn't give it to him because he wanted to corner you—it made you feel truly insane.

"Yeah, you don't care so much about my 'ego' when I'm fundin' your lifestyle, do you, sweetheart? When I'm buyin' all those pretty dresses and fueling a fuckin' jet." Steve punctuated the sharp snap of his teeth with a tightened grip on your arm, using it to yank you into his chest.

You shoved at his chest, eyes starting to burn. "So fucking take it, Steve. I don't want any of it."

Steve tipped his head again, face too close for your liking. You suddenly didn't find those swampy eyes so endearing. The menacing sneer he wore in the ring wasn't so handsome up close.

"No?—"

"No!" you snapped, shoving him again, glaring up at him with wet eyes. "Take it all back, you fucking asshole! It means nothing to me. I was here for you. I was here because I loved you!"

You were crying now, and you hated yourself for it. Why wouldn't you just be strong, breathe through it? Why did he always have to get the best of you? Why did he always have to make you cry?

Steve was silent this time, and it almost made you feel worse. Since when did he have nothing to say to 'I love you?' With a whimpered grunt building in your throat, you shoved your forearm into Steve's stomach, urging him away. His hand loosened around your other arm just enough for you to rip it away, and with another shove to his chest, you yanked free from his hold and stomped toward the closet.

"Here, take it all back, you fucking dick!"

You hurled your clothes toward the bedroom where Steve was fuming at the end of the bed, glaring at all the items piling on the plush, cream carpet. Dresses, skirts, shoes, purses. When you returned to the bedroom, you yanked the pearl drop earrings from your ears and tossed them toward his looming figure. His eyes hardened when they barely brushed his nose.

"There, have it, Steve," you snapped.

You stomped toward the door, rushing for the stairs. Stepping over the mess you made, Steve was quick to follow, bare feet padding the freshly cleaned wood until they met the carpet of the stairs again. You ignored him, sniffling and wiping at your tears, until he took one large step in front of you. You took one back, bumping into the entryway wall as a result.

Blocking your path to the kitchen, Steve crossed his arms and glared down at you. He had you cornered. "Don't act like you're so fucking innocent here, honey," he sneered.

You rolled your eyes, mirroring his stance and folding your arms. "Yeah, I'm sure you'll find something to dock me for, Steven. What did I do this time, huh? Did I breathe wrong?"

"You always fucking flirt with them. You always flirt with other guys, and you know what that does to me. You do it just to fuck with my head." Steve tapped his temple and you tipped your head back with a groan.

"God, you're still on this? I don't flirt with anyone, Steve! The only man I want to be with is you!" Though you weren't so sure you even wanted that anymore.

You wanted Steve—grumpy but lovable, privately sweet and adorable with a dry sense of humor that always made you giggle even when he wasn't trying to be funny. You wanted the Steve that brought you flowers every time he came to pick you up back home in Indiana. You wanted the Steve that begged to wash your hair because he 'liked how your shampoo smelled,' and the Steve who watched you sleep because 'you looked so pretty.'

You didn't want Steve 'The King of the Ring.' You didn't want the Steve that glared and screamed and treated you like another opponent in the ring.

"Oh, yeah? Well what was so fuckin' funny that you had to caress that guy's arm today? Tell me, baby. Was he just so fucking funny—"

"—Jesus, Steve, shut up!"

The tip of Steve's finger bumped your nose when it came to point in your face. "Don't tell me to shut up."

You smacked his hand away, rivaling his mean stare with one of your own. If stares could slice, Steve's head would be in pieces by now.

"Or what?"

The apple of Steve's cheeks were round and red, and a splotchy trail of heat began to scale the length of his neck. You should have shut up. You should have walked away.

You should've left him months ago when you cut your finger cleaning up another one of his messes and he told you to 'be more careful.'

You shouldn't love a man like this.

"Stop it, Libby," he told you lowly, head shaking. "I don't wanna do this with you."

You scoffed, brushing your hair away from your forehead. It was starting to gather a sheen of sweat. "Yeah, right. You only wanna yell at me when I don't yell back, right? You push, and push, and push, and then call me crazy when I finally explode, right, Steve?"

Steve dropped his arms and placed his hands on his hips. His shoulders shrugged in that cocky, douchebag way that always had you boiling.

"I mean...if the shoe fits."

And it was there that any chance of dropping this argument went out the window. It was there that you truly lost it.

Bobbing your head, you dropped your own hands and used them to shove Steve's chest, punctuating every word with a little nudge. You were only adding fuel to the fire, but you were too enraptured by your own fury to care. Finally you were angry, and finally it felt good.

"Oh, is that right? Well, you know what they say about you, Steve? You're just. Like. Your. Daddy."

The house fell silent. You weren't sure Steve was even breathing. But he was staring at you, eyes void and face blank. The only sound that filled the emptiness was the thump of your own heart, like a gong reverberating in your ears.

The regret didn't have a moment to sink in before Steve lunged back into place and slammed his hands into the wall on either side of your head. You jumped, freezing stock-still between his arms caging you in. Your breathing shallowed, caught in the center of your throat.

"Oh, yeah?" Steve growled, tipping his head to find your eyes again. "That's how you feel, honey?"

"Well," you swallowed, steeling your nerves. Steve wouldn't get the best of you today. "If the shoe fucking fits."

"Shut up!"

The impact of Steve's fist against the drywall felt like a firework in your ear. Earth-shattering, ear-splitting, jolting you so hard you lost your breath for a moment. You felt the whoosh of air when he reared back, felt the boom of his hand breaking the foundation. It crumbled in chunks of shattered plaster, clattering against the hardwood.

The room around Steve seemed to vignette. Shadows gathered around the shape of his face, and the space in your lungs shrunk to a minuscule amount. You suddenly couldn't breathe. There was no room in your body for air. Your ears hurt and your cheeks felt swollen, the way they do when you're about to be sick. That sore, stinging ache that came from the onset of tears gathered behind your eyes.

Steve's face went through a series of shifts in the next few palpable moments of silence. First, contorted in anger: brows furrowed and angled down, lip curled into a sneering scowl, cheeks flushed hot red. Then: the brows softened and knitted together, his cheeks dimmed to a soft pink, and his mouth fell agape. His fingers uncurled from their place in the wall. More plaster fell to the floor in chips.

"Oh...oh, god, baby—"

You were out of there. You were so out of there.

You ducked under Steve's arm, still crowding you against the wall. You sprinted for the door, unconcerned about your purse or any of your belongings strewn around the house. The only thing on your mind was getting away.

"I-I'm taking the car," you stuttered out, though you weren't sure why. Maybe you were talking to yourself, reminding yourself to keep moving, to not stop. You couldn't stop. You had to keep going.

"No, don't take the car, baby—"

The jingle of keys between your fingers sounded miles away. As did Steve's voice, following you out the door with a pleading upturn and a nasally whine. He was crying. In the back of your mind, you registered that. Someplace in your head, you saw his tears, heard his pleading.

But you just kept going.

You slid into the car and slammed the door, immediately encompassed by the thick heat collected inside. The brown leather was warm. The engine rumbled to life.

Steve ran across the driveway, all flat grey stones he had redone. His bare feet collected flecks of dirt, little pebbles lodged in his heels. But he had to get to you. He lunged for the car—his car, with you in the passenger seat leaking a shower of tears he wasn't quite sure you knew you were shedding.

Steve banged on the driver window and winced at the sight of his own hand: swollen, split at the knuckles and seeping hot blood. It trickled down his hand and raced for his wrists. He hated how it stained the glass of the window, how it got all over the handle when he yanked at it.

"No, baby, please. Please, baby, open the door. Please, please, please."

You yanked the car into reverse, fingers unsteady and buzzing with some far off, tingling feeling. Everything felt like someone else's actions, someone else's body. It felt like you were watching from a distance.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, don't go. Baby. I'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorry."

You were hiccuping and choking on your own breath as you slammed your foot on the gas and whipped the car around. In the rearview, Steve jogged after the car, half naked and bleeding, and you hurried to put it in drive and haul off. You squealed out of the driveway, down the hill, and toward the end of the street, sobbing the whole way.

It was about five minutes later that you managed to get ahold of yourself. You slurped up whatever snot attempted to escape your nose, wiped it with the back of your still-trembling hand, and clicked on the turn signal to go right.

There were only two other people you knew in Malibu. Right now, you needed a friend.

♡ ♡

to be continued...

[worldsover]

Wise/Night

Chapter 1 of Bird’s Eye View, a series by @jettsdraft and @worldsover

Choke time.

Hold it by its throat.

Let it hang from the wall to make the clock envious.

No, clocks would not tick without people like you. You’ve always understood the world like this: Life can only begin in the improvised moments; everything else, the plans that others make, is worthless. Anything that isn’t thrust upon you has someone else’s grubby little hands all over it.

This great mindset drove your every decision—screwed you over, too. But that’s just for now. One day, it’ll all work out.

This probably isn’t that day. You walk up the grand stairs to the library, treading as though each step on the white slabs was a journey itself. You’re not as awed as you once were with the campus. Those ridiculous steps are just annoying. The sun unfolds brightness and heat alike while birds chirp and crowds of people stroll across the campus garden. Looking for something, anything to do, you scan the mass.

Not the most entertaining way to end the summer, but that makes it as good as the rest of the break season. Plans of traveling with your girlfriend (now ex) Im Nayeon flew out the window: you failed an intro comp-sci course with crashing colors, and she realized you weren’t nearly as serious about the relationship as she was. You looked forward to the fuck marathon you would have with her traveling around the world more than nourishing the relationship into a lifelong commitment that could withstand any temptation.

Unfortunately, temptation is all around. As beautiful as Nayeon is, as great of a personality she has, it never translated to heart eyes and forevers, at least not with you.

So here you find yourself, retaking the class you so gallantly failed, in large part to finding your head buried between Nayeon’s legs instead of buried between textbooks.

“Oh, fuck just like that. Fuck me with your tongue! Keep that up I might squeeze your head like a melon.”

You shake your head. Ah, better days.

Making your way through the crowd, two women eclipse all others for your attention as your head whips to look at them. Some jeans cling tightly to one’s plump behind. The other steps proudly in bright red heels and a Gucci bag, every accessory screaming money.

The rich one’s glasses sit on an adorable, pointed nose, while her brown hair sits on her shoulders. Maybe she’s the older sister.

Purple dyes the long dark hair of the girl with the nice butt. Wow, you really cannot stop thinking about this girl’s ass.

Suddenly any thought of comp-sci or Nayeon, or anything else for that matter, flies out the window as you approach the two women. If an angel was on your shoulder, it would remind you that this is how you failed last time, that this is the definition of insanity. On the other hand, the devil would tell you to get to know them (just enough to get them in bed), to give in to the carnal, animalistic desire, to fuck these women, grades or degree be damned.

“Mom, what the hell? See, now we’re lost, and we can’t find our tour leader anywhere!” The one with the ass groans.

Mother and daughter? Now, things are getting interesting. Thank the gods that you failed that class, that Nayeon dumped you. You can fuck these women guilt-free (though if you were truthful with yourself, you would have fucked these women regardless.)

“Will you relax? The guys here are going to think you’re a prude! Live a little. Who cares if that nerd isn’t around to show us where to find the fifth library this campus has, or which study room has the best signal access? He probably spends his weekends shacked up in his dorm while everyone is out living life. Meanwhile, his girlfriend, if he even has one with his timid little attitude, is probably getting convinced by her friends to take shots then backshots soon after that.” The rich woman laughs airily. Somehow, her cruel yet honest words turn you on as much as her daughter’s ass.

“Okay, mom, what the hell? Not everyone is like you and Aunt Sooyoung and Aunt Jungeun! He seemed like a sweet guy. And we are here to learn."

“Yes, we are here to learn. About life! Trying new experiences! So, loosen up. Now let me see, if I’m not mistaken, my old sorority house was—“

Wave and jog over to the pair. “Hey! Couldn’t help but overhear you guys needing a tour guide. Lucky for you, I’m the best guide on campus, and unlike your other guide, I can show you a bit of both.” You have no clue where anything is but, for these women, you’d memorize the map.

“Oh, hi!” The girl with faded purple hair has a bright smile, cheeks wide. Already, her voice is saccharine sweet yet so soft. What would she look like if you fucked that ass?

What would that ass look like covered in your cum?

“Thanks, but I think we’re just gonna find our old tour guide,” the mom says.

“Him? I mean that’s fine, but we were in the same stats class last year. He failed.” You shrug. “But I would be happy to help. I can show you all around campus, bars, libraries, secret map spots.”

The daughter's mouth rounds. “Wow, he seemed so knowledgeable. That’s a shock.”

He might have been—you didn’t know. But if tossing him under the bus meant a ticket to both these women, then he’s going under.

“What do you think, mom?”

“Mom? Wow, you look stunning,” you say. Testing the waters is worth the risk with a woman as gorgeous as her.

She eyes you up and down with a methodic expression, and you can see a ghost of a smirk on her lips. Or maybe it’s your inflated ego. You’ll take the win regardless. “He already sounds better than the nerd,” she says. “And he’s a flirt too! We might have found a winner.”

“Perfect, and don’t worry, miss...” Extend your hand.

“Jo, but you can call me Haseul,” she says as her lithe hand takes yours.

“Don’t worry then, Haseul. I’d be more than happy to show you all the campus has in terms of education for your daughter, and of course, where she can learn and experience new experiences.” You give the woman a slight wink, holding her hand for a moment longer than necessary, then turn to her daughter with a grin. “What’s your name?”

“Choi Yerim,” she says as she takes your hand.

“You have a beautiful smile. You’re putting the sun to shame.” It isn’t even flattery. Her smile easily outshines yours, let alone any starlight.

“Oh, thank you!” She blushes as your fingers interlock before you pull away.

This is in the bag. “Shall we ladies?”

You turn and lead the way.

The hushed tones of the two ladies behind you aren’t hushed enough.

“Wow, Yerim. You need that lock up that dick right now because I guarantee you every woman is begging to fuck him.”

“Mom, once again, what the fuck? What would dad think?”

“Who cares?”

How cold.

Even your heart breaks a little.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

After you show off the various sculptures, the signature mismatched architecture, and the trodden paths between the busiest lecture halls, the trio of you continue to the administrative building, a worn brick building,

Yerim clasps her hands. “You guys are gonna stay here, right?”

“Yes, yes, Yerim. You have a phone too. This isn’t the same as you getting lost in the grocery store.”

“Mom!”

You tap Yerim on the wrist. “Don’t worry. We’ll be here. Remember, the ID cards are in room AT100. And you have my number now, right?”

“Yep!” Yerim heads into the building with an honest-to-goodness skip.

“When did you give her your number?” Haseul asks, tapping her feet.

Immediately, you’re on the back foot. “You, I, remember, uh, I gave it to her when she asked,” you say, yet Haseul stares past you blankly. You sit down on a nearby bench while Haseul is perfectly fine waiting on her heels. Though you try your best to think of something to say, words fail.

Haseul looks at her gem-ornamented watch and eventually considers enough time to have passed. “What do you do outside of school?”

You’re used to the typical small talk but with a sexy woman like Haseul, you want much more than a chat. And you remember her earlier words. In a suggestive tone, you say, “Oh, I have plenty of extracurriculars.”

“Such as?”

“I go to the gym plenty.”

“Me too.”

“And I’m not just going there for the sake of it.”

“Really, now?” Haseul tilts her head, but she’s no more invested in this conversation than the gears on her watch.

You push through regardless. “Mhm. It’s a good place to get my body in shape when I’m doing heavy... lifting. Working up a sweat, using my stamina. Do you get what I mean?”

“You look like you need a bit more time there, then.”

You furrow your brows. “What do you mean?”

“You probably aren't big enough. For whatever you're doing. Are you sure you could even lift a grocery bag? And I bet you wouldn’t last more than ten minutes… before tapping out.”

Words flounder when they try to escape your throat.

“Well, if you ever need a personal trainer or just a workout buddy...” Haseul looks up at you, the look on her face crushing your ego. Her eyes are sharp, her head is cocked sideways, barely looking at you as if you were some insignificant thing. “What? Does this spiel work on all women? Or just the easy sluts who don’t know what a good fuck is?”

“I, I, uh, I wasn’t trying to imply anything—“

“And now you’re st-t-tuttering. Fuck. Listen to me.” Haseul turns and gives you her full attention for the first time, squeezing your cheeks together hard. “You are way outta your fucking league, alright? My pussy would make you braindead. And I bet now you’re thinking you can hit on my daughter. You aren’t good enough for either of us. Nod if you understand.”

You nod out of obedience. This woman’s sheer cruelty has you rock hard and on autopilot.

“Good.” Haseul smacks your cheeks none too lightly, which Yerim just barely misses as she waves in the distance with her card in hand. Haseul whispers in your ear, “Now, why don’t you finish the tour and run along and find some easy slut.”

After one more tap on your cheek, Haseul returns to barely giving you the time of day.

You make eye contact with Yerim, skipping towards you.

Maybe you just will find one.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

“And that ends our tour! What did you guys think?” Keeping up your enthusiasm after that is quite the plight, but it’s a task made much easier by Yerim’s bountiful energy.

“I had a wonderful time!” Yerim pokes you on the shoulder. “You’re really fun, you know?”

“Look who’s talking. It felt like you were the one leading us around, almost running everywhere,” you say.

“Sorry, mom. Maybe you shouldn’t have worn those heels.” Yerim sticks her tongue out, and Haseul dismisses her with eyes peering off to the side.

You walk down the steps of the fountain with a sly grin on your face as you check out the two women. Haseul continues to look around the courtyard, trying to appear as disinterested as possible, but the furtive glances, the stolen looks are all you need. You’ve concluded: She’s looking to get fucked—it’s in her aloof demeanor, in her icy voice, in her pricey jewelry like fish bait. Obviously, she’s prowling for fresh cock to split her open, yet she acts as if she’s so choosy about which cock does the splitting.

It’ll be yours. Inevitable like all else. Still, Haseul drives you crazy, enough for a crazier idea to form in your head. If this bitch wants to play hard to get when she’s clearly drooling for your dick, then why not play the same game?

And who better to play the game with than her own daughter? Your imagination fills with visions of Yerim’s bright smile around your dick.

“Thank you for the tour,” Haseul says, trying to play it off and barely looking at you. “I was thinking maybe we could get something to eat. I’m starving.”

I’ve got something to eat right here. You hold that first thought back.

“Yerim,” you say, putting a hand around her shoulder, “I was wondering if maybe I can show you around a bit more? Plus, there’s a small gathering for freshmen tonight where you could meet some new friends.”

Haseul’s mouth hung in shock.

You hide a smirk knowing you’ve just rattled the lion.

Yerim’s eyes widen. “Really? I wouldn’t want to take up any more of your time. You’ve been super helpful and I’m sure you have better things to do, like a girlfriend to hang out with. Or anything other than showing me around campus and slumming it with the new crop of freshmen.” The way her voice gets higher and faster as she talks is downright adorable—you couldn’t wait to paint her ass. Even if you had a girlfriend, you wouldn’t miss this game for the world.

“Nah, don’t worry about it. I’d love nothing more.” Reflecting Yerim’s smile is so natural. “And as for a girlfriend, she actually dumped me recently, so I’ve got nothing better to do.”

“Oh my gosh, really? I’m so sorry to hear that. You seem like such a nice guy and you’re pretty cute too,” Yerim says in such a shy matter you’d think she was laying it thick and trying to fuck you herself. The thought crosses your mind: perhaps both these women are on the prowl for cock.

“Aww, thank you. So how about it? I’d love to spend the rest of the day hanging out with such a beautiful girl. Might even run into my ex and with you around me, she'll be so jealous!”

“Oh stop!” Yerim laughs, playfully smacking your arm.

“I’ll take that as a yes then?”

Yerim nods, hiding her face between her hands. “Let’s do it!”

“Awesome. And I promise, if that freshman party gets too lame, we can find our own kind of fun.” You can tell Yerim is getting used to your touch when you nudge her.

“Don’t make me promises you can’t keep,” she says. “I think I’m good here, mom. I’ll see you at home tomorrow morning?”

This whole time Haseul has been seething as she watches you flirt with her daughter. It’s not even about Yerim; it’s that you’re clearly ignoring her. Her eyes are subtle in their intensity as they narrow. She must be thinking wild thoughts—If this dumb fuck of a stud thinks he’s going to just play her like that, he’s mistaken. And her daughter? What the fuck is this fucking act she’s putting on? This cutesy, “hehe uwu” act. Yerim really thinks she’s going to fucking take this cock away from her? Think again.

You know the type well. Thoroughly well. They tend to be thoroughly rammed by your dick sooner than later.

“Sure, sweetie.” Haseul smiles, her tone hiding all the venom in her head. “Be safe! Call me if you need a ride! Don’t drink and drive!”

“Great, let's go, Yerim.” You grab her hand and start taking her along but before you leave, you stop and turn to her mother. “There’s a McDonalds around the block if you’re hungry, Haseul!”

That’s where all the sorority whores get their food after they’ve had their fill of dick for the night. You must know what it’s like. A faint trace of a smirk must show on your lips because the glare Haseul gives as you walk away, daughter in hand, is downright treacherous. You look down at Yerim’s butt that sways and enthralls like a hypnotist’s pocket watch; grabbing it right here would be perfect.

Small steps. In time, you’ll be grabbing this ass in public, and she won't flinch.

“Fucking asshole.” Haseul growls under her breath. “Is that the fucking game he wants to play? Go ahead, flaunt my daughter. Soon enough, you’ll be groveling for my pussy.”

She calms her breath and heads the other way toward her Mercedes, already concocting her revenge for this slight.

This could very well be that day where it all works out.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

The music pumps too loud, and the glass table shakes with clinking noises as the bottles rattle. A few of the sorority girls you recognize wave at you while others send you leers of utter hatred. You never knew what to expect out of them, par for the course since you don’t remember half their names.

“Who’s the one with the black hair?” Yerim asks tentatively. The woman has been sending less than friendly glances toward the two of you since you entered the party. You figure it’s because Yerim has yet to leave your side or let go of your arm as you stumble through the flocks of drunk freshmen together.

“The one with the big boobs?” you say, trying to shout past the loud music.

Yerim nods.

“Ah, that’s Eunbi. She’s probably here trying to recruit some new sorority girls. Are you thinking about joining up? We have, uh, history. I can hook you up.” You find a couple of seats and pat on the one next to you.

Yerim lets out a giggle as she sits down as well. Since you’ve spent the entire day together, she’s far more comfortable around you, easily touching you and laughing into your side. The laughter against your neck stokes warmth within you, and with a bit more pressure and section, she’d give you a hickey. She puts her head up. “Mom wants me to. She usually ends up getting what she wants.”

You nod in agreement. “She seems like the type of woman who does.”

Sure, you’re in a miniature Cold War with Haseul (though she started it), but there’s no reason to deny facts. Haseul is a woman who gets what she wants when she wants it and she’ll use any means necessary to get it. Anyone who got in her way would be removed. It shouldn’t surprise you that she acts like that; she’s a woman with taste who only wants the best. You’d just have to prove to her you belonged in high flying whore life. And it all starts—

“Do you like big tits?” Yerim asks softly and giggles.

“What?” Good thing you set down your drink; you would’ve spit it out. You glance at Yerim on your shoulder. Though she stares back at you with big innocent eyes, you catch the slightest glint of mischief in them.

“Do you like big tits? Or do you prefer big asses instead?” When Yerim echoes the question, she adds some spice to her voice.

“Well, I, uh… I mean—what makes you ask?”

Your face finds company in your palm as you stutter further. It can’t be helped. The innocent, puppy-eyed, smiley girl, the one that’s meant to be a prelude to fucking Haseul, nothing more than a conduit to get back at the arrogant woman, is now toying with you. If you weren’t careful, Yerim would foil all your plans with less effort.

Yerim places a finger on her lips. “Well, it’s just that you mentioned Eunbi has big tits. But your eyes were kinda glued to my mom's ass during the tour.”

“Ahh. That.” You scratch the back of your head and beg your brain to find some palatable excuse.

“It’s okay.” Yerim places a hand on your arm and shrugs. “I’m used to it, it’s just… I wish someone would notice my ass. I spent the beginning of the summer at the gym, doing squats. Has it paid off?” With raised brows, she gets up, turns around, and sticks her jean-clad ass in front of your face.

“Yeah.” You chuckle lightly. “You have an amazing ass.”

“Thank you!” Yerim blushes at the compliment said a bit too loudly. She takes her seat back next to you. “You haven’t answered my question yet. Do you prefer ass or tits?” This time she holds her gaze on yours, you look back at her eyes and stare, looking anywhere else just wasn't a possibility.

“What do you think?”

“Hmmm. You mentioned Eunbi had big boobs. But you also ogled my ass and my mom's ass all day.”

“Guilty as charged.”

Yerim chuckles. “I think it’s tits. I have cute ones, don’t you think? Not as big as Eunbi’s but they look good, don’t they?” She makes a show of looking down at her own tits, pushing them up between her arms to flaunt her cleavage. “What do you think?”

“Uhhhh. They look….”

“C'mon, you like them, don’t you? You aren’t going to get a taste of anything just looking at them.” Yerim pulls you closer, places her small hands above yours, and guides them to her tits. She whispers with a wide grin. “Now that’s a proper touch. What do you think?”

“Fuck Yerim, these are fucking stupendous,” you say in a haze of lust. The world around you stops as you take a moment to process just what the fuck is happening, not that anyone cares out of the waves of wasted partygoers. The only thing you care about is that Choi Yerim, this adorable girl, is telling you to feel her tits, asking if her ass looks nice.

If Yerim is like this, you stir at the thought of what Haseul would do.

“Better than Eunbi?” she asks. “They’re smaller but…”

“So fucking perky. Holy fuck, Yerim. I need you. Like now. Let’s get out of here and go back to mine.”

Her grin grows: the predator has her prey. “Hmmm, should I? You did pay attention to my mom all day and not me, and now, I let you cop a bit of a feel, and you already wanna take me back to your dorm? Is that what I should have done from the beginning? Let you grope my amazing tits right there in the courtyard?”

“I should have! Thought about grabbing that ass too and showing your mom what I’m going to do to it.”

“You like my ass, huh? It is a bit thicker than Haseul’s. My ex begged me to let him fuck it. It was fun stringing him along.” She gets up without another word, leaving you breathless.

You’re starting to feel strung along too.

Yerim approaches some random guy whose movements on the dance floor are uncoordinated. She pulls his collar and drags him towards the middle of the room to give you a better view. After Yerim bites her lip and glances at you up and down—pay attention—her bright smile returns. Though she pulls the man close enough to talk in his ear, her voice is loud enough for you to eavesdrop.

“You like my ass, huh? I saw you checking me out while giving me the tour this morning. Where did you go?” Yerim asks the bewildered dude. “What? Can't focus with that hard-on after staring at my butt? Had to ditch us to focus on your work? Here, lemme let you feel what you're missing out on.”

The barrage of questions leaves the man lost for words, yet he has even less than nothing when she turns around to grind her ass on him. Breathless, chest heaving sporadically, the poor guy is little more than a tool for her to fuck with you. Clearly, he’s never had a woman do this to him. Yet here he is, a casualty of a mere proxy war. “I-I I’m sorry. I couldn’t focus on the tour, and wow, that feels good.”

“Mhmm. I bet it does. It’s a nice ass, huh? I can see you like it. You're pretty hard right now. You must be so big.”

You scoff.

“Wow,” the whilom tour guide says with his mouth agape. “Oh my god. You’re so beautiful, and your butt is very nice.”

“Thank you, I’ve worked hard on it!” Yerim barely hides the way she rolls her eyes at the man's comments, looking over to you and mouthing “fucking virgin” before continuing with her little show.

You sit back and enjoy it for now. However, you feel a bit of jealousy and annoyance at being toyed with like this, so you’ll return the favor back to Yerim tenfold once you have the chance. Already, you imagine all the ways you’ll ruin that ass.

Yerim dances to the music, expertly swaying her hips, dropping her ass, and putting hands all over the loser's chest. She turns around and grinds on him some more while she reaches around and wraps both hands around the back of his neck to tug him forward.

All things considered, a great dancer even when drunk.

“How far would you go for me to let you have full access tonight?” Yerim asks in a sultry tone, flipping herself around to look at the man, no doubt to watch him squirm under her gaze. “I’d be your first, wouldn’t I?”

His nod is all Yerim needs. She looks at you for a split second, and the look on her face says it all: Loser.

But that isn’t what comes out of her mouth. Instead, she controls her expression as expertly as her mom. “Aww, that’s so adorable. You’d be mine too. It’d be such a cute story to tell people. Cute tour guide hooking up with the freshman he fell for!” Yerim pinches his cheek more to humiliate him than anything else. “But I’m sorry, I’m so hesitant. I just….. I don't know. I want to know if a guy is committed to me, you know?”

Fucking right. She’d spread her legs at the sight of a massive cock and still play this sweet girl act.

The man panics, wilting under the pressure of Yerim’s gaze. “I’m committed. We don’t even have to do it now. Do you want to get some late-night dinner? Or maybe go on a date sometime?”

You shake your head. This is getting pathetic. You know the type. All too well. The "nice guy." He probably "deserves" her a lot more. Only thought about her ass "respectfully."

That was once you, but the cynicism of time passing breaks the weak into strong, the strong into weak.

You should admit you're a bit tipsy too.

“Hmmm," Yerim tilts her head side to side, vacillatory. "I don’t know. How about…. Nah, never mind. I think I’m going to get going.”

Yerim is slowly pulling away, but then he snatches her hand. The poor man's overboard in thirst now. You stand up, ready to intervene until Yerim sends you a smug look.

“What if…. There’s no way you would.” Yerim has this guy between her fingers.

“No, what is it? I’ll do whatever!”

Yerim chuckles. It isn’t her usual sunshine and rainbow giggle but an arrogant, pathetic laugh. “Then... how about you get on your knees right now and kiss my ass?” Yerim’s eyes are trained on the man, scanning his face for a reaction, her every move calculated.

“I, um—here? In front of this crowd? There are too many people. Can we do it in the bathroom or outside?”

Yerim licks her lips. The red lipstick works wonders for her since the act entrances the man. “Forget it.” She turns to walk away.

“Okay. I’ll do it.”

With her back turned to him, Yerim looks at you, smirks, and mouths “too fucking easy,” before she looks expectantly at the man behind her. “Well then, get to it,” she says. The first signs of showing her true colors.

“Right, I, well—“

“Are you going to do it or not?”

He takes the first step toward her, but Yerim stops him.

“Nah, I want you to crawl from there to here.” Yerim points at the wall, where a burgeoning crowd forms, then to the floor at the center of the room where she stands. “You made me walk this far. Isn’t it only fair?”

Now that’s just cruel. Yerim isn’t even trying to hide her bitchy attitude now. Despite that, she can still pass as an innocent girl who wants someone to try for her.

But this must be the line, right? No way he gets down and crawls. Yet to your utter disbelief, in the middle of all the students clustering around, the guy gets on his knees and crawls a few feet to Yerim, then plants a kiss on her left asscheek, probably taking a long whiff as well.

The crowd reacts in a mix of laughter, shock, and insults.

“Dude, have some self-respect.”

“God, that’s so gross.”

“Man, I hope she lets you pound her tight ass until the end of time because that was fucking pathetic…”

“Why are guys so desperate? Ugh, let’s get out of here.”

You would feel bad for the man getting fucked over but watching that does nothing but make your cock rock hard at Yerim’s venom, all just to tease you and make you wait.

“So, uh, h-how about a date?” The man gets up and dusts himself off, doing his best to hide the humiliation.

“Aww, you’re so cute! I’ll think about it, alright? But hey, I gotta go!” Yerim smiles with no remorse or hint of malice as if she’d genuinely think about it. She gives his cheeks a squeeze. ”I’ll see you around.”

She turns to walk away, leaving the dude speechless and humiliated, and everyone in the room except him knows he just got played.

“What did you think?” Yerim asks you, and the smile that could put stars to shame is still there, though now all you can see is how she uses that to her advantage. She plays with the end of her hair as she raises her brows and gauges your reaction. If Yerim had some gum, she’d be chewing and blowing and popping bubbles.

So, she’s going to make this interesting.

You stand up, snake a hand behind her, and palm her ass. Gripping the flesh over the jeans, you could rip the coarse denim with one hand and take her right there to show that dude he never really stood a chance.

No words are exchanged when you pull her closer to you. Short breaths like nobody's watching. You aren’t sure who makes the first move. Maybe it’s you, having been witness to Yerim’s little show of manipulating men, or maybe it was Yerim with her beautiful eyes locked on your lips.

Regardless, in plain view of everyone, Yerim’s crimson lips mash against yours, the slight taste of apple soju blending with the taste of her cherry lip balm. Any sound besides Yerim’s slight wanting gasps fades. The gasps only intensify when you finally have enough sense to grip her ass tighter with both hands and pull her impossibly closer.

“Fuck,” she whispers as she bites down on your lower lip.

“Think he sees what we’re doing?” you ask.

“I hope so. I wanna see his face.” Yerim turns and scans the crowd. She spots the dude, tears threatening to let loose, and laughs faintly. “He’s about to cry,” she says before pulling you in for another kiss.

“He got to kiss this ass”—which you squeeze—“so it’s a good trade.”

“I’d say so,” Yerim says in a sing-song voice dripping with honey before going in for another kiss, now taking her sweet time. You explore each other’s mouths with your tongues before you withdraw, a string of spit connecting each of your lips. Yerim twirls it around her finger then sucks it down. She understands the implication to the curious crowd when she cleans the digit in her mouth and sucks till her lips are hollow, yet she beams anyway.

You can’t fathom how easily Yerim can be so cruel yet oh-so-sweet.

“Are we going to make this dude watch us make out all night? Or are we going to show me to your dorm,” Yerim gets behind your ear and whispers, “and start to fuck me?”

“I was just making sure you weren’t going to make me kiss your ass first.” You chuckle, taking her hand and walking towards the exit.

“Nope,” Yerim replies as you hit the doors. “But I do want you fuck my ass. Sounds good?”

“Good doesn’t even begin to describe it. Going to send you back home with a limp after tonight.”

You're sure Haseul will know exactly how she got the limp.

Same way she gets them.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Snores come from the three other bedrooms. Hopefully, that means Yunho got lucky—or if not, whatever’s necessary for him to vacate your shared sleeping quarters.

“Shh.” You cover Yerim’s’ mouth as you pull away from the makeout session in the front door, a hint of alcohol shared between your tongues. “We need to be quiet, alright?”

Yerim pulls your wrist down and pouts. “Aww, really? I wanted to wake up the whole dorm, make ‘em hear me sucking your cock, just so they know.”

Though you shake your head, you don’t stop her from kneeling; instead, wet your lips in anticipation when Yerim gets closer, knee by knee. She throws her black leather jacket onto the couch. With pink nail polish bright in the dark living room, her hand undoes the zipper on your jeans, works inside, and fondles your shaft. You shudder, frozen in the middle of the living room despite the summer warmth from the weak A/C.

“Mmm, is this all for me?” Yerim’s fingers aren’t as rhetorical, jerking up-down. “Even after drinking? Seeing me humiliate that little loser really did a number on you.”

You shush her again. “Not here.”

“I think this place is perfect. Did you fuck your ex in your dorm’s communal areas too? Or did you like fucking her in your roommates’ rooms? I bet this cock made that bitch squirm.”

She's right but—“Yerim, just... oh fuck. Let’s go to my room.”

“Is that what you tell the sorority sluts?”

“Don’t act like you won’t be one of them.”

“Me?” Yerim puts a hand on her chest, faux appalled, and bats her eyelids. “I’m innocent. It’s you who’s corrupting me with thoughts of sucking cock,” she whispers.

“Fuck, you know you should stop acting like some angelic girl next door college student. You’re literally a harlot from hell.”

“Isn’t that the best part? The innocent card works for me. Filters out the little bitches that can’t handle this cunt. I’m sure this campus is full of ‘em, like the nerd. If he really wanted to fuck me, he’d have grabbed me by my hair and dragged me to the closest bathroom, then railed me right there. Hell, he should have fucked me on the dance floor. Not stutter and call me cute. I mean, what the fuck. It’s pathetic. You… you’re different.”

Yerim and her mom have a tendency to leave you speechless.

Her tone shifts back to that slow, lovely, higher pitch. “I’m not a bad girl. Oppa, I just wanna make you feel good tonight.” The woman in front of you drives you mad. Her cheery bright smile and warm attitude betray her true colors.

“God, quit talking and start sucking my cock.”

“That’s what I wanna hear.” Yerim smiles; even in the dark, it shines. She takes your cock out fully and frees it. The springing thing smacks her in her lips. “Holy fuck.”

Of course, the trap is sprung. “Hm?”

“I-I’ve never seen one this big before.”

“No need to butter me up,” you say.

However, Yerim’s mouth is still open in legitimate bewilderment.

“Don’t tell me you're going to back out now. You can’t get me hard like this and not do something about it, Yerim.” You chuckle darkly.

“I… I’m not sure it’s going to all fit.” For the first time tonight, Yerim isn’t playing around; there’s no hint of her usual flirtatious undertones. She’s just a freshman who’s never seen a cock this big and is now about to second guess begging to be plowed by it.

“Put it in your mouth,” you command. Yerim hesitates for just a split second, and you take control. You grip the back of her head and bring her nose right in front of your cock. “That’s right. Take it in.”

Yerim whiffs and whimpers. “Fuck.”

You catch her discreetly trying to use her tongue to wipe the drool from her lips. “I saw that. Drooling for a cock you say you can’t take? What’s the point in hiding it?”

“Wait, it’s too big. Wait, no, I want it, I need it, I just—I don’t know—“

You use that opening to push your cock in her mouth. The first few inches slide in without much work, but Yerim gags about midway.

To your surprise, Yerim doesn’t shove you off. Instead, she reaches behind, grips your thighs, and pushes herself even further to force the entirety down her throat. Her eyes water, her mascara runs, and her gagging and coughing vibrate your dick more as she presses on inch by challenging inch—you must be the largest she’s ever swallowed.

Nothing shatters your earth more than her devotion to devouring your length. The human reaction to gasp for air does not deter her; rather, it’s overridden by her need to prove her worthiness for a cock so big.

Pat her head. “There you go. Look at that. You’re a fucking pro. Did your mom give you tips? Is that how you bonded?”

“Shwut up abvout thwat whowe. Ahm way bettew than...”

Though her cock-mumbled speech fades, Yerim won’t quit choking when she’s so close to the root. At least, not until the lack of oxygen makes her eyes half-lidded, makes her gag out a couple inches (still plenty down her throat though.) She looks ready to pass out with a mouthful of your cock just to prove a point.

It’s admirable, the way she makes up for her clear inexperience with sheer want and horny fucking will. But alas, passing out at the beginning of a full-fledged fuckathon does nobody any good. The moon beams down a quiet light: there’s plenty more night to waste. So against every fiber of your being, yank her hair to free yourself from her lips’ grasp. Her hands on the back of your thighs resist the pull, but eventually, you extract your cock out of her warm fuckhole.

Yerim falls onto her ass with a small yelp because she loses her balance when she detaches from your shaft, counteracting forces of her resisting and you pulling.

“Holy fuck, I was so close. It’s so big, and I was so fucking close! Give that dick back.” Though she intakes air in desperate huffs, she spares a few seconds for her physical needs before animalistic desire takes her over again. With lightning speed, her mouth surrounds your dick again, this time taking it further before she gags. Her eyes bounce back and forth—your cock, your eyes, your cock, your eyes again; it’s a lot like her head that bobs up and down and resounds rhythmic slurpy wetness with each sip of your dick.

Gluck, gack. Gluck, gack. Gluck...

Yerim does not quite slide down to the hilt of your length, but she decides to suck on what she can, barely letting a few inches out at a time. Her eyes cross as she stares lovingly.

“This cock is amazing. Your ex was a stupid bitch.” Yerim salivates and splutters on your shaft. The building waterfall of spit joins the sweat on her crop-top, making her cleavage glisten—you’ll certainly fuck her tits later. Right now, some of that saliva flows down to her tight tummy.

You bundle a messy ponytail in your hand. The shades of purple work on her, though creamy white would suit her far better.

“If I was her, I’d never let this cock out of my sight. I bet you’ve got bitches lined up out this door waiting. You should tell them to go home. I’m using this thing all night.”

“You know, for someone who hasn’t even throated the full length, you sure talk a lot of shit. My ex had no problem taking—“

Any train of thought derails at once. Yerim once again forces, or tries to force, every inch of your cock, her plump cheeks hollowing. Even in her disheveled state, her smile is as bright as ever around your girth. You satisfy that smile further by gripping her hair and using her head like a sex toy.

“I’m so, so frhking cwose to the...” Yerim gargles spit and flesh as your balls slap against her chin. She pushes further, once more grabbing your thighs and using them to drive further. With her nose on your pelvis, you know she’s impossibly deep yet wants more, feeling the pressure of her hands on the back of your thighs.

With your help, with plenty of gagging and moaning—“Kweep, gh, fugking, gh, gwoing”—you finally tap the back of her throat. Yerim groans in pure joy, enjoying the moment, the base of your shaft around her lips, only for you to take it away with a backwards thrust of your hips.

She looks forlorn as if you just took away her car, her house, her favorite toy. (That last one might be true in a literal sense.) You want to pretend it’s about showing her who’s the boss, but being honest with yourself, it’s not about control; if you weren’t careful, she would have made you cum without delay. Therefore, you tug her away. Your cock exits her mouth with a loud pop, thick globs of spit dripping on your length.

“Fuck! Why did you pull me off? I was right there. I took it all!”

“Yeah, with my fucking help.”

“Again!” Yerim gets back up to pounce, but you take a step back and crook your index finger. “Seriously?”

“You want it that bad?”

She nods vigorously.

“Crawl.”

Yerim gets on her knees with little thought; getting on all fours right after is just as instinctive for her.

You stumble back as Yerim takes quick licks of your cock which leaks much precum. She backs you up further as she crawls, slowly following your cock, swinging it in her hand before she catches a grip and uses the mass of meat to smack her plump cheeks playfully. Dull thudding noises reverberate in the empty, messy room. Finally, you find yourself hitting your back on your door.

Yerim gasps as she comes face to face with your cock, a playful pout on her lips. “Nowhere to run? Boohoo.”

“I wasn’t running. Just wanted you to feel how you made that fucking loser feel at the party.”

“Please.” Yerim scoffs when you remind her about the humiliated man. “He’s lucky I let him touch me. He probably came in his pants.”

“I did see a little wet spot.”

“Pathetic.” Her tongue circles around your cock, and the soft, warm flesh licking around your shaft makes your legs buckle for just a moment. The twirls of her tongue are sloppy, but her eager drive more than makes up for it.

“Never even met that bitch before.”

Yerim looks up at you, dick on her lips. “R-really? You lied?”

“What? Don’t act like you’re innocent. Had to do anything to get that pretty mouth, urgh, right there.” You throw your head back when she tightens those lips, but you glare back down at her. “That’s right. You gonna stop sucking that dick?”

Yerim eases her mouth but takes your glossy shaft in her fingers. “Fuck no. It’s too perfect. I can barely fit a hand on...” Her breaths heavy, Yerim’s eyes blur as they admire your length, and she twists her hands up and down to familiarize herself with it further.

Your eyes must undergo the same dimming at the overloading of your most sensitive spots, but quick huffs through pursed lips return you to the world. “That’s right. Who cares what the fuck I did? Look at that cock like it’s your god. Worship it.”

Yerim runs kisses up and down, finds every inch of flesh, and trails her tongue around. “Mhmm. Tastes so fucking good. I want this so fucking much. So fucking big, I just…” she trails off, and sucks on the tip instead of talking. As she swirls around the cockhead, she sucks all your precum.

“Ah fuck, there you go. By the end of the night, I’m going to make sure you can take it all without any noise. You’re gonna need that skill since you’ll be spending a lot of time under the library tables sucking me off. Can’t have the whole library knowing I’m getting the best brain of my life, can we?”

“Mwph, nnuh-uh,” Yerim says, still sucking a few inches, but then she releases with a slurp. Heady from the head she’s giving, she becomes even more bubbly and airheaded. “We’d get kicked out before you even feed me my cum!”

“What a smart girl. Now quit teasing me and get to work. I’m not like that pussy at the party. Start sucking me off before I call up someone else.” You smack her cheek with your cock.

A sharp gasp from Yerim. She looks up at you, eyes wide. “Wh-what did you just say? After all that, you—”

“I said, get to sucking. You’ve pranced around with your two-faced attitude. A spoiled freshman who’s had everything handed to her by her bitch of a mom, and on top of that, one that plays and fucks with guys for fun. Leading people on and fucking with them for shits and giggles, probably getting wet over it, but I’m not a simp like that loser at the party. Bet you’ve never been treated like this before. You got me hard, so now you’re going to take care of it.”

This is a gamble: if Yerim decides to walk away now, your entire day will be ruined, and it’ll be back to slutty sorority girls. If it works, however, step 1 will be in motion. And all indications point to Yerim being down for this.

“Are you deaf? Get to it.”

You’re surprised anyway by her first sign of reticence. “I, uh—okay, of course, I need…” Yerim looks up with those doe eyes, but instead of its usual innocence, it’s now clouded with lust as she takes your cock with both hands and spits on it. She spits on it again. Again. “Ptoo. Just need, need to make it, make it wet.”

Now it’s soaked when she locks eyes with you and slips your erection into her mouth. Every inch, every nerve feels alive.

“Just like that. Yesss,” you hiss and grunt. Your back slips against the wooden door, and your hands search for something to hold onto—she’s about to take you on the ride of your life. Eventually, you gather yourself enough for common sense, gripping her violet hair. It looks exactly right like it’s made for this. Like it’s made to be gripped, in dark areas, in shady corners of the room, made to be looked down on as she goes to work on cock. And in the light barely there, the shades shine bright.

Sure, you’ve fucked Nayeon plenty of times here, and she was much more experienced, but Yerim would put her to shame. This moment brings you more pleasure than anything you did with your ex. Moans and gargled noises echo in the common room.

Yerim keeps up her dick-dumbed speech: “Gonna hammer this cowck intwo my moufh. Fuwck this thing into my brain, make it tap the bawck ohf my thwoat, and make an impwint wight theh—bleh, right there.”

Your roommates surely hear it, but you can’t care much either when you’re getting the head of your life from the hottest woman—well, the second hottest woman you’ve laid your eyes on. (Good thing your thoughts about her mom are private, especially when she’s giving you a blowjob.) While keeping her mouth on your cock, she gets on her feet, bends her down to get as much leverage as she can. The only points of balance for Yerim are her hands on your legs and your shaft in her throat.

You stare at her ass jiggling in her jeans as much as her face impaling itself to its deepest extent, but you stop staring and start acting: reach down to knead through the denim and earn her throat’s vibration around your cock.

“Fuck, like that, whore.”

Yerim looks up from her arched stance. A glint in her eyes.

“Should’ve known. You like that, whore?”

“Mmhkm, I love it!” Yerim inhales your cock with ease—or at least, easier than before. Practically skull fucking herself, she pushes herself as far as she can, then pulls out, spits out a stream, and goes right back in for more. Even as tears fall and black makeup streaks down her cheeks, Yerim never breaks eye contact, never loses that gleam of love for your cock.

“Goddamn. Here...” You seize control, putting pressure on her hair, using it to pull her head. “Since you're so eager to try and skullfuck this dick, I’ll show you how it’s done, slut.”

You yank her down roughly to make her kneel again, but flip her so that she’s against the door instead. Yerim staggers a bit as you drag her back to the position, knees surely scraping on the carpet. “Asshole!” Yerim exclaims, but she doesn’t have time to say much else when you embed your cock to the hilt. She coughs and gags wildly, but that doesn’t deter you, only emboldens you when it makes your cock pulsate. The back of her head flat on the door, mouth full of cock, and all you see in her eyes that meekly glance up is the burning desire for more.

“Am I an asshole? Or the man you always wanted?” You take a step back… only to ram your cock in and out at a brutal pace, hitting the back of her throat each time and leaving the imprint she wants.

With each pistoning motion, Yerim chokes, weak pathetic breaths through her nose, and you only fuck her mouth deeper. That nose is getting used to the salty spit, the sweaty musk, the overall wanton filthiness that leaves a puddle of fluids on the shared floor. The pressure has you on the edge. Each time you push, her head knocks on the door like a desperate guest. Your rapid pace must make the back of her head sore, yet the discomfort doesn’t faze her. Only small tears now.

“Fucking see that? See this bulge?” You decelerate your thrusts, leaving your leaky tip in the back of her mouth. Yerim looks down, and her eyes grow in shock while you jerk yourself through her neck. “Yeah, that’s my dick in your fucking throat. I own this shit, don’t I?”

She nods, and you pull out.

“Use your words.”

“Haah, you own this throat. Fuck me with your cock. Fuck it daily. I want this cock in my mouth when I go to sleep. Fuck me till I can’t breathe, fuck me stupid with this cock!” Yerim pleads, her eyes watering. Her tongue lays flat on the underside of your shaft as she slurps on your dick, your hand moving slightly with her head as you still have her leash—er, hair between your fingers. “Please. I love this cock. Fuck my throat, I want to feel your cum!”

“You’re doing such a good job. Hngh, take it all the way. Take it, I’m going to fucking cum soon.” You don’t apply any pressure, don’t push her head any further. Yerim does it all on her own. Though you shut your eyes, try to look away, and think of anything else to stave off the incoming burst, it’s useless. Like fighting against a rogue wave in the ocean, it’s better to let go. Pound into her mouth, rapid insertions now, as it isn’t the time anymore to go throat deep. Her fuckhole lips are a warm, slick hand to jack yourself off.

Yerim pouts on your cock when she stops feeling the shaft fully choking her, but you couldn’t care less—your pleasure comes first.

“Fuck, here it comes!” You grip her head with both hands, fuck her mouth for a few strokes, and then finally push all the way when the internal pressure spikes and bursts you open. Your cock vibrates and flexes before shooting stream after stream of unseen cum into the back of her throat. Straight to the stomach. You groan out while more semen pulses out over and over, your forehead resting on the door. “Take that, Yerim. That’s for you!”

Yerim coughs and struggles to handle the massive load. Cum leaks with bubbles of saliva from both corners of her lips.

Pulling out is difficult; her suction on your shaft is so great you struggle to yank her mouth off. You realize it’s less physics and more just plain gluttony from Yerim, before you’re able to pull her away by the hair, her head hitting the door with a thud. Your cock exits with an echoing pop.

Yerim coughs, flecks of cum flying all over the place. On her chest. On her clothes. On her belly button and abs. She wipes her tears but only spreads her mascara around more—gorgeous regardless. She wipes the mess of cum, only to clean off her fingers and gulp it back down.

Diligently, she wipes your cock with her tongue.

“You taste so good,” Yerim says, her voice wrecked from the deepthroating.

“Yeah, it shows. Ready for me to fuck you?”

“Yes! I need this inside me! Now!” Yerim is about to get up, already ready for more.

“Wait,” you say. Keep her on her knees and grab a handful of her hair and clean your spit-slathered cock with it. The lush strands feel amazing on your cock, and you instantly harden again.

“Seriously?” Though on Yerim’s face, less annoyance, more amusement.

“Seriously. I fucking own every part of you, pretty hair included. Now let’s go,” you say, opening your bedroom door. “Time to claim my next hole.”

Without objection, Yerim crawls through the open door and towards you. Hands and knees on the dirty dorm floors—if there’s any discomfort, she doesn’t show it. In fact, Yerim looks like a natural at it. Sure, the bedroom eyes make Yerim appear as the blissed-out whore she is, but her movement is anything but, slithering swift yet elegant towards you.

Your eyes flash hunger. Her stare stirs a deep fire within you. Maybe Yerim is goading you into losing your cool and fucking her right there on the dirty floor.

That, or she just likes to crawl on her knees for dick.

“Hurry the fuck up,” you say. No watch on your wrist but you point to it anyway.

“You’re the one who’s making me crawl, asshole!” Yerim snaps back.

“I never said to crawl into the room. You just assumed. Seems that’s your natural position. On your hands and knees begging for dick, zero self respect as long as a cock is pounding your holes.”

“Oh, fuck you.“ Yerim half scoffs and half chuckles, enjoying your insults more than she wants to let on. “Now let me get this cock in my fucking—mouwf.”

“Fuck! There you go! Really missed these lips.” You groan slightly and your head hangs back. Yerim’s hot, wet, filthy mouth slobbers on your cock, her tongue works magical circles around your shaft, and her hand automatically reaches up and toys with your balls as if they belong to her. You hiss. “Even a couple minutes gone has me wanting more. Just quit school. Be my blowjob doll all day.”

Yerim’s eyes waver as if she’s really considering it.

“Damn, Yerim. What a good whore.” Your hands run fingers through her hair and gently scratch her scalp to encourage her. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Mmhmm! Gonna, hah, make, ah, my throat, hgh, mold this dick,” Yerim says in quick bursts as she takes just a second to gather some air before she devours your cock again; it’s as if she hates any second her mouth wasn’t slobbering on your meat.

“I believe it. but…” Push her face into your crotch and keep her there, leaning forward, pushing all your weight on her head, and driving your cock as deep as it can go. For the first time, Yerim tries to push herself up and get some air, but the way her throat vibrates your dick makes it feel far too good—her moans and groans make it feel even better. Savor the struggle before she coughs out your shaft. You plant kisses on the top of her head and whisper in her ear, “I hope you did a good enough job fucking my cock with your mouth, making it nice and wet, because I’m planning on fucking this ass.”

“Fuck, I couldn’t breathe,” Yerim says, her expression empty. For the first time, you think that maybe your gamble might have failed, that you’ve gone too far—then her bright smile returns, the same one that greeted you. However, this time, it’s full of lust, and her face is a mess. “I fucking loved it!”

You share her smile. Yerim undoes her black jeans and pulls off her cropped shirt. In just a few seconds, she’s down to simple red bras and panties. You follow her in undress, your outfit as swiftly floor-bound.

“Spit on this one more time and bend over.” Smacking your cock on your hand, Yerim does as she’s told: she lewdly spits on your cock before she stands up and walks towards your small desk. You stand up too to lock the door, then turn around—

You never asked her to sweep aside everything on the table, tossing your laptop, books, and notes to the floor to clear the deck for her anal experience.

“Whoops,” Yerim says, her eyes taunting you when she looks back. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

It won’t stop you from paying back the blatant disrespect.

“You fucking bitch!” you bellow. Instantly, you rip her doused panties off. The snap makes her squeal. You take a lewd whiff, then toss it over your shoulder. “Fucking spoiled slut. Think your bitch mommy is going to fucking bail you out of this shit?”

“Wait a second!”

“Nah.” Your fierce, reddening smack on her ass is her only warning. You yank her by the hair and push your cockhead into her asshole, the anger driving you forward inch by inch despite the tightness of her anal entrance. You don’t completely bury your cock inside like she deserves for her little bitch move, but you do go faster than expected, shoving a few inches at a time. Through clenched teeth and seething rage, you say, “Take it. I’m not stopping.”

Yerim finds herself shouting profanity after profanity as she loses more and more of her mind to the shaft penetrating her tightest fuckhole. Her head bangs on the table, as do both of her balled-up fists. Tears come out too, but she shouts anyway: “More!”

“You stupid whore! This is supposed to be me punishing you, yet here you are, begging and groaning for more? I should pull out and stop fucking you. Now that’s a punishment for a slut like you. That might be what you actually deserve, you spoiled cunt!” You push the last few inches until your balls slap her ass.

She screams at the suddenness, the force of your tip hitting her guts.

“It’s all in. Now I should just pull out and kick you out. Let you get a taste and have you addicted and cut you off.” You do just that, slowly unsheathing yourself and making her feel every inch. Her muscles strain and her ass shifts back to keep your cock locked unto her asshole, but the further you pull away, the more difficult it gets.

“No! No! I’m sorry! I’ll buy you a new laptop! Whatever you want! Just, please… please, fuck me!” Yerim is desperate, her voice weak.

You can only scoff at the reaction. “Fuck. You really are just a dumb slut. What else will you give me?” Your erection is right on the edge of pulling out. You tease her contracting asshole by sliding your cockhead a bit back and forth, in and out.

“Anything!” Yerim turns towards you. Eyes shine with fresh tears of pleasure, and bangs stick to her head with drying cum. You smile at your work. “You can live with me at my mom’s penthouses, fuck me in every corner! Anything, just fuck me!”

At her command, you relented. An upgrade to your living situation and pussy to use at any time. You couldn’t beat that deal. You pushed inside her all the way, grunting when you bottomed out.

“More! More!”

“As you wish, Yerim.” You part your legs a bit more and plant them before you drive forward, your hips working at maximum power since every thrust is a herculean endeavor given the tautness of her ass. Each snap of your hips fully lodges your cock into Yerim and drives your desk against the flimsy wall.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The wood splinters on the corner of your desk; the drywall it’s banging into doesn’t fare any better, cracks already forming.

“Fuck, this asshole is—grh.” Yerim’s ass keeps gripping, clinging, massaging your cock. Oh, the sheer impossibility of pulling out, the sheer need to do anything but.

“Pound my ass, pound my slutty fucking ass, my tight, needy ass! Ram it, use it, anything. Please, please.” And so the combinations of her filthy mouth repeat.

“You know who fucking desperate you sound right now? You know how much of a hungry whore you sound like, Yerim? Was this what you wanted all along? When you asked what I preferred, did you secretly hope I picked ass just so you can get time to fuck it?”

“God, yes! I was waiting for you to say ass. I would have unzipped your pants, pulled your cock out and... oh my fuck, yes, right there!” Your dick rearranging her guts seems to override her thoughts every so often. “Fuck, I would have fucked your cock right there! Instead, you made me let that fucking loser tour guide kiss my ass, act like a little simp, and plead with me to take him out!”

“Made you? You enjoyed that shit.”

“You’re right, right, I don't care! I’m just a dumb whore, an anal whore, just keep, keep fucking, harder, harder. Just don’t stop, never stop, oh god.”

Your consciousness leaves your body with the tremendous bliss that overheats your brain. Out of body, you feel your detached self burn in fatigue at the effort of your hips. You see the hole where the desk meets the wall, hear roommates shouting to keep it down—who cares. All that exists is fucking Yerim. Eventually Haseul too, but right now that arrogant woman is an afterthought.

“Yo, seriously! Shut the fuck up!”

“I’m trying to fucking sleep, asshole!

You’re rudely brought back down to the world, but worldly pleasures aren’t so bad, the tight ring lovingly hugging your girth up and down. Add more spit while some pre-cum leaks out. “Hear that, Yerim? Keep it the fuck down!”

“All I need’s this cock. Fuck them.”

You agree with her sentiments. Fuck your roommates. You aren't going to be living here much longer anyways, from the sound of things.

“Goddamn Yerim. Nayeon, my ex, didn’t even let me fucking touch her asshole until we said ‘I love you’ to each other. Yet here you are, your whole body begging for it even if you can barely take it all.” You’re impressed at how much Yerim can handle. She’s like the perfect fuck AI, learning by the second and with a body built for sex, made for pleasure.

“Fuck! What a stupid fucking bitch.” Now getting more used to the brutal assault, her holes already sculpting to your shaft, Yerim is able to form a few more coherent thoughts in between profanity. “What the fuck does ‘I love you’ have to do with a dick in your ass? Ugh, it feels too good. I couldn’t give a fuck about love as long as you fucked me just like this. Just like that, like that, yess.”

Yerim spewing such venomous words to a woman you once loved would normally make you angry, but instead it only turned you on more. You can’t deny her logic. What does love have to do with pure animalistic fucking?

Or maybe there’s a different word for the kind of love her rear entrance makes to your cock. It’s a love that pulls out the primal heat and pulses and hormones from deep within. “Yerim, I’m going to cum! You’re going to milk my fucking cock.”

“Mhmm. Cum in me. I wanna feel that strong hot jet of cum paint my asshole.”

One hand wraps around her waist while the other chokes Yerim by the neck. She gasps at the loss of air but turns her head to kiss you, lewdly licking your face as you lightly strangle her and grip her right to your body. You pick up the pace once more, not wanting to disappoint. Each thrust threatens the edge to become the fall.

Yerim’s words are slow and punctuated by gasps and squirming squeals. “Fuck me, god, choke me tight, and cum in me, I want it all, give it to me, fuck, yes, yes, cum in my ass, tight, tight, choke and fuck, more, more, hnh.”

“Seriously, shut up, bitch!”

The banging on the walls and your door keep going. High five past self for thinking about the future for once and locking the door.

“I have a test tomorrow, man, what the fuck, keep it down!”

“Oh, shut the fuck up! You guys are—fuck, oh fuck, right there!—you guys are jealous you aren’t fucking like this! Just listen and jerk off, fuck!” Yerim screams back loud enough to wake up the whole campus.

That moment is that very fall foretold. You let go. Your balls pulse, your cock screams in painful pleasure as it shoots ropes and ropes of hot cum straight into Yerim. Her jaw slack, her chest panting for air, she becomes more blissed out with each load that enters her asshole.

“Yes! Fuck, I feel so full.”

You slowly let go of Yerim, letting the broken girl fall onto the broken desk, face first. Since cum still spurts as you pull out, you aim the rest at her asscheeks, fulfilling the perfection you imagined with streaks down her thighs. Smack your cock on it and slap the soft pillows and squeeze them as if you own them.

Luckily, the shouting to “keep it down” has died down for now. Yerim is panting and huffing to gather air, hair disheveled and out of place. She turns to look at you, her smile unfading.

“Damn.” Yerim’s fingers tease between her legs, feeling her slippery pussy lips underneath the used, sticky hole.

“Damn indeed,” you echo with heavy breaths.

Yerim gets up and stumbles a tad. She whispers a “thank you” before she smooches you and holds you in a long embrace.

“You’re welcome.” It’s the first genuine moment between the two of you that isn’t full of games and sexual undertones.

Yerim looks up into your eyes parting from the kiss. Obvious lust is tinged with another emotion you can’t quite pin down. The silence draws on longer as Yerim’s hand gently caresses your chin and her lips leave reckless kisses all over your face.

In unknown territory for the time being and wanting out of it immediately, you shake your head.

“So you weren’t kidding about the penthouse? Because my roommates are about to give me so much shit.”

You only catch something in Yerim’s eyes between two blinks—a split second of disappointment, some missed hint. Puzzles aren’t your strong suit.

“We could sneak out right now. Just grab all your stuff,” Yerim says, brushing it off.

“Yo, fucking seriously?” The door rattles as if it had anger itself.

You chuckle. “Speak of the devil—“

“C’mon asshole, have some fucking respect!”

“Err, devils.” You split away from Yerim and dash across the room in a whirlwind. “I’ll get to packing.”

“Right… well, I’ll, uh—I’ll go distract them?” Yerim’s normally bright and cheery voice is missing the sunshine and rainbows in them.

“Just get some rest. I’ll handle them,” you say, patting Yerim’s head.

She gives a final weak smile and long exhalation before she flops onto the bed.

“Fuck it, I’m going in!” The door swings open, missing you by a few inches and slamming into the busted up desk. The weakest fucking locks. Good thing you’re leaving.

“Yo, what the fuck. Some privacy?” You shove him in annoyance, not caring that you’re fully nude. Ryo bumps into Allen, and both hit the side of the entrance. They stand motionless and unable to speak when they see the girl on your bed.

Your blanket barely covers Yerim who lays there passed out. Her fingers still dip into her cunt and rub it in circles, either blissfully unaware of the intrusion or knowingly enjoying it. Her hair is mixed with sweat and dried cum, chest heaving and eyes lidded. A smile on her despite being asleep.

All three of you snap out of your respective trances. When you shove them back out the door, this time the two resist. “Get the fuck out before I beat your asses. Quit looking at her. She’s fucking mine. Go find your own fucking pussy!”

After you slam the door shut (don’t bother with the locks), Yerim begins to stir a bit, so you give her a kiss on the forehead and stroke her hair.

“Really gave me a run for my money there,” you whisper.

Though packing your belongings is a rush job, you finish it in silence. Give the room a onceover, pick up any stray items, and check your backpack. Make sure your laptop—just a couple dead pixels on the screen—your Switch, and textbooks are there. Check your pockets one last time and confirm your wallet and your keys; you fish them out, remove your dorm key, and toss it aside carelessly.

Relative to anal with Yerim, not even a sweat.

Time passes when you lie next to the sleeping Yerim and watch her pretty face—who cares how much it is? It could be one minute or a whole day. The particulars aren’t for you.

But eventually, you stand up reluctantly and open the door with a sigh.

“See, I told you,” Ryo says to Allen. Neither of them seem too concerned about you.

Allen’s eyes go wide. “What, what the fuck.”

“I thought it’d be one of the usual thots, not…” Ryo mumbles. “Who is she?”

They’ve clearly been waiting outside, ready to pounce and give you a piece of their minds on your way out—that, or to get one more peek at Yerim, judging by their red faces.

“None of your beeswax. Little bee dick losers. Go and cry to the RA. I don’t give a fuck. Imma be gone before the sun’s awake.” You hold your bag up.

Allen facepalms. “Oh, so you couldn’t have waited?”

You opt to ignore the nerd and turn your attention to the stark girl prone in the mattress. “Yerim.”

She slowly stretches her limbs and opens her eyes. A hint of your cream leaks out her rear. “Wh-wha…” Yerim yawns and smiles dreamily at you. “Morning, babe.”

“Pff. Babe? Save that for when I creampie you properly," you say, and Ryo recoils in disgust. "Oh, and call a ride. ‘Cause if not, you’re giving me head in the back of an Uber.”

“You’re a fuckin’ bastard, you know that?" Allen shakes his head. "I said I have a goddamn test later today.”

“Hey boys!” Yerim waves. Shs crawls over to grab her clothes from the floor. Hands on the floor, tits hanging, perky ass shape in full display—you want to take her for anal, round two, in front of your (now ex) roommates. She makes eye contact with Allen and smirks. “He’s a bastard getting chauffeured to a luxury suite.”

“Tsk, naughty girl,” you say when she shimmies back into her underwear. “You’re gonna stain your panties with cum.”

Yerim pokes her tongue out at you before she gets up and grabs your arm. “That’s how I like it. Let’s go… daddy,” she whispers for you alone.

The two of them realize they don’t register as people in front of your eyes at all. Ryo sighs and heads back to his bedroom while Allen huffs and puffs, standing there as if he’s going to do something.

He won’t.

"The room's a fucking mess! Look at all this shit you broke! Are you gonna leave this goddamn broken desk and wall here, you piece of shit, you gotta be fucking kiddi…"

How bold the drabble. It's easy to tune him out because people like that never really get to action. His glares of righteous fury amount to nothing at the end of the day.

You walk downstairs and outside with Yerim in hand—more than in hand, you have to hold the weak-legged Yerim. Bask in the fresh dawn air.

As you wait together on the bench for the ride (some luxury black sedan apparently), Yerim’s phone rings.

“Hi, mom. Yes, I called the driver. Yes, of course I was out at a party. No, I—okay, yeah, obviously, I’ll tell you about it later, just… You mean, my condo? Yes, yes, yours, you know what I mean, the one I live at. No! Just use the other one! The one that’s two buildings over. It’s so much nicer, it has the gym with the equipment you like, and I need privacy for studying. Don’t tell me you don’t get loud too whenever you—ha, thought so. Okay, I’ll see you around.”

After Yerim hangs up, you ask, “Is this gonna be a problem?”

“Oh, not at all. I swear, she won’t even mind you living there. It’s just that if she finds out, she’s definitely gonna… Look, don’t worry about it.” Yerim squeezes your arm.

No need for that. You don’t do silly things like worry. After all, the future doesn’t exist. There’s only this tick of the clock and the next; that's all you can control.

You can't control Yerim learning over in the backseat, her mouth sloppily loud as it is wet.

You certainly cannot control the exact moment you puff up her cheeks.

So goes another second for the clock to record.

Handle the rest later.

[bowiebond]

Munver body swap AU, they each wake up in the other's body and bed, Eddie proceeds to snoop the hell out of Jason's stuff and may or may not ruin his reputation in the process of what he finds, but I can't decide what Jason would do 🤔

Eddie waking up in a room with a giant king size bed and dark blue sheets and covers; Jason’s room is decorated in basketball posters and trophies, his school books from the previous years on a shelf by his desk that’s kept neat and orderly. But he’s got a poster of JAWS and pictures of him at aquariums, one even with Chrissy, polaroids on his mirror of his teammates and Chrissy. His letterman is tucked in his closet, and his shelves are filled with books on aquatic animals, but mostly sharks.

Eddie is starting to think Jason is a nerd too, honestly. Just in a different way. Probably wants to be a marine biologist if he can’t make a career out of laundry baskets.

His wardrobe is filled with polos and khakis, jeans and jackets that could be confused for a letterman with their shape, but there’s only one with Hawkins Tigers printed on it.

Eddie knows immediately when he looks in the mirror and sees Jason that he’s been hexed or cursed or something. He should be freaking out but his first thought is how good this is gonna be. Rubbing his hands together like the little devil he is and his expressions look weird on Carvers face, but whatever.

He gets dressed (and peaks at what he’s equiped with - he’s kind of mad that Jason’s thicker but he’s longer so he could suck shit) and practically bolts down the stairs, half dressed like he usually is when he rushes out of his own trailer.

“Jason, what’re you causing a racket for—? Do you plan on leaving the house like that?” Mr Carver’s face is twisted in disgust at Eddie’s choices; tightest jeans he could find that he just ripped up messily with a pair of scissors, dirty sneakers that look old and well worn - did Jason fucking hike? - and a black polo with the collar undone. His letterman was tied around his waist and the colourful shark watch Jason already had on matched with an ugly souvenir bracelet that looks like a shark eating a surfer. Fucking gold. He couldn’t believe Jason owned something so dumb.

Eddie grinned with Jason’s lips.

“Sure do, Paparino.” Eddie winked with a click of his tongue and before the older man could recover he grabbed his face and licked the left side of his face and smacked a loud kiss there. “Bye bye!”

He only hears the explosion after he’s closed the door, cackling as he ran towards Jason’s car. Oh this was going to be fucking amazing.

Jason on the other hand wakes up with a crick in his neck. He’s groggier than he’s ever been and it takes everything in him to raise his head from his pillow, groaning with closed eyes. Did he drink the night before? He knew he had to get up, but it felt like fighting a battle just to leave his sheets.

He yawns as he stumbled out of his bed, the floor freezing. He hisses and finally pries his eyes open only to scream. Those were not his feet, or his boxers, or his fucking floor.

He whipped his head around at the room. It was tiny compared his one, posters almost entirely covering the wallpaper, water stains on the roof, a vanity in the corner. Jason almost tripped over what looked like a cushion chair as he made his way towards it, grabbing the red guitar and placing it aside so he could see himself.

Munson. He was looking at Munson’s mug.

He screamed again and a thunder of footsteps followed.

“What’re you screaming about boy? You alright?” Jason whipped around and almost lost balance, crashing against a black acoustic guitar with white painted words on it. He didn’t break it, but it did fall to the floor loudly and he rushed on instinct to grab it, to secure it back into its place.

“You’re not the quietest kid, but you aren’t usually this worked up? Was it the nightmares again?”

“Nightmares? What? No, I—“ Jason pointed at his reflection dumbly. It occurred to him that he must look insane. This was Munson’s uncle, he worked the auto shop his dad took his car to for tune ups. And right now, he was wearing his nephews face. What was he supposed to tell him? ‘Sorry, I’m actually Jason Carver, I’m inhabiting your freaky nephews body right now and am currently freaking the fuck out over it?’

“…are you high? This early? We have rules here, respect for each other, Eddie, and you know I don’t like you doing that stuff before school. After school and in your room with the window open is all yours, but—“

“I’m not high!” Jason’s voice cracked around the high pitch of his denial. He wasn’t high, Jason refused to touch that stuff, even if Munson did.

“Alright, alright.” Wayne put his hands up in surrender. “But if you’re having nightmares again, you know you can talk to—“

“I’m living a nightmare right now, I’m gonna get dressed and leave.” Jason cut him off with a finger and a disingenuous smile. He looked at the closet and ruffled through it wildly, grabbing the first jacket he could find and cracked open the dresser to wrangle on a pair of jeans.

“Why are these so tight?!” Jason cried and Wayne watched with wide eyes.

“…Are you sure you’re not still high?”

“Please leave me alone!” Jason begged in defeat and Wayne tutted but closed the door. Jason banged his head into the dressed with a groan.

“I’m going to kill Munson.”

He got the stupid jeans on (not before taking a peak because okay, he was curious, school boy shit you could call it, but he was a little jealous Munson was fucking hung. At least Jason has girth, skinny asshole) and rifled around for a set of keys.

He had never felt so discombobulated. Munson’s room was cluttered unlike Jason’s, and it made his anxiety spike the longer he couldn’t just find something because Jason put everything in specific spots, never moved them so they didn’t get lost, always put them back when done with them.

When he finally found the keys, he almost cried in relief before tearing out of the room.

“I made you tea if you’re ready to ta—“

“Bye!” The trailer door slammed shut and Wayne blinked in surprise.

“…If I didn’t love that boy, I’d smack him.” He poured the tea down the drain and huffed.

————

Jason and Eddie would see each other at school and Jason would drag him away; which is a hilarious sight because the basketball team is up in arms at the freak stealing their captain but the captain is insisting it’s fine. After acting all weird all morning.

When they realise neither know what caused this or how to fix it, they’re stumped. Cue Jason begging Eddie not to fuck over his entire reputation and life, and Eddie decides he’ll only do it if Jason pretends to be him, like actually tries.

Jason hates pretending to be Eddie because he’s not but somehow he’s able to manage it. Eddie is going a little insane because he’s used to his brain being very loud but Jason’s is pretty quiet outside when things around him get too much and he feels like screaming at anything and everything. Eddie has had to hold back from full blown meltdowns that he never even knew Jason had. He wasn’t very good at social cues anyway but Jesus, his brain felt like slush after a day at school and he found himself flipping through his dumb shark books.

Jason on the other hand has to manage Eddie’s mood swings, the spikes of anxiety at nothing, the sluggishness of depressing thoughts swarming him, the constant clutter in his brain that seems to work for him sometimes and then other times not. He has to refrain from saying the first thing in his brain, to implant a filter that’s barely working. He can’t focus on anything in class and it brings him to near tears because how does Eddie even deal with this? All the time? Is this why he does drugs? Was it because of drugs? Is this why he never graduated? Jason wouldn’t be able to either honestly. Somehow, he ends up playing with Eddie’s guitar in turn, not very good, but his hands have somethings memorised at least. The metal music is starting to make sense to his brain, so loud it drowns out his own constant monologue.

There’s also there families and friends. Chrissy who pin points that Jason’s different recently but that she’s pretty sure it’s because he seems happier and she’s glad for it. Eddie is starting to get Jason’s attitude with his parents; they’re both right assholes in that snide, rich people way. In the ‘reputation is everything to us’ way because their egos are so fragile that they have to pick at others. No wonder Jason was such a perfect golden child; he doesn’t have room to be anything else.

Jason feels weirdly at ease with Wayne, even if the older man looks at him suspiciously like he’s not sure if his sons been replaced by a clone. He’s away at work most of the time but he’s supportive, a bit gruff but always smiles at Eddie - at Jason in turn. He watches JAWS with him when Jason asks awkwardly because it’s been weeks since he watched it and he’s itching too.

DND is where a problem occurs; Eddie can feign being decent at Basketball, or faking a minor injury he should stay off for a couple weeks, but Jason can’t feign his knowledge of DND or LOTR.

They don’t know how long this will last so Eddie says he’ll teach him everything and write the campaign he’s halfway done drafting with him.

Cue the romance. It’s awkward, being each other’s bodies. It’s been weeks and they already know all the moles, freckles, birthmarks and scars on each other.

And maybe Jason’s body has a reaction to Eddie’s body even if Eddie, the one inhabiting Jason’s body, isn’t trying to go there, you know? But it’s a strange thought; how much of their brain chemistry remained in each other’s bodies and influenced each other.

Eddie kisses his own face to find out. Because he knows his own body is wired to want to fuck just about anyone if he gives it more than a second thought, but Jason’s? Perhaps it’s a fluke.

It’s not. Jason himself, his soul or whatever, seems wired enough to want him back just as badly.

I like to think, funnily enough, it’s after they’ve fucked that they switch back. Like they orgasm and then suddenly BOOM, Jason’s got his dick inside Eddie instead of inside him, and it’s a little disappointing honestly sksksk

Cue them switching because if things are back to normal, they’re fucking each other without having to stare at their own face okay?

[shunsuiken]

WITH LOVE.

pairing. kaeya alberich x fem!reader

genre. fluff + hurt/comfort

synopsis. kaeya spends his birthdays at angel’s share, alone, most of the time. you find out and decide it’s time to change things—for the better.

wc. 1.3k

an. THIS IS KINDA LATE BUT I STILL MADE IT !! heres a birthday fic for our beloved icy captain <33 kaeya ilysm,, sobsob,,;; reblogs are appreciated ! hehe

kaeya thinks his birthday is quite like any other regular day, setting aside the continuous birthday greetings as he strolls through mond and the myriad of free drinks either on the house or in good turn. for the most part he enjoys his birthday, like any normal person would. but that is until you decide to take part in kaeya’s life that his birthday should feel more celebrated. it is the date of his birth of course! without him, how could mondstadt dare go about its business?

you casually make your way to jean’s office, knocking gently until you hear her say you can come in. and to your surprise, after he leans back from the stacks of paper that were covering his face, kaeya’s inside as well. there are literally papers (most likely political and official documents) scattered across the desk.

“well isn’t this a lovely surprise.” kaeya can’t control his feet as he gets up from his chair to make his way over to you, smoothly pulling your waist close with his gloved hand to plant a kiss on your forehead. “what brings you here?”

“actually.” smiling from the affection, you then exchange a look with jean. “i have a few things to discuss with our acting grand master, mind if i take your attention off these documents, jean?”

“of course, you have my attention, y/n,” jean replies. “will kaeya stay or will he be dismissed?”

“he’ll be dismissed.” hopefully you didn’t sound too suspicious. your expressions really liked to crack it’s true colours a bit too easily sometimes.

“oh?” kaeya cocks a brow but doesn’t question you any further, bidding goodbye to both you and jean briefly after.

once the door closes, you go up to where jean is to give her your thoughts but she’s quick to stop you with a smile and her pointed finger up. “is this about kaeya’s birthday?”

you nod your head enthusiastically. “was i too obvious? he couldn't possibly tell, could he?”

“i’m not one to judge,” jean laughs lightly, putting away the document she was holding. “my expressions like to get the better of me as well. you were saying?”

this is how you end up talking to jean about kaeya’s birthday shenanigans. you’ve known for a while that he never did anything special but from what jean remembers, the last time he ever had a proper birthday party was when he turned seventeen or eighteen. she never received any birthday invitations from him the following years.

“it’s been a while then.” you cross your arms, leaning back into the chair kaeya sat on previously. “i’ve been planning things with—archons knows how i did it—diluc and i convinced him to let me throw kaeya’s birthday party at angel’s share.”

“goodness me, you convinced master diluc?” jean almost doubts what you say but maybe diluc has seen how gently you treat the people he cares about—perhaps it’s uncharacteristically touched his heart? no, maybe you were just insanely lucky. who knew! it still worked anyway (after countless bargains which he did not want to accept).

“so angel’s share, 7 o’clock tonight?”

“you got it.”

everything feels suspiciously normal. kaeya feels like he’s become so narcissistic that since it's his birthday, he thinks someone might just whip out a surprise to catch him off guard and cover his beautiful face in cream and fondant. although he doesn’t do anything special on his birthday anymore, he still seems to have thoughts like these.

he silently prays that it doesn't happen. (in the far corner of the right sits a certain bard who sneezes obnoxiously loud after suddenly feeling like pepper was sprinkled right under his nose).

kaeya slides a finger across the edge of his wine glass, wanting to but not entirely getting lost in the hue of his beverage as he awaits your arrival. in the meantime, he quietly observes his surroundings. he can hear the rough roars and hollers of the members of the adventurers guild meeting up for the mid-weekly gathering and the delicate, sweet voices of women getting together for a night out. but there is still no sign of you.

a tap on his shoulder is all kaeya needs to escape his thoughts, a grin appearing on his face when he sees it's you before his gaze falls on the deliciously decorated cake you’re holding and his expression changes immediately. he’s caught dumbstruck for the slightest moment before he recollects himself again, his body language surely practiced and polished in order to play out a situation like this.

behind you stands everyone who took part in your little scheme. “were you all in on this?” he stands from his seat, a little flustered from the attention he wasn’t expecting to be on him.

the candles are lit and so is the look in his eye when he drives his attention back to you. bringing the cake closer, you give him the look to blow out the candles. kaeya chuckles lightly but the childish excitement inside him squeals in joy at the given opportunity. and when he blows the candles out, the tavern bursts in cries and howls of hurrah’s. you can also hear the quick shutter of a kamera from somewhere next to you too.

kaeya takes the cake from your hands. “easy there, are your hands sore from holding this?” he teases, placing it on the wooden counter.

you shake your head, picking up a knife to cut up a piece of the cake for him. “they aren’t. now taste this.” you scoop up some cake on the fork, holding it in front of his mouth. he tastes the bit out of what you’ve given, humming in delight.

“a lovely flavour you’ve chosen,” kaeya comments, taking the fork from you so he could feed some to you too, purposely smearing some cream on the corner of your lip.

“happy birthday,” you manage to say as he cleans off the cream with his thumb, licking it off with his tongue slyly. “what i’ve prepared probably can’t compare to what you’ve had but i—”

kaeya tuts, fondly gazing at your flushed expression. “a birthday spent with you feels like no other.” he brushes hair away from your face, softly exhaling a breath of relief. your surroundings are bright and cheerful but the atmosphere between you two is gentle and sentimental, a string of understanding connects you both in love and trust. kaeya can’t contain the fiery rushes in his veins, emotions overwhelming, all that’s in his head is that he’s so happy to be yours.

like this morning his hands pull your waist close, your nose bumping into his shoulder as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. you smile, wrapping your arms around him to embrace him and despite his cryo vision, his embrace is warmer than ever.

“it’s a shame that i can’t thank you enough,” he whispers, breath tickling your ear. “i love you, y/n.”

you remove yourself from the hug, playfully punching his arm. “look at you, acting all sentimental.”

kaeya nods his head, showing you a lopsided grin. “your company is what makes me feel this way, i hope it’s still mutual.”

“now if it still wasn’t mutual i wouldn’t have thrown you such a lovely party at angel’s share and negotiated so tirelessly with master diluc about it too.” you sighed melodramatically, closing your eyes to exaggerate your accounts from a few hours ago. unfortunately, you miss the cute eye smile kaeya looks at you with when he watches you express your stresses.

on this birthday, you make sure kaeya isn’t spending it alone. you hope that this moment, where he is surrounded by the people who support him and look up to him, is captured deeply into his memories. with a tilt of his head, he leans his figure onto your seated one—he seems more clingy than usual. but physical touch is nothing new coming from him. so you lean into him to reciprocate his touch, as if you were to say:

you are not alone anymore.

[secondhand-trash]

Put a Ring on It

A/N: I started it with the intention of writing a thirst post but it ended up being 1.7k of pure fluff lmao

Pairing: Miya Atsumu x reader

Description: Miya Atsumu had a thing for wearing rings.

Word count: 1772

-

Miya Atsumu had a thing for wearing rings.

Maybe it was how he thought that they made his hands looked bigger, or how the accents never failed to draw even more attention to his slender fingers. Likely, it was just the way how most teenage boys went through a phase of wanting to look stylish and edgy without really bothering to look into having an actual style of their own, resulting in him halting a baggy t-shirt, cargo pants and an unnecessary amount of rings as the peak of men’s fashion. You had your own thoughts on how he was so determined to slip a ring or two into whatever he was wearing whenever he was out of his uniform. You made fun of his sense of fashion none stop, pointing to his bleached hair that has faded from the gold it was supposed to be into a sharp yellow and cheap chunky jewelry as the main culprit.

“You look like a delinquent who smokes cheap cigarettes in parks after school.”

You sniggered when he let out an offended ‘huh’. His chunky silver rings that had obnoxiously prominent carvings on the side brushed dug into the gap between your fingers as he squeezed your hand tighter when he snapped towards your direction. Your free hand, the one that wasn’t in a lock hold by his ring clad one, reached out to brush away his side-swooped bangs. His hair was fried from the boxed bleach he used regularly but as a side perk, the dryness did add to the volume of his hair.

He stood there still as you carefully pushed his hair back, his upper body leaning towards your direction just a little so you didn’t have to struggle to reach him despite his initial protests. You were messing with his hair and he was looking at you, only at you, with his fingers still linked with yours even though you always complained about his rings making it hard for you to hold his hand.

You finally pulled back and your gaze dropped from his bangs to his eyes. Your heart skipped a beat when you met his eyes and they were full of you.

You cursed your weak heart for its sudden moment of swooning when he stood back up straight and his ring scratched against the inside of your finger.

You sighed, “You are so lucky you have a nice face so that people will be too caught up to notice how you dressed.”

Atsumu pretended he couldn’t hear the second half of the sentence and decided to focus on how you said he had a nice face instead.

But then you graduated from high school and he slowly started dressing less like a disastrous teenage boy and more like a proper adult. That athlete money did him well and he was finally able to dress the way he wanted to dress without having to turn into a questionable direction because of monetary limits. The baggy pants were gone from his closet, replaced with pants that actually fit his body and elevate things instead of holding back the visual upper hand he was supposed to have because of his physiques. He finally stopped bleaching his own hair after your many years of nagging but you nearly lost your composure when he showed up in front of your door to pick you up with his new hair for the first time.

“I got the stylist to trim my bangs for me,” he said as he ran his hand through the curl sitting at the side of his forehead and you gulped when you realised that his hair was soft enough for fingers to go through them with ease now, “I’m still trying to get used to not having things over my eye.”

“Oh?” you replied, your voice breathy as you tried to calm down your sea of thoughts at the sight of your boyfriend’s new look. 

You were aware that he was good looking, but everything that he was not born with used to be questionable so it balanced things out. Now he was wearing tight-fitted jeans that made his legs look even more toned as if it was even possible, with a white t-shirt that was tugged in loosely. He had a blazer on too, probably because you made him take you somewhere nice in celebration of his first VLeague cheque, but at this point you were almost certain he had that thing on just to drive you insane. 

And his hair, his god damn windswept fluffy no longer bright yellow hair.

“Do you think I should grow it longer?” he asked as he rubbed the tip of his bangs between the pads of his finger. The silver that sat at the bottom of his digits contrasted starkly with the pale gold and it finally dawned upon you that he stopped wearing the cheap rings you used to make fun of him for a while ago. 

Oh dear, now he was actually hot.

“No,” you blurted out, “it looks nicer this way.”

"You think so?” he asked as you forced your legs to move past your door before shutting it behind your back firmly. You had to force yourself to go out before the urge to make him come in could win, or else you would most certainly end up doing things that would make you miss your reservation.

And you had been excited to leech off of his athlete money.

“Yes, yes I do think so,” you said as you grabbed his hand to pull him along with you. 

You groaned in satisfaction when you realised his new rings did not stop you from sliding your fingers between his like the old ones did.

You started having fewer objections towards his choice of accessaries after his general fashion sense shifted for the better. You even started liking the rings after a while, crediting it to him opting for designs with more simplicity. You liked the way the metal was already warm from his heat when he put his hand on your thigh out of nowhere because he was bored, or when he was at the driver’s seat and the pad of his finger drummed against your skin steadily as he waited for the lights to change. The warmth of his hand always brought you security and he was well aware that nothing called your attention to him like it did. You were not even sure if he was aware, but he had a habit of toying with his rings whenever you were neglecting him because you had your attention on something else. The band he was playing with always ended up off his finger and up yours when you were least expecting it, the feeling of his calloused finger holding your hand as he slid it down always managed to call your gaze back to him.

‘What a child,’ you chuckled to yourself when he looked at you innocently like he could not be having any hidden thoughts, his hand still holding onto yours as he held the ring that was too large for your finger from falling down.

So being the child he was, who always couldn’t fathom the thought of letting you leave his side and was equally eager to let the world know he wasn’t leaving yours, it did not surprise you at all when you were tidying up your drawers one day to find a velvet box tugged all the way back into his sock drawer.

You had a feeling it was exactly what you thought it was, and you laughed at the image of him trying to find somewhere to hide it in the house while you were not around.

Of course, leave it up to Miya Atsumu to hide a ring at the back of his sock drawer because he thought it was the one place you wouldn’t look into unless you were left with no choice.

You giggled to yourself and closed the drawer, letting the box stayed right where it was.

You weren’t looking. You wanted to, but you weren’t. Because you knew he would whine to no end if you didn’t look as surprised as he wanted you to be when he finally showed it to you for real.

He still had no clue that you already knew it was coming when he got down on one knee and took the box out of his pocket with shaky hands. He cried when you said yes and you cried when he started crying, even though you had already rehearsed in your head for a million times on how you would say yes ever since you saw the velvet box inside of his sock drawer. 

He was still sobbing when he realised he needed to get up from the ground, wiping his tears away on the sleeve of his very expensive blazer before clumsily taking the ring out of the box to put it on your finger. Miya Atsumu was an ugly crier through and through and you finally admitted to yourself that you were a whipped fool when you still wanted to kiss his stupid face even though his eyes were swollen and he missed your finger a few times before finally getting the ring in.

“Now we match,” he said with a hiccup, laughing but sounding like he was about to break down into another round of tears as soon as the chuckle left his mouth, “you can’t make fun of my rings anymore.”

He was so dumb, and you felt like crying again when he took out an identical ring from his pocket and put it on his own hand. Who the hell does that? You wanted to laugh at him but you couldn’t, because you knew you would start sobbing again if you do that.

“You’re an idiot,” you said, grabbing his hand to steady him because he was shaking and you were sure he might just drop the ring if he kept fidgeting.

He sniffled, grinning ear to ear through his tears when he saw the ring that sat on your finger.

“So?” he said, happily holding your hand in his to look at how perfectly it fits, the rings and your hands, “You can’t get rid of me now, I got the ring to prove it.”

You huffed, but couldn’t stop yourself from smiling when he rubbed his fingers along his engagement ring like he was making sure that it was still there.

You decided that it would be your favourite ring of his until you get to put the wedding band onto his finger yourself.

[kaz11283]

ok ok idk if ur still taking request but can i have a drabble or a one shot or anything of loki dealing with/ taking care/ drinking with drunk y/n??? i’m drunk rn and that’s allll i need in life

Babysitter

The party at Starks compound was going off without a hitch, celebrating the man himselfs birthday. The music was to loud, lights flickering everywhere, and laughter bouncing off the walls.

"Come drink with us y/n!" Thor bellowed to you across the bar montioning you to follow him to the group that was sitting around one of the back tables. You flopped down next to Loki and let out a sigh.

"How are you this evening y/n?" He asked moving his leg over slightly so that he wouldnt have to touch you. That was your power, being able to read people minds with a simple touch, nights like tonight all ways set you on edge with to many people bumping, shoving, touching. The whole atmosphere drove you mad most of the time.

"Handling it." You forced a smile looking over at him. "Alcohol helps repress it." You said picking up your drink and giving a silent cheers to the handsome man that had decided to dress in a black dress shirt and dark colored jeans. You threw your head back and took the shot.

"Starting the party stong this evening y/n?" Tony asked raising his eyebrow at you.

"Putting everyone elses thoughts on the back burner for tonight Tony." You said smiling sweetly at him before taking another shot.

"So whos on babysitting duty tonight then?" Bucky laughed looking around the table.

"I'm not that bad-"

"Thor had to pull you off the bar last time before you started stripping." Your face turned bright red as you glanced over to Thor whos face was the same color mounthing out sorry.

"Dont worry I've got her this time." Loki laughted taking a sip of his wine.

"Babysitter." You rolled your eyes again taking a sip of the mixed drink that Nat had put in front of you making sure her hand grazed your.

Loki seems quite excited to be on babysotting duty tonight, you might be in for another private stripping session tonight.

You shot her a look that sent her into a fit of laughs.

"Another round then!" Thor yelled at the bar tender. "We are celebrating the Man of Iron tonight." You sighed slouching back in your chair.

"Relax, darling, I've got you tonight." Loki whispered leaning over to you. "I won't let you make a complete fool of your self."

As the night grew so did your buzz, your cheeks were getting warmer, and the dress you had on now started feeling constricting. You started pulling at the bottom and then neck.

"Your fidgeting darling." Loki said placing his hand on your leg causing you to jump.

"My dress is to tight. I just need to get up for a second." You said standing to walk over to the bar.

"Dress to tight?" Steve asked looking over at Loki.

"She had to get up for a moment." At that moment there was whistling coming from the dance floor.

"Umm, babysitter." Tony said pointing behind Loki. As he turned around he noticed that you had already started to pull the dress up more than you should have. Loki jumped up running toward you.

"Y/n, what are you doing?" He said grabbing your hands causing your dress to fall back down.

"Lok, I'm hot. So freaking hot. This dress, its to tight. I need it off." You said trying to shake him off.

"Come on then, lets get you out of here." He said pulling you out the door. You bumped into a man standing near the door.

Wish she would have finished. He doesnt deserve to be able to see all that undressed.

You stopped suddenly looking at the man before raring back and punching him in the face. "I dont think its any of your concern who sees me like that." Loki stopped and stared at you before escourting you out of the crowed room.

"Asshole." You huffed behind him. He was able to lead you to the floor where his room was. "You could have just taken me back to my room so that you could go back." You sighed flopping down on his bed. The buzz had slowly started wearing off but the room was still spinning.

"Its ok y/n. Besides if I'm taking care of you then I cant go back to that overrated party then can I?" He laughed sitting next to you.

"I get so tired of being able to hear what people are thinking. It is literally exhausting. Trying to find somewhere to sit thats not to close to someone. Especially one of the guys, all of yall are perverts. Course the girls are just as bad most of the time." You put your head in your hands tearing up. Nope, the drunk still wasnt over.

"The power that you have makes you you y/n. If you didnt have that power you wouldnt be here with your friends."

"Yeah friends that I can hug because im afraid that I might hear something that I shouldn't. I made that mistake once. I hugged Steve not even thinking and he was thinking about Nat. Like thinking about something that no one but those two should know about. After that I just stopped touching everyone. Do you know how bad that sucks?"

"Ah, touch starved." He said laughing. "May I try something?"

"Its no use, everyone tells me they can shut it all off but theres always something on their minds." You shrug.

"Give me your hand." He saod placing his hand out palm up. You begrudgingly put your hand in his causing him to smile. "Well?"

"I think im about to be sick." You said jumping up and running to his bathroom silently thanking Tony for sticking with one layout for every room.

"Oh dear." Loki said following you in there and grabbing ahold of your hair that had fallen. "I think you will live." He helped you sit on the side of the bathtub as he got a clean rag for you to whip your face.

"I'm sorry you got stuck with me tonight." You whispered closing your eyes.

"Stop that nonsense. I volunteered for it. I knew what was coming." He laughed as he walked out to his room to get you a clean shirt. "Now tell me. Did you hear anything when I touched you?"

"Actually no, I didnt even realize it when you was pulling me from the party." You said putting the shirt next to you. "How?"

"I can 'turn it off' if that makes any sense. Telepathic people drive me insane. Always trying to figure out what your thinking. I learned at a young age how to block stuff like that out. Wanda tends to be the worlds worst."

"Its nice. The quiet. I havent had that, ever." You leand your head aginst the cool wall closing your eyes.

"Hey, no no no. Lets get you changed and laid down in bed before you pass out." He pulled you to your feet and looked at you. "Do you need assistance?"

You laughted as him. "No. Its fine ive got this." You pulled your dress off and pulled his on before walking out and flopping down on his bed.

"Do you mind holding my hand? Its nice not having to worry about what i might hear." Loki laid down beside you and placed his hand in yours.

"If you ever need some quiet time you are more than welcome to come find me." He sais placing a kiss to your temple before you fell asleep.

Thank you so MUCH for the request! I hope you like it. I had one, erased it and restarted so thats what took took me so long to write this one. If you have any more please feel free to send them in!

Tag List:

@high-functioning-lokipath

@serpentargo

@drbaureid

@poetic-fiasco

@kgirardin

@sophlubbwriting

@supbeeches

@rosaline-black

@jesuswasnotawhiteman

@natandersonnla

@delightfulheartdream

[aghostpost]

The Hard-J (Victor Creed x Reader)

A/N: I know I said it would be ready by the weekend but... it wasn’t! Excuses only work for those that make them, so I won’t bother lmao~ This one is for @queengiuliettafirstlady and everyone else that loves a little Victor Creed intensity. ♥

“Can we not do this today, please?”

“What the hell was that about?” He slammed the door after him as I went to my kitchen to put groceries away. 

“He saw me walking back from the store, that’s it.”

“That’s it, huh? What did I say about hangin’ out with him?”

“We weren’t hanging out! I told you, he saw me walking and he was helping me carry a few things. That. Is it.”

“You see how he talks to me? How he’s always talked to me-“

“-I see two brothers who, for whatever reason, can’t seem to hack it.”

“We aren’t brothers.”

I rolled my eyes, shoving my peanut butter and fudge swirl ice cream into the freezer. “Brothers in arms.”

“Because there’s no damn respect! Always lookin’ down at me like he’s some kinda fuckin’ superior.”

“Vic…”

“I don’t want you around him. You hear me?”

I let out an exasperated sigh as I rolled my eyes. “It’s too hot to argue about this shit.”

“You’re the one arguing instead of just agreeing, Y/N.”

“Your relationship with Logan is just that: yours. I have no problem with the guy.”

“If I see you two together again-“

“- Do not end that sentence with a threat, Victor-“

“- I’ll do you one better and end it with a guaran-fucking-tee!”

“We live in the same city, I’m bound to run into him sometimes!”

“Y/N look at me… Hey!” He shouted, making me jump out of my skin as I gave him my undivided attention. Clearly he was serious, which he tended to be. But this time, more serious than normal.

He was always so very dead serious whenever we talked about Logan.

“I don’t care if you’re next door neighbors with him. If I see you two with each other again, it will not end well.”

“For him? Or for me?”

“Both o’ you.”

I stared him down and watched him do the same, his face cold hard steel, not even a muscle flexing as he spoke to me. “What the hell happened between you two, anyway?” I asked. “What did he do that’s so damn bad you’re forbidding me to even say hi? He kill your cat or somethin’?”

He smirked and let out a huff of a chuckle, his left fang peeking from behind his lips. “You think I’m kiddin’?”

I rolled my eyes and pushed him away from me to continue putting the food away. “Yeah, sure. Whatever. I’ll stay away from him, Victor. Whatever the hell makes-” I couldn’t finish my sentence before I heard the loud crash of glass breaking. I whipped around and saw a wet puddle dripping on my wall, the floor beneath it decorated with broken glass and what was a very nice bouquet of assorted flowers. “Are you shitting me?!”

“Oh, I got your attention now?”

“You had it! You’re throwing a temper tantrum, breaking my shit, all because you’re jealous of someone I’m not even interested in?”

“Jealous?” he questioned as he slowly stalked towards me, like a predator carefully eyeing its prey. I was no stranger to Victor's temper; under the right circumstances, he could go from settled to up in flames with the snap of a finger. Maybe it’s because he was never really at ease, always ready to pounce at any moment’s notice if necessary. Yeah, I know he has little patience and is kinda trigger happy to get into a fight, his own source of entertainment. But that was with other people, strangers. With me, he exercised a lot more restraint. We’d have arguments, he’d yell, maybe hurt a wall and then storm off.

But whenever Logan was involved, it was a different story...

“You need to relax,” I warned as I slowly backed away from him, ready to defend myself if necessary, even if I knew it was a losing battle. 

“Did you just say I was jealous of him?”

“Are you?”

“What reason do I have to be jealous?”

“You tell me. What is it, Vic? You think I’m gonna run off with him into the sunset? You come over here one day to see me, all my shit is packed up and I leave a note behind? I doubt he’d throw my shit around like you just did.”

“I bought you those damn flowers,” he growled.

“You gonna buy the replacements too?” I asked playfully, trying to diffuse the tension but failing. It was painfully obvious, literally, he wasn’t in the mood to play when I felt his fist grip me like a boa constrictor. He forced my head against the kitchen cabinet behind me and got close to my face. If he moved any closer he’d be able to taste the chive cream cheese bagel I had on the way over here. 

“Now that all depends…”

“Victor, let go of me. Now.”

“What’s the matter, hm? I thought you liked it rough?” he spoke with a tone of warning before a lecherous grin spread across his face. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t release a flutter deep in my belly, my incessant desire for him threatening to surface. It was embarrassing and admittedly disgusting to me, how even in moments as such, there was always going to be some shred of me that could neither ignore nor deny my constant thirst for him to satisfy me in ways only Victor knew how.

“You’ve made your point.” I tried to remain calm while fighting for air. I was willing to bet money that he could feel my pulse quickening beneath his grip. If even one of his claws came out I’d be bleeding out all over the linoleum.

“Have I?”

“You have five seconds to get the fuck off of me... or I walk.” He stared me in the eye only a few seconds longer before relinquishing his grip. If there was anything I caught on to in the seven months we’ve been seeing each other, if that’s even what you wanna call him dropping by for food, sex and quality conversation with a solid night’s rest, it’s that he actually greatly enjoyed having me in his life. He would never admit it, of course, being the poster boy for hypermasculinity; no way he’d display the level of emotion required to confess he liked me. But I picked up on it in subtle ways he probably doesn’t even notice. The way he throws his arm over me in his sleep, subconsciously keeping me in place with him. The way he came over and pretended it was just for sex, when we wouldn’t wind up having sex at all. The flowers he bought me, before throwing them to the wall in a rage. Most importantly, the way he wouldn’t stay gone long after a fight and would come back with his tail tucked in ready to apologize, afraid that would be the fight that finally scared me off and into the arms of someone else. I wasn’t using that to my advantage here, but I was letting him know what we both knew but never spoke of:

He wanted me around. He liked me.

I took a moment to allow oxygen to return to my lungs before I addressed him. “I pushed a button o’ yours with that little J-word?”

“What on Earth gave you that idea?” he asked sarcastically.

I nodded. “Fine. Noted. But I promise you, next time you use your words, because if you ever think about putting your hands on me again-”

“-Now you’re ending sentences with threats?”

“Guarantees, right?” I stalked to the corner of the kitchen and grabbed the broom that was wedged between the wall and my fridge then slammed it into his chest. “Dust pan behind the fridge,” was all I said before making my way to the bedroom.

“We’re not done-”

“-I am.” The moment I turned the corner out of the kitchen he was following me, the broom loudly clapping against the kitchen floor. The same hand that was just wrapped tightly around my throat was now finding its way around my waist along with his other one, pressing me to the wall. “Victor-“

“-I’ll getcha new flowers.”

“Fuck the flowers and fuck you.” He wasn’t hearing any of it. He grabbed my wrists and began making his way to the couch, my legs clumsily bumping into any and everything I walked towards. 

“I’m not gonna pour my heart out an’ tell you all the fucked up things about me, if that’s what you’re waitin’ for me to do.”

“Mutant in human world. It’s not hard to figure out.”

“And I’m not tellin’ you the textbook of reasons I’m not holdin’ hands with him either.”

“And I’m not agreeing to stay away from him for your reasons and personal grudges unknown.”

“So maybe I didn’t make myself as clear as I thought.” Before I was aware the back of my legs bumped into the arm of my couch. I was desperate to create some sort of distance between us, so I fell backwards and wiggled away to the far opposite end of the couch. He stood at my feet and without breaking eye contact, lifted the loose black henley from his chest. He was possibly the only person I knew that could wear black and long sleeves in the peak of a summer in the city without breaking a sweat. But now wasn’t the time to be impressed by minor things.

“It’s too hot for this, too.”

“You tellin’ me no?”

“Yes!”

“Why?” he asked as he continued advancing in my direction, fumbling with the belt on his jeans as he kicked his shoes off.

“Because I don’t feel like it. You’re not about to makeup sex your way out of putting your hands on me, dick.”

He shrugged to himself. “You never turned it down before.”

“Well, you know what they say the definition of insanity is, right…”

“Doin’ the same shit, expecting different results.”

“And I want different results, Victor.”

“Fine. So let’s try somethin’ different.” Without a word or warning he bent down and scooped me up, a hand firmly resting under each of my thighs, my legs snaked around his waist. I thought he was headed towards the bedroom, but he took a surprising left turn to the apartment balcony, gripping me tightly before using a hand to open the sliding glass door. The humidity instantly smothered me, my glasses fogging from the shock of being exposed to the summer heat after leaving my air conditioned living room. He sat in one of the wicker seats of my patio set and placed me in his lap, lifting my sundress so I could straddle him free of obstruction. He placed me directly onto his cock and was not gentle about it; my head instantly fell back as a rush of air escaped my chest, my hands finding his neck. 

“Fuck,” I whispered.

“Exactly.”

“Shut the hell up.” There was no time for playful banter. The sun had only just started to set, meaning there was still plenty daylight for us to be seen; this had to be quick. And quiet. Quiet would be the hard part without a doubt. With his help, I lifted my body up and down, his fingertips digging into my hips as he held tightly to my waist. “Holy shit, Vic.”

“Still think I’m jealous?”

I grinned to myself. “I dunno; you’re fuckin’ me like you got somethin’ to prove,” I teased. Clearly there was jealousy but I knew better than to answer him with a yes. But if jealousy is this good a sexual motivator, I’d be happy with this silver lining to our fight. He lifted my dress up more, enough for him to expose my tits and seize my right one with his mouth. My head fell back, a cry escaping me when I felt the sharp stab of his teeth on the mound of flesh. “Fuck!” He growled, his mouth vibrating slightly around my nipple. 

“Ya still gonna run away and leave a note?” he asked, the heat from his mouth making toes curl.

“Never.” Unless he pushed me to it, of course. 

I felt the pads of his fingertips press my scalp, my hair tightly intertwined in his digits as he pulled my head back and forced me to make eye contact. “Don’t threaten to walk again.”

I rolled my eyes. “Or else?” I mocked.

He shook his head, his pelvis ceasing, the rapid rise and fall of our chests the only movement remaining between us. “No. Just don’t.”

I stared at him a moment longer and simply nodded before standing and turning around, lifting my dress over my head, then taking the rusty balcony rail in my hands to steady myself. I turned to look at him; to my surprise he was already stroking himself in the absence of something else warm wrapped around his cock. “Whatcha waitin’ for?”

“Can’t enjoy the view?”

“Enjoy it any longer and I’m gonna melt.”

“Someone other than me hungry for it?” he said with a hard slap to my right cheek before roughly re-entering from behind, making me jerk forward into the hot metal rail. I grunted at the pain in effort not to be too loud and settled comfortably on him, my body fitting him like a glove. He was in no way gentle as he thrust himself in and out of me, primal grunts escaping his chest every time his hips rammed into my ass. My tits would surely be bruised the way I was uncomfortably pressed into the railing. I stared at the rusted and flaking metal coating of the bars beneath my arms and fought to keep my legs from collapsing beneath me, every bone in my limbs turning to apple sauce, my muscles sore and aching. If only this kind of workout kept me in shape and was doctor recommended. And quiet as I was, there was nothing I could do to muffle the loud smack that echoed in the air when Victor got slap happy, or the sound that came from my mouth as a result. The funny thing was, the more I tried to shush him, the more intensely he fucked me, and the more sound we both ended up making. 

“Sss, holy fuck! Fuck fuck fuck, Vic! Shit!” I cried out, the restraint I had for my volume loosening. On a slower day I would have had a bit more self control, but I never lasted long, or quietly, when he was in a more animalistic mood.

“Mm, that’s right,” he grunted, digging his fingers into my hip bones. “Lemme have it, baby.” And before I knew it I did exactly that. My legs gave out beneath me and I fell to my knees, failing to hold myself up on the balcony railing any longer as I came. My moans were beyond stifling, and I felt nothing else, not even the pools of sweat pouring out of me. For just a moment I’d fallen into a deep well of ecstasy, my head throbbing from the mix of summer heat and pleasure, before I regained some composure to return the favor. 

I grabbed the thin cushion from my patio chair and placed it at his feet and knelt before him, taking him into my mouth as deep as I could. As hungrily as I could. Without hesitation his hands flew to my head, cradling the back of my skull and maneuvering me to a pace of his pleasure. “Atta girl,” he encouraged. He knew I was a sucker for praise, and after being a complete asshole I was expecting him to lay it on with the ass kissing for the rest of the evening. Now he had me working like I was the jealous one, when really I was only in competition with myself; I wanted to see if I could make him cum quicker than any of the other times I did this. I worked my head in a swivel and both of my hands in opposing twisting motion, pulling him into me as far as I could without biting off more than I could chew. It was useless, however, since Victor was determined to push my head down way past my limits. His hips undulated as he thrust his dick deeper and deeper into my throat. He’d momentarily pause and hold his place before pulling out to allow me to draw air, all before repeating the process. “Look at me,” he demanded, which was all he needed to say for me to know what time it was. I stared upwards at him with his cock still in my mouth, my eyes glassy with tears, and he pushed himself deep into my throat one final time and pumped the tip of his dick at the back of my throat. He held eye contact for as long as he could before his head fell backwards, eyes slamming shut as I felt the muscles of his thighs tighten. He grunted a low, beastlike growl before I felt him release all he had to offer in my throat, the sensation slightly tickling. I slowly jerked his dick off for good measure to ensure I got him for every drop before swallowing the thick, sticky fluid, swirling my tongue around his tip before he removed himself from my mouth. 

“Ah, Jesus fuck,” he sighed, his chest rising and falling as he tried to recover.

“I think I missed that Sunday school lesson.” He rolled his eyes and looked down at me, head still resting in his lap, before rising and extending a hand. I grabbed and he pulled me up, coming face to face with him and the wild grin plastered on his face. “Back inside before my ass gets covered in bug bites.”

“I could scratch it for ya,” he offered, running a claw harmlessly up my spine. I shivered and pushed away from him before round two threatened to begin, sliding the balcony door open, relieved once the ice cold air conditioning hit my chest.

“No thanks. But you absolutely can buy me another bouquet of flowers. And a vase, while you’re at it.”

[buckybarnesdollface]

Throttle

Summary:  Just some shameless Bucky on a motorbike smut. Probably one of my favourite things I've written. Posting it on my birthday because why not. 

Warnings: SHAMELESS SMUT, Bucky on a motorbike, female reader       

           “Tony has a ridiculous amount of cars, does he realize that?” I grumbled as Natasha parked the Range Rover. She chuckled.

           “Don’t tell him that – He’ll give you a lecture about why each and every one of them is special and important to him.”

           I snorted as we made our way through the underground garage at the compound. We had just returned from gathering intel in the city, and as we passed the rows of Aston Martins, Lamborghinis, Ferraris and other ridiculously pricey vehicles I shook my head. My eyes landed on a sleek, black Honda CBR600RR, though, and I stopped.

           “Now this,” I murmured, “I like.” I looked up at Natasha. “Whose bike is this?”

           “That’s Barnes’,” she replied, but before I could get a closer look, she grabbed my wrist and shook her head. “Oh, no, I wouldn’t do that if I were you. He won’t let anyone touch that bike – Sometimes I think he cares about it even more than he does Steve.”

           I arched a brow. “Is that so?”

           “Yes. Seriously, he’s really weird about that bike –”

           “We’ll see about that,” I said, and then I was heading to the elevator, Natasha following and spouting warnings at me that I ignored. We found Bucky in the kitchen, looking like he’d just come from the gym as he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. He looked up as we came in.

           “That’s quite the bike you’ve got down there, Barnes,” I said casually. The corners of his lips quirked up, and his eyes sparkled.

           “You like that, huh?” he murmured, and I nodded, letting my eyes drop so I was looking up at him through my eyelashes.

           “I do,” I admitted, and then a slow smirk spread over my face. “I’ve always been a sucker for a sleek motorbike. There’s nothing better than the feel of all that power between your legs.”

           Behind me, I could hear Natasha cough to cover the fact that she’d just choked on the air she’d inhaled. Bucky’s blue eyes darkened, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. He cocked his head to the side, grinning.

           “I’ll tell you what, doll,” he murmured, coming forward until his body had not-so-subtly caged me between him and the island. “How about sometime I show you the bike? If you’re lucky, I might even let you take it for a spin.”

           “I’d love that,” I purred. He smirked, winking before he slipped out of the kitchen. Once he was gone, I turned to Natasha with one eyebrow arched smugly. She rolled her eyes and shook her head.

           “You are shameless,” she grumbled, but my grin only grew wider.

           So that’s how, a few days later, I ended up in the parking garage with Bucky. He ran his flesh hand fondly over the body of the bike, a grin on his face.

           “She’s a beauty,” I admitted, admiring the shiny black frame. “Can I…?”

           “Go ahead, touch it,” Bucky urged, eyes glittering. I shot him a wry look before running my fingertips delicately over the sleek frame. I circled the bike, examining it, impressed with its pristine shape despite the situations I was sure Bucky’d had it in. I said this aloud, and he grinned. “I take real good care of it,” he admitted. “I’m always buffing out scratches and keeping the paint touched up and polishing it.” His grin was wolfish. “I like to take good care of anything that belongs to me. You treat them well, they treat you well.”

           I felt my lips quirk up as my hand slid across the smooth leather seat. Bucky and I had been playing this game for months now, flirting and feeding the sexual tension between us, but we’d never actually done anything about it. It was driving everyone on the team insane, and I knew for a fact some of them had a pool going on when Bucky and I would actually hook up. That alone was enough to have me holding out as long as I could.

           “How’s it handle?” I asked. Bucky smirked.

           “Extremely well.”

           “Even the curves?”

           “Especially the curves, doll,” he purred, and I felt my stomach do a flip. I looked up to meet his eyes.

           “How’s it sound?” I asked him, and he inclined his head.

           “Start it up and see for yourself.”

           Biting my lip, I flipped the kill switch and turned the key, and then held down the start button. The bike rumbled to life, and I grinned delightedly. I looked over at Bucky, and he gave me a quick nod, lips quirking. I threw my right leg over the bike to straddle it, impressed with how comfortable the seat was.

           “Go ahead and give the throttle a little twist, doll,” he encouraged, and my hands found the handlebars. My right hand twisted the grip towards me just the slightest bit and the engine roared, bike rumbling beneath me and sending vibrations through my body. I hummed appreciatively.

           “How’s that feel?” Bucky murmured.

           “Amazing,” I breathed. “How do I look?”

           Bucky’s eyes raked over me, muscle in his jaw twitching as his arms folded across his broad chest. “Better than should be legal,” he admitted, voice low. “Christ, doll, you look like a teenage boy’s wet dream right now.”

           I smirked. “Does that mean you’ll let me ride the bike?” I asked coyly, and Bucky chuckled.

           “I did promise you could take it for a spin, didn’t I?” he sighed, and I nodded.

           “You did. No take-backs.”

           With a grin, Bucky slid onto the seat behind me, hands on my waist as he leaned in so that his mouth was at my ear. His breath was hot as he spoke. “I’ll let you take it for a quick ride,” he breathed, “but when I say, we switch. There’s somewhere I wanna take you.”

           I wrinkled my nose. “Where?”

           “It’s a surprise.” His teeth nipped playfully at my earlobe, and I shivered. I nodded in agreement, and then kicked up the kickstand and put the bike in gear, slowly releasing the clutch and twisting the throttle. I couldn’t keep the grin from my face as we drove the bike out of the compound and out onto the open road.

           It was exhilarating, the feel of the warm summer New York air whipping around us as we sped down the two-lane road leading away from the compound. I could feel Bucky, warm and solid behind me, his hands firm on my waist. We drove for ten minutes, but then his flesh hand squeezed my side, signalling it was time to switch. Sighing, I reluctantly pulled onto the shoulder of the road and moved so Bucky could mount the bike.

           I stood back for a minute, biting my lip, and Bucky looked up at me with a dark eyebrow cocked.

           “What are you doing?” he asked.

           “Admiring the view,” I replied truthfully. The way his thick thighs hugged the frame of the bike was damn near sinful. Bucky chuckled and shook his head.

           “Get over here,” he said, and I grinned before climbing onto the bike behind him and winding my arms around his waist. “Hold on tight, doll,” he ordered. “I like to go fast.”

           He wasn’t kidding, either; we flew down the road until the trees we passed were just a green blur. He took the curves with a finesse I only wished I had, and I could feel the muscles of his abdomen tighten and contract every time he leaned his body with the bike.

           After about twenty minutes we pulled onto a smaller side road, and then another five minutes had us pulling up to a pristine little lake. Bucky stopped the bike, shutting it off and putting down the kickstand. I slid off the bike and looked around in awe.

           “This place is beautiful,” I breathed. “How did you know it was here?”

           Bucky shrugged. “I found it one day on a drive. I come here sometimes, to get away.”

           I nodded, taking it all in. It was breathtaking, like a little slice of paradise. I could understand why he would come here to get away.

           Things were silent for a few moments, both of us just enjoying the view and the late summer sunshine. I climbed back onto the bike, where the sun had warmed the leather and black frame. Bucky looked up and cocked an eyebrow.

           “You just can’t stay off that thing, can you?” he taunted, and I shrugged.

           “It’s warm from the sun. It’s nice.”

           “You’re like a damn cat,” Bucky chuckled, and I hummed in response. I closed my eyes, hands braced on the seat behind me as I leaned back, head tilted towards the warmth from the sun’s rays. Bucky was uncharacteristically quiet, and I peeked over at him out of the corner of my eye to see that he had his phone raised. My brow furrowed.

           “Did you just take a picture of me?” I asked.

           “Yes,” he answered shamelessly. “The opportunity was too perfect not to. I’d be crazy not to capture my two best girls in front of such a beautiful backdrop.”

           My heart did a flip in my chest, and I sat up straighter. “Best girls?” I asked, and Bucky shrugged. I shook my head. “Last time I checked, Barnes, I wasn’t your girl.”

           “Aren’t you, though?” he murmured, coming to stand next to the bike. “I mean, the rest of the team already pretty much assumes you are.” The fingertips of his flesh hand traced along the subframe of the bike, dangerously close to the inside of my thigh, and I held my breath. “Plus, I wouldn’t have let anyone else ride this thing, and you know it.” He leaned in close, lips grazing the shell of my ear. “Besides,” he whispered, “you know I’d break the jaw of any guy that even looked at you the wrong way, the same way I know you’d tear a strip off any girl that set her sights on me.”

           My breath hitched, and my tongue swept over my lips. “Bucky…” I whispered, and his grin was lazy as his flesh hand trailed down my leg over my jeans.

           “Tell me you’re my girl,” he murmured. “You know it’s true. I wanna hear you say it.”

           I bit my lip. Of course I knew it was true; I’d been his for months, whether the words had been spoken or not. But I was scared to say it, to put an end to this game and make it reality. The flirting and teasing were harmless, but to admit I was his girl felt like an admission that was too dangerous to commit to.

           I thought back to what he’d said earlier. “I like to take good care of anything that belongs to me.” It had been meant as an innuendo, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized I really had been his girl this whole time. All the late nights at the gym when we couldn’t sleep, the early breakfasts afterwards, the secret smiles, the way he always gravitated towards me during missions…

           I swallowed hard, lifting my eyes to his. “I’m your girl,” I said softly, and the grin that overtook Bucky’s face was like a kid at Christmas. He cupped my face gently, thumb tugging at my bottom lip.

           “That’s right,” he murmured. “Now, I want you to tell me what you want.”

           “For you to say you’re just as much mine as I am yours,” I said boldly, and Bucky’s eyes sparkled.

           “You know I’m yours, doll,” he chuckled. I smirked.

           “Does that mean the bike is mine, too, by default?”

           Something dark flashed through Bucky’s eyes as a wicked grin slowly lifted his lips. “Not how it works and you know it.” His metal hand reached out to start the bike, flesh hand tucking a loose curl behind my ear. The bike hummed beneath me. “But,” he continued, “I do like how damn good you look on it, and I know you said you liked the feel of all that power between your legs. So I think you’re really gonna like this.”

           Bucky’s vibranium hand twisted the throttle, and the bike roared. I don’t know if it was because Bucky already had me strung out, but the feel of the engine revving underneath me had waves of pleasure jolting through me. I fell forward, hands on the fuel tank to brace myself, as my eyes drifted shut. Bucky twisted the throttle again, this time a little harder, and a whimper fell from my lips as the bike vibrated beneath me.

           “Look at you,” Bucky marvelled, voice hoarse. “How’s it feel, having all that power between your legs, doll?”

           I forced my eyes open and over at him. “Feels pretty damn good,” I admitted, “but I can think of something that would feel a hell of a lot better between my legs.”

           Bucky’s jaw went slack, and then he was shutting off the bike and lifting my right leg to pull it across the seat so both legs hung off the left side of the bike and he could fit between them. Vibranium hand on my thigh, his flesh hand reached around the back of my neck to pull my lips to his.

           The kiss was hungry, all teeth and tongues and noses bumping against each other. My hands clutched at Bucky’s arms, and when his lips left mine to trail down my jaw and nip teasingly at the skin at my pulse point, I trembled.

           “Bucky…” I whined, and he pulled back to look at me with hooded eyes.

           “I got you,” he murmured, and then his hands were deftly unbuttoning and unzipping my jeans, tugging them and my lace underwear from my hips and peeling them off my legs. He hooked my right leg over the handlebar of the bike, and then his lips captured mine in another searing kiss, his flesh hand slipping between us to explore my folds. I groaned into the kiss, and I felt Bucky grin against my lips.

           “So wet already, sweetheart,” he breathed. “This what you had in mind when you said you could think of something better?”

           “Not exactly,” I huffed, biting my lip as Bucky’s fingertips pressed against my clit. He smirked, and then he was kneeling in front of me, hands on my thighs to hold me open to him.

           “How about now?” he murmured, before diving in and licking a stripe up my folds, from my entrance to my clit. I cried out, hands flying to his head to tangle in his hair. His lips wrapped around my clit and sucked as the tip of his tongue danced around the bundle of nerves, and already I was so close to falling off the edge, eyes screwed shut and chest heaving.

           “Buck…” I panted, nails scraping against his scalp. He grunted, and I tugged harder at his hair, losing patience. “Barnes.”

           His eyes flicked up, and I lost my breath; his pupils were blown, tongue still delved into my folds as he regarded me from between my thighs. It was the most sinful thing I’d ever seen, and it sent a fresh flood of heat straight to my core.

           “Come here,” I whispered, and in an instant he was up and kissing me. I could taste myself on his tongue as he swiped it across my own tongue, and when my hands started undoing his belt buckle, he growled.

           “Turn around,” he demanded, “and lean against the bike.”

           I did as he said without question, hopping off the leather seat and turning to bend my body over it, wiggling my ass playfully. Bucky delivered a sharp smack to the flesh and I shrieked, another wave of heat flooding my core. I could hear him unzipping his jeans, and then his knee was sliding between my thighs to spread them further. He slapped my ass again, immediately soothing the stinging flesh by massaging it. I could practically feel my arousal dripping down my thighs.

           “Is this what you wanted, doll?” he asked, sliding the tip of his cock through my soaked folds. I moaned, hands clutching the seat below me. “You said you liked powerful things between your legs. Let’s see how you handle this.”

           With one forceful thrust he was sheathed inside me. I gasped as he stretched and filled me in a way I never had been before, and he let out a quiet hiss between gritted teeth as my walls clenched around him. He only gave me a moment to adjust before he was pulling out just to force himself back in. It didn’t take long before he’d set an unforgiving pace, driving into me until the air was filled with the sound of flesh on flesh. The grip he had on my hips was bruising, sure to leave marks, but it only added to the pleasure I was feeling; I knew he’d mark me all over if I let him, claiming me as his for everyone to know. His possessiveness should have bothered me, but it only made me want him more.

           Bucky’s thrusts started getting sloppier and he fell forward, chest pressed to my back as his flesh hand slipped under my shirt to palm at my breasts over my bra. His lips nipped and kissed at the back of my neck, and I felt my release drawing near.

           “Shit…” I whined, and Bucky’s mouth left sloppy kisses over my heated flesh.

           “Let go, doll,” he panted. “I’ve got you, it’s alright.”

           I chased my release, and when it finally came, I cried out, body tensing before going boneless against the bike. Bucky’s hips stuttered and then I could feel him spilling into me with a low groan. He let his weight relax against me for a handful of seconds before he was lifting off me. With a tiny groan I pushed up off the bike, reaching for my clothes to pull them back on. Bucky grinned at me as he buckled his belt.

           “I think I finally found a sound I like better than my bike’s engine,” he teased, and my eyes sparkled.

           “And I think I’ve finally found something I’m gonna like riding more than your bike.”

           With glittering eyes, Bucky caught me around the waist and pulled me to him to kiss me softly. When we broke apart, his thumb traced lightly over my lips.

           “I know we joke around a lot,” he murmured, “but it really would mean a lot to me if you were my girl, (Y/N).”

           “I am your girl, Buck,” I assured him, pressing a tender kiss to his lips. “You know I always have been.”

           Bucky’s smile was warm, and he nudged me back towards the bike. “C’mon, let’s get back.”

           When we got back to the compound, Bucky parked the bike and then we headed to the elevator. I slipped my hand into his, and he looked down, eyes rounded in surprise, before squeezing my fingers gently and smiling.

           We walked into the common room, still hand-in-hand. Steve was the first to notice, and his eyes widened before a slow smirk spread across his face.

           “Alright, everyone, pay up,” he announced, and everyone’s eyes landed on Bucky and I. Nat and Sam shook their heads as they dug into their wallets, and Tony and Clint groaned. Wanda was grinning as she handed Steve a few bills.      

           Bucky’s brow furrowed. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

           “They all had a pool on when you and I would finally hook up,” I replied with a shrug. Bucky’s eyes narrowed.

           “What –”

           I set a hand against his chest to calm him. “Easy, big guy,” I chuckled. “Why don’t you just forget about this, and come upstairs with me? I didn’t get to return the favour from earlier.”

           Bucky’s eyes darkened, and the common room was filled with groans of annoyance.

           “Just because y’all are doing the dirty now, doesn’t mean you have to be public about it,” Sam grumbled. Bucky’s eyes flicked over to him for just a second before returning to me.

           “I apologize to everyone in advance,” he murmured to the room without breaking from my gaze. “Turns out my bike isn’t the only one that gets loud when you turn her on.”

           “Bucky!” I gasped, cheeks hot and eyes rounded in horror. Before anyone could say anything, Bucky was dragging me out of the room and to the elevator, lips grinning against my throat. I pushed him off me, fixing an unconvincing glare on him. “You’re incorrigible,” I huffed.

           “You know you wouldn’t want me any other way.”

           Hard as I tried, I couldn’t maintain the glare. “Oh, fuck it,” I muttered, crashing my lips to his. When I pulled away, I was smirking. “Take me upstairs; I wanna see if the biker holds up as well as his bike.”

           “Oh, sweetheart,” Bucky murmured, wicked smirk on his face. “I can go all night and into the morning.”

           I grinned. “Good. Let’s go then, soldier; your girl’s in the mood for a long ride.”

[hrina]

Something Strange

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: R WORD COUNT: 6.3k+ REQUESTED: no

uhhhh hi. so. this is my (first ever) halloween fic, ft. infuriatingly cocky ghostbuster!harry. i really hope you guys enjoy it, and just like every other writer on this godforsaken site, i’d love to hear any feedback that you might have. ok im done now lol go forth and read :)

warnings: cursing, brief nsfw content, a nasty habit of jumping to conclusions, and harry being an asshole with a secret heart of gold.

~*~

    October 2nd, 2021

Your attention is first caught by the massive, obnoxiously-coloured truck parked in Mindy and Gerald’s driveway. The entire vehicle is a shade of navy blue, though its sophistication is ruined by the neon green bubble lettering streaked across its doors.

Spooked? Call Styles’ Scares!

Beneath that, there’s a promise painted in bright pink:

Lasting results or your money back!

“What the hell?” you mutter.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and exit your car, momentarily forgetting about the groceries sitting in the trunk. Mindy and Gerald are standing on their porch, absorbed in a light-hearted conversation. When they catch sight of you trekking across the lawn, they smile brightly and offer up a pair of welcoming waves.

“Hi, there!” you call, shoving your hands into the back pockets of your jeans. “What’s all this?”

“Good afternoon, dear!” Mindy replies. She quickly descends the front steps, meeting you halfway and enveloping you in a tight hug. “How are you? It’s been a while since we last spoke.”

“You can drop in whenever you want,” you say, chuckling. “It’s not like I live very far away.”

“How have you been?” Gerald follows his wife, steadily making his way off the porch. “How’s school?”

“It’s alright.” You shrug. “Things are picking up, now, but I’m trying my best to stay on top of them.”

You toss your thumb over your shoulder, gesturing to the bright pickup truck parked in their driveway. (It really is ugly, you think. Probably one of the ugliest vehicles that you’ve ever had the displeasure of perceiving.)

“What’s going on?”

“Oh!” Mindy lifts her hands to her mouth, gazing at you with wide, serious eyes. “Our house is haunted.”

You balk. “Pardon me?”

“I know, I know,” she sighs, shaking her head. “It sounds silly. I didn’t believe it at first either, but—something keeps knocking our picture frames off the wall. And the lights! They start flickering at random intervals throughout the day.”

“Are you sure it’s not just rats?” you joke.

Gerald, who has now joined you on the lawn, holds up his hand solemnly. “We tried using traps, but they haven’t been touched at all.”

“Exactly.” Mindy nods, turning back to you. “We’re already worried about Joseph’s wedding next week, so one of the ladies at the community centre recommended Harry. That same day, Gerald gave him a call, and that was the end of it.”

“Who’s Harry?” you ask, brows knitting together in confusion.

“Er—” A deep voice sounds from behind you. “I am.”

When you turn around, you come face-to-face with one of the prettiest men you’ve ever seen. He’s got mossy green eyes, dark pink lips, and brown hair that curls around his temples and behind his ears. Smooth skin stretches out over high, chiseled cheekbones and a sharp jaw. He’s wearing a pair of light-wash jeans and matching white sneakers. A black hoodie covers his broad chest; upon taking a closer look, you note that the two front strings have been tied into a picturesque little bow.

Mindy wastes no time, introducing the two of you immediately. When Harry holds out his hand for you to shake, you don’t hesitate.

“Did you want my card?” he asks, peering at you curiously.

You study his expression. Beneath his seemingly sincere exterior, arrogance runs wild and unchecked. You know this man. You’ve met him a hundred different times under a hundred different circumstances, and you’ve learned to recognize a lost cause when you’re staring it square in the face.

“Not at all.” You shoot him a fake smile. “I’m just the neighbour.”

“Right.” His lips twitch. He steps back, rolling his shoulders and lifting his chin in the direction of the house. “Well, I should probably get to work. It was nice meeting you, babe.”

Your nose wrinkles as the pet name sinks in.

When you turn back around to resume your conversation with Mindy and Gerald, they’re gone. Your eyes bounce to the right, where you find them guiding Harry up the porch steps. Mindy has one hand on his bicep whilst gesturing animatedly with the other. Gerald opens the front door and holds out his arm, welcoming Harry inside.

You scoff, shaking your head in disdain.

“Ghosts aren’t real,” you mumble as you make your way back across the lawn. The trunk of your car squeaks when you pull it open, and plastic bags rustle as you gather your groceries into your arms.

Ghosts aren’t real. And Harry is obviously a scammer, based on…well, based on everything. The tacky design on his truck. The unprofessional wardrobe. The self-assuredness emanating from every cell in his body. Babe.

But Mindy and Gerald truly believe that their home is haunted. Trying to change their minds without a shred of physical proof is pointless. You blow out a soft sigh, accepting the grim reality of your situation.

Your neighbours are gullible, trusting people. And for the next few days—whether you like it or not—Harry is here to stay.

      October 5th, 2021

You’re approximately two seconds away from chucking your textbook against the far wall.

You’ve been trying to finish this chapter for the past hour. And though you pride yourself on being tolerant when it comes to petty annoyances, your patience is wearing thin. A quick glance out of your bedroom window reveals Harry’s hideous pickup truck parked—yet again—in Mindy and Gerald’s driveway.

You roll your eyes. Of course.

The piercing, raucous whirring starts up again; you release a frustrated yell, slamming your book shut and leaping off your bed. You’re muttering obscenities under your breath as you stalk down the hall, stopping briefly to slide on a pair of fuzzy slippers. When you yank your front door open, the chilly autumn air settles into your bones.

The clamour grows louder as you stomp across your shared lawn. When you knock on Mindy and Gerald’s door, the commotion is nearly unbearable. A few seconds go by, during which your presence remains unacknowledged; you rap once again on the wood, hoping that the sound will be conspicuous enough amidst all of the background noise.

Sure enough, everything goes quiet. Your shoulders slump with relief just as the door opens. Mindy greets you with a friendly smile.

“Hi, dear,” she says kindly. “What can I do for you?”

“Hi.” You force yourself to mirror her affable expression, hoping that she can’t see the pained exhaustion brewing in your eyes. “Could I just—could I speak with Harry, please? It won’t take long.”

“Of course.” She nods before peering at you anxiously. “Don’t tell me that you’ve got ghosts, too.”

“No.” You shake your head. Ghosts aren’t real, you want to say, but you hold your tongue. “No, I just—I just need to have a quick word with him, that’s all.”

“Alright. I’ll go fetch him.” She turns around and totters away.

You hear her call his name, followed by the telltale sound of shuffling. After a few long moments, he’s there, leaning against the doorway with a bemused look on his face.

“Evening, babe,” he says coolly. “What’s up?”

“Don’t call me that,” you snap, folding your arms over your chest.

Harry’s eyebrows shoot upward. He hadn’t expected you to greet him with such animosity, you suppose. His outfit is nearly identical to that of the other day, save for the red bandana perched atop his head. He buries his fingers into the pockets of his jeans, shrugging nonchalantly and pinning you with a blasé, unimpressed gaze.

“Noted,” he says. The corners of his lips curl up into a crooked smirk as he repeats, “What’s up?”

“You need to keep it down,” you say flatly. “I don’t know what kind of fake ‘exorcism’ bullshit you’re trying to pull off, but the noise is driving me insane. I need to study.”

“‘Fake’?” Harry parrots. “You don’t believe in spirits?”

“No,” you deadpan. “I don’t.” You narrow your eyes, studying the subtle movements of his face. “And if I had to take a wild guess, neither do you.”

“Really,” he says, chuckling softly. It isn’t a question.

“Really.”

Harry watches you, tickled by your obvious exasperation. “I get the feeling that you don’t like me very much.”

“Look at that,” you say, rolling your eyes. “He does have a brain.”

“You’re so judgmental.” He laughs, shaking his head. “How can you dislike me when you barely even know me?”

“I know enough,” you reply, scowling. “I know that you’re a fraud who takes advantage of people and their fears. And for what? Just so that you can take home a paycheque at the end of the day?”

“Ouch.” Harry feigns injury, placing a large hand over his heart. “That hurts, babe.”

There it is again. Babe.

“You know what?” Your nostrils flare. “Forget this—it’s like trying to explain rocket science to a toddler.”

He grins. “Yeah, I suppose. I’m much cuter, though, don’t you think?”

You scoff, pedalling backward. “In your dreams.”

His delight only seems to grow when your retort sinks in. You whip around, descending the porch steps and storming back toward your house. When you chance a glance over your shoulder, Harry is still standing in the doorway, a shit-eating smile stretched wide across his cheeks.

“Just keep it down, okay?” you call irritably.

He raises two fingers to his temple in a mock-salute, and you march away without another word.

      October 8th, 2021

“You’re sure?”

You laugh. “Yes, Mindy, I’m sure. I promise.”

“Alright,” she assents, blowing out a quiet sigh through the phone. “I went grocery shopping today, so our cupboards are fully stocked—help yourself to anything you’d like. Also, when you flush the downstairs toilet, the water may look like it’s rising, but it goes down after a second or two.”

“Noted.” You snicker. “Anything else?”

“That’s it,” she says. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem,” you reply. “Tell Joseph and Amy that I said congratulations, yeah?”

“We will! See you later, dear.”

“See you later.”

      October 9th, 2021

When Mindy and Gerald get back tomorrow afternoon, you’re going to wring their necks.

Agreeing to housesit whilst they celebrated their son’s wedding a few cities away? Sure. Fine. You had a long night full of nothing planned—sitting in front of the television, munching on some snacks, relaxing for the evening and trying to forget about all of the schoolwork waiting for you at home. You were in the middle of watching a Golden Girls rerun when, suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

“Coming!” You stood, setting your bowl of popcorn aside. The knocking continued as you made your way to the front entrance, wiping your buttery fingers against the dark leggings covering your thighs.

“I’m coming,” you said exasperatedly. You opened the door, ready to shoo away whoever it was—a salesperson, probably.

Instead, you came face-to-face with Harry.

And now, you’re here—slumped on the couch, angrily shovelling popcorn into your mouth. You keep your gaze trained on the television, trying your hardest to avoid the man who is setting up his “equipment” in the middle of the room.

“Can’t you do this in the kitchen?” you deadpan.

He flicks a switch on his machine—it looks an awful lot like a standard centrifuge. What a fraud.

“Spirit energy’s strongest in here,” he grunts. His knees scuff against the carpeted floor.

A derisive laugh falls from your lips. “Mindy and Gerald aren’t here—you can drop the act.”

Harry glances up at you, his pretty green irises glimmering. “What act?”

You roll your eyes and look away, fixing your attention back on the grainy screen.

Neither of you say anything for the next few minutes; tension builds, saturating the air and making it hard for you to breathe. Eventually, Harry breaks through the awkward silence. You want to scream.

“Er—” he starts, expectant. “Do you mind stepping out for a second? I need the room.”

Your nostrils flare. “Excuse me?”

“I need the—”

“I heard you,” you say, sitting up straight. “You don’t need anything. What the hell are you playing at?”

“I’m not quite sure what you mean, babe.” His tone is genuine, but you can sense the mirth simmering just beneath the surface. His lips twitch, and your frustration boils like water over a stove.

“Stop calling me that,” you snap, folding your arms across your chest. “And stop playing dumb. Other people might put up with your pseudo-spooky bullshit, but I won’t. Ghosts aren’t real!”

The lights go out.

You gasp, straining your eyes in an attempt to regain your bearings. Slowly, blurry shapes and shadows materialise in front of you. You fumble around for your phone, picking it up and tapping the screen. A moment later, the device’s flash lights up the room. You shine it from side to side, eventually settling on Harry, who is looking up at the ceiling in complete and utter bewilderment.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. “Now you’ve done it.”

“Done what?” you squawk, glaring at him. “The power went out. Big deal.”

The lights flicker fleetingly, and then the room is dark again. Your eyes drift over to Harry; he’s smirking.

“This isn’t a ghost,” you say stubbornly, waving your phone around. The bright light bounces across the walls before you steady yourself, positioning the beam back on him. He stands, sinking his hands into the deep pockets of his sweatpants.

“And how would you know?” he teases, cocking one eyebrow challengingly.

“Because,” you scoff. “Ghosts aren’t real.”

Something crashes to the floor. You yelp in surprise, your head snapping to the right. When you shine your light in the direction of the noise, you find a shattered picture frame lying on the ground.

“What the fuck?” Harry murmurs, advancing toward the mess.

“Careful!” you say, holding up your hand. He stops in his tracks, peering over at you in confusion. “There’s glass, idiot,” you explain, climbing to your feet. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

He shoots you a crooked smile. “You do care.”

“I don’t.” Your response is curt. “I just don’t feel like driving you to the hospital so that they can remove fragments from your foot.”

Harry chuckles.

You sigh, squinting at the fallen frame. “We can clean it up when the lights come back on,” you say, mostly to yourself. “I don’t want to risk anything.”

He nods and yawns, stretching his arms out above his head. “Suit yourself, babe.”

“The next time you call me that, I’m going to—”

“What?” he asks, padding over to the sofa. You watch him approach with a deep scowl on your face. He collapses onto the couch, slouching and spreading his legs obnoxiously wide. “You gonna beat me up or something?”

You shake your head in disbelief, stepping away from him. “You’re a piece of shit.”

“So you say,” he replies, unbothered.

“You’re so—”

You break off, producing an angry noise in the back of your throat. Harry winks at you; in response, you whip around and storm away, carving out a path from the living room to the kitchen.

You shine the light from your phone across the cupboards, making a beeline for the fridge. When you pull it open, the cold compartment is dark. Squinting, you reach for one of the many water bottles stacked on the top shelf.

Stupid Harry, with his stupid smile and his stupid eyes and his stupid attitude and his stupid bogus business. You can’t believe that Mindy and Gerald were naïve enough to fall for his bullshit. You need to have a long talk with them when they get back, you think—to ensure that they never swallow a pill this big ever again.

“Thirsty?”

You nearly jump out of your skin, pointing your phone toward the kitchen’s exit. Harry is standing there, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his broad chest. You bring one hand up to your sternum, trying to calm your racing heart.

“Jesus Christ,” you hiss, shaking your head. “You scared the shit out of me!”

He snickers lowly. You turn your attention back to the fridge, grabbing a water bottle and uncapping it quickly. Through the darkness, Harry watches you gulp down the cool liquid; you pretend not to notice.

“Can I help you?” you finally ask, wiping your mouth with the heel of your palm.

“No.” He shrugs. “Just…looking, I guess.”

“That’s creepy,” you reply flatly. He laughs.

“May I steal a bottle?” he says, padding across the tiles. “I’m parched.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek. “I—sure. Whatever.”

And though you try, you can’t seem to tear your gaze away from him. He hums as he opens up the fridge, leaning forward to get a better look inside. You play with the hem of your sweater, standing behind him awkwardly. When he peers over his shoulder, you quickly look away, feigning interest in the marble countertop next to the sink.

“Er—” he starts. He fixes you with an inquisitive look, glancing down at the device in your hand. “Would you mind? I can’t see anything.”

“Don’t you have your own?” you ask.

“Yeah, but you’re already holding yours. Come on.”

You roll your eyes. “Fine.”

You draw nearer, lifting your phone and shining its flash into the fridge. Harry hums, plucking a water bottle off the top shelf with a satisfied smile. When he turns to face you, a puff of air catches in your throat; he’s awfully close, his torso brushing almost imperceptibly against yours.

You stare up at him, stunned. There’s a small mole beneath the left corner of his mouth. Part of you—an insignificant, microscopic part—fights the urge to reach out and run your thumb over the mark.

“I’m sorry for calling you a piece of shit,” you blurt.

He inhales deeply, chest expanding and fitting a bit more firmly against your own.

The contact snaps you out of your trance. You retreat, backing up against the counter to maintain your balance. Harry clears his throat and glances away.

“Thanks,” he says, his voice hoarse.

Unable to find the right words, you simply nod.

The two of you stand there for a long moment, sinking into a pool of uncomfortable silence. Just when you think that you’re going to choke on the invisible tension, a faint buzz resonates through the air. Less than a second later, the power returns, illuminating the kitchen in a wash of warm, brilliant light.

“Thank God,” you mutter. You shut the flash on your phone, sliding the device beneath the waistband of your leggings.

Harry blinks rapidly, disoriented. “Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” you ask, tilting your head to the side.

He waves your question away. “No, it’s—it’s nothing.”

And you don’t really feel like pressing the subject, so you let it go. A tired sigh falls from your mouth as you scan your surroundings.

“Help me find a broom,” you tell him. “We need to sweep up the glass in the other room.”

His lips twitch. “What’s the magic word?”

There he is. The same insufferable man who has been pushing your buttons all week. You scowl, shooting him a displeased glare.

“Forget it.” You drag your fingers down the left side of your face. “I’ll do it myself.”

~*~

“You sure you don’t want my help?” Harry calls, kicking his feet up onto the sofa.

You grunt, crouching next to the shattered glass on the floor. “Positive.”

The broom and dustpan that you’ve acquired from the laundry room are old and frail, but you suppose that they’ll get the job done. You set the dustpan down on the ground, wrapping your fingers around the broom’s handle and trying to maneuver it in an efficient way. It’s no easy feat, but eventually, you manage to create a small, compact pile of shards. Gingerly, you reach for the picture frame, plucking it up from the ground and setting it off to the side. Next, you take your time sweeping all of the fragments into the dustpan, inspecting the floor for any lingering bits.

“Struggling over there?” Harry asks.

You grit your teeth.

“No,” you counter in a matter-of-fact tone. “I think I got it all, actually. No thanks to you.”

You throw the last part over your shoulder, coupling it with an accusatory frown. Harry holds up his hands in surrender, suppressing his amusement.

“Shouldn’t you be exorcising spirits?” you ask. Sarcasm drips from your words.

He chuckles. The couch squeaks as he shuffles around; a moment later, the sound of approaching footsteps reaches your ears. You stiffen when he stops next to your squatted form.

“To be quite honest,” he begins, and you can practically hear the smirk in his voice, “I’m having a much better time watching you.”

“Creepy,” you say. “Again.”

He laughs, lowering himself to his knees. In the periphery of your vision, you watch him pick up the abandoned picture frame, turning it around and studying the photograph inside. His cheeks lift with the slope of a familiar smile, but somehow, this one is different from the others that you’ve witnessed.

It’s real. Sincere.

“Nice, don’t you think?” Harry asks, pulling you from your thoughts.

He extends his arm, revealing the photograph. Mindy and Gerald’s beaming faces stare up at you, a balance of bright grins and crinkled eyes. Subconsciously, your lips curl upward, and you take the frame from Harry’s hands.

“Yeah,” you murmur, running your fingertips over the photo. “They look happy.”

“How long have you known them?” he asks. There’s no malice behind the question.

“Since I moved in,” you say absentmindedly, admiring the ornate frame around the picture. “A few years, now.”

He hums in response. “They talk about you a lot.”

“All good things, I hope.” You cast a wry look in his direction.

He chuckles and nods. “Yeah. They look out for you, it seems.”

“I try to look out for them, too.” You sit back on your haunches, groaning quietly. “Which is why I was surprised that they didn’t come to me when they first thought their house was ‘haunted’.”

Your intonation changes on the last word; you still don’t believe that your neighbours are being plagued by spirits, despite the plethora of peculiarity that you’ve witnessed tonight.

“Maybe they didn’t want to worry you,” Harry suggests.

You roll your eyes. Even now, he refuses to drop the act.

“Sure,” you say. “So, hiring a spirit exterminator—or whatever you pretend to be—was a better move?” You snort softly, climbing to your feet. “How much are they paying you, anyway?”

He purses his lips. “They’re not.”

You freeze.

A beat of silence drags out, during which you swallow your shock. You clear your throat and lift your chin, staring down at Harry banally.

“You’re lying.”

“Nope.”

“You are!” you insist. A short, incredulous laugh tumbles off your tongue. “You are one hundred percent fucking with me.”

“I’m afraid not,” he says.

“Your truck, though...” you say. “‘Lasting results, or your money back’?”

“I’ve got to make it look legitimate, don’t I?” He smirks. “But it’s cute that you remembered.”

Your eyes lock with his, and suddenly, it’s almost impossible to breathe. His gaze is deep, open, and honest. Your lips part, but no sound comes out. Instinctively, your legs carry you a few paces back, veering toward the sofa. You plop down onto the plush cushions, clutching the picture frame tightly between your fingers.

“Then, why—?” you break off, shaking your head. “Why would you—?”

“Peace of mind,” Harry shrugs, still rooted to his spot on the floor. “Ever heard of the placebo effect?”

“You admit it, then,” you say, sitting up straight. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

He nods, blinking languidly. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“So,” you start, trying to make sense of the situation, “you let them believe that you’re actually cleansing the house—for free, too—just to—?” You glance around the room, searching for the right words. “—just to put them at ease?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s…”

Sweet. Thoughtful.

“…ridiculous.”

Harry chuckles. “Thanks.”

“I—” You hesitate, depositing the photograph next to you on the couch. “This whole time, I thought you were just…”

“A con?”

You bring your fingers up to your mouth, nodding silently and studying him with big, rounded eyes.

He shrugs.

“I mean, I never really got the chance to explain myself. You’d already made up your mind about me, hadn’t you? So, I thought I’d just let you stick with your assumptions—it didn’t bother me much.”

“I’m a horrible person,” you say, mostly to yourself.

Harry laughs, shaking his head. “No, you’re not. You’re just a bit judgmental, that’s all.”

“You’re right.” You nod again, bowing your head in shame. “I am. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, babe, really.”

You stand abruptly, abandoning your spot on the sofa.

“I should finish up,” you state, embarrassed beyond belief. Harry watches you closely as you approach. You crouch down next to him, reaching for the dustpan with shaky hands. A few small shards of glass are littered at the brink of the collector; you nudge them away from the edge, trying to be as careful as possible.

“Ow!” you suddenly hiss, retracting your arm quickly. You twist your wrist, fixing your attention on a thin cut engraved into the pad of your index finger.

“What happened?” Harry asks, leaning forward.

You shake your head, waving away his worries. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Just got nicked, that’s all.”

“Let me see,” he requests, holding out his own hand.

You pause, taking your bottom lip between your teeth and stealing a quick glance at his face. His expression is concerned, but neutral. Your hesitation is silly, you think—he may be a bit of a jackass, but he’s not going to hurt you. You’ve already condemned him once before, and you were wrong.

You don’t want to make that mistake again.

After a brief moment, you give in, sliding your knuckles into his open palm.

“It’s alright, really,” you say, speaking around the lump in your throat. “The piece was tiny—it hardly broke the surface.”

Harry inspects the laceration closely, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes.

It’s not that serious, you want to tell him, but you refrain from letting the words escape. Part of you is enjoying the way your hands fit together so perfectly. You don’t want it to end—not yet.

“You’re bleeding a bit, babe,” he announces faintly, brows cinched in concentration.

“I am?” You try to tug your arm back, but he keeps a firm grip on your wrist. A low, confused noise echoes in the back of your throat; Harry peers up at you, his features unreadable.

“It’s just a spot,” he murmurs. “Let me.”

And before you can say or do anything else, he’s taking your finger past his lips and giving an easy, gentle suck.

You squeak.

The sound snaps Harry out of his trance; he releases your hand and recoils hastily. You exhale, driving out the stale air gathered in your lungs. When you peek up at him from beneath your lashes, he’s already watching you, shoulders taut with anxiety.

“Sorry,” he stammers. His nostrils flare. “That was weird—sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say, shaking your head. “Er…thanks.”

“No worries.” He swallows.

“Alright.”

Awkwardly, you wipe your clammy palms against your thighs. Harry seems to be looking at everything except for you; his gaze flits to the ceiling, then to the couch, then to the floor. You gnaw on the inside of your cheek and push yourself up off the ground. The room is painfully quiet as you slowly slink back toward to the sofa.

“I should probably put this somewhere safe,” you mumble, picking up the forgotten picture frame.

Warm air floats over the nape of your neck. You gasp and spin around, nearly toppling over in your haste. Harry’s hands find your shoulders, steadying you and crowding you closer to his chest. You glance up at him; your shallow breaths mingle together in the narrow space, noses only inches apart.

“Is this okay?” he asks, his voice no higher than a gruff whisper. “Tell me. Please.”

In response, you fumble for one of his hands, grappling at his wrist; he loosens his hold on your arms, confused but willing. He’s motionless as you lift his knuckles up to your mouth. You glance down, tilting your head to the side and studying them carefully. Harry says nothing when you press a soft, feathery kiss to the pad of his index finger.

But then you’re dipping the tip of the digit between your lips, and suddenly, he’s undone.

“Fucking—”

He grabs your face in his palms and seals his mouth to yours.

The two of you stagger backward, tumbling onto the couch. Mindy and Gerald’s picture frame slips from your grasp, landing on a neighbouring cushion with a faint thud. Reflexively, your legs part; Harry takes his rightful place between them, slanting his body accordingly. When he applies the faintest hint of pressure, you moan.

“Fuck.” He draws back, his warm breath wafting over your chin. “Don’t.”

“‘Don’t’ what?” you ask, puzzled.

He shakes his head. “Don’t make those noises. It’s—you’re—I’m—”

He curses quietly and reaches for one of your hands. You allow him to guide your palm lower, inhaling sharply when you feel the slight bulge protruding from his trousers. Instinctively, your fingers close over the subtle ridge of his cock. His shoulders stiffen, and his eyes squeeze shut.

“You’re hard,” you murmur, as though it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Not fully.” He swallows. “But I’m getting there.”

“Because of me?” you ask, peering up at him innocently.

“Yeah.” Harry expels a wobbly, disbelieving laugh. “Yeah, babe—because of you.”

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as the familiar moniker falls from his mouth. He notices your unusual reaction, mouth curling into teasing smirk.

“What?” he says, lifting one eyebrow. “No nagging, this time? I thought you hated that nickname.”

You grip the collar of his sweater and give a gentle tug, guiding him down for another kiss. When the two of you finally break apart, you shrug. “It’s growing on me.”

He smiles.

“Do you—?” you pause, pursing your lips. The question sounds silly—presumptuous, even. Rather than finishing your sentence, you lift your chin, gazing up evenly into Harry’s green eyes and declaring, “I think I want to sleep with you.”

His cheeks dimple with a wide grin. “Is that so?”

You nod.

“Right, then.” He kisses your nose and pulls away. “There’s a condom in my wallet, but…I may or may not have left it in my truck.”

You groan, allowing your head to fall back against the sofa with a heavy thump. Harry chuckles at your theatrics. After a brief moment of contemplation, you compose yourself and sit up quickly.

“That works, actually,” you say, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “Grab your wallet, and then we can go to my place. I don’t think my neighbours would be very happy if we fucked on their couch.”

He laughs, climbing eagerly to his feet and shooting you a smug wink. “You got it, babe.”

      October 10th, 2021

It’s nearly half past noon when you step out onto the porch the next day. You yawn, squinting up at the sun shining brightly in the sky. There are no clouds in sight; the slight chill of the autumn air tickles your exposed arms. You tug on the waistband of your sweatpants, keeping the material seated firmly on your hips.

“Good morning, dear!”

You jump, head snapping in the direction of a familiar voice. Mindy and Gerald are sitting on their veranda, nursing twin cups of coffee and looking awfully cozy. Gerald smiles at you, folding up his newspaper and setting it on his lap.

“Good morning!” You wave before re-evaluating your words. “Well, it’s technically past twelve, so good afternoon.”

Mindy laughs.

“How was the wedding?” you ask, approaching the side of your deck. You lean against the thin metal railing, combing your fingers through your messy hair. “I wasn’t expecting you to be back this soon.”

“We woke up early,” Mindy explains. “And the wedding was fabulous. Amy wore the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen.”

“Really?” You grin. “Do you have any pictures?”

“Of course! Just let me run inside and grab my phone—”

“Mornin’,” a gruff voice says from behind you.

You gasp and spin around, bringing a hand to your chest. The sight laid out before you has your heart speeding up, galloping wildly and battering against the confines of your ribs.

Harry’s wearing that same hoodie from last night. Your gaze trails lower—he’s also sporting a pair of grey boxers and white socks. There’s a mug nestled in each of his large hands, his spindly fingers wrapped around the handles comfortably. Your eyes lock with his sleepy ones, and your breathing hitches in your throat.

“Morning,” you whisper, unable to muster up anything louder.

“I—” Harry clears his throat, stepping closer and extending his left arm. “I, er, took the liberty of making us some tea. Hope you don’t mind.”

“No, it’s—” You swallow as you accept one of the mugs, suppressing a giddy smile. “It’s completely fine. Thank you.”

“Of course.” He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “Sleep well?”

“Mhm.” You nod shyly.

He chuckles. “Good.”

His gaze wanders over your shoulder, and it’s then that he notices Mindy and Gerald sat on the neighbouring porch. Without even batting an eye, he lifts his hand in a friendly wave. “Morning, you two. How was the wedding?”

You turn back toward the couple, a sheepish look on your face. Mindy is beaming, and Gerald is trying to hold back a laugh. Heat creeps up your neck; you wish that the ground would just open up and swallow you whole.

“It was wonderful!” Mindy trills. Her enthusiasm has skyrocketed. You pinch the bridge of your nose, utterly mortified.

“Yes.” Gerald finally pipes up, smirking knowingly. “It was great. What about you, though? How was your night?”

“Fine,” you blurt before Harry can respond. “It was fine.”

The duo share a look, and then Mindy giggles girlishly. You bring your mug up to your mouth, taking a long sip and groaning into the cup. Harry’s arm snakes around your waist, making you jump. You steal a glance at him out of the corner of your eye; he’s fighting a smile.

“Well—” Gerald clears his throat, plucking his folded newspaper from his lap and rising to his feet. “I think I’ll be going, now. Need to catch up on those few extra hours of sleep.”

“Me too,” Mindy says, nodding fervently. She directs her next words at you. “If you pop by later, I’ll show you those photos, okay?”

“Okay,” you croak.

She shoots you one last grin before disappearing inside.

“God,” you say immediately, hanging your head. “That was torture.”

Next to you, Harry laughs. You aim a weak swat at his chest. He snickers, catching your palm and ducking down to drop a gentle kiss against your knuckles. You exhale shakily, twisting your body around so that you can face him.

“Your hair’s a mess,” you murmur, running your free hand through his dishevelled curls.

He cocks one eyebrow. “And whose fault is that?”

You scoff. “Shut up.”

He chuckles quietly and steps closer to you, holding out his mug. You smile in assent, mirroring his movements and clinking your cups together.

“So,” Harry starts, sipping his tea casually, “you gonna let me take you out on a proper date, sometime?”

“That depends,” you say, trying to ignore the flurry of butterflies flapping around in your stomach. “I’ll go—but only if we take my car. I refuse to drive around town in your tacky truck.”

“It’s not that bad!” he protests.

“It’s awful,” you tell him, shaking your head. “It looks it was decorated by a preschooler during arts and crafts.”

“Fine.” He rolls his eyes playfully, giving in. “Any other requests?”

You pause, lost in thought.

“One more, actually,” you say, fixing him with a challenging stare. “You need to come clean to Mindy and Gerald.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Alright.”

“Really?” You balk, taken aback by his compliance. “That’s it? But I—I had a whole speech prepared.”

Harry laughs softly, cradling your face with his free hand and kissing you slowly. Your fingers tighten around your mug. When the two of you break apart for air, he shrugs.

“I started considering it after everything that happened last night. Keep your speech, though.” His lips twitch. “You’ll be needing to scold me again in no time, I’m sure.”

Your shoulders shake with a silent giggle. “You’re probably right.”

“Also—” Harry clears his throat, soothing the ache with another sip of tea. “You may want to suggest that they hire an exterminator.”

“An exterminator?” you repeat, blinking in surprise. “But…they don’t have rats. Gerald said that the traps hadn’t been touched.”

“Not rats,” he hums. “Squirrels, I believe. Living in the walls.”

“And how did you reach that conclusion?”

“I’ve been doing this for a while, babe—I’ve seen my fair share of pests. Plus,” he clucks his tongue, “they like to chew on wires.”

“Really?” You sigh distantly, pinching your bottom lip. “God, that sucks.”

“It does.” He nods, wrapping his fingers around your forearm. “But you can tell them later.”

“Later?” you say, brows knitting together. “Why not right now?”

“Because,” Harry grunts. You squeal when he crowds you up against your front door. He cups your jaw and tilts your chin up with his thumb, handsome face splitting into an easy, salacious grin.

“Right now, I’m taking you back to bed.”

~*~

thanks for reading! if you enjoyed this piece, please consider donating to my ko-fi! and as always, don’t forget to share your thoughts. thank you bunches <3

[sleptwithinthesun]

If you’re still looking for Eddie prompts, I think Steve and Eddie swimming in Steve’s pool at night while Eddie is coming down with a cold would be awesome

lmao yeah i've gotten so many prompts it's insane. and this is indeed awesome, so thank you!! here's a nice little 1.3K word fic, anon :)

To be perfectly honest, Eddie has no idea how he wound up here.

Okay, well, that's not entirely true. He knows how he got here, as in, the method of transportation. Nancy and Robin had picked up him from his little trailer almost three hours ago, and together, the three of them headed over to Steve's house to hang out, almost a month after the whole Vecna thing. (And yeah, Eddie's still not over that, the fact that they randomly decided to name this monster they'd been fighting for over three years after his D&D campaign, but whatever. It's Dustin Henderson. He really shouldn't be surprised.)

What he doesn't know, however, is why he's here. Ever since everything happened, he feels like they've all been trying to include him more. This isn't the first time Steve or Robin or even Nancy have asked him to come over in the past three weeks, but Eddie still doesn't know what to make of it. After all, he's still the town freak, and now, a suspected murderer. They did manage to get his name cleared, not that he remembers it happening, because it hasn't stopped the rumors and glares in the slightest. It hasn't stopped the way his heart beats when someone he knows sees him, hasn't stopped the fear that works its way through his veins every single time he sets foot outside, hasn't stopped the images burned into his eyelids from bleeding into reality and flipping the world upside down whenever he so much as blinks.

Needless to say, he's not doing well.

On a less pressing but still concerning note, Eddie also doesn't quite remember how he ended up with his jeans rolled up and feet dangling in the water of Steve's pool, but apparently he's here now and it's too late to change it. The experience it's unpleasant, anyway; the water is surprisingly warm but not uncomfortably so, and when he looks up, Eddie can see Robin and Nancy already horsing around.

"You're not getting in?"

Eddie whips around to look at Steve, the latter bare-chested and dressed only in swim trunks, staring down at him with an open look of interest on his face that detaches Eddie's tongue from the roof of his mouth before he can even think about what he's saying. "Uh, yeah, no. Probably not. Don't have a suit with me, so." He shrugs, nonchalant, and Steve scoffs.

"Just use one of mine," he replies, already turning on his heel, obviously assuming that Eddie's just going to follow him inside. And of course, Eddie does, because what else is he supposed to do? Sit there awkwardly, then go back inside once Steve returns to change?

He hurries through the halls after the other man, ignoring the way his head spins when he stands and instead tries not to choke on the sheer wealth the Harrington house displays as compared to the Munson trailer. "Christ, how many vases do you guys need?"

"How many mugs do you and Wayne need?" Steve returns, smile obvious in his voice. "I don't know, man, it's for aesthetic or whatever. My parents picked them out."

"Mhm, and they are... where?"

Steve pulls open the door to his room, letting Eddie enter first before going in as well. "Business trip. They'll be back tomorrow, but I like stealing the house whenever they're gone." He speaks as he digs through his drawers, coming up with a blue pair of trunks with little sharks on them. "Here."

He tosses them at Eddie, who fumbles to catch them and barely manages it. "You have a bathroom I can change in?"

"Just through that door. I'll wait for you," Steve tells him, moving back to lean against the doorway as Eddie nods.

The bathroom is just as opulent with the rest of the house; marbled countertops and tiled floor and even wallpaper. He tries to change quickly, almost positive that if he's in here for a second longer than he needs to be, something will break just from being in his presence. It's never been more obvious to him that he does not belong, that he is out of place in houses like these and with people who live this way.

He practically stumbles out, clothes in a bundle under his arm. "Just dump them on the bed, we'll come back for them when you go home," Steve tells him, evidently prepared. "Come on, the water's really nice tonight."

"Can't even remember the last time I went swimming," Eddie comments as they walk back down the hallway. "Must've been when my dad was still around."

Steve's silent for a moment, and Eddie winces. His mouth has always moved just a little faster than his brain, leaving him to pick up his regrets. "Sorry."

"No, don't apologize," Steve says, rushing to reassure him. "I just... sometimes I forget how privileged I am. It's easy to not think about that kind of stuff when you don't have to, you know?"

"Not really, but I understand." Eddie casts him a smile out of the side of his mouth, following him out the back door. "Like, for me, living this way is almost unfathomable. But for you, it's just normal. Everything goes at least two ways, Harrington."

A smile tugs at Steve's lips. "I suppose it does."

They walk over to the edge of the pool, where Eddie leans forward cautiously. "Fuck, do I even remember how to swim?"

"Only one way to find out," Steve says, unable to hide the full grin that's now spreading across his face.

"Hey, wait, no—"

Both Nancy and Robin cheer as Steve shoves Eddie into the pool without ceremony, the older spluttering when he comes back up. "Fuck you!" he cries, shoving wet strands of hair back from where they're slicked against his face before splashing him with water. Steve's too busy laughing to fight back, however, and practically doubles over with the forces it.

All of the sudden, he's being dragged into the water. Eddie has evidently taken advantage of his vulnerable position and grabbed onto his arm, giving Steve the same treatment. Still, he's laughing too, and so are Nancy and Robin from the shallow end. "Oh my god," Robin breathes between cackles. "The look on your face, Steve. Completely braindead. You had no idea what was happening."

"And Eddie, holy shit," Nancy adds. "I wish I could capture that forever."

"Yeah, yeah, it's hilarious," Eddie grumbles, still pulling strands of his hair out of his face. "Yuk it up while you still can."

Steve and Nancy exchange looks, then both turn back to Eddie. "What's that supposed to mean?" Robin asks, still trying to contain laughter.

Before he can answer, Steve splashes him with water. Eddie lets out a screech and immediately splashes him back, the two of them quickly swallowed up in a water war while Nancy and Robin go back to whatever they were doing before they got in. Steve seems to be winning, having effectively figured out how to block Eddie's splashes with his own wall of water, before the latter curses, ducks, and makes a 'T' with his hands.

"Time out," he chokes, "water up my nose." He coughs a few times, irritation practically unfolding in his chest as he does so, and the fit lasts for full seconds longer than it should. "Fuck," he rasps, momentarily hoarse by the end of it, glancing up and back into Steve's eyes.

"You alright?" Steve asks, moving to the side of the pool as Eddie catches his breath. "That sounded like a little more than just water."

Eddie nods. "Might've been, I don't know. Something feels weird."

"Are you sick?"

He groans. "Oh, shit. It's possible. I didn't feel anything before, but..."

Steve pushes himself up, climbing out. "Well, just in case, let's get you a towel. You don't want to make it any worse."