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sceletaflores · 2 months

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where there’s sparks, there’s fire!

pairing: patrick zweig x fem!reader

summary: you can’t tell if patrick hates you as much as you hate him. every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. but he’s only doing all that to piss you off. you think back to tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. you don’t see it. patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special.

—or: patrick zweig is a slut. you can't stand him.

word count: 4.6k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), public sex (doing it in a coat closet lmao), more hate sex, swearing, fighting as foreplay, light choking, light hair pulling, degradation, even more hints of mean!reader cause i really do live for that shit, tashi and reader are cute besties always, porn with a little plot, no use of y/n.

author’s note: i originally wanted to post a tashi fic next but i realized i don't have any like actual full on plot filled patrick works lmao i felt bad neglecting him and my patrick girlies so yeah. once again had literally so much fun writing this, like i hardcore love this niche!!! i ride so hard for it!!! the tashi fic i'm working on also falls into this category lols and yes this is fourth of july themed and it's late shut up i cannot write fast for the life of me...anyway! to the anons who requested something like this, hope you love it! okay bye mwah xoxo.

Patrick Zweig is a huge slut.

Everyone knows that. He doesn't even go to Stanford but he's still somehow managed to sleep with a third of the girls on campus, maybe even more than a few guys too if the rumors going around are true.

You hate him. Hate isn't even a strong enough word. You loathe him. You despise him. You detest him. Pick any other fancy synonym, the point still stands. You just really fucking hate him.

It blows your mind that someone as sweet and angelic as Art would be best friends with someone like him. Someone who's so obnoxious, so arrogant, so crass. Art’s the guy that goes out of his way to protect you from the gross frat bros at parties, only to bring his very own as a plus one.

Sigma Nu throws a rager every year on the fourth, extending invites to those who are still in Stanford for the summer. The women’s tennis team is always invited, and Tashi always ends up convincing you to go. Well, she’s less convincing than she is more forcing you, but it’s basically the same thing to her anyway. She did your makeup and wrestled you into a Hollister dress, vowing to get you laid as she straightened your hair.

Tashi’s almost more invested in your sex life than you are, constantly hand-picking guys on campus for your consideration. She actually offered up Patrick once when you told her you wouldn’t fuck any of the guys on campus at all. The two of you were practicing, she suggested it as casual as ever while returning your serve. You were so shocked you stopped in your tracks, letting the ball fly right past you. She assured you she wouldn’t mind if you did, that what the two of them had was quote “Nothing serious, he’s just a really good fuck.” and that you should “Totally do it. He definitely wants to fuck you, I can tell.”

You just brushed her off, ignored the way she smirked knowingly at you over the net. Your cheeks burned as you served again, you wrote it off as annoyance. As if you would ever let Patrick Zweig fuck you.

You lost Tashi when she took off to the bathroom, texting you that she’d be a while thanks to a long line outside the door. You were leaning against a wall nursing a half-empty cup of jungle juice when he came up to you. You can’t remember his name, you think it starts with a B. Something like Brandon? Or maybe Brian? One or the other.

He’s Sigma Nu’s secretary, you sit three seats down from him in your economics lecture. Tashi says he has a crush on you, and he’s nice for a frat guy but he’s definitely not your type. He’s been droning on about his upcoming trip to his family's summer house in Cabo for almost ten minutes. You try your best to seem interested, humming and nodding every couple seconds. You’re in the middle of tuning him out when a loud, familiar voice calls out your name.

“There you are!” Patrick Zweig shouts from a few feet away, ugly American flag patterned flip flops smacking against the ground as he makes his way over to you. He’s wearing a bright red button down and white cargo shorts you scrunch your nose up at. He’s tanner than the last time you saw him, legs long and even more toned. “I’ve been looking everywhere for that pretty face.” He coos sweetly, his hand that isn't holding a bottle of Bud Light comes up to pinch your cheek.

You scoff, smacking his hand off your face. “You found me, so you can go bother someone else now,” you say, rubbing your cheek lightly. “Bye.” You press, waving your hand dismissively when he makes no move to walk away.

Patrick grins, unfazed by your reaction, he steps in even closer. “Yeah, I missed you too,” he says breezily, his breath smells like cheap beer and camel blues. He’s just as tall as you remember. He has tacky blue shutter shades resting on the top of his head. His eyes rake over your body shamelessly, lingering on the low dip of your neckline. “Cute dress.”

You ignore him, rolling your eyes before turning your attention back towards Brandon/Brian. He’s silent now, eyes flicking between you and Patrick skeptically. “Are you like, together, or something?”

You laugh loudly, quickly shaking your head ‘No’. Patrick beats you to speaking though, “God no, man.” he says through a laugh, dark curls bouncing as he shakes his head. “I came over here to warn you.” He continues, voice and expression going overly serious like he’s not talking out of his ass.

Brandon/Brian’s brows furrow, clearly confused. “Warn me?” he asks, head tilting to the left slightly. His puka shell necklace makes a small clicking sound as he moves.

Patrick nods his head gravely, clapping his free hand down on Brandon/Brian's shoulder a little too roughly to be considered friendly, shaking him back and forth like a rag doll. “Yeah, best of luck trying to get inside that snatch, man.” he says earnestly, jerking his head in your direction. “Cause’ she’s really fucking picky–”

You whip your head in his direction to cut him off, grimacing in disgust. “You would say snatch, you sick fuck.” you snap, red solo cup crunching quietly in your hand. Patrick just laughs, dropping his hand from Brandon/Brian’s shoulder. Anger stews inside you the longer he looks at you with that stupid shit-eating smirk on his face.

You can’t tell if Patrick hates you as much as you hate him. Every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. But he’s only doing all that to piss you off. You think back to Tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. You don’t see it.

Patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special. Sure, he may feel the constant need to be a horn-dog when he’s around you. That doesn’t mean anything. Patrick’s just gross, constantly making crude comments or lame innuendos. What Tashi fails to see is him making sex jokes around you is just another way he can piss you off. It’s not an open invitation into those god-awful shorts.

Patrick takes a small step back, big hands raising in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Put the claws away,” You try to ignore the way him saying your name in that goddamn infuriating condescending tone makes your cheeks start heating up. Patrick leans his shoulder on the wall next to you, looking down at you with a small grin on his face. “I actually wanted to congratulate you on cracking the top twenty.” He takes a long sip of his beer, head lolling to the side lazily as he swallows. “Lucky number 14.”

You’re not too proud to admit that Patrick is kind of hot, especially in this lighting. He’s objectively a hot guy, and he knows it. All tall and firm looking even in his horrendous outfit. But he’s kind of cute too, in an ass-holey way. His hair's a mess of soft-looking black curls and his ears stick out from his head sort of endearingly. He’s close enough that you can see he’s got a little brown in his eyes, and long lashes. There’s a handful of freckles sprinkled over the bridge of his nose.

His big, strong nose that looks like it could work wonders between your legs. Or at least that’s what you’ve heard from Jen in your chem lab. Maybe this jungle juice is stronger than you thought.

Patrick's smirk widens, wolfish and dirty like he can see what you’re thinking. “That’s pretty impressive.” he continues, his tone a mix of genuine admiration and teasing. "Especially for someone who's always so...busy." He lets the last word hang in the air, a clear innuendo that makes your blood boil all over again.

"Busy training," you snap back, not willing to let him get under your skin any more than he already has. "Some of us have actual work ethic, Patrick. We put in the hours on the court instead of fucking anything that breathes, you know? So we don’t look like idiots that get their ass handed to them on tour by nobody scrubs."

You can feel the heat start to simmer in your stomach, anger and frustration bubbling beneath the surface as Patrick's presence continues to grate on your nerves. The tension between you is thick, amplified by the chaotic energy of the party swirling around you. You see Brandon/Brian take a long, awkward sip of his beer as he steps away, turning on his heel to quickly disappear into the sea of bodies crowding the living room. You roll your eyes internally, pussy.

Patrick grins, not deterred in the slightest. “You’ve been keeping up with my matches?” His voice is low and pleased sounding, shiny green eyes slowly getting swallowed by the black of his pupils.

You pause, owlishly blinking up at him in silence. You’ve been caught. Shit.

You can feel the immediate warmth of embarrassment burning hot on your cheeks as you cast your gaze to the floor. “Only when I need to cheer myself up, a losing streak that high is actually laughable.” You mutter to the floor, lightly swirling your drink in your cup.

Patrick laughs loudly, throwing his head back in amusement. “Still thinking about me though.” he says matter-of-factly, a lazy grin taking over his face.

His audacity sends another wave of anger and embarrassment through you, your grip tightens around your cup. "Only because you make such a spectacle of yourself," you retort sharply. "It's hard not to notice when you're crashing and burning so publicly."

Patrick's grin doesn't falter. If anything, it widens. "I'll take what I can get from you," he says, his tone a blend of amusement and something else that you can't place. "But seriously, congratulations. You deserve it."

His unexpected sincerity throws you off, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. It's rare to see Patrick in a light that isn’t coated in sarcasm or sleaze. You catch a glimpse of something genuine in his expression, something that almost resembles respect, and it confuses you.

It confuses you, and it makes something warm start to burn in your stomach. You can’t afford to feel any warm, fuzzy feelings around a guy like Patrick, not if you don’t want to get majorly fucked over the second he gets bored of you.

You don’t know how to react so you do what makes sense, you lash out.

“God, will you just fuck off and leave me alone Patrick,” you say, tone over-dramatic and long-suffering as you tip your head up to the ceiling in annoyance. “I’m trying to have fun.” A lie. The party kind of sucked compared to last years. You were planning on talking Tashi into leaving when she came back, but he didn’t need to know that.

Patrick’s cool exterior finally cracks, letting out a quiet huff of disbelief as a frown starts tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Jesus Christ, what the hell is your fucking problem? I’m being sincere.” The playful light in his eyes is gone, replaced by something darker.

You let out a loud laugh, shaking your head in amusement. “Maybe I’d believe that if you weren’t such an ass. I know you too well, Patrick.” You say, tone mean and condescending. You know he’s right, on some level, but that doesn’t stop you.

Patrick is silent for a beat, eyes boring into yours with an intensity that makes you want to start squirming. He lets out a quiet, bitter laugh, bringing his beer up to his lips to take a long sip. You watch the way his throat moves as he swallows, the way his lips look wrapped around the neck of the bottle. You feel a familiar heat start to pool between your legs, thighs clenching involuntarily as your mind envisions something else his slick, pink lips would look good wrapped around.

He drops the bottle to his side, finally breaking the silence. “You know, now I do believe you.” he says casually, swiping his tongue over his lips lazily. “You must really not be getting any dick acting like this much of an uptight bitch.”

You reel back in shock, his words hitting you like a punch in the gut. The wave of fury that sweeps through you is almost tangible, your vision narrowing to a tunnel that begins and ends with Patrick’s infuriatingly smug face. “What did you just say?” you ask completely taken aback, voice low and rough. Your hand twitches at your side with the need to throw your drink in his face, anger and embarrassment lapping white hot flames in your stomach.

Patrick just scoffs, heated gaze not breaking from your own. “You heard me.” He says, jaw set stubbornly. “You need like, emergency dick, or something to chill the fuck out for once.”

You feel your heart rate spike, your free hand clenching into a tight wrist by your side. “You’re a fucking pig.” your voice shakes with anger, you feel sweaty and hot all over. The heat swirling between your legs is persistent.

Patrick laughs, a loud and infuriating sound. “Come on, we both know you’re fucking begging for someone to give you what you need.” He says like it’s obvious, you clench your fist a little tighter. He takes a step closer, voice dropping down to a whisper meant just for you. “I can help you with that. I can fuck all that bratty shit right out of yo–”

You’re reacting before you can stop yourself, hand flying up to slap him hard across the face. The loud crack pierces through the room, loud enough that a few eyes turn in your direction. Patrick's head snaps to the side, the shades resting on the top of his head fly off.

Your heart stops, hands shaking with the realization of what you just did. You expect Patrick to flip out, start shouting and threatening to sue you or whatever else it is that rich people do. Time seems to slow down as he turns his head, and when he looks back at you, there's no trace of anger in his eyes. Instead, they're dark with something else entirely— something that makes your stomach flip.

He licks his lips, a slow, deliberate motion, and then he laughs, a low, throaty sound that sends shivers down your spine. A clear hand print grows steadily, red and angry on his cheek. "Fuck." he breathes, his hazy eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat.

You’re stuck staring at each other for what feels like hours, the music and chatter from the party reduced down to a low hum as you’re caught under Patrick’s heavy gaze.

He drops his beer bottle on the floor carelessly, hand shooting out to grab your wrist tightly and drag you away from the living room. Your cup falls from your grip, splashing down onto the hardwood in a red sticky mess. You fall into step behind him, letting him guide you into the hallway outside the living room before he lurches to a stop in front of a closed door, ripping it open and shoving you inside. Patrick follows quickly, closing the door behind him and bathing the coat closet in darkness.

It’s a tiny closet, you’re pressed up against too many coats fighting for space on the tiny rack, kicking loose shoes around as you try to find your footing. “Patrick, I–” You start, but you're cut off by a strong hand gripping your forearm and whipping you around. Your back hits the door with a dull thud, you don’t have any time to react before his lips are on yours.

The kiss is the opposite of gentle, Patrick’s lips are almost violent as they move with yours. Your hands tangle in his soft hair, kissing back just as roughly. He hisses into your mouth as you twist the strands in your grip meanly, pressing you into the door harder. His tongue forces its way past your parted lips, claiming your mouth fiercely. He tastes like beer, his fingertips are rough and calloused on your skin, pulling you closer as if he wants to meld into you.

“If you don’t want this, say the word and I’ll stop right now.” He says against your lips, breathless and rumbly. His hands squeeze your hips reassuringly, his own version of sincerity softening the moment.

Yeah fucking right.

“Zweig,” you say slowly, yanking his hair roughly. “If you don’t shut up and fuck me in the next ten seconds, I’ll kill you.”

Patrick grins wildly, surging forward to connect your lips again. Your hands find the buttons of his shirt as the two of you kiss, working them open one by one until you get too frustrated and rip the two half-open sides apart. Buttons clatter onto the floor of the closet, Patrick groans into your mouth, breaking the kiss with a huff. “I liked that shirt, dick. You owe me twenty bucks.”

You’re not listening, eyes trained on the bare skin of his chest as everything seems to slow down for a second. Of course, you’ve seen Patrick shirtless before, when he’s on the court and it’s above ninety or when he’s taking up space in Art’s dorm. This feels different, a completely new situation where it’s actually okay for you to stare at the expanse of his torso.

You can’t help reaching out to touch him again— running your greedy hands down his chest, his abs, the sharp ‘v’ cut of his hips that makes its way into the waistband of his shorts. Your manicured nails scratch through the dark hair of his happy trail, you can see the muscles in his stomach jump.

“Fuck,” you whisper breathlessly and immediately regret it. He was already insufferable— all you fucking needed was for him to know how you felt right now. How the sight of his barely undressed body is making your pussy soak through your panties.

Patrick doesn’t even gloat, just uses his tight grip on your hips to flip you so you’re pressing onto the door harshly. He impatiently yanks the skirt of your dress up, wasting no time in hooking a finger on the lace of your panties and moving the fabric to the side for easier access.

You hear him pop the button of his shorts open, his zipper following close behind. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.” He says, sliding the thick tip of his cock through your slick lips, brushing himself against your entrance teasingly. “I’m gonna make you think twice about bitching me out ever again.” He seals his promise by grabbing your hair and yanking, causing a surprised whine to fall from your lips. His voice is so patronizing, but you aren’t getting mad like you should be. You’re just getting wetter, getting desperate with the need for him to get inside you right fucking now.

You grit your teeth in frustration, exhaling sharply through your nose. “I hate you.” You hiss, grinding back against his hard cock. You gasp raggedly as he starts to sink himself inside you, not stopping until his hips are flush against your ass. “Shit!” Your hands grip the door so hard you’re scared one of your nails will break. The stretch of him burns in the best way possible. You’d never say it out loud, not wanting to inflate his ego anymore than you probably already have, but he’s definitely the biggest cock you’ve taken. Almost porn-star big.

“I know.” He replies easily, hiking your thigh up with his hand as his hips start to pound mercilessly into the meat of your ass, not even giving you time to get used to the thick stretch of him. The loud smack of skin on skin fills the tiny closet easily, you hope to God the amount of clothes shoved in here somehow muffles the sound. The rough denim of his shorts scratches against your raw skin, adding to the sting of his hips.

Patrick was pounding into you in a way that makes you feel every inch of him. His cock felt impossibly big, filling you up like he was carving a place for himself inside of you. The sting in your pussy at the stretch of him is mind-numbing, you think you’d collapse from how hard your thighs were shaking if he wasn’t practically holding you up.

His big hand grips the sensitive skin of your inner thigh hard enough that it’ll probably be bruised by tomorrow. You distantly hope he’s high up enough that your tennis skirt will cover it, because if not it’ll be a hard thing to talk your way out of.

You throw your head back, a strained moan erupting from your lips. Your nails scratch at the paint on the door's edges, raking small lines down the wall. The loud squelch of your pussy’s overflowing wetness every time he sinks back inside you would be embarrassing if you had the mental capacity to care.

“Fuck yeah, keep making those slutty sounds, baby. Want the whole fucking party to hear how good I’m making you feel on this cock,” he mutters, hiking your leg up higher so he can pound into you deeper.

He drops your thigh, sliding his hand up your body and around your throat. You whine loudly, pushing back into his thrusts harder. Guys have tried the choking thing in the past, but Patrick’s hand is the only one that’s felt right. His long fingers curling around your throat like they belong there.

“Shit, fuck- don’t stop.” you mewl, lips parted in ecstasy. His hand squeezes a little tighter, not enough to cut off your breathing, just enough to get your eyes rolling back into your head as your pussy weeps around the thick length of his cock.

“That’s it, taking my fucking cock like you were made for it,” Patrick grates through a groan, gripping your hips and pulling out from your tight hole to spit on where his cock bumps up against your entrance before plunging back in. You jolt at the extra wetness, whining at how dirty it is. “So fucking tight— does it hurt, baby?” he asks in a barely breathless voice, laughter edging his tone. “Is my fat cock hurting your tight little pussy?”

“God– shit, yes!” you sob loudly, cheek rubbing against the wood of the door as you nod your head frantically. “Hurts so fucking good.” You stop caring about inflating his ego, letting moans fall freely from your lips as you get closer to the edge.

“Fuck yeah, I’m gonna come,” he grunts, his rhythm growing sloppy and erratic as his muscles tense. He wraps your hair in his other hand, pulling hard enough to make your neck crane back awkwardly. He leans forward, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “I can feel you, fucking clenching up on me so tight,” he whispers, still pounding into you roughly. “I know you’re close. Do it. Come all over my cock like a slut.”

Patrick's hand tightens around your throat as he talks, cutting off your air for just a second. “Patrick!” Your voice sounds weak and strained, your hand coming up to wrap around his wrist desperately.

He pulls out abruptly, dropping your hair from his fist to frantically jerk his cock, burying his face in your neck. You can hear the lewd shlick shlick shlick of your wetness help his hand glide over the skin of his cock quickly. Patrick lets out a loud growl before you feel the sharp bite of his teeth sinking in where your shoulder meets your neck, muffling a loud groan of your name as he sprays hot come over the skin of your lower back and the swell of your ass.

The feeling of Patrick’s hand wrapped around your throat as his come paints your skin has you catapulting over the edge. Eyes rolling back in your head as your convulsing pussy gushes wet over his spent cock.

You drag in greedy lungfuls of air, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. “You came first.” You say breathlessly, voice scratchy and hushed. Patrick chuckles against your skin, swatting the tender flesh of your ass lightly.

“Shut the fuck up.” He mutters half-heartedly, nuzzling his nose in your neck in a way that seems far too intimate for what the two of you just did. You don’t say anything.

Patrick eventually peels himself off your back, but the warmth of his body stays wrapped around you as he starts to gently wipe your skin clean. You’re ready to scold him for using some poor guy's coat as a come-rag, but when you turn your head to glare at him he’s using the inside of his own shirt. You wrinkle your nose, but a tiny smile fights its way onto your lips. So gross, you think with a sort of reluctant fondness.

He leans over to fix your panties back over your puffy, abused pussy. Your thighs continue to shake weakly as you try to stand on your own, still unsteady without Patrick holding you up. He gives you a sweet kiss on the back of your shoulder, smacking his lips loudly. You huff out a tiny laugh, pushing away from the door to face him.

You watch him as he languidly gets re-dressed. He looks well-fucked, his hair and clothes are mess, his face is flushed and sweaty. Your eyes trail down to where he’s buttoning up his atrocious shorts.

The fabric around the crotch is darkened with your release, wetness soaking the denim around the zipper and front pockets. You gawk at it, a mix of terror and excitement swirling through your stomach. “You can’t go back out like that.” you say to his shorts, shame burning your cheeks.

Patrick follows your gaze down to his crotch. A pleased smirk plays on his lips when he looks back at you. “I’ll text you later.” Is all he says, zipping his fly and turning towards the door.

“You don’t have my number.” You say, tugging the skirt of your dress down over your hips. You can slowly feel the horny fog leave your brain, leaving you clear-minded and a little panicked.

He cracks the door open, but before walking out of the closet he looks back at you over his shoulder. “Art’ll give me your number. “ He says casually with a small shrug of his shoulder. You suddenly feel sick, wondering how many other people have heard that line before getting completely ghosted.

Patrick must see the negative thoughts running through your mind play out on your face. He gives you an actual smile, one that has his eyes crinkling up the tiniest bit at the corners. “Promise.” He says with a reassuring nod, it’s the most sincere you’ve ever seen him. You bite your lip to stop from smiling at the hope blooming in your stomach, nodding back at him slowly. He throws you one last toothy grin before he’s walking out and closing the door behind him.

You sigh contently, staring at the closed door for a few beats before your phone buzzes to life from where it's laying on the floor. You bend over to search for it, blindly rooting around until you see the tiny display light. The ringing stops before you can answer, when you flip the screen up to check your inbox you have seven missed texts and two missed calls.

Four texts and two calls from Art, and just three texts from Tashi.

arty where are you? i’ve been looking for you are you okay? hello???

tash you know you're not invisible right? everyone saw your little show have fun <3

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini a/n: yes i did change the title leave me lmao love you!

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amazingdealsblog · 2 years

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youtube

#jungle theme #jungle theme decoration set #jungle Theme Cake And Decoration #visagan birthday party #home #birthday party vlog #tamil #youtube #amazon #online shopping #chudimaterials #tharsith collection #cod #clothes #deal of the day #kpop

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cherrycolored-punk · 9 days

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NHTK - Chapter One

Masterlist

summary: You’d always been warned by your older brother about the bad boys. The ones with the long hair, tattooed arms, and played in a band. Especially the one that is his best friend.

pairing: brother's best friend! Eddie Munson x fem! Reader, reader is Reefer Rick’s little sister.

trope/themes: forbidden love, friends to lovers

w/c: 5.6k

author's note: this is a repost from my previous blog @strangemagicc and I’ve been debating whether or not I should but I love their story so much. I hope you enjoy ! 🖤 a side note: yes, I did get drunk off my own jungle juice and yes, that did result in the worst sunburn of my life. I pour with a heavy hand.

warnings: angst, mention of cheating (technically not reader), mention of anxiety, brief mention of unwanted touching, underage drinking/smoking, a little sprinkle of smut (does clothed grinding count?). Let me know if I missed anything!

The Cunningham home was packed with bodies, familiar faces, and those you didn’t know. You stood near the front door fiddling with the zipper on your purse as you scanned the room searching for a familiar face.

Party lights bounced off a disco ball that hung haphazardly from a chandelier sending a kaleidoscope of blues and purples dancing across the foyer.

The loud music hummed in the walls, vibrating when the bass dropped. You bobbed your head to it mindlessly, without rhythm, feeling uncomfortable in the swarm of bodies around you. The foyer was crowded with partygoers, some locked in an embrace and others pushing their way up the stairs to the rooms that lined the hallway for some privacy.

Your teeth dug into your lower lip, eyebrows marrying in the middle as you searched above the sea of bodies. You were supposed to meet your best friend, Rachel, outside nearly an hour ago but your shift at Hawk Theater had dragged on, and now you didn’t know where to find her or your boyfriend for that matter.

That’s when you spotted them.

It felt like ice had filled your veins as you watched the way the familiar form of your boyfriend’s lips pushed against your best friend’s. Their mouths a frenzied dance, their eyes squished close. Her hands in his hair, his palms tracing down her exposed skin. You couldn’t move, disbelief keeping you anchored in place and watching the two of them as the rest of the world fell silent. Loud music muffled, and voices drowned out by the hammering of your heart against your ribcage.

A shoulder bumped yours causing your purse to fall as a partygoer rushed through the door to where their friends were gathered.

“Fuck,” You blinked rapidly and bent down to grab the black leather, eyes darting around at people’s shoes as you tried to regain your surroundings.

When you stood, you watched as Simon whispered in Rachel’s ear. She let out a small laugh in response to whatever he said before nodding. You began to push your way through the crowd, but bodies pushed back, and you watched as Simon led Rachel up the stairs through a throng of people. Her hand clasped in his, megawatt smile on display, and you wondered if this was the first time he had led her to a secluded room. Wondered how many stolen glances or hints you had missed.

You stopped pushing your way through and ignored the shouting in your head telling you to move, move, move.

What would you do?

What would you say?

Did it matter?

Shoulders pushed into yours as you stood still, wishing the earth would swallow you whole.

You held in the tears threatening to spill, allowing the hurt to settle into your stomach and create a dull ache.

People shoved past you, and you let your body be moved by the crowd as your eyes danced around the house.

For the first time, you noticed the smiling faces and chiseled jaws you’d ignored the past four years.

Squaring your shoulders, you pushed back against the bodies creating a path to the kitchen. Empty bottles and cans littered the counters. White granite stickied with beer and liquor.

You grabbed a plastic cup and waited for your turn at the keg. Jason Carver manned the pump and eyed you as you approached, handing him your empty plastic cup.

“Well, if it isn’t Rick’s little sister,” he started, a fake smile plastered wide on his face. You gave him a sarcastic grin and grabbed for your beer as he topped it off. None too keen on being called, let alone known as Reefer Rick’s little sister.

Jason pulled away, holding your beer just out of reach.

“Your brother was supposed to have someone here supplying the party favors. What gives?”

You couldn’t help the way your eyes rolled. Hawkins’ Golden Boy was always itching for his next fix.

“I’m sure one of his little lackeys is crawling around here somewhere.” You held your arms up, gesturing around you before reaching back up for your drink. He held it away from you again, and your shoulders sagged, annoyance building.

“Come on, Carver. Give the lady her drink,” Another boy grabbed the cup, handing it to you with a soft smile.

He was cute in an obvious way, skin glowing with a fading summer tan that highlighted the blue of his eyes.

“Thanks,” you responded with a small grin, your hand grazing his as you grabbed for your drink.

“Any time.” His eyes held yours, his hand still outstretched and warm beneath your touch.

A perfect distraction.

———————————

Eddie sank into the worn-down couch cushions with a heavy sigh, his legs spread wide so no one would sit too close. Not that they would dare to anyway.

He sat with a view of the foyer and kitchen, both areas crowded with people in various stages of inebriation.

Unfamiliar faces were cast in a rainbow of colors by the party lights illuminating multiple parts of the house. His eyes darted from one room to another.

Empty bottles of hard liquor were toppled against the kitchen counter. Plastic cups littered the room near the two kegs that sat in the middle of the tiled floor, sticky with spilled beer and marred by dirty footprints.

It was a familiar scene, one that played out the same way nearly every weekend since Eddie could remember.

But now his nerves were withering away, disappearing into nothingness as the minutes ticked by. Bored out of his mind.

Another generic pop song blasted through the speakers, another once jock tried to negotiate the price of Eddie’s already cheap supply.

His jaw was set, and if he didn’t need the money so fucking bad, he wouldn’t be here. At another house party for has-beens and once popular teens inching towards full-blown adulthood. No longer barely legal, a year closer to buying beer without sneaking it past an unsuspecting convenience store clerk.

He chugged his beer, streams of amber liquid pouring out on either side of his mouth as he drank harshly. Sloppily. Until the lukewarm liquid was gone and he was staring down into an empty plastic cup. Eddie threw his head against the cushions debating whether another cup of cheap beer was worth giving up his spot on the couch.

And then you caught his eye. Your back pressed to a guy he’d never seen you with.

His brow quirked up curiously as he watched you. The way the hem of your dress inched up with the movement of your hips, the way your eyes were closed as you swayed to the rhythm of the music and took a swig of whatever filled your plastic cup.

Didn’t you have a boyfriend?

He was surprised to see you here. Somewhere seemingly not your scene, surrounded by people he knew you didn’t like.

In truth, Eddie knew very little about you these days. Your interactions had been limited since the two of you worked side by side at the theater. A job he was fired from when the manager caught him making deals on the clock and company property. Since then, he only caught glimpses of you when he came by your house to see your brother. A passing hello or a quick goodbye. Never anything like those days spent conversing by the cinema dumpsters while being scorched by the summer sun.

You turned around and whispered something in the guy’s ear and pointed to your cup before weaving through the crowd.

Your back was to Eddie, hands reaching towards bottle after bottle, shaking them to check their contents. All coming up empty.

He chuckled when you spotted the giant cooler filled with Chrissy’s concoction of jungle juice; a mix of pineapple malibu, cherry moonshine, and fruit punch.

Eddie pushed himself off his spot on the couch and moved through the crowd towards you. Approaching just as you filled the cup to the brim and brought it towards your waiting lips. He pulled the red plastic from your hands and gave you a chastising grin.

“Don’t think so, little Lipton,” he took a swig and raised his eyebrows as the sweetness hit his tongue.

You gave him an annoyed glare and reached for your drink just as he pulled it out of your nearing grasp with an amused grin.

“I’m sorry, Munson, since when did you become an advocate against public displays of intoxication?” You reached up and snatched your cup back from his hand, looking at him with a questioning arch of your eyebrow.

He noticed the way your words were somewhat slurred, your cheeks a shade darker from the alcohol you’d already consumed.

“See you got a new boyfriend,” Eddie stated, jutting his chin toward your dance partner and ignoring the insinuation of your words. He folded his arms across his chest and stared at you with an amused gleam in his eye as he waited for your explanation.

“That guy?” You turned to the cute brunette who was waiting for you to return before looking back at Eddie.

“I just met him like two seconds ago,” you hiccuped and let out a small laugh as Eddie looked back to the brunette who was eyeing him wearily.

“What happened to Simon?”

“He’s probably still upstairs fucking Rachel,” you waved him off and shrugged before taking another sip of your drink.

“What?” Eddie couldn’t have heard you right. Simon had been your boyfriend since the summer you turned sixteen, having met him while working at Hawk Theater alongside Eddie.

“Look, Munson, is there a point to this line of questioning?”

Your buzzed mind was becoming less cloudy, the feelings you’d been pushing down threatening to come to the surface, and all you wanted to be was distracted.

“Your brother wouldn’t be too happy if I let you get drunk at some house party,” he sighed, changing the subject.

“Well, isn’t it a good thing that he isn’t here, and you can just pretend you didn’t see me?” You smiled over your cup before chugging some of the drink.

The sugary sweetness of the fruit punch nearly overpowered the taste of the strong liquor mixed with it but still, it burned as it went down. Eddie shook his head, his tongue jutting into his cheek to fight the wide grin that threatened to spread at your words.

“I wouldn’t chug that if I were you,” he warned, and you rolled your eyes, removing the plastic from your lips with a scowl pointed in his direction.

“Since when are you such a party pooper?” You poked at his chest with your free hand.

“Plus, I’ve already had a beer or two.” You held up one too many fingers to him as you pressed the cup to your lips and swallowed harshly.

“Come on, (Y/N), this isn’t like you,” he frowned.

“How would you know, Eddie?” You said his name like it was a curse word as you looked at him through hooded eyes.

He opened his mouth to respond when a passerby pushed against him to get through the crowd causing his frame to lurch into yours. A small splash of your drink soaked through your sweater, and you pushed back against his torso instinctively, his chest hard against the palm of your hand.

“Shit, sorry,” his warm breath fanned your face. A hint of spearmint mixed with the scent of cigarettes caught your nose as you inhaled sharply, caught off guard by the sudden contact of his hand against your hip, steadying himself from the crowd's sway.

You gazed up at him, your hand still on his chest, into his wide brown eyes. His cheeks were colored pink as his hand darted away from you.

“Sorry,” he whispered again, and you gave him a sardonic smile, enjoying the way he squirmed by being this close to you. Too close.

“Maybe we should get you home to change,” he pointed to your stained sweater, and you shrugged as you placed your drink on the counter.

“Trying to get me alone, Munson?” You teased, and maybe it was the alcohol, or perhaps it was the way you wished his nervous energy was because you affected him the same way he had always affected you.

You pulled at the hem of the green pullover revealing the tight black lace dress you wore underneath. Eddie’s gaze dropped instinctively, eyeing how the material hugged your curves. You grabbed his wrist and dropped the sweater into his open palm.

“Hold onto that for me,” you picked your cup back up from the counter.

“And don’t worry, Rick doesn’t have to know,” you gave him a small wink before turning away from him and pushing back through the crowd.

Eddie stared at you, his mouth agape as you disappeared back into the sea of people and picked up where you left off with your dance partner. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck—the guy whose name you didn’t even know.

Eddie glanced back down at your sweater in his outstretched hand and shook his head unsure of exactly what had gotten into you.

He grabbed another cup of beer and leaned against a wooden beam near the living room, his eyes always finding you when he looked around the room. Eddie made a few deals and sold most of his supply, a few hundred dollars closer to his goal of finally leaving Hawkins behind.

Eddie looked up and watched as stranger boy’s hands drifted down your hips and dug into your thighs. You pushed his hands back up to your waist, your head swaying to the music as the two of you continued to dance.

But stranger boy’s hands crept down your hip once again, inching lower and lower until they glided past the hem of your dress. You stilled and turned around, wrapping your arms around his neck. His chest flush with yours, blue eyes dull into you as he wrapped his arms around your waist. A flirty smile on his lips.

“Able to keep your hands to yourself, pretty boy?” Although you wanted a distraction, you still had reservations. Boundaries you didn’t want to cross. Not when your still boyfriend was upstairs.

“What’s the fun in that,” He whispered into your ear, palms sliding down and cupping your ass. Your smile fell, and you pushed at his chest, putting space between you.

“Knock it off,” your voice came out louder, barely heard above the music. Eddie tensed and pushed off the wooden beam he’d been leaning on. Your date looked uneasily around the crowd and back at you.

“Don’t be such a tease. You’ve been grinding on my dick for most of the night.” You scoffed at him and shook your head.

Eddie began to walk in your direction, pushing past the crowd that had turned its attention towards you.

“I was dancing,” you corrected just as Eddie approached. His lean frame towered next to you, eyes set on the guy whose name you now didn’t care to know.

“We got a problem here?” Eddie questioned.

“Should’ve expected your brother’s dealer to be your little lap dog,” the brunette laughed, cocky. Annoyance thrummed through your veins, and you began to step toward him but Eddie grabbed your arm, his warm palm pressed against your exposed skin.

“He’s not even worth it,” Eddie whispered and pulled you back, “let’s go.” You nodded at his words and turned to leave with him, emotional exhaustion now weighing heavy on your shoulders.

Eddie followed behind you, ignoring the way the sea of heads watched him like he was some carnival freak on display.

“Stupid slut,” the brunette muttered as he turned towards his friends, and Eddie stopped in his tracks, a dark grin coloring his features.

“On second thought.” He turned and took a wide step, swinging without hesitation.

His clenched fist connected with the guy’s jaw sending him stumbling back and falling to the ground. Eddie stood over him, chest rising and falling rapidly. Ready for a fight. The guy groaned on the ground, holding his jaw where Eddie’s fist had already left a mark. You stood stunned into silence, the whispers of the crowd breaking you from your reverie.

“Eddie, we should go,” you grabbed onto his hand and pulled as the crowd’s murmurs began to grow louder. A bigger fight could cause the police to be called and Eddie didn’t need a bigger record.

He didn’t budge, gaze still fixed on the guy writhing in pain on the floor.

“Let’s go,” you urged and pulled on his hand hard, this time he followed. You led him through the crowd and out the front door, ignoring the dozens of eyes that watched you leave.

His palm was still pressed to yours when you reached the sidewalk, the night breeze cold against your exposed skin sobering you. You stopped and dropped Eddie’s hand as you looked up to him.

“What the fuck was that?” You pointed towards the house now in the distance with an outstretched hand before crossing your arms over your chest. The moon illuminated Eddie in a hazy white glow, the street lamps dim on the other side of the street.

“Me protecting you?” He questioned, his eyebrows creasing as he took in your sour expression.

“You didn’t need to do that!” Your voice rose.

“That guy had his greasy hands all over you and called you a slut, but you’re mad at me?” His tone was filled with incredulity, eyes wide and shocked.

“No, I just-,” you sighed and pressed your fingers against the bridge of your nose, closing your eyes as you tried to put into words how you felt.

Hurt?

Confused?

Angry?

Like a fucking idiot for dancing with some loser at a house party you didn’t even want to be at in the first place.

“Thank you,” you sighed and looked up at him. It was better than an explanation of your misplaced anger.

“I mean it,” you grabbed onto his hand so he knew that you meant it. He looked to your connected hands and back at you.

“Any time, Spielberg,” he gave you a cocky smile and you dropped his hand, watching as he walked past you to his van.

“We agreed you’d never call me that again,” you said through gritted teeth, following behind him. Eddie turned and began to walk backward, keyring twirling on his finger.

“No, you asked me to stop. I never agreed to it.” He stopped in front of his black van and opened the passenger door.

“Your chariot awaits,” he stepped aside so you could climb in, presenting the passenger seat as though it were a grand prize.

“I can walk, Eds,” you chuckled and began to walk past him. You figured the night air would do you good. Eddie yanked you by your shoulder reeling you back towards him.

“Get in the fucking car,” he pushed you towards the seat and waited until you were situated before closing the door. He ran around the front of the vehicle and quickly climbed into the driver’s seat.

As Eddie started the car you noticed his bloody knuckles. Guilt reared its ugly head and you grimaced at the sight of his already bruising flesh. As he waited for the car to warm up, you rummaged through your bag looking for the travel-sized first aid kit you kept buried at the bottom, and quietly rejoiced when you found it.

Without asking you reached for his hand and settled it into your lap. When he tried pulling away you squeezed his wrist to hold him into place.

“What are you doing?” He questioned, glancing between you and his split knuckles.

“What does it look like?” You gave him a teasing look and grabbed an alcohol wipe, tearing open the package before blotting the pad gently against his skin.

Eddie winced and you looked at him with a silent apology before blowing on his knuckles to help them dry.

His gaze traced the curve of your nose down to the plush of your lips, swallowing hard as his eyes lingered. A little hypnotized, just as you’d always had him. You placed a bandaid on each cut and patted his hand softly breaking Eddie from his trance.

“All better,” you stated and glanced up at him with a satisfied grin.

He pulled his hand away and cleared his throat, refocusing his attention on the road ahead as he pulled away from the curb. Eddie eyed his bandaged hand resting on the steering wheel as he drove.

Of course, you’d have Hello Kitty bandaids.

He shook his head but couldn’t fight the way his grin grew wide and took over his features.

The two of you drove towards your house in silence, Soundgarden playing low on the radio.

Houses passed in a dark blur, the clouds covering any light the moon had offered. It had been years since the two of you had been alone for more than a passing moment. Not since those days spent at work where Eddie got to know you as more than his best friend’s little sister.

You fiddled with the hem of your dress, conflicted by to say or if you should say anything. It didn’t go unnoticed by Eddie who began to glance between you and the road, measuring his words just as cautiously.

“Sorry about your-“

“Do you think-“

The both of you began speaking at once and you chuckled awkwardly as you looked towards him. He nodded at you to go ahead, giving you the floor to speak.

“Do you think we could go somewhere? It could be anywhere, I just really don’t want to go home right now,” you shrugged, continuing to play with the material of your dress.

The two of you were already close to your home, the trees becoming more dense as you approached but he nodded. He turned his van down a different path, the trees opening as you approached the Lake.

The light of the moon and stars glittered off the calm waters, peaceful. Serene. A different scene from the events of the night. He parked near the edge of the trees and killed the lights, taking off his seatbelt before looking at you. Nervous energy hummed in his chest and was evident in the way he bounced his leg absently.

“This good?”

You gave him a weak smile and nodded. The guilt had spread and made a home of your chest. Eddie got hurt because of you. Lost out on sales defending you.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” you began, your eyes focused on the darkness of the lake.

Eddie watched you, the way your teeth chewed at your bottom lip. Your anxious energy palpable.

“I’m sorry you had to get mixed up in my mess,” you looked at him now and Eddie shook his head.

“Like I was going to let Chris Grandy call you a stupid slut,” he rolled his eyes.

You giggled to yourself. So that was the douchebag’s name.

“It really doesn’t matter,” you shrugged. “Probably was acting like one.”

You’d only ever had one serious boyfriend in your life and he’d spent the night upstairs with your childhood best friend. There was a lot you didn’t know about dating or the rules of flirting. What gave guys the wrong idea or made them think you wanted something more and you kept playing it over in your head wondering what you could’ve done differently.

Eddie’s leg stopped bouncing as he watched you and the anger built up in his chest. He wasn’t mad at you, he was so fucking pissed off that the slime ball made you feel like this. Made you feel guilty for enjoying yourself or question whether you did anything wrong.

“You were having fun,” he started, “and regardless of how you danced or what you said, when you told him to stop he should’ve stopped. Nothing you did or said justifies him being a fucking creep.”

He was seething, you could tell from the way his chest rose and fell. From the way his jaw was clenched, the moonlight illuminating his features.

Munson had always been handsome, cute in a not-so-conventional way. It was the way his curly hair framed his high cheekbones and the plush of his lips. The way his big brown eyes were always animated when he talked about something he liked.

The first time you noticed it, noticed him, was when you were thirteen. You spent that summer blubbering in his presence, finding any excuse to talk to him or go into your brother’s room. The crush never really went away, always lingered in the back of your mind and now in the way your heart thrummed as his gaze was fixed on you. A silent plea begging you to understand what he told you.

It was like a magnetic pull the way you leaned closer to him, eyes trained on his as you inched closer.

“You don’t think there’s anything wrong with me having fun?” You questioned with innocent eyes and looked up at him through your lashes, your face closer to his.

“Why would there be?” He swallowed, his gaze flicking from yours to the pout of your lips.

Eddie was losing the little bit of composure he’d been able to maintain all these years. The warnings your brother had given sounded off like alarms in his head.

“Also, I’m the one who needs to apologize,” he grimaced and began to play with the rings on his fingers, changing the subject. Trying to distract himself from the way the scent of your perfume had him a little disjointed.

“For what?” You pursed your lips, perplexed.

“I’m, uh, pretty sure I left your sweater back there at the party. Nearly one hundred percent positive,” he looked at you with a sideways grimace, already shrinking away as he anticipated your reaction but you only laughed.

“I ruined it with Chrissy’s weird concoction anyway,” you dropped your face into your hand, your body shaking with laughter.

“I still can’t believe you drank that shit,” he laughed with you, “it had me on my ass a few years ago at her Fourth of July party.”

“No way,” your laugh grew louder as you absently held onto his arm, encouraging him to divulge.

“In my defense, those sugary drinks are the ones that get you,” his body shook with his building laughter.

“Could barely taste the moonshine she puts in it so I had a few cups,” he shook his head, “I fell asleep in one of those loungers by the pool and the next thing I remembered was waking up in some random room laughing to myself with the worst sunburn of my life.”

You winced at the picture he painted, imagining his pale skin marred by the sun.

“So that’s why you took my cup,” realization dawned upon you.

“Just trying to save you, little Lipton,” he agreed and you groaned.

“I wish people would stop calling me that. I’m not just Rick’s sister you know?” Your shoulders sagged. It had always been like that.

People, boys, avoiding you because of who your brother was. Ghosting you once they found out your last name, his reputation preceding you.

Until Simon.

“I know you’re not,” he assured you earnestly.

“You’re definitely just saying that,” you rolled your eyes.

“Since when have I told you something just because it’s what you want to hear, Spielberg?” He emphasized the nickname you hated to prove his point.

You leaned over the middle console and jabbed at his ribs with your finger causing him to jump and grab at your hand.

“This is the thanks I get for saving your life,” he dramatized and grabbed your other hand as he dodged its attack.

He held onto your hands, your laughter mixing with his, and stared up into his eyes.

You could say it was the alcohol still clouding your mind for what you did next, could say it was because you still needed the distraction you sought at the beginning of the night.

Eddie smelled like apple and bergamot, a hint of weed and tobacco. He swallowed hard as you leaned closer. He felt the warmth of your breath against his face and watched as your eyes fluttered close.

He hesitated for a moment before closing the rest of the space. Heart beating faster than it had that night.

Your breath hitched with the first contact of his lips. They were smooth, almost pillowy against your own, as they matched the pace you set. He released your hands and you twined them in his curls, soft like you’d always imagined.

Eddie’s hands fell into his lap and clenched into fists as the kiss deepened, your tongue parting the seam of his mouth. He opened and slowly met yours with the tip of his own.

You tasted like cherry chapstick and fruit punch, sweet like he always thought you would be and it was getting so hard not to touch you.

Warmth blossomed in your chest, spreading to your veins in a low hum and you pulled him closer, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him flush against you. His hands left his lap and wrapped around your waist, fingers digging into your flesh.

He pulled you across the middle console into his lap and you moved without hesitation, your mouth still pressed to his.

There was an unspoken need shared in the way your mouths meshed, in the way he swallowed your sighs and you elicited his groans. It felt like you were floating, head buzzing from a different kind of inebriation.

You wanted more, you needed more but the bright lights of a passing car broke you two apart.

Eddie stilled beneath you and pulled away from your still-pursed lips.

“Shit,” he whispered and closed his eyes as he hit his head against the headrest.

You bit into your lower lip and played with the material of his black t-shirt, looking at him curiously. Confusion evident on your brow.

“What’s wrong?” He shook his head, eyes still closed as his fingers traced absent lines back and forth over your naked thighs.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he shook his head and you stilled.

“We shouldn’t be or you don’t want to be?” You felt as though he was making an excuse, trying to let you down easily instead of telling you that he regretted kissing you.

“Shouldn’t be,” he lifted his head and finally opened his eyes.

He brought his hand to your face and held you, tracing an absent thumb over your cheekbone.

“Who says we shouldn’t be?” You leaned into his touch and rubbed your hands over his chest, enjoying the way his heart thrummed against your palms.

Eddie had trouble concentrating, distracted with you pressed against the evidence of his budding arousal.

Even in the silence you both knew the answer to his question, the boundary that had always been there. Invisible but palpable.

You’d always been warned by your older brother about the bad boys. The ones with the long hair, tattooed arms, and played in a band. Especially the one that is his best friend.

“You know who,” he finally responded, hands gripping your thighs as you shifted in his lap and you smirked. Enjoying the way Eddie Munson looked a little dazed beneath you.

“Nobody has to know if you don’t want them to,” you muttered as you leaned closer, your breath fanning his face. Lips enticing him and he swallowed hard. Resolve wavering under the intensity of his want.

He closed the little space that remained between the two of you, lips not as gentle as before when they pressed against yours. His kisses were hungry. Needier than before.

It felt like he was kissing you like he’d always wanted to, but you didn’t dare hope for that type of reciprocation. Satisfied to have him bucking into your clothed pussy, moans escaping his lips as he held you against him and ground your hips over his boner.

You moaned as he peppered kisses down your jaw and across your neck, nibbling against the sensitive flesh of your throat.

Leaving his marks where everyone could see.

Where Simon could see.

You stilled for a moment but a moment was all Eddie needed to stop, to regain clarity. To push you off his lap with a heavy sigh, a quick rise and fall of his chest. You sank into the passenger and stared at him, your breaths matching his.

“We need to stop,” he shook his head and took a deep breath, running his sweaty palms over his pants. You only nodded, your voice lost as your thoughts collided with each other. Confusion etched into your forehead.

Eddie adjusted his jeans and looked over his shoulder before reversing his car. He needed to get you home before his resolve completely dissipated. Before you did something with him that you might regret like the others.

You fell into silence, eyes trained on the passing trees that were barely visible under the pale moonlight. Embarrassment clung to you, sticky and suffocating. Rejection mingling with the hurt that was beginning to resurface.

The short drive to your house was quiet and you didn’t turn to say thank you as you hopped out of his van.

You clamored through your door, the quiet of your empty house greeting you.

Eddie watched as you slipped into the darkness of your home, and a wave of guilt settled over him as he remembered your brother’s words. As the image of your confused face resurfaced behind his closed eyes. He thumped his head against the steering wheel and groaned loudly.

“Fuck!”

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uc1wa · 1 year

Text

18+ minors dni

tags: fem reader, oral sex, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (pulling out), alcohol, dick (being a slut), frats (?)

dick grayson had a questionable reputation on campus. playboy, daddy’s money, beer pong champ, finance bro, and the king of hookups and god does everybody he’s been with know. there’s a reason all of his previous partners shoot him 2am texts asking what he’s doing.

but tonight he has his eyes on you.

loud music blasts in the frat house that feels awfully tiny with the mass of half naked people who are standing and grinding inside of it, random strobe lights are placed in all corners and the theme of "save a horse, ride a cowboy" is obnoxiously obvious with random cowboy hats hanging on walls and flannels being worn by everyone.

you were dragged by your friends to attend this party, one of which you’d never attend, knowing the man-whore personality of the house you’re standing in right now.

you’re leaned against a counter, solo cup of jungle juice in your hand as you’re buzzed, but still aware enough to know you still don’t want to be here.

the only thing giving it away is your bored expression—because your shorts that are uncomfortably too short, the tied flannel, and cowboy hat on your head tell a different story.

people watching was fun at parties, the outfits, the who’s talking to who, and the who’s dragging who upstairs was entertaining to your tipsy self.

your eyes didn’t spot the ravennette who was familiar with everybody coming towards your way till he was beside you, his body heat radiating onto yours and his breath against your neck as he tries to talk to you.

and the appeal of the man wasn’t hard to understand. he’s wearing a white crop top that his abs are peaking out of, an open flannel and jean shorts that show his quads beautifully.

everyone thought the man was hot, but to be attracted to him was another thing.

"can’t tell if you look lost or don’t wanna be here anymore," the smell of liquor too apparent in his breath that touches your neck, making you slowly meet his blue eyes and obnoxious smirk.

you only raise a brow, scoffing and leaning into his ear now. "don’t wanna be here," you say, leaning back on the counter.

and if anybody knows dick, you know he gets what he wants, and tonight his eyes are on you and your pretty tits that are held up by a push-up bra that you obviously wore for him, he just knows it.

he leans over again, this time snaking an arm around your back and moving his fingers along the exposed skin. "c’mon, i gotta room upstairs that’s practically sound proof." and honestly, you wouldn’t put it past him. the man has money to spend, and maybe he did soundproof his single in his frat house, just because he can. or, maybe he says that so that you can scream and his brothers can fist bump him in the morning. who knows?

but your mind is a little hazy and your speech a little slurred and dick’s arm doesn’t feel awful around you, so you lean in again, this time with a grin playing on your lips. "what’s in it for me?"

dick’s eyebrow arched, his smirk upturned and his hand tightening around your back at the question.

"wanna find out?"

and a few more teasing words of banter were said, a shot thrown down both of your throats, and a few inappropriate gropes placed on your body before he had your hand in his, leading you up stairs shamelessly while smiling at his friends on the way.

dick’s door closes with a kick of his foot, not locking it because… why would he? he doesn’t care if somebody walks in on the two of you.

when he turns around and you’re sitting on the bed for him, he’s grateful you’re wearing skimpy clothes, less hassle and easier access. he can only smirk, asking himself how dumb you are, you obviously dressed like this for him.

the man walks over, kicking his shoes somewhere in the dark room and slipping his flannel off, his biceps seem bigger than they did in your finance class you had with him last semester. his hands are big, veiny and long and fuck they feel good when he cups your face, looking down at you and moving his knee to spread open your thighs.

his thumb moves to your bottom lip, pressing the soft skin until you open your lips all pretty for him, taking his thumb in your mouth and sucking.

"good girl," he says, the hand that’s not cupping your cheek going down to unbutton his jean shorts.

then, dick takes a step back, slipping his thumb from between your lips and moving to the other side of the bed, sitting down and looking at you expectantly. "c’mon, show me more of your pretty self," he leans back on the heel of his hands, his broad chest sticking out and his lap looking like the perfect seat right now.

and all you can do is nod with wide eyes and listen to the man who was slowly but surely talking his way into your pants.

his dark blue eyes watch as you rid yourself of the cowgirl boots you were wearing. he licks his lips when you take your flannel off, eyes darting down to your hands that fumble to take your shorts off. you stand there with your cowboy hat sitting on your head and dick chuckles, "you’re doing real good with the theme, y’know?" he slurs.

you roll your eyes, "not proud of it," you slur right back, stepping forward while placing your knees on either side of his hips, wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning in.

"i’ll make you proud," dick says, his big hands resting on your hips, fingers playing underneath your thong that should just be considered a string at this point.

he leans forward, biting your bottom lip enough to make you whimper before he attacks your lips, forcing his tongue in and kissing you sloppily. saliva coating both your lips, threatening to spill out by how feverish his force is, his hand pushing you against his cock that’s already hard. and jesus you’re glad you wore the stringy panties you decided on because the feeling of him—even through the shorts he’s still wearing is painfully delicious.

you pull back, eyes half lidded and view not as straight as a sober persons, "gonna make me wait?" and maybe if you were sober the quickness of dick’s moves would seem normally paced, but he was quick to push you off of him to the side of his bed and throw his shorts to the side, followed by his boxers. all he’s wearing is a little white crop top and fuck he looks real good.

he’s toned and defined beautifully. not jacked like some guys are, letting it know that they’re juiced up. no, dick was the most naturally beautiful man to exist. (unfortunately, you weren’t the first to realize that… and definitely won’t be the last).

you lean back on your palms this time, watching him walk over to you painfully slow, his cock hardened all for you. "take a picture, it’ll last longer," he smirks, climbing on top of you while pushing you down and letting your legs wrap around his waist that feels so small in comparison to his broad shoulders. he takes your cowboy hat off, setting it to the side because that will definitely come back up.

you roll your eyes for what feels like the hundredth time tonight, arms wrapping around him and lips reconnecting again. the man is quick to arch your back off the bed, one finger sliding behind you to unclip your bra—which almost feels sickening how fast he was to do so—but your brain doesn’t let that register with the alcohol in your bloodstream.

dick remembers your words from earlier, gonna make me wait? and next thing you notice when you look down is your bra thrown on the ground and dick’s lips on your stomach, kissing down with hands on either side of you on the mattress until he’s sat at your pussy that’s embarrassingly wet for him.

"next party’s on thursday, you should come out," he starts while tugging your panties to the side with a curl of his index finger. "dress real pretty for me again."

and dick says that to every girl, sometimes giving a hint on what he wants them to wear, knowing once he hits, he will always quit and find the next person untouched by him.

"i’ll think about it," you say, broken into a whimper as his lips are quick to suck on your clit and his index and middle finger plunge into your wetness. if the music wasn’t booming from downstairs, maybe the sounds of your wetness would be more embarrassing, but dick just thought it was hot and your moans were real pretty.

and again, if you were sober, you’d probably arch a brow at the minimal time dick stayed down there, but you weren’t and were real hungry for him to fill you up.

"show me what the hype’s about," you say as he climbs up to you, one arm beside your head and one groping one of your breasts enough to illicit small whines from your throat. "i’ll see if you can handle it," he says cockily, voice dripping in ego as the hand that’s groping your breasts goes down to line his cock up with your hole.

in one quick motion he’s filling you up, your back arching off the bed and a loud pitched moan leaving your lips with eyes squeezed shut. dark blue eyes watch your face, cocky smirk not leaving his lips for a minute until he’s sucking on your neck. dick is shameless, he’s purposely leaving marks wherever he wants on your body, knowing he won’t let you do the same even if you tried.

the man above you is going to make sure you remember him fucking you, even if it’s just by you waking up with blotches on your neck and chest in the morning.

"too much?" he asks teasingly, showing no remorse with the deep groans he spills out with every time he fills you up. and dick is girthier than you thought he’d be, everytime he pushes into you feels like the first no matter how wet you are. it feels like he’s ripping you open with the hard and fast pace he’s maintaining.

an answer to his question is impossible, the only sounds are moans and whimpers, more so when his lips are on yours. your sounds mixed together are delicious to your ears and you pull him closer, sweaty body’s and breath tasting like liquor feels intoxicating.

he flips you both over with ease, his toned back resting on his mattress and pillow with you on top now. a loud groan escapes your lips, his full length filling you up but from another position was brutal at first. dick gave you a few more seconds to adjust before his big hands guided your hips up.

"you got it baby," his voice is low and full of desire, blue eyes taking over your frame that feels made for him. one hand comes off your skin to grab the cheesy cowboy hat and he motions for you to put it on with a shit eating grin.

coming to realization, you roll your eyes, "really?" you ask, rolling your eyes with a small laugh. but you put it on, and then fall back onto dick, riding him slowly and at an angle that makes him hit the spot deep inside of you repetitively. "fuck, fuck, fuck," you moan, your eyes closing and neck thrown back from the delicious feeling.

while dick is groaning, he can only smirk up at you, knowing he’s getting exactly what he wanted when he chose the theme for the party that night. "you look so fuckin’ good, riding me so good, yeah?" he’s verbally and physically fucking you at this point.

"takin’ this cock so good, baby," he groans, feeling himself twitching and turning you back over again, so he’s on top when he finishes.

in no time dick’s pulling out to spill his cum all over your lower abdomen, chuckling to himself as he pulls off of you and looking down. it’s his favorite view, flushed red cheeks, chest heaving up and down (making your breasts look even more delicious), and his cum painting your sweaty body.

if he was feeling more like an asshole, he’d ask to take a picture. but he knew you were a nice girl from one of his past semesters and decided not to be a total dick.

"you look good," he says it like it’s a reminder, like you’re already supposed to know—because why else would you be in dick grayson’s bed if you weren’t hot? and he walks away, going to the bathroom that’s connected to his room and returning with a wash cloth, cleaning you up with a laugh. "i’m leaving after this," you say, wiping your lips with the backside of your arm.

and dick let’s out an internal sigh of relief at that, he hates when girls are insistent on spending the night or staying for more of the party, latched to him. "fine by me, want me to get an uber?" he asks, throwing the rag to the side and sitting there for another second, looking at your fucked out state—the one he put you into.

you nod your head, sitting up in the bed, knowing if you stay with spread legs that dick will attempt a round two before the car he’s called you gets here. "wanna hand me my clothes?" you ask, not as slurred of words as before, the fucking sobering you up slightly.

"y’don’t wanna borrow a shirt?" because dick has a drawer full of old shirts from varying events on campus that he gives to his hookups, another reminder to everyone else that he’s the one who fucked you good tonight.

"fuck no," you roll your eyes, moving to get your clothes yourself and slipping them on as dick slips his boxers and shorts on, staring at you as you get dressed from the ledge of his bed.

the clothes weren’t as comfortable as what could’ve been a comfortable and baggy shirt, but you were trying to move as quick and invisible as possible out of the party and to the uber that just rang its arrival on dick’s phone. "it’s here," he says, standing up beside you and wrapping a hand around your waist. "sure you don’t wanna spend the night?"

"positive," the exact answer he knew he was going to get.

"this was fun," he says, leaning into you slightly. "you have my number, i’m always available," if it wasn’t dick, that sentence would’ve been cringey and gross, but his voice sounded too good right now and you nodded. "i’ll keep that in mind."

his hand moves to your cheek, tilting it to press a kiss to your face. "i’ll follow you out," which was code for you to leave and close the door behind you as dick freshens up.

and now you understand. dick knew how to fuck.

#frat dick is real gross and nasty #but so yummy #sorry just got back on campus and am having flashbacks #feeling the need to make gross frat boy with all my dc bfs ;(#dick in a crop top fuckkkkkkk #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson #nightwing x reader #nightwing #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x female!reader #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson smut #nightwing x you #nightwing x y/n #nightwing smut #dc smut #dc x reader

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icelynodette · 4 months

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Lucas Turns 8 Jungle Birthday

#youtube #Lucas Turns 8 Jungle Birthday #8th Birthday #Lucas Lee Boylan #Lucas Boylan #8 Years Old #Birthday Party #Birthday Party Video #Birthday #Birthday Video #8 Years Old Birthday Party Video #Birthday Party Video 8 Years Old #8 Years Old Birthday Party Ideas #Jungle Birthday Theme #Jungle Birthday Party #Icelyn Odette

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slutforitoshi · 1 year

Text

nagi seishiro - illuminate *:･ﾟ✧

ft. fratboy!nagi x f!reader, 18+ minors dni

cw: intoxication/fucking under the influence (alcohol), nipple play, thigh riding, fingering, choking, cumming on body

synopsis: what happens when you lose your roommate at the biggest frat party of the semester?

wc: 2.06k

A/N: inspired entirely by a whiteout party i went to last night

you stopped trying to look for your new roommate about half an hour ago, giving up the impossible search in a sea of sweaty bodies dimly lit by uv lights.

“pleaseee” she had said with doe eyes, begging you to go with her to the first frat party of the semester. you barely knew anyone within greek life and the last time you were at a frat party some random girl threw up all over your new dunks. this was before you knew frat shoes were a thing, and the memory makes you shudder.

“i heard ksig has really cute guysss” she continued, still trying to convince you to come.

you rolled your eyes, “sorry i’m not interested in lumberjack built gym rats whose greatest contribution to society is shotgunning beer cans in seconds.”

“what else could you possibly be doing this saturday night? and don’t tell me it’s homework because it’s just syllabus week” she exasperates, not giving up,

“well-” you started, but then realized she had a point.

“come on it’s the biggest party of the semester”

and that’s how you ended up at kappa sigma’s fall rush social: whiteout theme. looking at the state of the frat house, you wondered who came up with that terrible idea. the uv lights only highlighted the filth on every visible surface area. upon entry you were already regretting your decision.

that regret only grew when you realized your new roommate was a runner. you lost her barely half an hour in, unable to find her in any public space. you chose to avoid looking in the private rooms though because well you know what happens in there during parties.

low battery: 20%. great now your phone was running low too. there had to be at least another two hours before the party ended, and something told you your roommate wouldn’t be calling you back anytime soon.

“HE JUST DOESN’T MISS!!” a deep voice booms followed by an eruption of incoherent yelling. a crowd was growing near the beer pong table, and you decided to join them. it had to be better than sitting alone doing nothing on a couch now that your phone was low.

you push your way towards the front to see what the noise was about, and you see a duo stood at one end along with a singular guy at the other. the one-man team was clearly dominating as visible by the cup ratio: 1 to 8. he is up, having to land a pingpong ball into the remaining cup twice.

shoot, in. the first shot is successful, and you could hear people murmur in anticipation.

shoot…in. the crowd erupts in an instance, and the guy is hoisted up onto another’s shoulders. there, you finally get a good look at him and your stomach flips. he’s fucking hot.

all your previous qualms about the theme were long forgotten as you see how his white hair glows under the dark lights, illuminating his figure. he’s tall too, nearly touching the high ceiling from the shoulder ride.

“LET’S FUCKING GO THAT’S OUR SEI!” the guy carrying him shouts, earning whoops and hollers from who you assume are the ksig brothers.

“so his name is sei” you murmur, liking the way it sounds on your tongue.

“can i go play games upstairs now?” sei asks, and his brothers boo in response. he seems entirely different from the other frat boys, almost bored at his win, like it was only obvious that he would sweep the other team. your attraction continues to grow.

“come on sei, you never come to these things. at least stay for a little longer.”

“what a hassle” you hear him say softly as he’s lowered back down to the ground. his brothers go to the next room for more drinks you assume, but sei stays put near the table. and suddenly you’re met with an opportunity.

you swish around the remaining jungle juice in your solo cup for a bit before raising it to your lips and downing it in one breath. you needed a shot of courage (or multiple in this case because why the fuck did that taste like 80% alcohol).

“you were really good back there” you lean on the pong table, facing your body towards sei who was currently occupied with his phone. he looks up from his device, and you don’t miss the glance he gives towards your body.

suddenly you’re thankful that the only clean white fit you had was coincidentally your sluttiest one. the crossed fabric that wrapped around your neck defined your cleavage, and the short tennis skirt threatened to show your ass at the slightest bending motion.

“oh thanks…do i know you?”

ouch.

“probably not, this is my first ksig function” you try to ignore the heat that flashes across your face, “not really a frat party person.”

“me neither. the bros made me come today since there were zetas talking shit about our pong game” he responded, and you’re thankful to find common ground.

“well clearly they weren’t much of a match. i’m surprised you’re a brother if you don’t go out often”

“hm i actually only joined on a bet. my friend said he’d buy me a ps5 game if i got a bid” he shrugged. “i’ve been trying to drop for over a year now, but they need me for the tournaments”

“tournaments?” you ask, clearly not the most knowledgeable about frat culture.

“yeah for pong and beer die. they think ksig has a shot at the finales for the first time in years or something”

they probably do judging by sei’s performance just a few minutes prior. you reach for a ping pong ball, purposefully grazing his arm lightly to reach it.

“can you show me how to throw? i suck” you pout slightly. technically it wasn’t a lie, you couldn’t aim for shit, especially not while buzzed.

“it’s easy, it’s all in the elbows” he takes a ball himself and shoots, naturally landing it of course. you try to mimic him after, only to see the ball bounce off the cup’s rim.

“you’re bending your wrist too much” he comments, handing you another ball. you try again, and it ricochets off one cup, barely missing the one next to it.

“you’re overextending your arm now” he says, already with another ball in hand.

“let me show you”, you expect him to demonstrate again but instead he places it in your hand and takes position behind you. he raises your arm with his own, showing you exactly how the movement should go. you’re focused on anything but the technique though, instead thinking about how warm his fingers are against your wrist.

“now you try” he says, by your ear. holy shit he’s right there. he doesn’t move from the position though, and the nerves caused by his proximity makes you miss terribly.

“how did you get even worse,” he’s clearly shocked, doubting his own teaching ability for a second, “you should just give up” he concludes.

“hey it’s just because you were so close” you defend yourself, eyes widening once you realize what it suggested.

“do i make you nervous?” he smirks, and you’ve never felt smaller (maybe that’s also because he’s literally towering over you).

“so what if you do?” you retort, digging yourself a deeper hole.

“want to go to my room?”

~~~

the door is barely shut before your lips are on each other, tasting remnants of alcohol. he leads you to his gaming chair, seating you on top of his lap. immediately you can feel a bulge form under you.

sei’s kisses aren’t aggressive, but needy. his hands are on your waist, pulling you in further towards his chest. then back out, creating just the right friction beneath your skirt. you build a rhythm, grinding on his thighs, which you note are quite toned.

“f-fuck sei” you moaned against him, resulting in a tightened grip on your hips.

“you’re making a mess” he observes, pleased at the damp streaks forming on his pants. while one hand remains at the side of your waist, he moves the other one up, settling on your right breast. he eagerly tugs your shirt to free it, capturing the bud with his fingertips. pinching and rolling, emitting louder moans from you.

“so fucking perfect” he murmurs before diving in, capturing the sensitive bead between his lips. the sensation pushes you further to the edge, eyes rolling back as his tongue circles it.

he picks you up easily from the chair, face still buried in your chest. he sets you down on his bed and starts to unbuckle his belt. you remove your own drenched panties and move to do the same with your skirt.

“keep this on” he smacks your hand away from the waistband, “i’ve always wanted to fuck someone with a skirt on”

he takes off his shirt with one pull, and wow abs. he smirks again, seeing your eyes fixated on his body.

“like what you see?”

“how could i not?”

if you looked closely you would be able to see his cock twitch, clearly thrilled at the validation. his lips are on you again, and he mumbles out a “you drive me fucking crazy”

fingers are prodding near your entrance, and you instinctively shut your legs from the sensitivity.

“keep them open” he pulls your knees apart, strong arms keeping them from shutting again. he circles your clit first, lubricating his digits with the surplus of slick. once satisfied, he enters with two at once, earning a particularly long moan from the stretch.

“so wet” he starts to pump, quickening his pace, “all for me”

“just like that sei just like that” you repeat, intoxicated by the feeling. the squelching noises are overwhelming, bouncing off the walls. then he curls his fingers.

“don’t do that i-” you choke out, “i’ll cum!”

he doesn’t stop though, still thrusting his perfectly curled fingers through your orgasm. wait, what kind of frat boy makes the girl cum first?

before you could ponder too much he’s wrapping an arm under you, swiftly flipping you over onto your stomach. you go onto your knees, and he’s nearly cumming at the view of your ass up against him.

glancing back you see him quickly rip open a condom with his teeth before slipping it on, as if he’s done it a billion times before. with looks like those you wouldn’t be surprised.

he positions himself behind you, aligning himself with your entrance before pushing.

“seiii” you drawl, in awe at how perfect he fits within you.

his hands are positioned at your hips, slowly thrusting his own against you as you grow accustomed to the intrusion.

“y-you can go faster” you moan, and what can he do but comply. his thrusts are sharp and quick, and you begin to hear his own breathy moans at the feeling of your velvety walls.

“your body’s so perfect…like it was made for me” he groans. his right hand moves away from your hips and rest against your throat, squeezing.

the sudden loss of oxygen makes your mind go into a haze, unable to focus on anything but the pleasure.

“flip over” he suddenly goes, before moving you himself. “need to cum while seeing you”

his hand remains on your throat as he continues to fuck you in missionary, getting closer as he hears those sinful moans and sees your face permanently plastered with an expression of ecstasy.

“want you to cum on me” you plead, “want you to make me a mess”

unable to say no, he pulls out and rips off the condom with alarming speed. within a few pumps of his hand he’s granting your wish, decorating your upper body with thick spurts of white.

you’re sure it would be a sight if you were to step back into the party under the uv lights.

~~~

sorry i totally forgot to tell you i left with a guy >.<

you stare blankly at the text from your roommate displayed on your screen. yeah you were never going out with this girl again.

“just stay here with me” sei says, also seeing the text from over your shoulder. “i’ll take you home tomorrow”

well you’d have to thank her for dragging you out this one time at least. you shut off your phone and succumb to sleep in the arms of your not-so-typical frat boy.

#bc tell me frat boy nagi would NOT hit so hard #@yunxbin im crying over fratboy nagi too #nagi seishiro #nagi #nagi seishiro x reader #nagi x reader #nagi seishiro smut #nagi smut #blue lock #bllk #blue lock smut #bllk smut

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