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aerialmirrorss · 2 months ago

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𝐧 𝐨 𝐛 𝐨 𝐝 𝐲 𝐠 𝐞 𝐭 𝐬 𝐦 𝐞 ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆ rafe cameron

playing: 𝐧𝐨𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐦𝐞 by sza 𝜗𝜚˚｡˚ ⋆

synopsis! a kickback on the beach involving both kooks and pogues turns ugly after rafe sees jj maybank talking sweetly in your ear..

paring: rafe cameron x pogue!reader

warnings: friends? with benefits , angst , mentions of underage drinking , violence (fist fighting) , toxic!rafe , sexual content + rough unprotected car sex! , choking , fingering , mature , 18+ (minors dni!)

word count: 6.7k

notes: thinking about making this into a series but it just depends on how we all like it so lmk!

chapter two: 𝐰 𝐢 𝐥 𝐝 𝐟 𝐥 𝐨 𝐰 𝐞 𝐫 ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆

chapter three: 𝐜 𝐚 𝐬 𝐮 𝐚 𝐥 ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆

“you’re a fucking idiot,” kie says through a burst of laughter, watching jj attempt to shotgun two beers at once. instead of drinking, most of the beer spills straight onto the sand, leaving him grinning like it was all part of the plan.

a soft giggle slips past your lips as jj smashes the crushed cans together dramatically, then thumps his chest like he just pulled off something incredible—even though he couldn’t have failed more miserably.

you shake your head, pointing at the two crushed cans lying in the sand. “don’t give him any more if he’s gonna pull shit like that!” you say, half-serious, half-amused.

jj’s grin fades into a mock frown, his brows furrowing as he throws his hands up dramatically. “what? i was just getting started!” he protests, though the beer-soaked sand beneath him says otherwise.

you roll your eyes, ready to fire back at jj, when the vibration of your phone in your hand distracts you. the name on the screen makes your stomach flip, and you bite down on your bottom lip, fighting to keep a smile from slipping out where your friends could see.

kook devil: wya?

you: beach kickback on the cut

kook devil: omw

this time, the smile wins. you glance down at the screen, the corners of your lips tugging upward despite yourself. it wasn’t the first time rafe cameron had texted you late at night, asking where you were. but no one else knew that. and you weren’t about to admit it to anyone—especially not to your friends.

friends who hated kooks with a passion. and everything, and everyone, that came with them.

“what are you smiling at?” sarah asks, her voice light but laced with curiosity, as she and john b stroll over, his arm draped casually over her shoulders. her amused grin only makes you more nervous.

you lock your phone instantly, still smiling but scrambling for an excuse. “my package just got delivered,” you say quickly, trying to sound nonchalant.

sarah hums in response, the suspicion in her tone subtle but enough to make your stomach tighten. you don’t notice, too busy avoiding eye contact and silently thanking the chaos that erupts when jj and pope start arguing about something ridiculous, as usual.

you knew what you were doing was wrong. so wrong, especially to sarah. if she ever found out you and rafe were hooking up behind everyone’s backs, she’d lose it. they all would. and not just because he’s a kook.

it’s because he’s rafe fucking cameron.

it was kind of a blur how it all started with rafe. you remember being at a party—not sure if it was here on the beach or in figure 8—but of course, he was there, lingering in the crowd. all night, his eyes kept finding yours, holding your gaze just a little too long.

a couple of tequila shots later, you found yourself in his truck, attempting to ride him as he fucked you senseless, leaving you a trembling mess of moans and breathless curses.

ever since that night, you’d fallen into a rhythm—friends with benefits, if you could even call it that. except you weren’t friends. not even close.

you and rafe both knew the deal—just sex, no strings attached. it was made clear the second time you hooked up. after somehow getting your number, rafe texted you at 1 a.m. asking to meet. if it had been anyone else, you would’ve said no without a second thought. but rafe cameron always gets what he wants.

afterward, it was rafe who spelled it out: just sex, nothing more. and you agreed, even though the words stung more than you cared to admit. you told yourself you were fine with it, hoping that maybe, just maybe, if you played along long enough, he’d change his mind.

except he hasn’t.

and what really reeled you in was just the other day, you spotted him on the golf course with stacy thornton, topper’s cousin of all people. and of course he knew you’d see him—you work the country club as a bev girl. how could you not?

still, you swallowed the lump in your throat, pretending not to care even as your chest tightened. you quietly asked a coworker to handle his table, murmuring something about being swamped, and then buried yourself in busywork to avoid the sting of watching him laugh with her.

since that day, he hasn’t called or texted. not a word. until tonight.

because surely, stacy was busy.

“yo, y/n! come shotgun a beer with us!” kie and sarah call out, snapping you out of your thoughts. you force a small smile, pushing everything about rafe to the back of your mind as you stand up from the driftwood branch you’d been perched on. joining your girls, you grab a beer and do your best to play along.

as the night rolls on, the beach fills up with more people—kooks, pogues, and everyone in between. the music gets louder, and the air becomes a chaotic mix of laughter, shouting, and waves crashing in the background. drunk teenagers stagger through the sand, passing bottles and shots around, but so far, there haven’t been any issues. yet.

but you know how these nights go. when kooks and pogues show up to the same party, trouble is inevitable. it’s only a matter of time before someone says or does something to spark it. like clockwork.

bright headlights pierce through the darkness, momentarily blinding you as a familiar truck pulls onto the beach. your stomach tightens at the sight, but you force yourself to stay calm, laughing along with your friends as if you hadn’t noticed. even as the kooks around you start murmuring and shouting, announcing rafe’s arrival, you keep your eyes anywhere but on him.

your gaze flicks to sarah, catching the way her jaw tightens when she sees her older brother greeting her old friends with effortless charm. the tension is palpable. it’s no secret that sarah and rafe are far from good terms, and the thought of what she’d do if she ever found out about you and him is enough to make your chest ache. she’d hate you—no question about it.

and you didn’t want that. not now, not ever. so tonight, with enough liquid courage coursing through your veins, you’d finally do it. you’d end whatever this thing was with rafe. it was time. it had to be.

“hey, sweetheart,” jj slurs, suddenly draping an arm over your shoulders, his familiar, lopsided grin plastered across his face. the smell of alcohol lingers on his breath, and you can’t help but laugh. drunk jj was always clingy and affectionate, a far cry from his usual chaotic self.

“how are you? you good?” he asks, his voice softer than usual, his blue eyes lazily scanning your face for any hint of something wrong.

you nod, patting his knee where it rests against yours. “i’m fine, jay. what about you? having fun?”

he grins wider, squeezing your shoulder as if to reassure you. “always. especially now that you’re here.” his words are lighthearted, but his presence, warm and grounding, makes the knot in your stomach ease just a little.

“don’t start something you can’t finish, maybank,” you tease, your tone playful, something that’s always been a part of your dynamic with jj. it was harmless, never anything more than friendly banter. jj was like a brother to you, and you both knew it.

his smirk widens, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “oh, i always finish what i start,” he shoots back, his voice dripping with mock confidence. the comment makes heat rise to your cheeks despite yourself, and you nudge his side with a laugh.

“relax, jj,” you say, still grinning, but he just laughs along with you, clearly enjoying your reaction.

then his tone drops, more conspiratorial now, as he leans in closer. “can i tell you a secret?” he slurs, his voice low and exaggeratedly serious.

you play along, tilting your head toward him as he cups a hand over his mouth like he’s sharing classified information. “i’m so drunk right now,” he whispers dramatically.

a laugh bursts out of you, louder than you intended, as you push him off of you. “no shit, jay,” you say through your giggles, watching him sway slightly before laughing along with you. moments like these made everything feel lighter, even with the weight of everything else hanging in the air.

suddenly, the laughter dies in your throat as a familiar voice cuts through the noise, instantly tightening the tension in your shoulders. “i wanna laugh too,” rafe drawls, his tone sharp and laced with something dangerous.

your head snaps up, and sure enough, there he is, standing a few feet away with his hands casually stuffed into his pockets. but his stare is locked on you, unwavering, intense. your stomach churns as you quickly look away, pretending not to notice.

“what are you doing here, rafe?” sarah asks, her voice cold as ice, glaring at her brother like she wanted him gone before he could stir up trouble.

he shrugs nonchalantly, though the slight clench in his jaw betrays his calm demeanor. “well, last time i checked, you don’t own the beach, sarah,” he retorts, his tone sharp enough to cut. the sunset casts a fiery glow on his face, highlighting the tension in his features. he’s angry—at what, you don’t know, but it’s obvious.

sarah opens her mouth to snap back, but before she can, jj suddenly stands to his feet, his drunken bravado kicking in full force. “what’s your problem, man?” he slurs, his voice rising as he steps forward, shoulders squared like he’s ready to fight.

your heart pounds in your chest as the energy shifts sharply, the tension coiling tighter with every second. it’s like the whole beach can feel it, the calm before the inevitable storm. you glance around nervously, noticing the kooks starting to make their way over, drawn by the brewing conflict like moths to a flame.

what had been your comfortable little corner with your friends now feels suffocating as more and more people gather, the divide between kooks and pogues growing thicker with every step they take. rafe doesn’t move, his stance unbothered but his eyes flickering with something unreadable as they dart between jj and you.

you can hear your friends muttering behind you, tension spreading like wildfire. this wasn’t going to end well—you could feel it in your bones.

john b, ever the peacekeeper, steps in with a steady hand on jj’s shoulder, giving it a calming squeeze. “hey, bro, take a walk,” he says softly, his tone measured, trying to de-escalate before things spiral further.

but jj shakes his head, his expression twisting with frustration. “nah, nah, nah,” he says, shrugging john b’s hand off. his voice is louder now, sharp and angry, fueled by alcohol and pent-up resentment. “i’m so tired of these fuck-ass kooks ruining our fun. everything was fine before they got here.”

he turns to rafe, his eyes blazing with defiance. “so answer the damn question, rafe. what the fuck is your problem?”

the words hang in the air, cutting through the murmur of onlookers as more kooks and pogues close in around you, their postures rigid and ready for whatever’s about to unfold. the tension is suffocating, thick enough to choke on. your stomach twists as you glance between jj, who’s practically vibrating with anger, and rafe, whose jaw is locked, his eyes dark and unreadable.

rafe suddenly lets out a low, humorless laugh, shaking his head like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. he swipes a finger under his nose, his signature tell that trouble is coming. before anyone can react, he steps forward and throws a punch, his fist connecting squarely with jj’s jaw.

the sound of the hit echoes over the beach, silencing the chatter and gasps from the growing crowd. jj stumbles back, catching himself before falling, his hand flying up to his face as he spits blood into the sand.

“you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” john b mutters, stepping between them instinctively, trying to keep jj from lunging forward. but jj’s already shaking with rage, shoving john b aside as the crowd erupts around you.

the once calm beach party turns chaotic, the tension finally snapping into chaos, and you’re frozen in the middle of it all, unsure of what to do as your heart pounds in your chest.

mayhem erupts around you as everyone starts shouting, the noise almost deafening. jj and rafe are swinging at each other, fists flying with raw anger. john b and topper try to break it up, but their own simmering tensions (sarah cameron) boil over, and soon enough, they’re throwing punches at each other too.

“alright! alright!” you, sarah, and kie yell, your voices cutting through the chaos as you rush in, desperately trying to pull the four boys apart. it’s a mess of flailing arms, insults, and drunken fury, but with the help of the other pogues and even a few kooks who seem equally tired of the drama, you finally manage to separate them.

jj stands a few feet away now, chest heaving as he wipes blood from his lip, glaring daggers at rafe. rafe, meanwhile, is being restrained by two kooks, his jaw tight and his eyes locked on jj like he’s ready to go again at any second. john b and topper aren’t much better, breathing heavily and throwing venomous insults back and forth as they’re held apart.

you step back, your heart still racing as the crowd buzzes with murmurs and tension, the air thick and electric. this was far from over, and you could feel it.

“yeah, stay the fuck off our side of the island!” jj yells, his voice sharp and unwavering as the kooks start retreating. rafe lingers, of course, making direct eye contact with you. his gaze burns, but you glare right back, your frustration simmering beneath the surface. whatever you needed to say to him was definitely happening tonight after the shit he just pulled.

“take jj to the chateau. i think there’s a first aid kit in the bathroom,” john b instructs kie and pope, his tone calm but firm. they nod, each grabbing one of jj’s arms to help guide him away. jj, still riled up, mutters under his breath about how much of a pussy rafe is, his words slurring slightly from the drinks and adrenaline.

sarah walks over to you, concern etched across her face. “hey, you okay?” she asks gently. her voice is soft, but the sincerity in her eyes almost undoes you. you nod quickly, blinking back the tears threatening to spill over.

“yeah, i’m fine. just anxious,” you respond, your voice steady enough to sound convincing. it’s not entirely a lie, but it’s far from the whole truth. sarah offers you a small, understanding smile, her hand rubbing your arm soothingly.

“coming?” she asks, gesturing toward john b, who’s waiting for her a few feet away.

“i think i’m just gonna head home,” you say, your voice a little rushed. “my mom texted—she got off work early, so…” you let the excuse hang in the air, hoping it’s enough.

sarah nods slowly, her eyes flickering with a mix of understanding and suspicion. “john b and i can walk you,” she offers.

“no, it’s okay. i kinda need a moment,” you reply quickly, your voice firmer this time. you hold your breath as her gaze lingers on you, studying you for a beat too long. but thankfully, she doesn’t press it.

“okay, babe,” she says finally, her concern softening into a warm smile. “let me know when you get home, yeah?”

you nod, watching as she walks back toward john b, the two of them eventually disappearing into the growing shadows. only when they’re far enough away do you exhale, the weight of the night pressing heavy on your chest.

with one last glance at the party starting to settle back down, you turn and walk in the opposite direction, knowing exactly where you’re going—and who you’re going to face.

you make your way over to the truck, its headlights dim now but still parked exactly where he left it. crossing your arms over your chest, you lean against the back door of the truck, waiting. it’s quiet here, tucked away from the rest of the beach where no one can see you.

the sound of approaching footsteps pulls your attention, and there he is. rafe cameron, calm and collected as ever, despite the chaos he caused. he’s holding a red solo cup against his cheekbone, the faintest shadow of a bruise forming. but even so, you have to admit—he doesn’t look nearly as bad as jj does. of course he doesn’t.

his eyes meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you say anything. the tension between you is thicker than ever, the air heavy with unspoken words. you take a deep breath, preparing yourself for what you came here to do.

“i can’t see you anymore, rafe,” you say, finally breaking the silence. your voice is firm, but you can feel the ache behind the words, threatening to betray you.

rafe doesn’t move. instead, a small, almost smug smile quirks at the corner of his lips. “get in the truck,” he says, his tone low and even, like it’s not up for debate.

your brows knit together, your frustration bubbling up. did he not hear you? or worse, did he just not care? “no, rafe,” you snap, shaking your head. “what you did today—” you pause, letting out a sharp sigh as the memories replay in your mind. your gaze shifts over his shoulder to the road, watching cars pass by, their headlights a welcome distraction. “you hurt my friends,” you continue, your voice quieter now but still steady. “i care a lot about my friends. and that shit you pulled back there?” you point toward the spot on the beach where the chaos unfolded, the tension still lingering in the air. “wasn’t cool.”

rafe follows your gesture with a glance, his expression unreadable. but when his eyes flick back to you, there’s something in them—something dangerous, something unshaken. he doesn’t respond, just waits, like he knows you’re not finished yet.

“why would you do that?” your voice cracks despite your best effort to keep it steady. the words hang heavy in the air, and you curse softly under your breath, furious with yourself for letting your emotions bubble over. you promised you wouldn’t let him see you like this—wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. but now, the tears are pricking at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill.

rafe’s face doesn’t change, his jaw tight but his expression otherwise calm, almost detached. it’s like he’s weighing his words, deciding what to say—or if he’ll even bother answering at all. the silence feels suffocating, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on your chest.

“are you fucking him?” rafe finally speaks, his voice low and steady, but the accusation behind the words hits you like a slap. you stare at him, wide-eyed, like he’s just grown three heads.

a laugh of disbelief escapes you as you shake your head, running a hand through your hair to keep yourself from losing it. “are you serious right now?” you ask, your voice teetering between anger and shock.

“are you?” he presses, his tone sharper this time, his eyes locked on yours, unrelenting.

“oh my god,” you mutter, another laugh bubbling out, this one laced with frustration. “is that why you did that? you think i’ve been fucking one of my best friends? are you shitting me, rafe?” you shake your head again, the absurdity of the accusation almost too much to handle.

he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t back down, his gaze still burning into yours like he’s waiting for you to crack. but you don’t—at least, not yet.

“well, since we’re just accusing each other of shit now,” you say, your voice sharp as a knife, “how’s stacy doing?” your eyes flicker between his, and just like you predicted, his confidence falters. there’s a moment—a flicker—where his gaze drops, and you pounce. “i assume she was busy tonight, right? that why you texted me?”

“what the fuck are you talking about?” rafe snaps, his chest rising and falling heavily as he steps closer, his frustration spilling over.

“oh, don’t give me that shit, rafe,” you fire back, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. your eyes dart away from his, landing anywhere but on him. “i saw you at the country club,” you continue, your voice cold, the memory still fresh.

his jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say anything, and the silence only fuels your anger. “and even then,” you add, spinning back to face him, your words cutting like glass, “what if i am fucking jj? what is it to you? you’re the one who said no strings attached, right?”

you see the way his nostrils flare, his jaw clenching so tightly you think it might snap. his eyes darken, and you know exactly what he’s thinking—the thought of jj seeing you the way rafe has, touching you, hearing the sounds you make. it’s killing him. but he won’t say it. not out loud.

“you’re mad, rafe,” you say, your voice quieter now but still firm. “but you don’t get to be. not after the rules you set.”

you push past him, deciding you were done—done with the accusations, the games, all of it. but, of course, you don’t get far. rafe’s hand closes firmly around your wrist, yanking you back toward him with enough force that you stumble. before you can steady yourself, you collide with his chest, the hard press of muscle against you taking your breath away.

his lips crash against yours without warning, rough and demanding, pulling a shocked gasp from your lips. the intensity of it sends a jolt through you, but it’s not enough to freeze you in place. your fists fly up, pushing hard against his chest, trying to shove him off.

“rafe,” you manage, your voice muffled against his lips, but it’s like he doesn’t even hear you. instead, your resistance only seems to fuel him, his free hand sliding up to wrap around your neck, not too tight, but firm enough to hold you there.

his lips move hungrily against yours, his breath hot, his grip unwavering. you can feel the frustration, the anger, and something else tangled in the way he kisses you—something you can’t name, something overwhelming. your heart races, torn between wanting to fight and the way your body reacts instinctively to his touch.

you hated it. hated how easily your body betrayed you, handing itself over to him without a second thought. and the worst part? rafe knew it too. he always did.

he used it to his advantage every time, just like now. the second your resistance began to falter, the tension in your fists loosening as your body instinctively softened against his, that familiar smug smile tugged at the corners of his lips. he could feel it—the way your resolve was slipping, the way the pull between you was overtaking every logical thought in your mind.

the familiarity of him started to seep through, clouding the anger that had burned so brightly just moments ago. rafe’s grip on your neck relaxed slightly, his fingers brushing your skin like he had all the time in the world, as if he wasn’t the reason you’d wanted to end this in the first place.

and god, you hated him for it. but you hated yourself even more. no matter how much you told yourself to walk away, to end it, your body always seemed to betray you the moment his hands were on you.

before you even realized what was happening, you were in the back seat of rafe’s truck, straddling his lap. his hands gripped your hips with bruising force, guiding your movements as you instinctively rolled against him. the friction of his hardened, clothed cock pressing against you sent shivers up your spine, a traitorous whimper slipping past your lips.

his breath was hot against your neck, his lips brushing your skin as he let out a low groan of satisfaction. you hated how easily he got to you, how the anger you felt just moments ago melted into something entirely different. but no matter how much you wanted to stop, your body moved on its own, craving the familiarity of him, the intensity only he could give you.

his hands move from gripping your hips to trailing up your back, his fingers deftly finding the string of your bikini top. with a quick tug, the knot unravels, and the fabric falls between you, exposing your chest to the cool night air. the intimate sound of your breathing mixes with the muffled noise of the distant beach party, but all you can focus on is him.

rafe wastes no time, leaning in to pepper kisses across your chest. each press of his lips ignites a trail of goosebumps on your skin, the sensation making you arch closer to him. his mouth finds one of your hardened nipples, pulling it into his mouth as his hand cups the other, his fingers teasing and rolling with practiced precision.

a moan slips from your lips, filling the still air around you. rafe hums in satisfaction, his hot breath fanning against your sensitive skin. his grip on you tightens as he continues, clearly intent on drawing every reaction out of you that he can.

“fuck, i missed you,” he breathes, his voice low and ragged as he pulls back just enough to let the words slip past his lips. before you can even process them, his mouth is back on you, his lips and tongue working their way across your skin, pulling a broken whimper from your throat.

you shake your head weakly, your fingers gripping his shoulders, trying to ground yourself. “no, you didn’t,” you whisper, your voice trembling, the words more of a desperate plea than an accusation.

rafe pauses, his lips hovering over your collarbone. his hands tighten their hold on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as he meets your gaze, his blue eyes blown out. “yes, i did,” he mutters, his tone firm, almost defensive, before dipping his head back down to kiss you again, as if he could erase the doubt you so clearly feel.

with one hand, he makes quick work of the button on your shorts, pulling them down just enough to give himself better access. his hand slips past the waistband of your bikini bottoms, his fingers brushing against your heated skin. the low groan that escapes his lips when he feels how soaked you are sends a jolt of heat straight through you.

“not surprising,” he mutters against your lips, his voice thick with smug satisfaction.

you gasp, your head falling back slightly as his fingers glide through your folds, gathering your arousal before starting slow, deliberate circles against your clit. the sensation sparks through you, making your hips instinctively rock against his hand, chasing the friction.

rafe’s smirk deepens as he watches you, his free hand gripping your waist tighter to keep you steady. “that’s it, pretty girl,” he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly, dripping with control. “just like that.”

a moan escapes your lips when his fingers pick up their pace, his breathing becoming heavier against your neck. “think that pogue could get you to cum like i can, huh?” he taunts, his words cutting through the haze of pleasure. before you can respond, his fingers dip into your entrance, filling you to where you feel the cold metal ring wrapped around his finger, while his thumb presses firmly against your clit. the double stimulation sends a shockwave through you, your hands fisting his shirt as you struggle to stifle the moans threatening to spill out.

you bite down hard on your lip, trying not to give him the satisfaction he craves, but it’s so hard—he knows your body too well.

“i know he can,” you finally manage to retort, your voice breathless but defiant. the second the words leave your mouth, you see it—the flicker of rage that darkens his eyes. his movements grow rougher, more deliberate, as if he’s determined to make you eat your words.

you sob out a moan, your body trembling as his pace remains relentless, refusing to give you even a second to catch your breath. “the fuck he can,” he growls, his voice low and feral, watching with a smug satisfaction as you struggle to keep yourself upright. his smirk deepens as he leans in, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss, all teeth and desperation, swallowing your broken cries.

your hands cling to his shoulders as waves of pleasure crash through you, your body arching into his touch. his fingers work you expertly, his movements precise and unyielding as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge, your breaths coming out in ragged gasps.

“c’mon, baby,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough and dripping with desperation. “let me hear you.” his words send a shiver down your spine, and you feel yourself teetering on the brink, unable to hold back any longer.

you feel yourself start to convulse around his fingers, your body trembling as a broken cry tears from your lips. the waves of your orgasm crash over you, leaving you breathless and weak. rafe keeps going, his fingers guiding you through every pulse of pleasure, not stopping until your body begins to twitch with hints of overstimulation. but there’s no tenderness in it—not that you deserved any, not after what you said.

your earlier comment still burned in his mind, fueling a fire in his chest, the thought of you with jj maybank making him see red. it wasn’t about trust—it was about possession, and rafe couldn’t stand the idea of someone else touching what he considered his.

without warning, he grabs your waist and flips you around, pressing your head against the leather seat, your ass in the air. your shorts and bikini bottoms are gone in one swift motion, leaving you completely exposed. you barely have time to react before you hear the sound of his zipper, his own clothes hitting the floor of the truck in a mess.

“you wanna talk about jj?” he growls, his voice low and dripping with frustration as he positions himself at your entrance, the heat of him pressing against you. “let’s see if you’re still thinking about him when I’m done with you.”

before you can process his words, he thrusts into you without warning, burying himself to the hilt in one swift, punishing motion. the stretch is overwhelming, a cry slipping from your lips, quickly muffled as you press your face into the seat.

rafe doesn’t give you a moment to adjust, setting a relentless, eye-rolling pace that has your body jolting with every thrust. his hands grip your waist tightly, pulling you back to meet each snap of his hips, his frustration evident in the way he moves.

“you feel that?” he mutters, his voice rough and breathless as he leans over you, his chest grazing your back. “that’s all me. no one else, you hear me?” his words mix with the sound of skin against skin, every syllable driving him deeper, leaving you a trembling mess beneath him.

you nod dumbly, unable to form words as your body reacts to his every movement. a gasp tears from your lips when his arm snakes around your neck, pulling you upright slightly and holding you firmly in place. the pressure makes your head spin, amplifying every sensation coursing through your body.

the truck fills with the obscene sounds of wet slaps and desperate moans, each one louder than the last. your cries mix with rafe’s rough groans, the intensity between you reaching a fever pitch. you briefly thank your lucky stars that his truck has fully blacked-out windows, shielding this mess of tangled limbs and raw need from prying eyes.

rafe moans in your ear, his voice thick with possession, his breath hot against your skin. “all mine. no one else gets to have you like this.” his pace never falters, every thrust pushing you closer to the edge again, leaving you gasping and trembling under his control.

just when you think the pleasure is close to consuming you whole, rafe’s fingers snake down between your thighs, finding your clit with infuriating precision. he rubs quick, tight circles, the added sensation pulling a choked cry from your lips as your body jerks in response.

your arm flings back instinctively, your hand finding the back of his neck, clutching onto him desperately as if he’s the only thing keeping you upright. his breath is hot against your ear, ragged and uneven, matching the force of his thrusts.

“fuck, baby,” he groans softly, his voice laced with satisfaction as he feels you trembling against him. “you’re gonna cum, aren’t you?”

“rafe—“ you moan, your grip on his neck tightening as the overwhelming mix of sensations sends you spiraling, your body teetering on the brink. every snap of his hips, every movement of his fingers, pushes you closer, the pleasure crashing over you in waves as you fight to keep from collapsing back into the seat.

your body trembles uncontrollably as the wave of pleasure crashes over you, your walls tightening around him with a vice-like grip. rafe grunts, his breath ragged and uneven as he feels you squeezing him, the sensation tipping him over the edge.

“shit,” he moans, his voice low and strained, giving one last stuttered thrust before he stills, his release spilling into you. the warmth of him floods your core, the weight of his body pressing against yours as he rides out his high, panting heavily into the crook of your neck.

the air in the truck is thick, the only sounds now the mingling of your heavy breathing and the faint hum of the world outside—so distant it feels like it doesn’t even exist. rafe’s hand loosens its hold on your hip along with the arm around your neck, his thumb lazily brushing your skin as he finally starts to come down.

rafe’s forehead, damp with sweat, rests against your shoulder for a moment as he catches his breath. Slowly, he pulls out of you, leaving you trembling and weak-kneed. Sensing it, he carefully guides you to sit on the seat, his touch surprisingly gentle now, as if trying not to shatter the fragile silence between you.

but it doesn’t last long. the haze starts to lift, post-sex clarity hitting you like a wave. your heart pounds—not from pleasure anymore, but from the weight of everything that just happened. you don’t look at him, don’t say a word. instead, you scramble off the seat, your eyes scanning the floor of the truck as you rush to gather your clothes. the humid air clings to your skin, suffocating you, making it feel like the walls of the truck are closing in.

“y/n,” rafe starts, his voice softer now, but you don’t respond, just shake your head. You tug your shorts on with shaky hands, your bikini top still tangled in your grasp as you turn your back to him, your only thought being how fast you can get out of this damn truck.

as soon as you adjust your bikini top, you’re scrambling for the door handle, slipping out of the truck as quickly as you can. the door slams shut behind you with a loud thud, cutting off the heavy silence inside. rafe’s voice calls after you, his tone somewhere between frustration and confusion, but you don’t look back. you don’t even slow down.

his words echo faintly in the humid night air as you trudge across the sand, but you block them out, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

you hated yourself in this moment—really hated yourself. how could you be so weak? jj was probably back at the chateau right now, an ice pack pressed to his bruised face, joking it off like he always did. meanwhile, you were here, tangled up with the very person responsible for putting him there.

it made your stomach twist. you felt pathetic.

the guilt gnawed at you, making every step away from that truck feel heavier, like you were sinking further into something you didn’t know how to escape. you wrap your arms around yourself, the night air cold against your skin, and silently vow—never again.

as you step into your home, the soft glow of the television catches your eye. your mom is asleep on the couch, the faint sound of some late-night show playing in the background. you pause, the sight of her peaceful face tugging at something inside you. quietly, you grab the nearest blanket and drape it over her, tucking it gently around her frame before turning off the TV.

you make your way to your room, your body heavy with exhaustion. pulling out your phone, the screen lights up with countless missed calls and texts—all from him. rafe’s name stares back at you, the words call me back and where did you go? flashing among the messages. with a sigh, you open the contact and quickly silence his notifications. blocking him would feel too final, too harsh, and you know it wouldn’t stop him anyway. rafe knew where to find you—where you lived, where you spent your time, even your favorite food spot. blocking him would only provoke him further.

you drop your phone on the bed and head straight for the bathroom, turning the shower dial as cold as it would go. the icy water hits your skin like needles, but you welcome it, hoping it’ll wash away everything—his touch, his words, the feeling of his hands on your body.

but no matter how long you stand there, no matter how hard you scrub, the memories resurface, unrelenting. the way he looked at you. the sound of his voice. the pull he always had on you. you press your forehead against the cool tile, biting back the emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

how did it get this far?

the muffled vibration of your phone stirs you from sleep, the name sarah 🐚 lighting up the screen. groaning, you fumble for the phone and press it to your ear, voice still thick with sleep. “hell—”

“is it true?” sarah’s voice crackles through the static, sharp and tense, jolting you fully awake. your eyes shoot open, the confusion and dread hitting you all at once.

“sarah, what—” you begin, but she doesn’t let you finish.

“got it,” she says curtly, and before you can protest, the line goes dead.

you pull the phone away from your ear, staring at the dark screen as if it could offer you answers. confusion twists in your chest, but then you see it—a new message notification from her.

your hands tremble slightly as you unlock your phone and click the message. the screen shifts to a video file, sent from an anonymous number. you hesitate, the dread creeping up your spine like ice, but you press play.

the blood drains from your face as the video begins. it’s you—you and rafe. the footage is grainy, but it’s unmistakable. you see yourself pressed against the back door of his truck, his hands gripping you as you melt into the heated kiss. the angle shifts slightly, shaky and invasive, capturing the moment he pushes you inside the truck. and then—cut.

the video ends abruptly, leaving you staring at the black screen, your heart racing so hard you can feel it in your throat. you drop the phone onto your bed, your blood running cold as the weight of it crashes over you.

someone had seen. someone knew. and now sarah did too.

#⋆ ˚𝐚𝐫𝐢𝜗𝜚writes #drew starkey #rafe cameron #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #drew starkey smut #drew starkey imagine

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forlix · 9 months ago

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𝐝𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞・b.c.

— incurable playboy turned doting boyfriend was a character development arc nobody saw coming for christopher bang, including (especially) his frat brothers.

words・2.8k pairing・frat president!chris x gn!reader genres・fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, college!au, fuckboy!chris, boys being boys, kissing, implied sex so mdni warnings・substance use, talk of past heartbreak

a/n・here is "nobody believes you're dating" w/chan, requested by none other than my @rachalixie for my 2k event !! anny, i hope u love this fic as much as i love u; thank you for allowing me to write something so self-indulgent <3

In the deafening throes of one of Phi Mu Alpha’s spring kickbacks, Minho finds Jeongin and Seungmin standing in motionless silence by the kitchen counter. Both boys are gaping at something with an intensity that dips egregiously into the realm of creepy. He moves to pour himself a shot.

“What the fuck are you people looking at?”

Seungmin prods a pointer finger in the relevant direction. It takes a few seconds of scanning the scene for Minho to find what he’s referring to. He digs a knuckle into his eye, instantly confused by what he’s seeing. Maybe the gaping is justified.

The windows and doors have all been thrown open to invite the balmy April weather into the foyer of the frathouse. There’s a large crowd of people huddled around a long, foldable table stationed before the stairs; Jaehyun clutches a ping-pong ball between his fingers, singular eye squinted shut as he takes aim. The number of remaining solo cups dwindles rapidly, as does the players’ sobriety.

Something—someone—is missing.

Not to say “beer pong virtuoso” was one of the reasons Chris was elected frat president, but you’d think the guy had a career path in basketball with how he’s given the entire Greek life community alcohol poisoning by courtesy of two or three plastic balls alone. Minho has never known him to miss a shot, let alone miss out on a game.

Today, however, the reigning champion is only spectating, seated above the ongoing match on one of the steps of the main staircase.

A beautiful stranger is sitting beside him, cheek pressed to his shoulder as you peer at the match through the bannister.

You say something inaudible. The laugh it earns from Chris is bright enough to pick up from a few streets down. He leans in to murmur something in return, and you slide your hand over his nape to pull his mouth onto yours, light blush crawling up and over your ears. The way Chris melts into you can only be described as familiar, his eyes slowly fluttering shut, finger hooking delicately beneath your chin, grin going lopsided as your lips part—

“That’s enough,” Minho hisses, tearing his eyes away with considerable effort. “Aren’t you ashamed? Just fucking ogling.”

Jeongin shakes his head, grinning. “It’s dinner and a show. We’d be idiots not to.”

By dinner, he must mean the gallon of chocolate milk he’s been drinking from for the last hour. He now holds out said gallon with the intent to cheers. Seungmin picks up the entire handle and does the same.

Minho sighs, clinks his glass against theirs, and they throw back their respective refreshments in unison.

“Anywho.” Jeongin swipes the back of his hand over his mouth before going on. “You guys know who that is?”

Minho resurfaces with a wince, relishing in the bitter aftermath, then motions for Seungmin to give the bottle back straightaway. He arrived to the function late and he’s not nearly as drunk as he’d like to be.

Seungmin obliges Minho only after another heady swig. “No clue. Probably just another fling, no?”

“Mmm,” Jeongin hums in assent. “It’s Chris we’re talking about, after all.”

"Agreed. Case closed.”

There’s an air of finality in Seungmin’s voice—but Minho isn’t so sure.

Perhaps because he has never noticed that Chris had dimples until now; or because you fold so naturally into Chris' side after your kiss ends, head nuzzling against the crook of his neck and hand seeking out his to hold in your lap; or, most likely, because Chris' eyes seem to return to you when he looks at you, as if his gaze drifting anywhere else is but a momentary departure from where it really belongs. As if he comes home every time you come into his line of vision.

Whatever the reason, the idea coalesces in Minho’s mind, even as inebriation begins to fall over his cognitive faculties like a curtain, that the boys have got it wrong.

Jeongin utters his name, jolting him out of his trance. There’s another shot lifted halfway to Minho’s lips that hasn’t budged in minutes. “Whatcha thinking about?”

Minho looks at Jeongin first, Seungmin next, then back at Chris and his stunning companion. He’s not inclined to answer the question in full, but he can in truth. A coy smile crosses his face.

“Threesome?”

Jeongin laughs hard enough to collapse onto the kitchen island. Seungmin drags a hand down his face. “Come on, man.”

In the corner of his eye, you’ve gone back to kissing again, slow and sweet and secretive. Chris' gentle hold on your jaw shields you from view but fails to hide his lovesick smile. Dimly, Minho thinks that maybe his friend has met his match.

Then, he takes four shots in rapid succession—and stops thinking altogether.

Christopher Bang’s love life is like a horror movie and romcom spliced together: a fiasco of a film to which his housemates have front row seats.

The frat’s upperclassmen live in sets of four-bed, two-bath suites comprising a small common space with a kitchen and a sitting area, sandwiched by bedrooms on either side. It is in that common space that Changbin, Hyunjin, and Jisung often see or hear Chris stumbling home after a night out, entangled with a different attractive stranger every time—so often, in fact, that they’ve come to believe that he’s deathly allergic to anything bigger than a one-and-done hookup.

They can’t judge. In part because they’d be throwing stones from glass houses, but also because the man’s penchant for empty physicality is far from unfounded. His past self gave pieces of his heart to the wrong people, contracted first-degree burns from the guileless warmth he sought out. Now, his version of “intimacy” is less a connotation of closeness than it is a self-contradiction, for it should be impossible for so much distance to remain between two people in a single bed.

Chris hasn’t vocalized any of this. Nor have his housemates discussed it with each other. The knowledge simply exists in the air between the four of them like something akin to taboo, dipping in and out of acknowledgement depending on the circumstance.

This might be the circumstance of all time.

At around 11:40 A.M. on a Saturday, three doors in the suite open at once. Hyunjin and Changbin aren’t coincidence—the latter is coercing the former to go to the gym again—but they lift their eyes to the opposite side of the living room, and the slice of milk bread dangling from Hyunjin’s lips very nearly takes a fatal fall. Changbin manages to snatch it up with an extended hand.

Chris has just emerged from his room as well. Your silhouette follows close behind, your mouth stretching into a yawn as you massage the sleep from your eyes. You’re sporting a mesh green sweater identical to one Chris owns. They find Chris' accessories more interesting than his clothes, though: two hickeys peeking out from beneath his jaw and the base of his neck.

Chris sees Hyunjin and Changbin right away, and his expression goes utterly blank, not unlike their faces as they watch you close his door meticulously. You turn around and gasp.

The four of you stare at each other for what feels like multiple business days. At least, Hyunjin, Changbin, and Chris stare at each other; your eyes dart between the men on the other side of the room and the man next to you, silently pleading for him to say something. He does not for a long while.

Then, he lunges for one of the throw pillows on the couch and flings it at Hyunjin like a shot put. It ricochets off his chest and lands on the floor rather anticlimactically.

“Distraction!” Chris yells anyways, grabbing your hand and tearing towards the exit, wild grin on his face. “Go, go, go!”

Your raucous laughter lingers even after you’ve been hauled away, accompanied by an unintelligible, breathless shout of something along the lines of my toothbrush—and then the front door clicks shut, and there are two.

Changbin and Hyunjin lock eyes, struggling to process what just happened. Hyunjin is the first to move, wandering hesitantly into the bathroom that Chris and Jisung share. Nothing about the place looks out of the ordinary.

“Well, shit,” Hyunjin says out loud.

That is, aside from the two toothbrushes slotted in the holder on Chris' side of the counter.

Something moves in the bathroom window, catching his attention. Hyunjin looks over just in time to spot you and Chris dart out onto the lawn two floors below. Chris has his arm draped over your shoulders, yours wrapped around his waist. Your smile is discernible all the way from here, and Hyunjin sees a perfect mirror of it on his friend’s face when Chris glances at the frathouse over his shoulder.

Has he always had dimples?

Moments later, Changbin joins him in peering out the window. A high-pitched cackle erupts from the older boy’s lips. “Look at that idiot.”

Standing off to the left is a tiny, astonished Han Jisung, his arms full of groceries, jaw sitting squarely the grass and whites of his eyes on full display as he watches you and Chris stroll away.

Hyunjin laughs with his whole fucking body. Changbin whips out his phone and takes a picture.

When you finally breach the topic, it’s because you don’t think you can physically study for another minute—but also because, after multiple long months of fruitless sparring, your curiosity finally wins.

Your boyfriend is seated in your desk chair, feet kicked up onto your mattress with his laptop propped up on his thighs. His features have rearranged themselves into an expression of intense focus as he pores over his production homework. You can hear music blaring through his headphones from all the way here.

You uncross your legs from below you, scootch across your bed, and lift your hands to cradle his cheeks. He startles as if coming out of a trance, then begins to smile when he reads the words hi, Channie off your lips.

His headphones fall around his neck. He sets his laptop down onto your desk with a dull thunk. The next thing to drop is you when Chris seizes you by the waist and tackles you into the mattress. The somber atmosphere of your study session is shattered by your muted laughter and Chris pressing his lips to every inch of your exposed skin he can. He saves your mouth for last.

“Hey, beautiful,” he answers, but only after kissing the living daylights out of you, the syllables soft and silky with adoration. “Missed me?”

You drag your eyes from his brown irises with blown pupils to his sloping nose, from his disheveled dark locks to his cordate lips, so plush and warm against your own that you swear you still feel them there. You brush a hand over the back of his neck, your head now spinning so badly that you barely remember what you wanted to ask him.

“Always,” you say. “I was starting to feel jealous of your homework.”

He chuckles. “Shit, I’ll drop out of college right now, baby. Just say the word.”

“You’re perfect,” you hum.

“Says you,” he murmurs, nudging the tip of his nose against yours.

Your lips find each other’s again—needless to say, your study sessions aren’t known for their productivity. Some time passes before you come up for air. Even afterwards, Chris doesn’t let you go far, pulling you into his chest by the curve of your waist, nuzzling his cheek into your hairline. You only need to whisper for him to hear your question.

“Can I ask you something?”

“'Course,” he returns, and you’re close enough to sense him tighten with apprehension. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, don’t worry.” You print a kiss to the side of his neck for extra reassurance. “It’s just…I’ve been meaning to ask how your friends feel about me.”

He tightens with something else now: surprise, you’re guessing; you’re hoping. You hadn’t seriously considered that the answer could be negative, but it’s dawning on you now that the possibility of that isn’t zero.

“Where’s this coming from?” Chris inquires, his tone opaque.

You hesitate, mentally reviewing your interactions with your boyfriend’s social circle. Hyunjin and Jisung can’t make eye contact with you when they speak to you. Minho does nothing but make eye contact with you whether he’s speaking to you or not. Jeongin and Seungmin can maintain small talk for about ten seconds before they start looking like they’d rather be anywhere else. Changbin is the only one you’ve held a conversation with, and only because you were going up the same stairs at the same time and the alternative would have been mind-numbing silence.

What is the best way for you to say this?

“Well,” you begin, “I can’t help but notice that they act a little—when I’m around, they’re a bit, uh—”

“—crazy,” Chris offers. “Completely fucking bat-shit crazy.”

“Yes. Exactly that.”

Chris threads a hand through your hair, the comforting gesture doing nothing to assuage your worry. It seems there’s some truth behind your impressions. Your next words are tinged with a quiet sadness.

“I’m not imagining things, then?”

“No, angel,” he sighs. “But not for the reasons you think.”

A beat passes. Chris perceives your silence as a chance to backtrack, to opt out of this conversation if it’s one he’s not ready for. He would’ve leapt at the opportunity once.

But he realizes in that moment, with your voice gentle against his ears and your touch so doting upon his skin, how much has changed since he met you: from the color of the sky to the word home and everything in between, including his cynicism towards love and all the iterations of forever it holds.

With that epiphany comes another, then another: he wants you to know why his friends are acting insane, wants you to know about him and his past and all the wounds of his you never know you healed, wants you to spend the rest of this forever with him.

His pointer finger dusts beneath your chin, a wordless request for you to look at him, and he nearly liquifies when you do and he finds entire constellations in your eyes.

“It’s a lot,” he mumbles, though he suspects you know that already; he suspects you know about the other stuff, too.

You bring your hand to the side of his face, bring your forehead to rest upon his. Your closeness washes over him like a low summer tide lapping over sandy shores, a soothing balm spreading over scorched flesh.

“It’s you,” you breathe. “I will love it just the same.”

Chris' held breath comes out in shudders.

So this is warmth.

Minho and Felix are watching anime on the couch when a knock comes at their door, unfortunately during a pivotal moment of a pivotal episode.

Minho hits pause with a ghastly groan. Felix laughs and rises to his feet, dashing into his room to grab the two silver necklaces he’ll be loaning out for the evening. “Coming!”

Outside, Chris is standing alone, hips and thighs accentuated by a pair of tight-fitting dress pants, sculpted chest and collarbones framed by a thin, cream-colored shirt with the top three buttons undone. Most of his hair has been pushed off his forehead, leaving a few locks free to fall over his right eyebrow. He’s rolling up his sleeves when Felix opens the door, veined forearms flexing as a result of the effort.

“Well?” He asks. Minho cranes his neck to look past Felix.

Both boys start to holler and whistle like excited macaques.

“What in the Calvin Klein is this?” Felix shouts, spinning Chris around by the shoulders. “You look insane, bro. Holy fuck.”

“What’s the occasion, young man?” Minho inadvertently sounds like a gruff uncle. “Where are you going dressed like that, huh?”

Chris' laugh comes easier nowadays. What’s more, it comes in a way that reaches the rest of him, that ends in a tiny, high squeak that you really have to look for in order to hear.

Felix and Minho can't help but replicate his smile. Those clothes look good on him, yes—but happiness looks better.

“You guys are silly,” Chris giggles. Dimples indent his cheeks as he accepts the necklaces from Felix. “Thanks, man. I’ll give ‘em back tomorrow.”

“No rush,” Felix replies, grinning. “Have fun, yeah?”

“We will.” Chris starts to retreat down the hallway, hands moving to clasp the jewelry around his neck, but not before he blows the both of them a kiss.

“Be back before ten!” Minho hollers; Chris laughs again, turns a corner, and disappears.

Felix closes the door. His smile falters fast. Minho has brought his face mere centimeters away, his expression thoroughly humorless.

“Tell me only the truth, Lee Yongbok,” he deadpans.

“O-okay—”

“Is Chris in a relationship?”

“—oh.” Felix frowns. “Well, yeah.”

Minho blanches. “How—how long?”

“One year, give or take? Anniversary’s today.”

Minho is stunned. Felix is stunned that Minho is stunned.

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kitten4sannie · 8 months ago

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for love of the game

pairing: pitcher! wooyoung x batter! reader (fem) x teammate! yunho

genres: college baseball au, enemies to fuckbuddies, best friends to fuckbuddies, smut

summary: jung wooyoung, a pitcher with a fearsome curveball, and your self-proclaimed enemy since the beginning of the playoffs, is beyond determined to show you that he is in fact, on top. Yunho, your close friend and reliable teammate, will do everything in his power to watch it all go down.

w.c: 5k (2k words of plot bc i can ✨ the rest is filth tho i promise <3)

warnings: tobacco/vape usage, nasty mean dom! wooyo, perverted subby puppyboy! yuyu, bratty bitch in the streets, subby slut in the sheets! reader, yuyu has a horsecock, implied brat taming, brief choking, mxm, one single slap and spank, cuckholding, pet names/name calling, praise/degradation, humiliation kink, dirty talk, exhibitionism/voyeurism, brief breath play, oral (giving/receiving), masturbation, yuyu sucks cock, thigh fucking, cum eating, deep-throating, spit kink, hair tugging, breeding kink (would it be a kitten4sannie fic without it? idt so 💅🏼), unprotected sex, creampies, dumbification

a/n: hey batter, batter~~ ughhh i’ve been itching to write this ever since they went to their first dodger game 🥺 i had an unusual amount of fun writing this as you’ll be able to tell eeheheheh (≧∀≦) anygaysss i hope you enjoy this hater x hater x nasty bsf fantasy ✨

song recs: siren by ateez - new girl by finneas - knock me out by miyavi - heaven and back by chase atlantic

“You ready for today’s game, Y/N?” Yunho, your teammate and closest personal friend outside of baseball, asked you inquisitively, one of his large hands rubbing into the tense muscle of your shoulder, using the other to send a tactical text message to someone.

When you weren’t training, working out, or competing in your college team’s playoff games, you were hanging out in Yunho’s frat house, watching him get his ass handed to him in League. You both had a simple, easy going relationship, one that consisted of chill kickbacks and drunken shenanigans, with the occasional exchange of longing glances, lingering touches, and perhaps an adrenaline induced fuck or two, or three before and after one of your games — but who were you to decipher what your relationship status was? You had your future career to focus on.

“Am I ready? Yun, I came out the pussy ready for this fucking game,” you replied vulgarly, bringing your water bottle up to your lips to take a few sips, smiling crookedly up at your tall friend over the shoulder he was keenly massaging.

“That’s what I like to hear, baby,” Yunho chimed proudly, shoving his phone into his back pocket so that he could use both of his hands on your shoulders, doing his best to loosen up your muscles with his long, slender fingers.

“I’m not your baby, but maybe I would be if you stopped solo-queuing as Braum every time you hop on League.” You couldn’t help but let out a few groans from the pressure he was using on you, hoping that his massage would aid you in the powerful swings you would have to make during the next seven innings. “I’m tired of watching you get ass fucked every round.”

“You wanna go for a few rounds next time then? I wouldn’t mind watching you get wrecked,” Yunho mumbled into your ear, glancing across the dugout at the other team, before he let go of you and sat down next to his rowdy teammates, joining in on the competition to see whose thighs could take up the most space on the crowded bench.

“Yeah, I bet, you degenerate. Oh, you know what else you can watch?” you retorted, pretending to reach into one of your pockets and pulling out nothing, simply holding your middle finger up to Yunho. Your best friend quickly mirrored your unique display of affection, leading the both of you to giggle and smile at each other for a little too long, before you decided to sit down as well and conserve your energy.

During the typical pre-game announcements, you found yourself not being able to get comfortable like you usually could. It was off-putting, to say the least. There was nothing unusual going on. The sky was nice and clear, the wind blew a cool breeze across the exposed skin of your neck, right in between your pulled-up hair and the collar of your softball uniform. Your teammates were all stretching their limbs, shooting the shit, eagerly chewing nicotine gum, or spitting out tobacco juice into empty water bottles. All was right in the world, yet you couldn’t seem to stop bouncing your thigh, your cleats repeatedly digging deeper marks into the dirt below. That was when you felt the intensity of someone’s eyes boring into you.

“Yo, baby, you got some chew on you?” someone with an irritatingly smug, yet distinctly familiar voice asked you from the other side of the snug dugout.

You immediately stood up from your seat, turning your head in the direction of the voice, just in time for you to come face to face with the Devil himself.

Jung Wooyoung, a pitcher with a fearsome curveball, and your self-proclaimed enemy since the beginning of the playoffs, was casually leaning down against the small metal fence that separated your teams, looking up at you through the yellow lenses of his sunglasses.

“Do I look like the type to put that nasty shit in my mouth?” you immediately snapped, taking a few steps in his direction, not realizing how hard you were squeezing your plastic water bottle until it began to audibly crunch inside your tight grasp. “Huh?”

Wooyoung licked at the mole on his chapped bottom lip, his canines becoming visible when he smiled cockily at you. He missed his favorite plaything. You were so easy to rile up. It made his already tight pinstripe pants even tighter. “Mm, but you’ve put nastier things in your mouth, haven’t you, baby?”

Scoffing, you placed your hands on your soft hips, shaking your head, pretending his perverse words didn’t make your cheeks feel like they were already sunburnt, wanting to put up more of a front, now that your entire team was possibly listening in. “You would know a thing or two about that, wouldn’t you, Wooyoung? The handjobs you give your team aren’t doing enough for you these days, huh?”

Wooyoung did his best to ignore the snickers and whispers of your team, taking his cap off to run his fingers through his silky raven hair, biting the corner of his lip all the while. “People talk in the locker rooms, you know. They say you really know your way around a cock. Probably from all that practice you get with your teammates, yeah?” He looked over to Yunho, who sheepishly smiled at him. “You can vouch for me, can’t you, Yun?” The batter remained quiet out of fear of your wrath.

Wooyoung was about to say more, when his vision was suddenly blurred by something cold. You had offered him mercy, dumping the rest of your water on the pitcher’s head, rather than shoving the entire bottle up his ass like you desperately wanted to. Instead of blowing up on you and embarrassing himself like you had hoped he would, Wooyoung simply flipped his hair back and put his cap back on, resulting in a few squeals from some nearby fangirls that were sitting in the stands. “If getting me hard was the goal, you succeeded, Y/N.”

You grimaced. “You’re fucking disgusting, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung reached over the fence to push a few loose strands of hair behind your ear. “But, you love it, don’t you? That’s why you’re so obsessed with me.”

“You should be obsessed with me. Maybe if you paid attention, you could figure out how to pitch a ball that I won’t knock out of the goddamn stadium.”

You irked Wooyoung to no end, your equally quick-witted jabs getting underneath the pitcher’s tan skin. However, he wouldn’t let you have the satisfaction of seeing that, unless hell itself froze over. “And if you paid attention, maybe your team would actually make it past the playoffs.”

That was when a vein visibly began to bulge out of your temple, your jaw tensing. Wooyoung had struck a nerve. You knew it, he knew it, and your team definitely knew it. You’d give anything to make it to the championship game, but it was always just barely out of reach. The fact that Wooyoung would stoop so incredibly low had your blood boiling. You wanted nothing more than to grab the smug pitcher by his collar and spit directly in his face, but you were afraid that he would enjoy that more than you would have. So, instead you simply accepted defeat in that moment and sat back down on the bench, staring ahead at the expansive baseball field.

You were too caught up in your own furious thoughts to notice that Yunho had left the spot he had taken up on the bench, instead leaning on the same fence Wooyoung had been chilling on just moments ago.

“Your girl’s feisty, Yun. I fucking love it. She seems like she bites. Does she bite?” Wooyoung prodded the taller man, just as he pulled a vape out of his pocket and took a long hit, causally blowing out the smoke into Yunho’s face.

Yunho waved the vapor away, shaking his head slightly. “She’s not mine, but yeah, she bites. She…does a lot of things.”

Wooyoung hummed in response, smiling like he knew something no one else did, his eyes shifting from the crowd, to his teammates who smiled back at him, then back up at Yunho. “She’s not yours, but she lets you hit, doesn’t she?”

“She does…She’s just very...rough.” Yunho bit his lip, thinking about how ferociously you would ride his cock in the empty locker rooms after the games you would ultimately lose, remembering all the love bites and scratches you littered his broad body in, knowing you wouldn’t let him go until you left his cock raw and so sensitive he was ready to cry. He was more of a softie himself, a good boy, if you will, not exactly cut out for the animalistic sex you required after such a brutal loss. Wooyoung, however, seemed more fit for that. In fact, Yunho felt his throat go dry just imagining the two of you going at it in such a way, especially in front of him. That was allowed, right?

“Yunho.” Wooyoung took another long puff from his vape, using his free hand to take his glasses off and placing them over the brim of his baseball cap.

“Yeah?”

Wooyoung reached up to place his hand on Yunho’s tense shoulder, massaging his digits into it to loosen up the muscle. “I got a proposition for you. If your team wins today, you get to fuck a happy, calm Y/N. She’ll probably even blow you without expecting anything back. Who knows, she might even swallow.”

Yunho unconsciously licked his lips, glancing back over the shoulder Wooyoung was massaging into to admire your pretty face, even if it was contorted with rage-filled determination. He slowly looked back down at the pitcher. “And, if your team wins?”

Wooyoung grinned deviously, licking at one of his sharp canines. “I get to put that pretty slut in her place.”

The first locker in your sight was the main recipient of your bubbling anger, the side of your bat making contact with the metal, incidentally leaving an indent. “Motherfucker!” you shouted to no one inside the empty women’s locker room, tossing the bat down the long hallway, not bothering to watch it roll along the ground until it was stopped by someone’s dusty cleat.

You threw your baseball cap into your crowded locker along with your balled up, button-up shirt once you pulled it off of your torso. You then pressed your hands into the cool metal, staring at your angry, sweaty reflection in the locker door mirror, huffing and puffing. “How could you strike out to a bitch like him? Do better,” you told yourself, your hands forming fists.

Wooyoung cleared his throat, making his presence known, taking slow steps down the hallway with his hands in his pockets, happily chewing on a piece of gum. “I knew you were a sore loser, but I didn’t know it was this bad.”

“Are you lost, Wooyoung? This is the women’s locker room, and last time I checked you don’t have a pussy,” you spat in his direction, reaching down to unbutton your pants.

“You wanna check for me, baby? I might not be hung like Yunho, but I’ll still be able to pump you full of cum. A slutty little cleat chaser like you would love that, huh?” Wooyoung mused vulgarly, leaning against the lockers, lowering his tinted glasses to leer at your half-naked body.

You didn’t look at Wooyoung for too long, knowing you might kill him, or fuck him raw, if you did, now that jealousy-fueled rage was flowing through your veins.

A shower would probably help cool you down. Help you think straight. On the other hand, a nice, thick cock drilling into you wouldn’t solve all your problems, but it sure would help, even if it was your sworn enemy who was servicing you. Instead of replying, you simply shimmied out of your tight, dust-covered pants and stepped out of them, bringing a foot up onto the bench to stretch out your sore, bruise-ridden legs, deeply annoyed that you slid to so many bases just to lose anyway.

Wooyoung’s throat ran dry, his gaze suddenly fixated on the g-string that formed to the curves of your hips, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down upon the sight of the thin string tightly cupping your cunt as you bent down to massage your fingers into your thighs and calves. “Fuck, is that a thong? You usually don’t wear anything…”

“What does it look like, dumbass?” you snapped, before turning on your heels in the opposite direction, looking back at him over your shoulder. Chuckling softly at the tent that formed inside his pants, you reached back to unclasp your bra, letting it drop to the floor, prior to heading into the open shower room, very aware of the fact that Wooyoung was following close behind you like a eager, drooling puppy, smirking at the sounds of shuffling and grunting, the pitcher’s clothes hitting the tile floor on the way. Wooyoung talked a big game, but at the end of the day, he was just a man, and you took pride in knowing you had that power over him, even if you didn’t have it on the field.

“Hey, does having something rubbing against your pussy help you play better, Y/N? Or do you just like getting wet in front of all those men like the whore you are?” Wooyoung asked near your ear, watching you turn the shower handle to the right until a steady stream of warm water began to pour onto the both of you, waiting for you to turn around so that he could slip his twitching fingers under the thong straps that clung to your hips and pulled them up just to watch your pussy lips slip out past the thin material, making the pitcher groan.

“Did you come here just to slut shame me, Wooyoung?” You pressed your back into the cold tile wall behind you, goosebumps forming on your bare, heated skin, looking up at him past your wispy lashes, an amalgamation of intense hatred and lust sitting just beneath the surface of your piercing gaze. “Or did you come here to fuck me?”

Wooyoung groaned at your bold words, pressing one of his hands onto the wall near your head, the other cupping your slick cunt, his lips just barely ghosting yours. “I didn’t just come here to fuck you, princess. I came here to ruin you.”

“Then, ruin me,” you reiterated, grabbing Wooyoung by a tuft of his wet hair, your teeth and tongues clashing together in an instant.

Once Wooyoung was satisfied with the amount of spit he had swallowed, he pulled back, simply placing one hand on the top of your head and forcefully pushing you down until you got the hint.

You were mad at yourself for being unable to resist getting on your knees for a cocky prick like Wooyoung, so you simply glared up at him, trying to pretend you didn’t notice his stiff, thick cock standing at attention in front of your face. “When I said ruin me, I meant my cunt. You think I’m just gonna suck you off because you pushed my head down? It’s bold of you to assume I won’t bite.”

“Don’t be a brat, Y/N. I won today, so I deserve special treatment, don’t I?” Wooyoung argued, squinting his eyes at you once you began grimacing up at his erection, his fingers wrapping around your hair to create a makeshift ponytail. “Maybe if you didn’t strike out so many times, I would be the one on my knees, devouring that pretty cunt of yours.”

“Shut the fuck up…” you murmured, squeezing your thighs together, not understanding why someone like Wooyoung had so much power over you.

“That’s not very nice of you to say, princess.” Wooyoung reached down with his free hand to hold the base of his cock, tapping the leaking tip against your lips, smearing his pre-cum over them in the process. “How about we put that dirty mouth of yours to better use, yeah?”

Afraid he was late to the show after being forced to do an interview with the local college, Yunho quickly made his way into the women’s locker room, almost slipping on the bat you left on the floor as he followed the sounds of breathy groans, gurgled moans, and running water that were echoing from the showers. He almost fell to his knees at the sight of his best friend taking cock down her throat. You were a complete mess, streaks of mascara running down your flushed cheeks, strands of milky saliva dribbling down past your swollen lips, along your bulging throat, and onto your tits, your nose routinely making contact with Wooyoung’s pelvis. Yunho didn’t even know you could deep-throat cock with so much ease.

Leaning against the opposite side of the shower room, Yunho desperately began to palm at his stiff, leaking length through the baggy gray sweatpants that hung loosely from his hips, his cheeks and ears growing red once he caught your teary gaze.

You reached in between your trembling thighs, trying to relieve the deep ache inside your dripping cunt by filling it with two of your fingers, letting out a choked moan when Wooyoung roughly smacked the side of your cheek.

“Did I say you could touch yourself? You’re my cocksleeve right now. You don’t get to play with your cunt, dumb whore,” Wooyoung grunted, letting go of your hair to pinch your nose when you wouldn’t stop finger-fucking yourself, keeping his cock lodged deep inside your throat, cutting off your only source to oxygen.

“M-mmnfff…!” you whimpered, your brain starting to feel delightfully fuzzy around the edges, getting an instant head high from not being able to breathe. You waited until the very last second to stop playing with yourself, suddenly grabbing onto Wooyoung’s hips and squeezing them tightly, begging him for mercy with your watery eyes.

Wooyoung immediately pulled his cock out of your mouth and slapped it down onto your face as a further attempt to humiliate you in front of your friend. “What a dirty slut…” He began to jerk himself off, rubbing his reddened cockhead against your parted lips. “I want you to listen to me. Once I cum inside your mouth, you’re not going to swallow, got it?”

Wiping the excess saliva from your face, you nodded your head obediently, gazing up at him with half-lidded eyes, knowing Yunho was just a few feet away from you, but too distracted by the thick, leaking cock right in front of your face. “Cum, please…”

Yunho didn’t realize how much he was getting off on being ignored by the two of you until he finally freed his cock from his stained sweatpants and jerked himself off directly, thick globs of pre-cum pouring down the side of his heavy length, breathy, whiny moans escaping from his drooling mouth, his glasses starting to fog up.

“Brainless for me already, hm? What a good girl. Now, show me your tongue,” Wooyoung whispered, taking advantage of the situation and sending a few strings of spit down onto it as soon as you held out your tongue. When he watched you swallow it immediately, your thighs squeezing together right after, Wooyoung tossed his head back and let out a long guttural groan, pressing his cockhead against your tongue just in time for spurts of hot cum to shoot out of it.

Ready to cum untouched from being used solely for Wooyoung’s pleasure, you carefully closed your mouth, not letting any of his hot load spill out, but not swallowing it down either, as much as you wanted to.

Wooyoung reached down to run his fingers through your wet hair, admiring the mess of pre-cum and spit you had on your face, smiling at you with his canines on display. “Spit out my cum onto your fingers and fuck it into that whore-hole of yours. You wanted to play with yourself, didn’t you? Now’s your chance, princess.”

Shocked by Wooyoung’s perverted request, you simply looked up at him with wide eyes, looking like a hamster with the way your cheeks were currently puffed out and filled with his cum.

“Go on, baby. Don’t be shy. Show Yunho why you have a reputation of being such a shameless cumslut with the guys on my team,” Wooyoung encouraged breathily, gently patting one of your filled cheeks, a few dribbles of milkiness leaking out past your lips.

Yunho’s eyes left the soaking mess in between your thighs for a second to meet your embarrassed gaze, coming to terms with this new information. Not only did you fuck him after your losses, but you took the time to fuck the winning team, even after Yunho had filled your womb with countless loads. You really were a slut. Yunho became so hard, he grew a bit dizzy.

“F-fine, but don’t stare…” you murmured sheepishly, as if you hadn’t been ran through by both of their teams before. The men in question watched with bated breath as you let the milky load drip onto your fingers, letting out little gasps when they quickly disappeared all the way inside you, your cunt making obscene squelching sounds each time you pushed them in and out.

“You’re so filthy…I think I’m in love,” Wooyoung sighed dreamily, reaching down to clutch your jaw with his slender fingers. He smiled keenly at your contorted expression, enjoying the sound of your whiny moans. “What’s wrong, princess? Are you going to cum just from being a filthy whore? Does it feel that good knowing you're breeding yourself with my load? Mm, and it feels even better knowing that Yunho is watching you be my pretty little cum dump, huh?”

“S-so good, I might…ffffuck…” Once your heated gaze returned to your best friend, Yunho began to seize up at the same time as you, painting his plain black t-shirt with ropes of cum just as your milky release poured onto the tile floor below.

Wooyoung simply chuckled in amusement, before turning his head to face his longtime friend just in time to see him wiping thick streaks of cum off of his long, softened length. “Did you just bust a nut from watching Y/N try to impregnate herself?”

“Y-yes.” Blushing, Yunho adjusted his glasses out of habit, now that he wasn’t wearing his contacts, pulling at the sleeve of his hoodie now that his two favorite people were looking at him like they wanted to devour him.

“You’re just as dirty as she is.” Wooyoung smiled idly, positioning himself behind you so that your back pressed into his chest, slowly spreading you wide open for all three of you to see just how pink your soaked slit was. “Hey, Yun. You hungry?”

“Very,” your teammate replied quickly, licking at his lips, already finding himself on his knees before you, ready to start panting in true golden retriever fashion.

“You don’t mind if Yun eats out your pretty, cum-stuffed cunt, do you, baby?” Wooyoung asked you, leaning over to nip at your jaw, pinching your swollen clit just to hear the cute sound you made for him.

Just as you gave them the go-ahead, your teammate buried his face in between your thighs, appreciating how Wooyoung spread you open further with his thumbs, eagerly lapping at the milky liquid that slowly began to drip out of you.

“What a good puppy,” Wooyoung praised, growing hard and harder the longer he watched Yunho desperately slurp up the tangy mixture into his drooling mouth, slipping his cock in between your soft, sweaty thighs, appreciating the warmth they provided. “Do you like the way my cum tastes, Yun?”

“Tasches scho good, Woo,” Yunho replied with his mouth full, dragging his dripping tongue up and over your puffy cunt over and over, idly kneading his fingers into the sides of your thighs.

Groaning, Wooyoung began to fuck the tight space in between your thighs, the underside of his cock rubbing deliciously against your pussy, making you moan even louder than you were before. “You wanna taste it from the source, Yun? Huh? You want a taste of my cock?”

Yunho nodded quickly, having to push down his own stiff length from the way it was poking into his abdomen. Drooling, he watched how Wooyoung pulled you just a little farther back against his body, until Yunho had access to his friend’s leaking cock, immediately wrapping his lips around the reddened tip and noisily slurping on it.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Wooyoung moaned out, clutching one of your hips tightly, snaking the other one around your waist to begin flicking and rubbing your clit, looking down over your shoulder to watch his friend fervently suck and lick at his cock each time he thrusted himself between your closed, trembling thighs, a combination of his pre-cum and your wetness dirtying Yunho’s foggy glasses. “I’m gonna fucking cum all over your face, Yun. Gonna make Y/N squirt all over it too.”

“Give it to me, please…” he panted, dragging his tongue up from Wooyoung’s twitching tip, along your pulsing cunt, and up over your clit, licking fervently at it when Wooyoung lifted your hood up to expose it completely. Yunho was so desperate to chase his high, he almost didn’t register that he had begun to hump against your leg like a dog in heat, leaving streaks of sticky pre-cum on your skin.

“Good puppy, fuck, you’re such a good boy, Yuyu,” you praised your teammate whinily, desperately rubbing your cunt all over his tongue until your knees felt like they were about to buckle, Wooyoung’s veiny cock running along your slit from below sending you over the edge.

“Wet this puppy’s face with your squirt, baby. Now,” Wooyoung growled into your ear, biting on the side of it just as he roughly pinched your clit, thrusting forward in between your thighs one more time, only for his sensitive tip to be met with Yunho’s agile tongue, his eyes rolling back when his friend lapped over and into the slit.

Right as your arousal began to squirt onto Yunho’s flushed face, Wooyoung’s cock twitched up into your cunt, his hot load shooting out onto your teammate’s tongue, a few spurts landing onto his glasses.

When Yunho was about to cum from rubbing himself all over your leg, he suddenly didn’t have access to it, causing him to look up and whimper. Licking at the cum and squirt on his lips, his honey brown eyes widened at the both of you, his pupils blown wide.

Wooyoung had lifted up your trembling thighs so that they were pressed into either side of you, your body folded up like a paper doll, his hardened cock already slipping in and out of your soaking cunt. Chuckling at your breathless moans and whines, he dragged his tongue up and over your jaw, humming at the taste of your salty skin. “You’ve been waiting to get pounded like this, yeah? Because no one uses this pretty body like I do…huh? You’re so spoiled now.”

“It’s all your fault,” you gasped out in between moans, reaching your arm back to hold onto Wooyoung’s neck, turning your head so that your lips ghosted along the side of his panting mouth. “Please cum inside, Woo, please, I need it.”

Wooyoung squeezed his fingers into the underside of your thighs, bucking his hips roughly up into you. “God, I love when I turn you into my little breeding bitch.” He turned his head so that he could bite at your bottom lip, groaning, “Get ready to retire, baby. I’m gonna knock you up.”

Yunho thought he was going to lose his goddamn mind from witnessing the display of dominance and submission that was taking place directly above him. Wooyoung was completely controlling your body, ruthlessly fucking up into you, one hand tugging at your hair, the other wrapped around your neck, a small bulge routinely becoming visible within your lower abdomen with each thrust and every he made into your stretched cunt. It seemed like neither of you could even remember that Yunho was there, right below you, until he began to eagerly lick at the slick, milky space where your heated, sticky bodies routinely made contact.

You both moaned at the pleasurable sensation, your pulsing lower halves beginning to grow extremely heavy. “Yuyuuu, that feels so good,” you whimpered, angling your head down to gaze lovingly at Yunho, reaching your hand down to ruffle his sweaty hair.

Growling, Wooyoung grabbed you by the chin and shoved his tongue down your throat, forcibly bouncing you up and down on his cock. Your teary eyes never closed, and never left Yunho’s, even when you began to cum for Wooyoung, your release spilling out into your dear teammate’s open mouth and onto his lolled-out tongue. Just when Yunho thought he couldn’t get any harder, you began to cry out a cuter version of Wooyoung’s name once he really started to drill his pulsing cock into your sensitive cunt, the twinges of jealousy Yunho felt only contributing to his need to witness his friend unload himself into you.

Wooyoung pressed his forehead against yours, his sharp eyes boring into yours. “You look at me when you take my load, baby. I don’t care if your little boyfriend is watching me fuck you stupid,” he demanded, smacking his palm roughly into the side of your ass, making you squeak out in pleasurable pain.

“Yes, Youngie,” you breathed out, your eyebrows drawing closer once your bottom half began to grow heavier and heavier, not knowing if you were truly capable of cumming for the nth time.

“What a good girl…Open your mouth for me…” Sighing softly, he caught his dripping saliva on your tongue with his own and slid it into your open mouth, the both of you letting out muffled moans as he spilled inside you once again. He broke the sloppy kiss to look down over your shoulder, admiring how his load began to slip out past his softening cock, dripped down past his balls, and landed onto Yunho’s fucked-out face. He smiled darkly at the dried spurts of cum Yunho left on his t-shirt and stained sweatpants. “Baby, look at the mess puppy made…”

You licked at your lips, both you and Wooyoung just about devouring your teammate with your lustful gazes alone. “Oh, Yuyu. Look what you’ve done to yourself. Poor, sweet puppy just wants to feel good, doesn’t he?”

Yunho bit his bottom lip, looking up at the both of you with half-closed, watery eyes, completely at your combined mercy. “Y-yeah. More, please.”

You and Wooyoung exchanged lecherous glances, knowing neither of you would be able to stop, especially not when you had such a perfect new companion to play with. Despite all the odds, you and your rival had finally come to a truce, and, of course, came to the conclusion that you’d be tag teaming Yunho until you would have to get ready for softball practice the next morning.

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syd-djarin · 2 months ago

Text

nut vid with the sound on

frankie "catfish" morales x f!reader

You accidently send Frankie a text that he wasn't supposed to see.

~1.5k words

tags: EXPLICIT, accidently sending a screenshot meant for someone else, reader is feral (she just like me), sexting, mention of light choking, virtual mutual masturbation (m & f!), flirting, Frankie is a consent king!, dirtyyyy talk, voice notes, nudes, nut vid with the sound on, they're so horny for each other

this is my first Frankie fic and I've been thoroughly enjoying myself in the Catfish Pond ;) I hope y'all like the text format, I had fun writing it like this. special shoutout to my babe @almostempty !!! she matches my freak, feeds my delusions & sparks my horny thots. thank you for cheering me on and helping with the dialogue I love you LOTS <3333

consulted this page for spanish used :)

translations:

princesa - princess

tócame - touch me

que cosa/cosita mas linda - what a pretty/pretty little thing

mierda - shit

ay dios - oh god

hazme el amor - make love to me

banners by: @cafekitsune <3

smut below the cut, y'all know the drill!

Frankie: You coming tomorrow?

You: Yes, of course :)

Frankie: Good.

Bestie: bitch if you don’t make a move on fish

Bestie: It’s been months!!! Find out why they call him Catfish ;)

You: STOPPPP

You: you’re right tho I am dying to know

You: Wanna suck his dick til the skin falls OFF

You caption the screenshot of Frankie’s latest Instagram post and text it to your bestie who will appreciate your level of freakiness.

You continue your scrolling.

*ding*

Frankie: I don't think this message was meant for me, princesa.

Opening his text, you realize to your horror that you sent your thirsty thoughts TO Frankie. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuuuuuck!

You: shit, I’m SO so so incredibly sorry! Totally inappropriate and not cool. I definitely meant to send that to someone else. Totally exiling myself from the group.

Frankie: You meant to tell someone else that you wanna suck my dick til the skin falls off?

You: It wasn’t for you. Please forget you saw it. Please Frankie :(

Frankie: hell of a thing to send to someone. how am I supposed to forget the idea now?

You: Pretend. It was a mistake.

Frankie: a mistake? as in, you didn’t mean it?

You: Can we drop it?

Frankie: seemed pretty specific for a mistake. you got freaky with it

You: It doesn’t matter. It was stupid. Please let it go

Frankie: I don’t think I can, princesa

Frankie: not after imagining it

Frankie: You sent a whole screenshot, with a colorful caption attached. That's intentional.

If you weren’t so humiliated, you’d be giggling and kicking your feet in the air that he is calling you princess, but you can only assume he is being patronizing.

You: This is so fucking embarrassing.

Frankie: Not too embarrassed to keep texting though…

You: Frankie don’t

Frankie: You really think about me like that?

You: I think you already know the answer to that

Frankie: I do, but I wanted to hear it from you. This time directly to me

Frankie: I think about you

Frankie: All the time

You: Frankie, please.

You: I already feel terrible

Frankie: Never thought you’d see me like that. Now you’re telling me you’ve been thinking about my cock? and you want me to drop it?

You: Please don’t fuck with me. I’m already mortified beyond belief like I can’t show my face around here anymore!! I’m sorry I sent it okay?

You: I’ll skip the kickback if it's going to be too weird now.

Frankie: Wouldn’t be the same without you there. I’d never tell you not to come.

Frankie: If you really want me to drop it, I will. just say the word

Frankie: but you should know

Frankie: I think you’re gorgeous, hilarious, too fucking smart to be hanging out with us

Frankie: I lose my mind goddamn mind when I’m near you

Frankie: and knowing you’ve been thinking about me too has me hard as a fucking rock

You: Do you really mean that?

Frankie: Yes I do, baby. You have no idea what you do to me

You: Yeah? I might need some enlightenment.

There’s a pause. You brace for impact; that he is really pulling your leg and he and the guys are doubled over laughing at your expense.

Frankie: Might be better if you hear it straight from the Fish’s mouth

Frankie: Get it? Like horse’s mouth but it’s a fish instead

You: I hate to admit I did one of those huff exhales that you do when something is amusing but not quite funny enough to warrant a full laugh

Frankie: At least you smiled. That’s good enough for me

Frankie: Sending a voice note, is that okay?

You: Of course

Then the notification for a voice memo appears. Your fingers hover over the screen before you press play and Frankie’s low, gravelly voice spills into your ears.

“Bebita, you have no fucking idea how long I’ve wanted this. I’ve been yours since I first laid eyes on you…You’ve got me sitting here in my truck, trying to keep my shit together, but all I can think about is you on your knees for me. Told the guys I had to take a call… they’d give me shit right now if they knew… they’ve been ribbing me for months to ask you out but I was too chicken shit… way too pretty for me… definitely funnier and smarter than me, but you should know I’m not intimidated by that it's fucking hot… Fuck you’d look so good for me. I’d slide my cock into your mouth so slow, watch your lips stretch around me. You have the prettiest eyes and lips, you’d be heaven down on your knees for me…Shit, I’d lose my mind watching you take it. You’d look so pretty with your mouth full of me, baby. So fucking pretty.”

Frankie: Are you touching yourself? Tell me, pretty girl

You: And if I was?

Frankie: Good girl

Frankie: What are you thinking? How do you feel?

You: So so good, Frankie

You: Thinking about your big strong hands all over me has me drooling baby

Another voice memo appears. When you press play, there’s a groan—a low, throaty sound that makes your entire body shiver.

“You been thinking about my hands, princesa? Want me to hold those pretty tits with my hands, hmmm? Play with your nipples, massage them…maybe you’d like one of my hands gently pressing into the sides of your throat… if you’re into it of course!”

Frankie’s urgency to make sure you’re into that sort of thing makes you smile. The caring, thoughtful Frankie that you know.

“I am so hard for you– ay dios!…Thinking about you sitting on my face, trapped underneath your gorgeous thighs… make you come all over my face. Need you to make a mess on me… rub your pretty little clit on my nose, that’s why I have this big nose… so you can use it fuuuuuuuck…”

His voice grows rougher, more ragged. You can hear the slick, clapping sounds and his breathing. Heavy and uneven.

“Mierda, I’m so fucking close, wish you were here baby–unghhhhh… wanna feel you around me, your pussy squeezin’ my cock… make you come ‘til you’re begging me to stop… do whatever you ask me to…”

You: Show me. I want to see Frankie, please

Frankie: Wanna hear you say it in your pretty voice

Frankie: Let me hear you beg all sweet like for me and I’ll show you what you do to me

You: “Frankie ohhhhh baby I need you so bad… tócame, Frankie, por favor…Always think about climbing in your lap, running my hands through those— ahhhhhh!— curls, wanna feel how deep you get when I ride you… wanna feel you in my goddamn throat — fuck, can you hear how wet I am? I’m making such a mess oh my godddddd… never been this fucking wet baby…”

Frankie: babygirl you’re gonna be the death of me

Frankie: love your voice and the pretty sounds your pussy is making for me

You: can I send a video?

Frankie: no pressure. only if you’re comfortable with it 😘

You: that’s not what I asked, Francisco

Frankie: I know you mean business when you use my government name

Frankie: yeah baby i wanna see whatever you wanna show me

You: Attachment: 1 Video

“Hazme el amor, Frankie…”

Your legs are spread open, your core on display for the camera. He smiles thinking you probably had to find something to prop your phone on. You’ve got two fingers teasing in and out of your glistening pussy.

Frankie: que cosa cosita más linda

Frankie: You have the prettiest, messiest little pussy baby. Thank you for showing me. I can’t wait to taste her

Frankie: As promised, you want something in return for being such a good girl for me?

You: yes please 😇

Frankie: sound up 😘

Attachment: 1 Video

“Fuuuuuuck babygirl… see what you do to me… need to be close to you, need to feel you… make you feel good like you deserve… this is all for you, I am all for you baby…”

Frankie has his cock pulled out of his unzipped jeans, still in his truck, pumping himself. You admire the size and girth of him, so thick and gorgeous. You know the sting and stretch of him entering you for the first time will be delicious. It’s so hot knowing he had to slip away from the guy's night to relieve himself—couldn’t even wait til he got home.

“Been dreaming of you for months, always imagine you when I’m touching myself, you’re in all my thoughts baby… mierda I’m gonna come, fuck baby—unghhhhhh— gonna come so hard for you — ohhhhhhhh fuck…”

Thick ropes of cum drip down his hand, where he’s slowly riding out his high, breath heaving in exhaustion.

You: I think I just blacked out

You: I came so hard watching you fuck

Frankie: Such a good girl, baby. You did so good making yourself come

Frankie: Drink some water 😘

You: Thank you Frankie :) 🩷

You: chugging some water as we speak🫡

Frankie: that’s my girl

Frankie: get some sleep, I’ll be seeing you tomorrow 😘😘

BONUS: frankie's insta

tagging babes who might enjoy: @katiexpunk @evolnoomym @studioghibelli @joelmillerisapunk @joelslegalwhre @sanarsi @tightjeansjavi @milly-louise <3333

@pedrostories

#snail trail alert 🚨#frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales smut #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie fic #francisco morales #catfish morales x reader #frankie kitty destroyer morales #text fic #nut vid with the sound on #syd djarin fics #ppcu #pedro pascal characters #pedro stories

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spokenforyou · 2 months ago

Text

sylus x fem reader

PERSONAL TRAINER

synopsis: sylus is your new personal trainer, but he’s only a man with needs ;)

warnings: spanking, vulgarity, nsfw, dirty talk, f! oral receiving, mirror and wall intercourse, unprotected intercourse, cream pie

wc: 3k

[minors don’t interact… by choosing to interact with this content, you are consenting to view something that is not appropriate and nsfw despite warnings!]

Elevate your training.

You’ve recently hired a personal trainer for the gym, helping you get leaner and more toned. You’ve been working out for years, feeling empty without it. However, you figured it’d be nice to hire someone to help you elevate your training and take you to the next level.

Elevate your training, elevate your training.

While entering the gym, you chant manifestation forms. You’ve recently hired a personal trainer for the gym, helping you get leaner and more toned. You’ve been working out for years, feeling empty without it. However, you figured it’d be nice to hire someone to help you elevate your training.

You walk towards the automatic doors and greet the front desk woman before heading to your favorite section. Today was the day you met your trainer.

Only have been chatting through text to schedule when to meet, no idea who it is. But you know it’s a man.

You certainly could’ve been more comfortable with a woman, but he has good credits and reviews. Where you work out is exclusive and very expensive, so whoever you hired certainly has money and experience.

You put your bag in a locker and grab your water, heading to where the equipment is.

As you step foot inside, you scope the room for the mystery personal trainer. Seeing multiple men, you’re not sure who it may be until one locks eyes with you.

He has silver hair, what looks like being red eyes, sharp features, an insane body, and tall. At your height, he’d tower over you like a skyscraper.

Might as well see if this is who it is… You think to yourself as you walk over to him; he smiles as you do so, confirming it’s your trainer.

You stand in front of him and smile, “You’re Sylus, right? The personal trainer?” I look over his form, a black compression shirt hugging his muscles perfectly.

He nods “Sylus. You must be Y/N?”

You nod back and reach a hand out, his returning in your shake. Hands much bigger than your own, and what seems to be colder.

“I’m glad to be working with a personal trainer; I hope we can work well together.” You smile.

He smirks as he looks down at you. “Oh, I’m sure we will.” I don’t overthink his words, and I nod. “Let’s get started, yeah?”

Sylus leads me over to the mats, where he motions with his head. I step on them and look at him. “Stretches first, right?”

He nods, his gaze dropping to your body. Your light blue set contrasts perfectly with your tan skin, almost making you glow. He licks his lips and looks away, trying to keep professional.

You do some quick shoulder and arm stretches, before moving to your leg stretches, repeating both and ending with a neck roll.

“Good. Now today we’re gonna work on legs and glutes.” He smiles down at me. “Let’s start with a warm-up barbell hip thrust.” Sylus walks over to the hip bench and motions for me to sit down. I do as instructed, and he grabs the barbell, hovering it over my hips. My eyes follow his arms as he lowers it, setting a good weight on it.

He catches my eyes and smirks; “See something you like, sweetie?” I shake my head in denial and place my hands on the bar. Sylus only chuckles and pats your hip as he backs away.

“10-15 reps, go.” He stands as he watches me. I lift it with ease, my body accustomed to lifting. After about a minute and a half, I finish and lower myself back down to the floor.

“Good girl, now one more set.” Sylus smiles and you get back into position, pushing through a second set. You finish that one and he nods before pulling the barbell off you.

He has you run through lunges, cardio, deadlifts, and kickbacks. By the end of the exercises, you’re panting and nearly about to collapse. He’s certainly a damn excellent trainer.

Sylus watched you intensely, his red eyes never leaving your body as you pushed through every exercise. His gaze particularly stuck on your ass, the shape of them in your set, and how it moved. Occasionally he joined in on the workouts, just to keep you going and stare at you. He was star-struck.

“So, Y/N… Last thing I’m gonna have you do.” He speaks up as you down your water. You sigh, but know you have to finish.

“Yeah?” You look up at him as he stands before you, your eyes running over his face.

“Weighted squats. Think you can do it?” He has a grin on his face and you lift your brows.

“Not sure, but I can try.” You stand up from the bench you were sitting on, legs wobbling, and Sylus grabs you quickly. His hand rests around your waist as he chuckles.

“Here, let me help you, sweetie. I’ll help you with the squats, too.” You nod at his words and he walks you over to where the weights are.

Grabbing a 35-pound dumbbell, he places it in your hands and moves behind you. You breathe deeply as you hold it, the weight not being an issue, but your legs.

“15 reps sweetie…” He whispers in your ear, shivers running down your body. His words flow through you and you don’t even notice how he’s pressed himself against you, his hands on your hips.

“Sylus, what are you doing?” I turn my head to look at him.

“Gonna help you, now go.” He pats your hips and you immediately squat down, the dumbbell weighing you down. You pull yourself back up with an exhale and he rubs your hips before you repeat it.

You get through five reps before your legs wobble. Sylus catches on and moves even closer, his body now fully pressed against you. Feeling him, your eyes widen but you try to not pay mind to it, hoping to stay professional.

He smirks as he feels his growing arousal press against your back. Each time he squats with you, it rubs him the right way, increasing his need.

After three more reps, you finally speak. “Sylus, do you have something in your pocket or something?” At your words, he chuckles darkly.

“No, that’s just me, sweetie. Problem?” He wraps his arms around your waist, head sneaking down to your neck. He gently bites your ear lobe and you nearly drop the dumbbell on your feet.

“I…” is all you whisper out as he lowers the dumbbell to the floor; he kisses your neck gently, smiling against your skin.

“Sylus… There are people around.” My eyes flutter as I look around the gym, people scattered throughout as they exercise.

“So what? Let them see how bad I want you.” He practically growls against your neck, biting down on it. You let out a quiet whine and he smirks.

Sylus pulls away after leaving a few marks where he pleases, his eyes looking around the gym. “Mmm, on second thought…” He moves from behind you and takes your hand, dragging you to the bathroom. He finds a singular bathroom and allows you to step in; walking in behind you, he closes the door and locks it.

“Sylus, I don’t think.” He cuts you off by pushing you against the wall and kissing you hungrily. Your eyes widen and you flutter them shut as you accept him. Sylus smiles against your lips before he pulls your leg up to him; you wrap your arms around his neck and he lifts you with one arm.

Holding you in his grasp, his hardness presses against you through the fabric of his shorts, and he groans. Pulling his lips away from yours, he stares into your eyes.

“You’re so beautiful Y/N… I’m normally strictly professional, but fuck, I’ve gotta have you.” He chuckles and rubs his thumb along your thigh.

“You’re suppose you’re cute too.” You giggle, teasing him. Sylus lifts a brow and flashes a cocky smirk.

“You suppose?” He asks and grinds his hips up towards you to make you change your wording. “Hm?”

You giggle, and he hides a smile. “Yeah, I suppose. Seems like someone’s pretty excited?” Finishing your sentence, he grinds up against you again, pressing his face in your neck with a groan.

“Mmm, fuck… I need you so bad, wrapped around me.” Sylus bites down on your neck and you moan quietly.

“Have me.” You moan in his ear, the music in the gym playing loud enough to block our sounds out.

Sylus smiles against your skin before he sets you down, his hands immediately going to your sports bra, yanking it off. His eyes drop to your chest and he flutters his eyes before squeezing them together. Thumbs brushing against your nipples.

You let out a breathy whine, and he smiles down at you. “Everything about you is perfect.” He leans down and pulls you closer, his mouth attacking your breast, tongue swiping and swirling around your nipple.

“Sylus…” You moan and cover your mouth, the other hand tugging at his silver hair. Sylus pulls away and yanks your hand from your mouth.

“No baby, let me hear your pretty moans.” He whispers before biting your nipple.

“Sylus, people…” you whine and he chuckles.

“Sweetie… I own this gym, if they have a problem they can come to me.” Sylus purrs against you before switching to the other peak, giving it the same attention.

Your eyes widen, and now it all makes sense. Snapping you out of your thoughts, he kisses down your stomach and tugs your shorts down, the cold air giving you goosebumps.

“Lace panties for the gym? You had a feeling, hm?” He chuckles and kisses your clothed clit.

Rolling your eyes, you give him a playful smack to the cheek.

“No, shut up.” You giggle and he spreads your legs, pulling you off the wall a bit to access you more easily.

“I’d like to have you make me…” Sylus kisses up your legs until he reaches his destination. The smell of your vanilla lotion filling his senses, his favorite scent. He finally gets to the middle of your legs, his tongue licking a stripe up your panties, your breath catching in your throat.

He looks up at you before sliding his fingers along the sides and pulling them down your legs. You look down at him as he does so and you watch as his eyes nearly pop out of his head. He groans at the sight and runs his fingers along your wetness.

“All this for me?” Sylus whispers, his shorts tightening almost painfully. Crimson eyes meet yours and you nod. He rushes to you, tongue running along your folds.

“Ah…” Your eyes close shut and you moan quietly; he dives in deeper and focuses on your clit. His tongue worked expertly on you as you expected it would.

Sylus lifts a leg to rest on his shoulder so he can feel you deeper with his tongue, his groans vibrating against you, pushing you closer to the edge.

After about three minutes of his attention, you feel your legs shaking and he pulls away. You groan, holding back a whine as he stands back up.

“Sorry baby, as much as I want you on my tongue, I want you to cum on my cock even more.” He smirks and slides off his shirt, his muscles bulging and his abs catching your attention.

You run a hand along his body and he chuckles.

“Nice huh?” Sylus slides his shorts down, followed by his boxers, his leaking cock springing out. He smirks for the millionth time today and wraps a hand around his length, stroking it. You gasp under your breath.

“Sylus… Is it gonna fit?” You watch him and he moves closer to you, his length bobbing against your stomach.

“Mmm, we’ll make it fit, sweetie. Now where do you think we should do this?” He growls, running his hands along your sides.

“Against the wall should be fine?” You look down at his body once again and he nods, your stomach glistening with his pre-cum.

“Come here, then…” He squats down a bit and lifts you, your legs instantly wrapping around his waist. Holding you with one hand, he hovers you over his cock before rubbing the swollen head against you.

He groans and drops his head into the crook of your neck. Leaning back, he looks into your eyes and whispers, “Ready?”

You nod and breathe deeply to prepare yourself for the insane stretch to come. Sylus leans in and connects your lips as he lowers you down on him. Keeping your lips intact, you both gasp together before he lets out a long groan. The tightness squeezing him like a glove.

“Fuck Y/N…” He continues to slide into you; he finally bottoms out and holds you with two hands now as he waits for you to relax around him.

“Relax for me, baby… Breathe.” He kisses you gently and you finally loosen around him. “Good…” Sylus smiles softly and lifts you before sliding you back down. Letting out a string of groans, he presses you against the wall and bounces you.

“Sylus…” You let out the whiniest moan you’ve ever made. No man has ever made you feel so good and he knows that.

“Feels so good, baby. Made for me…” He moans and attacks your neck as he bounces you. Neither of us cares who hears us; all we care about is us, and how we feel together.

Sylus growls and pulls you off the wall, bringing you to the sink. He slides you off him with a groan and lets you down, spinning you to face the mirror.

He stands behind you and runs his hands along your body before placing a hand on your back and bending you. You let him lean you over and he slides back into your heat with ease and a new angle.

“Shit…” you both mutter and he pulls out enough to leave his tip in before slamming back inside you. Your eyes lock with his and he nods, hands cupping your breasts.

“Look at you… So cock drunk.” Sylus pulls his hand away before spanking your ass, leaving a red and stinging mark.

He picks up speed as he watches your expressions change and the moans fly out of your mouth.

“Anyone fuck you like this before?” He growls and you shake your head frantically. “Mmm, that’s what I thought. You’re mine now baby…” He spanks you again and feels his body heat.

“Fuck… I’m close.” He pulls you back up and stands you up, your back against his chest as he continues to thrust inside you. His enormous arms wrap around your stomach and he presses kisses to your neck.

“Me too…” You let out a whisper and he bites down on your neck, leaving a mark.

“Birth control?” He feels his orgasm quickly approaching, the squeezing of your walls not helping.

“Mmm…” You moan out, nodding and he feels a weight lift off his shoulders, not wanting to pull out.

“Cum with me, princess,” Sylus whispers in your ear and reaches down to circle your clit. Your back arches against his chest and he squeezes you as you cum. He finishes right after you, he moans your name, and you feel wetness slip out of you as he fucks you through your orgasms.

His cock kisses your cervix, begging for entry as he shoots inside your womb. Sylus’ arms lose their tight hold on you as he finally stills.

“Fuck…” You drop your head while you pant, his cock softening inside of you. He chuckles and lifts your head up and to the side so he can lock lips with you.

Sylus kisses you tenderly for about a minute before he pulls away, a string of saliva connecting the two of you. Quickly wiping your lip, he slides out of you with a groan.

Your eyes flutter and you clutch your stomach, missing the feeling of him. He chuckles, and he gets down onto his knees; your eyes widen as he moves his head between your legs. You feel his tongue wiping along your cum soaked pussy and you nearly collapse.

He cleans you with his tongue before standing back up and wiping his lips. “We taste so good together.” He smirks and leans in to kiss you once more, the taste of both of you on your tongue filling your body with warmth.

You pull away and chuckle. “You’re so filthy.”

He shrugs and nods; “Yeah, I am.” He then grabs your clothes and hands them to you. “You know… I’d like to keep you. I know we just met, but god you’ve already got me wrapped around your finger.” Sylus chuckles as he watches you slide on your clothes; he follows your movements.

“I’ve never fucked someone after meeting them. I’m never normally that type. So, I wouldn’t mind keeping you, either.” You giggle and put back on your shoes.

His heart warms at your words. He was never really the type to hook up with random people either, but there was something about you he couldn’t get enough of.

“Good, then it’s settled. You’re mine and I’m yours.” He pulls you closer as he finally slides on his shoes as well. “Now let’s pretend that we didn’t just fuck in here, yeah?” Sylus leads you to the door.

“Fuck it.” He looks down at you, your wide eyes looking up at him in horror as he opens the restroom door. Leading you out, no one even bats an eye; all busy working on themselves, and you let out a breath of relief.

“See, no one even noticed, now let me take you home.” Sylus smiles down at you and you grab your water bottle quickly before heading out of the gym.

“All mine…” He whispers, kissing your forehead in front of the receptionist as he leads you out.

“Yours…”

#lads sylus #lads x reader #lads smut #love and deepspace #smut #l&ds #l&ds sylus #lads #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x you #sylus x mc #sylus #sylus love and deepspace #lnds sylus #sylus smut #qin che

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sweetiecutie · 1 year ago

Note

GIRL WAIT WAIT WAIT-

"König is very envious. He envies people with higher position, people with better skills (even though these are rare ones)" what about a fem reader, who is exactly this?

Higher position, and better than him somehow??? For the event, please! What about some hatred sex, enemies to lovers maybe. He is attracted but drowning in envy.

Pairing: König x fem! sniper! Reader

Warnings: NSFW, mdni, König being a lil bitch

A/n: did I write this thing in 20 mins? Hell yes I did. Also, sorry it’s not exactly how you requested it, but well, I write whatever I want I guess. Referring to this post

Your Colonel hates you.

König hates you with blazing fierce, even despite the fact that it was him who hand picked you into his team, him who trained you hours to no end to make you into a perfect sniper. He loathes your mere existence, gritting his teeth at the sound of your voice greeting him every morning, your bright smile addressed at him.

At your young age of 23 you completed 26 missions as a sniper, every single one of them successful. You were a natural, truly. Your smaller size and flexibility were perfect for position of a sniper, making it way easier for you to hide, able to move from one spot to another without being noticed by enemy. And König loathed it. Why the fuck were you living his dream? Just because you were born smaller? Such an injustice.

And he trained you even harder; until your right shoulder was all bruised from the kickback of a rifle, until your eyes were sharper than eagle’s, until you instinctively felt where to shoot, considering weather conditions, to aim perfectly. König shaped your skills with great precision and sternness, making a shiny diamond out of rough rock.

And sometimes König hated himself for treating you so unjustly. It wasn’t your fault that you were small, nor was it his fault that he was so huge. You were always so sweet and polite, never once talking back, no matter how harsh his words and actions were. You always treated König with respect that was borderline childish awe, taking in his every word, complying with his every demand. And he adored you for that.

Adoration on a verge on hatred - how unhealthy. You seemed to be perfect - too perfect, and König wanted to break you down, to make you look horrible, to open you up and take a look at all the disgusting things that you were hiding within so skillfully. Everyone had a bad side, right?

And that’s why he called you into his office, bending you over his desk, fucking his huge throbbing cock into your welcoming heat. Velvety walls clamped down onto his hard length desperately as you fought back all the pretty moans that threatened to fall from your lips. You way smaller body plunged forward slightly with each of König’s ferocious thrusts, your plump ass rippling at the impact of his hips against it, back arching oh so beautifully. And that’s when König finally realized.

It was him who was the fucked up one.

All this time, König believed it was your fault - that you stole his dream, taunted him with your excellent skills, teased him for failing his career as a sniper. And that moment he realized that you were the sweetest creature out there, basically worshipping your harsh and mean Colonel who treated you so harshly, who expanded your mind and abilities even further.

And König was just a pathetic envious piece of shit.

His movements halted as he watched from behind your ribs move as you breathed rapidly; he couldn’t see your face, but he noted that your ears were a few shades redder; your small hands were clinging to the shiny surface of his desk, trying to find some grounding with little success. König crouched over, resting his forehead on the table next to your head, his nose buried into the dip between your neck and shoulder, inhaling lungfuls of your sweet scent through dense fabric of his balaclava.

One of your trembling hands came to cup side of his head, rubbing it soothingly - your movements were a bit awkward due to your positioning, but sweet nevertheless. How could you be like this? Despite all harsh treatment you received before, mean words and actions, you still were so sweet with him.

- I’m sorry, - König murmured quietly, placing a kiss on your shoulder. His mouth was still covered by black balaclava, but you understood what he meant to do. - I’m so sorry.

- It’s okay, - you uttered, you voice shaky and small, arousal muddling up your thoughts.

You wriggled your hips impatiently, prompting your Colonel to move. And he complied, wringing one mind blowing orgasm out of you after another, throwing you around the table however he pleased, trying to make amends for all of his bitching to you.

Surely, it was not enough to pay you off for his horrible behavior, but König try his hardest to make it up to his sweet little sniper<3

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hederasgarden · 5 months ago

Text

Under the Influence - Part 1

Summary: While investigating a suspicious pharmaceutical company, you and Clark find yourselves exposed to a drug that forces you to grapple with its unforeseen consequences. Pairing: Clark Kent x F!Reader Word Count: 3.9K Warning: 18+ only, explicit sexual content. Dubious consent (reader and Clark are exposed to sex pollen), unprotected PIV, size kink, biting, angst and other untagged themes. A/N: Thank you @ryebecca @clairewritesandrambles and @a-reader-and-a-writer for holding my hand through this and Becca for beta’ing!

Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Masterlist ♡ Henry Cavill Characters Masterlist

It’s late, and the glittering skyline of Metropolis stretches out beyond the windows of the Daily Planet. The usual hum of activity in the bullpen is absent tonight – it’s just you, Clark, and an intimidating stack of boxes that seem to multiply with every passing minute. You may have indulged in a daydream or two about Clark just like this, but none of them ever involved so much paperwork.

You stifle a yawn, reaching for your coffee, only to nearly choke when you realize it’s gone cold. Grimacing, you set the offending mug aside and try to wash away the stale taste with water. The sound catches Clark’s attention and pulls him from his work. He offers you a wiry smile that you return, struck once again by just how handsome he looks. He makes it all too easy to have a crush on him, even though you know it wouldn’t go anywhere.

“I’ll put on a fresh pot,” he offers, stretching as he stands.

Despite shedding his suit jacket earlier, and the way his tie is slightly askew, he still manages to look annoyingly chipper despite the late hour. You lean back to pass him your mug, your stiff muscles protesting. They ache from hours of sitting and sorting.

“Back in a jiffy,” he promises, disappearing down the hall.

By now, the two of you have been hunched over documents for nearly ten hours. Half of them are so technical they might as well be gibberish, but you’ve found a few leads in the financial papers. Unfortunately, your current stack of documents is so heavily redacted that they’re practically useless. You groan in frustration, resting your forehead on your arms until Clark returns, bringing the rich, intoxicating aroma of freshly brewed coffee with him.

You accept the mug with a smile but quickly set it on the table when the warmth that seeps through the ceramic nearly burns your fingers. Not for the first time, you wonder how Clark managed to get the ancient coffee machine to percolate so quickly. For everyone else, it typically spewed out lukewarm sludge.

“Bet you're regretting volunteering for this assignment now,” Clark says.

“Not for a moment,” you reply. “You’re still sharing that byline with me, right?” You question, squinting up at him.

“I always keep my promises,” he says with such earnestness that you’re reminded once again why Perry liked to call him a Boy Scout.

“I’ll hold you to it because this story’s turned into a beast.”

Clark sighs, resting his hands on his hips as he surveys the cluttered table strewn with file boxes and paper. “It really has,” he agrees.

When Perry called for a volunteer from the pool of junior editors to help with an expose on Salvation Pharmaceuticals, you jumped at the opportunity and not just because Clark was the writer assigned to the story. Most of your days were spent copyediting stories and arguing about AP style. You were just itching for some hands-on research experience, although neither of you expected the thread Clark pulled to unravel so quickly or so thoroughly.

What started as an investigation into government kickbacks and dubious congressional dealings rapidly evolved into something far more unsettling. Salvation Pharmaceuticals’ R&D department was embroiled in deeply questionable research, from a gas capable of erasing memories to a potent drug they called a truth serum. All of their drugs had horrible side effects, particularly the latter which worked by lowering inhibitions but also triggered something they called sexual psychosis.

Clark’s freedom of information request resulted in your current predicament. Based on the sheer number of boxes they sent it was clear the company hoped to overwhelm you with an avalanche of data and make it difficult to find what you needed. Unfortunately for them, Clark Kent was one of the most determined reporters you’d ever met. If anyone was going to get to the bottom of the story it was him.

“Well…once more unto the breach,” you quote, holding up a fresh box of files.

As you lift the lid, Clark offers you a small smile, his cheeks dimpling. For a moment, you’re too distracted by him to notice the cloud of yellow dust rising from the box. It quickly expands, swirling into a thick mist that engulfs you both. Immediately, your lungs begin to burn, and you gasp for air. You push your chair back and struggle to stand as your vision blurs.

A strong arm around your middle hauls you back, dragging your feet on the carpet. Clark pulls you to the edge of the room, and you lean into him, desperately trying to clear your lungs. Behind you, he grunts, his fingers twitching and spasming against your hip. It takes several moments for the air to clear, but when it does, you watch in horror as the yellow dust seems to melt into your skin.

“What was that?” You ask, voice hoarse.

Clark is silent and looks grim when you turn to face him. “I think that was the truth serum. The reports described it as yellow dust.”

You stare at him, bewildered. “Why would the dust be in there?”

“I don’t know. But I can guess.”

You rub your chest and take a hesitant step back. “I don’t feel any different. Do you?”

“No.” He presses his lips together, a muscle in his jaw twitching with tension. “Do you feel anything?”

You exhale slowly, taking stock of your body. “Maybe?” Your response is more of a question than a definitive answer. You feel oddly warm, but it could just be the adrenaline from the situation.

“You’re sweating,” he observes, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. The warmth of his touch makes you shudder and you can’t help but notice how good he smells. “Your body temperature is elevated.”

“Huh?” You look up at him, momentarily lost in his gaze. “You’re hot, too,” you blurt out, mortified when the words leave your mouth.

“I feel fine,” Clark replies, either misunderstanding what you meant or choosing not to acknowledge the slip.

You step away from him, feeling your body buzz with embarrassment. Sweat dots your brow, and you’re halfway out of your thin cardigan before you even realize it. As you pace the room, you realize Clark might be right — the powder could be affecting you. You try to shake off the disorienting feeling that lingers, while Clark tracks your progress with sharp blue eyes.

“Should we call someone? Isn’t there a protocol for dealing with mysterious powders?” It’s difficult to think straight when your body feels like a furnace. “Clark?” You question.

His nostrils flare but otherwise, he doesn’t respond until you say his name again. “Yeah. There’s uh, an anthrax protocol. Perry’s got it in his office.”

Time seems to progress in strange lurches and lulls as you wait for Clark to return. You’re not sure how long he’s gone, each minute dragging as the heat within intensifies and your thoughts become increasingly muddled. There’s a growing pressure in your stomach too, something that radiates down. It’s not exactly painful, but it’s persistently irritating — a prickling feeling that needs to be soothed.

“I made the call,” Clark announces, reappearing. “They said it’ll be 30 minutes until they get here with everything they need. We just have to sit tight.”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. If it really was the truth serum, and you’re starting to believe Clark might be right, there’s no telling what might come out of your mouth. Even now, as you pace back and forth, you feel a pressure under your tongue, as though the words are lurking just beneath the surface, eager to spring out. The last thing you want to do is reveal your stupid little crush on him.

“God, it’s hot,” you muttered, staring at the window. You press your palms to the glass. It’s cool to the touch and you lay your forehead against it, almost moaning in relief. You wish you could strip off your dress and melt into the floor.

“Here.” Clark’s voice is closer than you expect.

You flinch at the feel of his hand on your lower back but let him turn you around to face him. He presses a glass of cool water to your lips, and you grasp his thick wrist as he urges you to drink it all, your gaze never leaving his. The moment you finish your mouth feels dry and your throat itches.

“You have the bluest eyes,” you whisper. “You shouldn’t hide them behind your glasses.” You reach for them, but Clark stops you with a gentle hand on yours. Embarrassment rushes under your skin, and you draw back. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s happening.”

“It’s the drug.”

“Why aren’t you affected?” You question. “You seem fine.”

“My biology is different from yours,” he says almost absently only to freeze a second later. He presses his lips together and clenches his jaw. For the first time since you met him, Clark looks genuinely unsettled. “The reports said it affected women quicker,” he adds before stepping back.

Your hand falls limply to your side as you watch him. Clark tugs at his already loosened tie, stretching his neck with an audible crack. A dark red flush creeps up his cheeks, making the skin around his eyes glow faintly. He squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a harsh breath through his nose.

“Maybe I should wait in the other room,” he grits out.

“Yeah,” you agree.

Clark barely takes a step towards the door before a sharp, unexpected wave of searing pain rips through your stomach, sending you crashing to your knees. The impact jolts your entire body, but that discomfort is overshadowed by a deep gnawing ache between your legs. You pitch forward onto all fours, struggling as your cunt flutters around nothing.

“Oh,” you whimper, terrified as your mind recalls the adverse event report for the truth serum with perfect clarity.

Following an increase in basal body temperature, patients exposed to the drug exhibit symptoms of full-blown sexual psychosis. This condition necessitates achieving climax to alleviate symptoms. Patients who are unable to reach climax experience a marked increase in heart rate and blood pressure, which in some cases progresses to cardiac arrest.

Every muscle in your body tenses, as a fierce, relentless pressure builds. Then, like the tide, it recedes, leaving you curled into a ball on the floor. Through half-closed eyes, you meet Clark’s gaze. He kneels in front of you and his expression mirrors your anguish.

“Clark….”

“I know,” he says quietly. His hands hover at your shoulder for a moment before he finally helps turn you on your back.

None of this feels real; it’s like a twisted wish gone wrong.

“Help me, please,” you cry, the words escaping in broken sobs. You’re too hysterical to feel ashamed about what you’re asking him to do. Details from the report keep replaying in your mind, fueling your terror. You don’t want to die.

Clark looms over you, a sheen of sweat on his brow. You stare up at him, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as the pain in your core pulses and builds. The ache in the body is all-consuming, overriding everything else. Worse is the feeling of emptiness that you know he could fill.

“Please.” Your voice fizzles out as a strong wave of pain slams into you. It leaves you reeling and disoriented. You claw at his arms, fingernails digging into his skin.

“I’m going to help you.” He says, his gaze lingering on you as he runs his tongue along his bottom lip. “If-if you want me to,” he adds, and a hysterical laugh bubbles up inside you. Of course you do, you’ve dreamed of him since the day you met him in the breakroom. You just never imagined this.

When another cramp leaves you panting and desperate you grit out a pained, “Yes.”

His large hand encircles your calf, gently but firmly pulling your legs apart so he can kneel between them. The cool air makes you groan and you try to curl in on yourself again, but Clark pins you to the floor easily. With shaky hands, he drags your dress up to expose your simple black underwear. The sight seems to transfix him and you watch his chest rise and fall with quick, shallow breaths that mimic your own.

“I have to ah, I have to…” He closes his eyes, inhaling deeply. When he shakes his head his glasses fall down his nose. “I need to get you ready.”

“I don’t care,” you sob. “Fuck me, please.”

Somewhere in the back of your mind, the part that's still you, is horrified by your words. You’ve never spoken to anyone like that, let alone a colleague or the man you have a crush on. But you know with a terrifying certainty that if he doesn’t fuck you, you’ll both die.

“It’s okay,” he soothes, the calm tenor of his voice betrayed by the way his hand trembles against your thigh. He tears off your underwear with an ease that would give you pause if you were in your right mind.

Shame is a thing of the past as you spread your legs even further, allowing his hungry gaze to drink its fill. He parts your folds and draws two fingers through the wetness gathered there, starting with light, teasing strokes that quickly build to more. When his thumb finds your bundle of nerves, he rubs slow, soothing circles until the pain in your stomach eases a fraction.

“You’re doing good,” he encourages, sounding breathless. “Doing so good for me, honey.”

You moan his name and he shifts closer, bent forward to watch himself work. Soon one kind of pressure recedes and another begins. You gasp, throwing your head back as Clark continues his slow assault, building in its intensity. When your legs thrash his other hand settles on your hip, holding you still as he works a thick finger inside. Your cunt clenches in response to the intrusion. Above you, he groans and his thumb moves faster.

“More, oh god I need more,” you beg, keening when Clark pushes a second finger inside.

The stretch of them both burns but that’s eclipsed by the pleasure you feel. You rock forward, trying to take more of him but he doesn’t let you, controlling the pace. You can hear yourself babbling, nonsensical words streaming from your mouth as he draws you closer and closer to your orgasm until, all at once, it overwhelms you completely. Your orgasm is almost painful and your hands curl into fists, your body contorting in response. The room blurs around you, and every fiber of your being is consumed by the relief you feel.

When it passes you’re left trembling on the floor, avoiding Clark’s gaze. He hovers over you, his arousal hard to miss with the way it tents the front of his gray slacks.

“Clark.” You touch his chest, inhaling when his dark blue eyes snap up to meet yours. “Do you…”

You can’t even force yourself to say it now that you’re back in your right mind. Clark shakes his head, withdrawing his fingers. You wince, and he looks pained.

“We should —” he starts, but whatever he is about to say is abruptly cut off as he grunts and hunches forward, a visible shudder running through him.

Hesitantly, you reach out and touch his face. When your fingers brush over the curve of his cheek he moans and surges forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that steals your breath. He forces his tongue inside and the heat of him is almost unbearable. You push at his shoulder, but he doesn’t relent. His hands travel up and down your sides and you feel that familiar pressure return to your core. It builds slowly, like the spark of an ember that will soon flare into a blazing fire.

You shift under Clark, drawing your legs up as he swallows down your needy whine. By the time he pulls away, you’re feeling dizzy and gasping for breath.

“We need to,” you begin, squeezing your eyes shut as your body trembles.

“I know,” Clark replies.

He fumbles with his pants and you look up at the ceiling as he pulls himself free. It feels like a violation to look, but without your permission, you find your gaze drifting down. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of his cock, just as big and thick as the rest of him. It’s red and weeping. Your cunt aches, and you toss your head side to side, trying to dispel the pain.

Clark plants a hand near your head while he lines himself up between your thighs. He pushes inside slowly. It hurts, god, it hurts, but you need more of him, and you need it now. Wrapping his tie around your hand, you pull hard, urging him closer. He snaps his hip forward with enough force to jar your bones, and you wail in response. For one blissful moment, everything is quiet. Your buzzing mind and aching body are finally filled in a way they’ve been craving.

“Fuck.” The curse falls from Clark’s lips and brings you back to the moment. “You feel so good. You feel…” he trails off, his words bleed into one long, low moan that has you clenching around him.

Above you, his handsome face contorts, his lips pressed tightly together. Tension lines the muscles of his jaw and his dark brows furrow in an expression that teeters between ecstasy and pain. Pleasure skitters along your nerves as he drives into you over and over again to reach some unknown place hidden deep inside. Your second orgasm rises to the surface just as swiftly as your first and Clark is relentless as he fucks you through it.

There isn’t even time to catch your breath before his hands encircle your hips and he leans back, drawing you with him. The backs of your thighs drag over the fabric of his slack as he moves your body to meet his thrusts. As one orgasm fades you feel another spring to life, hastened by the feel of his calloused thumb on your clit. The need inside you burns even brighter, and a litany of desperate pleas spills from your lips.

“You feel,” he pants, “just like I imagined.”

When you gasp his name he curls his body over yours, the new angle allowing him to move even deeper. You hold onto his biceps and listen to the desperate little noises that escape his chest with each thrust. His lips find the soft skin of your throat as his fingers dig into the neckline of your dress. He pulls hard and buttons scatter, giving him access to your shoulder. Teeth scrap over tender flesh and your back arches as another orgasm blooms in your stomach.

Waves of pleasure ebb through your body and your fingers tangle in the thick hair at the nape of his neck. Clark doesn’t falter even when you fall still beneath him. Your muscles ache, and your body feels tense and exhausted, but that frenzied need that’s driven you since the dust melted into your system slakes away until you’re left feeling everything. Guilt and horror fill your body like sand, weighing you down.

Clark groans and you realize he’s still in the throes of the drug's effects. The ceaseless rhythm of his hips has turned painful and your insides feel raw. You push at his shoulder but he doesn’t even seem to notice, hitching your leg over his waist to push himself deeper.

He shudders, gasping, “like that, just like that.” Then his teeth sink into your neck and he finally stills.

Tears leak from the corner of your eyes as your breath comes in short little sobs, your heart fluttering in your chest. After a few moments, Clark stiffens and you know he’s come back to himself. He shifts, slipping out of you with a quiet exhale. You can’t stifle your whimper of pain and his gaze jumps to you. For a moment you stare at each other and the silence is deafening. Then he passes a trembling hand over his lips and rocks back, moving to his feet in a fluid motion. He turns from you to tuck himself away and runs a hand through his curls.

You sit up slowly, drawing your knees to your chest while you hold the fabric of your dress together in an attempt to give yourself some dignity. It’s almost laughable after what just happened. Clark says your name and you stare at his outstretched hand. After a moment of hesitation, you take it and he pulls you to your feet. When he drops his jacket over your shoulders you feel a swell of gratitude. You let him guide you to a chair, wincing when you sit. Everything feels raw and tender.

He clears his throat. “The response team is downstairs.”

“Okay,” you say numbly.

“I’m…I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

You want to tell him it’s okay, that it’s not his fault, but the words catch in your throat. All you get out is his name. Nothing about this is okay. How could it be?

You wait together, Clark standing half a step ahead of you while you stare at his broad shoulders, lost in thought. He’s the one to greet the men and women in hazmat suits. You don’t catch everything he says, but his eyes drift back to you as he speaks. Before long, you’re separated, and the last image you hold onto is his hair tousled from your fingers and his wrinkled, untucked shirt.

From there, everything becomes a blur; moments merge into a disjointed sequence — being herded into a decontamination shower, the uncomfortable scratch of paper scrubs against your sensitive skin, a distressing medical exam, and then the questions. Endless questions bring back the haze of disjointed memories you’re struggling to process.

By the time you’re allowed to leave, the first rays of light filter through the windows of the bullpen. You watch the soft golden glow and listen to the faint chirping of birds. The city is waking up, bustling to life as it always does, but you feel disconnected from it all until you step into the elevator and turn to find Clark standing there.

He halts the doors from closing, his sad, mournful eyes meeting yours. A powerful wave of emotion rises in your throat as the weight of his guilt and your embarrassment settles inside you like a stone. There’s so much you want to say, so much that needs to be said, but it’s overshadowed by a deep ache in your chest. You feel so lost and unsure, terrified about what lies ahead that tears spill from your eyes, hot and unchecked.

Clark exhales softly and steps back, but just before the doors close, he whispers your name. In that moment, everything else fades away — it’s just you, him, and all the unspoken words that linger between you.

Then, he’s gone and you’re left utterly alone.

♡

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#clark kent x reader #clark kent x you #clark kent #henry cavill #superman x you #superman x reader #superman #man of steel

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cottonconnielvr · 2 years ago

Text

❥MONDAY — c. springer

seven days a week.

PAIRINGS ✩ — plug!connie x fem!black!reader

WARNINGS ✩ — both are under influence, spitting, usage of 🍃, hair pulling if you squint, fuck idk i suck at warnings just smut at the end leave me alone i can’t deal rn + i’ll come back to edit

CONNIE has been unfocused more than usual. He has high energy usually and is bouncing from task to task but today, he can’t seem to grasp reality.

“Bro is you good?” Onyankopon says in between a laugh. He had been calling Connie’s name for about a minute. Connie looked up from the counter, multiple packs of weed sitting on the counter. Ony was looking back from his spot on the cream colored couch, his dark green tracksuit making him stand out.

“…Yeah” Connie nodded his head at him, continuing to place weed on a scale. “Yeah ight…i’ve been calling your name” Ony walks around to the kitchen island. “Well I didn’t hear you” Connie snaps back at him.

Ony smacks his teeth, bucking at Connie. “Yo sassy ass be around Sasha too much”. Connie shook his head. “You remember that one drop we did at Marco’s yesterday….” Connie suddenly brings up.

Ony looks up, thinking back to the previous day. The party was big, he gave a couple college girls a 3.5 then left by himself. “Yeah…why?” Ony asked in confusion, now wondering if something happened to make him bring it up. Ony and Connie were like brothers, they had committed to this game together. They protected each other all the time.

“Do you remember seeing Sasha with a girl wearing pink beside her?” Connie specifies, thinking back to his first time spotting you.

“Yeah you talking about Y/N?” Connie nods his head, Y/N

“What about her?”

“Nothing, jus asking” Connie lies to Ony. There was something. Connie’s mind had been suffocated by the thought of you. He remembers how you smiled at everyone Sasha introduced you to. He also remembered how you looked up into his eyes, yours red and low.

He told you his name and you told him his– atleast he thought you did. The music was playing so loud he didn’t hear you. But that was the last thing he was worried about, he was focused on the way you were staring him down.

Since he woke up this morning he’s been thinking about the mystery girl who sucked the soul out of him. The mystery girl who’s pussy was the wettest and warmest he’s ever been in.

He cried everytime he came that night, that’s never happened before. He hoped you didn’t notice, not wanting to creep you out. He also wondered if you enjoyed it as much as he did, and if you were thinking about this particular hookup all day as well.

He’s never felt anything like you before. You had to be a crystal bitch or somethingggg like pussy putting spells onna nigga🫃🫃

He just hopes he can meet you again, for a proper introduction.

❥

You sip on your Starbucks Frappuccino, two small Tiffany and Co. bags in your other hand. You were walking down a shopping outlet, deciding to spend your free time shopping. For the past couple of days, you’ve been straight partying. The most recent one was a bit memorable though. You were pretty cross faded and had some of the best sex in your life. You couldn’t exactly remember who it was with though. He was wearing light blue and white, you can accurately remember. Tattoos all over and he smelled amazing. But his name?…..can’t exactly remember that one. You just brushed it off though, maybe he’ll come around again but you weren’t worried.

Your phone started to vibrate in your back pocket. You grabbed it before reading the contact name, ‘Sash🫶🏾🤍’

You pressed the green icon, Sasha’s face appearing on the screen. “You gotta come to this kickback” She says before you can speak.

“Girlll, i’ve been out for days. I think I still have a hangover” You whined, looking up at the Coach sign before walking in. “Well it’s not like an actual kickback. Jean is just throwing a get together,” You sighed, looking down at Sasha as she was munching on some chips. “Pleaseeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!! It’s gonna be like fifty people max” She pleaded, bringing her face super close to the camera.

“Okay fineee,” You groan, sipping the last of your Frappuccino. “What’s the dress code?”

“Mmmm… sexy casual” Sasha nodded her head. “Kk, I’m gonna finish up shopping babe. Send me the addy” You said your goodbyes before hanging up.

❥

Connie laid back on Jean’s couch manspreading. He had a blunt in one hand, the other resting on the couch. He had no tasks for the rest of the day and decided on stopping by Jean’s, a mutual friend.

His eyes were already red and low, he could start to feel his munchies kick in. He smoked the last of the roach before putting it out. There’s a good amount of people here. Maybe about 30 or 40.

Some people smoking hookah in the corner, some outside just chatting. The vibe was calmer than what the house parties he usually attends are.

“Ay Con!” Connie looks back from his spot on the couch. “Come take a shot!” Eren called him over,holding up a shot glass. Connie wasn’t much of a drinker but did every once in a while. It simply wasn’t for him. Standing up and walking over to the island, he hears a familiar voice speaking from the door.

“Wowwww shots without us?!” Sasha walks over from the door, you trailing behind her. Connie can feel his heartbeat pick up. It’s you. Your now standing infront of him, looking 10x more stunning.

“Y’all remember Y/N” Sasha gestured to you while snatching the bottle from Eren.

“Hey” You flashed a smile that made Connie jr harden just a bit. Your eyes wandered around the room. Not too many people, but enough for you to have to raise your voice a little if you’re trying to have a conversation.

Your eyes stopped on a pair that were only staring right back at you. You could feel your breath hitch. Holy shit no way

❥

The night has been filled with pure tension. Sexual tension at that. You’ve come to find out that ,mystery boy with a huge dick, name is actually Connie. The entire night he’s had his eyes on you, both of you keeping eye contact. A part of you kept wanting to look back from your spot on the couch. You’d only immediately find his eyes. It was as if you were silently conversing. You both wanted more of eachother, but how do you approach your “one” night stand asking for just another round.

“Imma go get a refill” You say to Jean, passing him the hookah. He nodded before continuing to converse with Sasha.

You walked into the kitchen, holding your red cup in one hand. Much to your surprise, Connie was the only one in the kitchen. He was sitting on the counter, his head down and all his attention focused on the blunt he was currently rolling.

You walk over to where all the bottles were, Connie’s head immediately lifting as he gets a whiff of sweet perfume. You smile to yourself when you feel his stare on you. You pour a little hennessy in your cup before turning around.

Connie’s looking at you with his eyes low and redder than before. You keep eye contact with him as you sip from your cup. Your gloss staining your cup.

Connie watches you closely, focusing on every single detail about you. He’s wondering what makes you so different from any other girl he’s been with.

“Why aren’t you with everyone else?” You decide to speak first, breaking the ice. Connie can feel his dick twitch at the sound of your voice, a slight rasp from the burning of the alcohol.

Your thighs clench together as you watch Connie lick his lips. “Shit…..guess I was waiting for you to come to me.” His voice coming out low and deep.

The tension in the kitchen is so high right now, even Ony who’s sitting on the couch can feel it.

A lazy smile breaks out on your face, Connie’s too as he licks the blunt. His eyes never look away from yours, dragging his tongue across the wood. You can even see his tongue piercing that was deep in your pus-

“Mhmm, well i’m here now so…” You trail off, walking a bit closer to him. You can smell his cologne from where you stand. Your intoxication was making this no better for you, as well as the PartyNextDoor that’s playing in the background.

You watch as Connie lights his blunt. He brings it to his lips before puffing twice, just to make sure it’s lit. He sucks in a breath before blowing the smoke out. He reaches his hands out, holding out the blunt to you.

You hesitate before moving closer, taking it from him. You reach for a napkin to wipe your lipgloss off but Connie only grabs your wrist. “You don’t have too, i’m okay with it”

“Oh…okay” You bring the blunt up to your lips, the smoke immediately making you cough. “God damn, strong ass…” You can’t finish your sentence through a fit of coughs. Connie lightly laughs as he reaches to grab an unopened water bottle on the counter.

You could already feel like you were baked off of just one hit, your eyes looking a little sleepy. “I’m already high what the fuck…” You blinked up at Connie.

“I guess i’m just used to it” He hits it again. “You’re literally smoking the devils lettuce. That shit came straight from hell” You take a gulp of water.

Connie could tell you were a lot less tense. For some reason you trusted him like a lot… even though you’ve never had a full conversation with him.

“I enjoyed last night a lot” You lean against the counter, head tilting. You know that you’re being bold all of a sudden but fuck, this man was too fine.

Behind his faux chill demeanor, Connie was freaking out. He wanted to feel you again. He never wanted you to stop talking and he could look at you for hours.

“Yeah, me too” He’s fighting his anxiety, trying not to seem to excited to be talking to you. He was praying, even crossing his toes that he would be able to get another look at your naked body.

You bit on your lower lip, contemplating on whether or not you should keep making the moves.

“I’m gonna…go to the bathroom” You trail off, not giving Connie another word before walking off with your cup.

Connie almost jumps off the counter, fighting the urge to throw his rolling tray to the side and follow you right to the bathroom. He wanted you to keep talking to him. Connie watched you walk up the stairs, he couldn’t miss this opportunity.

❥

“Fuck, talk to me mama” Connie breathes into your ear, your hair roughly tangled around his fist. You can feel him in your stomach, punching your cervix over and over.

“Ah-mmph..I can’t” Your hands hold onto the sink, grasping it harder than you can grasp reality.

Connie feels a bit bad that he wishes he didn’t have on a condom right now, wanting to feel you raw.

“Yes you can, you are now —fuck— aren’t ya?” Connie taunts you, his hand reaching down to rub your clit. “I don’t want p-people to hear” Your head rests on Connie’s shoulder.

“Why not? Don’t want anyone to know how much of a slut you are?” Your eyebrows furrow, you were pretty sure you saw tears falling down Connie’s eyes the first time you hooked up. You clenched around him purposely, earning a whine from him.

“Oh i’m a slut?” You lifted your head back up to look at him in the mirror. You used Connie’s vulnerable state to push him off of you, giving him no time to be confused before you drop to your knees.

“What the– fuck” Connie groans out. You watch as this grown man literally slaps his hand over his mouth. Your tongue runs up his cock, licking up all your wetness. You rise up, peeling Connie’s hand off of his mouth. He watched you intently. You squished his cheeks together before spitting your wetness in his mouth.

A part of you feels really really slutty. No man has really made you feel like this. Yeah sure you wanted him but you wanted him to chase after you, not the other way around.

You watch Connie swallow with no hesitation. “You’re cool and all Connie, but I don’t even know you. It’ll take a little more than a blunt.” You watch Connie’s mouth open agape.

He was very very confused. He thought you wanted him just as bad as he wanted you. You let him eat you out before letting him put his dick inside you. Then you suddenly stop him? What the fuck-

“Just letting you know, i’m a bit expensive” You fix your clothes and hair in the mirror.

“Bye Connie” You sweetly say, before exiting the bathroom, leaving Connie with a rock hard erection.

“Fuck i’m too high for this” Connie face palms himself. No way he just let a girl edge him.

@getoscrybaby @ginger4sugar @cybercandy1 @rintcrous @conniesministallion @junevenile @yourrfavzxri @reinerszn @lowkeysumgyall @nerdiel-has-no-braincells @royalty-cashinout @lovelytayy @starpdfs @syarblu @urmotherswhor3 @simp4tenko @emery-333 @hopefuloperaangelnerd @pinkfqiry @donutsrsweetbagels @katymae12344@urivl @mdibby @dezibou @dramaticOflwer @animeloverzx @y3rn4y0n yOn @honeyxluv @jupittterrrrr @iikatsukii @glossygirrll @severenswife @h3v3n1y + many more beautiful people <3

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revelboo · 14 days ago

Note

Being the insecticons queen??😳

Guddamn revelboo, you've succeeded in giving me a new obsession 😅

Hey, they’re devoted (obsessed) husbands.

18+ Mass displaced mechs 🌶️ I lost the ask, but yeah, Tarantulas and Waspinator can both do the same thing to their humans with the pheromones in the saliva, but it’s most effective administered internally.

You (Don’t) Know Me Pt 5

Insecticons x Reader

• Shivering as someone’s servos thread through your hair to tip your head back and a mouth covers yours, you’re really understanding that saying about too much of a good thing. Glossa stealing inside your mouth to tangle with your tongue, you’re not even sure which one it is, but you’re reduced to a needy, incoherent and overly sensitive mess all over again. Aware that you’re whimpering the word ‘please’ over and over and not knowing if you’re begging for more or for a break.

• Rumbling softly as his head lifts, Shrapnel slides a palm along your thigh, feeling your muscles trembling as his attention turns to his brothers. Specifically Bombshell as his head tips to study you. “A good, willing little mate, mate,” Shrapnel says watching as Bombshell hooks an arm around your waist and drags you into his lap. Venting softly as Bombshell catches your jaw in his clawed servos, mask retracting to run his glossa along your neck, mouth opening and sharp denta grazing soft skin. And Shrapnel goes still, waiting to see if Bombshell’s appetite will win out. Hears Kickback chirp a shrill protest, that they’d already claimed you. That you claimed them.

• Feeling your pulse against his glossa, Bombshell can’t deny he’s tempted to sink his denta in. Because he’s always hungry and unlike weaker Cybertronians, there’s nothing they can’t eat. Maybe just mark your soft skin, a little taste. Knowing he might not be able to stop if he does. Hesitating when your head turns, and you press your face against his neck, breath warm on his mesh. And Kickback and Shrapnel are both watching and tense until he lifts his head, servos stroking through your hair. “Take our little queen,” he growls, handing you over to Kickback. “I need to hunt.” Needs to feed so you don’t look so tempting. Still wants to mark you, but not until he’s more in control.

• Cradling you to him as Bombshell mass shifts and transforms to head out, Kickback runs his servos down your neck, exploring you as you curl into his warmth. “You’re going to be such a good carrier,” he croons to you, nuzzling against your cheek. Give them so many sparklings and build a strong hive. Aware of Shrapnel shifting closer, going up on his knees a hand grabbing Kickback’s shoulder as he leans over you, mouth brushing the back of your neck so you’re trapped between them. Bombshell’s still not fully convinced on taking a human queen, he knows.

• “Not fully ours yet, yet.” The one draped against your back says. You feel sharp teeth scrape your skin to make you shiver. And the one holding you is tipping your head back, mouth brushing your jaw. “We don’t have to wait. Still need to crown our queen, queen,” The one at your back adds. Drifting and almost asleep as they shift against you, the one holding you eases back and pulls you down to sprawl on him as the other follows you both down to sandwich you between them. Feel plating shift against your skin and then you’re wide awake, arching between them you get snared on both sides by light and warmth.

#transformers x reader #insecticons x reader #g1 shrapnel #g1 bombshell #g1 kickback

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crying-fantasies · 1 year ago

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Grain offerings

Once, you tried to work near home, no one really wanted to and you were part of that group, everyone knows what kind of things are in a now abandoned house way too near, you didn't saw them but every other person apparently did with every detail or they are simply lying to get everyone in a paranoia nervousness that sits thick even in the market.

You didn't live during the havock of the war but humans still got their reservations about cybertronians, you have seen people escape from them even when all they do is ask for directions, you have seen videos of them playing volleyball with humanson the next town by a video, even a couple of different species out in a date like it was totally not frowned upon, different from where you live, you get it, really do, most people in town have been scarred to some level by the war and you've seen a few cybertronians that are a pain in the ass, but time and hostility may have made them act in such a way especially to the adults when you were younger, some could describe you as strange by not acting the same way your parents or everyone else did, maybe it was because you weren't alive during the war or the cybertronian temporary occupation that bordered in constant danger, or maybe it was the almost faded memory of a decepticon that lived near scaring away bullies that were making fun of your group of friends when blood was finally spilled by a cruel joke that involved rocks impacting with your head.

"Can't even put a leash on their spawns, I swear", no one believed any of you, no one would, but you would forever remember that once a decepticon called Needlenose helped you that cloudy day before everyone believed he was the one that caused the damage, ending in him getting out of town with his brother.

That would explain why the number of cybertronian residents is minimal if not non-existent on your town, and why the idea of interacting with one was so tempting, so interesting, but that is only a mere desire that would never come, it was time to go back to reality, forget about friendly cybertronians or how cool it would be to have a friend that could carry you back home in a jet.

So, with business almost beyond salvation and a whole batch of rice bags full of insects and almost rotten you try to dispose of it in order to prevent the lost of more bags, only to see the next day that the bag was gone even before the trash truck passed by, there is no leftovers, only markings on the ground that go back to where no one should go.

The place many said a cybertronian made it's home.

It wasn't as bad as it sounded, the main worry was that some of the most hateful human citizens in town went there to say a piece of their mind to the supposed new neighbor, only to come back crying out loud for mercy or swearing they would have their head on a plate even when they were near to drop dead on a puddle on their own urine, no real physical damage was done so police wasn't involved and since no cybertronian was in the best terms with anyone it wasn't an option to ask them for help.

Imagine your surprise when you noticed a big insect, consuming almost in a crazed trance all the rice that falls from a tearing in the big bag, it jumps backwards at the sight of you, you have never seen something like that, no cybertronian like that, the fear is instantaneous, but no by the mechanical insect, far from it, it comes back once in a while, especially when you get the rotten rice out, he seems to get what is left back to wherever he comes from.

You decide to call it a him, since he called you: "flesh bag" with a quite interesting voice that could even be perceived as playful, like he was making fun of you, almost deciding if he can get near you before looking back, full his mandibles at full capacity before dragging the whole bag back to who knows where, it may take time but he still comes, even when you don't get the spoiled rice out, he looks at the remaining things inside the shop and it doesn't take long to consider that, as strange as it can be, he really eats rice, and he may want to eat the fruit that is not in the dumpster but the one inside, his hunger makes you feel bad, he has damaged legs and one of his eyes blinks in and out of function, and something that looks like drool escapes his mandibles, it's sad, because you know a cybertronian only comes to live here if they can't go anywhere else, sometimes even enduring to be damaged by someone, laws don't protect cybertronians the same way they protect humans and it's unfair, but you could never say a word of C. Yeager's pro transformers speech in this town without becoming an outcast yourself in the eyes of your own family.

But what they don't know or hear doesn't hurt them, so you get money out of your wallet and put it in the counter, put a bag full of red apples in front of the injured cybertronian in front of you, his movements are so fast that he makes you fall, taking the whole bag back from where he comes every few days, and come back he does, one day dragging with him a new transformers that looks like him to some degree, and then another that literally has no head attached to the rest of his body, all of them expect something and you can't deny it even when the money you're saving from this very same work are expended in buying rice and wheat that fall from your hands to their waiting mandibles or flour in the case of the one without head, feeling bad for them and asking to yourself who could've been so vicious to do such a thing while something similar to a tongue laps at your hand which helps him to consume water at the lack of mouth, no giving a second thought in the way their glossa smeared in between your fingers that almost made you think of inadequate things at the moment.

Maybe you should've know better, not all people are good ones, the same applied for cybertronians, the same applied to decepticons, especially decepticons that are very well know to be disgusted by organics.

But, far from it, your new friends (you choose to call them like that to yourself) have no problem while interacting with you, in touching you, maybe a little zap of electricity when touching them without warning but that fades away fast as they push against your open palm to receive more food or pats on the head or on the body in Bombshell's case, the fact they finally told you their names, which are as curious as any other cybertronian name you have heard so far, there is happiness in how things go, no longer looking with logging or envy videos of people around the globe, the moment Sharpnel let's you rest against his body makes you giddy, silly chuckles escaping you while Kickback cleans your hand of every remaining oil of the hamburgers you got for them and that didn't last more than a few seconds, his mandibles catch at your skin, before your blood drops to the ground of their nest Sharpnel has already hissed against the youngest while Bombshell pushed him far away by the mere movement of one of his legs, it is also the first time they listen to you after asking them to stop, they are damaged enough as it is already.

The changes are little but the biggest of all is how they seem to be healing, to be regenerating, and is undeniable when you see Bombshell's face for the first time one day when he is the one to get you back to their nest after work, it doesn't stop him from asking for flour or to be feed by hand, despite Kickback's protests and how it's "no fair!" in how you're playing favorites.

It keeps changing, slowly but surely, and everything you learned from mister Yeager's speech about human and cybertronian peaceful cohabitation has already been overstepped in all possible ways when Sharpnel connects his mouth to yours, only a few seconds ago you were showing him that very same speech on your cellphone, yes, you're indeed close, but you can only put your hands on both sides of his faceplate while you keep hearing: "there is more than one reason we clashed with one another", trying to get near him as much as you can, his big body looming above you, the video keeps on, you hear people cheering on the background, agreeing with every word, "and I'm asking you, what do you think being human means?", having almost forgotten of the others you feel the sensation of different servos on your hips, Bombshell's helm rubbing on your shoulder, purring above your clothes, Kickback is looking at you from afar, his pleads at Sharpnel to "please let me touch, I want some too" get mixed with the "that's what we do, we make mistakes" and it's almost like an alarm, a warning, for you to run way from Sharpnel that has started to rub his hips against your belly, from Bombshell that is now sneaking his servos under your pants, from Kickback that is now licking the skin now reveled by the movement of the others.

You are surrounded, and far from it to create discomfort it makes you move along with them while catching Sharpnel's lips against yours again, kissing messily in ways you have never kissed anyone and hoping he doesn't get freaked out, he doesn't, imitating you and doing his own part, maybe you aren't the only one new with this, and it's evident in how he makes himself smaller to cup your ass with both servos, rocking you harder against his modesty panel, moving away his other companions with a hissing sound coming from his vox, pushing you down at the bed of blankets they built a week after you started to see them, placing himself above you while the others watch expectantly, "I'm going to crown you, you" he growled, almost like a menacing promise, and if he was trying to drive you away he gets the contrary to what he desires when you legs lock him close to you, and they seem happy, because they start to chitter in the same way they always do when you appear with food, if only they seem more excited.

"Sometimes out of those mistakes come the most amazing things" your cellphone is long forgotten, maybe one of them steeped on it along the way and stopped the video, you don't mind, you don't care anymore, you only cling to that chance when Sharpnel finally reaches inside of you, his voice promising endlessly to keep you warm, feed and everything in between what your little organic heart so desires as his servo holds firm your hand, the other keeping your head near, your lips on him, as Bombshell grips you close and Kickback puts his digits where Sharpnel is claiming you.

There is no turning back, not that you would want so in the first place.

#reader insert #x reader #tf mtmte #transformers x reader #transformers #transformers idw #transformers x human reader #tf sharpnel #tf kickback #tf bombshell #terraformer au!#insecticons x reader #insecticons

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sehunniepotwrites · 1 year ago

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RISK IT ALL | L.HC

SYNOPSIS. In theory, playing a card game called Risk It or Drink It during your holiday kickback sounded fun. In reality, it was your group’s wild plot scheme for you and your close friend, Donghyuck, to finally get yourselves together in more ways than one.

PAIRING. Lee Donghyuck x fem!Reader WORD COUNT. 14.4k GENRE. Friends-to-Lovers!AU, Holiday!AU, Christmas!AU, Party!AU, mutual pining, smut (minors dni!), comedy/humor, a tiny bit of fluff

WARNINGS. language (crude sexual jokes, talks about sex positions, and profanities), alcohol and food consumption, adult drinking games with dares, haechan is heavy on consent, body shots, brief vouyerism, explicit content (needy!haechan, possessive!haechan, fingering, oral–male and female receiving, nipple play, praise kink, penetrative, missionary, etc.), nicknames (hers: princess, baby | his: baby)

PLAYLIST. Up to You - PRETTYMUCH feat. NCT Dream | Look at Me - George | A Nonsesne Christmas - Sabrina Carpenter | santa doesn’t know you like i do - Sabrina Carpenter | Yours (Live feat. Winter and Mark) - Chanyeol and Raiden

DISCLAIMER. This is work of fiction. I do not own the people/characters or concepts I have written about. You cannot translate or copy my work. © sehunniepotwrites, 2023

As people say, Saturday nights are for the boys.

To you, the boys refer to your group of best friends formed early in your college years. The bond strengthened even after graduation. Two years after leaving your university adventures behind, your Saturday nights still belonged to your small close knit group. What started as dressing up in your best clothes and club hopping hours into the night turned into wearing comfy clothes and hosting weekly kickbacks in your respective apartments. You exchanged drunkenly shouting over loud music with drunkenly shouting over party games. Sometimes, you drink and others, you abstain from consuming alcohol to just bask in your hilarious company.

As you grew older, the clubbing and party scene seemed too exhausting with your nine-to-fives taking up most of your energy. Why would you want to socialize with stupid drunk strangers in a crowded room when you could just do that with your tight circle of friends?

Donghyuck and Mark hosted the kickback at their place this week–this one a little fancier than others due to it being the Saturday before Christmas. You loved it when they did. It gave you the excuse to drink to your heart’s content, knowing you could just crash in Donghyuck’s bed at the end of the night. You never did drink past your limit though–too afraid of your darkest secrets slipping through your loose lips–secrets only Jaemin and his girlfriend Ari knew.

Ari was a great secret keeper. She never revealed your secret crush on Donghyuck to her lover. You did that yourself one semester when you bursted into her room, complaining about how attractive your best friend looked in his leather jacket to the point of wanting to kiss his pretty confident smirk off his face. Jaemin heard it all while waiting for his girlfriend to get out of the shower. But as loyal as a friend could be, he kept the slip to your tiny little trio. That, however, did not stop the occasional teasing that happened here and there in full group settings.

It seemed like Jaemin and Ari always had something up their sleeves when you found yourselves hanging out with them and Donghyuck. They would find tiny little ways to get you and your crush in positions where you had no choice but to be near him. For example, setting up days where the hang outs seemed more like double dates and then pretending to get lost just to guarantee you some alone time with him. Their plans, though obvious to you, worked in many ways. Jaemin and Ari often returned to you with matching grins on their pretty faces when they saw your hands linked together or with Donghyuck’s arm comfortably draped around your shoulder, his free hand carrying your purse.

You honestly weren’t sure how Donghyuck never caught on to their schemes.

Maybe he did but refused to say anything on the topic.

Nevertheless, the devil worked hard but Ari and Jaemin worked even harder.

Although you asked the two to stop fueling the delusions floating in your mind, they insisted Donghyuck liked you too. “His feelings for you were undeniable,” they said, “just look at the way he treated you versus everyone else.”

Your best friend—with his gentle touches, sweet smiles, and teasing tones—dropped anything for you. He’d walk you to class even if his classes were on the other side of campus, protect you from creeps that gave you the ick, and have food delivered to your job when you had a rough day. When your dates with men went awry, Donghyuck arrived in seconds. According to the couple, the possibilities were endless for Donghyuck but only when it came to you. And tonight, apparently, was going to show you how endless the possibilities were.

You were a bit sad Mark was missing out on this round of drinking at his place but as Jaemin slammed the box of cards down on the dining table, maybe it was for the best that the eldest of the group missed it. He’d miss the chaos happening at his apartment but at least, he’d earn money while doing it.

Stealing a quick glance at Donghyuck, he looked so cute in his oversized knit sweater. The Santa hat resting on top of his long, wavy hair made him appear cozier than usual. Your outfits coincidentally matched–your sweaters in a similar shade and a Santa hat headband resting on top of your scalp.

“Alright, bitches,” Jaemin smirked while opening the box, “tonight’s game is called Risk It or Drink It. You better not be pussies now.” You missed the gamemaster giving Donghyuck a pointed look as you handed out Ari’s soju cocktails to all the people in attendance. Donghyuck stealthily flipped him off.

“He means you, babes,” Ari nudged you as she poured the two of you a shot. “We’re doing this for you.”

You grabbed it, the liquid spilling from the top, as you raised it for a toast. “No shit, Sherlock.”

Ari striked her glass with yours, “Well, Watson. Bottom’s up.”

“Merry fucking Christmas!” The two of you downed the shot, not wincing in the slightest. The dangerous thing about flavored soju was that it tasted sweet, didn’t burn, and snuck up on you when you least expected it.

Everyone gathered around the kitchen island, some choosing to stand or lean against the countertop, while others took a seat on the barstools. You all watched as Jaemin set the game up with ease, placing a thick stack of cards in the middle of the table.

“The rules are simple. We all take turns getting a card, reading it out loud, and doing what the card says, which is either doing a dare or answering a question. If you can do it, you earn the points at the bottom of the card and keep the card. If you can’t, take a shot or a swig of your drink. First to ten points wins. The player with the least point drinks out of”–the gamemaster pointed to a disgusting concoction next to the cards–“finishes the king’s cup. Got it?”

A chorus of agreement circled around the room and so the game began.

The first round was an easy one. You suspected the deck wasn’t shuffled well enough.

Jeno’s card asked him to show off how much money was in his account, causing Yeri to jokingly ask him if he needed a sugar baby. He retaliated by telling her to ask Mark when he came home, making her take a big swig of her cocktail to draw attention away from her reddening face. Giselle had to name the worst dressed in the room, which led to Renjun’s cute outburst. Jaemin faked a proposal to his girlfriend and had to chug his drink when she said “no.”

It was all fun and games until it came to you. That was when the party truly began.

You drew your card, skimmed through the words silently with a puzzled look, and then made a face. On your right, Donghyuck threw his arm over your shoulder to pull you closer to his side. He looked at the card as well, his face slightly dropping as he processed the task.

“What does it say?” Karina yelled from the other side of the circle.

Clearing your throat, you read aloud, “Lick the person on your left’s earlobe for five seconds or drink.”

Jaemin was to the left of you and as much as you thought your friend was attractive, no amount of drinks in the world would result in you doing that.

“Damn, if only it said person to your right,” Jaemin whistled, reaching over to pat Donghyuck’s knee. Then, a mischievous glint in his eye appeared. “Hey, Donghyuck! Wanna switch sides for this card?”

“Jaem, what the fuck?!”

Donghyuck immediately shot up and the rest of the group hollered at the suggestion, urging him to move. Shoving Jaemin aside, your best friend beamed at you. He made a show out of it, pretending to tuck strands of his hair behind his ear. “Ready when you are, Princess.”

You shoved his side at his flirty tactics, quickly looking away from the pair of eyes you couldn’t resist. “You would be the type to like this shit,” you attempted to play off, ignoring the increasing heartbeats the more he looked at you.

“I’m into anything as long as you’re the one doing it,” he threw back, quickly placing a kiss right next to your earlobe. You inhaled sharply at the touch. You could almost feel the smirk spreading across his lips as he pulled away.

The screams that followed that line reminded you that you were not alone–you were in a room filled with people that you loved and were now watching you grow even more flustered than you already were. Heaven knows you were not drunk enough for this. Shaking your head out of the thoughts that followed Donghyuck’s words, you reached for your glass and said, “I’m drinking.”

Vocalized disappointment circled around the room and you ignored it, taking three large gulps of your cocktail. You slammed the glass down and felt the alcohol run through your body. If the dares were anything like that one, it would take you a lot more to actually do something.

Donghyuck didn’t vocalize anything after your choice was made but you did catch his smirk drop the second your lips touched the rim of your glass. The large hand he had around your waist acted as a sign for you to put your drink down. Without words, he placed an opened water bottle in front of you and gestured to it with his chin–he wanted you to take a sip. You did as you were told as the second round of dares continued.

You all had trouble holding in your laughter when Karina called a friend, put them on speakerphone, and asked them to pick her up from the station after being detained for having car sex in a public area. The cackles were harder to contain when the friend pressed for details instead of immediately coming to her aid. When the insistence failed to cease, Karina spit out the first name that came to her head and ended up unmasking the flame she carried for Jeno. You grinned at the unfolding, taking note of how Jeno’s body perked up the minute Karina’s friend screamed, “Finally!”

Ari confidently revealed her body count, Yeri had to endure being tickled by everyone for thirty seconds, and Renjun took two shots instead of calling his ex-girlfriend.

“List three sex positions in ten seconds or drink,” Donghyuck read his card aloud. Before he could even process the task, the group started counting down, adding pressure onto the boy. “Oh shit! Umm, missionary, doggy–oh what the fuck, what else is there?!”

His time was up before he could think of a third and Giselle shoved a shot in his hand. “You better drink, Hyuck!”

Donghyuck accepted his fate, groaning after he took the shot. As he nuzzled his head into your neck, you could tell he was disappointed at his failure.

“Aww, baby, couldn’t think fast enough with your little pea brain?” you teased, running your fingers through his messy hair.

He looked up at you with a playful sneer and pursed his lips. “Like you could do any better in ten seconds.”

Looking Donghyuck dead in the eye, you listed three off the bat with a deadpan face, “Cowgirl, 69, doggy. It’s not that hard, Hyuckie.”

With no other context, your best friend dropped his head back into place and said, “You will be the death of me one day, you know that, right?” His plush lips, now wet with the remnants of alcohol, brushed against the junction of your neck and exposed shoulder. The sudden touch made you shiver.

“And why’s that?”

Donghyuk breathed out, the air making goosebumps appear on your skin, and deflected the question. “It’s your turn. Draw.”

The moment you pulled the card, Donghyuck shifted his head to read the card with you. His body began to shake with laughter as the rest of your crew rushed you to reveal the dare.

God, you were not drunk enough for this. He grabbed the paper out of your fingers and took the liberties of saying the dare, “Hold a piece of food in your mouth and have the person on your right,” he paused, grazing his soft fingers on your bare knee, “that’s me, princess—”

“Yes, I know my rights from lefts, Hyuck.”

“—and have them take it from you.”

“I’m picking the piece of food you use and don’t you dare complain!” Ari yelled before anyone else could claim the job.

Everyone watched as she stifled through a plate of French fries. Her playful grin expanded across her pretty face when she found the perfect fry—a thin, crispy piece that was around an inch long. The group exploded with excitement as she held it up.

“That,” you pointed to the fry in your friend’s hand, “cannot be legal. That has to be against the rules!”

Jaemin pretended to examine the fry his girlfriend was holding. “Hmm, looks fine to me.”

“You’re a menace, Jaem,” you hissed at him.

Jaemin came right back, “Just doing what has to be done to take us out of our misery.”

“What misery?!”

With everything already set, you resigned to your friend’s wishes and begrudgingly accepted the dare. Ari handed you the tiny piece of food. You sighed dramatically before placing it between your teeth. It barely extended past your top and bottom lip. Shooting Donghyuck a widened look, you told him to hurry. If you were to prolong this dare any longer, you were afraid of the fry breaking before he’d get to it.

You stood still as Donghyuck approached with a smug look. It disappeared as soon as his eyes dropped to the french fry you held, lingering at the sight of your parted mouth. When he looked back up at you, there was a sort of look in the brown irises you were so attracted to. Hunger. Anticipation.

“Lean in,” someone shouted but your body froze in its place.

Swallowing back your nervousness, his two warm hands touched your face, both molding to your cheeks. Shutting your eyes as he grew closer, the last thing you saw was his handsome face tilting to get a better angle. Donghyuck’s actions were lightning quick and sudden, making your heart beat skyrocket towards the moon.

His breath tickled your skin and then, his lips brushed ever so gently against yours. It didn’t last too long; after all, his goal was to retrieve the french fry. You did your best to focus on that, remembering not to bite down to break the crunchy strip of food–the task at hand was hard but not impossible.

Then, there was a slight pressure, the plushness of his lips pushing into you as Donghyuck bit, tugging the food out of your mouth.

Still frozen in your spot, you sensed Donghyuck pulling back. You exhaled through your nostrils and slowly opened your eyes. Your best friend was right in front of you, wearing a smirk as he chewed on the fry. He licked around his mouth, gathering the tiny dusts of salt before humming.

“Salty,” was all he said while everyone surrounding you laughed at his antics.

Ignoring the hammering of your heart as he continued to stare at your lips, you cleared your throat. As much as you tried to shove all feelings of attraction aside, Donghyuck kept his sultry gaze fixated on you. You watched as it dipped back down to your lips again, his fingers coming up to brush away the little specks of salt that stuck your mouth.

Everything was too much for you–the warmth of his touch, the intensity of his stare, the looks the others were giving you–it was time to direct everyone’s attention elsewhere.

“Next dare,” you called out, facing away from Donghyuck.

You did the honors of drawing the card for the next person, reading it out loud and keeping the game going. Despite everyone else’s attention following your distraction, you could still detect your crush’s unwavering stare from your side. You were hyper-aware of his arm circling your waist, tugging you closer to his body heat, and the way his palm curved so perfectly into your side. It sent tingles down your spine, goosebumps forming in your flesh, and heat rising up from the tips of your extremities to the middle of your body.

Looking at the depleting stack as the game continued, you thought it couldn’t get any worse than this. Turns out, you were dead wrong.

Donghyuck plucked the next card at the top of the deck, read it to himself, and let out a low chuckle. Squeezing your side, fingers tickling the sliver of exposed skin, he said, “Looks like it’s you and me again, Princess.”

The reaction kept the group of friends on the edge of their seats, curiosity getting the better of them. “Read it!” Giselle yelled from the other side of the island bar.

Hating the way Donghyuck dragged things out, it was time to take matters into your own hands. Snatching the card out of his hand, you relayed the message aloud, “Hold a staring contest for thirty seconds with the person on your left or drink. The two participants must be within two inches of each other.”

Oh shit.

If there was one thing that made you weak, it was the way Donghyuck stared at you. You barely survived him stealing the fry. There was a mission to complete despite his impenetrable gaze, which kept your center of interest. But for this particular dare, nothing would be in the way but the air you both breathed. Could you be able to maintain your cool or would you fold the minute your eyes locked with his?

“Oh, this is going to be good,” Jeno whispered to Karina, the two now seemingly closer after the phone call scandal. She giggled, turning her head towards him to hide her laugh. Traitors, you thought to yourself, the both of them.

Faking nonchalance, you shifted towards an eager looking Donghyuck. “Thirty seconds is nothing. Let’s get this over with.”

“Whatever you say, princess,” he replied, swiveling in his chair to face you.

The arm holding you close to him slid down your shoulder to rest on your waist, his hand making its way under your sweater and palm now resting on the small of your back. Your body arched at his touch before you fully processed what happened, your grip instantly shooting to his take hold of his upper arms to maintain balance. You ignored the way his muscles flexed under your palms.

Donghyuck chuckled again, “We didn’t even start and you’re already like this. How cute.”

Despite how his words and tone made you melt on the inside, how they made you sink a little more into his touch, the snark came bubbling out of your mouth. “Shut up.”

Donghyuck did the exact opposite of what you demanded. “Why don’t you make me?”

“Oh my god, Donghyuck,” you groaned.

“Is the timer ready?” he asked no one in particular while keeping you in his line of sight. It never wavered even as someone in the crowd announced they had pulled one up and were waiting for his cue.

“Start it,” your best friend commanded and then began the longest thirty seconds of your life.

With Donghyuck barely two inches away from your face, his brown eyes dug deep into your soul. Unable to look away, you took note of how his pupils dilated as Donghyuck continued to stare. The way he looked at you was breathtaking, so focused, like you were the only thing that mattered in the moment.

The boy’s stare, although flattering, was almost too intimidating for you to take. The intensity of it all made you want to withdraw, the upper half of your body drawing away from him. No matter how much you wanted to escape, he didn’t let you. Every time you pulled back, he pushed forward until the tip of your nose grazed against his. The hand underneath your sweater found its way up to support your upper back, his other arm extending out to grip the counter top. Donghyuck now had you pinned in between the island bar and his body and it was too damn hot in the room for this.

Just as Donghyuck broke the connection to steal a glance at your lips for the second (or third time) that night, the timer alarmed to signal the end of your dare. You lightly shoved your hands against your crush’s chest, ignoring how firm the muscles below you were, to make more room. Once you deemed him far enough, you reached for your cocktail and took a long swig to cool your overheating body down.

Everyone had their own reactions to the stunt: Giselle and Yeri giggling in the corner, Renjun scrolling through the pictures he snuck of the interaction, Jeno and Karina whispering to another about what just transpired. While downing your drink, you made eye contact with Jaemin, who wiggled his eyebrows annoyingly. You were so close to using his pretty face as your punching bag. Ari simply winked at you. You flipped her off in reply.

Even as everyone else moved on, Donghyuck was still stuck on the dare that occurred.

While taking one too many sips of your drink, you spilled a bit of it, liquid sticking to part of your skin. With no hesitation, Donghyuck used a part of his sleeve to wipe it away. The fingers still tucked into your knit sweater rose up to graze the back of your neck. You shuddered as he pulled his hand away, the warmth leaving with him. Just when you thought it was over, his nimble fingers reached out to fix the Santa headband that was slipping. Your breath hitched and your crush promptly picked up on it.

“Do I make you nervous?” he whispered, tacking your name to the end of his question. His voice was lower than usual, the cheerful and bright cadence long gone. The difference in his tone caused your heart to drop to the floor, as if it was free falling from an amusement park’s drop tower at the highest speed. There was no way to pick it back up.

“You wish.”

Donghyuck had the honors of having the last word this time. “I really do.”

No matter how hard you denied it, your best friend did make you nervous. It was apparent when he took the french fry from your mouth and when you had a staring contest. It was even more evident during your next turn, when you were tasked to spin a bottle and kiss whoever it landed on.

There was no point in even spinning the bottle; you knew your mischievous friends would make you re-spin until you landed on the person they (i.e. you) wanted. You twirled the bottle a total of three times. The first time, it landed in between Jaemin and Ari and the next, it pointed to Renjun who quickly shifted from its path. On the last try, it stopped in the middle of you and Donghyuck.

Ari’s manicured hand quickly flicked the bottle just enough so the opened end was aimed right at your best friend. “Well, would you look at that?” she giggled. “It landed on Hyuckie.”

That girl was a devil in disguise, just like her damned partner.

You rolled your eyes. Sarcasm dripped through your words,“Who would’ve thought?”

“Damn. Is the thought of kissing me that dreadful to you?” Donghyuck asked, lifting his Santa hat to run through his hair. His long fingers pushed back the curled bangs covering his eyes, holding them in place as he awaited your reply.

The thought was far from dreadful. Nerve wracking was a far better word to describe how you were feeling. Thrilling was another one you could throw into your word bank.

You ignored the question, too busy handling the butterflies hovering about in your stomach. One almost got caught in your throat when he swiveled your bar stool to face him. You gulped, shoving it back down.

“Is it?” Donghyuck insisted you answer him. You couldn’t lie so you abstained from replying. “Oh, you want me to kiss you so bad, don’t you, princess?”

Avoiding his eyes, you muttered, “Let’s get this over with.”

“Gladly.”

The next thing you knew, Donghyuck’s rough hands found their way back to your cheeks and tugged you closer. Seizing the opportunity, your best friend closed the distance with no hesitation. His plush lips crashed against yours and the years of tension between the two of you ultimately snapped.

As soon as he felt you kiss him back, your body melting right into his grasp, Donghyuck circled an arm around your waist to lock you in his hold. His other hand sneakily traced a path up your arm, creating gooseflesh on your skin, until finding purchase at the back of your head. He cupped your neck to keep you in place and went back for seconds. The first kiss ended and you parted for a mere moment to catch the tiniest breath before you went back at it.

Donghyuck didn’t care about the crowd and quite frankly, you forgot about the audience. He kissed you hard and you couldn’t stop reciprocating even if you tried. The taste of him was addicting, it was impossible to break away.

It was official; you were drunk on him within the first kiss. When Donghyuck tightened his grip, you let out a quiet yet pleasured sound. You latched onto his wavy, brown locks only to tug on them. If you went on for any longer, you were sure to have found your way onto his spread out thighs but you were stopped before you could carry on.

Renjun whistled, pulling your attention from Donghyuck’s kiss and back to the real world.

You slowly opened your eyes, dazed for a moment in time, until you realized what just occurred. Withdrawing the hands tangled in your crush’s hair, you took in your best friend’s appearance–lips red and swollen, hair messy, and eyes half-lidded and completely fixated on your mouth. His chest rose and fell with each breath he took and once his gaze met yours, you swore his pupils grew in size.

“God damn,” Jeno coughed, clearly flustered by the public display of affection. “Hyuck, you need a moment or?”

“Hmmm?” Donghyuck hummed, his stare unfaltering. He tracked every minuscule move you made, from the way you drew yourself back to create some much needed distance to how your mouth let out little pants to slow down your heart rate. He watched you press the back of your hands against your burning cheeks in a failed attempt to cool down. “No, no, I think I’m good.”

“I honestly think they both need a moment,” Yeri muttered under her breath.

“Under the mistletoe maybe,” Ari whispered back.

“The bedroom’s more like it. The card said kiss, not make out for the whole fucking world to see,” Renjun scolded, rubbing his eyes to erase the vision. You probably scarred the poor boy for life. He was most likely debating on whether or not he had to burn his eyes.

“I think that looked hot,” Jaemin commented, giving you a wink. The heat in your cheeks turned up a notch. “Enjoyed it a little too much, yeah?”

“Of course, you enjoyed it, Jaem. You’re a freak,” Giselle said.

“Hey, no kink shaming here! This is a safe space! I’m going to make you take a shot for that!”

Only then did Donghyuck snap out of whatever trance you had him under. He gave you this enchanting smile that looked even prettier with his puffy lips. You did that to him. A swell of pride coursed through you–you ruined him even if it was just for a moment.

One of his hands dropped to your mid thigh while the side arguments continued. It traced a path to your knee, his thumb stroking your skin back and forth. “Was that okay?”

It was more than okay. Fantastic. Exciting. Stimulating even, judging by the damp feeling in your underwear. Worthy enough for an encore performance. “Yes.”

“Good,” Donghyuck gulped, suddenly shy and less confident than he usually is. “Are we okay?”

The look of a siren took over your features, your eyes flickering to his lips for a short second. Chin pointed down, your eyes then widened when rising up to meet his stare. Your hand settled on top of his, grounding it on your bare thigh. He squeezed your flesh as you answered with a breathless, “yeah.”

“It wasn’t too much?” Donghyuck asked, leaning into you.

He always did this–made sure that you were comfortable when put in awkward or unusual situations. Even when he stole your breath away with a kiss or two, the first thing he thought of was you.

The only response you could give was a shake of your head, causing the headband to fall back yet again. With his light touch, Donghyuck fixed it right up and combed back the stray hairs stuck to your face.

“Good,” he repeated with a satisfied nod.

He pressed against your thigh once more and you squeezed his hand back. When your hand refused to move, Donghyuck took it as a sign to keep it there for as long as you accepted his touch. As the game went on and the dares entertained the rest of the crowd, you kept yourself amused by running your fingers against his knuckles. It tickled your crush to no end, his hand squirming underneath yours, trying to break free from your crutches but you didn’t let up.

To prevent it any further, Donghyuck swiftly turned his hand around and tangled his fingers with yours. He kept you in a tight but not squeezing grasp and it took your attention away from your friend group’s shenanigans.

You missed Giselle refusing to take another shot and reluctantly taking off Renjun’s sweater vest with her mouth, then Yeri answering a “fuck, marry, kill” question, all because of how Donghyuck’s hand molded so perfectly with yours. Your eyes were glued to your intertwined fingers under the countertop, hidden from everyone else’s sight, but so crystal clear for yours.

Your heart was going crazy, even crazier than when he kissed you in front of everyone. Those were all done for the public but this little moment was meant for you alone. Donghyuck didn’t have to hold your hand. He stood next to you now, his own seat long forgotten, just to be closer to you. You tested something, trying to pull away but his grip around your hand strengthened, as if he never wanted to let you go.

With a smile on your face, you allowed yourself to lean against him, your arm pressing against his. As you did this, Donghyuck released the hand he held, only to sling over your shoulder. He shifted to hug you from behind, his back bent slightly so he could reach back down to connect your hands again.

You looked up at him. “Comfortable?”

Donghyuck’s melodic voice hummed in reply and you leaned into his chest as he held you tighter. You held your breath as you felt a bit of his strengthened chest pressing into your upper back.

When you stood to refill your cup ten minutes later, Donghyuck still held you with his arms circling your waist as you bent and reached across the countertop. Something hard grazed against your butt as you wiggled in his embrace, stretching your fingers to grab onto the half-emptied soju bottle. He emitted the quietest groan and gripped your sides to keep you still. Heat rushed throughout your entire body when the realization hit and a wave of arousal crashed against you.

“Please stop moving,” he said, desperation oozed out of his gentle command.

The boy couldn’t move you himself, needing you to shield the erection that he was desperately trying to hide. He simply let you out of his hold, long enough to pour yourself another drink, before his arms encompassed you once more. His chin dropped to your shoulder as you sipped on your drink.

“Sorry, can’t help it,” Donghyuck mumbled into your ear, his lips grazing against your earlobe. The slightest brush sent shivers down your spine and you were sure he felt it. It reminded you of the dare card you received earlier and you wondered if your crush would have the same reaction if the roles were reversed.

“It’s ‘kay,” you hushed back.

“Is it though?” Donghyuck pushed. “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“I would push you away if I was,” you reassured him before offering him a sip of your drink.

If you turned back, you would’ve caught his eyes widening at your reply. It was a little spark of hope for the boy but then, he couldn’t be too sure. He refused the cocktail, saying that he should stop drinking for the night. He stressed that he needed to be sober by the end of the get-together to make sure you were alright.

A call of your name brought you back to the game. The card you drew was a relatively easy one: post a picture with someone or something to your Instagram feed without editing with the caption, “you are the love of my life.” Patting Donghyuck’s sweater-covered arm, you requested his help, “Take a picture with me?”

“Am I the love of your life now?” He threw back, not denying the request.

You handed your phone to the group’s respective Instagram boyfriend, Jaemin, and giggled. Maybe you shouldn’t have taken that last sip. You were far from drunk but a little past buzzed. “Why? You like the sound of that?”

“I like being called yours,” he flirted back.

“Shut up,” you scrunched your nose at him before turning your attention to the camera aimed at you.

Jaemin, as expected, took a cute picture of the two of you.

Donghuck was still draped over you, hugging you waist from behind with his chin resting on your shoulder. While you grinned happily for the camera, your hands covering his larger ones resting on your belly, your friend kept his soft stare on you. He wore a tender smile, honey dripping from his lips and his eyes. It looked like the perfect print for a couple’s Christmas card instead of a drunken dare and you knew this was a picture you wanted to keep on your feed, dare or not. You could always edit the caption at a later time.

Donghyuck continued to hover over you, watching your fast fingers type out the text. You waited together in silence as you hit post, waiting for the picture to upload. When the photo appeared on your feed, you turned your phone around to show the onlookers. Like the hype crowd they were, all your friends pulled out their own phones to like and comment on the post–the girls writing unhinged comments on your beauty or how Donghyuck stole you away from them while the guys drew attention to how long it took you to get together. You were sure the people who weren’t a part of your usual crowd would believe the caption on your post–after all, many often commented on how cute you looked as a couple. Without context, you were sure Mark would be pissed about how you didn’t tell him shit.

“Alright, alright. It’s your turn, Hyuck,” you said.

“Let me run to the bathroom real quick and then I’ll draw.”

Donghyuck finally let you out of his warm embrace, heading down the hallway of his apartment, leaving you with the rest of your friends. As soon as they heard the door shut, the group turned their heads towards you. They looked like predators, ready to pounce on their prey.

“Y’all really went at it,” Ari said, “you didn’t even come up for a breath.”

“I felt like I needed to leave the room,” Yeri added on.

“And I felt like I needed to gouge my eyes out,” Renjun dramatically rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t drunk enough for that.”

“You want to drink more?” Giselle perked up, already reaching for his shot glass.

“Sit your ass down,” Renjun scolded while reaching for food,“I’m driving you home tonight so I’m tapping out.”

“Party pooper,” she argued.

“I mean I could drink more and we could crash here but do you want to stay with Y/N and Hyuck with all this sexually charged energy in the air?”

“Excuse me, what?” you spat out your drink, eyes enlarged as you processed Renjun’s words.

“You heard what I said,” Renjun snapped before turning back to Giselle, “if you’re fine with that, you’re on your own kid ‘cause I’m going home.”

Giselle gave you a once-over and then a sheepish smile. “Yeah, on second thought, maybe not.”

Not over what Renjun said, you whisper-shouted, “Sexually charged energy?”

“Oh please, if we didn’t stop you, you’d probably end up on Hyuck’s lap,” Karina said as she sat at the dinner table across from the island bar. You glared at her, taking in her current position. She shouldn’t even be the one talking; her bare legs rested on Jeno’s lap, her flesh covered by the fabric of his hoodie. You eyed the slight movement of Jeno’s large hand under the hoodie, how it caressed Karina’s thigh.

“Is he a good kisser?” Jaemin wiggled his eyebrows at you.

“You’re such a gossip,” you rolled your eyes.

“Well, is he?” Ari pushed, ganging up on you with her boyfriend.

Thinking back to the hot kiss you shared made you bite your lip. “No comment.”

“She didn’t deny it so that’s a yes!” Yeri stood up, pointing a finger at you.

You fought the urge to bite it as a small rebellious act. Jeno tugged the end of Yeri’s sweater dress and yanked her back down to her seat.

“He so wants you!”

“You say that like it’s new.”

What? Where they implying that your best friend actually had feelings for you? “What do you mea–”

It was then Donghyuck returned from the bathroom. Your group went quiet as he approached, making the lot of you appear suspicious. “Were you dumb asses talking about me?”

“The world doesn’t revolve around you, Donghyuck,” you said while taking your oversized sweater off.

Being in the hot seat while he was away got you all fired up–you had to find some way to cool you down. Finishing the game in your cropped bra top and skirt would be just fine.

“Ouch,” the boy clutched his knit sweater right above his heart, the slight tug lifting the material. You caught a sliver of his gorgeous tanned skin and realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt underneath. You swiftly reverted your eyes to the thin deck of cards on the countertop.

When Donghyuck returned back to his position of hugging you from behind, you froze in your spot. His arms fell over your shoulders, fingertips grazing the flesh of your upper thigh and you did your best to keep it together.

“Can you draw my card for me?” he asked you, his low voice directly in your ear.

His warm breath and long hair tickled your neck and you shut your eyes closed. “Huh?”

“It’s too far and I don’t want to reach over you,” Donghyuck whined, his hands sliding up your arms to massage your shoulders.

You gave into his wishes and reached for a new card. Donghyuck’s grip skimmed your sides, fingers digging into your hips to keep you steady while you leaned forward. His thumbs rubbed little circles on your back as you read the card aloud. “Take a body shot with a person of your choice or finish your drink,” you projected to the awaiting crowd. Fuck.

Jaemin and Ari’s lips formed twin smirks, satisfied with their front row seats while you slowly piece together that particular dare. Donghyuck refused to let you out of his sight or grip. All partner tasks he had were done with you. Therefore, you would be his person of choice for this dare as well. Could your heart even take this?

Like clockwork, Donghyuck swiveled your chair to ask for your consent. His brown eyes dug deep into yours to check in on you. “You okay with this, princess?”

You gestured to the strong cocktail Ari made him. “Would you rather finish that strong concoction or take a shot? I know you said you wanted to stop drinking tonight.”

Donghyuck shook his head, his luscious hair flopping along with his movement. “Don’t do this because of what I said. That’s not what I asked. Are you okay with this–yes or no?”

“I–” You were shy but you weren’t unwilling. This game had gotten you physically closer than any other attempts that were made. It gave you a little confidence when it came to Donghyuck’s physical touch.

When Jaemin and Ari mentioned they had something up their sleeves, you didn’t think a little card game would get you this far. You couldn’t deny the rising tension between you and Donghyuck, especially how it skyrocketed during the many rounds of dares. Neither could you deny the gentler moments sprinkled in the middle of the more intense scenes of the wild night. If all of those moments were leading up to this, why run away from it?

“Yeah.”

That was not what Donghyuck was expecting to hear. “Yeah?”

“Let’s do it,” you nodded bashfully. You turned to face your friends, feigning confidence, “We don’t have tequila so hand me some sugar and the apple mango soju.”

Sweet drinks weren’t really Donghyuck’s thing. He was more of a plain soju and beer person but while you were both out at a barbeque place earlier in the year, he mentioned that he liked the taste of apple mango flavor in passing. Months later and you remembered that little fact. Donghyuck bit back a grin.

He reached out a hand towards you and you carefully placed your hand in his. Donghyuck helped you off your high stool, looking for a place to set you down. The island bar was filled with the food, drinks, and the card game so that wasn’t in the running. The dining table had all the white elephant gifts piled on top, so that wasn’t a choice either.

His eyes landed on the low coffee table in front of the couch and led you to it, your hand clasped tightly with his. Your free hand held the bottle of soju, the sugar, and the shot glass. When no one was looking, you took a quick swig before seating yourself on the cold, glass surface. Donghyuck kneeled in front of you, wedged between your thighs.

Your friends followed, jittery with excitement over what was going to unfold. They planted themselves behind the couch, keeping their distance.

Handing him the sugar shaker, you braced yourself as his tongue licked a spot on your neck. Fingers and toes curling at the sensation, you cocked your head to the side while he sprinkled a bit of sugar on your skin. You didn’t dare open your eyes until you felt him more than a breath away. Avoiding any sort of eye contact with your friends, you fixed your gaze on the person in front of you, pouring the alcohol into the glass. When Donghyuck finished, he looked up at you with parted lips and a glazed over stare.

“Ready?”

Unable to spit out words, you felt your head move up and down. With your approval, Donghyuck placed one hand on your upper back, the other on your thigh, as he guided you down. You winced when the freezing glass met your skin. A gasp followed when the bottom of the shot glass rested on your bare stomach.

The room was silent as Donghyuck placed his arms behind his back. You stared at the ceiling as he descended. Struggling to keep your inhales shallow to keep the shot glass upright, you dug your nails into the heel of your palm. Panic and arousal flooded your brain when you snuck a peek of his head in between your legs. First came the tickle of his long hair, then the puff of his breath. The sensations they caused ignited the fire within you and a wetness to leak into fabric, the one that was fueled by another person’s touch.

Donghyuck paused for a moment, peering up at you. Eyes locked onto his target, he kept a steady gaze as his mouth wrapped around the rim of the glass. The sight of him was too sensual, too debauched for your heart to take, you broke the connection and rested your head back on the glass table. A bit of the soju spilled on your stomach when he threw his head back to take the shot. You wanted to wipe the cold liquid with the hem of your skirt; however, Donghyuck beat you to it, his wet lips thoroughly slurping up the remainder.

To end the dare, your best friend trapped you under him, his arms planted on either side of you. You instantly turned your head to give him more access. One of Donghyuck’s strong hands cupped your jaw to keep you in place as his tongue thoroughly traced the stripe of sugar until it was all gone. He started from where your shoulder met your neck, ghosting all the way up until his nose nudged your earlobe. Donghyuck caught the sharp gasp that escaped you, felt how your hand left crescent moons on his wrist.

One, two, three beats passed until Donghyuck retreated, the scent of his strong cologne whiffing past you as he pulled back. You released a trapped breath and grabbed hold of the hand he offered. Using his strength to bring you back up, your widened eyes met his.

Unbeknownst to the two of you, your friends had already moved on from the dare and deemed their roles as matchmakers a job well done. They moved from their spots behind the couch and began clean up duty. Renjun placed all the used kitchenware and rinsed them in the sink. Giselle and Yeri threw away all the trash and clutter around the kitchen and dining room area. Jeno and Karina moved like two peas in a pod, working together to put away all the leftovers in the fridge. Jaemin and Ari gathered all the cards, disregarding the points earned, and placed them back in the box. No matter who earned the most points, it was clear who the winners were–you and Donghuck won the game and your prizes were each other.

Even with the hustle and bustle happening throughout Donghyuck’s apartment, neither of you noticed, too entranced by each other. Donghyuck was completely under a spellbinding haze–the glazed over expression on your face, paired with your heavy breaths and your parted lips–that he just couldn’t help himself. Hidden by the back of your couch, no one witnessed how your crush broke himself out of his trance just to kiss you one more time.

His lips, still damp with the alcohol that spilled from his messy drinking method, connected with yours. This kiss was slower than the one that took place earlier in the night. Slower but needier. You tasted the sweet soju as your tongues converged. Even with others in the room, who could catch you at any second, Donghyuck never increased the pace. He kept you there with him, warm hands holding your face, thumbs caressing your cheek and the back of your neck, as he lightly bit your bottom lip.

Unable to control yourself, a quiet sigh broke free when his touch ran up to grab a handful of your hair. You instantly felt Donghyuck react to it. With that boost in confidence, his mouth formed a smirk and let out a breathless chuckle that left you desiring more of him. His hips rocked forward just once, something hard swiftly brushing against your privates, and it was enough for you to release a high-pitched mewl at the contact. When Donghyuck pulled away, his deep gaze was still locked on your puffy lips, now swollen from all the damage he’d done to you. Drawing back again, he took in the whole sight of you from his current spot, kneeling in between your spread legs.

You were so breathless, chest heaving and body flushed with warmth. The stain on your lips was almost completely gone, what was left of it messily blotched around your mouth. Even if you reapplied it thirty minutes prior, Donghyuck was almost one hundred percent sure it disappeared because it was smudged on him.

So breathless. So taken. So ruined.

That was the word. You looked ruined and it was all thanks to him.

Lee Donghyuck did that to you and he was damned proud of it. Even if nothing else stemmed from whatever this moment–this night–was, Donghyuck would take the overwhelming pride he felt to his grave. No other kiss, no other makeout session, and whatever followed would ever top this exact moment for him.

You released a quiet giggle and swiped your thumb against his lips. He kissed it as you continued your ministrations, attempting to clean off the bright color that now painted his face.

Would it be so bad of him if he told you to stop? Would it be okay for him to keep those stains, those little specks of you, on his skin? Was it shameless of him to ask? If it was too brazen, he’d do it anyway–Donghyuck would do anything to be at your mercy.

“Hey, lovebirds, we’re heading out!” Jaemin called from behind the couch with Ari snuggled up at his side.

The two of you spun towards them and spotted all your friends gathered by the door. Yeri and Giselle were slipping on their shoes, using Renjun as balance as they stood on one foot. Jeno held Karina’s coat, fighting the blush that warmed his face while the girl of his dreams clung onto his arm. If you were in your right mindset, you would’ve commented on that but you were far from it. You were far from sober, too intoxicated not by the many drinks you consumed, but by all the kisses Donghyuck gave you. They were addicting in their own type of way–with his little suckles, licks, and nips.

“You’re sleeping over, right?” Ari asked, “No need for us to take you home?”

In normal circumstances, you would sleep over with no other questions asked. It was an unspoken rule that you had every time Donghyuck and Mark hosted but this was different than the other times. You just kissed your best friend–the one you usually share a bed with–on multiple occasions throughout the night and there was some sort of invisible string drawing you back to him every single time you pulled away. Ari, as a faithful girl’s girl, was giving you a way out, an option if you didn’t want to take it any further.

As you debated the choice that was given, Donghyuck continued to breathe you in. Although he had a certain look to him, with all the flirtatious methods he had under his belt, the boy was a one girl sort of guy and that girl would always be you. You didn’t know it but he was saving himself for you.

To him, you were not another girl he could have a one-night stand with. You were the person he wanted to wine and dine, to take care of at the end of a long day. He wanted to shower you with his love, undying devotion, and kisses so sweet that could rival the taste of your favorite dessert. And yes, this was a risk–possibly the biggest one in his short lifetime–but out of all the risks he took tonight, this was the one Donghyuck was most willing to take.

You faced Donghyuck, a silent inquiry in your features, as you thought it through. He cocked his head at you, “It’s up to you, princess. It’s okay if you don’t want to sleep over this time.” There was a sense of finality in his low tone, ready to accept whatever answer you were willing to give.

There was the Donghyuck you knew and loved–always putting your comfort before his own. Even when his hardened state was centimeters away from the place it craved the most, Donghyuck maintained his distance out of respect for you. That alone made you want to stay with him, to explore where else the night could take you.

You leaned forward and pressed your body against his. Resting your chin on his shoulder, you leaned your head on his and Donghyuck immediately coiled his arms around your exposed waist.

“I’m gonna stay,” you notified the crowd. Turning so that your lips brushed against his sensitive ear, you whispered just for him to hear, “that’s okay, yeah?”

Donghyuck slammed his eyes shut at your whisper, tightening his limbs that settled around your middle. With his body still in between your legs, you locked him in place by crossing your calves against his back. Your core was now in direct contact with the cold metal of his belt and you shuddered. You sensed the contrasting warmth right below it as you shifted. “Yeah, yeah, it’s okay.”

You could barely maintain eye contact as your friends made their way out the door, “Get home safe, you guys! Text the chat when you get home!”

“Why should we? You’ll be too preoccupied to check,” Yeri yelled back as the front door flung shut.

“You think they’ll finally do it?” Giselle laughed as they all bolted down the stairs.

Karina turned back to face her friend, “Do what–fuck? Yeah.”

“Thank fucking God,” Renjun sighed, “I’m tired of seeing them look at each other like lovesick puppies.”

“They better get together after this or all our hard work was for nothing,” Jaemin scoffed. Ari, still stitched to his side as they stepped outside the complex, nodded in agreement.

“I just feel sorry for Mark,” Yeri winced as they made their way to their respective cars. She pulled out her phone to text the group chat—Mark wouldn’t see it until after his shift at the bar but at least it would act as fair warning.

“Same,” Jeno agreed. He opened the door for Karina, allowing the girl to slide inside the passenger seat before shutting the door and making his way to the driver’s side.

“He’ll live,” Jaemin laughed with no remorse whatsoever,“see y’all later.”

With their friends gone, they were truly alone. No one was left to bother them and the only thing to fill the silence was the Christmas playlist in the background. Donghyuck released out a deep exhale and nuzzled his way into the crook of your neck. His hands were splayed against your thighs, caressing all the bare skin he had direct access to. The feeling of his warmth was contradicting–it heightened your mood but also made you feel so incredibly safe.

Deep in your heart, you knew that Donghyuck would accept whatever you had to offer. If that meant taking things one step further, then he would pursue the heartracing chase that has been going on all night, running you down with kisses and ministrations that would leave you weak in his clutches. But on the other hand, if it meant that you changed your pretty little mind and didn’t want anything to occur, he would take it like a champ and accept that too.

Donghyuck’s subtle touches were light and sensual but never broke the barrier. He just held you, his touch sliding up from your knees to the top of your thighs, fingers skirting around the seams of your bottoms to the curve of your ass. His caress didn’t break through any layers, they just lingered as he continued to keep you in his hold.

You were the one who crashed through the walls that were made. You were the one who called his name, making him turn his chin to face you. You were the one who looked at him so intensely before dipping down to steal another taste of his addicting mouth. And Donghyuck, with all his might, matched your level of desire perfectly.

When your limbs encased him in your embrace, arms around his broad shoulders and legs locking around his hips, Donghyuck let out a miniscule noise and you took the chance to lick around his split lips. Your tongue snaked its way in, stroking the tip of his for a second, before teasingly pulling away. He prevented you from completely ending the kiss, his hand firmly gripping the back of your head.

You sighed out his name, falling more and more into him, and that was it for Donghyuck. He stood up and carried you down the hall. When he stopped kissing you in the middle of the hallway, your brows furrowed and you pulled back in confusion. He wore a sneaky smile on his face as he gestured up with his eyes.

“Mistletoe,” he chuckled.

“You’re impossible,” you said, turning away to smile. He was so impossibly cute.

“What’s so wrong about wanting to kiss you under the mistletoe?” Donghyuck asked, cocking his head to meet your gaze again.

“Nothing.”

“Well then, if it’s nothing, then give me another kiss.”

The sweet and light touch quickly turned into something heavier, doused with all the longing you kept locked up deep in your heart. Donghyuck, with the same degree of desperation to love you, matched your intensity. Your back roughly hit the wall as he raised his knee to apply pressure on your center. The slight pain and the definite pleasure blended so well, you moaned loudly. He lifted his knee again to rip another noise out of you and your whimpers were almost too much for him to process.

“Hyuck?”

“Hmmm?” he hummed as he suckled at your neck.

You were practically sinking down the wall, immersing yourself in his kisses. “Room.”

“What?”

You pried him away from your bruising skin from all his nips and kisses to say, “Your room.” Dropping a kiss to his lips, you begged, “Please.”

Completely in sync, you reached for each other again for another round of urgent kisses. It was the blind leading the blind as Donghyuck stumbled through the narrow walkway to find his room. It would have been easier just to let up for a minute or two but the act of kissing him while desperately searching for his space was so incredibly hot. You were sure it was every girl’s dream to be so carnally wanted by someone to the point of never letting go. You were still processing that you were truly wanted this way by the guy who took up permanent residence in your brain.

You faintly heard the door open and close before you were dropped onto his mattress. You let out a surprise squeal at the unexpected action and he laughed as he slowly crawled over you.

Donghyuck always left his LED lights on even when he was out of the room. You scolded him each time he did it, lecturing him about saving energy, but this was the one time you didn’t. You were glad he left his purple lights on because now you were able to see how truly taken he was by you.

The lights created a halo around his body and yours. Each of you took a moment to soak up your appearances–Donghyuck with purple lights outlining his lean body, light shadows not enough to hide the affection written all over his face and you with your hair spread across his bedsheets, chest heaving in anticipation, and dilated eyes looking up at him.

Your hands snaked up to the hem of his sweater, tugging at it. It was an unspoken question and Donghyuck answered it instantly, stripping himself of the one layer he had on. Unable to resist, your fingers danced across his bare skin, tracing the lines of his lean muscles. You’d seen him shirtless many times before but never like this. You never had him hovering over you with the feeling of desire coursing through your bloodstream.

Sliding your hands up, you tugged at his long hair to bring him closer to you and his arms faltered for a second. Donghyuck collapsed, dropping so that he rested on his knees and arms. The strands that you played with dangled across your forehead and you reached up to close the distance.

“I’m going to ask you one more time before I can’t stop myself anymore,” Donghyuck whispered against your lips. “Do you want this?”

No hesitation. “Yes.”

He kissed your breath away, his hands resting against your ribs. Dogghyuck squeezed hushed sounds out of you as he stripped you of your crop top and bra all at once. His hands grasped your breasts, fondled them, while the open-mouthed kisses continued. They drifted from your mouth, his lips marking a path down your neck to your cleavage. Donghyuck teased your nipples with his hand and tongue, watching you writhe with each action he made. Your manicured nails scratched at his back as his licks and pinches quickened.

“God, you’re so–” Donghyuck lost his train of thought when your palm added pressure to the growing need in his pants.

You struggled to get his belt off in between all his distractions. As soon as you did, your nimble fingers unbuttoned his pants and began to shove his tight jeans down his meaty thighs.

Donghyuck reluctantly ripped himself away from you to do the rest of the work. He did a sloppy job of it all, hopping here and there to wiggle out of his jeans but you didn’t care. You kept your eyes on him, your gaze raking from his head all the way down to the apparent tent in his boxer briefs. Crawling your way to the edge of the bed, you looked up at him while you tugged on the waistband of his last remaining layer.

“Don’t look at me like that, princess,” he groaned while you pulled him back towards you. Donghyuck was beyond ready to risk it all for you, no matter the consequences. Logic and friendship be damned.

“Like what?” You blinked slowly.

His hands went to your hair, tugging you up until you were at eye level with each other. The other arm coiled around your waist and pressed your bare, heaving chests together.“God, do you want to be kissed until you can’t breathe?”

“By you? Please,” you pleaded again. Donghyuck gave in to you, protecting your head as the two of you fell back. He kissed you as your back hit the bed a second time, his tongue passing over every crevice in your mouth. He met his need to be closer to you by grinding his hips, an action you promptly followed. His hands and yours were in absolute synchronization as they tugged the remaining layers off.

It seemed like all Donghyuck wanted to do was shower your entire body with his undying devotion, to show you how much he loved you. His lips skipped over the apex between your legs, kissed down your extremities, until he was off the bed with your garments in hand and haphazardly tossed them to the side.

His hand wrapped around your ankle and dragged your body to the end of the bed. Your heavy breathing increased when you realized exactly what Donghyuck was up to. He shot you an animalistic grin as he dived in with a long lick to your velvet skin.

“Hyuck, oh my god,” you cried.

He sucked on one of your lips and then the other with the same amount of pressure. “Again.”

“What?”

“Say my name again.” This time, he swirled his tongue around your clit then added pressure with the tip.

It pushed another winded call of his name out of you and you felt him smirk against you. Donghyuck traced your folds with one finger with a featherlight touch before it ventured inside your aching need. His digit slid right in and out, showing just how much you craved him. His eyes tracked how they eased into you, the sight never boring him in the slightest.

Adding another finger made you even more vocal, as did his tongue playing with your clit. Donghyuck never let up. Even when your fingers tugged a little too tightly on his hair, or when you trapped his head in between your legs, he refused to surrender. Not when your sugary sweet voice kept calling for him.

You grew hot, sweat forming on your skin, as he continued to drive three fingers into you with a speed and depth you could never replicate. The noises you made became more incoherent with each second that passed, Donghyuck couldn’t even process that you were calling his name. He was too into you, eyes rolled to the back of his head, moans buried into your skin.

“Wait, wait–” you screamed, forcefully tugging his head away from you, even though you were teetering the edge.

Donghyuck was dazed, lips and chin drenched by your juices, as you commanded his attention. “D’you want to stop?”

Tears gathered around your waterline, threatening to fall, as you gathered yourself. “N-no but,” you gleaned at the clock on his wall, “Mark–”

Donghyuck possessively growled when his roommate’s name left your lips. He didn’t want to hear anyone else’s name when you looked so disheveled except his. “What about him?”

“He’s coming home soon. He can’t–” Hear us was what you wanted to say.

Donghyuck, however, did not give you time to finish that statement.

Shoving his three fingers back into you with determination, you heard the embarrassingly loud squelching noises over your whimpers. Donghyuck seemed into it, a madden and driven expression taking over his face, as he snarled back, “I’ve waited too fucking long to have you like this. I don’t care if he hears you–let him hear you. I don’t care as long as you’re mine.”

His fingers combined with his god-send of a tongue worked endlessly, never faltering, as they brought you higher and higher. Worries worlds away, all you could center on was the immense pleasure coursing through your entire being. Fingers curled around his hair and played with your breast while Donghyuck coerced more noises out of you. Your insistent jerking at his hair and squirming alerted him that you were almost there, you just needed a little more encouragement.

“Be a good girl and cum for me, baby,” he said before his tongue flicked tirelessly.

The soft order mixed with the new nicknames and his brazen desire to make you come undone was too overwhelming, you had no chance of warning before it all came crashing down. Stars in your eyes, cries bubbling out of your mouth, and hands gripping onto anything within your reach, your whole body reaction was good but not enough to satisfy the greed Donghyuck had in him.

“You sound so pretty, so so pretty,” he whispered as he kissed your pulsing bundle. He stroked himself with a painstakingly slow pace, feasting on the way you lost yourself.

When you came to, you rushed to stake your claim on him. If he had his way with you, then you needed your time and space to do the same. Leading him onto the bed, you positioned him to lean against the bedrest and seated yourself on his thighs. His fingers sank into your ass, kneading your flesh until you rocked in time with his movements. And just when he thought it couldn’t get any better than that, your fingers gripped his lengthening cock and began to move.

Paired with the hickeys you planted on his chest and neck, Donghyuck was at your complete and absolute mercy. When your tongue circled a nipple, he released a weak noise. Picking up on how much he liked it, you repeated the action on the neglected partner then kissed your way down to his hardened cock. When you held his gaze captive with your siren eyes, you descended, tongue running along the side of him. Your lips ghosted against the area, never engulfing him, to prolong the teasing.

“Want you to sound pretty, too,” you said as you licked the cum off his tip. “Can you do that for me? Sound pretty?”

Donghyuck let out a small noise that you struggled to hear.

Withdrawing your mouth, you allowed your hands to do the work. They bobbed up and down at a slow, menacing pace, twisting at the right times. When he grew louder, more desperate, you nosed and smirked against his length before giving him what he wanted. Hollowing your cheeks, you sucked lightly on the end before deep-throating him. Saliva dripped from your lips as you relax your jaw, his tip hitting the back of your throat.

The action shocked Donghyuck, overloading his nerves, heart, and brain that he almost lost all sense of self. The strong charisma he held while taking care of you disappeared, reduced to pathetic little moans and uncoordinated jerks of his hips.

You heard through the grapevine that he was a verbal lover but you didn’t think he was that noisy. You didn’t mind it though, you took his whimpers and babbles as incoherent praises. Desperate mumbles of your name fired out of his lips and his hands yanked you away before he finished.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said when his hands tugged harshly on your hair. His eyes were still closed as his lips covered yours. He lapped at your mouth, tasting himself, as he placed you on your back again. He nibbled at your earlobe, so near that he could hear your strained puffs. “Dreamed about this for years, waited too damn long. Can’t end like that.”’

“For years, baby?” You scratched his scalp.

His brown eyes rolled back. “Fuck, I love it when you call me that.”

“Baby?”

“Yeah,” Donghyuck exhaled. “Again?”

A begging and pliant Donghyuck was a rare sight, you wondered how hard you could push.

“No,” you said firmly, a hint of a smile breaking through when you caught onto his frustration.

When he bucked his hips, you clenched and resisted the urge to grind back. “Why not?”

“You’re cute when you beg.”

Donghyuck let out the loudest whine, grinding again. You coiled your legs around his hips, tightening them to lock him in place. Desperation leaking out of him, he continued his actions. The friction caused by his cock rubbing against your folds was so delicious, you almost gave in.

“You’re a tease,” he groaned deeply.

“No, that’s you.”

“Please,” Donghyuck’s voice sounded so strained. “I want to hear it again.”

Positioning your lips right by his ear, you gave into his request. “Baby.”

Donghyuck showed you just how much he loved that name by bringing your lips back together. His lower body pressed you against the mattress, hasty ruts making his cock slide against your folds. He blindly reached for his drawers, hand crashing against every surface to search for a condom. In his rush, things scattered about, making the task much harder than it should’ve been. He unwillingly separated from you to retrieve the wanted package and slid it on his fully hardened state.

Hushed, nervous giggles took over when Donghyuck inched towards you. He brushed your loose strands sticking to your cheeks away just so he could see your whole face, all flushed because of him. Placing a gentle peck on your lips, he positioned himself and pushed past the barrier of your folds. Donghyuck took his sweet, sweet time sinking deeper into you and your annoyance grew faster than his pacing.

“Hyuck,” you whined, your mind and body obsessing over the way he felt. His cock was girthy, definitely thicker than his three fingers, but just as long. Just one little thrust by him and he’d hit your spot and you were positive it would feel like heaven. You dug your heels into his back and he keeled.

“Yeah?” He stilled when he was fully sheathed, breathing heavily at how your body clung onto him.

“Move,” you harshly whispered, pressing your heels again. The stretch he caused wasn’t an overbearing one, it was one you were more than ready to handle. You needed Donghyuck in all definitions of the word but he wasn’t budging.

“I can’t,” Donghyuck choked when you clenched. You were so tight, affecting him too strongly with the tiniest movements, his mind was conflicted on what to do. A part of him wanted to linger and soak it all in, while the other wanted to lose all sense of control. “You feel so good.”

When you clenched around him again, Donghyuck folded. He never had a chance when it came to resisting you. In the past, he struggled whenever you batted your eyelashes at him or gave him the devilishly innocent puppy dog eyes. How was he supposed to resist your requests when he filled you up to the brim, skin pressed against skin, lips just breaths away from each other? He was at your beck-and-call to the greatest degree and this was the ideal situation to prove it to you.

His first thrust was sudden, interrupting another request spilling out of your mouth. You choked out an elongated groan and it died in your mouth as he moved again. His pacing may have been slow but it was purposeful. You truly felt every little thing–from the way he drew back to the way your body sucked him back in. A part of you wished to get rid of the condom, so you could make out how the ridges and veins swept your walls, but you knew this was the safer, more logical option. (Plus, there was always the next time.)

Your matched rhythm increased as time passed, sounds of skin slapping and pathetic whines echoing within his room’s four walls. His deep plunges hit the target every-time, his cock directly adding a divine pressure to your g-spot and in response, your nails created dents and scratches on his beautifully tanned skin. Your hands explored every crevice of his body, dragging trails down his chest, arms, and abs. His lips traversed the expanse of your neck and collarbone, before coming back to capture yours in messy kisses.

And when you broke away from his kisses to let out neverending whimpers, Donghyuck knew that you were close. His hand lifted one of your legs over his broad shoulder and that new angle alone made you grip and thrash around the sheets. Your motions were frantic at this point, his hips operating at a relentless pace that you could barely chase. His hands on your hips alleviated you of most of the work, your body too spent in the blaring white, starry-eyed high he was providing.

His fingers reaching down to pinch your pulsing clit was the final move before you came crashing down. Ecstasy rippled through you and once again, he milked out your cum until your body trembled with aftershocks. He pulled out then, his large hand rushing to finish himself off.

As you were slowly descending from your high, your one thought was to return the generous favor. Donghyuck jerking himself off to completion didn’t sit right with you. Hazingly, you crawled over to him and swatted his hands aside. The boy was lost in confusion at your actions but it all became crystal clear to him when your face plummeted to his now bare cock, the condom disregarded somewhere on his bed.

Donghyuck’s tip quickly hit the back of your throat as your hands fondled whatever could not fit. He didn’t last much longer, his groans reaching new heights in volume and his once flourished moves turning into an uncoordinated state of frenzy. Donghyuck, with his tight grip loosening through your hair, said your name once more. His mouth slackened and the long-awaited bliss ultimately reached its peak.

A familiar room welcomed you as you opened your eyes the following morning. You blinked away the sleepiness, adjusting to the light that peeked through the blinds. The clock on the wall read eight thirty in the morning, otherwise known as too early to be awake after drinking the night away. Slumber was calling your name but so was your stupid bladder. You unwillingly wiggled out of his embrace, watching and giggling as his body adjusted to the empty space beside him.

You muttered complaints about the cold in your head as you trudged to the bathroom, picking up Donghyuck’s knit sweater as another layer of heat on the way. While you were up, you took care of your usual morning routine–washing your face with Donghyuck’s skin care products, drying your skin with the towel set he always left for you, and brushing your teeth with the toothbrush that stood right next to his.

The domesticity of it hit differently the morning after you were intimate with your best friend. Something in the air had changed and you hoped it was for the better. A small part of your heart, the one that was so incredibly smitten with him, worried Donghyuck would view their night together as a one-time thing. Another part of you, however, believed the words he uttered last night. After all, he said he waited too damn long for this. That had to mean something, right?

You quickly nestled back into the sheets, shifting until the blankets were up to your shoulders. The shirt Donghyuck dressed you in was big and comfortable but the thin fabric wasn’t enough to keep warm throughout the night. Neither was the sweater you threw on. Your preferred source of heat was inches away, his body scorching despite being shirtless.

Donghyuck groaned as you attempted to make yourself comfortable. His arms snaked around your middle, spooning you just like he did the night before. His face dug into the back of your neck, his nose prodding the sliver of skin not covered by your bedridden hair. His low morning voice, the complete opposite of the higher pitch he used around the group, made your heart plummet.“Why did you leave me?”

“I was gone for five minutes.”

“Five minutes too long, princess,” he whined, his fingers skimming up and down your thighs.

“You’re so needy.”

This touch rose at a snail’s pace. He brushed your underwear then moved underneath your clothes to rest his palms on your stomach. “No, I just missed you.”

“Yeah, needy,” you retorted playfully, turning to face him.

The fond smile on your face matched the expression on his and you kissed him softly. He gave you a second kiss and then a third that allowed you to get lost in him. You noticed and enjoyed every little thing he did–his hands dragging your hips to meet him, the sound caught in his throat when your leg wraps around his middle, his tongue lovingly caressing yours.

Donghyuck reluctantly broke away from you, trying to create some distance. He grew a little self-conscious upon tasting the fresh mint on your lips. Covering his mouth, he said, “Wait, shit. Morning breath. Let me just—”

“Don’t care,” you muttered, straddling him so he couldn’t escape your clutches. You pulled him back in, smothering your best friend with all the kisses he deserved. You left one on each of his eyes, the pretty beauty marks sprinkled across his face, and over the hickeys you littered across his golden skin.

He chuckled in between kisses, “Who’s the needy one now?”

“Shut up, you loser,” you rolled your eyes with fake annoyance.

“I thought I was your baaaaaby,” he teased, palms running up and down your sides. You paused at that and Donghyuck noticed. “Hey, what is it? Did I say something wrong?”

“No, it’s just–”

You released a drawn out breath.

“You’re thinking a little loud,” Donghyuck’s voice let up, his concern slipping through his words. He cupped your cheek and your eyes met. “But not loud enough for me to hear your thoughts. Wanna let me into that pretty mind of yours?”

You basked in the way his thumb strokes your cheek so gently and the stars that were shining in his eyes. Lee Donghyuck was many things—a hard worker, a flirt, intelligent, caring, hilarious, a pain-in-the-ass, a brave soul. The list went on and on. He wore many crowns and carried many titles but the one title he did not claim was being yours.

Donghyuck was your best friend but he wasn’t officially yours. And you wanted him to be.

In your bright and rose-colored eyes, Donghyuck was a risk-taker. He took the risks he wanted to last night to get you in his bed. But was that all there was to it? The part of your heart that doubted his actions and feelings took over your thoughts, the questions picking at you with no avail.

If Donghyuck could take risks, then why couldn’t you? Channeling the confidence your best friend usually carried, you asked, “Do you need me the way I need you, Hyuck?”

You reached for the hand resting on your cheek and brought it back down to his bare chest. Fingers interlacing, the back of your hand picked up on his heart pulsating rapidly against his chest.

As if sensing the doubt in your head, he tasked himself to send the negative musings away. Donghyuck didn’t answer your question directly but the words spilling out of his mouth were more than enough for you. “You are the only dream that fills my head—nothing else but you.” He said your name so tenderly, your heart grew three times—no, a million times—too big. At this point, the muscle and the smile that you wore bursted at the seams.

Donghyuck laid out his cards in this game of love and it was time to reveal your hand. You squeezed his hand tightly as an act of courage and then took the leap of faith. “I like you,” you blurted out, “so much. Sometimes too much that it hurts.”

Amused and overjoyed by your confession, Donghyuck rushed up to kiss you. His lips pressing against you so suddenly caught you off guard, you lost your balance in the act. “You are so fucking cute, I don’t know what to do with you,” he muttered in between pecks that made you laugh aloud.

“Date me?” you suggested with a shy smile.

“Princess, I’m going to date the hell out of you, just you wait.”

His kisses eventually subdued and you found yourselves laying on your sides facing each other. No words were exchanged as your heads rested on their respective pillows. You were happy when his words never stopped flowing and when you stared in silence with matching grins.

You watched Donghyuck’s face contort into one of concentration, his fingers rising above his head to count something, before he turned back to you. “We’ve spent seven Christmases together—”

“Oh yeah?”

“—and this one is definitely my favorite.”

His confession was beyond sweet, it’s honey dripping out of his mouth. Over the years, Donghyuck wiggled his way into your holiday traditions. There was a lot you’d done over the years, from ice skating to gingerbread houses to movie marathons and impromptu snowball fights. Many of those moments were core memories you kept dear to your heart. Donghyuck admitting this meant a great deal to you and the space your heart had for him increased tenfold. Your heart was now completely his.

Although they drove you insane with their obvious scheme, you thanked the meddling kids you called friends and their stupid game in your head. After all, they were the ones who encouraged you to risk it all in an extremely unserious and unconventional way.

With that being said, the risks the game of life had to offer were terrifying. They were difficult. If you never took them, they would forever leave you pondering about the road not taken. But when you did take them, risks big or small, they were always worth it.

Kissing Donghyuck sweetly on the lips, you replied, “It’s my favorite too.”

(01:27) Yeri: i’m so sorry marky (01:29) Jeno: ditto (01:29) Jeno: f’s in the chat for mark (01:30) Karina: f (01:30) Renjun: f (01:30) Yeri: f (01:30) Ari: f (01:31) Giselle: fffffff (01:32) Jaemin: shut up, he’ll be fine (01:45) Yeri: I’ll leave my extra key under my mat if you wanna crash somewhere else, just got home (01:50) Giselle: home, gnite everyone (01:51) Ari: we just got home too, night night <3 (01:55) Jeno: home, rina’s here too (01:56) Yeri: oh??? (01:56) Karina: shut up (02:35) Mark: wtf i just got home, why are you sorry (02:35) Mark: what happened (02:36) Mark: bro hold up i hear noises from hyuck’s room, who else did you invite?? (02:36) Mark: did y/n get sexiled??? where is she?? (02:36) Mark: she’s not in my room, i thought she was sleeping over?? (02:37) Mark: wait—OH MY GOD YOOOO WTF IS THAT Y/N IN HIS ROOM (02:37) Mark: …oh my god that’s her let’s GOOOOOO (02:38) Mark: omf they’re so loudddddd dude wtfffff (02:38) Mark: fml yeri im coming over

AUTHOR'S NOTE. I know it's past Christmas now but I hope you enjoy this holiday fic. It ended up being longer than I thought it was going to be but it's done! My first full fic in quite a bit. The games and hilarity that ensue in this fic are based on one of my drunk game nights with friends. Every time I hang out with this group, something inspires me--we're like sitcom worthy at times lol. Fic worthy even. I hope you all enjoy it and let me know what you think.

Happy Holidays and Happy 2024! <3

TAGLIST. @nctsworld @johtenrecs @emmybyeakitty @sokkigarden @hyuckworld @baekhyuns-lipchain @yutaholic-main @moonctzeny @suhnnyskiess @smileysuh @everloving-avenue @justalildumpling @tywritesstuff @mikalovesicecream @carelessshootanonymous @emvrd @taelme @fairyiene @dreamy-carat @smwhrinthehaze

#nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct x reader #haechan scenarios #haechan imagines #haechan x reader

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urhoneycombwitch · 1 year ago

Text

I know what they call you.

Eddie Munson x shy!Reader You’re a little lost in your head. Eddie wants to find you.

foreword: The healing properties of good head <333 Anyways I labeled this R “shy” but she’s more… introverted? Reserved? this one goes out to the weird and off-putting girlies who have a lot to say but are kinda quiet instead. Timeline may be a bit wibbly but designed it to be early 4th-season era, with R (early 20s) having played an undetermined part in the various Upside Down battles from seasons previous. Loosely based on this anon every1 say thank you anon!

cw: alcohol/weed used as a social crutch, R is hassled by a guy at a party (but her boys back her up), brief vomit mention, implied bad home life for R, light SH by way of tight grip, PTSD, R has breasts+V, praise kink, oral (R receiving), one (1) spank, multiple orgasms (R), soft dom!eddie, overstim, coming in pants (E)

wc: 11k

___

It’s spring break, 1986, and you’re cursing the name of your so-called “best friend” Robin Buckley.

You didn’t even want to go to this stupid kegger in the first place, arguing with her the whole ride over from Steve’s backseat.

“Don’t you think it’s totally lame that you’re basically being chaperoned by two gap-year losers?” you’d said, leaning forward to rest your elbows on the console, seatbelt pulling taut across your Rolling Stones tee. “You’re a big girl, Robin, you don’t need Steve and me to babysit you anymore.”

Robin began protesting but Steve interrupted, tapping at your forearms without looking away from the road- “Sit back, wouldja, that’s not safe. And for the record, it’d only be lame if we were, like, thirty and still going to high school kickbacks. Gap-year drinking parties are a rite of passage.”

You’d sat back against your seat with a huff, arms crossed, unconvinced until Robin turned those big pleading eyes your way over the back of her seat. “You wanna talk about lame? Lame is me getting anywhere within a 60-foot radius of Vickie. I am totally hopeless around that absolute beauty.”

She’d twisted in her seat and reached for your hand, and you gave it to her grudgingly (the two of you ignoring another of Steve’s gripe about vehicular safety) as she said, “You’re like, the best wingwoman I’ve ever met. Please come to the party and help me avoid the natural disaster that is me running my mouth.”

Robin wasn’t just being generous- you were a killer third wheel. Especially when alcohol was involved: the walls that you naturally upheld around your introverted demeanor by day turned liquid as whiskey by night, often scoring you major cool points with your friends for things you barely remembered doing the day after.

So you’d relented, and in turn resolved to get as drunk as possible as quickly as possible (in the name of Robin’s aid, of course), but turns out your best friend didn’t even need your help in the first place; within 5 minutes of setting foot in the crammed house party Robin won a spot right next to Vickie on the living room couch, starry-eyed gaze saved only for the redhead that bore no room for your intervention.

Three shots ago, the situation would have struck you as funny, but it’s been a lonely time (what with Steve abandoning you, too, in favor of chatting up some college blonde); drifting from packed room to packed room, sneakers sticking to the floorboards, winding through throngs of sweaty dancing students just to keep on top of your alcohol consumption.

Kind of like hunting in the wild, you muse, leaned against a wall with red solo cup in hand. Flirt with Amy Thacker and her low-cut blouse to access the watering hole (Mystery Punch, green both in color and flavor); let Lenny Baker put his paws on your waist to gain entry to the standing liquor cabinet. The stuff of nature docs.

If this dimly-lit Hawkins party is the savanna, then you are the antelope- grazing on snacks, never staying in one spot for too long, minding your own business and staying way the hell away from the lion’s den (the group of jocks in Hawkins Tigers polos).

Unfortunately, you push off the wall in search of a refill at the same time Lenny Baker decides to sidle up to you, nearly knocking the cup from your grasp when he bends his thick head to shout in your ear above the music.

“Great party, right?” His arms are crossed above his tank of a chest, blocking you from a smooth exit via the kitchen archway.

“If you’re into drunk teens, I guess,” you say back, pointedly, licking a stripe up your wrist from where the punch had sloshed onto your bare arm.

When you look back up Lenny’s still standing there, watching you with a hungry edge that’s starting to make your well-honed antelope-sense tingle. As you not-so-subtly cast your glance around for Steve, Lenny leans in again, close enough to give you a sour whiff of his breath. “I’m legal, if that’s what’s got your panties in a twist. And what’s wrong with having some fun?”

“I’m not into having fun with douchebags who ‘roid away their remaining brain cells to bully my friends,” you retort, flatly. You doubt this guy knows you’re connected to the Hellfire group (de facto sitter, second only to Steve), but the insult seems to land anyways.

Lenny scoffs, going for a low blow to offset the sting of his bruised ego- “If you’re trying to play the part of slut, you were doing a way better job earlier.”

What the meathead hasn’t picked up on yet is your absolute lack of care about him- or anyone else at this stupid fucking party, for that matter. Besides Robin and Steve, obviously, but they’re equally indisposed at the moment. You’re feeling bold enough that you could play dirty: throw the dregs of your drink in his face, make a real scene- but the shots from earlier are hitting you sideways and you’re not entirely confident in your ability to multitask.

So instead, with a wink, you tell him, “At least this slut knows when to quit,” and turn on your heel, abandoning the kitchen escape route for a closer door that leads to the back porch.

You suck in lungfuls of cool night air, trying to clear the fuzz of booze from your vision. When you don’t hear any angry footsteps following in your wake, you sink against the wooden bannister and tip back the last of your drink in one swallow. Maybe Steve doubled back to the car…?

With your empty cup left neatly on the railing, you set off down the couple of steps that separate you from the grass, except the toe of your shoe catches on a hidden groove in the wood, and nothing is within reach to grab onto as you trip and begin to fall.

The stumble should have ended with you facedown in the dirt, but something- someone- solid breaks your downward path, catching the upper half of your body in a sturdy hold even as your legs twist around themselves.

“Whoa, whoa, hey, I gotcha. You okay?”

The voice is instantly familiar, one that you’ve heard ringing out from underneath the drama room door on countless occasions as you’ve waited on your various child wards to wrap up their D&D sessions.

Eddie Munson is holding you in his leather-clad arms, larger than life with that big cloud of hair and doe-eyed gaze matching yours. He helps you stand, properly, dropping his hands once you’re stabilized and taking the warmth of his palms with him.

“You okay?” he asks again, tilting his head, looking at you with fresh concern from under that mop of bangs. “Looks like you had a lot to drink.”

“Thanks, Dad,” you drawl, bravado flooding back in. “Am I really gonna get a fucking lecture on drinking from my local drug dealer?”

Instead of rising to the bait or bristling at your tone, Eddie grins- delighted, wolfish- before letting out a low whistle. “Who coulda guessed: resident Shy Girl has a mouth on her.”

You twist said mouth into your own smile, one that you hope is coy and charming and not dorkily lopsided (because you stopped being able to feel your face after that last drink), and coo, “You thinkin’ about my mouth, Munson?”

He laughs- a full, vibrant sound that lights up the night. There’s a flutter in your ribcage, knocking up a frenzy at the noise, like it wants to get out and at him, but you tamp it down and play it cool.

“You’ve only seen me in the cold, unforgiving light of day,” you continue, as Eddie rifles through his pockets, surfacing with a pack of cigs, eye contact yet to be broken. “My nighttime alter ego is a real riot, all liquored up.”

“Well, I happen to think you’re a riot in the sober light of day, too.” Eddie shrugs a shoulder as he flips the lid of the cigarette box.

You’re unsure if he’s messing with you- he’s gotta be, right? The only meaningful interaction you two have had in the past handful of years has been through the courtesy of the children in your respective care- a few surface-level conversations during carpool pickup, some flirting on his end that you’ve always been too skittish to return.

Well, until now, you guess. Maybe this is a good thing, him seeing you like this- it’ll either scare him away, or you’ll finally make good on the quiet crush you’ve been harboring.

You’re about to speak again when the porch door opens with a bang; you and Eddie swivel at the same time to see Lenny clomping noisily towards the steps, voice booming out over the thrum of bass back inside- “This freak bothering you?”

You look between the metalhead and the jock, eyes wide and mocking as you call back, “No, but you’re starting to!”

“Jesus, talk about poking the bear,” you hear Eddie mutter behind you, but your focus is taken up by the fact that Lenny is tromping down the steps and reaching out to grab your upper arm, his cold and clammy palm taking up a sizeable amount of space.

You can feel that rage, simmering and easily accessed, start to crawl over your skin. You stand your ground in the face of someone much larger than you, sneakers planted firmly, chin tilted in defiance- I’ve killed monsters in alternate dimensions, asswipe. You might’ve scared me back in high school but now I dare you to fuck with me.

Before Eddie can jump to your defense, you’re already going in for the bite, voice dripping with derisiveness. “So glad your right hand found its way off your dick for a change, Len. How about you do me one better and take it far, far away from here?”

Lenny’s face is almost purple with anger as his grip tightens, and you feel Eddie moving in at your back- to do what exactly, hard to say, ‘cuz Lenny’s got about 60 pounds on the lanky DM- but just as fast as the tension has ramped up, it gets diffused with the arrival of one Steve Harrington from around the corner of the house.

He cuts a smooth path through the grass to your other side, Robin’s sweater slung over one arm, twirling his car keys in neat loops around his finger, boasting a casual demeanor that doesn’t match up with the steely look he’s giving Lenny. “You heard the girl, Baker. Time to am-scray.”

Whether it’s the rumors of Steve’s nail bat or the manic look in your eyes or the fact that he’s outnumbered, Lenny’s got plenty of reason now to drop your arm.

Which he does, spitting one last “bitch” at you before hulking off into the night.

The anger in you recedes like a wave. You breathe out a dry laugh, then turn back to the boys, clasping your hands over your heart with faux-dopeyness. “My heroes. How will I ever repay you?”

“Shutting up, for a change, would be a great start,” Steve grouses over the sound of Eddie’s cackles.

“Holy shit. Can’t believe your girl’s feistiness almost landed me in the hospital.” Eddie shakes his head, plucking a cigarette out and sticking it between his plush lips.

“She’s not my girl,” Steve says, even as you wind your arms around his chest from behind, tucking your chin over his shoulder. “She is, unfortunately, my problem.”

“I love when you two talk about me like I’m not here.” You simper at Eddie from your draped position.

He’s watching you with a fondness that feels overly familiar, through the haze of smoke streaming from his nostrils as you pat the chest beneath your hands- “Don’t worry about ol’ Stevie boy. He’s turned into quite the good guard dog after the whole Russian mall takeover last year.”

“Aaaaand that’s enough talking from you,” Steve says firmly, twisting out of your arms and putting his own around your waist. “Say goodbye to your new buddy, we’ve got a Robin to collect.”

As Steve steers you towards the direction of his car you wave at Eddie, a motion that he returns, his rings glinting in the porch light.

“Christ, you really are somethin’ else with some drinks in you,'' Steve fusses, helping you into the backseat, hand shooting up to block the door frame before your head can collide with the metal. “Did you seriously have to bring up the Russians?”

“He probably thought it was a joke, Steve,” you say, exasperated and fighting the twisted middle seatbelt with uncoordinated hands. “You know… those things that you tell people when you wanna get in their pants?”

The crack was aimed at Steve’s recent string of strike-outs in the dating department, but he throws it back at you. “You’re trying to get in Eddie Munson’s pants?”

“No,” you sputter, indignant and feeling suddenly too hot.

Steve knocks your still-struggling hands from the belt, clicking you in himself, before pointing an accusatory finger in your face. “Stay here while I get Robin, and no throwing up in the Beemer.”

He shuts the door, Robin’s sweatshirt hanging from one shoulder while he stalks back into the house.

You let your head fall back against the seat and close your eyes, bright cherry embers of cigarettes between lush-lipped curves dancing behind the dark of your lids.

___

You manage to avoid throwing up in the BMW, saving the worst of it for the downstairs toilet of the Harrington house after Steve drags you and Robin indoors. Once your body is purged of the spirits, you collapse into your usual side of the guest bed, sweaty and exhausted, murmuring an apology to Robin who squeaks at the rocking movement of the mattress. In a few minutes, you’re lulled to sleep by the gentle snores of your best friend.

The morning sun is a very rude awakening, Robin apparently having forgotten to close the blinds before leaving with Steve for their shifts at Family Video. There’s a full glass of water on the bedside table and a few loose Tylenol tablets, the word “DRINK” sprawled on a sticky note in Steve’s handwriting.

You wince, down the meds along with half the water, and start the search for your sneakers.

When you’d signed up to protect a bunch of teens at the end of the world awhile back, it had seemed like a one-time gig. But now, here you were a few years later, loading yourself into your curb-parked junker to willingly cart around the same kids.

While wearing yesterday’s clothes. Even with the sprays of cologne that you’d stolen from Steve’s dresser, you’re pretty sure you’ll be fooling no one.

Evidenced by your first stop in east Hawkins for Dustin Henderson, who clambers into the front seat with a scathing appraisal. “Rough night?”

“You could say that,” you reply, shifting the gear to drive and grimacing at the subsequent squeal of metal that pierces into your left temple. “Learn from my mistakes as a washed-up twenty-something and cool it on the teen drinking, all right?”

“Washed up though you may be,” Dustin intones sagely, digging through his backpack and producing two brown-paper bundles, “you are now one Claudia Henderson Breakfast Sandwich Deluxe richer.”

You take the proffered sandwich gratefully, steering with one hand to peel back the oil-stained paper from the still-warm bread. “God. Is your mom looking to adopt?”

“She’s kind of got the perfect child already, but I’ll keep my ear to the ground for ya,” Dustin says around a mouthful of cheese and egg.

The solid breakfast helps your stomach ease back into a place of normality, but with your next stop adding two more kids to the mix, the rowdy bickering that follows puts that Tylenol to work.

“You’re an idiot,” Max is saying to Lucas over the sound of his indignation in the back seat. “You seriously think Indiana Jones would win against Supergirl? She can shapeshift, and she has heat vision.”

“All I’m saying is, it’s really hard to see a whip coming.” Lucas is stretching the limits of his seatbelt in his earnestness to get his girlfriend on his side.

It doesn’t work- Max rolls her eyes and taps at your shoulder. “Help me out here. His logic is totally shit, right?”

Making a turn onto the main road, you nod your assent without looking back. “I think you should listen to your very smart girlfriend, Lucas.”

Max makes a triumphant “hah”, and Dustin adds fuel to the argument’s fire when he drags in some other comic book character that you’ve never heard of.

You hazard a glance in your rear-view mirror at Max, who’s too busy dishing out an enthusiastic rebuttal to notice. Her auburn braids swing with the movement of the car, and you wonder if they were done by her mother before work or if Max had to rely on her own hair expertise again.

You’ve got a real soft spot for Max, always have. While you both have plenty of cause to bond over shitty home lives, it’s also Max’s brash and defiant attitude that drew you to her. She’s got the bravery you can only hope for, something that you are sure to tell her frequently, even though the compliment is hard for her to take.

You score a parking spot that’s right in front of the arcade, calling after the kids already scrambling out of your car that you want to leave at noon, sharp. They all give some form of distracted acknowledgement before disappearing into the building, so you figure the earliest you'll be getting out of here is noon-thirty.

Not like you have much to do today, anyways, besides bother Steve and Robin at work- since the arcade is conveniently located right next to Family Video, it’s a perfect excuse to wait out the kids’ spring break activities in the company of your nearest and dearest.

You’re cutting a swift track up the sidewalk when you nearly collide with Eddie Munson, for the second time in less than 24 hours.

“Hey!” He beams at you, a wide, easy thing that fits on his face so well, like it was made to be there, boyish dimples digging in. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah,” you agree, trying to smile back but probably landing somewhere in the grimace region as memories of last night float to the forefront of your mind. Small talk. You can do it. Say something. “Um. Were you getting a movie?”

“Nah.” Eddie shakes his head, hooks a thumb at the Family Video doors behind himself. “Keith’s one of my regulars. That guy might actually smoke more weed than me.”

You hum mildly to show you’re still paying attention but really you’re looking at Eddie’s hair, dark curls that shift with each of his movements. His hair isn’t black, like you’ve been led to believe this whole time- with the morning light shining through, highlighting the halo frizz around the edges, it’s actually a deep, chocolatey brown.

Similar to his eyes. Which are trained on you. Because you haven’t talked in a weird amount of time and are now just openly ogling his hair.

Before you can open your mouth to apologize Eddie asks, “You wanna smoke?”

You nod, perhaps a tad too enthusiastically, and then stretch on your tiptoes to peer around Eddie’s frame at the Family Video sign. “Yeah, but we gotta be fast unless you want the Wonder Twins joining us.”

His grin slips into a smirk, and he winks before taking your hand in his. “A quickie, then.”

That fluttering thing in your ribs is back. The metal of Eddie’s rings are cool against your palm as he leads you around the side of the building, dropping your hand once you both are leaned up against the red brick.

Trying not to outright stare again, you watch from the fringes of your vision as Eddie lights up and breathes a cloud of smoke into the air. His nails are painted black- they weren’t last night. An image of him- hunched over a kitchen table, tongue sticking out of those pillowy lips in concentration, a nail polish brush held in his long fingers- flits across your mind.

Eddie holds the cigarette out, filter-side towards you, and you shake your head lightly. “No thanks. I don’t actually smoke, I just wanted to talk to you.”

Eddie glows. Before he gets the wrong idea you start explaining, arms crossing tight over your chest in unconscious defense- “I wanted to talk about last night. And say I’m sorry. I’m not usually so…”

“Badass? Charming? Hot?” Eddie fills in when you trail off, taking in another deep drag of smoke.

Christ. You feel heat rushing from head to toe as you ward off his flattery, nails nipping into your upper arms. “I was gonna say… talkative? I guess? I’m normally not one to pick fights, but Lenny was being a dick and I don’t like the way he treats the kids, or you, for that matter, and I was drunk and mouthy but that’s not an excuse to drag you into it and I’m sorry-”

“Hey, hey.” Eddie’s tone is soothing, low, cutting smoothly into your feverish confession. He reaches out and strokes the back of his knuckle across your hand, tiny half-moons from your nails leaving their impression as you soften your grasp on yourself.

He doesn’t seem to mind that you can’t look anywhere but at your sneakers planted in the gravel as he says, “You have nothing to apologize for, sweetheart. I’m a big boy, I can handle myself when it comes to dickwads like Lenny Baker. And I would say that rescuing fair maidens is part of my job description, but…”

Eddie stubs the half-smoked cigarette out against the brick, flicks it to the ground, and waits until you look up at him again before saying “You don’t seem like you’re in need of any saving.”

That flutter, again, as you hold his eye contact for as long as you can stand it.

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “There she is.”

Mortified, you resist the urge to scream into your hands as you push off from the brick, instead squeezing them into fists at your sides. “Oh-kay. Well. I better head inside or Robin will send out the search party for me.”

Eddie lets you walk past him, but just before you turn the corner he says, “I’m across from the Mayfields in Forest Hills if you ever want some company. Or some good weed.”

Footfalls from his thick-heeled boots recede into the distance, and you take a minute to calm your breathing before pushing your way through the doors of Family Video.

Steve’s stocking a shelf of New Releases at the front of the store, vest-clad torso faced away as the bell above the door signals your entrance. On autopilot he monologues, “Welcome to Family Video, let us know how we can be of service.”

“Aw, I miss the days when you were forced to say Ahoy, mateys!” You tease, Steve turning to give you an irritated frown as you prop your hip against the register counter.

Robin clacks away on the computer, hitting the Enter key a little harder than necessary as she says, “You’re about one mall fire and a bajillion NDA’s too late to ever hear that shit again.”

Keith must be lurking around in the back office, ‘cuz the three of you only refer to last year’s cataclysmic series of events as a “mall fire” when you’re talking in code.

Or if you’re trying to be funny. But based on the dark circles under Robin’s eyes and the harried way Steve’s shoving a hand through his hair as he drifts towards the counter, you surmise that the three of you are very much on the same page this morning with regards to humor and hijinks.

“I didn’t know it was possible to be this hungover,” Robin groans, sinking her hand into a torn-open Skittles bag and popping a handful into her mouth. “Sugar is supposed to help, right?”

You snort, fiddling with a stack of paper brochures as Steve leans against the counter.

“Had any more run-ins with the town riffraff?” He asks, feigning casual, honey-colored eyes roaming around the shop.

“I’m visiting you, aren’t I?” You shoot back, unreasonably defensive.

“Another point for the pretty lady, and Harrington strikes a zero,” Robin totals in her best sports broadcasting voice. “What the hell are you talking about, Steve?”

“Drinky McGee over here was spilling her guts last night to none other than Edward Munson,” Steve replies, looking satisfied when Robin’s eyes bug dramatically.

“Eddie?” Robin hops off the stool, sliding her hands from the other side of the counter to stop your own from ripping the brochures to shreds. “And what, pray tell, were you spilling about with Eddie Muson?”

“Nothing.” You pull your hands from Robin’s, rolling your eyes as if the stakes are low, when in fact the stakes are as tall as the Empire State Building. You can practically hear the wind whistling from this height. “I wasn’t… we barely talked. He was backing me up when some jock started messing with me. That’s all.”

Robin whirls on Steve with animosity- “You left her alone long enough for some meathead to get involved? Jesus, Steve, the hell is wrong with you?”

“Like you shacking up with Vickie after two Tears for Fears tracks is any more responsible!” Steve snaps.

Having spent enough time with both your friends to know their propensity towards petty arguments, you slap a hand against the counter to derail. “Hey! Both of you knock it off. It’s fine, I’m fine, we survived yet another night out on the town unscathed. Let’s just… drop it.”

Steve looks properly chastised, but Robin gets a glint in her eye that confirms she’s not thrown off the scent so easily.

“You know what they call him, right?” she asks you, lowering her raspy voice even further.

“Eddie The Freak Munson,” Steve supplies, but shrinks noticeably when Robin gives him a withering look. “...not that, then?”

“Of course you, Steve The Hair Harrington, would only know him by that name.” Robin shakes her head, disapproving, before turning back to you with a wicked grin. “Word on the street holds Eddie The Munch Munson in very high regard.”

Steve scoffs at this, but you blink, uncomprehending. “Munch, like… he eats a lot of food?”

You feel very suddenly and violently ganged up on when Steve and Robin give you mirrored quizzical looks.

“No, babe,” Robin says, slowly. “Munch as in he eats pussy.”

“Jesus christ.” Heat courses through you as you scan the empty store, even as Steve chuckles and says, “You really are a prude.”

A skittle sails airborne into the side of his temple and he flinches, Robin coming to your aid. “That’s no way to talk to a lady, Steven.”

“I’m so not a prude.” You’re quick to jump to your own defense. “I just… didn’t know what that meant.”

You’d had a boyfriend for 6 months your sophomore year of high school, Ben- nice enough guy, but you’d mostly dated as an excuse to get all your firsts out of the way. Some laid-back hookups have occurred since then- it’s not like you’ve been chaste all these years, for fuck’s sake.

But you certainly wouldn’t give any of those boys a prize-winning nickname for their ability to eat you out.

“It’s all baseless gossip, right?” Steve grabs a nearby wheeled cart and pushes it to the New Releases, resuming his shelf stocking. “I mean, what the hell else are small-townies good for other than trading lies like baseball cards.”

“I dunno,” Robin says, thoughtfully, sucking at her front teeth. “If the token lesbian is hearing about it, then he’s gotta be some sort of sex god.”

Steve’s making a snarky comeback, but you can’t hear him over the whistling in your ears.

You stare blankly out at the parking lot, one hand absently crunching at a brochure, trying really hard to think of anything but those plush lips and all the places you want them.

____

Ever since the events of last year ripped a hole in your found family’s world, you make it a weekly habit to visit Max.

You’re always armed with some excuse- made too much pasta, please take it off my hands and put this tupperware in your fridge; I was on my way to the thrift store and thought I’d stop by, wanna come with and help me pick out some new jeans?- so that it’s harder for Max to deny your company. Slowly, over the last handful of months, by way of secondhand book offerings and slices of leftover pizza, Max has let her guard down enough to let you in.

Even on days like today, when her demeanor suggests active disdain (calling you “mom” with a caustic bite when you ask after her last meal, rolling her eyes when she finds you doing the leftover sink dishes), you don’t take it personal. Her coldness towards little acts of kindness is due to the shitty way other people have failed her. And plus, you’ve put in enough effort to be able to see the warm side of Max Mayfield.

Like now, for instance- she’s giving you a bone-crushing hug on your way out, freshly-braided hair pressed tight to your sternum as you hug her back and sway in the doorway. The hug is quick and fierce, over in seconds as she slips back into practiced indifference

“Stay out of trouble this week and I’ll buy you a pony,” you joke as she pulls away, and the smile that she cracks makes it all worth it.

“Make it a racehorse and you’ve got yourself a deal,” she says, giving you a small wave before closing her front door.

You walk down the dirt path to your parked car, keys in hand. Tonight’s schedule is that of a responsible, sensible young adult- the classified ads on your desk at home need trawling through, and a laundry pile the size of Hoosier Hill waits expectantly on your floor.

But there’s this crawling under your skin, a feeling that tends to flare up every so often, a craving for some sort of release gnawing at the edges. Usually the cure is sad music and masturbation, or some of Steve’s parents’ wine and a cheesy romcom.

Or weed. That tends to work, too.

You’re shoving your keys into the pocket of your denim jacket and walking across the way to Eddie’s trailer before you lose your nerve, scuffing your sneakers against his porch while you knock.

He looks surprised to see you, dark brows raised, leaning into the palm he’s got on the doorframe- “Oh shit. Hi.”

“Hi,” you reply, tracking one foot up the back of your calf, feeling timid under his gaze. “Do you… can I buy some weed?”

When he nods, you duck under his arm and drop to one knee on the carpeted floor to untie your laces.

“Shit, sweetheart, don’t go to all that trouble.” He lets the door close, enveloping you both in the moody lighting of his trailer. There’s a radio playing the local rock station dimly from one of the bedrooms, and as you toe off your shoes you notice a gleaming black guitar leaned upright against the couch.

“Do you play?” You drift over on sock feet to gently brush across the strings, a faint and discordant noise rising and fading underneath your fingertips.

“Yeah.” Eddie’s voice comes from just over your shoulder as he watches your gentle fingers on his prized possession. “I’m in a band, actually. You should come see us play sometime.”

“That’s cool,” you say earnestly. “I remember when you got in trouble for that talent show performance- your band was totally swindled out of first place, if you ask me.”

When he doesn’t respond right away, you hazard a look at him over your shoulder and find him staring at you again, something you’re still not used to, giggling out a little “What?” as his eyes stay on your face.

“You’re pretty, that’s all.” The Dio logo on the front of his tee ripples when he shrugs a shoulder. As if he knew it would embarrass you, he leaves no room for your disagreement, turning away into the kitchen, stretching tall for the metal lunchbox on the top of his fridge.

His shirt lifts with the stretch, a flash of stomach lined with a trail of dark hair that makes you swallow back the gathering saliva in your mouth.

“So, weed,” he’s saying as he pops the lid on the box, shaking out a small bag of fuzzy-looking green clumps. “I can set you up with a couple of days’ worth, if you want.”

“That sounds good,” you reply, mustering courage to drift to Eddie’s side, pretending to assess the baggie he’s holding, committing to memory the way his long fingers deftly pluck apart bud from stem. “That way I can come back and buy more.”

His fingers pause, halfway to the metal grinder nestled in the lunchbox as he says, “You know, you don’t need to use weed as an excuse to come see me. I think we’ve already established I like lookin’ at ya, so you’d be doing me a favor if you came by more. Just to hang out.”

This offer sits between you as he grinds the weed down, then tips a stripe of it neatly across some rolling paper. His dexterous fingers pinch and tuck until a joint takes shape, a small strip of the paper poking out.

He holds it to your lips, brown eyes shimmering with warmth as he waits.

A Stevie Nicks song starts up on the radio, muffled by the trailer walls but crooning through all the same. This close to Eddie for the first time, you can smell him- balmy and spicy, like bergamot and Irish Spring.

You lean into the joint, licking across the paper in one unbroken motion. Your tongue catches on Eddie’s thumb when you pull away, and there’s a salt-warm taste that settles in your mouth.

“Good girl,” he says, in that low-toned voice, and you have to fight to keep your thighs from pressing together in your jeans.

“Wanna smoke here?” Eddie smooths the spit-damp end of the joint down, giving the end a twist. “Good way to test out the merchandise. First one’s free.”

You shake your head as he extends the joint- “I’m definitely paying you, Eddie. And no, I can’t smoke here.” With you being the unspoken addition to that sentence.

“Aw, shucks, sweetheart,” he drawls, devilish grin creeping back in, “You don’t trust me?”

“It’s not you I don’t trust,” you admit, before you can stop yourself.

His brows shoot up again, then waggle, obscenely. “Afraid I’m gonna be too tempting to resist once you’re in the clutches of the Green Dragon?”

Something like that, you think, wryly, but that fluttering is back and you really want to shut it up, so against your sensible, better judgment, you take the joint from Eddie’s hand.

“Got a light?”

You haven’t smoked in over a month, and with your tolerance so low two hits is all it takes to get you sprawled out on the living room floor, arms akimbo like you’re making a carpet snow angel.

Eddie’s a bit more restless in his high, plucking melodious and listless tunes from the couch with his guitar, one foot propped on the coffee table near your head.

Feeling loose-limbed and confident, you stare unabashed up at Eddie. He’d put his hair into a low bun, earlier, and there are a few dark tendrils swinging free around his neck with the rocking movements of his body to the music.

He hits a snag, string buzzing out a dissonant noise. “Can’t focus with you lookin’ at me.”

“Sorry,” you murmur, except you’re not at all. “Now you know how I feel all the time.”

He sticks his tongue out at you, your girlish tittering in answer; you pat the carpet beside your hip. “Come lay with me.”

His body responds easily to your request; Eddie props the guitar back up against the couch and stretches out next to you with a sigh, a wave of that smokey sweet smell coming with him.

Under your weed-filtered view, the popcorn ceiling above you is moving, whorling and undulating in the muted light. You’re feeling gutsy and sure of yourself as you ask aloud, “Do you really think I’m pretty?”

Your head turns so you can meet Eddie’s eyes, which are dancing across your face- cheek to lips to nose back up to eyes- and he doesn’t make a joke, this time, his words coming with weighty seriousness.

“Yeah, I do. I think you’re beautiful. Always have.”

“Always?” Your echo is a soft and seeking thing.

“Yeah, always,” he confirms, simply, as if it’s a fact of life. “Woulda made a move sooner, but you always seemed so…”

“Unapproachable? Aloof? Bitchy?” You fill the gap in his speech with adjectives that have been used to characterize you in the past- usually by boys in the heat of an argument over inconsequential things that have been lost to time, only the labels sticking around.

Eddie gives you a reproachful look. “No. I was gonna say, you seemed like you were always in your own world.”

This throws you for a loop. Neck on a swivel, you look back up at the ceiling as Eddie continues.

“I wanted to get to know you more, but I’ll be the first to admit I was intimidated by you. I mean, you’re way out of my league-” Eddie ignores the sardonic snort you give to this- “-and I just assumed asking you out would've ended with an epic crash and burn.”

The ceiling stops swaying, and you swivel back to hold Eddie’s eyes again, the weed making honesty easy. “I always kinda thought you were beautiful, too.”

Awash with the bravery that only comes from being in an altered state, you keep the momentum that’s aided by Eddie’s soft smile and push up on your elbows.

“I know what they call you.”

Eddie blinks up at you, then slowly, slowly, pushes himself up onto his elbows too. “Yeah?”

It’s a taunt, a dare, an I bet you won’t.

Shows how much he knows. When you’re drunk or stoned, he’d be hard pressed to find a bet you can’t win.

You say it, unwavering. “Eddie The Munch Munson.”

His lips fall open, leaning in towards you as if drawn by a magnet, and you think he’s gonna kiss you until he falls back against the carpet, scrubbing his hands down his face. “Shit. Fuck. We can’t do this.”

“Why not?” You’re a little taken aback, ‘cuz while it’s not an outright rejection, Eddie’s upping the drama, hands pressed into the sockets of his eyes, groaning as he tips into your side.

With his forehead pressed into the curve of your shoulder, he says softly, “I think we’re both a little too stoned to be thinking clearly. And I really, really want you to think clearly when it comes to this.”

“Comes to what?” You’re egging him on now, trailing your fingers up his bicep, coy and angelic.

He rolls away from you, making a pained noise with his face smushed into the carpet before pushing himself off the ground. “You know what, princess. New topic, for the love of god. You hungry?”

You are, actually, and when he extends his hand to help you up, you take it.

Eddie whips up a box of mac and cheese while you sit on a counter nearby, conversation engaging and fluid as he cooks.

Between interjections of ‘scuse me, angel, gotta get into this cabinet and can you take over stirring for a sec? you answer all his questions. You tell him your favorite bands, the states you’d visited on a road trip when you were six, even giving him the whole “my mom’s a nice enough person but we don’t get along” spiel that you don’t usually get to until a third date.

If that’s even what this is. He’s scooping steaming noodles into two bowls, passing you one, leaning up against the counter closest to the one you’re sat on. Your knee rubs against his ribcage as you eat.

In between chews, he lets you ask about himself- his favorite bands, the states he’s never been but wants to travel to someday, the highlights of his golden years with his mom that he misses every day.

There’s a quiet lull, after your bowls are scraped clean and set aside. He helps you off the counter and tells you to pick out a movie; you load The Black Cauldron into the VCR and settle into the couch cushion.

Eddie puts an arm around you, lets you play with his hands for the bulk of the film, running your nails methodically across his palms.

By the last act of the movie, you can feel your high beginning to fade, taking your courage with it; when the credits roll, you’re ready to call it quits and sleep off the hangover in your own bed.

“You sure you’re okay to drive?” Eddie asks, following after you as you tug your sneakers back on in the hall.

“Yeah, Eddie, I’ll be good. Thanks for the weed,” you say, pulling your jacket tight around your frame. “And for the- for everything.”

The smile appears again; the one that cuts deep dimples into his cheeks as he watches you step onto his porch.

When he says your name, you turn, keys in hand- “Yeah?”

Leaning into the doorframe like he had earlier, he cants his head, streetlight a warm glow across his cheeks. “You wanna know where I got my nickname, you come back in a few days. Sleep on it tonight.” And then he closes the door.

___

So, technically, he told you to come back in a few days, and showing up less than 24 hours later has to hint at being some sort of desperate.

Which, fuck it, you kinda are, at this point. Frankly it’s a miracle you’ve lasted this long what with the whole being plagued with visions of Eddie Munson’s hands and lips and hair and that stupid fucking nickname every waking and dreaming hour you’ve spent apart.

While you can appreciate the honorable nature of Eddie asking you to make a clear-headed decision, you’re wishing for a hundred things to take the edge off as you change out of the PJ’s you’ve been moping in all day.

Black tights stretch over your calves as you think of the whiskey you mom keeps hidden in the downstairs cabinet; denim miniskirt smoothed over your hips as you long for a deep hit of weed; hands shakily plucking your black tanktop into place as the urge to be anything but sober gets swallowed down.

You make the ten minute drive to Forest Hills in silence (relative to the weird engine noises your hunk of metal car decides to make), wracking your brain for silver-tongued excuses but instead drawing blank after blank.

By the time you’re rolling to a stop in front of Eddie’s trailer, you still have no idea what you’re gonna say to him- only that something needs to be said. Max is at the Sinclair’s for the night, one less person to worry about witnessing you slamming your car door shut and walking right up to Eddie on his front steps.

He’s wearing a pair of overalls, grease-stained, shirtless underneath- the tail end of a larger ink piece peeking out against his ribs. There’s a lone bike tire on the ground, held steady by the spokes his boot rests on as he wrenches the middle hub, biceps rippling and flexing with each movement.

Certainly a sight that would have stopped you in your tracks, on any other day. But you’re determined to have it out with the returning wingbeat behind your navel, planting your Converse in the gravel just before the first step that Eddie’s sat on.

He doesn’t seem surprised to see you this time, instead giving you a lazy smile on a half-tilt, wiping the tire oil from his hands onto the front of his overalls.

“What brings a fair maiden such as yourself to this ugly neck of the woods?” Eddie leans the tire up against the steps and rises to greet you.

You’re gonna lose what little nerve you have left if he touches you so you act quick, speaking as you cross your arms- “I need to tell you a few things.”

That stops him up short, just a few feet away as he inclines his head, hair loose around his bare shoulders. “I’m nothin’ but ears.”

A wet, rattling breath catches in your chest. You give a cursory scan around to confirm that the rest of the trailer park citizens are indoors, soft lights from rows of windows luminous against the darkening twilight sky.

“I have a… a thing,” you start, unsure of where to begin, really wishing you’d come up with a polished script on the ride over instead of being forced to flounder through for the right dialogue. “It started last year. With the mall fire?”

When Eddie nods his understanding, you continue, in short starts and bursts, like you’re fighting with the words before they come out.

“Something… happened. To Robin, and Steve, and to- to me. It was really bad, for awhile, and then it got better, but I’m still…” your hands squeeze tight into the flesh of your upper arms, nails stinging. “I’m fucked up from it. And the only way I can talk about it is if I’m fucked up, too. S’why I can only hold a conversation when I’m drunk or flirt while I’m high, like there’s this bad thing inside of me that I can’t look at when I’m sober-”

There’s a frantic edge that’s slipped in to your voice and Eddie steps towards you, as if to soothe, but you’re not ready to give in yet so you take a step back, choking out the last few words- “I just- I wish I could tell you everything, but I can’t, not yet, and I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

From somewhere in the forest behind, a bright chorus of crickets swells as you fix your focus on the ground, as Eddie’s boots crunch forward on the gravel, toe-to-toe with your sneakers.

He moves carefully, as if worried that you’ll spook- lightly brushing his fingers across yours, drawing your awareness to the fact that your nails are dangerously close to drawing blood, a sigh as you release.

“Thank you for telling me.” Unlike your own voice, his is low and sure as his thumbs brush against the red half-moons in your arms. “You’re really brave, you know that?”

He doesn’t leave room for you to dispute this, instead tracing the underside of your jaw with his knuckle, forcing you to hold his gaze, those deep brown eyes soft with empathy as he says, “I don’t have any expectations of you, ‘kay? I’ll be all ears when you need me to be, but you don’t have to spill all your secrets every time you come around. You wanna just watch shitty cartoons and keep my couch warm, that’s fine by me. Nothin’ else needs to happen.”

And it’s his acknowledgement of your admission, his softhearted way of letting you know that nothing needs to happen, that makes you brave.

Brave enough to tilt your chin into the lift of his finger as you say, “I didn’t just come here to apologize.”

You watch his Adam’s apple bob against the taut vein in his neck as he swallows, hard.

“Yeah?”

When you nod, Eddie blows out a breath and turns on his heel, motioning you to follow him up the stairs.

Your eagerness is obvious as you scramble up the steps after him, heart starting to thrum in tandem with the flutters as he shuts his front door behind the both of you.

“Take your shoes off,” is all he says, in a low, strained voice, before turning into the kitchen.

Obedient, you drop to one knee and jerk apart your sneaker laces with trembling hands.

Now on nyloned feet, you step onto the linoleum tile of Eddie’s kitchen. He’s faced away from you at the sink, taut lines of his shoulders rising and falling as he washes his hands.

“You’re sober?” He asks, still at the sink, drying his hands on a patterned teatowel.

When you realize he can’t see your nod, you speak- “Yes. Yeah. As a judge.”

A soft exhale through his nose, amused, as he finally turns to face you. Eddie’s eyes do that hypnotizing dance- skipping from your chin to your eyes to your lips back up again- and you let him, feeling exposed to the point of nakedness with the intensity of his focus.

“I want to hear you say it.”

The sentence winds through the air, joins the wings in your stomach, sits low in your belly as you shift your weight from side to side, a gentle rock to ease your flayed-alive nerves.

You say it. “I want your mouth.”

Eddie takes a step closer, nearly toe-to-toe with you again. Over the familiar layer of bergamot and fresh hand soap he smells like the outdoors, and faintly of mechanic oil, hearty and wild.

“Where?” It’s a single word, but with so much weight- suggestive, a taunt, an offer.

You breathe him in, eyes fluttering closed, ‘cuz brave as you’ve been it’s still hard to say some things while looking at him. “Want your mouth… on me.”

He crowds into your space, one hand gliding smoothly to set against your waist, the other fitted against your neck, tapping a thumb to your lips.

You part them, passive and wanting, but he doesn’t press his finger to the pad of your tongue like you’d hoped. Instead, he lets his thumb stroke to the corner of your mouth to make room for his own.

“Where?” he asks again, this time into your mouth. You can feel the tip of his nose graze yours, pinpricks of his hair tickling your cheeks.

“Please,” is all you manage this time, awash with heat when you feel his smile form.

“S’okay, sweetheart. I’ll work you up to it.” It’s a touch condescending, skirting that fine line between tease and mean, the same tone of voice that has your thighs pressing together.

And then, he gives you what you asked for. His plush lips- the ones that you’ve been fantasizing about for what feels like eons- are pressing against yours.

It’s a kiss that starts chaste, tender, but soon devolves into a heady, fevered thing when you push your tongue past the seam of his lips. He melts into you, using the hand he has on your face to keep you steady as he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, grazing his teeth into the plush of it before going back to twining his tongue with yours.

There’s an audible wet click as he pulls away, both of your chests heaving in the quiet that follows; Eddie rests his forehead against yours briefly to catch his breath, and then he’s tugging you down the hall and into his room.

It’s pleasantly messy and lived-in, posters and photographs taking up most of the walls, guitar cables snaking and criss-crossing atop his dresser. You take a seat on the bed, hands tightening into the flannel duvet while Eddie begins to undo the buttons of his overall straps.

Wholly fascinated, you watch as he pushes the thick material from his body and kicks it to the side, leaving him in just his guitar pick necklace and a simple pair of black boxers. Now on full display, you drink in the sight of the most skin you’ve ever seen of his- tattoos at his chest and arms dark against the rest of him, pale and gleaming softly in the yellow light of the bedside lamp.

You’re trying to figure out if the larger piece on his ribs is a dragon or some other mythological creature when he moves in to sit next to you, his kisses erasing all thoughts.

Eddie’s making these throaty little noises as you kiss; his hands track lines from your hips to your sides to your shoulders, your chest unconsciously pressing into his touch.

When his thumb catches on the outline of your beaded nipple through your shirt, he hisses lightly, drawing back to look at you again- “Is this okay?”

You nod, but he doesn’t seem satisfied with that, tsking as he swipes with his thumb again, watching closely as you react silently to the touch.

“Hard to tell when you’re enjoying yourself if you’re quiet as a churchmouse,” Eddie says, in a tone that’s reminiscent of training a pet. “You gonna let me hear you?”

Your teeth catch on your lower lip as he thumbs across your nipple again, shockwaves coursing into goosebumps as you choke out, “I’m not s-so good at that. Not without- fuck- weed..”

Eddie huffs a laugh, a little derisive but you figure he’s probably got the right, seeing as how you’re this worked up and he’s barely touched you.

“You’re plenty good at this sober, sweetheart. Want me to prove it?”

His hand falls from your breast, extricates one of yours from the covers, and slides it up the meat of his thigh- then to the front of his boxers.

The first noise you make for him is a small gasp, one that matches his own as you cup your palm over the thick jut of his hard cock.

“Told you,” he says, sounding strung-out, his hand still closed around your wrist, “You’re doin’ just fine at working me up.”

You wrap your fingers around the bulge as best you can with the fabric of his boxers separating skin from skin, gaining confidence to explore as his grip on your wrist loosens. The black ink at his ribs expands and shrinks with the bellows of his breath, jolting and stuttering with each stroke of your hand.

Just as he’s drawing in a breath to speak, tightening his hold around your wrist in warning, you still your movements. Delicately, slowly, you slide out of his grasp and take his wrist in your hand, placing his palm on your own thigh.

The whole “reciprocating pleasure with sound” is still a hard one to give in to; maybe you can compensate for your hesitancy by showing instead of telling. You guide his hand up, into your skirt, parting your thighs until his fingers find the wetness soaking through both your panties and tights.

“Fucking… jesus.” Eddie moves with the fluid surety that you lack, middle finger running up the seam of your clothed pussy, your hips jerking reflexively when he catches against your clit. “This all for me, princess?”

In answer, you lean to bury your face into the crook of Eddie’s neck. He lets you, taking the opportunity to hook your leg over his thigh, spreading you out as much as your fitted denim skirt will allow.

You pant into the column of his throat as he strokes you through the light layers, the fabrics grinding friction into your clit caught under his fingertip. He rests his chin on the crown of your head, cooing praises that have your stomach muscles tensing.

“That’s it, good girl, such a good girl for me.”

Your clit is throbbing now as he rubs you in small, quick circles, and you’re so close to falling over the edge that you have to pull his hand away.

Eddie picks up on your unspoken plea; he tugs the skirt down your hips then tosses it blindly over his shoulder, reaching for the edge of your tights. He slips them down your thighs, your calves, peeling them off you with reverence. When all that’s left is your best pair of satin panties, he maneuvers you up against the headboard and stretches himself flat on his stomach, nose pressing into your core.

That heat has come back, flashing through you with a vengeance as Eddie mouths at your pussy through the satin, sloppily but with purpose enough to have your cunt clenching around nothing.

You stay up on your elbows, watching that mane of dark hair bracketed by your thighs, but when Eddie pulls your underwear down and off your ankle your weight falls back against the mattress.

The flat of his tongue licks a wide stripe from your weeping hole up to spread the wetness around your clit. When he sucks the bundle of nerves into his mouth, your head presses back into the covers, hands grappling above you for something to anchor your grasp.

When Eddie flicks the point of his tongue against that bright spot of nerves your hands find a pillow to grip, and when he moans into your pussy the vibrations have you instinctively pulling the pillow against your face, teeth biting into the fluff, masking the whine that would have been loud in the otherwise quiet room.

You think you might be able to get away with this setup (what with Eddie seemingly focused on making you explode into a million little pieces) but there’s a sharp smack before the outer skin of your thigh is burning, white-hot from the kiss of his rings.

Eddie’s mouth leaves you only for the time it takes for him to rip the pillow from your grasp and scold, “Uh uh, none of that, c’mon,” and then he’s back at your clit, suckling with renewed vengeance.

There are little stars bursting at the edges of your vision, your hands shooting down to grip at Eddie’s hair when he pistons the point of his tongue against you again. Your hips are subtly bucking into his mouth, shaking thighs involuntarily closing around his ears. Normally you’d be concerned about Eddie’s air intake but going off the moans he’s burying in your pussy, you’d hazard a guess that he’s really into it.

As if in confirmation, he pulls off your clit with a wet pop, laving his tongue up the junction where thigh meets pelvis, voice sounding wrecked- “Doin’ so good, sweetheart. Fuck, you got me so hard. Gonna blow a load in my boxers like a teenager, y’taste so good. Gonna let me hear you? Hm? Wanna hear you.”

You’re dizzy with want as you prop yourself on your elbows again, mouth falling open as Eddie sinks two of his fingers up to the ringed knuckle inside your velvet walls.

His other hand comes to rest on the soft curve of your stomach, pinning you in place, before he looks up at you, black pupils nearly eclipsing the chocolate brown.

“What do you want?” he asks again, patiently, as if he doesn’t have two fingers nestled inside your cunt.

Your efforts to grind into him are stopped with his firm hold on your middle, and he tuts at you again- but instead of a reprimand, he seems to soften a bit.

“C’mon, angel,” Eddie says, with such tenderness that makes tears prick at the corner of your eyes. He presses his lips to the inside of your thigh before encouraging, “Lemme hear you say it, and I’ll make it so good for you. Promise.”

“Want you to make me come. Please.” Your voice is unsteady, but it’s audible enough.

Eddie rewards you by sinking his fingers further, to the hilt, heel of his palm catching against your clit. When you let out a warbling moan, he nods- “That’s it,”- before setting a steady rhythm for fucking his fingers up into you.

“Fuck, Eddie- fu-uck…” you’re trying, really trying to stay in the moment and not get caught up in the noises you’re making- for him.

When Eddie reattaches his mouth to your throbbing clit and angles his fingers to hit into that soft, spongy spot with each thrust, you feel waves of pleasure start to wash through you. There’s just time for a choked “Shit, Eddie, you’re gonna make me cum,” before you’re spasming around his fingers.

Somehow, you manage to stay on your elbows, bracing your body through the convulsive shocks, white-hot stars joining the wingbeat rhythm as Eddie takes you apart with his mouth and fingers.

He moans, long and low, fucking you through it and then some- your orgasm has been completely wrung out when you push at his forehead, whimpering at the overstimulation.

“No, baby, one more, please. Gimme one more,” Eddie lifts his head to plead with you, sweaty bangs glued to his forehead- and then he’s back between your legs.

It’s this moment that makes you retrospective. Sex with boys, in the past, has always been a quick means to an end: a few minutes of foreplay, tamping down your own pleasure for the sake of blowing off some steam.

But now, pleasure was being given to you in spades by Eddie Munson, and you wanted to give it back to him.

You come on his tongue and fingers, again, stomach tightening beneath his warm palm, and this time you really loose the sounds caught in your chest: a strangled mix of your bliss-soaked whines with his name, Eddie Eddie Eddie.

You feel the bed frame jolt below you both as Eddie’s hips thrust into the mattress in a frenzied tempo.

“Fuck me.” He pulls away, finally, panting into the side of your knee. He rests his head against your leg, lips tinged pink and shining wet, gazing at you with lust-blown eyes. “You are so fucking hot. Holy shit.”

Bashful as your peak wears off, you pull him forward so you don’t have to look at him when you whisper, “Yeah?”

“Yeah, princess,” he says, slumping against your chest and into your arms. “That’s going straight to my long-term spank bank. Number one. For sure.”

You slap playfully at his shoulder, and he rises on his elbows to kiss you- once on the lips, twice on the cheek- warm palms on the outside of your shoulders.

“Are you… d’you need any help?” you ask, reaching to tuck his hair behind his ears, feeling the crush of insecurity leech in. “I dunno if you even- I mean, did you…”

From all the physical activity, your breasts are half-spilled out of your bra, and Eddie bends to kiss at the tops of them, affectionately, shaking his head as he goes. “There is no world in which I would’ve lasted, just now. Very noble of you to assume, though.”

He grins at your giggle, then says- “I dunno about you, but I need some new underwear. Wanna borrow a pair of my boxers? Bet you’d look cute.”

________

Later, when you’re both cleaned up, dressed, and full from a pizza delivery, Eddie invites you outside for a smoke.

You sit with him on the porch couch, legs slung over his, a big flannel blanket shared over both your laps while he smokes with the hand that isn’t on your thigh.

There’s a crunching of wheels on gravel, and Max Mayfield’s bike lamp cuts through the dark.

“Hey, Heavy Metal,” she calls out, undoing her bike helmet and leaning her bike into its kickstand. “Are you done fixing up Lucas’s tires or do I have to keep hauling my ass all the way across town to see him?”

“I’ll have it done tomorrow, Red,” Eddie calls back, giving her a salute.

Halfway to her door, she remarks, “You two are gross, by the way,”

You cross your arms in the sweatshirt Eddie loaned you, slipping into irksome older sister mode easily. “So how’d it go with your boyfriend, tonight, Maxine?”

She flips you both off, but you catch the smile on her face before the front door bangs shut behind her.

Eddie chuckles, smoothing his palm up your thigh, then takes another drag. “You gotta come night smoke with me more often, angel. The streetlights suit you.”

“Gonna get me hooked on nicotine, too?” Your sock foot pokes him in the ribs and he tuts, snapping it up in his free hand and digging his thumb into the arch of your sole.

“Fuck no, your teeth are too pretty to ruin. Want you to come keep me company while I destroy my lungs.”

Another cloud of smoke lifts dreamily around Eddie’s face. His thumb is working wonders on the tense muscle of your foot as you tip your head to rest on the back of the couch. With the nearby streetlamp, his profile is cast in a warm glow; you do a dance of your own, eyes taking in the strong slope of his nose, tracking down to his lips, back up to the wild curls at his temple.

Eddie feels you staring, turns to fix you with a quit it look that you can’t help but laugh at- “What, so you’re the only one who’s allowed to stare?”

“That’s right,” he confirms, leaning forward to set his cig in an ashtray, bullying his way into your space, rings cold under your chin when he tilts your face towards his- “Gotta pay the piper for that obvious violation, sweetheart. Sorry. I don’t make the rules.”

This time, when the flutter within you kicks up, you have a place for it to go- melting softly into Eddie’s lips.

___________________

I wrote the last third of this while blasted please don’t judge too harshly lmao.

for more shy!Reader content: masterlist

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x shy! reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things fic #eddie munson fic #robin buckley #steve harrington #mdni

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im-constantly-fangirling · 21 days ago

Text

pride and prejudice

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

obxau!Rafe x afab!Reader

Word Count: ~3k

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

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

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

Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smirked a little. “I figured.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Judging by his smile, he knew you were looking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your phone vibrated with a text from your friend.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You definitely drank too much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You okay?” Rafe asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How about 20 Life dollars?” Rafe countered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rafe chuckled. “There’s that, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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