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atozfic · 1 year

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splish splash.

pairing. san x seonghwa x wooyoung x yunho x fem!reader synopsis. they’re out to prove who’s the best at the breast-stroke- gets dragged off stage as the people boo over such a terrible pun. warnings. no use of y/n, swim team au, lifeguard!reader, pro-swimmers!sanhwawooho, they’re all wearing speedos :), smut ( porn with unnecesary plot, degradation, m+f oral sex, piv sex, anal sex, double penetration, triple penetration bc u got 3 holes for a reason sweetcheeks, mxm interactions, dom/sub dynamics, spanking, hair pulling, way more warnings that there’s honestly no point listing, just know this is pure filth that covers most bases of stereotypical fanfiction smut, mother in christ what have i written? ) no verbal consent is given throughout this but all parties are willing participants !! word count. 20k+ ( of literal porn. i need to leave this physical terrain bc i am not worthy of existing after writing this i fear. ) hyde’s input. hey girlie pops, long time no see.

it’s crazy, what some people will do for money.

take, for example, your roommate. she’s a smart girl. a beautiful one, too. with a promising future in criminal law, once she gets herself that pesky little degree. and, yet, she’s funding her tuition with money she earns distributing high-end drugs on campus. rather counter-productive, most would agree. or, in a far less extreme version, there’s that overly-hyper frat boy, who can always be found doing the dumbest dares at a party, all for a few bucks and a keg of beer.

and then there is you.

you would have arrived home twenty minutes ago at this point, had things gone to plan, a backlog of neglected assignments and a baby bonsai tree in need of watering desperately awaiting your return. yet here you are, stuck in your ugly flip-flops and uncomfortably stale shorts, whistle around your neck and a look of exhaustion on your face.

the swimming pool had closed, technically, an hour and a half ago. the sports centre seems to believe, however, that certain members of the college swim team reserve the right to use the pool for however long they require and desire, even if it is at your expense. if you were being paid overtime, perhaps you’d have a more positive outlook on things and less of a frown creasing on your forehead.

if the swimmers weren’t so irritating, maybe you’d enjoy the view.

“all that height, and for what?” the sophomore boy’s voice- jung wooyoung? you aren’t overly familiar with him, seeing him only in sporadic flashes when you pass each other on campus or at some uncivilised frat party- echos through the large room, his hair a wet mess. if you were gaining anything from being here, you’d perhaps muster up the energy to remind the boy of how a swim cap is necessary at all times in the water. “can’t even out-swim me with those long legs!”

“wanna know what my long legs are for?” jeong yunho, a junior with the face of an angel and the body proportions of a sinner, pipes up from across the olympic length pool. unlike the other boy, a crimson cap keeps his own locks out of sight. “climbing up the stairs to go fuck your mom!”

it’s impossible to stifle your laughter, no matter how hard you try to just play it off as a tickle at the back of your throat, a cough forcing its way out. when your eyes meet those of the glaring senior, however, you’re wishing you hadn’t made a sound.

“even the lifeguard can’t take you seriously, yunho,” park seonghwa speaks, eyes not leaving yours as his muscled arms work to pull himself out of the water, before letting his well-rounded behind sit down on the edge. a breath hitches in your throat as his gloriously muscled thighs come into view, drops of water cascading down them in a pattern set to hypnotise you, keep you staring a little longer than is good for your health. “bet she’s heard all about you and the boner incident of 2019.”

truthfully, you have no clue what the dark haired male is on about. that doesn’t stop you from laughing again though, this time a little out of malice and a lot because it’s quite endearing to see a loudmouth like jeong yunho be silenced so easily, head bowed and ears a little rosier with embarrassment.

this small moment of peace is soon shattered by the reality that these boys can’t spend more than ten minutes in a room- particularly one that includes a pool- without arguing. while one boasts about his speed, the other begins to jab at his lack of endurance, and the remaining of the three reminds them all of the fact he holds the most medals amongst them.

“are they always like this?” you jump, surprised by the cold drop of water that lands on your exposed thigh, all courtesy of the boy who’s invited himself to sit down next to you on the bench.

“not always,” you bite at the inside of your cheek, willing yourself to not look at san in all his wet glory. you’re afraid that, once you start looking at him, you won’t be able to stop. it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve fallen victim to the crime that is his enchanting smile. “guess they’re feeling a little feistier than usual, with the district championship just around the corner. rumour has it one of you guys is risking his scholarship if he’s not in the top three.”

are you and san close?

that’s a good question. see, by social standards, you’re not strangers. you share several classes, you attend the same parties, you’ve even texted a few times- mostly on the days one of you miss class (read as: san misses class thanks to his swim-meets) and you need a copy of any notes taken that lesson.

but, you aren’t exactly friends either. you don’t go out of your ways to spend time together, you don’t know more than the surface level about one another, you don’t check-in with each other.

so, is acquaintances the best word to describe you two?

that depends on how common it is for an acquaintance to suck another acquaintance’s cock. granted, there had been a lot of alcohol in the mix, on both ends, with you drinking to forget a botched assignment and san drinking to forget how badly his voice had apparently cracked in front of his crush.

a few weeks have passed since the incident and things haven’t exactly been the same. you’ve missed class twice and ended up contacting heather- a sweet girl who sits down by the front and seems to live with her hand raised in the air- for any notes. likewise, san has found himself declining party invitations, the knowledge that you would be there all too prevalent in the front of his mind.

the irony is that neither of you quite know the reason why you’re avoiding each other, you just are.

or, were, until san had walked in with his swim team buddies- if they could even be considered that- and spotted you in your lifeguard attire. he hadn’t been as slick as he thought he was, sneaking glances at you between laps and even gaining an undeniable smile each time he watched you blow that stupid whistle at some misbehaving kids.

he was slicker with the fact he didn’t need to be here, at this hour. but, he figured staying gave him the chance to stare at you a little longer and, maybe, think up an excuse to talk to you.

“i should-”

“i missed-”

you both speak at the same time, minutes after watching the three musketeers disappear into the locker rooms, with the smallest of them continuing to dig at them for not being able to out-swim him despite their ample amount of height. san’s quick to signal you to go first, a dimple making itself known on his face and reminding you of the deadliest part of him: the false innocence that drips off him like warm candy.

sweet, sticky, making a mess all over the place.

“i should probably start cleaning up.” it turns out san also isn’t discreet when it comes to hiding the disappointment in his face, because no sooner than those words leave your mouth, the dimple is gone and he’s sat a little straighter, a little more ridged, like when the professor points him out in the middle of the class and the golden boy can’t stomach all the attention being on him. “but, what were you gonna say?”

“oh,” and it’s like he’s just remembered that yes, there is something he wants to say. “i missed you in class yesterday.”

it catches you off guard, leaving you to almost drop the whistle you’ve been fiddling between your fingers for the past few minutes. something about sitting so close to him while both of you are dressed so scantily has you feeling unnerved, like you need to run away as fast as possible, yet also wanting to plant yourself right in his lap.

“i didn’t think,” you’re cut off by your own throat, dry and desperate for a drink under his intense gaze. san is a walking contradiction, you think, with his sharp cheekbones and soft heart, his intense eyes and his easy-going smile. his presence gives you never-ending whiplash, never sure if he’s more angel than devil. “i didn’t think you noticed.”

“how could i not? there was no one to laugh with me at professor nam and his weird toe-shoes!” his laugh is infectious, willing your own to make an appearance.

the sound of distant muffled yelling fills the air of the swimming pool and it isn’t hard to recognise wooyoung’s high-pitched laughter amongst it. clearly, their childish arguing has carried on into the changing rooms. it surprises you in no way, already more than used to their antics.

their rivalry is one for the ages, all of them constantly bumping heads for the spot of the top swimmer on campus, their sports scholarships becoming their pride and joy.

you suppose it doesn’t help that all four boys run in different circles, only really crossing paths when faced with swim-meets and days of practice. the senior, park seonghwa, runs with the richer kids of the college, all sharing their trust-funds and god complexes as a common interest. you’re not overly familiar with them, though you’re certain he and a particular blue-haired boy are rarely seen apart. jeong yunho, the tallest, is in with the jocks, which is mostly just because his taller friend is the captain of the basketball team. and jung wooyoung tends to surround himself with the stoners from the school, something you’d learned from kang yeosang, a dealer you shared a couple classes with back in your first semester.

san, ever the golden boy, drifts between a couple different groups but he can usually be found alone and enjoying his own company, if not being followed by a flock of his own little fan-club, men and women alike begging for just an ounce of his time.

your name echos around the room. your head snaps to the side and you find that san is now closer, staring at you in a way that’s making your insides knot up. you’ve seen that look only once before, and it done nothing but leave your knees and your ego bruised. “were you listening to me?”

“what? uh, yeah, i was,” you’re quick to lie, knowing it’s about to backfire when he breaks out in a challenging grin.

“really? what did i say?” he only allows you to stumble over words for a minute before cutting off your incomprehensible speaking when he grabs at your chin and tilts your head up, staring straight into your eyes. “that’s what i thought. you were too busy getting lost in that pretty little head of yours to pay attention to me.”

you stutter over a noise and settle for that as your response, though entirely incomprehensible and nonsensical. the way he continues to stare at you feels cruel, demons dancing around in those pretty eyes of his. demons that are telling him to tease, torture, torment the fragile eyes staring back at him, the same ones he’d delighted in watching fill up with tears a few weeks back, the pressure of his crown slamming against the back of your tight throat entirely overwhelming you to the point of crying, tears dripping down your cheeks and mixing with your own drool pooling over the swell of his balls.

“need me to repeat myself?” you’re slow to catch up to the fact he’s speaking again, and even slower to notice the hand resting on your knee. at first, you think you’re imagining things, the feather light tracing of nails over your soft skin a mere figment of your imagination. but, no, your eyes flash down to glimpse and his hand is there, fingers dancing over your naked skin like it’s their own personal stage and he’s intending to put on the show of a lifetime. he speaks your name. “questions are meant to be answered.”

“i-” san picks the perfect time to apply pressure on you, hand gripping the flesh on the lower end of your thigh. goosebumps spring to life at the feeling of his cold ring on your damp skin. it takes a shaky breath to try compose yourself but you do eventually manage to get a reply out. “sorry... please say it again.”

“huh,” he pauses to contemplate, slowly leaning his face closer to your own, giving you all the time to pull back if you want to. you stay still and his minty breath infects your senses while the hand on your leg replaces your thigh with your face, the grip he has on it forcing blunt nails to nip at your skin. normally, you’d worry about the marks it’s going to leave behind. right now, you want him to grip tighter, dig deeper into your flesh till he’s drawing blood and licking it off your cheeks. “how the fuck do you still sound so cute begging?”

“is that,” his other hand curls around the back of you, finding a resting place on your hip. the window of opportunity you once had to pull back or run away is slammed shut the moment he tugs you a little closer, the side of your body crashing into his naked chest. “what you said earlier?”

“oh, no.” san almost sounds like he’s cooing, a mocking tone in his voice that has your thighs clenching in a way you’re sure he notices. his eye flickering down to glance at them confirms your suspicions, the smirk taking over his features the metaphorical cherry on top. “i was just talking about how i’ve still not returned the favour.”

mind blanking out on you, you stare back at him in what you can only imagine to be a dumb-founded look, mouth slightly agape and teasing your answer.

what follows, however, is a resounding silence on your end.

“c’mon, princess, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what happened the last time i got you alone.”

forget? it’s all you’ve been able to think of every time you’ve seen him since, whether he was a figure in the corner of your eye during class or making his way down the campus car-park in search of his beaten up mustang.

each time, like an old record player, your mind plays on loop the way he looked staring down at you, long legs spread enough to fit you between them, closing in on you to trap you in place each time you swallowed him a little deeper; replaying the symphony of whiny moans and airy breaths you’d pulled from him, lips swollen and red from trying too hard to hold back his cries of pleasure; reviving the memory of his vice grip on your hair, tugging at the roots to tilt you back into the perfect angle for his hips to piston into your warm mouth, meeting his own crescendo in one final pathetic whimper of your name.

a whimper that’s pushed you over the edge several times since, fingers soaked in your own sins and mouth biting down on your pillow to keep your poor sleeping roommate oblivious to your actions.

“no,” an answer escapes you alongside a shaky breath, something about the way he’s slowly trailing his fingers down your neck and the intensity he’s staring at you with hypnotising you into forgetting all about the boisterous boys and their changing-rooms chanting. “haven’t forgot.”

it’s his turn to stay quiet and you begin to wonder if he’s recalling it too, if he’s reminding himself of how easily your bodies melted together, like candle-wax meeting a flame. the question of if he’s thought about the exact scene, hands stuffed down his pants while a dull ache builds in his wrist, burns the tip of your tongue.

but his eyes burn you more.

they’re usually wide, bright, full of that bubbly nature san is known all over for. but, if what people say is true and the eyes are the mirror to one’s soul, then san’s soul must be a dark pit made up of lustful glares and hooded eyelids, resting so low his eyes almost appear shut.

“then, don’t you agree that it’s my turn to have a taste?”

it’s the question to end all questions, no time to even think of forming an answer when his fingertips are dancing over your skin so rhythmically, like a practiced choreography when they curl and wrap themselves around your neck. they rest there for a heartbeat, and then another, before you feel it begin.

the pressure is dull, at first, and you think you’re imagining it. but it grows, like a seed under the sun, blossoms into thorns squeezing around your airways, a deformed rose made from the red marks his fingers will be sure to leave behind.

you try to breath in, only for it to get caught somewhere between your lips and his tightening hold.

“you’re too fucking pretty, you know?” the hand on your hip has found a new home on your cheek, palm warm and thumb rough as he swipes it over your bottom lip. “all i can ever think about around you, even when you were drooling all over my balls.”

you want to answer, you really do. but between the hand around your throat and the heat shooting straight for your core, burning up in a puddle of arousal, you can’t. all you can do is watch the man before you, raven hair a beautiful mess just begging for some fingers to be ran through it and stare promising to ruin you in the best way possible.

the silence pleases him.

“y’know, it’s so hard to get you alone. always got someone wanting to talk to you, stealing your attention. do you even know how many stupid parties i had to attend to finally get the chance to talk to you?” san pauses, like he’s waiting for you to relay an answer, guess a number. he loosens up the grip on your neck, teasing your skin with a few soothing strokes of his slender fingers, lulling you into a state bordering insanity. “no answer, angel? or are you lost in that pretty little head again?”

“i’m,” your voice is but a whisper, raspy with your new found thirst. “trying to figure out what you want from me.”

if it’s the wrong or right thing to say, you’re soon to find out, the sharp faced boy releasing a dangerously low chuckle as he takes a hold of your chin. like a pretty doll, you move any time and any way his fingers command you to, finding yourself staring right up into his eyes, a swirl of melting caramel that reminds you of how sweet yet sultry every inch of him is. lips near touching, he refuses to break eye contact as he speaks up once more, sealing both your fates when his breath hits your face.

“then let me show you what i want.”

his mouth comes down on yours like it’s the answers to all your prayers and, yet, all your nightmares.

it excites you how easily he works his lips over your own, captivating every inch of you when he tilts his head to the right and deepens the kiss. the rhythm to his kiss is a mismatch of beats, where one moment your lips are moving in a sensual waltz, grazing tongues and dipping heads to get rid of that inch of a space remaining between your bodies, and the next moment your tongues are tangled in a tango, the kind where his teeth send blood rushing to your lips with every bite he drags over them and his hand drags shivers down your spine as it makes its way down your body.

yet it terrifies you how willingly you succumb to san’s touch, intoxicated by whatever witchcraft he currently holds over you. there’s a deadliness to the way his lips part from your own only to begin a seamless descent down your jaw and the expanse of your neck, a poisonous element to the way his hand once again finds itself clutching the meat of your thigh.

the moment his fingertips meet the bottom of your shorts, you’re wishing you’d never slipped them on in the first place, every fibre of your being growing angsty under the weight of his suddenly halted hand. it stays still for an immeasurable amount of time, grazing over the bottom of your shorts occasionally while he continues to mouth at your neck.

like mosses and the great sea, san parts your legs with little to no effort, creating a pathway for his fingers to travel further up your thigh. blunt fingernails drag up your skin, a trail of goosebumps being left behind, a visible marking of where he’s touching you.

his movements halt too soon for your liking, too much distance between his lithe fingers and your body’s very core.

“have you figured out what i want yet, pretty?” his voice is a stark difference to the usual light-hearted, almost squeak-like tone you’ve grown used to hearing from the smiley boy. right now, there’s no trace of humour in the thick rasp and there’s no time for smiling while he’s glaring down at you through hooded eyes.

something compels you to nod your head, even though you’re a little too lost in the thoughts concerning what you want, rather than what the devil incarnate by your side wants.

“you have?” the words come out in a layer of amazement, and you have to wonder if it’s because of the lie you’ve just told or the way your legs have closed in around his hand, trapping it between them. “i want to know what you want, though.”

you want his thumb to stop stroking over the flesh of your inner thigh.

you want his eyes to stop gazing down at you like you’re the perfect prey.

you want him to stop teetering your impending pleasure on a string.

you want-

“you.” is all you manage to breath out.

it seems to do the trick, however, your point getting very much across to him. a softness flickers over his features, brows unfurling and smirk curling up into a full smile for what feels like an eternity, but is actually no more than a couple of seconds before his devilish aura is back.

lips meet lips again, the desperation and force behind each stroke of his tongue against yours the same as before. san, much to your delight, seems to grow just as impatient as you’ve been since the moment he welcomed himself into the empty space next to you on the bench.

one hand still resting between your thighs, his other seizes the opportunity to drag your body closer, so close that you have no choice but to swing one leg over him and slot yourself in his lap.

there was one time, in the middle of what you’ve deemed to be the most boring lecture ever, that you had thought about what it would feel like to sit in choi san’s lap. unintentionally, of course, for how could anyone look over at him in those grey sweatpants, legs manspreading like it was nobody’s business and pen tapping away at the table in front of him, and not daydream about being perched in his lap, head resting somewhere between his shoulder and his soft hair?

you’d imagined him to be the embodiment of soft and comfortable, warm and reassuring the way he’d lazily lay an arm over your hip to make sure there’s no risk of you slipping out of your new seat. you never, for the life of you, imagined you’d feel the outline of his dick resting against your ass the first time you finally claimed your throne.

choosing to not dwell on the heavy feeling of him pressed against you, you choose instead to focus on the way his lips trail away from yours and make their descent towards the top of your chest.

his hand abandons post between your thighs and rises to the surface, where long fingers begin to pull at the straps of your red swimsuit, successfully manoeuvring the nylon material till it’s bunched around your midriff and your breasts are exposed to the damp air of the swimming hall.

with no want left to play around, he dives right in to dragging his lips down the upper swell of your left breast. you imagine he can feel the beating of your racing heart beneath the goosebump littered skin. it doesn’t take long for his tongue to enter the scene, skilfully flicking over your hardened nipple a couple times before enveloping his mouth around the bud.

one, two, three sucks and he’s moving on to your right breast. there’s no lead up, this time, simply his mouth finding delight in toying with your body while he busies his hand with your left side, thumb and pointer finger rolling and tugging and spreading the remnants of his saliva over your heated skin.

the straw that breaks the camel’s back, and has you arching your own, is the faintest pressure of his teeth biting down on you. it dances on a thin line between pleasurable and painful, exhilarating enough to make you throw your head back as a moan slips past your lips. it echoes in the empty room, replaying your own sound for both of you to hear again and again before the chain is broken by a giggle.

his giggle.

“why are,” he picks the right time to trail his fingers down your body, dragging your swimsuit with them till it sits uncomfortably tight around the top of your hipbones, skintight fabric digging into the damp skin. “you laughing?”

“has anyone ever told you how pretty your tits are?” it’s crude and heartwarming all at once, quite like the man who says it and the little smile he shoots up in your direction as he rolls his tongue over your nipple once again.

“no, i can’t say they have.” the hands that have been resting on his shoulder, grasping them in a vice grip in fear of slipping off of him and and directly onto the concrete floor, gain enough confidence for you let one slide around to the back of his neck and thread your fingertips in the back of his locks, hair as soft as you’ve always imagined it to be. “you’re the first.”

“i’ll wear that title with honour,” he seems to delight in the way you’re carding through his hair, eyes closing while he tilts his head back further into your touch. a delighted sigh follows. “has anyone ever asked you to sit on their face?”

“again, no.”

“another honourable title for me, i guess.” san’s giving you whiplash, with all this switching between being his usual goofy self and the man that minutes before was speaking profanities on how you’d looked choking on his dick. he peaks his eyes open again, slowly, adjusting to the bright lights he stares up at each time he’s doing the backstroke. when he has the nerves to smile at you, all dreamy eyed and relaxed sitting beneath your body on the bench. “now, can you please stand up and get naked so you can fuck yourself on my tongue?”

this time, it’s your laugh that echoes in the air.

“stop, i’m being serious!” he seems to whine his way through his words, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly in a way you’re certain is going to drive you insane. “i can’t go another second like this, you literally sitting on my dick, without blowing my load. and i really don’t feel like having to explain to coach kwon why my team speedos are stained in cum.”

“you’re so-” you give up on trying to find a single word to describe him, knowing there’s no word that can quite capture choi san’s essence. “okay, okay, fine, but you kind of need to let go of me for me to, y’know, stand up.”

“oh, sorry bout that.” san’s sheepish smile shouldn’t be this cute, not when it’s followed by him removing his hands from your half-naked body.

reluctant, your feet meet the ground and you stand up from his lap. he seems to move quicker than you, no hesitation to be seen as he twists his body around and lays along the bench on his back, eyes all the while watching you expectantly.

your fingers are far from as nimble as his, and there’s a shake to them, meaning you’re a lot less slick with how you pull the swimsuit off yourself. you opt for killing two birds with one stone, dragging your shorts down alongside the red suit, till both are pooled around your feet and you’re begging with every cell in your body that you look more graceful than you feel, stepping out of the leg holes.

in all honesty, you’re more embarrassed with the fact he’d watched you remove your clothes than with how you’re now stood naked, legs a little shaky and the wetness gathering between your folds you’re suddenly so much more aware of, the cool air fighting against your pulsating heat.

“well?” san speaks with expectation, legs bent at the knee while the balls of his feet rest on the edge of the bench. “are you gonna just stand there or you gonna sit on my face?”

“are you... sure you want me to?” even you feel the idiocy behind asking such a thing, when he’s laying right there with eyes full of glee and a raging boner pressed against his hip, nothing but the familiar colours of your college to stop you from seeing him all his naked glory. still, you can’t help elaborating. “i mean, the bench isn’t exactly sturdy and, i mean, what if i slip off of you?”

“y/n, are you joking? you have to be joking!” his offence is playful enough to ease a little of the hesitation inside of you. “do you see these puppies, baby? these are my mad gains from flailing my silly little arms around in a pool six days a week!”

you think this can’t be real as you watch the golden boy of the school put on a show, flexing his arms in an effort to display his muscles and voicing the most ridiculous words that not even he seems to be taking seriously, a bubble of laughter popping in every sentence.

“i’m not gonna let you slip, now hurry up!” again with the whining.

“god, you’re so desperate!”

“for you? always.”

the following minute is made up of wobbled steps and a poor attempt at amping yourself up, repeating mantra after mantra in your head that you are the sex goddess and no man is going to make you feel nervous. not even if that man has a jaw one could slice diamonds with.

he’s got a firm grasp of your thighs before you’ve even got the chance to get comfortable, legs a little shaky as you hover over his naked chest and will your knees to find grip on the bench beneath them.

“come closer, my tongue’s not that long!” san’s pulling you up, closer, all the way to where his wanton mouth awaits you. as if to give you a preview of what awaits you, the kisses from before reduced to nothing, his tongue pops out to run over the smooth of his bottom lip. you repeat the process of trying to find balance, a position in which you don’t need to worry about toppling overboard. though, with the way his finger squeeze into your thigh, you doubt you’ll have to worry about that truly happening. “comfortable?”

“as i’ll ever be.”

“all the people that would die to be in your position, and you say that?” he tsks, tongue hitting off the roof of his mouth before a blow of air hits against your folds and, though it’s faint from the distance still between his mouth and where he wants it to be, it sends a jolt of excitement up your spine. “i’ll just have to make sure i over-perform, make you more eager for next time.”

neither of you choose to dwell on the words next time.

him, too occupied with getting his first taste, tongue licking a strip up your core and coming to a stop as the tip of it bumps against your clit.

you, too busy having the air knocked out of your lungs, hand unconsciously finding safety in gripping his hair as you lurch forward momentarily, mouth falling open in a quiet gasp that echoes around and around.

“hmm, make sure you hold on tight.” you know he’s teasing you, with his words, and with his eyes, and with his mouth that seems to find enjoyment in trailing itself over your clitoral hood and up your pubic bone. “you smell mouthwatering, you know? enough to make a man go feral.”

the chance to reply never comes, not when san makes his way back down to your clit and greets it with the stroke of his flattened tongue. every tiny nerve sparks to life under his touch and you feel yourself grow wetter, a wave of warm arousal leaking out of your hole. his tongue dives down to welcome it, not allowing more than a single drop- landing on his chin- to go to waste.

you don’t even notice the lack of his grip around your left leg until you feel it: the first few seconds of his fingertips probing around your soaked cunt, coating themselves in your liquid pleasure until it’s dripping down the back of his hand.

the first finger to enter your hole is gentle, tentative to the way your body receives him, his pointer and ring finger keeping your folds spread and allowing him the full view of the middle one slowly disappearing from sight, burying itself in the warmth of your pussy. distracted, his mouth pulls back and his head meets the bench again while his eyes soak in the sight above him, flickering up to catch your reaction when another finger enters you, this time with a lot less care as it forces you open around it.

“so pretty,” he mutters the words, more to himself than to you, delighting as he witnesses you struggling to bite back a pathetic moan when his digits curl within you. he repeats the action a couple times, flicking his wrist back and forth, fingers brushing over your tight walls each time and culminating in a curl that has him pressing against the spongy-like flesh inside. “so, so pretty.”

your hips begin to rut against his hand, meeting every one of his thrusts with perfect timing that has him reaching deeper, further, better places inside of you. all the while he’s just watching and admiring the furrow in your brow and the way the swells of your breast bounce in sync with you.

your pussy clenches tighter and his fingers fight to reach deeper before spreading themselves wider in an attempt to scissor you open. he’s giving it his all, a third finger slipping in despite the dull ache setting in his wrist while he coaxes you closer and closer to the tipping point.

san takes just as easy as he gives, and it’s that fact alone that drives him to pull his hand back, fingers withdrawing from you and the pleasure you’re pursuing.

“why’d you-” you heave through heavy breaths, brain fuzzy from the unvoiced orgasm you were so close to having, every nerve ready to tingle, every muscle ready to tremble, every toe ready to curl. “stop?”

“because,” the wet smack of his fingers hitting against your clit is louder than the whimper that drops from your mouth. san hears both, however, and grins, quickly landing another smack against your engorged clit. “the goal is to make you cum on my face, not my fingers. consider them the appetiser, something to awaken your senses.”

his tongue licks in an upward motion, starting from the tip of your taint and ending at your clit, and you get deja-vu to just minutes before, when you’d first felt his tongue on your melting skin, the saliva it leaves in a trail behind it serving to cool you down. a shiver runs up your spine as he blows air onto your cunt, the pressure of it doing wonders to stimulate your clit.

“would you stop?”

“look who’s whining now.” san, despite what he says, does as you ask and puts an end what feels like unending teasing- really, it’s hardly been a minute but the pulsing of your heat and the loss of a climax leave you no room to think about something as abstract as time.

his lips make a victorious return, wrapping themselves around your clit and sucking against the pulsing nub. every so often, he delivers a couple kitten licks- ups and downs, sides to sides, figure eights- before swiftly returning to kissing your most intimate parts.

in an attempt to make your toes curl, he dips lower and teases the tips of his tongue over your entrance, wet muscle moving over wet skin and tastebuds covering themselves in your essence, till the moans echoing off the walls are indistinguishable between san’s and your own.

“you can move,” he grunts into you after a few minutes of repeated alternating between kissing your clit and tonguing at your hole. it’s muffled with the way he’s holding you down against his face and you feel his lips brush against your lower ones as he speaks. “need you to move. wanna see you use me, pretty.”

and, who are you to deny the man?

you’re hesitant at first, just like you were all those weeks ago as you sank to your knees for him. you test the waters and give a single roll of your hips. it feels good, great, especially when paired with his own efforts at dragging his tongue over you.

it takes a few more attempts, and san’s patience wearing thin to the point he resorts to grabbing a firm hold of your arse cheeks and planting you flat on his mouth, tongue flat and eyes staring up at you in a demand to move, goddamn it.

move you most certainly do, grinding down on his tongue like you’ve done many a time with different men’s cocks. it’s messy, sloppy in the way that his spit mingles with your wetness, a cocktail of fluids sliding down his throat, and painting his lips, and dribbling down his chin as he eats you like a man starved that’s alas getting a taste of the sweetest fruit.

the rhythm of your hips is thrown off when the man beneath you switches from having you grinding down onto his flattened tongue to slipping the muscle inside of your hole, thrusting it as far as up as the length of it allows him to. with every time your body comes crashing down on his mouth, the tip of his nose bumps against your clit, forcing you to angle yourself upwards to gain more of the friction.

hands find hair, lips part in unabashed moans, thighs shake with the oncoming of an orgasmic state of mind.

the moment builds too quickly, too unexpectedly, like the ghost of your stolen climax is back with a vengeance and set on ensuring there will be no denying it this time.

“s-shit,” your eyes squeeze shut, too scared to look down at his ecstasy filled eyes in fear of it being what finally tips you over the edge. “i’m gonna- ah- gonna cum.”

san pays no mind to your warning. if anything, he takes it as a challenge, an invisible timer beginning in his head and forcing him to see how quickly he can get you to unravel all over his face. he’s getting everything he asked for, your naked body a mess above him as you fuck yourself on his tongue and your hands, with minds of their own, sliding up to grab and squeeze at your tits.

he watches how the pastel blue nail polish clashes with the darkened colour of your abused nipples, fingers working to pinch, and twist, and pull at them as you lose yourself in the moment.

when you cum, it’s with rolled-back eyes and shaky thighs, his hands gripping at you tighter to steady you as you sway above him, his tongue working at coaxing you through your high.

he licks up every drop of cum he can manage, until you’re cringing in overstimulation and reaching down to push him away. he let’s you move him, mouth moving to trail a couple kisses over your inner thigh, something akin to lipstick stains- yet so much dirtier in nature- being left behind on your soft flesh.

“told you i wouldn’t let you fall,” he’s the first to speak, partly because he correctly thinks you’re incapable of forming anything coherent in the afterglow of your orgasm, but mostly because he wants- no, needs to hear you praise him.

needs to hear you praise him like he’d done for you that night, eyes still hooded and chest visibly heaving as he finished processing watching you swallow every spurt of hot cum he’d shot down your throat. the praise never comes.

well, at least not from you.

at first he thinks he’s imagining the sound of clapping. it’s slow, and booming, and tinted with the slightest hint of sarcasm. it grows louder though, far too loud for it to just be in his imagination. the stilling of your body, going rigid as you fall back onto his chest, the sticky remnants of your orgasm cold against his heated skin, confirms that you hear the clapping too.

“bravo, choi. always thought your reputation with the ladies was a little overhyped, but i stand corrected.”

never has he hated the sight of park seonghwa so much, not even in the times they’ve been head-to-head in the final lap and the older male’s offensively bright swim-cap is all san can see every time he twists his head to catch a breath of air.

the three swimmers stand on the opposite end of the swimming pool, all in various stages of undress.

there’s wooyoung, who looks like he’s not so much as dried himself with a towel, still dressed in his team swimwear. and yunho, who’s got a towel wrapped around his waist messily, hair damp against his forehead and likely smelling of the cheap shampoo provided in the locker-room showers. lastly, seonghwa, who’s seemingly fully dressed spar for one of those irritating long coats san always sees him trailing around campus in.

one look into your panicked eyes is enough for san to spring into action, fumbling to sit himself up and pull your body flush against his, facing your naked back in the direction of his rivals.

he bites back a groan as you shift in his lap, unknowingly- or maybe you do know- pressing your soaked centre against his erection, which already strains inside the confines of the nylon material, leaving very little to the imagination.

“do you mind?” he’s glad the words come out clearly, booming across the pool at them and their unwavering staring.

“not at all.”

san holds you tighter against him, eyeing at your discarded swimsuit on the floor as he listens to a shuffle of footsteps. assuming the three men have made their way back into the locker-room, he’s speechless when he looks up to find them approaching the bench, seonghwa leading the trio with a secure grip on the back of wooyoung’s neck, whose eyes can’t seem to leave the floor, while yunho trails a little behind them, one hand grasping onto the towel around him.

“get your hands off her!” he leans back, pulling you with him, in an attempt to stray out of seonghwa’s reach as he extends his hand out. he fails, however, and the tips of seonghwa’s elongated fingers brush over your shoulder.

a shiver runs down you, one that san feels, the unexpected touch tickling your nerves.

“she’s a grown up,” the eldest of the men muses as he builds a rhythm out of how his fingers soother over your sweat slicked skin. “who i’m sure can speak for herself if she wants my hands off her.”

out of all the men, seonghwa has always been the one san despised most. between the constant boasting of wealth- money he acquired through labor, though not the working kind- and the disrespect he’s never had a problem showing towards others, he never fails to strike a nerve, awakening a dark part of san’s brain that activates his fight or flight response. by far, however, his arrogance is the worst, that sense of entitlement that drives him to think everything and everyone is a piece of clay for him to mold and manipulate till they fit his ideal shape.

the rich boy’s hand smoothes over your naked shoulder and san can’t resist glaring up at him.

“c’mon san, now’s hardly the time to be modest,” behind the oldest swimmer, yunho and wooyoung seem to be battling an inner conflict, yunho fighting to keep his towel in place and wooyoung fighting to keep the shame off his face while his dick visibly strains against the confines of his chlorine-covered swimwear. “not after the show you two just put on.”

“we didn’t,” it’s the first time you manage to speak since covering san’s tongue in your cum, breathing at last steady and face hidden from everyone’s view, much to san’s despair. “know you were watching.”

“and, if you had known, would you have stopped?” yunho is the one asking the question and, suddenly, san’s so much more aware of what exactly he’s hiding underneath his towel.

you give no answer.

“of course she wouldn’t,” seonghwa answers for you, hand moving to grasp the back of your neck. with no warning, he grips a little too tight for comfort and and yanks you backwards, till you’re staring right into san’s eyes and the only thing keeping you perched in his lap is seonghwa’s body pressed flat against yours. “there’s nothing a whore loves more than an audience, right?”

if put on trial in a court of law and sworn to tell the truth, and nothing but the truth, over whether or not you’d just clenched around nothing at park seonghwa’s degrading name, you’d plead that you never did such a thing.

you’d be found guilty.

“poor woo nearly came untouched just watching you two. isn’t that right?” the eldest turns to stare back at where you imagine wooyoung to be. “pretty boy nearly whined just at the thought of being in san’s position, a mouth full of cunt and someone using him like the fuck-toy he is.”

the air grows thick, between you, and san, and every other living being in the room. it feels like the walls are closing in on themselves with every second that passes, the sweat dripping down your back and coming to a rest between your arse cheeks evidence that the space is heating up. or maybe it’s just your body, hardly processing the high it’s just come down from and there’s already another source for a new-found arousal, a source in the shape of three muscular men stood behind you and one beneath you, eyes wary as he gazes into your own, like he wants to ask if you’re okay but all the blood is too busy circulating in his crotch for his brain to be productive.

“now, i hardly think it’s very nice of you to get our wooyoung all riled up and not even offer to help him out.” you decide you’re being lulled into a false sense of safety the second you feel the pressure of seonghwa’s hand leave your skin. behind you, there’s a shuffling of footsteps that call you to crane your neck and catch a glimpse of what exactly is going on but san’s eyes beg you to keep staring into his, to count the galaxies that dance within them while he grips at your waist. “so the chance to offer is off the table and you’re simply going to do as told. doesn’t that sound easier, hmm? no having to make pesky decisions, just spread those legs and follow orders.”

at last, you get your first glimpse at jung wooyoung.

he sits down on the bench, no more than a breath of space between where you and san are perched. he’s a vision in himself, shoulders hunched and embarrassed face the same shade of red as the tip of his cock, an angry looking bulbous head poking out the top of far-too-tight speedos.

san’s grip tightens the longer you stare at the other boy, gaze dancing over the shape of his body and mouth-watering as, for the first time, you see the appeal of jung wooyoung. never before have you understood why eyes follow him in the hallways, like he’s more than just another pretty boy on campus- something that’s in abundance. but you see it now, understand the appeal of his stand-out nose; and the veins that run down his arms; and floppy style to his hair, that seems to be calling out to have your fingers running through it.

with no prior warning, the grip on your hips tightens even more, till san is digging crescents into the soft skin and he’s lifting you, off of his lap and right into wooyoung’s.

the usually boisterous boy’s eyes meet yours, no longer filled with that spark of defiance and, instead, glazed over in tears, a quiet pleading being exchanged between you.

only, you’re unsure what he’s begging of you.

“are you going to just sit there,” seonghwa speaks up, boredom in his tone that has you picturing him rolling his eyes and picking at his manicured nails. “or are you going to help the poor pup cum?”

“what?!” that certainly helps you find your voice, and the guts to turn around and look at the man.

you find him stood closer than you imagined, with tailored trousers hugging his thighs and a perfectly ironed shirt tucked into them, the last few messy buttons the only indication he’d rushed to dress himself. eyes looking past him, you find more of a friendly aura in yunho, who, despite fighting a battle against the towel wrapped around his figure, manages to shoot a smile at you.

and then there’s san, who stands with muscled arms crossed over his chest and a painfully obvious boner resting in the confines of his swimwear, though he’s done a better job at keeping himself concealed than the boy beneath you. his face appears indifferent, yet the twitch in his eye speaks of a tamed anger, a frustration he’s yet to unleash on the men who’d interrupted him amidst his feast.

“are you now deaf along with being dumb or something?” the eldest pulls your attention back to him with little effort, a smirk meeting the glare you shoot his way. “you made that brat hard, now do your job and fix the mess you’ve made.”

words of protest get lost in a surprised gasp as the boy in question takes your hand in his, veiny hand guiding you down to a veiny shaft. wooyoung wraps both of your fingers over his leaking cock, his holding yours in place around him while he ruts his hips up once, twice into your hold, the action sending his swimwear even further down the his length and exposing nearly the full sight of it to the swimming hall.

you don’t mean to compare, yet you’re incapable of ignoring the fact that while wooyoung may be on the slightly shorter side compared to san, he’s certainly leading in the thickness department, with a mushroomed head and the prettiest trail of trimmed hairs leading down his pelvis.

he guides you over his shaft a number of times, a little less shy now as he outwardly whines when your thumb runs over his tip, wiping away the fat bead of precum resting upon it. at some point, he moves his hand away, needing both of his free to lean back on the bench, yet yours keeps moving at it’s own volition, stroking him in a pattern of threes, interrupting every trio with a swipe over his tip or a fondle of his still-concealed balls.

“please,” the whine in his voice is so unlike the jung wooyoung you’ve watched week after week, hurling abuse and echoing boasts of his own talents while keeping himself afloat in the swimming pool.

“he asked nicely.” you’d just about forgotten about everyone else in the room, until seonghwa’s irritatingly unbothered voice serves to remind you of his presence. “rule number one: good behaviour is rewarded.”

“what do i,” you interrupt your own question to glance over wooyoung once more. “do?” you pinch your thigh, skin stinging as nails bite it, and confirm with yourself that this is not a dream but, in fact, very much real.

jung wooyoung is hard and begging you to do something.

“i don’t care how you do it, just put one of your holes to good use for once and make him cum.”

there’s still an echo of seonghwa’s voice by the time you successfully manage to rid wooyoung of his swimwear, the damp fabric clinging to the warm skin and the taut muscles of his thighs. the boy isn’t much help either, seemingly reduced to nothing but a writhing, panting mess instead of someone competent enough to raise himself off the bench just enough for you to undress him.

the sight is mesmerising, one you’re certain will remain ingrained in your memory till the day you die: wooyoung, disheveled and untouched, with his achingly hard cock pressed flat against his lower stomach, his swimmer-thighs spread with a set of balls between them that you find yourself near salivating over as a trickle of his own precum runs down them.

“your cock’s...” you begin to speak, yet trail off as your digits wrap themselves around his shaft, just to delight in the way his breath jumps when you drag your hand upwards and give a soft squeeze as you reach the head. “so pretty, woo.”

“youngie.” seonghwa cuts in from behind you. “he prefers to be called youngie when he’s getting his cock teased.”

“yeah, youngie?” you try it out.

instantly, he nods and something akin to a whimper flies out of him.

fascinated by his shaky breaths and his pretty chest, where warm, tanned skin appears to be near glowing under the swimming halls bright lights as his cheeks flush a palette full of reds and pinks, your eyes are completely fixed on him. there’s something vulnerable and breakable about the way he’s looking at your with the widest of eyes, his eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip receiving countless abuse from his teeth.

never have you been so desperate to push someone past their own limits.

officially running on nothing but pure instincts, you close your mind off to thoughts, like how the boy you’d spent weeks avoiding and missing is stood only metres away, witnessing the way the tip of your finger teases over the slit of his sport rival’s cock. or like how park seonghwa, perhaps the campus’ most infamous trust-fund baby, seems to have complete control of the situation at hand, yourself and jung wooyoung nothing but idolised dolls he’s moving into whatever obscene position he wants you in.

instead, you focus on how wooyoung’s eyes roll back and he lets out a gasp when you gather up fluids from within your salivating mouth and part your own lips, watching how your own spit drips onto his lower stomach, and your hand, and his painfully hard cock.

the saliva serves not only as a visual pleasure, something that’s awakening inside of you at the sight of it leaving you with whole new kind of excitement bubbling along your body, but as a physical pleasure for wooyoung, who seems to have no protest to how much easier it is to slide your hand up his length with the added lubrication of your own spit.

“fuck...” he curses under his breath and his hands find purchase on your body, one gripping your hip while the other grabs at your forehand, like he’s scared you’ll release the grip you have on him and strip away the sweet release of friction. “don’t just focus on the tip- shit, ah- play with my balls too.”

“wooyoung!” ready to oblige, ready to give the pretty faced boy anything he demanded of you, you’ve no time to think of a reply before the ringmaster of this circus reminds you of his overlooking presence behind your back. “stop speaking like an ungrateful brat and take what you’re given. or else... well, i’m sure you don’t need reminding of what happens to pups that misbehave.”

the way jung wooyoung’s whole body grows rigid beneath you, paired with the countless times park seonghwa has butted in to speak on the boy’s sexual preferences, leaves you with the sense that the two are not only acquainted with how each other’s bodies move underwater..

“s-sorry,” this is not the voice of boastful jung wooyoung, who near bounces down the college halls and airdrops nudes in class because he’s bored. this is a voice that’s soft and meek. like a beady-eyed puppy, so quick to submit to it’s owner. “just feels too good. i’m sorry”

“yeah, you will be sorry.” seonghwa’s hand is cold against your back and it lulls a shiver out of you as fingers trickle down your spine like water off a duck’s wings. part of you hates him for stealing wooyoung’s attention off of you just as you were beginning to revel in it, a larger part of you wants to know why the sternness in his voice is enough to have your clit aching to be touched. “spitfire, be a good cocksleave and sit on his dick.”

“ok, stop!” a sense of shame comes over you when it takes hearing san’s outburst to remember the fact he’s watching the scene unfold. “don’t you think you’re taking this too far now, park seonghwa? i know you and wooyoung have your... agreement on how you treat each other, but don’t drag someone else into it. not when she never even asked for this.”

“you had your tongue tasting the eighth wonder of the world on that bench twenty minutes ago, both of you knowing there was a chance you’d be caught, and you want to tell me no one was asking for this?”

“that was private! you guys are the ones who-”

“there’s no such thing as privacy in a public area. besides, it’s hardly like she’s not enjoying this. if anything, i think spitfire doesn’t like the way you’re getting in the way of her teaching youngie a lesson in obedience.” you’re naive to think no one would notice the way you’ve began to grind down on wooyoung’s cock, stealing whimpers out of him as the soaked lips of your pussy rubbed up against him and holding back your own moans each time his tip meets the bundle of nerves that make up your clit. “choi, if you’re that much of a pissy pants that can’t enjoy himself even just this once in life, then feel free to leave. i’m sure the four of us will be too occupied to notice your absence.”

you’re not paying close enough attention to figure out if san’s newfound silence is due to his departure, or if he’s simply too stunned to speak, your eyes focused on nothing and no one but the boy at your mercy.

the initial burn of wooyoung breaching your entry reminds you of how long it’s been since you’d been stretched open by something other than someone’s cold fingers or wagging tongue. it’s been more or less three long months of juggling test after test, assignments piling up on your desktop and a relationship with your now ex-boyfriend being tossed completely into the gutter.

not once had you thought your return to the world of sexual bliss would be in front of an audience, much less at the very place you work.

doubting that it’s been as long for him as it has for you, wooyoung still spares nothing when it comes to reacting to your touch. with eyes squeezing shut, head rolling back, abdomen muscles flexing along side every shaken intake of breath, the boy puts on a show so pornographic it puts the professionals to shame. a whine exits his lips, lips that carry marks of his own teeth and look like they’re in need of a healthy dose of chapstick, and look so disgustingly kissable that your own tingle at the thought.

all those rumours of jung wooyoung being a camboy rush to the forefront of your mind, feeling truer than ever when your eyes take in the bob of his adam’s apple, and the perfectly timed run of his tongue over his lower lip, and the pretty way in which the prominent veins in his hands looks as he clamps his grip down on your hips.

he’s a sight worth paying for.

“are you okay?” not the first thing you’d imagined saying after sinking all the way down on his cock, the need to check up on him taking over before you’d even noticed it’s existence.

“yeah...” he sighs his way through the word, eyes still closed and grip still very much tight on your skin, blunt fingertips likely leaving crescent moons you’ll find yourself staring at for days to come, memories of this moment replaying in a rose-tinted haze. “just need a second, you- you feel good, fuck me.”

“i’m kinda already doing that, youngie.” you giggle, like a lovesick adolescent speaking to their crush of the week, but the boy’s instant smile upon hearing it puts out the fire of shame building in the pit of your stomach.

“hmm,” he hums back, acknowledging your words without giving you the satisfaction of hearing him tell you how you’re correct. “are you okay?”

wooyoung flips the question on you and it parallels with the way he pulls the rains in physically, lithe hips thrusting upwards in search of feeling more, reaching deeper inside of you. in the back of your mind you already picture a look of displeasure on park seonghwa’s face, scowling lips loading up to berate you and demand you take repossession of jung wooyoung’s sanity.

“yeah, i’m-” with the eldest man in mind, you stop and compose yourself, as well as you can while wooyoung’s mouthing at your neck, your collarbones, the tops of your breasts. “i’m wondering who told you you were allowed to touch me?”

control is easily regained, all it takes is your hand squeezing around jung wooyoung’s throat and your soaked walls clenching around his aching cock and he’s melting like ice cream on a warm summer’s day, leaving behind a sticky mess.

satisfaction and pleasure come crashing in tandem, wave after wave moving in motion with each lethargic roll of your body against the swimmer’s, who seems to be a quicker learner than you’d believed him to be, hands flying off your body like it was made up of hot stones and, instead, now holding a firm and grounding grip of the bench beneath you both.

“harder.” you feel a hint of emotion within park seonghwa’s voice this time he speaks. it’s fleeting, and hard to make out quite what feeling it is he’s experiencing, but it’s there and it’s certainly a step up from the usual shameless, egotistical, megalomaniac tone he takes on. “squeeze his throat tighter.”

under the possession of his commanding tone, you find yourself caving into his command, fingers pressing a little harder into wooyoung’s warm skin. the boy gulps down whatever pride he has and delivers a pleasured whine. you grind down harder and an evil, twisted part of you you’ve never met before longs to laugh at the way he so desperately is struggling to keep his composure, fighting back the urge to meet your hips with his own upward thrusts.

so, you do.

“hear that, youngie?” seonghwa’s voice becomes less grating each time you hear it, once an unwelcome and intrusive thought but now a second voice and a valued player in a game of wreck the wooyoung. “you’re being laughed at. isn’t that just pathetic?”

“y-yes, fuck-” he falls victim to your walls clenching around him, gripping his cock in a vice grip. the image of confidence withers away so easily to reveal a teary-eyed, pretty-faced, cum-desperate man. “i’m pathetic.”

“yeah, you are.” seonghwa circles his way around the rocking bench, no longer out of view hidden behind your back but, instead, staring you down with piercing eyes that cut through you like a knife to hot butter. “he’s getting close. never lasts long, really, even seen him cum untouched just from giving me head. but that’s okay, isn’t it youngie? you’re a slut for having your sack drained, huh?”

the swimmer beneath you has never looked redder than he does right now, secrets of his sexual nature getting exposed to the people he likely considers his biggest athletic competition. though you probably should, you don’t push him away when his face finds safety in the crook of your neck, parted lips covering your burning skin in sticky drool.

“don’t let him fool you guys, he’s into the degrading nature of it all. trust me.” you wonder if it should concern you the way seonghwa speaks about jung wooyoung as though he’s nothing but a pet, a possession of which he just so happens to have complete control over. you’re more concerned with the fact it excites you. “call him a good boy, i dare you.”

the words haven’t even formed in your throat and the boy between your thighs is gripping onto your waist a little tighter, lips near pouting and eyes screwed shut in uncontrollable pleasure, burning down his spine and threatening to push him over the edge of sexual bliss.

you consider having mercy, the inexperienced side of you thinking the boy looks like he’s full of shame and embarrassment. the throbbing of his rock hard cock repeatedly stuffing your aching cunt reminds you he’s getting off on the humiliation.

“is he a good boy, though?” you stare up at park seonghwa, not even sparing a whimpering wooyoung any attention as he begins a rambled protest to defend his good behaviour. “i mean, i don’t remember telling him he could touch me. do you, hwa?”

the hands that grip you tightly let go quick, like your skin were an unexpectedly warm stove, scorching his skin right off him.

“i don’t remember either,” the eldest’s agreement has you reeling in a way you never expected, filling you with a new found sense of control.

a control that is ripped away far too quickly, like park seonghwa sensed you growing falsely confident over the situation at hand.

like a shark circling it’s prey, the tall man makes his way back around the bench, each fall of his shoe-covered feet echoing in the quiet swim hall. click, click, click, and he’s right at your back, not a word uttered as the soft of his palm lands on the nape of your neck. achingly slow does it travel down the expanse of your back, not a single noise filling the space other than the rise and fall of your body on top of wooyoung’s and the same boy’s poorly contained moans and mewls of pleasure.

the silence is interrupted by your own shocked gasp, mouth falling agape in shock as your movements come to a complete halt. his hands, no longer soft and delicate, grip you in an iron-tight hold, fingers greedy as they dig into your meaty flesh with no mercy or regard for the pain it may inflict on you.

“no, get up,” like a switch was flipped in as little as a minute, park seonghwa’s voice has lost all sense of the excitement it had whilst he spoke on jung wooyoung’s dirty endeavours and has returned back to the cold, callous, commanding tone it had originally.

he sounds angry, feels angry in the way the fingers of his free hand tangle themselves in the hair at the back of your head and give a harsh tug, forcing your head back till you’re met with his scowling face and perfectly groomed hair, even in it’s dampened state it seems to frame his face perfectly.

“what?” you babble out, dumbstruck, much like the desperate boy beneath you who’s began to mutter apology after apology between pleadings of please no don’t do this and i promise i’ll behave, i’ll keep my hands to myself.

none of it works.

“you heard me. get. up.” the fingers on your waist tug, pull, drag you away from the quivering mess that has become of jung wooyoung, who near sobs as the cool air hits his now painfully hard cock, tip redder than the bottom of your favourite heels and a vein more prominent under his sensitive skin than the ones on his muscular arms. you’re not given much of a chance to process what’s happening before seonghwa speaks again. “wooyoung, up, now. you’re not getting to cum, so get off the bench and make room for someone else.”

the boy makes no further attempt to protest, cheeks painted pink in shame and chest shining with sweat as he shakily rises to his feet, head hung low when you watch him walk out of your line of sight.

then, your knees meet the floor.

park seonghwa chuckles as you go down, hands finding grip in your hair and forcing you to sit up right. heart beating faster, your mind begins to race with questions of what comes next, who comes next.

what dirty desires are about to be unveiled within you, forced into the unforgiving fluorescent lights of the swimming hall?

“jeong, you’re up,” seonghwa’s knee digs into your back and his fingers tug until your scalp begins to sting a little. you don’t want to like it but, in life, you don’t always get what you want.

there’s a series of shuffles behind you, followed by heavy footsteps. there’s no rush, yet no hesitation, just calm and collected footsteps of someone making their way over to do god knows what with you.

when jeong yunho, with his towel that’s looking a lot tighter around his crotch still around his waist, steps into frame, an inexplicable sense of comfort washes over you.

maybe it’s the way he smiles down at you, or the fact his hands brush seonghwa’s off of you, or the way his fingers take a hold of your chin once he’s seated in front of you.

maybe it’s just the fact he’s jeong yunho, campus himbo with a reputation for walking girls home at night just to make sure they’re safe and for singing britney spears with no shame each time the karaoke mic gets passed around.

whatever it is, it’s turning you on.

your knees are burning with fresh pain as park seonghwa shoves you closer to the mammoth of a man and you can’t help but swallow down the ball of anxiety growing in your throat.

everything about jeong yunho’s demeanour has always seemed large, with powerful arms that drag his body through the weight of water and large hands that effortlessly carry countless textbooks through the university halls; a tall frame that helps him stand out in any crowd and a personality loud enough to set off alarms; his thighs a muscular stairway leading up to a well rounded, remarkably defined posterior. it’s safe to say he’s carried a reputation for some time, one that consists of whispers between girls on campus who recount just how well endowed he really is. 7 inches, 9 inches, 12 inches, you’ve heard it all, each girl claiming it to be bigger than the last.

unfortunately, there’s no ruler at your disposal to uncover the truth of the rumours, but you confirm he’s certainly large as you watch him undo the towel. larger than you’ve ever seen before, with a thickness to match, and two heavy looking balls decorating the base.

he wraps a hand around it and you watch how he gives a light squeeze at the head, slowly sliding down the length of it till he reaches the tuft of groomed hairs on his pelvic bone. one of his hands alone holds half of his cock, leaving you almost certain you’d need to use both hands on him.

“d’you want it, sweetheart?” his words are teasing but his voice is soft, a complete one-eighty to the verbal berating you’ve been receiving- and enjoying- from park seonghwa.

you’re sure he notices the way you clench your thighs as he slaps his cock once, then twice against his stomach, the precum leaking out on to his tanned skinned.

there’s an itch inside your throat, one you imagine only he can scratch.

“you wanna taste it?” he’s still speaking to you through the arousal that fogs over your brain, commanding your tongue to swipe over your bottom lip as you burn your gaze at the glistening liquid on his warm skin, tastebuds aching to have him paint them in white.

you nod your head.

his own throws itself back, a chuckle rupturing out of his chest as he continues to tease himself with his hand.

“fuck, yeah, bet you can’t wait to taste my cock, feel it stab the back of your tight throat.” a smile should never look so sweet while it’s part of the same mouth spewing out such filth. somehow, jeong yunho makes it work. “gonna get it nice and wet for me, yeah? make it sloppy, i love it when a pretty thing like you gets all messy over my cock.”

the knee that’s suddenly digging it’s way into your back has no mercy. you wince, pull in a sharp breath and inch just that little bit closer to the bench. like a glove fits a hand, you slip right in between the muscled tree trunks that make up jeong yunho’s thighs.

you wonder, if only momentarily, what sweet a death it would be to be crushed between them, taut muscles constricting the flow of air to your lungs like a boa with its prey.

but there’s a far more preferable way to be choked by the man before you, body carved out in such definition you fear michael angelo himself stands in admiration of it.

his hand snakes its way around your body, warm and heavy and imposing with the grip it settles for at the base of your neck. in spite of the sharp stab coming from behind- where you have no doubt one park seonghwa stands with disgruntled impatience written all over his irritatingly perfect face- there is no doubt in your mind that the man in front of you holds the reigns. with eyes of honey and lips of velvet, he peers down at you with a tendered expression, saying nothing yet everything with the gentle, repeated sooth of his thumb over your skin.

you need no verbal instructions this time around.

a hand grips the base of him as the other squeezes the flesh of your own thigh, piercing your skin with just enough pressure to assure you this is the reality you find yourself in, rather than some twisted, substance influenced dream.

the first taste is the sweetest, tongue a missionary sent into the foreign land of his body to discover the way he reacts as you drag it over the tip. he gives nothing but a squeeze to the back of your neck; and that crumbles you under his control.

with a few more kitten licks- for good luck, if anything,- the show begins with the parting of your lips, the widening of your mouth, the burning of your skin as you struggle with your ability to swallow him whole. you make it no further than a third of his length before he’s tugging gently on your roots and bringing you back to the surface of existence.

“breathe, okay,” his voice is gentle, calming your nerves yet sending your heart into a fit of patternless beats. “inhale, exhale, got it? through the nose, that’s gonna help you relax.”

doing as he says, you swallow three whole breaths. shaky, ragged, each feeling hollow in your chest in comparison to the weight of his cock on your tongue.

“pretty girl,” he practically coos, hand cupping your chin as his thumb smoothes over the swell of your bottom lip. it’s tender, sweet, and almost enough to make you forget the sight of his engorged cock that sits angrily between his tree-trunk shaped thighs, crying out for the return of your mouth’s affection. “someone’s gotta teach you to not be greedy, hmm? small little mouth of yours is no fit for me, don’t go choking on it.”

heat flashes between your thighs, your heartbeat dropping right down to your clit and leaving you with a burning ache, the kind only a gentleman like this could soothe. your fingers may have to do, however, if the stubborn arsehole behind you would be so kind as to let you enjoy yourself.

the way park seonghwa curls his hand round the front of your neck and flexes his nimble fingers- that goddamn family heirloom ring a punishing cold to your warm skin, near brandishing you as touched by some nepotism child- when you do so little as clench your thighs together to relieve the pressure, or lack-there-of, between your thighs tells you he’ll grant you no such fun.

“you’d need to have something big enough for her to choke on,” san, precious san. still here, still somewhere beneath this god-forsaken tin-can roof swimming pool, watching you bruise your knees and your ego for another man, another one of his team-mates. what must he think of you? has he lost whatever respect he may have had? does he think he’d been just another body to exchange fluids with, that night at the party? if you could just see his face, you’d not need to wonder all these things. his eyes, they always give him away, too earnest and pure for his own good.

“shut it, choi,” yunho’s bark isn’t half as loud as seonghwa’s booming commands have been, and are nowhere near as malignant. if anything, the gentle giant is humoured by his team-mate’s words, as if he knows they’re a preposterous thing to say about him. then again, you can’t imagine any man remaining humble about themselves if they were so well-endowed. “or do you wanna crack out the measuring tape again and remind yourself of just how much of me there is to choke on?”

silence.

it takes a few moments for the spotlight to return to you, a gradual shift from playful to lust driven energy encapsulating the broad frame of the man before. he cups your cheek, feather-light touch smoothing over your skin while his eyes burrow daggers into your soul.

why must his shoulders be so wide? it almost angers you as much as it sends a wave of heat between your legs.

almost, but not quite.

“‘s cute,” he half mumbles, distracted by the sight you paint below him on your knees, bruises already forming and thighs clenching for some relief of pressure. “your little pussy’s all wet just from having my cock in your mouth.”

“i think you’re forgetting she was bouncing on woo’s dick a few minutes ago, yunho,” the devil on your shoulder won’t let you rest, hand snaking through the threads of your hair and tugging on your roots. not enough to hurt, just enough to sting. “have some modesty.”

“sure, let’s act like i’m not the one who had her cumming all over my face a while ago.” san mumbles a string of words you wish you could unhear, face heating up as the shame burns through your bloodstream.

how had you gotten here?

you’re allowed no such freedom to ponder over previous actions as jeong yunho’s all encompassing frame works to remind you of where you find yourself: on your knees dressed in nothing but your own shame- shame which seems to slip off of you, piece by piece, baring you shamelessly to this pack of wolf-eyed boys’ for their eyes to feast upon.

strong, veiny hands reach out and drag you forwards, just an inch yet it’s all you need to feel the weight of park seonghwa’s domineering figure float off of you, rendering you under the control of this much larger, far smilier looking man. “eyes on me, okay? don’t wanna miss the way i’m about to make them roll back.”

there begins a game of push and pull, where jeong yunho pushes you closer and closer to his evident arousal, all the while teasing you as he pulls his hips back, keeping your waiting mouth open and empty, and oh-so frustrated at the feeling of being so close yet so far away from his dripping tip.

the first real taste you get of him does, in fact, nearly have your eyes rolling back. a kitten lick, barely there yet fully felt, running over the underside of his cock, a taste of salted skin, and musky sweat, and stale chlorine mixing in with the warmth of him flooding your senses. his reaction is no more composed than yours, blatantly parting his lips in a gasp and bucking his hips up, forwards, any direction they need follow to chase after your mouth.

happy to comply, you take pride in tasting him a second time, this time right over the growing drop of pre-cum pebbling on his tip. white flashes behind your closing eyes as his grip in your hair tightens, a pulse of heat firing straight down your spine as your mind floods with images of what it must be like to watch this man, this gentleman, this figure that so wholly encompasses what it means to be a himbo in this day and age lose his cool and revolt into his most carnal, basal instincts to take whatever pleasure he needs from you with a reckless abandon, burrow his throbbing cock down your throat till the beat of his heart takes over your own.

instead, you settle for wrapping your lips around him, at last, and letting him guide you just that little bit down his length. the weight of him feels nice, a strange sense of comfort birthing in your bones as you grow used to feel of him taking up your palate. his breaths seem to run in tandem with the inches he sinks deep between your parted lips.

a deep breath, he lowers you further, till your left cheek begins to bulge out.

tongue pinned to the floor of your mouth, you make use of it as best you can, rolling it over the bottom of his shaft and earning yourself a plethora of gratifying sounds, each deep and desperate and crooning straight out of jeong yunho’s broad chest.

another deep breath, another inch.

for all the false dominance you wield over the situation, with the heat of your mouth and spill of your own saliva slickening his cock, his real and visceral dominance doubles it by tenfold, with a hand on the back of your neck, guiding your every move, and a knowing, gentle look cast downwards at you from where he sits propped on the bench, thighs a heavy mass to case your body between. a silly little voice in your head whispers a seductive tale of how easily this man could get you in a headlock and suffocate your fragile windpipes. a wave of heat, this one going right down to your core and forcing you to pay attention to it, shifting awkwardly and clenching the muscles in your own legs in hopes of getting some pitiful amount of pressure.

all breathing stops as he hits the back of your throat.

hands pulling tight, a biting pain ripping through your hair and a tired gag creeping out of your constricting throat, yunho holds you still and strong, as unmoving as the mountains that fill the horizon from your bedroom window.

he’s not even fully in, an arguably obscene amount of him still awaiting some form of attention beyond the spill of the spit filling up your mouth. but there’s nowhere for it to go, not within your mouth at least, and so you manoeuvre your hand up and grip the neglected inches, the tip of your pinkie teasingly brushing over the swell of his balls.

he lurches forward, gasping in a breath of air at last. “fucking christ- shit,” he grits his teeth. “her mouth’s warm.”

“well, obviously. this your first time getting a blowjob or something, jeong?” god, the reminder of seonghwa being here, somewhere behind you, fox eyes judging your every move and keeping his cool, no matter how hard you’d seen his cock straining in those ridiculous pant-suit trousers he sports. it’s sickening.

“yeah, yunho, watch out before you have a repeat of 2019.”

if the taller jeong wants to snap at the other, you never find out, instead dedicating yourself to the glory of worshipping him between your parted lips and tight throat, jaw ready to lock itself in place so long as it keeps him inside.

you treat him differently than you’d treated san that night. you’d been tipsy then, buzzing off the colourful shots of who-knows-what you’d been conned into downing a half hours before, mind hazy as you kneeled between him and teased your tongue over every crevice of him it could reach, dripping him in drool and working an ache into your overused tongue by the time you got watched him spill over the edge of ecstasy. that wasn’t even about san’s pleasure, no real care put into getting him off, your own selfish need to indulge in the pleasure of feeling, tasting, worshipping him taking precedence.

but, right now, you’re overwhelmingly sober, mind hazed only by a cloud of inexplicable lust that rolled in the moment san shot you his stupid smile, and you care about making jeong yunho cum. in fact, it’s the only thing on your mind as you bob your head up and down, letting his own hand guide your pace.

“shh, shh,” he’s hushing your own struggles for breath and carding his fingers through the tresses of your hair, his legs clamping down on either side of you, pinning you in your rightful place. “taking it so good, baby. so fucking good.”

good’s not good enough.

you want to leave him mind-blown, exhausted, unhinged. you want him clenching his jaw, and baring his teeth, and stuttering over any praise he tries to give you. in fact, you need it, need that thrill-driven lust of collapsing the sanity of a man as broad and strong and capable as him.

so you pick up the pace, fight against the steady up-and-down of his grip and try to take just that little bit more of him in your mouth and down your throat, till you’ve no doubt there’s a visible bulge of where he sits down your windpipe. you think back on what he said- i love it when a pretty thing like you gets all messy over my cock- and work towards doing just that, mouth a fountain of over-flowing spit that paints lines down your chin and over his heavy balls. the hand at his base lightly drags the tips of its nails over his burning skin and you physically feel the way his cock jumps in your mouth, head twitching as his hips involuntarily jolt forwards.

eyes as wide as a deer in headlights, you glance up to stare into his own, only to find they’re rolling back in his head, too caught up in the headiness of having your mouth on him to visually focus. it’s erotic, tracing your eyes over the protruding vein in his neck and the unrhythmic heaving of his chest- like every breath he pulls is a rare gift and a miracle- and the straining of his muscled thighs that hold back his urge to buck freely into your mouth, use you as nothing but a hole to get himself off with.

your free hand stakes claim over your own sexual frustration, nimble fingers rubbing tight, slow circles over your clit in an attempt to just ease that heat burning you from the inside out.

“she’s touching herself, jeong,” not even the irritating, grating voice of park seonghwa’s unwanted commentary can take away the kick you’re getting out of working this man into a frenzy. “are you just going to let her, without your permiss-”

“shut up, park,” yunho is wrecked, voice divulging so far from that loud, boyish charm into a dark, broken sort of gruffed out thing, echoing straight out of his chest. but, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t listen to the other man, doesn’t force his eyes open to glance down in a hazed daze to witness your pathetic attempts to work your fingers over yourself.

only, he doesn’t tell you to stop.

he just... watches. and then smiles, squeezes out what can only be described as a broken whine, and tilts his head back once more, relinquishing all control of his body over to you. the scene divulging into a chorus of mumbled words, fuck and please and yes becoming the only word yunho knows, the only three you hear.

only as he cums does jeong yunho regain that bit of self-control he’s lost, ripping your mouth off him- a stuttered mumble of i wanna paint that pretty face- and erupting in a mess of grunted moans, cock twitching in his palm as rope after rope of white, hot fluid shoots out of it. it’s messy, and disgusting, and sticky, marking the skin on your cheeks, nestling in your hair, dripping over your shut eyelashes.

the last drops land in your parted mouth as his grasp shakes and you regain the right to wrap your lips around his mushroomed tip.

lips stained in pearly white, cheeks and neck matching too. the throb of your neglected cunt, clenching itself around nothing but the mere thought of having jeong yunho stuff you full, break you in two and leave you spent.

the man in question is in a no better state, head thrown back and chest a heaving mess glistening with the shine of his own sweat. his mouth hangs open, near heaving in breaths of air and his hands, adopting a mind of their own, grip harder in your hair and hold you firmly in place, tongue laving over his sensitive tip, pushing him closer and closer to the ledge of overstimulation.

“fuck- uh, fucking look at you,” sweet voice, foul words. two fingers drag over your cheek, coating themselves in the sticky substance he’s painted you in. “drooling all over me.”

he’s right, you are drooling. down your chin, an uncomfortable damp coat covers your overheating skin as you continue to stretch your lips around his length, ready to rip another thigh-shuddering orgasm out of the man.

yunho grants you no such pleasure.

instead, a grip tugs back on your hair and, before you can feebly attempt to catch your fleeing breath, he’s pulling you up into his lap, straddling you across the well-defined muscles of his thigh. those big, capable hands he pushes himself through pools, and rivers, and all other bodies of water manipulate your limbs however he likes, a rag-doll free for him to toy with for as long as he sees fit.

“yun-” you don’t even manage to say his name properly, not when he grinds you down into his lap, smothering his tanned skin in your juices. the friction runs straight for your pulsing clit and you’re rendered to sinking into his welcoming arms, head collapsing into the crook of his neck, parted lips panting up a storm against his sweated skin.

“that nice for you, angel?” the soft words, the rough hands, the perfect roll of your hips. you feel like you could sob, break apart completely. yunho tracing a hand up the curve of your spine and soothing his long fingers over a knot in you back doesn’t help your case. “bet it is. little bit of release to all that tension you’ve been feeling, yeah?”

you think you nod.

it’s hard to tell.

sparks fly within your loins, heating you from the inside out. yunho, at some point, has wound his fist into the tresses of your hair, nails scrapping along your scalp. it’s pleasurable, all over, soothing you into a state of utter relaxation, a being with no purpose other than to take whatever this mass of warmth and muscles and width offers you.

his hand makes a fist and gently tugs, forcing a whine out of you as you’re faced with the bright lights once more. traces of his own cum stain the very place your face had lay. it’s erotic to see, drying up your tongue with a need to lick it clean.

“no, no, focus, right here,” a single finger taps at your cheek, followed by the tilting of your chin that forces you to stare back at the hungry eyes of jeong yunho. “eyes on me. want a front row seat to watching your eyes roll back.”

god, he’s filthy, and delicate, and that just makes him all that more filthy.

swiping his digits through the remnants of his sticky cum, he makes sure you’re staring right back at him as those same fingers snake their way down between your grinding bodies and burrow themselves deep in your soaked heat. shallow pumps of his hand fuck his cum-coated fingers deeper, long and lithe enough he barely needs to move to have you feeling him all over, everywhere.

by the time he curls them, pressing against that spongy wall, you’re just about ready to cry.

“think she’s gonna cum,” oh god, no, why must he remind you of your audience? why does it no longer frighten you to have eyes watching you be defiled but, rather, have you clenching around him tighter, chasing that fever-like ecstasy the man means to deliver? “she’s gripping my fingers so tight- shit, almost makes me wanna bust my load just thinking how warm her pussy would feel round my cock.”

“don’t let her cum,” you vow, some day, to wring the neck of park seonghwa. “just cause she’s gone all cockdrunk doesn’t mean she’s earnt-”

“shut up, hwa,” the boy’s thumb pokes up and you can’t help the way you grind down into it, smothering your clit in whatever pressure you can get. “pretty baby’s more than earned it. stop being bitter that i’m the one who’s gonna give her it.”

give you it, he does.

three fingers deep, the cocktail of your wetness mixing with his cum-cated digits aiding the ebb and flow of his rhythm, jeong yunho has your toes curling, eyes rolling, thighs shaking. you blackout, for only a moment, lost in the wilderness of pleasure.

the aftershocks are barely kicking in when you’re suddenly ripped away from yunho’s hold. the sounds of your beating heart and heaving chest muffle the disgruntled exchange of words between the swim-team, inhibiting your ability to stay clued-in on the events that surround you. all you know is that when your body meets the bench once more, on all wobbly fours, jeong yunho no longer sits tall and proud.

a sharp sting hits your rear- a smack, that echoes in the empty space of the swimming hall. the only appropriate response is the shriek you let out, twisted in your own conflicting emotions of pain, and pleasure, and painful pleasure. a second smack meets the other cheek. this time, there’s no doubt a wanton whine escapes you.

“since the rest of them can’t take orders,” you’d already known it was seonghwa whose hands were suddenly all over you, pinning you in a position of submission. the sound of his grandiose voice sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine, top to tail. “i’ll have to do it myself.”

with no word of warning, he smooths his hands down the globes of your ass, teases the crease of skin where your inner thigh meets your dripping heat, and fucks two whole fingers into your sensitive core. knuckles deep, they sit still upon initial intrusion, basking in the warmth of you and coating themselves in the essence from an orgasm you’ve yet to even fully recover from and the cum yunho’d scooped off your own face.

then, at last, when your nails dig marks into the wood below, he curls them a come-hither motion.

with shame painted on your skin, you toss your head back and release an inhumane cry, eyes hazily gazing up at the horrendous white lights above. “oh god!”

“not quite. i do appreciate the flattery though,” there’s no need to glance over your shoulder to know that pompous, trust-fund baby is wearing the most earth-shattering smirk, some stupid strand of his perfectly groomed hair dangling over one of his eyes, like some 90s heartthrob boy-band member. you do it anyway.

park seonghwa is an unfairly attractive man, sporting a beauty so ethereal it almost makes you angry.

that anger seems to dampen the wetter he gets you.

his touch is slow, but by no means is it gentle. calculated and malevolent, he plays with your insides like they’re nothing but the strings to your puppet. a curl of his fingers and one of your hands shoots forward. the torturously slow pace that he pumps his digits in and out, and your jaw falls slack. his thumb bumps and grinds against your throbbing clit, and your elbows give out, sending you crashing face-first down onto the bench.

his free hand presses down on your lower back, bending you deeper, hiking your ass up higher in the air. and, at first, you think you’re imagining it, that trickle of warmth against your other entrance, believing it nothing but a trick of your melting brain.

you’re who-knows how many hours deep in a whirlwind of pleasure and penetrative stares, people have been driven to the brink of insanity over far less in the past.

but then seonghwa’s fingers leave your cunt, warm and wet trails following their journey over your skin. there’s no imaginative mind great enough in this universe to conjure up that initial shock to feeling how he prods and pokes at your puckered hole, lubricating it with the dirty mixture of both you and yunho’s cum and his very own spit.

the tip of his pointer finger ventures onward first, breaking through the surface of your tight muscles in a shallow intrusion.

the feeling has you frozen, frightened, intrigued. eyes widening, moans dying, pussy pulsating in an empty need.

“don’t go getting shy on us now, spitfire,” the collective language he uses brings back the weight of all the boys’ eyes on you. hesitantly, you angle your face off the bench, and regret it the instant you meet the brown comfort of his eyes. “fun’s just starting. ain’t that right, san?”

a tense energy takes over the large room, with san’s shoulders tensing, and yunho’s feet fidgeting, and wooyoung’s cheeks blushing. seonghwa seems impervious to the shift, whether voluntarily or not, and instead invites himself to further exploring the limits of your body.

he’s kind enough to spare a bit of care into the way his finger sinks deeper into your unexplored hole. another dribble of his hot saliva lands messily onto you, aiding the slip and slide of his hand. two, or three, or four strokes of his finger and you’re submitting to the intrusion, hips rutting higher and presenting yourself more to the man.

“come here,” the command calls over your body and, at first, you think its aimed at you. so you try scooting further back, only to be halted by seonghwa speaking once again. “yeah you, choi. come get under her.”

for the first time since this all began, you’re on the precipice of saying no.

they’d listen, all of them. wouldn’t push you, pressure you or force you to keep going, not if you truly voiced your negation. even park seonghwa, as big an arsehole as he may be, would have no qualms ending his fun and agreeing to never speak of this again.

and it’s not that you don’t want choi san under you. far from it, as you’ve already made pretty clear earlier, thighs his personal ear-warmers while his tongue delved deep for your honey-suckle glory. you’re hardly uncomfortable at the thought of him under you, chest rising repeatedly in frantic breaths and legs bent at the knee to give him just the right leverage to fuck up into your messy cunt-

it’s not till he’s three feet away from you, hands fidgeting by his side, eyes looking anywhere but you and your compromising position, and the world’s most obnoxiously boner-strained tent in his swimming gear that realisation washes over you. you’re hesitating because of him, because of his possible discomfort.

what if he wants to say no? what if he doesn’t want to get under you? what if his eyes will never look into your own again, too shocked and disgusted by all the things you’ve let be done to you? by his own team-mates/rivals, too?

hell, you’ve shocked yourself even, never in a million years had you pictured a day you’d be at the mercy of some rich prick, overdressed for every occasion and looking like a vogue-cover-model reject. but when he’s edging another finger into the already-tight squeeze of your ass, and pushing your buttons just enough to nudge you towards an edge that never seems to arrive, how could you ever dream of being anywhere else?

a hand touches your cheek.

soft. tender. it takes the extra time to soothe the pads of its fingers against your burning cheek.

“you feeling okay?” san’s quiet tone, meant only for you, is enough to move you to near-tears. you crave his hug. the position you find yourself in only allows you to reach out and grasp at where his knee bends as he crouches down to your level. it’s all the same, san knows. san understands. his own hand lands on top of yours, messily threading digits.

“she’s literally stuffed with another man’s cum and you’re worried about her? well aren’t you just the sweetest.” a cheap remark from seonghwa.

san purposefully ignores it, and everything about the man, instead choosing to keep his focus on what matters.

you.

“think you could make some room for me down there?” your nose wrinkles at his choice of words.

his giggle echoes.

“no, no, not... like that,” he guides you as he talks, grip moving to your shoulders and coaxing you up into a seating position. somewhere along the way, seonghwa’s hands leave you. he doesn’t stray too far, however, and your back soon collides against his chest. “here, pretty. want you to make space for me down here.”

within seconds, choi san’s back in his rightful place: splayed out beneath you, body fit snug between your parted legs and hair an unruly, sweated mess against his forehead.

no clothing sits between you both, blessing you with the mouthwatering drag of his cock through your folds. hard, and red, and leaking at the tip, a slight curve to the right, dribbling precum against his well-toned stomach. you’re biting your lip before you fully register your own thoughts, body a mind of its own as you grind down onto him.

control is limited and fleeting, that of which seonghwa reminds you without uttering so much as a word. instead, he clamps a harsh grip down on either side of your hips, rucks you up to where he needs you and guides you down onto san’s cock.

it’s thick, imposing and something that seonghwa blesses you no time to ease into things. instead, you’re slammed down, san buried to the hilt inside of you.

“hey there,” delicate fingers skim up the tense muscles in your thigh and find pleasure in delivering a teasing tickle to your sides. “come here often?”

the cheeky grin, the double entendre, the way san looks so goddamn proud of himself for saying it. you can’t help it, you wind up giggling uncontrollably.

wrong choice. bad idea. danger zone.

san contorts in pain, and lust, and something else you’ve never seen behind his eyes before, hissing through his teeth like some feral cat. his eyes match that of a feline too. “you trying to squeeze my dick off or something?”

you compose yourself upon the reminder of that san can feel you tensing around him, pull in a deep breath and find your voice again, at last. “or... something.”

maybe you’re a little out of breath. maybe you’re a little hoarse. it doesn’t seem to matter to the boy below, his only response being to cant his hips up and lick at the fire burning in your insides.

“you two are disgusting,” once again, park seonghwa wins gold in the nobody-asked-for-you-bum-ass-opinion olympics. let’s see if he’ll continue his winning streak and go for gold in the hypocrite-athon too!

the hands on your sides begin you guide you, with seonghwa squeezing his perfectly manicured nails into your plush skin and bouncing you down onto san. up, down, up and down, repeated strokes like the ones their hands deliver each time they breach the surface.

it’s easy, this pleasure. it’s a gift, hand-delivered by two god-like men that sandwich you between them- one a mass that fills you, the other a weight that controls you. liberating in every sense, you can’t help the way your head rolls back to find purchase on one of seonghwa’s shoulders, completely melting into the ways he winds you over san.

“shit, yes, you feel,” san’s no better than you, mouth agape and hands unsteady as they trace every inch of skin they can reach: the dimples of your back, the swell of your breasts, the hood of your clit. his hips are the only steady thing about him, not a falter in the way they grind up to kiss your dripping pussy with his cock. “so good. so warm, tight. love it.”

a hand curls round your front, travels up between your breast and over your sternum. it settled for a grip a round your throat, no pressure applied, it simply exists against your windpipe, a silent threat.

“look what you do to him, hmm,” a squeeze around your neck. seonghwa’s warm breath fans against your ear, taunting you. “look what you’re doing to them.”

through your glossed-over gaze, you trail your way past the sight of san and all his captivating beauty, settling instead on the equally erotic, not-at-all surprising image that stands just past where his head rests at the edge of the wooden bench.

a sweaty wooyoung, bent at the waist and whining up a storm, while a far more composed yunho pounds his hips into the boy’s arse.

your walls clench and san whimpers, a string of curses and pleads leaving him.

“think you’re finally ready for me?” the devil on your shoulder- at your back, more truly,- smirks into your skin, careless enough to not even feign it being anything but a rhetoric question. ready or not, park seonghwa is going to finally get his own fill of the thrill, his own satisfaction, beyond mere observation and controlling.

the spill of your own wetness slips down your thighs as san continues to fuck himself deep. it doesn’t travel far as seonghwa coats himself in you, wetting his fingers before they slip back inside your ass. a few generous, tempting pumps into your ring of muscles, fingers spreading a little further apart each time, till he decides that’s enough, he’s ready, you’re ready.

the unbuckling of a belt.

an unzipping of trousers.

trousers bunched down muscled thighs.

the first cut may be the deepest, but you highly doubt it’s as deep as seonghwa feels feeding his cock into your arse, stretching you apart to make way for him. a part of you feels like it can’t breathe, impaled on both these men who sit so deep inside you, you fear you’ll feel the ghost of their touch for weeks to come.

but what does it matter, really, when seonghwa pulls you back against him and whispers filth against your ear?

this is all you’re good for. cock-drunk whore. gonna let us cum inside?

and san’s coaxing you down to trail his mouth over your chest, the tongue flicking over your nipple a terrible juxtapose to his crooning words?

taking it so well, baby. so tight, and perfect, and god. ‘s that what baby needs, huh, for me to touch her little clit?

the two men find a rhythm, a synchronised routine to how they pull and push you around. their thrusts ebb and flow, no moment existing where you sit empty. they treat your body like they treat the pool, swimming through your waves of pleasure and effortlessly advancing to the finishing line, the winning stroke. then, san’s hand meets your cheek and your thoughts are dragged underwater, muffling the sounds of everyone else- the shlickt sound that echoes with each inch of cock fucked into you, the high-pitched whimpers of a fucked out wooyoung, the slapping of skin against skin- as he pulls you in for a kiss.

it’s a hungry one, all teeth and tongue and swollen lips. you pull away more breathless than before and fighting back a big dopey grin, toes curling as the swell of one of their cocks hits a nice spot inside you, body too on fire to know just exactly where the new wave of heat is coming from.

“h-how d’you do it, hm?” it’s almost a whisper, something meant only for your ears, yet you hear him loud and clear, voice stuttering off in a mess of whines and moans. “still got that pretty-girl smile, even while getting fucked silly.”

it almost makes you shy, till you remember what you’re doing and who you’re doing it with. you settle for a quick, short answer. mostly because you fear you’re losing the ability to think in full-sentences, much less speak one out loud. “can multitask.”

like your own words are the key to pandora’s box, your eyes widen, and your mouth dries, and your heart reels as a new desire burrows itself somewhere between the parts of you owned by san and the parts owned by seonghwa. the desire makes room for more, for someone more, and, without much chance for second-thoughts or hesitation, you find what little stability you can manage with one hand pressing down onto san’s toned chest and reach forward with your free hand.

fingers, light as a feather, curl around wooyoung’s solid shaft. the man’s hips stutter at the unexpected contact, eyes flying open to glance down in time to watch you reach out your tongue, licking up the droplets of precum that threaten to spill from his mushroomed tip.

“please, god, please!” he’s beyond the point of sense, poor baby, struggling to keep up with yunho’s hips’ repeated slamming into his tight ass. so, you can’t really blame him or shame him for the way he hastily rips his hand through your hair, tugging your mouth as far down his cock as the angle allows.

a few hairs rip from your skull in his grip. you reward him with a pleasant hum, moans muffled with the mouth-full he’s providing you.

“shit- look at that,” seonghwa pipes up from behind you, the motion of his hips never faulting or failing as he continues to take part in the filthiest three-way tango known to man, hands bouncing you down to meet each raise of san’s hips, plundering the other man’s cock deep, deep, deep, till he’s kissing your cervix and you’re seeing stars before your eyes. “should cup youngie’s- fucking christ- his balls, san, cup ‘em.”

you’re vaguely aware of his compliance, hand lifting off whatever part of you it was touching- your nipple, your hip, your jaw, it’s hard to tell when you feel like san’s everywhere, all over you, part of you- to graze the set of well-groomed spheres that threaten to slap your chin each time wooyoung thrusts forward.

barely two seconds, hardly any pressure against them, and the youngest of the four is nearly in tears, wailing and begging over broken whines that it’s too much, can’t take it, don’t stop.

there’s a ringing in your ear. because everything is becoming too much: wooyoung in your mouth, san rutting up into you and seonghwa’s hands clawing and pulling your body back into each of his overpowered thrusts. the boy in front of you is the first to fall apart, twitching in your mouth and, without a warning, choking you on the cum he shoots down your throat. a hand pulls you back, just enough to paint your face in the final drops released from wooyoung.

one of the other men is next, a string of curses and grunts filling the air. there’s a new stickiness between your legs, gooey white staining your skin. it’s all building up, and up, and up, until you topple over and are sent reeling into wave after wave of blinding pressure, toes cramping up and muscles spasming as you shoot off into another astral field, creaming around san and chocking seonghwa’s cock.

you don’t register the release of your hips nor the crash-down of your body. one moment, you’re pressed back against seonghwa, mouth dropped open in a silent scream for merciless pleasure, and the next you’re cradled in san’s warm embrace, a crooning tone to the way he hushes and calms you, unheard i got yous, and did so good for us, babys, and just let me hold yous falling on deaf ears.

for a moment in your own history, time ceases to exist.

there’s no ticking of the large clock on the wall, reminding you of how long ago your shift had ended. there’s no thoughts of your plant friend drying out in the staleness of your room, desperately awaiting you to revive it with some h2o. there’s no consequences awaiting your actions, no shame to be feared and leaving you unable to look any of the four swimmers in the eye ever again.

instead of being crashed against choi san’s body, a mixture of his, yours, and several other people’s bodily fluids serving as the adhesive that keeps you stuck together in your mess, you’re floating in space, not quite alive but not quite dead, just there.

nerves tingling, body aching, mind switched off.

four, or five, or ten, maybe even fifteen minutes pass by the time you regain focus on your surroundings.

your name, whispered. it’s his voice that pulls you back, sweet and soft and oh so like the san you’re used to, the one that sends teasing winks your way when your eyes happen to meet his in class, and the one who has the prettiest notes you’ve ever seen, a colour-scheme for his every highlight and the cutest of doodles to go along with the topic on the paper.

the one who’s hand is currently brushing through your hair, fingers careful as they catch on the tangles near the split ends.

“hmm,” you swear you want to say his name, say more than that, but there’s an ache in your jaw that hinders you from even attempting, your voice-box likely having taken a beaten in the throws of your pleasured moans.

“you okay there?” he giggles over the end of the sentence, and you feel your slowing heartbeat stutter at the sound.

he feels you nod into the crook of his neck and lets his free hand find perch against your hip, moments before giving it a light squeeze.

he’s warm, and pleasant, and soft.

and moving you both into an up-right position, hands splaying flat against your back and keeping you secure against him, your legs wrapping around his slender waist. you drift off again, between time and space, and come to at the first drop of water that lands on your back.

one drop, two drops, and then a downpour of heat crashing onto both of you.

you can tell from the colour of the pinkish tiles along the communal shower floor that you’re in the women’s changing room, and mentally note to thank him, even if he’s not aware, for bringing you somewhere you won’t have to shamefully stumble out of in the nude, your change of clothes safely tucked away within one of the lockers.

“i’m gonna put you down now, okay?�� he speaks so gently that it overwhelms you, answering him only with an affirmative nod of your head.

neither of you speak while he lathers shampoo into your hair, nor when he’s dragging his soap covered hands over the cum that stains your skin, wiping it away and leaving nothing but suds where the liquid once was. he doesn’t speak while covering your eyes with his hands, blocking the sting of the shampoo. you don’t speak when you inch closer, head falling forward to rest against his chest.

when he does eventually speak again, both of your fingertips are wrinkled and bodies are clean, the water of the shower serving as nothing but a way to keep warm.

“you’re, uh, not” the echo of his voice in the empty lockers feels so much more intimate than how his cries sounded by the pool. “doing anything on wednesday, right?”

too lazy to move, you angle your face to stare up at him from his chest and take a moment to just stare, look at the way his hair is sticking to his forehead, at the way his eyes are back to being wide, at the way the marks you’d littered along his neck are becoming more prominent.

“how’d you know?” your question confirms his own, and a tenseness you’d not noticed melts off of his shoulders.

“wednesday is race day. you never work race days.”

it’s such an odd detail to have noticed, and it’s making you question everything you thought you knew about your relationship with san. do acquaintances remember each other’s schedules? do acquaintances bring each other soothing teas when they notice the other developing flu symptoms? do acquaintances waste time pulling faces at each other in lectures they should probably be paying attention to.

“i’m not taking part in the race this time, by choice. my grades are good enough, don’t need to worry about winning some championship to keep my education.” san is speaking unpromptly at this point, rambling in a way you’ve only seen him do when he’s nervous, or excited, or both. “it’s okay if you don’t want to, or you have better things to do or places to be! but, i was just thinking, maybe you’d wanna spend some time with me? there’s this medieval market down on main-street, it’s meant to be really cool, and i just think it would be even cooler to go with you? but, again, you don’t have to. forget it, actually, i’m being stupid and assuming you’re not doing something with your friends or your-”

the kiss you interrupt him with is far more innocent than the one you shared earlier, no hands rushing to touch and tongues desperate to taste, just two sets of lips moving as one.

you pull back and he chases after you, lips landing another peck before you’re grasping his cheek in your hold and forcing him back.

“i think you could have asked me to come help clean your apartment for you and i’d still say yes, just to spend my day with you,” you say, and he smiles as if on instinct, unable to stop it even if he tried.

“really?”

“really.”

“good, cause i already bought us two tickets and i really didn’t wanna have to go alone.” there’s drops of water dancing on his eyelashes, and laziness in his every movement, and you’re both still very much naked, but none of that seems to matter when he gives you another peck, like he’s awakened an addiction and your lips are now his favourite vice. “but, now that you mention it, my apartment could do with some cleaning. and i bet you’d look amazing in a maid outfit.”

a slap echoes in the showers.

“hey! don’t worry, i’ll be wearing a matching one!”

#ateez smut #park seonghwa smut #jeong yunho smut #choi san smut #jung wooyoung smut #ateez oneshot

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pfatter-university · 5 months

Text

Here’s a photo of Pfatter U swimmers Jimmy (freshman), Doug (sophomore), and Ivan (junior). We heard their senior teammate Sam is back in the locker room, trying to get his XXL speedo to fit!

#college weight gain #guys gaining weight #ai fat #ai fat men #gaining weight on purpose #male gaining #pfatteruniversity

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katemoneymartinsgf · 3 months

Text

Training Room - Kate Martin

Summary: Kate martin x Waterpolo player fic. Multiple part story this is just kind of getting everything going

Warning: Mention of injury

a/n: Please bare with me guys this is the first time i’ve written since my wattpad days 😔 . I know my obsession with kate martin is a problem if it’s thrown me back in to writing. Also if someone wants to help me make this page presentable pls do. Hope you enjoy

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Brrrrr...

The sound of the whistle rings through the air as the sprinters swim towards the ball dropped at mid-pool.

It was overtime in the Big 10 Women’s Water Polo Championship game. The next goal scored would win the conference and secure you a spot at state.

This would be the first time in school history that Iowa’s team has ever won a conference title. You had promised your coach that you would bring a championship to this team back when you were a freshman. Obviously, it was said as a joke considering you weren’t the greatest swimmer back then.

You went into your senior year of high school barely learning about the existence of the sport, looking to get extra conditioning in before basketball season that year. Also, just interested in learning a new sport in general. Your friend, who was on the swim team, encouraged you to join so you guys could spend more time together. She taught you how to swim and you caught on quick. Since it was a very young team, you earned yourself a starting spot, soon falling in love with the game. With some help from the coaches and putting together a highlight tape, you caught the eye of Iowa's head coach, who offered you a spot not too long after.

Iowa's polo team was very new and they wanted to build. You were perfect for the team: a fast learner who was passionate and competitive in everything you did.

You didn’t take it right away, hoping an offer for basketball would be coming soon, but to be honest, it was either water polo for Iowa or the JUCO route for basketball.

After thinking about how quickly you fell in love with the sport, you couldn’t turn the offer down.

A freshman who couldn’t tread water properly to four years later being in the last minutes of a conference title game.

Your friend, Jade, had possession of the ball and passed it back to the goalie. You swam to the top of the pool and got the ball passed into you.

You were immediately fouled and the whistle was blown for the defender to back away. You knew that if you got the ball stolen it was an easy 1-on-1 against your goalie.

This defender had been on your ass all game. She had gotten away with drowning and kicking you the entire time.

Your teammates were all being face-guarded so you had no choice but to get around her yourself. You took a mental note of the shot clock before turning her and swimming straight down the middle of the pool, dribbling towards the goal.

“YOU, YOU. YOU.” You heard your coach scream as you had a clear path to the goal.

The crowd erupted at the move as you got on your hips and motioned to pass the ball to your teammate, Keira. The defender jumped towards her and you faked the ball and turned to aim straight at the corner of the goal. As you rose out of the water to take the shot, you felt a hand tug on your shoulder, you felt and immediate tearing pain You yelped in pain as you dropped the ball and immediately went underwater.

You didn’t think about swimming up, gripping onto your shoulder in pain. You can’t remember much after that when the last things you felt was a player’s foot hit your head as you lost consciousness.

…..

“What happened to her?” a voice asked softly as you stirred awake.

“She got shaken up pretty badly at the polo game,” you recognized the voice of your athletic trainer as you looked to see who she was talking to.

“I think she’s awake,” the girl said.

“Go get her some more ice, please,” the trainer said before turning to you and immediately asking you how you are feeling.

“Try not to move too fast. How’s your head feeling?”

“Did we win?” you asked, wondering how the game ended.

“Y/N, that’s not important right now. How’s your…”

“My head is fine. Did we win?”

“No, the game’s still going on but you need to…” You moved immediately, ready to leave the room and head back to the pool deck.

She puts her arms in front to stop you and you look back at her in confusion. This was the championship game; how could you not be out there?

“You can’t leave. You really need to stay sitting down; you hit your head pretty hard. It’s not good for you to be up right now.”

“Please, I have to see the end of it. This could be my last game,” you pleaded.

“I can go out there and get you an update, but you need to stay here. Deal?”

You nodded with a little attitude behind it, closing your eyes and leaning your head back.

"Also, I was kicked; I didn’t just 'hit my head,'" you stated.

“Drop the attitude, kid. Kate’s bringing you ice. Safety first, always,” she said before walking out.

You relaxed a little, understanding that she was just trying to help. You’ve grown really close to Regina. She's 100% your favorite trainer and she’s learned how to manage your stubbornness.

“Here, this should help," Kate said, her voice soft but firm.

"Thanks," you replied, pressing the ice to your shoulder. You glanced up, meeting Kate's gaze.

It didn’t fully register with you that this was Kate Martin. If you were in any other state you would be freaking out.

Kate hesitated, then sat down on the chair next to you. "Do you need anything else?"

"No, this is good," you said, then added nervously, "What about you? Aren't you busy with practice?"

Kate shrugged. "Practice just ended. I was supposed to ice and heat, but I guess I got roped into being your ice delivery."

You laughed softly, wincing slightly from the pain. "Well, thanks for the delivery. I owe you one."

Kate smiled, a bit shyly. "It's no problem. I’m just glad to help."

An awkward silence settled between you. Both girls fidgeted, neither sure what to say next. Finally, you broke the silence. "So, you play basketball, right? I’ve seen you on the court. You're really good."

"Yeah, thanks. I’ve seen you play a little too. You’re amazing out there," Kate responded, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink.

"Really? Thanks," you said, your heart beating a little faster. It didn’t make any sense to you that she knew who you were. "This is my last season, so I’m trying to make it count."

"I understand. It's my senior year too," Kate said, her voice tinged with a mix of pride and nostalgia. "It's a lot of pressure."

"Yeah," you agreed, nodding slightly. "But it's also exciting, right? Knowing you’re giving it your all."

Kate looked at you, admiration in her eyes. "Absolutely. And it looks like you were doing just that before... well, you know.”

You chuckled, despite the pain. "Yeah, that defender really did a number on me. i can’t stand her”

Kate's expression softened. "I'm sorry that happened. I hope you’ll be okay for the next game."

"Me too," you said, trying to stay positive. "If there even is one."

As if on cue, the door opened, and Regina walked in. She glanced at both of you, then at you.

"I’ve got an update," she said.

"You’re not cleared to go back in. I’m sorry."

“No shit” you thought. You didn’t expect to go back in, obviously; you were knocked unconscious. It’s honestly a miracle you aren’t in the hospital right now.

"But," she said, her voice filled with excitement, "You won! You’re a Big Ten champ, kid!"

Your eyes widened in disbelief, a rush of joy flooding through you despite the pain. You turned to Kate, a radiant smile lighting up your face.

"We won?" you exclaimed, unable to contain your excitement.

Kate's own smile mirrored yours. "That's amazing! Congratulations, Y/N!"

The trainer nodded, her grin widening.

You and Kate shared a moment of shared jubilation, your eyes sparkling with pride and happiness.

Soon your team came flooding into the room with their Big Ten champ hats on.

You hadn’t noticed you were holding onto Kate’s hand until she pulled away.

“Congrats again, I’ll be at the next game for sure," she said before walking away. A small blush formed on your face as you watched her walk away with a smile.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when Jade pulled you into a hug.

“CAREFUL, SHE'S FRAGILE RIGHT NOW,” Regina scolded.

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a/n: again i’m new at this, literally my first time eve posting any fic on tumblr so any help is appreciated.

#caitlin clark #kate martin #kate martin x reader #pride month #wlw #water polo #sports #ncaa #womens basketball

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peachhcs · 5 months

Note

Could we get kinda what we go from “Sammy how she was really that Will was work it” but in this case how Will was also in a dilema because it’s his best friend and it take him time to understand but he is also willing to sacrifice everything because it’s Sammy his best friend the girl he loves.

the 3 times will's confused about his feelings and the 1 time he isn't

hughes!sister x will smith au (samy + will)

will's pining after his best friend, but is he really willing to risk their entire friendship for a relationship?

5.9k words

woo second longest fic of the series and i'm finally doing a request! guys if this is bad, i'm so sorry. i got a bit carried away and i don't like the ending but that's fine lol i'm still working through my requests but feel free to send more and i'll get to it at some point :) this also isn't proofread so if you see mistakes my bad i will try and proofread this soon lol

au masterlist

ONE

the first time will's heart skipped a beat against his chest when he wasn't drunk enough to play off any of the feelings trying to make their way to the surface was watching samy's senior send off for her last homecoming. there were probably over 30 families in the small drive trying to take photos together along with couples everywhere navigating their way through the crowds. knowing the last homecoming was a big deal for samy, will convinced gabe and ryan to drive down to see her off knowing she'd really appreciate having them there.

the three stood with ellen, jim, and luke in a small corner of the lot watching the youngest hughes pack herself together with all of her friends for pictures. there was something nostalgic about all of it considering the boys didn't get things like this when all of their focus was on hockey most of the time. even if they denied it, they secretly loved getting to be a part of samy's senior year.

gabe and ryan talked mindlessly with luke and while will stood in their small circle, he definitely was not paying attention to what was being said. instead, his eyes lingered on his best friend. she stood some feet away from them immersed in her own conversation filled with laughter and large smiles with no idea that a pair of eyes couldn't leave her no matter how hard they tried.

for the entire day since they got to samy's house, will's eyes kept finding samy even if she wasn't looking at him. he'd be standing with ryan and gabe and his gaze would just drift away from them to samy whenever she was in the same room as them. even when she was just walking by, will's eyes followed every single move.

he didn't get it. it couldn't be because of her curled hair, sparkly dress, and makeup.

he's seen her dressed up so many times over the summers because their parents would drag them out to eat at a fancy restaurant no matter how many times they said they didn't want to. it happed at least twice in the three months they spent together, so will didn't get why he just couldn't peel his eyes off the girl.

there was another reason and one that the blonde hadn't fully come to terms with yet.

her date was this guy she'd been talking to on and off over the summer. will met him once when he stopped by in august to take samy out for their first date. he seemed fine—soccer player, good grades, a swimmer on occasion. nothing special, but not some jerk at least. samy liked him and that was all that mattered.

what no one knew was that will didn't fall asleep that night until he heard the front door closing and soft footsteps padding up the stairs where samy's bedroom door shut seconds later meaning she made it back safely.

the guy clung to samy's side the entire time taking pictures. his arm was wrapped around her waist at nearly every second like he was afraid she'd disappear if he let go. that gesture, seeing him grip samy's waist like that, had will's chest tightening into knots and his heart skipping a beat. something in him popped open—a feeling. an urge.

a jealousy.

as soon as those thoughts mixed into the blonde's consciousness, his face whitened even more than it was. his jealousy quickly faded into confusion then back to jealousy then back to confusion the back to—

"you okay?" gabe's voice broke will's thoughts. he snapped his gaze towards his friend who already looked at him expectantly. ryan and luke raised their eyebrows, but tried not to act like they were staring at him.

will's jaw immediately loosened and the color in his face quickly returned to normal as if the feelings in his chest moments ago were never there in the first place.

"yeah, why?"

gabe paused. he looked at his friend a bit longer before slowly shaking his head. "no reason. you looked lost there," the dark-haired boy shrugged.

"think i'm just tired," will forced a yawn to make it more believable.

he knew gabe was studying him like he didn't quite believe what he was saying. next to samy, gabe probably knew will the best which meant he knew when the entire truth wasn't being told. feeling a bit flustered, will drew his gaze away from gabe, but unfortunately, it led itself right back to samy and her date hanging off her side.

something inside of will was screaming as the warmth in his skin returned and his jaw unknowingly clenched seeing them so close together. the feelings returned along with the battle in his mind between jealousy and confusion.

was that why he couldn't peel his eyes away from her all day? because of her date being at her side at every single second and staring at her in a way that made will's stomach drop not because he didn't like the way her date was looking at her, but because he wanted to be the one looking at her like that—

"will! get over here!" this time samy's voice broke the boy from his racing thoughts.

she found his gaze, a soft smile on her lips motioning him over. his nerves eased and a smile replaced the confusion on his features as he shuffled towards her. ellen already had her camera out as samy's date (finally) dropped from her side and will took his place.

samy, who was as oblivious as ever, tucked her head into the blonde's shoulder while his arm found the same exact place on her waist. her touch shot a fiery sensation through will as he mustered up his best smile for ellen 's phone.

"you guys look adorable. i'll send these to your mom," ellen beamed before ushering gabe and ryan into the photo as well.

ryan grabbed samy's other side while gabe hooked himself onto will's side. the four of them scrunched together with wide smiles, but all will could think about was samy's hip pressing into his own marking just how close they were and the explosion it sent throughout the boy's body.

"so, so cute, i'm so glad you guys drove down," ellen said and finished taking pictures for now.

the three broke apart, but lingered close by as samy grabbed her phone to check her makeup. "i think you've looked at yourself twenty times in the span of fifteen minutes," ryan laughed.

"shut up, leonard," the brunette eyed him.

"i'm just saying. you look fine. stop worrying," the taller boy said in a more softer tone. samy rolled her eyes before her gaze fell on will, seeking confirmation because she knew he'd be honest with her.

will's poor blush got worse under her stare, "don't listen to leno. you look good."

his words made samy grin, "thanks, i trust you. thanks for coming down. it means a lot." she ruffled up some of his curls that surprisingly weren't hidden by a baseball cap for once.

"yeah, of course. wouldn't miss it for the world, hughesy."

her smile had will's heart skipping a beat for a second time and something in him wanted to make her smile like that all the time.

the reality of everything set back in when samy's date returned to her side and started whisking her away as everyone began leaving. the girl rushed out her goodbyes and thank you's before disappearing into a car.

"you guys are more than welcome to hang around the house for the night if you don't wanna drive back. dinner, too," ellen extended her offer to the three boys hanging around still.

"anything made by mama hughes is an automatic yes," ryan grinned making the others laugh.

"i'm flattered. you can follow us back up to the house," the older woman beamed.

later that night after the boys ate as much as they physically could, gabe found will sitting on the back deck looking blankly ahead. the dark-haired boy shuffled his way towards the edge of the deck using his foot to poke will's back, announcing his presence.

"what are you doing out here by yourself?" gabe wondered. the sun hadn't set yet, but the air was growing cooler as october drifted into november and there wasn't much to look at besides a playground and the family pool.

"just..thinking," will answered.

for a moment, gabe wondered if he should keep prodding because he definitely knew what will was thinking about. he saw it when they stood in the lot watching samy take pictures with everyone. he saw it in will's face when him and samy took pictures together.

"about?" the boy sat on the step above the one will was on.

"just stuff," the vagueness had gabe rolling his eyes.

"about samy?"

sure, the guys teased the two all the time about having feelings for one another, but it was never serious. they were always joking and will knew that which was why he could brush their comments off. this time gabe was being serious and they both knew that. will couldn't push his questions or comments off.

the silence from the blonde told gabe everything he needed to know. he saw right through will.

"seeing her with her date..i don't know. i didn't like it. it felt wrong. i-i think i felt jealous? like..like maybe it should've been me instead?" will hardly ever opened up about his feelings, especially regarding samy, but he knew gabe wouldn't stop asking.

"do you know why you felt jealous?" gabe wondered.

the words were on the tip of will's tongue, yet he couldn't bring himself to say it. those words have bounced around in his head since that stupid truth or dare game where samy kissed him in the bathroom. they were there when they were drunk and made out with one another, yet neither of them talked about it after. they were there when samy was the first person he went to after a game.

it was all there, but will couldn't say it.

"no, i don't."

if he said it, it made the feelings real and in will's mind, they couldn't be real. she was his best friend. that was all she'd ever be.

TWO

no one spoke a word in the locker room after coach's harsh lecture. the loss sunk into everyone's skin, especially since it was their first loss of the season and they were supposed to win this game. no one did anything right which was why they gave up three points to the other team. the buzz of adrenaline that usually danced across every guy was replaced with solemn and disappointment. will felt it extra hard after his coach pulled him aside to give him an extra lecture.

he was one of the team's best, the coach's favorite, the team's favorite, yet he let everyone down giving up those three points.

no one dared speaking to one another as everyone slowly drifted out of the locker room once they were showered and redressed. will hardly moved from his stall, though. his head fell into his hands along with a bitter line of frustration towards himself.

he couldn't step out of the locker room with the knowledge his parents were waiting probably disappointed in him and another harsh lecture to follow. the boy couldn't handle that right now. he needed to focus on breathing before he punched something and got into even more trouble.

a small knock caught his attention. will lifted his head fully expecting his dad, but when he saw samy lingering in the doorway, everything about his demeanor shifted.

"oh will," the brunette frowned seeing his state.

she went to him, hands pulling his own away from his hair and wiping the tears will didn't even know was falling down his cheeks. "ryan and gabe said you were in here still," the girl explained her presence.

"we fucking lost," the boy choked out.

"i know. i know. it sucks," she pulled him into her so she could run her fingers through his hair and massage the spots he pulled at in frustration.

something about her soft touch and soothing voice had more tears spilling out of the boy as he buried his face into her chest.

will was by no means a vulnerable person. he had a hard time being emotional with people, but everything with samy was different. he could cry in her arms for however long he wanted knowing she wouldn't ever judge him and let him cry for as long as he needed.

her gentle fingers wound around his curls which was a stark contrast to the way he roughly pulled at them minutes ago. they just sat there on the bench while will attempted to regather himself so he'd stop crying, but samy hardly minded. she hummed some mindless tune and everything about it had will's head spinning.

those feelings he had a few weeks ago were back and a lot stronger than before. jealousy, want, and need mixed themselves together creating a pretty lethal combination building in the boy's chest, but again, he couldn't understand it.

why, why, why, why, why.

"wanna talk about it at all?" samy wondered after some more silence.

will slowly lifted his head up so he could meet her gaze. he probably looked like hell, but if he did, samy didn't any anything.

"i let everyone down. coach is mad at me and i'm sure my parents are gonna give it to me once i go out there," the blonde frowned a bit making samy frown as well.

"you didn't let people down. you played your heart out. tonight just wasn't your night," samy said softly.

"but we lost a game we should've won. everyone was counting on me to prove that i'm good at his and deserve a spot on a d1 college team," will continued.

"this one loss doesn't mean you're not good enough. you are good enough. a bad game isn't a bad career. i think you're good enough."

i think you're good enough. her words tightened will's chest along with the way she stared at him—so loving and so sure of his abilities.

"you're just saying that because you have to," the boy almost scoffed.

"i'm not, i promise. i've always thought you're good enough, will. you lost a game and that sucks, but it's not a bad career. no one hates you because you did your best," her words warmed the hockey player's heart.

she wrapped her arms around his neck for a tight hug. will's own 'arms tightened around her waist and buried his face into the crook of her neck. if someone walked in who didn't know them, they'd definitely think they were dating just based on the way they were wrapped around each other.

will never wanted to let go, but he knew he had to eventually, so he drew back. samy smiled, placing a gentle kiss to the boy's forehead. she's done it before, but right now it meant a lot more to will than before. the gentleness of her lips had the boy wondering what they'd feel like against his own lips when neither of them were drunk to even really remember what happened the next morning.

"you wanna go out there together?" samy wondered.

the blonde nodded. he collected his things and wrapped his arm tightly around samy's shoulders as they finally faced his parents waiting for him. they spotted them a few feet outside of the locker room and will braced himself for the worst.

will's mom saw her son's state—dreary eyes, teary cheeks, messed up hair—and placed a hand on her husband's arm before he said anything he was planning on saying. colleen knew another lecture wasn't what her son needed nor wanted. she saw samy hanging off his arm knowing she probably calmed him down in the locker room and she hated disrupting the peace samy brought to him in whatever way.

instead, colleen stepped forward to collect will into a hug. "you did your best, yeah?" she whispered into his ear. all will did was nod.

"you wanna join us for dinner, samy?" colleen looked over at the girl.

she was about to decline the offer until she met will's gaze that said something like please stay and she couldn't ever say no to him when he looked at her like that.

"yeah, i'd love to. thank you."

with that, the four piled into the car back to the house. as soon as will got situated in the back seat, he reached for samy. the girl laid herself in her arms and for a second, everything felt okay. the feelings racing through his chest eased while those three words crept up further and further up.

after dinner, will dragged samy to his room to watch a movie while trying to avoid his dad's lecture for as long as he possibly could. they didn't even get 20 minutes in until samy was falling asleep against the boy's chest. it was a pretty regular occurrence, especially over the summer, but right now will was terrified to even move because he didn't wanna wake her up.

he found his phone, clicking into gabe's contact and staring at the chat for a moment before typing something. he stared a his message for a moment, debating on sending it.

if he sent it, his feelings became real. could he actually do that? could he actually admit something that's been plaguing his mind for months now?

what if everything went wrong?

before will could even think about sending it, his phone started buzzing in his hands as grace's contact flashed across the screen. he grabbed his airpods just as his sister's face appeared.

"hi will. i heard about your game," the older smith smiled gently.

"it was a shit show," will whispered.

"it looked like you were playing well though?" grace offered, but the boy only shrugged.

"i don't know. i guess?"

"why are you whispering?" grace wondered quickly making her brother's face flush.

he carefully directed his camera down to where samy could be seen sleeping at his side. the look on grace's face was a mix between surprise and a small smirk because she also knew all too well about her brother's feelings even if he didn't say anything.

"so when are you finally gonna ask her out?" grace teased.

"stop," will rolled his eyes.

"what? i'm not sure cuddling in your bed is something just friends do," the older girl stated.

"or drunk makeouts?" will muttered that part, but grace heard him nonetheless.

"drunk what?" she sounded nearly flabbergasted.

"never mind," the boy shook his head.

"seriously, will. you obviously like her. what other reason is there for feeling jealous of her homecoming date?"

grace stumped him with that one. will's gaze drifted down to the girl still sleeping peacefully beside him. his fingers found a place in her hair and gently wrapped it around his fingers like she had done for him. the blood roared in his ears along with a feeling of warmth spreading all across his chest watching samy sleep so soundly at his side like nothing else mattered.

"what if i'm scared?" will finally said.

"scared? of what?" grace grew confused.

"if i admit how i feel, it makes it real and i'm scared of making it real. she's my best friend, grace. i'm not supposed to feel this way," the blonde's admission had grace's expression softening.

"i think that's all the more reason to feel this way. the most unexpected feelings come from the most unexpected people, will. i doubt she doesn't feel the same way too."

when the siblings ended their call, will went back to him and gabe's chat feeling a bit more sure than he did before grace called. his message still sat in the box waiting to be sent. with one final look at samy, will hit send and he knew everything after this was gonna be as real as it could get.

from will i think i like samy

THREE

a loud buzzing pulled will from his sleep. the boy jolted, bleary eyes trying to adjust to the dark and find the source of the incredibly obnoxious buzzing. his eyes flicked around his room until his phone screen lit up and he finally realized someone was trying to call him.

he grabbed his phone, not even hesitating as he lifted it to his ear and sounds of a party came through on the other end.

"hello?" will rasped out, sleep laced deep in his voice.

"w-will? hey!" marcie's voice came through. the boy raised his eyebrow trying to remember if he ever gave marcie his phone number.

he pulled the phone away to read the screen, but nothing answered his confusion seeing samy's name on the screen. "marcie?" the boy mumbled.

"hi, hey. yes. sorry. i'm sorry for calling so late..i..jesus.." she stumbled over her words and for some reason, that woke will up more when he heard the slight slur in her tone and her fast talking.

"are you okay?" the boy sat up in his bed.

"yes. maybe. so..we're at this party..we're like..30? maybe? minutes from you? samy drank a little too much..and i-i didn't know who else to call? her brothers would've definitely killed her and..and you were like the first person on her emergency contact list. i know it's late..but like..could you come down? please?"

marcie didn't even have to ask twice as will jumped out of bed and got himself dressed as quickly as possible.

"i'm on my way. can you send me your location?" he was out the front door a second later with keys in hand to his car.

"yes, i did. don't freak out, she'll be fine i just..i have no idea where to take her," marcie explained.

"i'll be there as quickly as possible, okay? just keep her awake and make her drink water," will rushed and the two said goodbye after that.

about 100 thoughts ran through will's head all at once as he definitely went over the speed limit. something in him paled at the idea of samy at a party getting too drunk that she couldn't make decisions for herself. he wondered why she didn't invite him? or why she was drinking that much in the first place?

"just breathe, will," the boy muttered to himself before he gave himself a panic attack.

he made it the house in record time probably going the fastest he's ever gone in a car to cut the trip down. marcie and samy were on the front lawn where will rushed to them as soon as the car slid into park.

"hey, you okay?" he hugged marcie first.

"yeah, i'm fine. i'm sorry again. it's so late and i..i don't know why i didn't..i'm sorry," the girl became flustered and embarrassed she even let her friend get so drunk.

"don't apologize. it's not your fault. has she been drinking water?" will gazed down at the brunette on the ground.

"yeah, i've been giving her a little bit."

samy's eyes gazed up at will while a hint of recognition flashed through them before she literally jumped into his arms.

"willie! hey! what are you doing here?" the girl exclaimed as she practically clung onto him.

"came to get you. you doing okay?" will pulled his gaze down to hers.

"mhm, yeah. perfecttt," she dragged out the t.

"i'm glad you're perfect. wanna get in the car?" samy gave him a half nod as him and marcie helped the girl into the back seat. she practically collapsed onto the entire back row with small fits of giggles leaving her lips.

marcie and will got back into the front. the first five or so minutes of the drive became filled with silence besides the soft hum of the radio and samy's quiet mumbling to herself. will glanced at her through the rearview mirror every five seconds probably—worry etched into his features and the hundred thoughts racing through his mind again.

"i'm sorry again. i don't know why she got so drunk," marcie broke the silence, her voice small.

"don't apologize. it's not your fault," will said. his words didn't convince the girl because she just shook her head.

"i don't really know the details but i think her and kevin stopped talking. she was briefly talking about it with me the other day and then she proposed going to that party i think to get over him.." marcie's voice faded off into the deafening silence in the car.

kevin was samy's newest guy—the same one she went to homecoming with. they had been talking for quite a long time with an implication of a relationship soon, so will wondered where it went wrong.

"i don't know if i should be telling you this either, but samy started rambling on about you. it was broken sentences, but she kept saying how it's been you all along, even kevin knew. something like that," the girl's words tightened the blonde's chest into the familiar knots he's become acquainted with over the past few months.

"oh."

"i mean come on, will. you guys are so obvious yet so oblivious at the same time. why else do you think she kisses you in the bathroom?" there was something about driving down backroads at almost three in the morning that brought out the most vulnerable in people.

"i-i don't think that really counts. she's drunk. i'm drunk," will swallowed nervously, his eyes glancing up at samy again.

"well, yeah, but aren't drunk words, drunk actions sober thoughts? you're always the one she goes to by the end of the night," the two met each other's gazes. marcie had a pointed look on her expression that will tried not to read into too much.

"i don't know. it still doesn't feel genuine though?"

"what about the time you guys kissed sober during that truth or dare?" that was the only time him and samy were sober and kissing. will thought about that moment a lot.

another silence filled between them. the boy's glance landed on samy who was close to sleep and everything marcie just said replayed over and over in his mind. there was a tug at his heart thinking about samy having him as her first emergency contact and another tug at the smallest idea that she might actually like him back.

"you like her, right?" marcie spoke again. will's gazed flick over to hers momentarily.

"yeah," the boy whispered knowing samy was too out of it to understand what they were talking about.

"i know your scared about ruining everything with her if you did date, but i know you guys care a lot about each other to ever think about hurting one another. when i first met you last year i immediately saw your relationship. i saw the way you looked at her and the way she looked at you. i don't think i've ever seen a guy care that much about her before and that's coming from someone who's been her friend since middle school. you mean a lot to her, will. like a lot," marcie rambled on, but her words had a deep blush spreading across the boy's cheeks.

will led marcie to the guest room while he sat samy down on the couch. he wanted to sober her up before he let her go to bed knowing she'd have a killer hangover in the morning and he feared she'd throw up in her sleep.

"thanks for calling me, mar. i'll make sure she'll be okay," will said before the girl went to bed.

a soft smile appeared on her lips, "i know you will. thanks for coming and getting us. i hope your parents won't hate you."

"they won't. i'll explain everything and make sure you guys won't get in trouble," the two exchanged warm smiles.

will returned his attention to the girl on the couch. he grabbed water, a snack, and tylenol in hopes that it will sober her up some more. samy gazed up at him as he came back into the living room, a smile on her lips.

"aww, you're so sweet willie. i love cheez-its," the brunette hummed.

"i know you do," the boy chuckled. he poured a few into a bowl, not wanting samy to overeat and make herself sick.

"you should've been at the party. it was sooo much fun," the girl gushed.

"it looks like you had fun."

"i dumped kevin," her bluntness caught will of guard. he's never been around her when she was this drunk and was quickly learning that samy said anything on her mind.

"i heard," the boy hummed.

"i didn't really like him that much anyway. he kept arguing with me about stupid stuff. he thinks you like me! isn't that hilarious?" soft laughter tumbled from the girl's lips, but will wasn't laughing. the only thing he could hear was his pounding heart beating a bruise against his chest.

"i started thinking about it a lot, actually. maybe it's part of the reason why i broke up with him. i don't really know. dating your best friend? that seems scary to me," she kept rambling and will had no idea what to say.

he wanted to confess everything to her, but he knew she definitely wouldn't remember any of this in the morning, so how true was it really? it brought will back to all of the times they woke up the morning after drunkenly making out, but samy never said anything about it. they just acted like nothing happened.

"yeah, it does seem scary," the blonde managed.

"i mean would you date me? i'm saying all of this and i don't even know if you like me," the girl laughed again.

will's heart clenched, biting his tongue to keep from saying anything, "how are you feeling? it's getting late. maybe you should try and sleep?"

"you're right. i'm exhausted and i'm gonna feel like shit in the morning," samy mumbled.

"is sleeping in grace's room okay?" will collected her things, extending his hand out to help her up the stairs.

"mhmm, sounds perfect."

the two tiptoed up the stairs to the older smith's bedroom. will helped take samy's shoes off and he attempted to wipe some of her makeup off before laying her down. the girl smiled lazily at him.

"thanks for taking care of me, willie. you mean a lot to me."

"of course. i'll see you in the morning," the blonde returned her smile, but as soon as he faced away from her, it faded.

once the bedroom door was shut, will leaned himself against it to just recollect himself with the ache in his heart that samy wouldn't remember anything about tonight. hell, marcie's words were probably just drunk rambling.

THE 1 TIME

goosebumps ran up will's skin when a delicate hand ran across his arm, pulling the blonde from the book he was reading. he lifted his head, a soft smile appearing on his lips seeing samy peering down at him. "hi," will said.

"hi, pretty boy," samy returned his soft smile with one her own. hearing that pet name roll off her tongue directed at him was something will would never get used to. even though they've only been together for a month, he'd nevr get tired of hearing it.

"what's up?" the blonde wondered as he reached his hand up to run across samy's skin.

"just wanted to come say hi. you looked so cozy up here," the girl giggled.

"wanna sit?" will offered the tiny space next to him. samy swung her legs over, basically landing in his lap because the seat was definitely not made for two people—or a 6'0 hockey player and his girlfriend.

"how was golfing with jack, quinn, and luke?" the guys went out early to get a game in and samy did not like golf that much to get up as early as they did.

"it was fun. i think luke killed all of us, but i think gabe and ryan had fun," the blonde laughed. he caught sight of his teammates down in the yard trying to play volleyball.

"i swear, my brothers' profession would be golfing if it weren't for hockey," the girl giggled which was like music to will's ears.

"you should come next time. i think you could definitely beat luke," will lovingly squeezed part of her leg that rested atop his lap.

"are you just saying that because you want to see me in a skirt?" samy teased a bit which caused will to blush a deep crimson all the way to the tips of his ears.

"shut up. that's not what i was implying," he playfully rolled his eyes.

"i know, i'm just kidding. my brothers are way better at golf than i am, so i definitely could not beat any of them."

a comfortable silence settled between the couple. will's gaze lingered on samy who glanced at her phone, so she missed her boyfriend's loving stare until she looked back up and flushed when he was already looking at her.

"when do you leave for boston?" she changed the subject for now.

"august 12th," will answered with a hint of sadness laced in his voice. the idea of leaving hurt will a lot more than he thought it would. especially after finally getting the girl.

sure, he'd have all of his teammates following him, but the one person he wanted to always be around wasn't coming.

"three weeks away?" samy wondered and the boy nodded.

"i can't believe it's already here," will mumbled earning a tiny frown from the brunette.

"you're gonna do so awesome at boston, will. i'm really proud of you."

samy shifted so she could wrap her arms around his neck. he buried his face into the crook her neck, placing soft kisses against her skin. "i wish you were coming with me," he mumbled.

"me too. i wish we got our act together and got together a lot sooner. maybe if i wasn't so afraid of my feelings and kept pushing them away," samy rolled her eyes, but will pulled back. he raised his eyebrow in confusion.

"wait, how long have you known about your feelings?"

samy's face flushed, "well..i kept pushing them away every time we drunkenly made out at parties. i don't know. prom i knew i had feelings, but i was scared and stupid."

"so you did remember the next morning after the party," will chuckled in mostly amusement.

"uh, yeah. i did. i never said anything because i just..i don't know. i didn't know how you felt. i didn't wanna make it weird and we had a thing going," she shrugged a bit.

"it wasn't obvious to you how i felt after?" will smiled a bit with a small tilt of his head.

"looking back, yeah it was obvious. i was stupid," the girl flushed again.

all will could do was laugh and pull samy closer to his chest where he never wanted to let go. everything they went through was worth it in the end to finally have the girl will's always had feelings for. for once in life, he was finally sure about something besides hockey.

hockey's been a constant and he was too dumb to realize he had another one right in front of his face all along.

as the hot summer sun danced between the clouds, will had everything he could ever need. samy laid against his chest and what was better than having his favorite girl beside him all the time now? he truly couldn't ask for anything more.

#hughes!sister x will smith au #will smith hockey #samy x will #boston college #boston college hockey #samy hughes #umich hockey #will smith imagine #will smith x oc #uofmichigan #will smith fluff #will smith hockey fluff #bc hockey #gabe perreault #ryan leonard #luke hughes

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blkkizzat · 3 days

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Mmm prof sukuna is just...yummy. I can't even.

But since we're doing this, Prof Gojo. He teaches theoretical physics. Your major required you to take it. So you do, your senior year of undergrad. But you're an experimental physics kinda person. So you argue with him day and night. So it surprises you when you're a grad student that he seeks you out to bounce ideas off of. He invites you to join a collaboration. He introduces you to people. This man is not your advisor, but he's always creating an opportunity for you. Eventually, your going to dinner meetings with him and several other professors from the department. You're surprised to learn they ALL think you're his girlfriend. And he doesn't deny it. In fact, he just smirks and changes the subject. Now no matter who you deny it to, they all just say that you don't have to pretend and that it's not that weird. Except now, no one asks you out. Because they all think you're taken. You ask Satoru to clear things up and he just says to let it pass. The more you deny it, the worse it'll get. Eventually, eventually, you just give up and hang around him like normal. You're getting good opportunities out of it and he's a really good friend. Even if he is a theoretical physicist. But it all changes after you defend your dissertation. He comes and listens and afterward takes you for ice cream, and he kisses you. he tells you he was waiting until you weren't a student anymore. You're flabbergasted. And a little mad cause you barely get laid for two and a half years cause everyone you met on campus thought you were dating this man and time off campus was rare. But fear not cause you decide to get even. You demand he make up for all 30 months you went without.

Side note: geto is def an English prof right? And Nanami is math?

- 🧠

🧠 nonny! pookies you eating with these! also prof geto is most def english, philosophy or anthro 100% and I can totally see prof nanami as math or he might be a dr on the md track and be your like attending when ur a resident kdhfkshfa.

prof gojo is really cute. i like how he played the long game and waited. i was surprised cause i didnt think he'd have it in him to do it but it make sense he could here if everyone thought you were dating already lefhdsdlkfhudslkfh. lmfao watch he's like fanning the flames himself behind your back.

ahhh wait i can't leave out my husband... even though i do NOT see him as an academic lmfao at all. buuuut WALK WITH ME HERE... professor toji of sports medicine.

prof toji happened to fall into the role more than anything. a former olympian he has over a dozen gold metals, the highest ever for a single person in japan and the first person to ever participate—let alone win in multiple categories. his physical prowess is a wonder to modern science and its purely his obsession with to being at his physical peak that drives him into academia so he could learn more about his body after being disillusioned with 'incompetent' personal trainers and physical therapist, taking his care into his own hands. prof toji now retired was practically begged to come to the university to teach. he teaches one class but mostly heads sports medicine at a university with a medical center where he trains and conditions sports athletes—you happen to be his TA/assistant, a former promising gymnast olympian but sidelined due to a wrist that never healed right. Toji is annoyed by you at first, brash disposition and a widower, he's not very personable at all. but one day you happen to be with him when his nanny has an emergency and drops a young 5 year old megumi off at his offices early. prof toji has to evaluate the swimmers in 20 minutes and it be too dangerous to take him to the pools, so you offer to watch him and toji, while skeptical has no choice but to let you. prof toji is quite shocked upon his return to find you in the aerobics area and megumi actually laughing—you taught him summersaults and he can almost do a cartwheel without falling over. he hasn't seen him laugh like that since his mom passed. prof toji feels indebted to you now and he hates that so he offers to take a look at your wrist even though you say theres 'nothing that can be done' which prof toji scoffs at. It takes a minor surgery and almost a year of physical therapy, strict diet and training regimine at his directive but your wrist actually heals!

fast forward 2 years and you are actually at the olympics! a bit older for the category but due to the immaculate physical therapy and training from prof toji you manage to get gold by mere fractions of points! taking it from the current champion of the last 3 years! prof toji is the first one to catch your eye when your scores are announced and when you flew into his arms out of gratitude he couldn't help the passionate kissed that followed as he literally kissed you for the first time in front of the whole world!

OMFGBFKSDHFKVA WAIT I ACTUALLLY ATE WITH THIS I ATE SO FUCKING HARDLJCSDLKJFHDSKJB I GOTTA WRITE THIS... NO STAWP I ALREADY HAVE TOO MCUHDFHSDJKCBK. WHO WANTS ME TO WRITE THIS?!

#🧠 anon #ateeeee again #we really cookin today pooks!#ೃ༝💌⁀➷ 𝓀𝒾𝓏𝓏𝒶𝓉мαιℓ #ೃ💌⁀➷𝓀𝒾𝓏𝓏𝒶𝓉αησηѕ #˚⊱🍪 𝒶𝓃𝑜𝓃𝒸𝑜𝑜𝓀𝒾𝑒𝓈🤤⊰˚#professor gojo #professor toji #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji fluff #gojo x reader #toji fushiguro x reader

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ladykailitha · 4 months

Text

Never Hold Back Your Step... Part 8

Hello! It does look like there is only one more chapter to write on Paper Hearts so yay!!! I'm not sure how much longer Sweet Home Indiana is but it's nearing it's end too.

Steve is never going to go to another party after this, Eddie gets book two of the Boy with a Bat, and they have a frank discussion about how Eddie gets paid for his less than legal side gig.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

trigger warning: homophobic language by an OC.

****

At least the swim team knew to how to throw a party. Lyle was hosting and even though his family wasn’t well off, not like Steve’s parents, there was still enough room for the whole team and a few of their friends to have a good time.

Granted there wasn’t any booze, not openly anyway, but there were ice chest after ice chest of canned sodas. And all kinds, too. Steve was on his third Coke and had already sussed out the dude with the beer and was working his way over.

Going right up to the guy was asking for trouble that neither of them wanted.

The music wasn’t too loud, but you could dance to it in the main part of the house. People were actually laughing and having fun.

Which really should have been Steve’s cue. The universe was out to get him and wouldn’t let him have a moment’s peace.

He had almost reached the guy with the beer when Ezra blocked his path.

“Hey, Steve,” he greeted syrupy sweet. “I’m so glad you made it out. I wasn’t sure if you would come without Eddie Munson.”

Steve frowned and tried to move around his co-captain. “I go lots of places without Eddie. I went to nationals without him, didn’t I?”

Ezra put his hand on Steve’s chest to stop him. “Sure you did, but we didn’t win nationals now, did we?”

Steve looked down at the hand on his chest. “We swam our hearts man, the other teams were just better. Hell, that team from Georgia was on fire.”

Ezra snorted and rolled his eyes. “They only got where they were because they were black. They didn’t have any real talent. Not like us. Not like you and me, Steve.”

“Are you saying Lyle and Nick held us back?” he asked with his brow furrowing deeper in his confusion.

“We’ve always known that Lyle is a strong swimmer and not a fast one,” Ezra moaned waving the drink in his other hand around. “But he’s all this shit town has on offer.”

Steve gently pushed Ezra off of him. “Hey, how about not talking shit about the actual host, man.”

Ezra rolled his eyes. “Whatever,” he huffed. “That’s not even why I’m over here. I’m here to warn you about Munson.”

And there it was. Everyone in his life had felt the need at some point in the last six months to warn him off the super senior.

The other boy leaned in close, his lips a snarl. “He’s a queer, a little faggot boy,” he hissed, the spit landing on Steve’s face. “It’s the town’s worst kept secret.”

Ice slid down Steve’s spine. Oh shit. Of all the places he thought the other co-captain was going to go, that was not it. Drugs. DND. The ranting on table tops. All that slid away to sheer terror.

“And you better not bend over in the showers,” Ezra continued, “a pretty thing like you would just be his type.”

Steve’s eyes went wide. “Wha–what do you mean?”

“Everyone knows that if you can’t pay for your weed,” Ezra sneered, “that he’s willing to take a blowjob as payment instead.” He leaned further into Steve’s space, so that they were almost touching, the stench of weed radiating off the other boy in waves. “I saw Harry Masters sucking him off for a gram of the good stuff.”

Steve stomach lurched and swooped, bile rising up in his throat. Harry Masters was on the baseball team. He was tall, good looking, with that devil may care charm of Rob Lowe. Looked like him, too.

“What he does or doesn’t do doesn’t effect me, man,” he said, trying to aim for nonchalant and missing by a mile.

Ezra laughed in his face.

“Dude,” he cackled, “if you didn’t want people to think you’re down bad for ‘the Freak’ maybe rein in the eye fucking. I’ve seen the way you look at him and it makes me sick.”

That was when Steve got it. He had been wondering what the hell this conversation was.

“Oh my god!” he laughed. “Fuck, man, you were scaring me for a second there. You’re just jealous I don’t have the hots for you.”

Ezra pushed him. “The fuck I do, Harrington!”

“No, no!” Steve crowed. “I’ve got it all figured it out. All the times I caught you staring at me, all the times I felt someone watching me, all the times you’d try to keep me late after practice. You wanted me all to yourself.”

His co-captain turned purple with rage and swung at Steve, but before he could even flinch, there was someone at his side, holding Ezra’s wrist to keep the hit from even going anywhere near Steve’s face.

“Eddie!” Steve breathed. “What are you doing here?”

Eddie smiled at him with that soft dimpled grin Steve loved. “Hey ya, Stevie. I was just plying my wares when I heard the commotion and came over to make sure you were all right.”

“So you are my good luck charm,” Steve said brightly.

Ezra wrenched his arm out of Eddie’s hand. “This doesn’t concern you, Freak!”

Eddie leaned in close and cocked his head to the side. “It does, because you were talking shit about me and Stevie, here. And as Stevie’s good friend, I’mma gonna come to his rescue. Now, you’re going to skedaddle on home and sleep all this off.”

Ezra spat in his face. “Or what?”

The older teen just smiled menacingly. “Or else that gram you smoked will be the last you ever smoke, because I’ll report to you for doping for matches.”

Ezra paled and he gulped. “You can’t do that! I’ve never done anything but weed.”

“That’s true,” Eddie admitted. “But they’d have to do this big investigation and your name would be dragged through the mud. Or you could toddle off and go to college and leave this town in your rearview mirror.”

Ezra turned on his heel and ran out of the house as if the hounds of hell were on his tail.

Steve shook his head. “You do know this is where all the allegations about you being a devil worshiping cult leader come from, right?”

Eddie threw back his head and laughed. “They can think all they want.”

Eddie and Steve talked about what Ezra had said about how people make payments for their weed.

“I won’t deny that people have offer to blow me or even have sex with me in exchange for drugs,” Eddie said as they lay curled up on his bed. “But I’ve never taken anybody up on that.”

Steve twisted his head to look up at his boyfriend. “I can’t say I’m not pleased to hear that, but is there a reason why?”

“Several,” he admitted pulling Steve in closer. “One is that there is an actual fucking pandemic going on regarding gay men, and I wouldn’t trust those assholes even with a condoms. Another is that if I say yes to one, then I’ve got to say yes to next guy. And as my supplier wants actual cash for his product, blow jobs aren’t currency in any country I know of. And despite what Ezra said, most of the people offering aren’t men.”

Steve hummed as he snuggled under Eddie’s chin. “I can see that. Any other reasons why you won’t?”

“Does having a super hot boyfriend count?” he chuckled.

Steve kissed the underside of his jaw. “That’s a very good reason.” His hand slipped down his boyfriend’s side and to his belt. “A super hot boyfriend who is very grateful for the rescue.”

Eddie moaned as Steve’s fingers ghosted over his zipper. “Yeah and how are you going to show that gratitude?”

Steve slid down Eddie body and undid his belt. “I was thinking it was such a shame you didn’t get those blow jobs when your cock is so delectable.”

Eddie gasped and threw back his head as his super hot boyfriend’s breath felt hot on the front of his boxers. “God, baby. Show me what you’ve got.”

And Steve spent their evening doing just that.

Steve fidgeted nervously at Eddie’s locker after school. He had finished the most recent comic with only a week of school to spare. He had made sure that Jonathan and Nancy weren’t staying after school for any reason so they didn’t see him make the hand off. He knew he should have just done it at the trailer, but with him cutting it so fine before the end of the year, he didn’t want to make Jeff and the others wait for it.

Eddie loped over to his boyfriend and looked around. “Hey, sweetheart. You okay?”

He thrust the comic at Eddie, his eyes downcast. “It’s the most recent comic. There’s an explanation like before. But please don’t let people see that part.”

Eddie cradled the comic to his chest. “I’ll be careful, I promise. I’m guessing this means you aren’t coming over tonight?”

Steve shook his head. “Lucas wants to go see the latest Bond film, but his friends don’t want to go with him...”

“So you offered to take him,” Eddie finished. “That’s sweet of you.”

Steve snorted and shook his head. “His parents think I’m taking him to ‘Meet the Littles’ or some shit like that.”

Eddie threw back his head and laughed. “Yeah, that’s more like the Steve Harrington I know and love.”

“I’ll call when I get home, though...” he muttered, running his fingers through his hair.

“Okay,” Eddie murmured. “Well talk then.”

This time Eddie went straight to the back page to read the explanation first.

“Hey, Eds,

Again there are parts in between this, parts that don’t include me, that I’ll some day tell you all about. But I’m focusing on the parts I was part of. This time it all started with what the kids thought was a new species of lizard and turned out to be the beginning stages of an Upside Down monster. One they they dubbed the demodog.

I can just picture you frowning as you try to remember where you heard that from and the answer is you heard it from me. You asked me what it was and I told you it from one of their game thingies, but that’s only part of it. These demodogs have flower faces and run on four legs. They are part of a hive mind that allows them to communicate with each other.

Dustin had taken one of these things home and it ate his cat. His cat. You can be disgusted, I know I was. He had originally gone to Nancy’s for help but she had gone off with Jonathan about something related to Barb Holland. This was right after our fight at the Halloween party.

I was on my way with roses to apologize to her, when he intercepted me. And the rest is as they say is history. I would do anything for that kid now.

The other players are Lucas Sinclair and Max Mayfield. I don’t know if you need to know that, but I feel like you have to understand that for the rest of it to make sense.

I have so many tales to tell you but I can’t because it could get you hurt and that is the last thing I want to do.

Also, (blurred words) show you all the times I was brave, that I did the (more blurred words) when it came (blurred words) because I love you so much and (blurred words again) less of me.

Love,

Your Stevie”

Eddie hated how easy Steve had pegged him for frowning at the name like he said he would or how he knew he would be disgusted at the poor cat. He stared at the blurred words for a moment before his own eyes welled up.

Steve had tried writing over the parts with what were clearly tear drops but all it had done was make it worse. Why he didn’t just write again, Eddie didn’t know.

But Eddie could now make out the words, “Also, I wanted to show you all the times I was brave, that I did the right thing when it came to it, because I love you so much and I didn’t want you thinking less of me.”

He flipped back to the beginning and started reading. It was thrilling and exciting. That was if you didn’t know it really happened. And happened to the sweetest boy he had the privilege of knowing.

He wiped away his tears and made a promise to whatever it took to protect this boy with every fiber of his being. Because by god, someone had to.

****

Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16

Tag List: @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

@spectrum-spectre @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson

@messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666 @goodolefashionedloverboi

@val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89

@vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer

@yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon @cinnamon-mushroomabomination

@dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual

@angels-of-hades @mugloversonly @y4r3luv @greeniebean911 @birbsauce

@acingthecounts @cryptid-system @counting-dollars-counting-stars @kultiras @ravenfrog

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #boy with a bat

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octuscle · 1 year

Text

Sustainable changes

Nicolas had just been promoted to Senior Product Manager. But the condition was that he had to take a foreign assignment for two years. He had reckoned with Germany, the USA or maybe Japan. India would also have been okay. But he was supposed to go to Turkmenistan. His employer had just bought a large agricultural cooperative there, which was now to be converted in the direction of ecological and sustainable agriculture. On the one hand, this sounded like a completely unknown field of work. Nicolas had previously worked more in the consumer goods sector. On the other hand, anything that bore the label "sustainable" was naturally a career driver at the moment. So he took a cautiously optimistic approach.

Once Nicolas arrived at his new workplace, the optimism quickly evaporated. He had arrived somewhere in the middle of nowhere. There was no office building, there were only barracks. Mostly not air-conditioned. He had expected to be put up in some hotel. But he had been given a room with a farmer. Toilet in the yard. Bathroom was an outdoor shower served from the cistern. He felt infinitely silly in his outfit.

In the first service meeting, a colleague asked him if they could tweak Nicolas's resume a bit for the presentation to the workers. It might be good for his credibility if they could give him some local roots. Nicolas was tired. The trip had been exhausting. He remembered his parents' Russian gardener. A picture of a man. Former combat swimmer. And of the Turkish cook. So he answered, one may mix in there with pleasure something Russian and Turkish. The main thing was that he was allowed to retire now.

The night had been hell. It smelled like a pigsty in his room. And he could hear the pigs too, as if they were sleeping in bed with him. There was no hot water to shave with. And company policy forbids the use of shower gels containing microplastics without functioning wastewater treatment for environmental reasons. So all he can use is a bar of curd soap. When introduced to the staff, he looks appropriately a bit bedraggled. One of his colleagues asks Nicolas to say something in Russian. He has to think a bit. His grandmother sometimes spoke to him in Russian. But it's enough for a "I'm happy to be here and look forward to working with you. The employees cheer for their new boss.

Before Nicolas takes a shower the next morning, he drives the pigs out of the barn. If he's going to share the roof with them, he might as well make himself useful. His hosts invite him to breakfast. The conversation in Russian is still a bit bumpy. Nikolai hasn't spoken his father's language for years. And his host family, of course, actually speaks Turkmen. But with hands and feet it works. And so it goes on in the office. The team meeting was supposed to take place in English. But the interpreter dropped out. With every hour it gets better. The memory of his father's language comes back.

At breakfast, Nikolai realizes that he understands Turkmen better than he thought. It definitely works out that his hosts ask him in their native language. But he prefers to answer in Russian. Nikolai speaks it again as fluently as he did when he lived with his father in the Sevastopol army barracks. At work, they discuss the tasks for the next few days. Nikolai considers the projects for preventing soil erosion and unused surface water runoff to be urgent. Everyone passionately discusses the possibilities of transforming agriculture to get by without artificial irrigation. But Nikolai realizes that it will be difficult to irrigate only naturally in the desert.

The next morning, Nikolai surprises your host family with a few words of Turkmen. With his fluency in Russian and Turkish as his mother's language, it's not that hard for him to learn the language. On the job, they speak almost only Turkmen anyway. Today, his job is to drive the fields and inspect and document the environmental damage. Nikolai doesn't even need to shower for that. It will be hot anyway. And air conditioning is only for wimps. The point is to save energy wherever possible. In the afternoon, he gets a call from headquarters. They are very pleased with his work on site. It is clear that the project would not make an economic contribution. But the advertising impact is enormous. Whether he is interested in accepting a junior director position at the headquarters in Paris.

Nikolai turns his camera, bares his left breast and says in broken French that his heart beats for his new home. He won't leave until the desert blooms again.

#male tf #muscle tf #chronivac #tank top #race change #male transformation #muscle transformation

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say-al0e · 10 months

Text

Your Graduation

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Eddie didn't remember much of his first senior year. But he remembered you. Now, after finally graduating, he just hoped you'd forgive him for the way that first year ended. Warnings: Bullying, self-esteem issues, anxiety, blink and you'll miss it parent issues, maybe a vague mention of Hawkins being Hawkins; anything else, let me know and I'll tag it. Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!Reader Word Count: 9.8k

Eddie Munson couldn’t remember much of his first senior year.

The whole thing was a blur, a barely there flash of moments he was glad to forget, but he remembered how rough it was. Some things hadn’t changed - taunts still followed him and so did the name calling - but it was worse then, hurt more when the torment came from people his own age, people he’d known most of his life and once naively pretended were his friends.

Back then, Eddie was still settling into his own. He knew who he wanted to be - or, more accurately, who he didn’t - but he still stumbled. Hellfire was in something of an infancy, only a year or two old after he’d dragged it from an informal gathering with a handful of people to an official school club, and Corroded Coffin was just starting to become a serious pursuit. It was before they began playing at The Hideout on Tuesdays and he’d fucked up his hair with black boxed dye so badly that he’d been tempted to shave his head again. At that point, he’d only just begun dressing the way he really wanted and his skin wasn’t quite as thick; had no ink and no armor to protect himself from the teenage bullshit.

Things hadn’t changed very much, hadn’t gotten much easier, but it was more tolerable; better. He was better.

It was difficult to remember the classes he skipped, the books he thumbed through, the assignments he ignored, the dances he was never invited to, but Eddie had a handful of memories that all centered around one thing; you. In fact, the only thing he really remembered from his first senior year - and the only thing he never wanted to forget - was you.

Eddie considered himself to be a man with few regrets but his biggest was that he hadn’t taken the leap and gotten to know you sooner.

For years, until August of 1983 - the first week of classes, the first week of what should’ve been his year - you never really ran in the same circles. Eddie was the freak, an outcast among outcasts, and you were beloved by all. There were only a handful of people who would be caught dead speaking to him but it seemed as if everyone wanted to speak to you.

The basketball players, their cheerleader girlfriends, the swimmers, the football players, the pretty girls who couldn’t be bothered to actually attend gym, the burnouts, the theater kids, even the terrified freshmen; you somehow fit with them all, alternated sitting at their tables or stopping by to say hello, and always received bright smiles in return.

Sometimes he wondered how you did it, floating around the school with a smile as everyone just let you in without hesitation, but then you turned your charm on him.

Every time you caught his eye in the hall or across the crowded lunchroom, you smiled at him. If a teacher stuck you with him for a project, you never huffed and puffed in the same way so many others would; you simply slid your chair a little closer to his and smiled, bright and pretty, as you asked him what he thought about the topic at hand. There was never a sneer on your lips at his presence, never so much as a wary look, and you never cowered in fear if he brushed a little too close in the hallway, always on accident. You were nice to him, even when you didn’t have to be, and he appreciated it.

You and Eddie weren’t friends but you never made him feel as if there was a reason for that.

The day that changed, the day you became friends, was nearly the clearest day in his memory of that first senior year - overshadowed only by the day he kissed you for the first time.

Eddie found you in the woods on a Thursday, sat at the picnic table he’d claimed as his own, after a particularly rough pop quiz. The eyeliner you wore had been scrubbed away, harshly chipped at by soft fingers desperate to rid your face of the evidence, though a few wayward streaks stained your skin in a way that confirmed you’d been crying.

Everything always seemed to easy for you, so fucking effortless, and Eddie remembered his surprise when you admitted that some things - math, mostly, and science; classes that weren’t English, not rooted in some kind of thoughtful analysis that allowed you to delve into thought and feeling and intention - left you struggling.

That soft laugh, a little deflated and a little self-deprecating but entirely devoid of humor, you offered when you acknowledged how stupid it was to get so worked up over a grade still rang in his ears if he sat quiet for long enough. The beginning of that conversation was a little watery - you sat with your bottom lip quivering, eyes rimmed red and falling to the table in a display so shy it took him by surprise - but he understood. You were trying to get out of Hawkins, trying to make something of yourself, and a scholarship was the only way to do it.

In an effort to lighten your mood, Eddie did all he could to take your mind off it. He grabbed a handful of tapes from his van and introduced you to his favorite bands. He played Black Sabbath and Dio and Metallica, laughed when you wrinkled your nose and grinned when you got into the rhythm of one of his favorites. He spent the afternoon hiding in the woods with you, drawing little bits of your personality out piece by beautiful piece, and he’d give anything for one more day, just like that one.

That was the first time you’d ever cut class, the first time you’d broken the rules, but - perhaps more importantly - it was the first time Eddie shared thoughts he’d only ever dreamed of breathing aloud. It was your first attempt at chipping away his walls and you didn’t even notice.

Eddie always thought you were pretty, a true vision even in garish green and gold as you wandered the halls of Hawkins High, but that day really sealed his fate. He saw you then, up close and personal, and could still see the details permanently etched into his field of vision if he concentrated hard enough.

The shape of your lips, rounding around soft admissions and breaking apart in delighted laughter at his stupid little jokes; the twinkle in your eyes, warm and so bright in the late afternoon sunlight, sparkling as you glanced at him from beneath your lashes; the softness of your cheeks, puffing with feigned annoyance when he teased you for admitting your love for disco.

Everything about you was beautiful, bright and warm and brilliant, and all Eddie wanted was to bask in your glow.

After that conversation, when night began to fall and early fall sun began to give way to an Indiana night, he drove you home and thanked every deity he could remember when the scent of your perfume lingered in his van the next morning. That conversation was the confirmation he’d dreamt of - confirmation he’d feared - as it told him your soft smiles and pretty eyes weren’t shown to him in pity.

Though he’d never admit it to anyone - except you, maybe, if you ever pressed - he’d been afraid. Not of you, never of you, but of falling for you. He always knew it would be easy, almost alarmingly so, and that it would end in a broken heart on his behalf. There was no other way it could go. Not for him, never for him.

That certainty made him keep you at a distance as he told himself for months that your smiles, the soft looks and quiet laughter at his antics, meant nothing. He convinced himself that you pitied him, that you simply hated the way other students talked to him because you couldn’t stand seeing anyone hurt, and that you’d do the same for anyone else in his shoes.

But that day, something bright and warm blossomed in his chest when you waved at him from your front steps. It curled around his lungs, tendrils squeezing tight every time he thought of you, and made it hard to breathe. Though fall was just beginning, the days seemed brighter somehow and as the warmth consumed him, lapped at his skin and left him floating, he began to grow accustomed to the feeling.

Eddie always wanted you to be a part of his life but never dared dream that you would want the same. Even when you made it clear that you enjoyed his presence, he never believed there was anything other than friendship on your mind. In a desperate bid to protect himself, he decided that it was reciprocity, maybe - a few hours of your time for weed, for someone to fix that rattle in your car that always disappeared before the mechanics at Thatcher’s could hear it, for a shoulder to cry on when someone better than him lost their mind and rejected you - but never could he have imagined you would want him the way he so desperately wanted you.

It was shameful to admit, a secret he would’ve kept had you not chipped away at the walls he so carefully spent years constructing, but Eddie dreamt that you would just hold his hand. For far too long, he imagined being able to hold you in his arms - to look at you, to trace the slope of your lips with his thumb before tugging you into a soft kiss that left you flustered - and he sometimes worried reality would never live up to his dreams.

With you, though, reality always seemed infinitely better than anything he could dream up. He only wondered how long he would continue to get lucky.

When you kissed him for the first time, it was both completely expected and the biggest shock of his life.

Everyone but him saw it coming.

Though your friendship took years to build, that initial spark - a flicker of sun magnified on the ash of a bad day - quickly became an all-consuming wildfire. The pair of you went from barely acknowledging one another to attached at the hip seemingly overnight. Within a week of that conversation, more often than not, your free time was spent with him.

Eddie’s bedroom consistently smelled of weed and green apple shampoo, a little patchouli cologne and cigarette smoke - coffee and hairspray, if the day called for it - but it soon began to smell of you, too. The sweet, warm summer of your perfume, the soft rose of your shampoo, the bright mint of your gum; he breathed it in, allowed it to fill his lungs each morning, and reveled in the warmth that filled the pit of his stomach. He needed it, craved it, desperate for just a fraction of your presence, and would’ve been embarrassed had it been anyone else.

Pieces of you - soft scrunchies, tubes of sticky pink lipgloss, half-empty bottles of nail polish, fashion magazines, pop cassette tapes - began to accumulate. In his bedroom, in his van, in his locker; soon, it seemed that everywhere he looked, there were little reminders of you. It was comforting to be surrounded by your presence and, more than that, eased the ache in his chest when he realized that your weekends were spent in his bed rather than in the backseat of some meathead’s car.

Still, he sometimes wondered if it was all a dream.

In fact, he nearly grew convinced that it was all some vivid hallucination right around Christmas. When you handed him a neatly wrapped package, a soft smile on your lips, he teased you for the pretty bow you’d spent too long tying. To shut him up, you pressed yourself onto your toes and captured his lips in a soft, chaste kiss. You couldn’t look him in the eye when you pulled away, soft lips curved into a giddy smile, and he couldn’t stop himself from dragging you back in for another kiss.

That day was simultaneously the best and worst of Eddie’s life.

That was the day Eddie realized there could be more to your relationship, that you could love him, too - he was so far gone then, stuttering and shy and deep in the throes of his first love. It was the day he realized he could see a future with you, especially as time wore on and you grew closer and closer. Much to his surprise, your affection only grew when dragged into the light. You sat with him and the Hellfire Club at lunch, spent your afternoons studying with him in the library after practice, spent your weekends exploring long forgotten spaces hidden around Hawkins, had sporadic dinners at the diner and sat in the grass to read as he worked on his van.

There was never any attempt on your part to hide your love, to pretend that you were anything other than head over heels for Eddie Munson - reputation be damned - and everything should’ve been perfect. Eddie had everything he’d ever wanted but that didn’t matter very much.

As desperate as he’d been to make you his, to call you his girl and smirk at the jocks who thought they still had a chance, the day you kissed him was the day he realized that he couldn’t. You were his in all the ways that mattered - you slept in his bed more often than your own, slipped pieces of his wardrobe into your own and wore them for everyone to see, held his hand in the halls and kissed him before heading to class - but he could never bring himself to make it official.

In the eyes of everyone else, you were his girlfriend but not once was he able to call you that. To everyone else, it was obvious just how much you loved one another - they heard you whisper it before class, a little shy but never ashamed, and Eddie could recall every single time those three little words spilled past your lips - but he’d never been able to return them.

Eddie knew you were under the impression that he was simply nervous, hesitant to admit his feelings because he’d never received romantic attention before, but he was so far past self-preservation when it came to you that he would’ve told you he loved you the moment you kissed him had he not realized you had no future.

In October, well before he even considered he had a chance with you, Eddie realized there was no way out of Hawkins; not for him, not in 1984, anyway. He tried desperately - studied harder than he ever had, let you make him flashcards and actually used them, hid in the library and read the awful books Ms. O’Donnell assigned - but it was never enough. You built him up, reminded him that he was smart and capable, but no matter how hard he tried, his grades remained a flat line of crushing disappointment.

Not a single day passed without you encouraging him, pushing him forward with sweet words and bright smiles, but it was no use.

In late May of 1984, underneath the blistering Indiana summer sky, you walked across the stage while he watched from the bleachers.

During your time together, Eddie learned a few important facts about you. One, you would stop at nothing to encourage him; two, you were selfless to a fault; and, three, if you felt that he needed you, you would do everything in your power to help him.

Eddie knew that if push came to shove - and it had, because he’d pushed desperately to graduate and had been shoved straight back into a second senior year - you would entertain the idea of sticking around, just for a year, to help him graduate.

As much as he loved you, there was no way he was going to be the reason you abandoned your dreams.

By never making your relationship official, by never telling you just how desperately he loved you, Eddie hoped it would be easier for you to let him go. The last conversation you had was one he desperately tried to forget - one in which he yelled, the first time he’d ever raised his voice at you, that you were better off without him - but it played on a loop in his mind.

Instead of promising he would call or write, that he would do his best to graduate and join you, he denied ever loving you. He stood in your driveway and watched, cheeks stained with tears and hands trembling, as you tore out of Hawkins. You’d gotten into a school in Illinois, one you’d talked about the entire time you were together, and he’d spat that you were better off there, forgetting all about him.

Still, at first, you tried.

Eddie wondered if you’d seen right through him - you were good at that; knowing exactly when he was lying, when he was retreating into himself in hopes of protecting his fragile heart - but he felt guilty. The glassy look in your eyes, the quiver of your bottom lip, the trembling of your fingers, the soft gasp of hurt; it haunted him, lingered every time he closed his eyes, and was made worse with every effort you made.

Despite how things ended, you sent letters and postcards and even a care package. You called, spoke to Wayne a handful of times, and even knocked on his door in December when you came home for break. He knew that you were desperate to at least see his face, to try and make sense of how quickly he pushed you away, but he couldn’t. Eddie knew that one look at you would break him, would convince him that he’d made a mistake, and he couldn’t do that.

Instead, he ended up with a shoebox full of letters, all from you and all unopened. He refused to read them, refused to let himself wonder what words were hidden inside even as he lay awake at night, but he still dreaded the day they stopped arriving. Most days, he struggled to remember the date but if you asked, he could tell you exactly when the last letter arrived.

It was only a matter of time before he ran into you, he knew that. Your family still lived in Hawkins - your parents, your little brother - and when the summer after your freshman year of college and his second unsuccessful senior year rolled around, he waited with bated breath for you to return. Eddie never cared much for gossip but he listened intently for even a whisper of news about your return.

Finally, he heard that you’d decided to stay in Chicago and he decided to stay in his bedroom for the remainder of the summer.

As time passed, Eddie wondered when you would return. Soon, however, summer turned to fall and then to winter and he heard - through the grapevine, once again - that your family was headed to Chicago to spend the holidays with you. It seemed as if you were avoiding Hawkins and, truth be told, he couldn’t blame you. If he ever made it out, he planned to never look back.

However, your return was inevitable.

Eddie knew that you would be in town for the class of 1986’s graduation; that was never a doubt in his mind. Though you kept your distance, your brother was in his class, spared him glances in the hallway and told Jason Carver to fuck off any time he witnessed something he shouldn’t, and there was no way you were going to miss seeing him walk across the stage.

Whispers spread through town when you arrived, murmurs of your name filled his ears each time he wandered the halls, and he was grateful that nearly everyone seemed to have forgotten your momentary lapse in judgement. Still, he held his breath any time he was forced to enter a local building - Family Video, Bradley’s, the gas station, the diner, Thatcher’s - just in case, even though he never expected to see you in any of them.

The one place he knew you wouldn’t be was exactly where he found you.

For the first time in two years, you stood in Eddie’s line of sight and he was struck with an understanding of what people meant when they said that someone had both changed completely and not at all.

Physically, there were only a handful of minute differences. Even from a distance, he could see that a few more piercings littered your ears, your hair had gotten a little longer and your cheeks a little thinner, your thighs and hips a little fuller. The last time he saw you, you were eighteen and terrified, heartbroken and miserable; now, you looked sure of yourself, more confident and at home in your own skin.

Long gone were the muted tones and modest skirts you used to wear. In their place, you wore a dark mini-skirt that exposed most of your thigh, something he’d only seen in a magazine, and a tank top. The jean jacket that covered them both was oversized, littered with patches and pins, and Eddie wondered - only briefly - if it was yours or if you’d borrowed it from a boyfriend.

The thought of you with anyone else filled him with a jealousy he couldn’t stand. It was unreasonable - he was the one who broke things off with you, was the one who refused to keep trying - and he knew that. But as he stood at the bottom of the staircase and observed you, his heart hammered so hard against his ribcage that he fleetingly feared it might leap through his skin.

Warm light spilled from the windows and illuminated your figure, cast a dim glow about the small space that allowed him the luxury of studying you. He could see silver jewelry glint every time you moved your hands - rings, that looked a hell of a lot like his, and bracelets that jingled with every gesture - and it seemed nearly impossible to breathe as he watched you throw your head back in a laugh.

Eddie had thought about you every day since you left. Somedays, it was for hours; others, it was simply in passing. Not a day had gone by, however, that he hadn’t thought of you at least once. There was no question that he’d missed you, no question that he still loved you. In fact, Eddie was of the opinion that he wouldn’t be able to get over you, even if he tried.

He knew in August of 1983 that you were it for him but now, he wondered if he’d been it for you.

As he stood, rooted to his spot at the foot of the stairs, he watched you lean against the railing beside your brother’s girlfriend. The swaying of your body told him you were on the verge of having too much, a little looser than he’d ever seen you in public as you pursed your lips and frowned at the cup in your hand.

“He’s a nice guy,” he heard you say, words stringing together a little too quick - a little fuzzier, a little clunkier than the carefully chosen words and measured cadence he still heard in his dreams. Despite that, your voice sounded just as he remembered and, were it not for the subject matter, he would’ve been content to close his eyes and listen for as long as you continued speaking. “I just… I don’t think I could love him forever.”

Eddie felt as if his world were crashing down around him. Though he’d thought of you daily, he never once considered the possibility that you were seeing someone else. It was possibly naive of him, or maybe a selfish, subconscious wish - after all, he hadn’t seen anyone else since you left, hadn’t even tried - but the breath he’d been holding caught in his throat as he waited for you to continue.

“I don’t even know if I love him now. I haven’t found anyone that I could see a future with since -” Again, selfishly, Eddie hoped that his name was on the tip of your tongue. He nearly broke when you cut yourself off, sent himself barreling up the stairs to ask the question. Your admission was comforting in a way he knew it shouldn’t be and it was selfish, but he hoped that you were thinking about him. He hoped that you missed him in the way that he missed you, that you still loved him, but he’d never really been that lucky.

The girl beside you offered some kind of reply, words of comfort that Eddie missed as the door opened and a handful of people stepped out into the night air, and he took that as his chance to ascend the stairs. Though he’d graduated himself and should’ve been celebrating, all he’d wanted was to make a few bucks before returning to his bed.

Now, all he wanted was to go home.

Had you been anyone else, he would’ve stepped right by and walked on without stopping, slipped into the open door and hid amongst the crowd - even though he’d never wanted anything more than to stop and take a look at you, catalogue all of the minute changes up close and personal. But you called his name, soft voice wrapping around each letter just as pretty as he remembered, and his body reacted before his mind could catch up.

“I thought that was you.” The words were less slurred than he thought they should be, a little easier to understand and coherent enough, as he turned to face you. Eddie barely noticed the girl at your side slip away - barely noticed anything that wasn’t you; your eyes, your lips, your hand wrapped around a cup of spiked punch. “The hair suits you.”

Eddie couldn’t really remember what he’d looked like the last time he saw you. There weren’t many photos of him in the first place but the ones you took with him - tucked beneath his arm, grinning as he made faces; smiling bright as he played guitar, watching with such careful focus; settled on his lap, face hidden in the crook of his neck - were hidden away. They lived in a shoebox, stuffed beneath his bed and slotted right beside the box of unopened letters, because he hoped he might forget what you looked like if he avoided looking at you for long enough.

That was never really a possibility, however, when he saw your face in almost every dream he had.

He knew that his hair hadn’t been quite as long - a little past his shoulders, almost awkward in length - and not quite as unruly. Despite himself, he’d wondered, often idly, what you would think of it.

For the first time in a long time, Eddie was struck silent. There wasn’t really much he could say other than, “Thanks. Yours does, too.”

Another minute change, but one Eddie noticed immediately. Your hair fell a little longer than he’d ever seen it, had been ironed straight and teased at the roots, but Eddie liked it. It reminded him of something out of one of his magazines, the pretty metalhead girls who wore leather and should’ve starred in his fantasies instead of you, and he struggled to keep himself from staring too long.

Silence had never been awkward between you. Even in the beginning, back before you knew how to be yourselves together, silence was tentative but usually broken by giggles. It was sweet, a nervous pause between young lovers who’d never been struck that hard by Cupid’s arrow, but those days were long gone.

The silence seemed to stretch endlessly, stifling and so fucking heavy Eddie feared he might crumble under the weight of it, but he couldn’t break it. Before that moment, he’d written lists - songs, poems, actual, honest to god lists - of things he wanted to say to you, if the universe would just give him a chance.

But when he looked into your eyes for the first time in two years, nothing seemed right.

Eddie swore his heart hadn’t beat that hard since the day you left but as your eyes traced his skin, flickered over the new splotches of ink peeking out from the collar of his shirt or the scar on his chin from a fight the summer before, his chest ached with the force of it.

“Congratulations,” you finally said, breaking the horrible stalemate and drawing Eddie’s gaze back to your own. “On, you know, graduating and flipping Higgins off. It’s been a long time coming.”

If anyone asked, Eddie would say that he came up with that plan all on his own. Higgins had it out for him, always had - just because he was a kid from the trailer park who wore black and listened to music a little too loud - and no one could question why exactly Eddie would’ve thought to defy Higgins as his final act.

That wasn’t the case, however.

The idea emerged less than a month before he destroyed the best thing that had ever happened to him. He remembered the weight of your body, half atop his - the warmth of your fingertips, lightly tracing the few scattered tattoos that stained his skin; the scent of your shampoo as he buried his face in your hair, eyes closed and so content - as you lounged in his bed. The conversation faded in and out, a handful of sentences spoken between puffs of smoke, but he remembered the way your eyes lit up at the mention of his second senior year.

“I think,” you’d whispered, as if you were sharing an important secret, “you should tell Higgins to fuck off. After you get your diploma, though. Oh, or flip him off! He deserves it.”

“Yeah. I was starting to worry he’d retire before I got the chance.” The joke sounded weak in his own ears, a half-hearted quip uttered to stave off that horrible silence, and he hoped the ground would open up and swallow him whole as he folded his arms over his chest. “Eighty-six was my year, I guess.”

There was a set to your shoulders that told him you weren’t amused. That furrow of your brow told him you were thinking, seriously weighing every word you could possibly breathe aloud, and Eddie hated it. He hated that he’d ruined the ease with which you’d always interacted, hated that you couldn’t just speak your thoughts aloud in the way you used to. He hated that you stood, lips parting but silence remaining unbroken as you thought better of every word you wanted to speak.

Most of all, he hated that now that he finally had you in his sight once more, the only thing he wanted to do was run.

“I should -“

“Amanda’s probably -“

A confused cluster of words filled the quiet as you both tried to speak at the same time. Eddie’s cheeks tinted pink, warm and blistering as he felt a white-hot shame fill his chest. Cowardice had him running, looking for an exit after years of hoping for a chance to get you back, but that was what he’d always done.

When faced with difficulty, Eddie Munson ran.

So, when you gestured for him to speak first, Eddie cleared his throat. “I should go,” he declared, casting a cursory glance at the open door he no longer wanted to enter. “I was just - I shouldn’t have come, anyway.”

That much was true - Eddie had never been invited to parties, had never been particularly welcome when his stash ran out - but he likely would’ve stayed, just to make a few extra bucks if you hadn’t stopped him dead in his tracks.

Some small part of him hoped for a fight, hoped that you would argue and ask him to stay, but that hope did little to quell his surprise when you scoffed. “Jesus, Eddie, this is such bullshit. It’s so fucking stupid,” you asserted, dropping your empty drink onto the railing and taking an angry step closer. “We’re tiptoeing around one another and I hate it. I…” He waited, breath caught in his throat and heart seeming to still in his chest, as you took a deep breath before meeting his gaze once more. “I miss you. You fucking miss me. Just… just say it and let’s get this shit over with.”

Eddie expected anger, he expected your hard feelings and upset. But to hear that you missed him, to hear that you hated the uncertainty and discontent that lingered between you both just as much as he did, kicked his seemingly frozen heart back into overdrive.

Suddenly, the bubble he’d been in - the island that consisted of you and him alone - popped and he was painfully aware of where you stood.

From the corner of his eye, Eddie could see faces peering through the open windows. Familiar faces - your brother, Jason, Harrington, Robin; people who knew and maybe cared about one, or both, of you - watched with wide eyes and bated breath. The noise of the party had stalled, dulled to a murmur as everyone was reminded of your history and the question they’d asked so many times after your initial demise.

What had Eddie done to lose you?

That was never a conversation he pictured having in front of an audience, not one he wanted the friends he still couldn’t believe he had to hear, so he shook his head.

“Why does it matter? That doesn’t change anything.” Eddie sighed, arms falling to his sides as he shook his head once more. There was little his confession would do. Admitting he missed you wouldn’t change the past and it would only serve to make the future harder. So, he refused. “Just… go back to the party, okay. I’m leaving.”

There was a shimmer to your eyes that he hated, a glimmer of unshed tears in the dim glow of light filtering through windows, and he wondered just how many times you’d let him make you cry before you finally let him go. There was a roiling in the pit of his stomach, a sick feeling that made his chest ache, but that pain was nothing compared to the sting of your response.

“Aren’t you tired of running away, Eddie? Doesn’t taking the easy way out get old?” He wanted to be angry but the feeling that gripped his lungs and squeezed until he felt incapable of drawing the slightest breath was one of sorrow. You were right, but that made it hurt that much more.

“That’s not -“

“Not what, Eddie? Not fair?” A laugh, harsh and angrier than he imagined you capable of, escaped as you pushed away from the railing entirely and brushed past him to reach the top of the steps. “Yeah, well, neither was you pushing me away with some bullshit excuse and then hiding from me when I tried to figure out what I’d done.” Another scoff, this one accompanied by a defeated slump of your shoulders as you began descending the stairs with careful steps. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter. I’m going for a walk. I guess I’ll see you around.”

Eddie watched for a moment as you wobbled on unsteady legs. You weren’t drunk, but you’d had enough that he couldn’t let you leave alone. With a heavy sigh - and without a glance spared at the audience you’d amassed - he called your name and followed you down the stairs.

“Stop.” He reached out and placed a hand on your shoulder, careful not to grab, but quickly recoiled when you jerked away from him. “You’re drunk. Let me take you home,” he offered, tugging his keys from the pocket of his jacket.

“Fuck off, Eddie. I’m not drunk and I don’t need your help.”

From the corner of his eye, Eddie could see your brother moving to linger at the top of the steps - ready to step in should you need him, should you both find yourselves overwhelmed in the situation at hand - and sighed. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he urged, voice soft as he took a tentative step forward. “I’ll drop you off and then leave you alone, alright?”

For a long moment, he waited with bated breath for your response. He stood, statue still, as you seemed to weigh your options and watched as your shoulders rose and fell just a little too fast. Despite the venue, despite the time that had passed, he wanted nothing more than to reach out and offer some semblance of comfort but those days had long passed. His touch would only further annoy you, he knew that, so he simply waited.

Finally, without a single word or glance back at him or the party, you crossed the lawn to where his van sat and climbed into the passenger seat. It was a familiar sight, one he’d missed terribly, but it brought him little comfort as he tipped his head back and blinked at the stars.

With a deep breath, an inhale that barely filled his lungs, Eddie spared your brother a cursory glance. When he received a nod, permission to whisk you away - encouragement to give you some sort of closure - he crossed. The lawn and climbed into the van himself.

It was widely known around Hawkins that you heard Eddie before you saw him. Loud music, heavy and fast, often warned of his presence before his van peeled into view. Way back when, you always teased him - joked that it was difficult for you to have a conversation over the sound of Metallica - but this time, the drive was silent.

Long gone were the good old days, the days where his van was filled with laughter as you swapped stories - theories about the lives of Hawkins residents neither of you had ever met, tales of school, dreams for the future - and music you both loved. For the first time in years, Eddie’s van alerted no one of his presence as it navigated the roads that were once as familiar to him as his own route home.

The silence was stifling, overwhelming, but you were too lost in thought to speak first and nothing Eddie could think to say felt appropriate. Everything he wanted to say felt hollow, like an excuse plucked from thin air, and he knew that it would only hurt you further.

It only further broke his heart to realize just how hurt you still were. If he was honest, he sometimes worried you’d gotten over him immediately. He worried that the relationship never meant as much to you as it did to him - though he knew, somewhere in the depths of his heart, that he couldn’t be farther from the truth - but to know that you’d harbored these feelings this entire time had a nauseating combination of emotions bubbling in the pit of his stomach.

When he finally pulled to a stop in front of your house, a spot once unofficially reserved for his van, Eddie finally mustered the courage to speak. He still wasn’t sure what he planned to say but he hoped the words would come. However, before he could so much as turn to you, you climbed out of the van and headed for the front door.

Eddie wondered, idly, if he should follow. A long time ago, he would’ve known immediately, would’ve been able to read you without sparing it a second thought, but now he felt crippling uncertainty. He wasn’t sure if you wanted to talk or if you wanted to get rid of him immediately, but he received his answer in the form of an open front door.

Following was a bad idea, he knew that - knew he’d end up sharing every thought he’d had over the last few years, knew that he’d end up breaking his own heart once more to heal yours - but he couldn’t stand seeing you so hurt. So, he climbed out of the van and followed.

There was no changing the past, no undoing what he’d already done, but he knew he could offer you some sort of closure. That was the least he could do.

The path to your front door was one he’d taken a thousand times before - only a little less traveled than climbing through your window, despite your parents’ likely knowledge that he’d slept over - and he kept his eyes on the ground beneath his feet. Glancing at the driveway to his left, the one he watched you peel out of on his last visit, would only intensify the ache in his chest.

Eddie tried not to think about that last visit, tried desperately not to remember the last words he spoke to you - the way he acted, desperate to push you away in some noble attempt to make you happier in the long run. He tried not to remember the ache in his chest as he watched you drive away, tried not to remember the look on your parents’ faces as he walked back to his van and sat for a while, just to gather himself. He tried to forget it all as he stepped into the house and pulled the door shut behind him.

With tentative steps, Eddie wandered through the house. He eyed the walls lined with photos, the living room that had been redecorated since he last stepped foot inside, and deeply inhaled the scent he associated with you - with home. The place he’d once seen as a second home turned into one he’d avoided so much as driving past for years and each step he took felt heavier than the last as he finally reached your bedroom door.

Little had changed about the room he once knew so well. There were a handful of new posters lining the walls, newer photos with friends he’d never met - tacked up in the place his photo once occupied - and he felt a glimmer of warm nostalgia as he took in the overfilled bookshelf.

“That’s new.” He gestured to the duvet, a stark white replacing the old pale pink, as he eyed where you sat at the foot of your bed.

“Old one’s in a box in the attic.”

Eddie hummed, acknowledging your response as he stood in the center of the room. He was uncertain, not quite sure of what to say or where to go, but it seemed as if you had little intention of pointing him in the right direction as you eyed your chipping nail polish.

“Your parents,” he began, pausing to listen for the sounds of life he might’ve missed. “They’re not home?”

“They’re with my grandparents. Took them back to Fort Wayne. We celebrated as a family yesterday ‘cause they knew he’d want to be with friends tonight,” you reasoned, shrugging as you did.

Another hum - this one of understanding as Eddie remembered just how understanding your parents had always been, just how supportive of your lives and how welcoming they’d been when you brought him home - before he sighed and took a step closer to you. “Is this the part where you kick me out?”

It wasn’t - he knew you wouldn’t, even if you had every right to - but he still felt a mild form of surprise when you sighed. “It should be.” A beat of silence passed in which Eddie wondered if he should speak, if he should begin the difficult conversation that he knew you needed to have, but before he could open his mouth, you spoke. “I’m sorry.”

Genuine bewilderment filled him as he blinked. “For what?” Try as he might, there was nothing Eddie could imagine you feeling the need to apologize for. You’d tried, he ran.

“For what I said at the party.” Finally, after nearly an hour of avoidance, you lifted your head and met his gaze for the first time since leaving the party. “It wasn’t fair,” you admitted and he could tell the apology was genuine.

Eddie sighed as he took another tentative step closer, closing the distance a few inches at a time, and shook his head. “But it was true.”

If there was one thing he could do, he could acknowledge his faults. He’d always been a coward, choosing to run rather than face his problems head on - choosing to push you away rather than have a difficult conversation - and he knew that. It was genetic, he imagined, inherited from a father who’d run from responsibility nearly two decades prior, but he hated that you were caught in the wake of it all.

“It wasn’t,” you countered, clearly convinced in a way Eddie didn’t feel he warranted. “But, even if it was, doesn’t mean it was okay to say.”

With one final step, Eddie managed to close the gap between you. When you shifted, moved to make room at the foot of the bed, he carefully sat beside you and sighed once more. “You should’ve said worse. I wouldn’t have blamed you,” he confessed, quiet in the silence of your usually bright home. “I… I was afraid I’d never see you again.” He spared a glance at your hands, watched for a moment as you picked at the remaining black nail polish, and nearly reached out to hold them as he continued, “I didn’t want to hold you back. I ran because I didn’t want to make you give it all up just to wait for me.”

Eddie lifted his gaze to your face, uncertain but desperate for any hint of how you felt. Long ago, he could’ve read you better than anyone, knew from the most minute twitch of your lips exactly how you felt, but your face was impassive as you shook your head.

“I knew what you were doing, Eddie,” you confessed, still refusing to glance at him as you turned to playing with the rings adorning your fingers. “How could I not? I knew you loved me, I never believed you didn’t. I just… I hoped you loved me enough to get that stupid fucking idea out of your head. That’s why I kept trying.”

There’d always been the question of why. He’d always wondered what kept you pushing, calling and writing letters and dropping by on your few trips home, when he was convinced he’d sufficiently broken your heart. Eddie hoped, desperately, that you’d believed him when he’d shouted that your relationship was a mistake. It would’ve hurt in the moment, he knew, but you would’ve been better off. Believing that he never cared the way you had, he thought it would’ve helped you get over him faster.

But to know that you never believed him, that you knew what he was doing all along, surprised him.

“I love you - loved you, Eddie,” you corrected, quickly, as you shook your head. “But I was never going to give up my dreams. It would’ve been hard, I knew that, but there was never any chance I was staying in Hawkins. We could’ve called, written letters. I could’ve visited during breaks. I… I never planned to stay but I didn’t want to leave you here forever. I wanted you to join me, Eddie. I would’ve waited for you there.”

With every word that left your lips, with every confession you made, Eddie felt the knot in the pit of his stomach tighten. He was so convinced that he knew you, that he knew exactly which choice you would make, that he never thought to ask. The possibility that you would’ve left, anyway, only leaving a lifeline for him to follow after his graduation, never crossed his mind. But, looking back, it should have.

Try as he might, Eddie couldn’t think of any instance in which you’d given him reason to believe you would stay. You talked often of your plans, of the trips home you’d make and the letters you could write. Your parents bought you a new Polaroid, one you planned to use to take photos of Chicago for them - and for him. The plan was always there, out in the open for all to know, but Eddie had been so focused on his own fear that he hadn’t heard you.

When you met his eyes, Eddie’s chest ached as he realized his mistake. “Did you ever read any of the letters?”

Eddie shook his head. “No. I wanted to,” he assured you, averting his gaze for a brief moment. “I couldn’t. I knew if I did, I would’ve wanted to write you back or call you or come see you. I kept them, I just… couldn’t read them.”

“If you had, you would’ve known that I didn’t hate you.” Eddie wondered just how much he’d missed by refusing to read the letters, just how desperately you’d tried to reassure him, and decided that he’d open them when he returned home. “If you’d read them, you would’ve known that I wasn’t coming back to be with you but I wanted you to join me. I promised I’d wait for you.”

“Even after my second senior year?”

An annoyed huff escaped as you rolled your eyes at him. “Yes, you dipshit,” you snapped, anger beginning to overtake the sadness you’d been crumbling beneath. “God, I love you - loved you.” Eddie’s heart pounded in his chest, beat an uncontrollable rhythm that nearly deafened him as he heard your second slip of the tongue. He knew it shouldn’t give him hope, not when he didn’t deserve a second chance, but he couldn’t help it as you huffed one more. “It wouldn’t have mattered how long it took,” you assured him, “I still would’ve waited for you.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Eddie remembered the reasons he’d had for pushing you away. They’d seemed so real all those years ago, so relevant, but your conviction cast his reasons into doubt. He wondered if they were ever valid or if he’d simply been trying to protect his own heart.

Still, he felt the need to explain himself. “You deserved better,” he reasoned, though it sounded weak in his own ears. “Someone who had a future, someone who was in college and going to do something with their life. That wasn’t me. I couldn’t be enough for you,” he admitted, ashamed he’d ever thought he could be.

“Stop fucking pretending this was about me.” You scoffed, pushing yourself up from the bed and beginning to pace at the foot of it. “You knew how I felt. I told you I loved you and you swore you’d never forget it. And I know you loved me, too. I just, I thought you were too afraid to admit your feelings. Now, I wonder if you ever even knew me at all, let alone loved me. Because if you did, you would know that I saw a future with you. I saw your future!”

Eddie watched with wide eyes as you glared at him, gaze sharp and angrier than he’d ever seen. It hurt to hear your doubt, your questioning, because he’d only ever loved you. There was never any doubt in his own mind, never any question of whether his love for you was anything but real, but he supposed he could understand where you were coming from.

That seemed to matter little, however, as you shook your head. “You’re more than you give yourself credit for, Eddie, and I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear enough when we were together. But you were enough. You were all I wanted, the only person I’ve ever really wanted.” You looked at him, then, met his eyes and took a moment to search for the answer to a question you had yet to ask aloud, before you sighed. “You were it for me, Eddie, and I hate it and I hate you.”

Eddie knew that you didn’t hate him. He’d heard your slip of the tongue - twice - that told him you dreamt of him as often as he dreamt of you. He knew that you were simply frustrated, annoyed at the loss you’d deemed avoidable, and couldn’t stop himself from standing to join you.

With shaking hands, he reached for you. There was no resistance then, no fight left in you as he pulled you into his chest. Your hands gripped fistfuls of his jacket, leather putty in your hands as you buried your face in the worn fabric of his Metallica shirt. He could feel your shoulders shake with quiet sobs, soft little noises that cracked his heart in half, and he blinked hard against the light to keep himself from following suit.

For years, Eddie thought himself a martyr. He thought he’d sacrificed his own happiness to ensure yours. He felt certain, somewhere in the far corner of his mind, that he was making the right choice in pushing you away. There was no future with him, not one that you deserved. He was convinced he’d only hold you back, an anchor around your waist that kept you tethered to a life less than you deserved, but he could see that his attempt at chivalry was misguided.

Though some small part of him hoped you’d missed him, hoped you’d loved him, he hated that that was the case. He hated that you’d felt this way, hated that he could’ve kept from hurting you - kept from hurting himself - if he’d only been brave enough to have the conversation with you. He hated that the pain you’d both suffered was his own fault and all he could do was hope you’d forgive him.

“Sweetheart.” Eddie lifted a hand to your cheek, attempted to guide your face forward - searching for your eyes - but you turned your cheek.

“Don’t.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice cracking as he attempted to keep his breathing even. “I should’ve… you deserved better.”

“We both did.”

“I thought I was doing the right thing.” He wondered if you’d believe him, if you’d trust that his intentions were true, as he sighed. “I hoped that making you hate me would make it easier for you to get over me, let you find someone better for you. I didn’t… I thought I’d just ruin your future.”

For a long moment, you remained quiet. Eddie wondered if you were contemplating his confession - wondered if you were trying to decide if you would forgive him - and busied himself with brushing idle patterns across your shoulders.

“I don’t like it,” you finally whispered, “but I understand.” That eased a bit of the ache in his chest, made it a little easier for him to breathe as you admitted that you at least understood his rationale. “I would’ve liked to be part of that decision, though. I appreciate you trying to do what you thought was right but it was a relationship, Eddie. You can’t just choose what happens and expect it to be okay.”

There was never a clear definition of love for Eddie. He never had an understanding of what it meant to be in love and be loved in return. In his mind, love was about sacrifice. You gave of yourself to make sure the other person could thrive. It was a decision to be made alone, one that did not warrant a conversation - as a conversation would dissuade him from doing what was right - but as he thought, he realized you’d spent your relationship teaching him otherwise.

The relationship you shared was one filled with compromise, not sacrifice. Though you shared so many interests, there were moments you disagreed. Eddie never wanted to spend Friday nights at basketball games, watching from the bleachers as people who tormented him leered at you, but he dutifully sat in the stands and watched you cheer just to support you. You never loved The Hideout but you sat in the crowd and cheered louder for him than he ever heard you do for the basketball team.

Eddie knew you’d rather spend your weekends watching a movie or hanging out with friends but as the semester wore on, you’d spent night after night tutoring him on classes he still couldn’t manage to pass. And though he knew you loved him, he still found himself surprised by every date you turned down.

For nearly a year, you showed him that love was about compromise - giving just as good as you got - and he’d forgotten it in a moment of fear. Now, he only hoped he wasn’t too late as he attempted to lift your face to his once more.

“I should’ve talked to you,” he agreed, glad you finally met his eyes once more. “I… if I could do it again, I’d do things differently.”

“You can’t change the past,” you reminded him, gently. “But you can do things differently in the future.”

Eddie blinked, brows furrowing as he searched your face. He wondered if you were implying what he hoped you were, wondered if you’d be generous enough to give him a second chance, but he couldn’t help himself as he mentioned, “Your boyfriend…”

“I don’t love him. I wanted to,” you sighed, “I tried to. I just… don’t. I can’t.”

“Why?”

It was hopeful, softly optimistic in a way he hadn’t been since he last saw your face. And when you rolled your eyes, he couldn’t help but smile. “Don’t ask stupid questions, Eds. I know people suck but you’re smarter than that.”

“How long are you in town?”

Eddie knew that your relationship wouldn’t be rekindled immediately - he was a realist, after all - but he hoped that he’d have enough time to at least remind you of why you’d fallen in love with him in the first place. So when you smiled, offered him a glance from beneath your lashes, he felt a glimmer of hope.

“I’m here for the summer. My roommates graduated so we broke our lease. I couldn’t find anything for the summer so I’m picking up a new one by myself in August.” You smiled then, shrugging. “Rent might not be so bad if I had a roommate, though.”

“I hear Chicago’s nice,” he agreed, tentative but hopeful for the first time in a long time.

“I think you’d love it.”

There was more to be said, a conversation to be had, but Eddie felt a glimmer of something warm in the pit of his stomach. He could see a future once more, one in which you were again by his side, and promised that this time, he’d do things right.

_____________________________________________________

Author's Note: I spent so long on this. I'm kinda glad it's finally done. I included a few old anon requests so. Sorry it took so long. :) Also if my Modern Baseball anon is still around, here's a Modern Baseball inspired fic. :)

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#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #v's fics

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