#what is a fair catch free kick

[viral-news1]

Obscure rule leads to Chargers making NFL's first fair catch kick since 1976

[holeforzenin]

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ NEW DEAL (ROOMMATE TOJI)

You were crouched in front of the fridge, staring into the abyss of expired condiments and half-empty containers when Toji came home. The sound of his boots hitting the floor was heavy and lazy— like he’d been dragging his whole body through the day. He didn’t say anything at first; he just dropped his tool belt with a tired grunt and kicked the door shut behind him.

You turned around just in time to catch the way he rubbed his neck, his hoodie clinging to his shoulders, still dusted with sawdust and sweat from a 12-hour day on site. He looked exhausted— face shadowed, hair messily tied back and eyes half-lidded with the weight of pure, bone-deep fatigue.

“You eat?” he asked without looking at you, already peeling off his shirt and tossing it over a kitchen chair.

You shook your head. “No groceries. Just sad ketchup packets and some old rice”.

He muttered a curse and leaned his hands on the marble counter, head hanging between his arms. Then after a long moment, he looked up at you.

“Alright,” he said, voice low and worn. “New deal”.

You blinked. “Huh?”

“I cover rent,” he said, standing up straight, his voice a bit more steady now, even though the bags under his eyes said he was one bad day away from crumbling. “All of it. Every month”.

Your mouth dropped open. “What? Are you serious?”

He nodded once, grabbing a can of beer from the fridge and popping it open with the edge of his calloused palm. “Dead serious. But in return, you cook and you do my laundry”.

You stared at him in pure disbelief. “So basically, you want me to be your housewife?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart,” he snorted, taking a long sip. “I just come home dead on my feet every damn night. My back’s shot, my knees feel like gravel and the last thing I wanna do is scrub my socks or figure out dinner. You’re home all day. You got time”.

You frowned, clearly offended. “I have classes”.

“And I’m not asking for a five-star meal,” he said, already walking toward his room, peeling off his undershirt as he went. “Just make sure there’s food when I get home. And maybe fold my shirts so I’m not digging through a mountain every morning”.

He paused in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder. “I’m not saying this to be an asshole,” he added, voice lower and more gentle now. “I trust you. And I don’t… I don’t ask for help unless I need it”.

That part hit different.

You watched him disappear down the hall, the faint sound of his bedroom door creaking shut behind him. The fridge still hung open, light casting a glow on your face as you stood there, completely stunned.

Cooking and laundry in exchange for free rent. It wasn’t exactly a romantic fairy tale but with Toji but something about it felt so raw because of how genuine and needy he seemed, and it was him trusting you to take care of him in the only way he’d allow.

And hell, if it meant coming home to the gruff warmth of his voice and the quiet pride he had in every dish you made, even if he only said, “Not bad, kid”— you figured it was more than a fair trade.

———

I’d be his housewife + from now on, in all the upcoming roommate toji dabbles he’s the one paying rent!!

[wordpress-blaze-45468677]

The Worst Pittsburgh Pirate Offense of my Lifetime?

The Pittsburgh Pirates commenced May with successive series losses, recording an 0-7 start for the month, which stands as their worst performance to begin May since at least 1970. The Pirates opened the month with an 8-3 defeat against the Chicago Cubs and subsequently lost three consecutive games to the San Diego Padres, being swept in the series with a combined score of 15 to 5 and batting averages of .264 compared to .218. The downward trend persisted as the Pirates visited Busch Stadium to face the St. Louis Cardinals, where they were swept again in three games, with a cumulative run margin of 13 to 4. To date in May, the Pirates have been outscored 36 to 12 and have faced opponent batting averages of .277 compared to their own .183.

While preparing to write this analysis, I considered whether this might be the weakest Pirates offense I have experienced in my lifetime. I am now 37 years old and have been an avid Pirate fan since as early as I can remember which is around 2000.  Upon examining historical data, it actually is.

For comparison, I noticed the 2010 season during which the Pittsburgh Pirates had a record of 54-105 with an offense that ranked in the bottom three in most categories. This particular season stood out, prompting further investigation. The team's performance, especially offensively, was notably poor. In 2010, the Pittsburgh Pirates' offense ranked 29th in team batting average at .242, 28th in OPS at .678, and 29th in runs scored with 587. Comparing this to the current year's statistics revealed a concerning trend. The Pirates' 2025 batting average is .219, and their OPS is .625, far worse than the worst Pirates team I've ever witnessed in my lifetime.

Among the nine starting batters in 2010 compared to 2025, Joey Bart has a batting average of .264 and an OPS of .764, compared to his 2010 counterpart, Ryan Doumit, who had a batting average of .251 and an OPS of .738. A rare occurrence where the 2025 batter outperformed the 2010 batter at the same position.

 Enmanuel Valdez, the Pirates' first baseman in 2025, has a batting average of .209 and an OPS of .657, whereas Garrett Jones, his 2010 counterpart, had a batting average of .247 and an OPS of .720. At second base, 2025 starter Adam Frazier has a batting average of .229 and an OPS of .607, as opposed to Neil Walker's 2010 statistics of a batting average of .296 and an OPS of .811. K’Bryan Hayes, the 2025 third baseman and once perceived to be face-of-the-franchise, has a batting average of .254 and an OPS of .619, compared to Pedro Alvarez’s .256 batting average and .788 OPS.

The 2025 starting shortstop, Isiah Kiner-Falefa, has a batting average of .280, whereas Ronny Cedeno had a batting average of .256 in 2010; however, Kiner-Falefa's OPS is .663 compared to Cedeno’s .675.

The Leftfield spot shows perhaps the most disturbing differences, with Tommy Pham in 2025 hitting .183 with an OPS of .480, compared to Jose Tabata’s .299 batting average and .746 OPS in 2010. In centerfield, 2025 O’Neil Cruz has a batting average of .246, and Andrew McCutchen had a .286 average in 2010, but Cruz has a higher OPS at .861 compared to McCutchen's .814. Rightfield comparisons show Lastings Milledge in 2010 with a batting average of .236 and an OPS of .700, while Bryan Reynolds in 2025 has a batting average of .219 and an OPS of .632. Finally, since DH was not part of the National League in 2010, Delwin Young is considered for comparison. Young batted .236 with an OPS of .700, while 2025 DH Andrew McCutchen averages .257 with an OPS of .750.

PositionPlayer (2025)Batting Average (2025)OPS (2025)Player (2010)Batting Average (2010)OPS (2010)CatcherJoey Bart.264.764Ryan Doumit.251.738First BaseEnmanuel Valdez.209.657Garrett Jones.247.720Second BaseAdam Frazier.229.607Neil Walker.296.811Third BaseK'Bryan Hayes.254.619Pedro Alvarez.256.788ShortstopIsiah Kiner-Falefa.280.663Ronny Cedeno.256.675Left FieldTommy Pham.183.480Jose Tabata.299.746Center FieldO'Neil Cruz.246.861Andrew McCutchen.286.814Right FieldBryan Reynolds.219.632Lastings Milledge.236.700DHAndrew McCutchen.257.750Delwin Young.236.700

Upon reviewing the data presented, it is notable that Lastings Milledge, whose performance during his tenure in Pittsburgh has often been regarded as subpar, actually exceeds the performance of Bryan Reynolds, who is consistently recognized as one of the Pirates' leading hitters.

Of the 18 categories mentioned above, the 2025 Pirates offense exhibits proficiency in only six. It is noteworthy that while the 2025 Pirates offense is projected to have 27 shutouts, the 2010 offense was shut out only 15 times during the entire season.

After thorough investigation, I believe that the 2025 lineup is the worst Pittsburgh Pirate offense I've ever seen which inevitably led to the dismissal of Derek Shelton.   

Source: The Worst Pittsburgh Pirate Offense of my Lifetime?

[illbegottenfaith]

kiss me better, love

as the two of you stumble into bed after a Valentine's dinner date, theo realises it's not fair how much he loves you (theo nott x reader)

a/n - valentines fic #2 !!!! thought of this idea in a class literally 5 hours ago and idk if its the sleep deprivation but this is sooo self-indulgent writing this had me giggling and kicking my feet frfr 😭 all I have to say is if this isnt me and my future partner I dont want him I send him BACK

tropes/warnings - physical touch as a love language, angry theo but also soft theo 🥰🥰 no (read: minimal) proof reading we die like men etc etc

word count - 1.5k

taglist - @hzdhrtss @justaproudperson @ebriton @thaliashifts @friedfreyfries @allie-sturns

The door shuts behind you both, plunging the room into near-darkness. You barely take a step before bumping into Theo, your knee knocking against his thigh, your hands flying to his shoulders as you stumble.

"Merlin,” he mutters, steadying you with a grip at your waist. “Can you - ”

“You're the one barging into me,” you shoot back, tucking a lock behind your ear as you tighten your grip on Theo’s shoulder, making him wince.

“Anyway, like I was saying, it hasn’t even been a week since Missy - ”

Theo exhales sharply, blindly reaching for the zipper at your back. “Is this something I really need to be hearing right now?” he asks somewhat waspishly.

“Yes.” You barely register his tone, still preoccupied. “So I walk into Charms in Tuesday, expecting to find Josh understandably distraught and/or in mourning. But who do I see him chatting up instead?"

"Hair."

You gather your hair up in one hand to hold it up and go right on talking. You barely notice Theo's largely ineffective attempts at pushing your sleeves off your shoulders.

"Pansy Parkinson! Pansy flipping Parkinson. What, does he think he's a free man now or something? Melissa's halfway across the world, she's not dead."

"Mhm."

You sigh exaggeratedly at his lackluster responses.

“Well? Don't you have to anything to add?"

“Yeah - hold still.” You This is just ridiculous, Theo was thinking. What kind of dress needed buttons and a zip?

You huff, switching your hair to your other hand. “Honestly, Theo, have you listened to a single thing I’ve been saying the past hour?”

Theo groans, still fumbling at your lower back. He had figured out the buttons were decorative, bless him, but your dress was on the more delicate side, and if he ripped it, he'd never hear the end of it. “Uh, yeah, that Abernathy guy...he’s two-timing Melissa?"

“He is not,” you say, peering over your shoulder to see what was taking Theo so long. Seriously, what was going on back there? It doesn't help, though, not when you can barely make him out in the dark. “not yet at least. He might. And if he's going to, well, isn't it better she finds out now rather than ten years down the road? Or am I an awful friend for thinking that?"

"Thinking what?" Theo asks distractedly.

"Willing my best friend's boyfriend into cheating on her."

Before he can formulate a response, your stubborn zipper finally decides to cooperate and moves down an inch - snagging at his finger. A sharp hiss cuts through the dark, followed by some emphatic, muttered swearing.

You pause.

“…what was that?”

Theo slips his injured finger out of his mouth briefly, his voice strained as he struggles to keep the pain out of his tone. “Nothing.”

You shift slightly, trying to catch his expression in the dark, but he’s suspiciously still now, his hands nowhere on you anymore.

“Theo.”

“I’m fine.”

Your brow furrows. Then, his suddenly subdued demeanour and oddly neutral tone clicks in your head.

"Did you hurt yourself?"

There’s an immediate rustle, followed by Theo’s very delayed attempt at nonchalance.

“…no.”

Oh, you could throttle him. “Was it the zip again?”

“You keep saying that like I do it intentionally - I never mean to-”

“And now you're trying to suck the pain away like a child?”

“Would you rather I bleed all over your dress?”

“I’d rather you watch what you’re doing so you don’t get maimed by a bloody zip in the first place!”

Theo exhales sharply, his frustration palpable. “I keep telling you - I don't-”

“You never mean to, but here we are.” You cross your arms. “Third time in two weeks, Theo. This is getting ridiculous. Should I hire a nurse for our dates? A medic? Do you need to start taking my clothes off under medical supervision? Is that what we've come to?"

Theo glares at you (or the shadowy figure he was mostly sure was you), trying to pull his attention away from the stinging pain. “Oh, don’t start - ”

“You don’t think before you do things.”

Theo groans. “I think plenty.”

“No, you rush plenty. Really, it’s a miracle you still have all your limbs -”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh, here we go.”

“First, you burn yourself on my curling iron -”

“Okay, one, you shouldn't be leaving your things out like that.”

“Then you cut yourself opening a tin of biscuits -”

Theo tips his head back in exasperation. “You sh - you literally shoved it at me!”

“ - and now my zipper is out to get you?” You throw your hands up. “What are you telling me, Teddy? That every item I own has a personal vendetta against you?”

"Mattheo agrees with me, you know," you continue smugly, in a so-there kind of tone. "He told me about that time you nearly broke your neck falling down that flight of stairs on the way to Transfiguration, which wouldn't have happened if you weren't - "

"Rushing, I know." Theo steps back as if to escape. “Merlin, you are insufferable - ”

“And you are reckless.”

“I don't need you to lecture me.”

“You’d be fine if you just listened to m - show me your finger.”

A brief struggle ensues.

You lunge; he sidesteps. You fumble blindly for his hand; he twists out of reach.

“For fuck’s sake -”

“Stop being so difficult.”

“I’m not being difficult, you’re being a menace.”

“At least I don't get mauled by zippers.”

“I'm telling you, that zipper has it out for me."

“Well, maybe if you weren’t always in such a bloody rus - ”

“Enough with the rushing!”

“I can't help it if you never learn - ”

“I do learn,” he snaps, stepping back further - only for you to grab onto his wrist and pull.

There’s a shuffle, a scuffle as Theo stumbles back into the dresser with a thud.

“Oi - ”

“Oh, stop squirming, you big baby.”

“You stop grabbing- ”

“Theodore, you are injured. Act like it.”

“I am n- ”

“Then give me your hand.”

A long, heavy pause. Then -

“No.”

You groan, exasperated. “Merlin, you are the most - ”

“And you are relentless - ”

But at last, in an impressive show of determination, you manage to latch onto his wrist, wrenching his hand towards you before he can twist away again. Theo groans in frustration, but you’ve already found the wound—his fingertip, warm and damp against yours.

“Oh, for - ” You tighten your grip as he tries to pull away. “You are bleeding!”

Theo tenses, his entire body bristling. “It’s nothing.”

“On my zipper,” you say incredulously. “Again.”

He exhales sharply as if this is somehow your fault. “You don’t need to make a whole production of it - ”

“I told you to be careful - ”

“And I was - ”

“Clearly not enough!”

Theo groans, tipping his head back against the dresser. “I’m buying you a tear-away dress next Valentine’s.”

You bite back a smirk. “I’d like to see you figure that one out.”

He mutters something under his breath that you don’t quite catch, but you’re already bringing his hand up, brushing your lips over the wound.

He stills.

The fight, the irritation, the tension - all of it dissolves instantly under your touch.

You press another kiss there, softer this time. Through a sliver of moonlight cutting through the curtains, he sees your face - your impish expression, your eyes, alight with amusement and plain adoration. You watch his face too - his furrowed brows relaxing, the slight part of his lips, his sharp features softened by something indiscernible.

His eyes flick to yours.

And Merlin, it’s not fair, he thinks. It’s not fair how you can drive him to the brink of insanity one second and then look at him like that the next, like you could never get your fill. It's enough to make him think you're worth all the trouble you put him through. It's enough to make him want to slow down. Merlin knows the last thing he wants is to rush through his days with you.

“…better?” you murmur against his skin after a moment.

Theo exhales, rolling his eyes as though he isn’t already relenting. "It's a start," he says grudgingly.

Your smile widens as you bring his hand up again, pressing another kiss there, then another, then another.

Theo groans, tipping his head back again, his frustration dwindling with every sympathetic brush of your lips.

“You like this,” you tease.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, but his voice has softened, his body relaxing into yours.

You grin, pressing a kiss to his wrist. Then his palm.

Theo groans again, for reasons unrelated to his earlier irritation, his fingers curling at your waist.

You laugh softly. “Want me to kiss you better everywhere?”

Theo smiles weakly, pulling you closer. “That's the best idea you've had all night."

[gutsby]

Abstaining Game

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: The only thing worse than an anti-sex retreat is an anti-sex retreat with your former fuckbuddy and dad’s best friend. Especially when sharing one cabin.

Warnings: 18+. IF HE AIN’T GRAYIN’ I AIN’T STAYIN’ 🗣️ [Age gap]. Unprotected p-in-v. Forced proximity. Joel making you fuck just his middle finger when he’s mad. Daddy kink. Overstimulation. First-time squirting. Angst.

Translations: ‘Don’t piss down my back & tell me it’s raining’ is a fun Southern phrase for, ‘Cut the bullshit’ or ‘Don’t lie.’

Word count: 8.6k

Read on AO3

Sequel to Waiting Game & Hating Game (last rhyme I swear)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

October 26, 2024

Dear Joel,

Roses are red,

We’re a couple of sluts,

Abstinence camp is awful,

I miss you rearranging my guts.

You were just about to put your pen back down to paper and add the finishing touch, signing an equally lascivious farewell, when the letter was snatched out of your hands. A tyrant in khaki capris and an artichoke-colored polo eyed over your words with a pointed look and frowned.

“Letters to the boyfriend have to be G-rated,” Marlene said, crumpling the thing in her fist before chucking it.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you returned shortly. Then, “That was actually meant for my dad’s friend.”

You sat tight a moment as the dots came to connect in the woman’s parochial and prudish mind—waiting for the wince of disgust to twitch at the corners of her eyes when she put two and two together. Once it did, you grinned. Even when she plucked the pen out of your hand and told you to sit outside, if you can’t participate in this one simple activity, you smiled bigger and strolled at a comfortable pace out the canteen door.

Anti-sex ‘summer camp’ wasn’t bad at all when you didn’t give a fuck what your counselors told you to do.

It was ridiculous, really. Absurd. Tommy Miller catching you sucking his brother’s dick under the table at your father’s birthday dinner, losing his shit with you both, then threatening to tell your dad everything if you didn’t agree to this stupid retreat and stop seeing each other. You’d barely been trapped in the shithole for twenty-four hours, and you already knew this angle wouldn’t work.

What many of your fellow campers affectionately called the ‘Firefly Fuck-Free Zone’ or the ‘Federal Dickriding Response Agency’ (F.E.D.R.A.) was in fact a secluded enclave south of Austin where khaki-clad monsters forced you to reckon with your sexual urges like one might treat a mutated strain of the Cordyceps fungus. You weren’t meant to keep them for long, and if you did, someone like Marlene would surely shame you for it.

Frankly, Tommy was dumb as shit if he thought this anti-boinking boot camp would have an effect on either one of you—Joel wouldn’t ever bang you again after what happened that night, but it wouldn’t be because of some arts and crafts bullshit he did out on a FEDRA ranch.

He just didn’t want your dad to find out and kill him.

That was a fair concern to have. You didn’t blame him.

Presently, you kicked your feet up on the porch outside the cafeteria, where the rest of the group was finishing up letters to their loved ones—this latest activity was meant to be ‘making amends’ to the people in your life—and you tipped your head back to survey the landscape.

Nothing but sweetgrass and gently rolling hills as far as the eye could see. Somewhere across the plains there was another cluster of cabins, though you couldn’t quite see it, and someplace within that minuscule cluster, you knew there was a middle-aged man. Dark grey eyebrows furrowed in concentration and chest heaving gently. Likely hunched over an old oak desk about five sizes too small for his frame as he gripped a pen and scribbled:

Dear Tommy,

Fuck you, you fucking fuck.

Sincerely,

Joel

You grinned again just thinking about it.

If anyone had a reason to be ticked off and terrified, it was Joel. And you, you guessed. You still hadn’t gotten your period—but that wasn’t due for another few days.

For now, you’d settled on worrying yourself over what would happen after the retreat had ended; what would you and Joel do once you went back to school? What would become of his life back in Austin with a supremely pissed off brother and a best friend who didn’t know his kid had been fooling around with a man twice her age?

Silently, you thanked your lucky stars Joel’s part of the camp was kept separate from yours, because you didn’t think you’d be able to keep a straight face if you saw him.

The whole thing was sickening, if not slightly funny.

You slipped Joel’s old pack of American Spirits out of your boot and fished in your back pocket for a lighter.

Then you crammed both back when you heard a boom:

“LAKESIDE GUIDED MEDITATION STARTS IN FIVE.”

The tinny intercom rang a deafening pitch in your ears. You clamped a palm over the left side of your head and winced, having forgotten this exercise in mindfulness was supposed to be the last event to wrap up your day. You just wanted to slink back up to your cabin and sleep. Or eat. Or slip your fingers between your aching legs and indulge in some much-needed Joel Miller reminiscing.

Then you recalled how masturbation was also off limits to all would-be sexaholic campers—if there was any time to sneak off and get busy by yourself while your counselors were otherwise occupied, now would be it.

Just as you cast a glance over your shoulder to see if a stealthy exit was even possible, a voice trilled overhead.

“On your feet, skank.”

You looked back fast, and damn did Tess look smug.

Your bunkmate crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the doorframe, seeming to feel your thoughts before they’d even been fully processed.

“If you skip meditation, I think Marlene’s gonna take you behind the rec and shoot you in the head,” she added.

“How kind.”

“Yeah? Certain death?”

“Better than the dick deprivation,” you grumbled, only half-kidding as you dragged yourself back to your feet.

Theresa Servopoulos was no avid fan of penis herself—she much preferred women when she had her pick of it—but she grinned all the same and clapped a comforting hand over your shoulder before the two of you started walking down the mess hall’s front steps. Then she only laughed a little bit when you almost ate shit treading down the winding rocky trail to the lake and cursed your present lack of intercourse for causing your clumsiness.

“You realize it’s only been, like…a day, right?” she said.

“Might as well be a million,” you muttered, “I feel like I’m never getting laid again.”

“Oh?”

Tess gripped your elbow when a root protruding from the path nearly sent you flying again. She tried not to smile.

“Well…my fake brother’s mad at me for going behind his back and fucking his brother,” you explained, coolly.

Stupidly.

“Wait—you fucked your brother?!”

That stopped Tess in her tracks. The two of you were approaching the cusp of a clearing, just feet away from where the forest gave way to the shoreline of the lake. Folks were already congregating at the water’s edge.

“Any day now, ladies,” Marlene called through cupped hands. Tess was still regarding you with eyes the size of saucers as you traipsed across the way to that voice.

“Not my brother,” you hissed.

“You said your brother’s brother. That makes this guy your brother, too,” Tess whispered—still far too loud.

“Not my actual brother, he’s just— fuck—”

Suddenly, two scraps of red fabric were catapulted in your direction. Tess caught one. You caught the other.

“Tie ‘em over your eyes.” Marlene ordered.

“The fuck?” you mumbled, but ventured nothing more as you were ushered to join the group sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of you. Everyone else was tying bandanas around their eyes like all of this was normal.

“Another trust exercise,” Tess’s voice was low as you dropped your asses one after the other on the sand. Speaking like a seasoned veteran of the anti-sex retreat, she helped you get yours on and shot you one last ‘You-better-not-have-actually-fucked-your-sibling’ look before letting you help her secure her blindfold, too.

Just as Marlene began describing in great detail what this blind, guided meditation in self-love and elemental trust was meant to look like, your friend opted to give voice to her concerns the second the opportunity arose.

Still seated side-by-side, still blind, Tess leaned over.

“Please tell me you’re not here for bangin’ your brother.”

You had to stifle a laugh.

“I am not.”

“Then explain, Cersei!”

Just then, a throat cleared behind you. Evidently another camp counselor at your rear was telling you, wordlessly, to shut the fuck up and listen to the instructions. You and Tess just scooted closer and lowered your voices.

“So this guy, Tommy…he’s been like a big brother to me for years. Worked with my dad and always had my back for the wild shit I did back in high school,” you began.

“Uh-huh.”

“His big brother, Joel, is like…old as shit, but wildly hot.”

“Dangerous combo.”

“And Joel’s my dad’s best friend. Drove me back from college over fall break when he was visiting Boston, we took a little motel detour on the road trip home, and bam—” You snapped your fingers for effect, “We fuck, right?”

“Right.”

“—imagine you’re standing at the edge of a waterfall—”

Marlene couldn’t be serious with this hippy dippy shit. You tuned out the rest of what she said and continued:

“It’s incredible. But the condom busts open at the end—”

“Oh shit.”

“—deep breath in…and release…and again, we—”

“Freak the fuck out, right? I’m poppin’ Plan B like candy.”

“As you should.”

“—hold that breath in right there—”

“A week later, me and Joel hook up at my dad’s birthday party. Only we fuck up, ‘cause Tommy catches us, and—”

This time, the counselor who’d cleared their throat to shut you up took to nudging you both in the back with the toe of their shoe. You straightened up, tilted your head back, and scowled at them through your blindfold.

“Do you mind?” you said, turning in place but unable to see anything behind you. You imagined whoever had just butted in on your conversation was probably frowning. They said nothing in return, just huffed like a child.

“Anyway.” You pivoted back to Tess, “Tommy flips his lid, tells us he’s gonna snitch on us to my dad if we keep fucking around like that, and then he…sends us here.”

You heard your friend fight back a chuckle beside you.

“And abstinence camp is supposed to cure you of this awful disease? Wanting to fuck daddy’s best friend?”

Oddly, you wanted to giggle too. You weren’t sure what was so funny, or why Tess’s tone made you want to say something equally out of pocket and lewd, but then you were leaning over before you could even think twice:

“That old man’s dick is like a fuckin’ drug, dude.”

You wished you could’ve seen her face when you said it. But you didn’t need to catch a single glimpse to know she was grinning big and dumb when she whispered,

“Prehistoric cock must’ve been pretty nice, huh?”

You choked. She snorted. You returned, next, shortly,

“Best senior citizen schlong I’ve had in my life.”

You weren’t sure which one of you burst out laughing first. Maybe Tess. Probably you. Either way, both of your sides were splitting in seconds, as the ridiculous and just marginally offensive descriptors for Joel’s dick trembled at the tips of your tongues. You felt like a teenager again, telling your friend your filthiest desires for the DILF-next-door—except this time, you’d actually fucked him. Small perks to seeking out middle-aged men in your twenties. You had to clamp your hand over your mouth to rein in the peals of laughter as Tess wheezed quietly beside you.

Then you felt hands.

Two palms under your armpits, yanking you up.

You stumbled back, graceless and still staving off half a laugh as your back struck the counselor’s chest.

“Just…take her back up.” You heard a female’s voice to your left, low and not sounding particularly amused.

Take you where? Was this the part where Marlene dragged you behind the rec and shot you in the head?

About damn time.

Whoever had grabbed you grunted in acknowledgment. You swayed in their arms, trying to regain better footing, but the grip tightened up in a second and thrust you sideways. You staggered, cursing your captor.

“Fucker,” you hissed.

Fucker said nothing.

Their hands slipped from your pits to one of your wrists, leading you away from the lake in long strides. You were moving so fast you scarcely had the chance to pull the blindfold back, so you just kept walking. Marching.

“Can you slow the fuck down, please?”

You imagined the face of the person leading you forward might’ve twisted in a scowl. Their lips didn’t stir, though.

In a matter of minutes, your feet were crunching on the flat, gravelly terrain you knew to lay under the cabins. This person was leading you back. Likely to throw you off to your room in the next several moments—but not before ripping you a new one for disrupting the peace back down at the lake. You weren’t stoked to hear it.

“Alright, just—” You tripped as you were led up the rickety steps, cursing again, “—just leave me right here.”

A set of knuckles at your spine thrust you forward.

“No? Okay. Fine. Whatever.”

You shook your head as you entered the cabin and heard footsteps follow you in. It occurred to you then that now was probably a good time to take off the blindfold.

Before you could, though, it was ripped off for you.

“Pack your shit.”

Dude.

You spun on your heels.

“DUDE!”

Your eyes moved up the very khaki shorts you despised, the puke-colored polo, the neatly embroidered camp logo, and a nametag strangely labeled ‘Lucien Flores.’ Everything in the ensemble screamed ‘camp counselor.’ But the face above it—it wasn’t one of their own at all.

It was far too lax. Fresh with an easy, shit-eating grin.

“Sweetheart—”

He started to speak, only to get the wind knocked out of his chest when you threw your arms around him.

The barrage of kisses came without you ever really intending to place them at all. You were just so stunned, practically overcome with joy to see Joel Miller in all his ruggedly handsome glory, then confused. What was he doing here, and why was he dressed head-to-toe as a counselor? And why were you so into that on him?

You doubted you could even ask the questions, and he was barely more able to answer the longer you stayed latched to his neck, kissing him everywhere your mouth could get to. You’d just stood on tip-toes to press your lips to his when you realized he wasn’t reaching back.

His hands hung limply at his sides. Still, he smiled.

“Abstinence camp ain’t taught ya much, has it?”

You parted your lips to drag your teeth along the grey-spattered scruff on his cheek—biting but not quite. Begging him to kiss you back, grab your ass, anything to quell this anguish twisting low in your stomach at the lack of contact. Joel didn’t seem keen on answering to it.

“I’ve learned plenty, Miller,” you panted against his jaw, before moving below it to sink into the skin of his neck, “Lemme show you all the stuff FEDRA told us not to do.”

Yes, you sounded desperate. No, you didn’t really care. You were much too busy fiddling with the front of Joel’s shorts to concern yourself with anything but his cock. It made it all the more gut-wrenchingly horrific and disconcerting when you felt his hands push yours away.

“No,” Joel said, simply. Then, nodding to your luggage at the foot of your bunk, “Pack your stuff, sweets. C’mon.”

He was seriously trying to break you out?

You admired the cojones on the man, but you wanted to fuck real quick to get it out of your system. Needed it.

“Joel, I—” You swallowed thickly, shaking your head.

What your mouth couldn’t finish, your eyes said clear as day: I want you to take me right here. Quick and dirty. But, again, Joel seemed completely impervious to your pleas. Almost callous in the face of such a desperate request made from your eyes to his. He moved over toward your suitcase when you didn’t want to budge.

Luckily for you, you’d never unpacked. All that was left were the clothes on your back and a water bottle on the nightstand. Joel grabbed the latter and turned around to snag the suitcase on his way to the door, when he was met with you. Obstructing his path and frowning a little.

“Joel?” You raised a brow.

“Mm?”

The man in front of you straightened up, rolling a nonexistent kink from his neck before regarding you.

His gaze was alarmingly sedate.

“Y’know, you’ve got quite the knack for makin’ shit difficult—”

“Just a quickie, Miller—”

“I ain’t fuckin’ you here!”

The sudden boom of his voice should’ve startled you. But then a broad, warm palm came to rest on your shoulder, and Joel’s expression dropped immediately. There was still a tightness to it, somewhere deep within, and you couldn’t quite work out why he seemed so…off.

Then you caught sight of something steely in his gaze.

It just might’ve clicked if Joel didn’t reach for your face and elucidate things for you himself, eyes narrowing.

“I know my old man dick is like a fuckin’ drug and all…”

Shit.

Cheeks squished between his two big hands, you had only to stare. And blink. And silently regret being so loud when you were talking to Tess before. It didn’t look good.

“Joel—”

“No, no, my senile brain must be mistaken—it was actually that prehistoric cock that did it for ya.”

Your face heated with shame. You blinked again.

But just as you tried to shake your head between Joel’s hands, he pressed his palms tighter and drew you closer.

“Senior. citizen. schlong?” he intoned, painfully slow.

“Joel, I just—”

“Need to fuck someone your own age, it sounds like.”

The man in front of you released your face just as fast as he’d grabbed it, and when he stepped back, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of desperation. That wasn’t what you’d meant! It sounded so puerile and cruel coming out of his lips like this, but you had to tell him it was a joke.

“It was a joke.”

No time to mince words now.

“Real fuckin’ comedic genius,” Joel snorted.

He rolled his eyes and tried to sidestep you, but you mirrored the movement. When your hands flew to his chest to keep him from moving, please, just listen to me, Joel, he pretended not to hear it, or feel it, against him.

“Alright. Enough,” he muttered, “‘S’time to go home.”

“No!”

“No?”

“No.”

For the first time, you saw Joel’s nostrils flare. You pressed into his sternum again, hoping to hold him in place so you could explain yourself, but it seemed he wasn’t planning on staying stationary. Joel dropped to your bunk—or Tess’s, technically—and situated himself comfortably on the bed before shooting you a look. You barely had had a moment’s time to contemplate your next move when he yanked you onto the cot with him.

Joel didn’t try to kiss you. He didn’t attempt to remove one article of clothing from your body or his. He just sat there, staring, while you straddled his hips staring back.

“If you wanna fuck me so bad, go right ahead,” he said, motioning indistinctly in front of him, “Be my guest.”

When you stilled, he added, “That is all y’want, right?”

With your palms laying flat on his chest and a head full of conflicting thoughts—you did want to bang him, obviously, but not before you’d gotten a chance to set things straight, not when he was looking at you like this—you chewed your bottom lip. Certainly you couldn’t continue while Joel still believed you were embarrassed by his age, his lips downturned and humorless as ever.

“C’mon,” he tried again, a touch more venom laced in his words as he spoke, “Show me how much ya want it.”

You needed time to think.

“Why are you…dressed like this?” you said, stalling.

But Joel wouldn’t be kind enough to give you that time.

“Stole the uniform so I could sneak out and over here and get you out. Are we gonna fuck now or what?”

His hands moved over your own to guide them to his lower half, just above where your clothed core was touching his. Your fingers moved mechanically, almost reluctantly, to undo the button and zip of his shorts.

Was that a flash of hurt you saw in his eyes?

You’d never been good at this communication bullshit. Neither had Joel. The two of you would probably just have sex now to hash out your feelings, as was par for the course for a pair of emotionally stunted individuals. It still pained you to see him look at you like that, though.

“Tess and me were just kidding, baby.”

You palmed the bulge in his boxers and heard him grunt. When you nudged his cock out of the fabric to stroke him, his eyes fluttered shut and he sucked in a breath.

“I would never say those things to hurt you,” you added.

“Didn’t hurt me none,” Joel returned instantly. Then, feeling you flick the pad of your thumb over the head of his cock, he exhaled and held his face firm in place. Like he didn’t want you to see the effect you had on him.

You let go of his cock to take off your socks and shoes. Then your top. Then your shorts. Then you slid down his body a little, unsure if this was the time to be trying something new. Or even doing this kind of stuff at all.

At first, you just sort of lowered yourself to Joel’s groin, his dick resting comfortably between your tits. Then you started to move, and your hands were cupping either side of your breasts to push inward on his member. Before you even fully knew what you were doing, you were squeezing Joel’s dick with the soft, supple flesh and stroking him gently. Gaze glued to him all the while.

His eyes cracked open to catch you watching him. Evidently, Joel couldn’t contain all of his reactions, because he audibly groaned when you got going.

Sliding your tits up and down his shaft, feeling him pulse between them. Sensing a warmth pool in your own lower half but being too focused, and slightly ashamed, to act. You just wanted to make Joel feel good, even if your words weren’t able to do the trick with apologizing.

“Come here,” you beckoned him with just one finger as you slid off the bed, to the floor. Joel sat up, and you kneeled obediently between his legs. The two of you shared a tense, sexless look for a second before you lowered yourself back down and resumed the position.

This time, Joel could—and did—stir his hips to create some friction between your tits. His brow pinched inward with a muted concentration, and you wanted to say it looked handsome on him, that you were sorry for saying those stupid things to Tess and making him doubt your affection for him, but you kept your mouth shut. You had to remind yourself that emotions had no place between two needy, unfeeling people who just wanted to fuck.

Maybe that was how it should’ve been from the start.

But watching Joel’s face twist and contort in pleasure nearly wiped the thought clean out of your brain forever.

You felt many things for him, whether you liked it or not.

You really wished you hadn’t said the things you’d said.

Joel braced his hands at the edge of the bed on either side of him, hips working a steady pace to fuck your tits. He was staring mostly at the spot where the head of his cock was poking up through your cleavage with each thrust, entranced by the sight, and in a second, a full-throated moan was fighting its way out of his chest. He spit in his hand and paused to smear the stuff on his shaft, on your tits. Spit again and rubbed even harder.

Seeing him so cold and detached, you wanted to apologize again. Maybe beg him to say something kind.

Instead, you mumbled, “I love it when you fuck my tits.”

Joel scarcely acknowledged the remark, just letting you work yourself over him, meet his shallow thrusts, look sweet and wait patiently for him to cum all over you. When it seemed he might be ready to do it, though, Joel withdrew from you the next second and moved back on the bed. He pulled you into his lap, straddling again, but this time situated over the side of the bed—him sitting up, you perched on the flat, sturdy expanse of his thighs facing him. In the space between your bodies, Joel slid a quiet and almost careless hand to your heat, flicking the sheer fabric of your panties to the side in one go.

The moment his fingers made contact, you flinched.

It wasn’t that you were opposed to his touch, you just felt unfairly balanced in this situation. Joel appeared so stoic; you, a complete and utter wreck. Fighting fifteen different emotions at once and feeling unusually vulnerable spread open to him now, you almost didn’t register what he was doing—or what his hand might find.

Joel’s groan brought you back, though. When he rubbed his knuckles over the seam of your cunt and practically choked out twice his lung’s capacity, you had to look.

Aloof as he tried to be, the man’s desire was painted all over his expression. And his crotch. And his hand.

Well, actually, that last bit of arousal was yours.

“Fuckin’ soakin’ me, sweetie,” Joel breathed.

You perked up at the term of endearment. Watching one glistening fist of his make its way back and forth against your body, smearing sticky wet pleasure all over your mound and your folds, you found yourself gnawing your lip once more, this time for entirely different reasons.

Joel seemed to soften—even if only for a glaring carnal need, you didn’t care. You sank into this gentler touch.

“Khakis kinda suit you, Miller,” you said, off-handed.

Really, Joel looked almost as comical as he was sexy in that camp counselor getup: tan shorts stretched tight over even tanner legs, polyester top sitting pretty on wide, hulking shoulders, that silly stitched logo for the camp emblazoned over his left pec, and, of course, the nametag that didn’t belong to him but to Lucien. The whole thing was so alien to his lumberjack-chic demeanor that he nearly seemed boyish. Endearing. Some spearmint-scented hottie you might’ve had a crush on at camp years ago. You couldn’t help but smile.

Joel tried not to hold your gaze for too long.

“Don’t go pissin’ down my back and tell me it’s rainin’.”

When he slid one finger to your entrance, you tensed again, but smiled just the same and let out a breath. You felt him prod at the warm, wet skin and thumb at your clit, and something told you that he’d wanted to grin too.

“I’m serious,” you said, “Scout’s hon—ohfuckfuckfuck.”

Joel pushed one finger inside you. In spite of the ease with which he slipped between your walls, that gentle sensation made it wonderfully snug. He gripped your hip and started moving his single digit in and out, and in spite of yourself, you squirmed a bit. Joel never failed to call you out for doing that; today would be no different.

“Easy, sweet pea,” he hummed when you jumped again.

But you couldn’t help it. Your hands quickly anchored themselves to Joel’s shoulders, your legs spread wider, and your hips started stirring—bucking, really—against each teasing touch. It was still just one thick finger of his.

You glanced down and saw that it was his middle finger, in particular. The double meaning wasn’t lost on you.

“Another,” you pleaded.

“Nuh-uh.”

“You’re a mean ol— mean man.” You tried to correct course when you felt a mention of ‘old’ slip back into your vernacular, and inwardly, you cringed at your words.

Joel had already heard it. He cocked one eyebrow.

“Mean ol’ man?” he scoffed, still fingerfucking you softly. When you bucked against it, he nodded as if to say ‘fair enough.’

Then, before you could chime in, he nodded some more.

His expression was hard.

“Fuck my hand,” he said.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

You weren’t quite sure what he meant for you to do. When he nodded a third time, the gesture was accompanied by a quick dart of his eyes to the place where your cunt was being penetrated by his one finger. He curled the finger inward, and when you twitched at the hot throb of pleasure that followed, he grunted.

Fuck my hand.

Nails still searing tiny half-moons into his shoulders, you acted more out of impulse than by command. The look from Joel sure didn’t hurt, though. The second you started rolling your hips, he nodded again. Holding onto his praises for now and simply showing approbation.

“Like that,” he murmured.

All you were doing was rocking back and forth over his finger, whimpers percolating quietly in your chest, but the act alone made you feel desperate. And Joel smug.

It was like he wanted to see you getting off to this one, comparatively smaller part of him without being filled. Bucking plaintively to find that fullness and coming back empty every time. Your whimpers turned into whines.

“Need more,” you keened.

“Yeah?” Joel replied gently.

“Yeah.”

A beat, then:

“Tough shit.”

But he said it so goddamn sweet you had to do a double take to make sure you’d heard him correctly. When you met Joel’s eyes, you saw a hint of amusement lingering behind them. Then he squeezed your hip again and started helping you move into his hand, up and down.

“Only givin’ more fingers to good girls, y’hear?” he said.

“What about your cock?” You couldn’t help it.

Joel just breathed out through his nose. In a second, he went from camp counselor to disapproving father figure.

“Greedy little thing, ain’t ya?”

That was all he needed to say, but the firm plunge of his middle finger certainly put a finer point on it. He curled the digit again and, upon grazing that spongy surface inside you, saw another desperate plea in your eyes.

And pleasure.

The pleasure ran almost as intense as the desperation.

Your head fell back when Joel got to making those ‘come hither’ motions again and again, thumb circling your clit, eyes trained on your figure with a marked concern. Like the prospect of not drawing an orgasm out of you in the next two minutes might very well ruin the man’s night.

“‘S’alright, honey,” Joel said quietly.

Then, finding your gaze when your head tilted back,

“Be a good girl and let go for me. Let go for daddy, hm?”

Fortunately for him, that one low hum and another flick of his middle finger and thumb were all you needed to find your release. You came on his hand with a sharp, pitiful cry and a ‘Fuckthatfeelssogooddaddyplease,’ hips working feverishly against his hand as you rode out your high. The sight of you bouncing up and down on his open palm and the way your eyes rolled back, begging him to fuck you full of his cock next, felt wildly obscene.

Joel loved obscene. Needed obscene. Hot. Febrile. Raw.

He nodded again.

Before you’d even descended fully from those staggering heights, his finger was moving too—joined by two more. Joel stuffed his index and ring fingers inside your still-pulsing hole and pretended not to hear your soft cry.

After all, you’d asked for more before. Joel was just sating your desire; your overwrought body would be fine.

“Joel,” you hissed, seizing his wrist.

“Too much?” he returned.

You tried to verbalize some answer but were cut short by a punishing stretch—all three fingers plunging in and out of your sensitive, drooling cunt and making it full of him.

“Too soon?” he tried again.

“I—”

“Too fast?”

“N—”

“Too…old?” Joel pressed after a beat.

There was an air of feigned condescension in his tone as he took on a faster pace gliding his thick, calloused fingers between your walls. You might’ve screamed if you hadn’t found your forehead pressed to his and the warmth of his irises boring into yours while he did it all. At this distance, you could discern a trace of hurt again. Something needing to be soothed inside Joel Miller.

You rutted your hips and shook your head, skull still stuck to his as you did so. Whimpers coming low.

“I didn’t…mean it,” you managed at length.

“What? That I’m ‘old as shit but wildly hot’?”

Joel wedged his fingers straight down to the knuckle and nearly tore a shriek out of your body. His eyes were surprisingly soft. Making sure your pleasure was all there.

“Hyperbole,” you choked, voice hoarse.

Then your jaw grew lax when a hand cupped your chin. All you wanted to do was melt into Joel, but you sensed something brewing again behind those honeyed eyes. Blinking was all you could do to keep your composure.

“You’re right, darlin’,” Joel said, “I am too old for you.”

Right after a clench in your tummy, a hurried word leapt up to your tongue, ‘NO!’ and you had to swallow a moan to keep from succumbing to the pleasure Joel was bringing with his fingers. Sandwiched between two orgasms was no time for a serious argument to take place, but there you were, fighting against it anyway.

“N-No,” you stammered. Stupid.

“I am.” His voice came softer somehow, more resigned.

When outright rejection of the claim seemed futile, you tried to pivot. Climax still closing in as fast as ever.

“I don’t care about that,” you hissed, exhaling hard when the first ripples of bliss crept up toward your stomach.

Joel watched you with careful eyes.

“Yeah? And Tess?”

“Joel—”

“Or Tommy.”

“I don’t—”

“Everyone else?”

Almost against your will, those minuscule ripples turned to waves of full-blown euphoria, and then you were clenching again on Joel’s hand and crying out in climax. You willed your gaze not to stray from his, but it was tough. Especially when the eyes beneath your own seemed so fucking morose and removed from you.

Don’t do this to me, Miller. Don’t do it, don’t do it.

In the wake of what should’ve been consummate satisfaction, you found yourself retreating to a place more akin to starvation—suddenly eager to get your mouth over his and start kissing, tonguing, and scraping your teeth like you’d missed out on a full week’s worth of meals. Feeling selfish but also uncertain how else to proceed—was Joel Miller breaking up with you here?

You couldn’t be sure, because he kissed you back. Joel kissed you and cupped your cheeks, then chased your frame all the way down to the coarse, scratchy sheets of the bed, where he was quick to climb on top of you.

Hell, it seemed breathing was too tough to accomplish with your frenzied pace and the continuous stream of open-mouthed kisses placed anywhere and everywhere. A groan from Joel trembled between your lips as you helped him get his shorts and boxers the rest of the way down his legs—all but dragging them with your heels—and he tightened a fist in your hair when they were off.

“I shouldn’t’a come here,” he mumbled.

“But you did,” you panted.

Both of you got lost in another onslaught of kisses, and you tried not to sigh. Joel was still battling something.

Even as he peeled your panties off and lined himself up with your entrance, he seemed resolved to stay quiet. Holding your gaze and not saying what had to be said.

He was a lot like you in that way.

You kept kissing him anyway.

The events that followed seemed to you little more than fleeting, happy scenes from a film you’d always wanted to see—an eager Joel, a caring Joel, an I-don’t-think-I’m-physically-capable-of-holding-you-any-closer Joel. The weight of his cock a welcome friend and the kisses somehow far too intimate to be considered friendly at all. You’d almost forgotten you were at a camp designed to prevent this very thing from happening between two stupid, impulsive people like you, and you didn’t care.

All you knew was a yawning stretch—that aching, empty void filled to perfection by Joel’s member—and the shockwaves of pleasure that vibrated in bands all the way down to the balls of your feet. You felt safe and secure caged between two muscular arms, and you reveled in a warmth that spanned every inch of your body touching his. The weight suffocating and somehow not oppressive; Joel cradled your head to make sure of it.

“Ain’t…hurtin’ ya, am I?” he said when you winced.

You shook your head against his sweaty palms to say that he wasn’t; you were just adjusting. He scanned your face for any trace of insincerity but found nothing.

In this tender position, your brain was ready to burst—whether from guilt, shame, ruthless self-loathing, or a sobering sense of closeness, you weren’t sure. All four seemed to form the impetus for the words that came next, which were soft, repeated apologies against Joel’s mouth. He swallowed each one without a second thought.

“Quit sayin’ it,” he rasped, low.

“I’m sorry, Joel, I’m sorr—”

Soft lips again. ‘S’okay, honey.’

You weren’t sure why, but your face felt extra hot.

Joel pressed his thumbs on either side of it while he kissed you and went deeper. Then he squeezed even more, and your breath hitched quietly in your throat.

Aw, shit, he could probably feel your heart running amok in your chest and thrumming like crazy right now.

“Ain’t nothin’—” Joel paused to send one measured thrust along your cervix, “—to be sorry for. Nothin’.”

Your legs tightened at his sides when his hips started to snap in quick, stuttered motions, desperate for more friction and depth. He got both, and he groaned feeling you tighten around him as he filled your cunt to the brim. The silky warmth of your walls drawing him in was almost too much, and every now and then he’d have to slow to mutter some, ‘’S’fuckin’ chokin’ me, honey, ya feel that?’ or ‘This pussy’s just made to take me, huh?’

Joel asked like he actually needed the reassurance. As if the slick, dripping arousal coating his length and the sounds of your whimpers mixed in with those wet slaps weren’t enough—as if he had to have deeper consolation.

He was splitting you open and looked guilty as he did it.

Still shaking with each thrust, you helped him slide his shirt over his head and bring him bare, chest-to-chest with you. You couldn’t ignore the tension any longer.

“Joel, I fuckin’ love— I need you inside,” you managed.

“You do?”

“Uh-huh.”

His face softened.

“‘S’mine, isn’t it?”

He said it so fast you couldn’t make out if it were really a question or a simple statement of fact. His balls routinely smacking your ass, eyes searching yours, always gentle.

“Say that you’re mine.”

No, Joel—don’t do that, don’t say it like that.

Your visceral reaction was to recoil. You couldn’t because he had you pinned, but damn did you want to—not him, not this, not now, Joel, why would you fucking say that?

The look in his eyes now surpassed the hurt from before. It was open and aching, even as he drilled your body in two at a near-ruthless pace. Asking you so sincerely.

The obstinacy inside you was almost laughable. Damn near sent your head spinning in a fit of hysterics at how much you wanted to say but wouldn’t; how much you sensed lay waiting to fly off Joel’s tongue but couldn’t. If you were any more emotionally pent-up you might’ve ruptured a blood vessel and lost all ability to think.

It didn’t help that you were both about to cum.

Or that Joel’s right hand was fumbling for your clit.

His expression was steady as ever when you jumped, made a whining noise below him, and grabbed his wrist. You looked down to where your bodies were joined and got a dizzying glimpse of that sight: cunt swallowing Joel’s cock repeatedly, pleasure pooling between your two bodies, then a digit at that little bundle of nerves.

He kissed your hairline and hummed.

“C’mon, pretty girl. Whose pussy is this?”

His thrusts sped up, along with his thumb.

“Don’t.” Not an answer but a warning: tread lightly, Joel.

He kissed your forehead again. And again. For a second you thought he might stay that way until you both came, but then his lips were finding yours, mumbling softly,

“Say no one’s gonna fuck you but me.”

“But—”

“None of those pencil-dick douchebag Delta Sigma whatever-the-fuck ya call ‘ems—” Joel continued, unfazed, “—not your lab partner, not your hallmate—”

His cock was gliding in and out of you at a punishing pace now. Wonderfully slick with sounds obscenely piercing to your ears. You could feel Joel digging in the depths of your tight, throbbing cunt, could see his expression contort with much the same pleasure you were experiencing yourself, and could very well smell the faint aroma of American Spirits still staining his breath. Joel Miller was a sick fuck for what he was doing to you, and he knew it. You nipped at his lower lip in between tender kisses and quietly-spoken words, and whimpered.

“—not your TAs, not your professors—” he pressed on.

You opened your mouth to let a lewd moan escape when Joel lifted his hand to shove a thumb inside. Instinctively, you sucked the whole thing straight down to the knuckle.

“Nobody but me, y’hear that?” Afforded better leverage with his finger wedged between your teeth, he shook your head a little as he fucked you. Watched you bob and nod a wordless ‘yes’ in doe-eyed complaisance while his cock drove shockwaves of pleasure straight through you.

He rubbed his thumb back and forth, and you let him.

You drooled all over that man’s finger like it might’ve been supplying oxygen to your lungs, and when Joel leaned in and said, ‘Ya like that, sweet pea?’, you answered in the affirmative. Or at least as close as you could get while Joel was filling up his two favorite holes.

Your orgasm was maybe two strokes away from shattering bones, it seemed. Now was his chance.

Swiftly, Joel retracted his touch just far enough to drag a string of saliva out of your mouth—then deliver a taut but gentle slap to your cheek. The soft thwack, combined with the sounds your bodies were making down below, served only to elevate the pornographic pitch of your moan:

“Joel!”

“That’s right.”

Joel’s mouth hovered an inch over yours, half-smirking, as if waiting to suck the words clean off of your lips. You whined when his thrusts got quicker and the mouth that was grinning got to kissing your own again. Talking dirty, too.

“Show me who this cunt belongs to. Say it,” he grunted.

You clenched, kissed him back, were just barely aware of the words you were trying to form when you stuttered some unintelligible, ‘Y-Y—ohfuckdaddyjustlikethatoh—’

Oh.

Your eyes widened to Joel’s, and before you could even begin to process what was happening to your body, his name just snapped off your tongue like a shot. A shriek. Some blissfully half-strangled moan that Joel captured between his teeth as he fucked you into the mattress and held your body tight to his own. His palm was wet.

Your legs were wet.

The soft, heaving juncture between your bodies was wet.

You were only dimly aware of the sensation as you dug your heels in Joel’s back and let out a series of cries and moans, but then that fluttering feeling inside made you flinch. A pulsing between your thighs and a…warmth.

You were still blinking through a post-euphoric haze when you felt a soft heat simmer and sink within you.

Did Joel just…cum inside you? Again?

“You dumb motherfucker,” you hissed without hesitation.

You’d just managed to shove him away—not far, but away—when you scrambled into a sitting position and slapped a hand over your stomach. Expecting to feel a churning and an awful pinch as you came to make out some vague sensation of Joel’s seed painting your insides, you were surprised when you didn’t get it at all.

In point of fact, Joel had just sprayed a full Jackson Pollock onto your stomach and was blinking, still fisting his cock as you quickly made your way back to your feet.

Where was that wetness coming from?

You stood and stared down at your stomach. Your legs. The translucent, trickling something that had paved a clear path between your thighs and all over Joel’s front. It didn’t make sense, unless—

“You fuckin’ squirted!” Joel cheered.

Your first instinct was to make a face.

That shit only happened in poorly produced pornos and movies based on books by Colleen Hoover, not real-life human beings. What the hell was this man on about?

“Be fucking serious,” you scowled, reaching for a stray shirt on the floor. Before realizing it was even yours, you hastily swiped several big globs of Joel’s cum with it. Your face grew even more enflamed, and yourself, oddly…ashamed. You couldn’t quite make sense of why Joel was grinning so big, or why you felt so embarrassed by what appeared to be a natural bodily function, but you suspected it probably had something to do with the state of sex education in Texas. Those fuckers definitely skipped squirting in favor of abstinence-only rhetoric.

Still weird. Still gross. You wished Joel would stop smiling.

“Lose the look or I’ll slap that fuckin’ grey off your head.”

Admittedly, neither aftercare nor communication was your métier. You started throwing on clothes, annoyed.

Meanwhile, Joel was swiping moisture off his abdomen three thick fingers at a time and wiggling the residue up for you to see—‘All it is is a sign of good lovin’, sweets, ain’t nothin’a be ashamed of!’—and you gave him just one finger in return. You were sliding your shorts up your legs and attempting to scrap the jizz off your FEDRA top when Joel started shrugging on his stolen clothes, too.

Your back was turned to him, eyes scanning the almost too-calm outdoors through the window a minute later, when you felt an arm snake close around your waist.

“Tastes a little like honey,” Joel crooned in your ear, doubtlessly smirking as he swayed you, “Only sweeter.”

You rolled your eyes. No cunt tasted like a honeycomb.

And you tried to say as much when he stroked over the strip of exposed skin between your shorts and the hem of your shirt, squeezing you tighter, but Joel was too good. He spidered a teasing touch over your tummy and yanked you back into his chest when you squealed and tried to break free. Then your sides, your ribcage, your shoulder blades—anyplace Joel could tickle, he tried to—and most spots, you were squeamish as hell. You clamped a hand over your half-open, giggling mouth, and when you felt him flip you around, you didn’t protest.

Suddenly, Joel’s hands were on either side of your face. He wasn’t smiling quite so big anymore but nevertheless maintained a kind glint behind his eyes. They were soft.

“‘M’sorry,” he said.

Then, pausing as if to consider his words, he said,

“You did great.”

He stopped again to press a kiss on the tip of your nose.

“So good.”

When he saw another smile twitch at the corners of your lips, as though asking him for more, he kissed those too.

“If that was your first time with…that…I’m, uh…”

“What?”

Another beat. Another stupid, stubbled grin.

“The luckiest…senior citizen sonovabitch, I guess.”

At the tail end of that, and once Joel had punctuated his sentence with another tender peck, you met his gaze again. Somehow, it had only gotten softer. His thumbs were searing the gentlest of imprints in the apples of your cheeks, his breaths were even and warm, and if you hadn’t known any better, you might’ve thought the man was contemplating saying something else to you then.

He didn’t.

The bridge to an old Billy Joel song made sure of that.

“And when she’s walkin’, she’s lookin’ so f-i-i-i-ine.”

You heard gravel crunch outside the cabin.

“And when she’s talkin’, she’ll say that she’s m-i-i-i-ine.”

Footsteps bounding up the half-rotted, cedar steps.

“She’ll say I’m not so tough just because I’m in love wi—SHIT.”

Tess’s face went blank the second the door swung open.

Thankfully, both of you were clothed. You and Joel leapt apart like she’d just caught you in doggy, though. And Tess looked like she might’ve seen an asscheek or two with the way she was staring at you both, letting the screen door slam shut, and a wordless ‘what-the-fuck’ caught somewhere in the tepid air between you three.

You stared at Tess, and Tess stared at you. Joel peered over her shoulder for the arrival of any more onlookers or folks just wanting to sing ‘Uptown Girl’ in your general vicinity. Fortunately, no one else appeared behind her.

But Tess looked awestruck enough for fifty people. She blinked and visibly swallowed as her gaze shifted to Joel.

“So FEDRA does dick appointments now?” she hissed.

“No!”

“I’m not—”

“He’s from the other camp.”

“You’re shitting me. Absolutely shitting me right now.”

You brought both hands to your face in a stifling, quiet desperation, unsure what to do. Joel just blinked back.

“I’m—we’re—” he started.

“Fucking!” Tess bit back, “You are so fucking. Raw.”

She wasn’t wrong. Her sixth sense for knowing who was having clandestine sex in her bed was kind of insane.

But, where you expected a look of horror to crawl into those taut, too-smart-for-her-own-good features, you found your bunkmate starting to raise her eyebrows.

Then laugh.

Tess threw her head back and laughed because she thought you were boinking a FEDRA camp counselor.

Joel shared a similar look of surprise but didn’t laugh.

“Yeah, I’m uh…J—” Again, he made as if to speak, to introduce himself, but Tess cut him off. About to wheeze.

“Lucien Flores, you dirty dog!” she cackled.

Joel glanced down at his nametag, started to shake his head, and probably didn’t anticipate Tess smacking him on the shoulder in a semi-congratulatory sort of way. Given a little more muscle to the playful punch, she just might’ve knocked him over. Joel was then trying to pry the pin off his polo just as you stepped closer to her.

“Tess, he’s…” You considered spilling the beans en masse but quickly decided against it. You’d have to stick to the barest of bones if you had any hope of escaping this place. So, resuming, you squeezed her arm and just said:

“Flores is gonna bust us out. Get your shit and we’ll go.”

Theresa Servopoulos didn’t need to be told twice.

And when she scrambled over to her sex-stricken bunk, inquired with a hurried but patently grossed out expression about who the fuck had wet the bed while she was gone, Joel didn’t hesitate—he said it was him.

“FEDRA man with a piss kink. I like you already, Lucien.”

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

★ 𝓗𝓔𝓐𝓓𝓛𝓞𝓒𝓚, 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒔 𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕.

𐚁̸ sum : mydei puts you in a headlock & fucks you roughly.

𐚁̸ tws : fem!reader. nsfw/smut, man handling, fingering, pet-names, overstimulation, breath-play, size difference/kink, degradation, forced arousal, clothing play & slight dubcon.

You barely had time to react before a strong arm wrapped around your neck, yanking you backward. You let out a surprised squeak, hands flying to claw at Mydei’s forearm, but it was useless. His grip was iron-tight, pressing against your throat just enough to make you gasp.

"Seriously, princess?" Mydei’s voice was laced with amusement, his breath warm against your ear. "You really thought you could get away that easily?"

you wriggled in his hold, your skirt riding up slightly as you kicked your legs. "’S not fair—!" You whined, voice breathless from both the sudden hold and the way he so effortlessly manhandled you. "I was just playing!"

He chuckled, tightening his grip just enough to make you go slack for a moment, your body instinctively reacting to the pressure. "You play too much," he muttered. "Running around like a little menace. What am I supposed to do with you, huh?"

You pouted, but the slight burn of his strength against Your skin sent a shiver down your spine. "Maybe let me go?" you offered sweetly, tilting your head to bat her lashes at him despite being practically trapped against his chest.

Mydei scoffed. "Not a chance, princess." He leaned in closer, voice dipping. "I think you like this too much."

Your cheeks burned, a breathy little noise escaping her lips as you weakly struggled again. He was right—you did like it. Maybe a little too much.

You whimpered as Mydei’s grip stayed firm, his arm flexing around your throat, keeping you in place. Your body went weak against him, your back pressing flush to his chest as you squirmed, feeling the heat of him everywhere.

"See?" Mydei chuckled lowly, his breath teasing the shell of your ear. "You’re not even tryin’ to get away now, pretty. Bet you like bein’ handled like this."

Your thighs squeezed together instinctively, the heat pooling between them unmistakable. You shouldn’t be reacting like this—shouldn’t feel the dull ache of need just from the way he was holding you down. But fuck, he was so strong, so effortless in the way he controlled you.

"M-Mydei—" you whined, voice breathless.

He loosened his hold just enough to tilt your chin up, making you look at him. His golden eyes gleamed with amusement, but there was something darker behind them now, something possessive.

"You wanna tell me why you’re rubbin’ those pretty thighs together, princess?" he murmured, his free hand sliding down to squeeze your hip, pulling your ass flush against the growing bulge in his pants. "Feelin’ needy?"

You gasped, your hands clutching at his wrist, but not to push him away. "I—I dunno what you mean," you lied, your voice sweet and airy, but your body betrayed you. You pressed against him, your pussy throbbing at the feeling of his cock, thick and hard against your backside.

Mydei clicked his tongue. "Lyin’ to me, huh?" He adjusted his grip, shifting just enough so that his hand could slide between your thighs, his fingers pressing against the damp heat of your lacy panties. "Princess, you’re so fucking wet."

A soft, broken moan left your lips, your body jolting as his fingers pressed against the thin fabric, teasing.

"You really like this," he mused, his voice dark with amusement. "Bet I could make you come just like this—trapped in my hold, pussy dripping all over my fingers while I don’t even let you move."

You whimpered, your nails digging into his wrist, your body trembling against him. He had you—completely, utterly at his mercy. And god, you loved it.

"Mydei—" you gasped, your voice a breathy whine as his fingers rubbed against your soaked panties. You were trembling now, your body reacting before your mind could even catch up. The grip around your throat stayed firm, not enough to hurt but just enough to remind you—you weren’t going anywhere.

"Shit, Princess," Mydei chuckled darkly, pressing harder against your clothed pussy, his fingers easily gliding over the damp fabric. "You’re dripping all over my hand."

You let out a broken moan, your nails digging into his wrist. He was teasing you, barely giving you enough friction, keeping you pinned so you couldn’t grind against him properly. It was torture—his cock was hard against your ass, his fingers playing with you, but he wasn’t giving you what you needed.

"P-Please," you whimpered, not even sure what you were begging for.

"Please what?" Mydei taunted, his grip tightening for just a moment, making you gasp. "Say it, Princess. Tell me exactly what you want."

Your cheeks burned, the words catching in your throat. You shouldn’t want this—shouldn’t be soaking through your panties just from him holding you down, from the way he was teasing you, mocking you. But you did.

"I—I need more," you admitted shakily, your thighs clenching. "Need your fingers, Mydei…"

He hummed in approval, his lips brushing against your ear. "Good girl," he praised, before tugging your panties aside and pressing two fingers against your slick folds.

You cried out, your body arching against him. He was still holding you in the headlock, still keeping you trapped against his chest as he played with you, his fingers sliding up to circle your clit before dipping back down to tease your entrance.

"You’re so fuckin’ tight," he groaned, slipping one thick finger inside you. "You really are just my little Princess, aren’t you? All helpless, so easy to mess with."

You could barely form words, your body shivering as he started pumping his finger in and out, slow and teasing. He added another, stretching you just enough to make you whimper.

"You gonna come just from my fingers, Princess?" Mydei mocked, his voice deep with amusement. "While I’ve got you locked up like this? Pretty little pussy squeezin’ me so damn tight."

You moaned loudly, your body twitching as he curled his fingers just right, hitting that spot inside you that made you see stars. The pressure around your throat, the way he had you completely at his mercy—it was too much.

"Mydei—fuck—I’m—!"

Your orgasm hit you hard, your walls clenching around his fingers as a sharp cry left your lips. Mydei held you through it, his grip firm as you trembled against him, your pussy pulsing around him as wetness coated his fingers.

"That’s it, Princess," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Come for me."

You went limp in his hold, panting as aftershocks ran through you. Mydei finally loosened his grip, letting you collapse against his chest.

But he wasn’t done.

"Now," he mused, pressing his cock against your soaked folds, "how ‘bout I put that pretty pussy to better use?"

You barely had time to whimper before he pushed you down, making you brace yourself against the nearest surface. You knew—you knew—he wasn’t letting you go until he was satisfied.

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

[lumiambrose]

✰ twisted fortune

kinktober 24 - day twentyfour

featuring: soshiro hoshina x f!reader x gen narumi

summary: kaiju no 9 has finally been defeated. to celebrate, the defence force organises a company-wide celebration at the famed casino. letting you finally see your best friend, hoshina, for the first time in ages. the two of you came up with your own way to celebrate, what you didn't expect though, was your very own captain to join you in the act.

tags: smut, threesome, drug intake (aphrodisiacs), overstimulation, squirting, handjobs, oral (both receiving), throat-fucking/deepthroating, degredation, praise, finishing inside, power play (implied)

wc: 2.4k

"are ya sure? if you're serious i can get somethin' arranged for us," hoshina asks through the screen of your phone, staring at your excited expression as he prepares some paperwork. you've had the idea for a while now, taking aphrodisiacs, especially with your libido hitting an all-time low.

"mhm, certain! been meaning to try for a while now, but it would be boring alone," you state, matter of factly. you've spent days thinking about how to get out of your dry spell. at the end of the day, this was the best you could think of. "plus, if i'm trying them with anyone, i'd rather it be you than anyone else."

and that’s how you and hoshina find yourselves at the biggest defence force celebration in history, sneaking away like kids staying up past their curfew to go take some fancy drugs. after the two of you meet up for the first time in months and catch up a bit, you slip away into one of the velvety booths next to the bar. drinks in hand, hoshina takes out a small tab of chocolate, splitting it into multiple pieces and handing you one.

“are you sure this will work?” you ask, examining the small piece of chocolate in your hand. “it’s such a small piece, will it even be enough?”

before he could reply, a familiar head peaks over the walls of your booth. showing a certain captain, console in hand, catching you both red-handed.

"what do you two think you're doing?" narumi asks, his voice stern as he eyes the chocolate in your hands. "frankly, i should report this. imagine how disappointed hasegawa and captain ashido would be, seeing the two of you like this."

your heart leaps out of its chest, panic setting in. of course, captain narumi just has to be hiding somewhere playing games. you exchange a quick glance with hoshina before an idea strikes you. it's stupid, but it might just work.

"wait, captain!" you say, your voice slightly shaky. "why don’t you join us instead?"

narumi's eyes widen in surprise, letting out a snort at your suggestion. "join you? no way you’re actually serious."

you nod, holding out a piece of the chocolate. "come on, it will be fun. plus, you wont be glued to that console of yours the whole night."

there's a moment of silence as narumi considers your offer. eventually, he lets out a defeated sigh, pocketing his console.

"fine," he says, sliding into the booth, occupying the free space next to you. "but if this goes south, i'm not taking the fall for either of you."

you can't help but grin as you hand him a piece of the chocolate. "deal."

the chocolate itself is surprisingly bland. not too bitter, but not sickly sweet, leaving you almost disappointed. the three of you quickly scatter after digesting the treat. you go for drinks with some of the other defence force girls while the two men go about with their own agendas. seeing as the drug isn't working on you, it was only fair you get shitfaced, right?

wrong. you wish it would be that simple, but a few hours into the night, you start to feel an ache in your abdomen. almost painful, making you wince and almost trip. your vision gets blurry as colours become more vibrant, and sounds more intense. to your disbelief, you realise that the aphrodisiac is finally kicking in, and it's hitting you hard. your skin feels electric, every brush against it sends shivers down your spine. you quickly escape from the dance floor, leaving your friends in confusion as you slip away from the crowd.

landing yourself at the same booth this entire fiasco started at, you finally collapse. small whimpers escaping you as you try your best to fight off the sensation. suddenly, you feel a presence next to you. looking up, you see hoshina and narumi sliding into the booth, their faces flushed and eyes glazed over. "been lookin' for ya," hoshina slurs, his voice husky. you can't help but shiver as his thigh brushes against yours, the contact sending sparks through your oversensitive skin.

“turns out, this shit hits, and it hits hard,” narumi states, clearly taken over by the effects of the drug. before you can react, he grabs you by the chin, forcing you to lock eyes with him from across the table. “this whole ordeal was your idea, right? you gonna make up for this, or am i gonna have to report your actions?” with that, you felt a stray hand trace your thigh lightly before giving it a tight squeeze. hoshina, seated next to you, also seems frustrated by the current predicament.

“you're really not makin’ this easy for us either, darlin’,” his hands trace further up your thighs. “waltzin’ around in that tiny dress and dancin’ so provocatively in front of us. it’s only fair you take accountability, right?”

with that, hoshina helps you out of the booth and the two men lead you away from the casino towards the eclipse’s hotel, entering the suite they ordered for the night before they confronted you.

you barely made it past the doorway before narumi pounces on you, capturing your lips desperately as his hands roam yours. hoshina steps behind you, his hands running through your hair and gently tugging your head back. "let's not be too hasty, narumi," he teases at the officer in front of you, his breath hot against your neck. "we have the entire night ahead of us."

narumi pulls back, a growl rumbling in his chest, but he obeys hoshina's command. he steps away, allowing you to get a good look at the two men, flushed out, sweaty, and prints evident in their slacks as hoshina guides you further into the suite. the room is lavish, with a large king-sized bed dominating the space. hoshina leads you to the center of the bed, pushing you down onto the plush mattress.

"now, let’s rid ya of this flimsy fabric," hoshina says, his fingers finding the hem of your skirt, before ripping it, unable to wait any longer. narumi moves to stand beside him, his eyes dark with desire as he watches hoshina's hands work.

a cool breeze hits you as the thin fabric gets torn off, but the aphrodisiac coursing through your veins quickly heats your body once again. your skin feels like it's on fire, every touch sending shockwaves straight to your core.

narumi leans down, his lips brushing against your sensitive nipples as hoshina's hands explore your thighs. "you’re fuckin’ soaked, darlin’," hoshina remarks, his fingers gliding easily through your slick folds. "is the drug that strong, or did ya secretly want this?"

you can only moan in response, your body arching into their touches, every little graze making you whimper, yet it’s not enough. narumi continues his assault on your breasts, his tongue swirling around your hardened peaks, while hoshina slowly sinks two fingers into your tight heat.

"she's so tight," hoshina groans, pumping his fingers in and out of you. "can't wait to feel her around my cock."

narumi chuckles, his lips trailing kisses down your stomach. "patience. try not to cream yourself at the thought, hoshina."

they continue toying with your body, and you can feel the aphrodisiac's effects intensifying with each second. your skin feels supersensitive, every touch and caress sends waves of pleasure crashing over you. it's almost too much to bear, but it’s still not enough to stop the ache between your legs.

hoshina removes his fingers from your dripping core, bringing them to his lips to taste your essence. "fuckin’ delicious," he purrs, before leaning down to capture your lips in a kiss. forcing you to taste yourself on his tongue, fuelling your desire.

meanwhile, narumi continues south, his tongue leaving a trail of fire as he makes his way to your aching core. as he reaches it, he doesn't waste any time, diving in with need. his tongue lapping at your sensitive flesh, circling your clit and dipping into your entrance, eliciting moans from you that go straight to his cock.

hoshina, finally reaching his limits, pulls away from your wet mouth to free his aching erection. letting it slap against his abs as it finally springs free, making him sigh in relief. he kneels down besides your captain as his hands trail over to narumis erection, freeing his length from the restraints of his pants. taken aback, narumi pauses his meal, giving the other man a confused look. though that doesn’t stop hoshina as he wraps his hands around narumi’s hard length, giving it a few pumps before he dives back into your wet cunt. this time, narumi letting out moans of his own against your seeping cunt as hoshina strokes him.

“look at ya both, so desperate to cum you can barely contain yerselves,” hoshina taunts as his thumb runs over narumis tip, making him moan on your core, finally sending you over the edge.

your orgasm hits you hard as you let out a strained cry of pleasure. but to your surprise, it doesn’t stop there. your body trembling as you squirt onto narumi’s face, wetting him with your mixed arousal. narumi, delighted, laps it up like a starved man, overstimulating your clit as your whimpers fill the room.

“thank you for the fucking meal,” he says between pants as he pulls away from your drenched core, his face wet with your liquids. he stands up, hoshina following suit before flipping you around, letting your head dangle from the edge of the bed. hoshina, picking up on the situation at hand, climbs onto the bed, hoisting your legs onto his shoulders as he aligns himself with your folds.

“think you can take us both, kitty?” narumi coos, looking down on your pathetic figure as he slaps his cock on your cheek. instead of giving you the chance to reply, hoshina slowly thrusts forwards, making you take him inch by inch. “course she can, she’s our pretty little fucktoy after all,” hoshina lets out with a breathy moan, bottoming out inside of you.

you can't help but moan as hoshina stretches out, filling you with pleasure as he starts moving inside of you at a steady pace, his hips slapping against your ass with each powerful drive. the sensation of him gliding in and out of your sensitive walls is euphoric, sending pleasure through your entire body.

although your moans are short-lived as narumi, not wanting to be left out, grabs your hair, forcing you to look up at him as he waves his cock in front of your face. "open up, kitty," he commands, slapping your cheek once again. "you're going to suck my cock while vice captain here fucks you senseless, think you can manage that?"

unable to resist, you part your lips for your captain, allowing narumi to slide his girth into your mouth. his precum coating your tongue as he thrusts in and out, fucking your face with the same intensity as hoshina pounds your pussy. the sensation is absolutely unbearable, between narumi taking up your throat while hoshina fills you from your cunt, you can barely think straight. the ache between your core cooling down while they’re using you like a toy. the rough treatment sending you closer to yet another orgasm, making your body tremble beneath the two men, craving your release despite already being an overstimulated mess.

hoshina picks up the pace once he notices your shaking figure, his hips slamming against your ass over and over again with brutal force. each thrust coursing through your body, feeling euphoric and making your toes curl and your nails dig into the sheets. "fuck, you're so tight. can feel ya squeezing me dry, darlin’," hoshina groans, kicking his head up in pleasure. "ya gonna cream around my cock, huh? while your own captain is fucking your slutty lil’ throat?" although you give no reply, not while your mouth is full of cock. of course, that doesn’t stop his words from going straight to your core, letting out a muffled cry before coming undone all around hoshina’s cock. your body trembling as he holds you tight, slamming into you even harder, fucking you through your orgasm and chasing his own.

narumi, too, seems to be nearing his limit, especially after hearing you cum underneath you. his grip on your hair tightens as he drives his cock deeper down your mouth, hitting the back of your throat with each thrust. "swallow it," he growls, his eyes dark with lust. "swallow it all, kitty. gonna make you choke on my cock while i fill that mouth of yours with my cum."

the thought of tasting narumi's essence while being fucked senseless by hoshina is enough to send your overstimulated body into another dimension. clamping down around Hoshina's throbbing length, milking him for all he's worth. almost at the same time, you feel yourself getting filled up from both holes. hoshina’s hips stutter one last time before stopping inside of you, you can feel his dick twitch as he floods your pussy with his cum, letting out a low moan at the pleasure. at the other end, narumi is babbling incoherent words at you as he desperately ruts into your throat, reaching his own high. hot cum spills down your throat as you choke on his length, narumi not giving you time to breathe until he’s sure every last drop has made it down your throat.

narumi pulls out of your mouth, leaving your lips with a wet pop. “open,” he orders, holding your cheek with his large palms. too fucked-out to do anything but obey, you open your mouth, showing him the remnants of his cum on your tongue.

“good girl,” he caresses the skin as he admires his masterpiece, then helping you up onto the centre of the bed. in the meantime, hoshina has pulled out, letting his cum slowly ooze out of your seeping pussy. you lie helplessly on the large bed, the two men admiring you from either side.

despite the two men devouring you, the ache in your core from the aphrodisiac persists. your body clearly not satisfied with it’s current state. you weigh your options, debating on pushing the situation further. before you can even think it over, hoshina’s fingers graze over your stomach, and without even thinking, you let out a soft moan. they’re both initially taken aback by the noise but not long after, their shock develops into something more as narumi cages you underneath him.

“what’s this? all that and you’re still not satisfied?” he’s mocking you at this point. “you see this, hoshina? guess we’ll have to fuck her dumb again.”

the vice captain, amused by your little show, smirks. “how quickly will you come undone this time, darlin’?“

taglist: @ryescapades @143-ilyuu @maruflix @pixelcafe-network

©lumis kinktober 24' ─ do not translate, repost, copy any of my works

[crybabyddl]

Heat Above

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Reader and Eddie love getting high together. Their routine smoke sesh looks a little different tonight.

Warning: marijuana use, swearing, sexual tension, friends to lovers, fluff, mentions of alcohol & nicotine, 18+ content. MDNI.

Author's Note: Hi friends! I can't get the thought of smoking in Eddie's van out of my mind, probably because I want to get high so freaking bad. It's not fair that I didn't get to smoke on 4/20, so I'm writing this until I can go out to smoke with some friends or find some time to be alone so I can smoke without a lecture. I know it's probably not good for me, but living isn't really good for me either atp, so what's the big deal if I smoke a joint? lol... As for the oneshot, Eddie and the reader are in their 20s. Btw, shooters are the mini, hotel-sized alcohol bottles. They're also sometimes called nips or singles.

"Can I light it this time?" You ask eagerly, your sneakers kicking up dust from the gravel below.

"Sure, just be careful," Eddie warns as he hands you a lighter and the joint he just rolled. "It's windy and I don't want your hair catching on fire."

You give a lighthearted scoff before looking down at the lighter your friend handed to you. It's one of yours that Eddie "forgot" to give back—Animal from The Muppets wearing a leather jacket and holding a wooden drumstick. You don't have the heart to steal it back from him, knowing it suits him perfectly and that you'll see it the next time you smoke together.

Placing the filtered tip of the expertly rolled cone in your mouth, you sparked up the lighter, bringing it towards the end of the joint. Just before it catches, the wind blows out the flame. You try once more, only to be defeated by nature yet again. After the fifth attempt, Eddie notices and cups his hands near the lighter, sheltering it from the wind.

"This is why I'm usually the one who lights it." he remarks in a snarky, but playful tone.

"Oh shut up, it's just windy. I need to be able to smoke without your help at some point, you know." You elbow him sharply, eventually forfeiting the supplies to his ringed fingers.

"Smoke without me? You couldn't roll a joint to save your life!"

You narrow your eyes at Eddie.

"Hate to break it to you, but pre-rolls exist."

Eddie puts the joint to his lips, lighting it with ease. He takes a long drag before exhaling a long, narrow stream of smoke. You watch as it dissipates in the air. The wispy trail from the joint is still active as he holds the weed out to you.

"Not for free they don't," he retorts as you inhale. "Unless, of course, you get them from me."

He wasn't wrong; Eddie had been smoking you out free of charge for almost three months now. Sure, it was only on weekends, but you'd grown accustomed to the routine. Every Friday night, he'd pick you up from work in his shitty van, drive to the lookout point on Lover's Lake, and the two of you would swap customer service horror stories over a joint. Occasionally, he'd bring a vape or a paper bag of shooters, but the weed was always the preferred poison for your hangouts.

You roll your eyes as you exhale.

"I just want to learn how to do it all myself, I'd still smoke with you Eds."

Eddie holds out his thumb and index finger, anticipating the passing of the joint, but you decide to take another hit before handing it off.

The silence between you two is filled with the sounds of crickets and cicadas. As gross as bugs were, you were grateful for the summer nights filled with their songs.

You and Eddie continue smoking wordlessly, looking up at the stars, down at the moonlight reflecting on the lake, and across the trees as smoke dances past the the leaves rustling in the warm, windy air.

"Eds? Since when do you call me that?"

You shrug.

"I dunno, 'm just high."

"Okay." he lets out a loud sigh, louder than he intended.

"You good?" you ask him, slightly chuckling at his dramatic behavior.

"What? Yeah, I was just thinking and breathing at the same time."

"Not really sure what that means, but okay."

You pluck the joint from his fingers, bringing it to your lips and savoring the feeling you're experiencing right here and now. You loved not having to worry about anything, getting to be in nature with a person whose company you enjoyed, with nothing waiting to be done and nobody needing you for a favor. You wished life could always be like this—reality hazy, senses and appreciation elevated. You look over at Eddie, the glint of his rings capturing your attention. You trail your fingers across his knuckles, the texture, temperature, and visual stimulation of his jewelry making you feel light and slightly anticipatory.

"Is it the rings again?" Eddie looks down at his left hand, then up at you, your eyes practically aglow. The joint's cherry dims as you continue to hold it, forgotten now that your mind had drifted to Eddie.

You nodded with a hum.

"Where do you get 'em?" you ask, spinning the silver band on his middle finger around to read the words etched into it. LOVE IS FATAL

"I get most of them at the antique and thrift store on Greenview, but this one," he points to his ring finger. "Is my class ring."

"Hawkins High. I bet you were trouble back in high school, weren't you?" you laugh.

"You bet. I was the freak who played D&D, automatic bully magnet."

"What kind of magnet are you now?"

"Hmm... maybe a stoner magnet?" he smiled; not an uncommon occurrence, but one that delighted you. It's like he knew exactly how to charm you, have you hooked on every word, all done in a seemingly effortless way.

"I think so." you laughed somewhat halfheartedly. You were distracted by the simple, but thought-provoking ring once again.

LOVE IS FATAL

Is that what this was? Was that what you'd been feeling the past few weeks whenever you were with Eddie? Sure, you loved him as a close friend. You'd always have his back and knew you could trust him to do the same. But the feeling in your lower chest, the anxious and excited, almost scared fluttering along your fingertips, your toes, along the inside of your thighs... It surely felt fatal. But was it love?

"Something on your mind?" his voice cuts through your heart-shaped cloud of thoughts. He plucks the dull joint from you, nestling the tip between his lips. You watch him intently as he relights it, focusing on the way his brown eyes shine from the glow of the flame.

Unsure of what to say, you give him a simple "Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"Maybe."

"What am I supposed to gather from that?"

"Maybe, it's none of your business."

"Well sue me for trying to talk to you. Jesus."

"Calm down, I just didn't know what to tell you, okay? Damn," you accept Eddie's offering of the joint, taking a hit and blowing it in his face, feigning obliviousness. "And people say women are dramatic, ha."

"You know you can tell me anything, right? I'll always hear you out, even when you blow smoke in my face like a dick," he takes what is hardly more than the filter tip, and smokes whatever is left of the joint. "Did you want more, or are you good?"

"I think I'm okay for now. Might ask for the penjamin in a little bit, though." you reply, your voice mellow and raspy.

The weed is definitely getting to you now, and it really wants your brain to harp on the way Eddie's hands look right now. They look the same as they always do, but that stupid ring is practically mocking you with its facetious warning.

You didn't love Eddie as anything more than a friend, you knew that. But for some reason, your brain was getting scrambled by his presence, making you question if that belief was subject to change at some point down the line. Eddie's attractive—no doubt about it. You felt that way from the day you first met him.

Six months ago, your friends invited you out for drinks. You were chatting up a storm, having a grand old time. Prone to people-watching, your eyes wandered the bar, looking for something interesting to make up narratives in your head about. They landed on a tall, leather jacket-clad man with an unruly head of hair. Nothing about him stood out necessarily, but you'd always had a thing for the vibe of a bad boy in a leather jacket. Plus, a nice face never hurt. Middle school you was thanking you for finally making friends, leading you to this moment—this man. But just like back in those days, you were far too nervous to ever work up the courage to talk to him, let alone any other stranger at a bar.

However, one of your friends had caught you staring off, and with Robin being Robin, she wasn't going to let you off the hook. Her teasing was almost unbearable, up until she'd asked whom exactly you'd been looking at. When you tilted your head towards the guy, her teasing ceased.

"Him?"

You nodded.

"I know him! That's Eddie. We went to high school together. I can introduce you, if you'd like."

"That's okay, Robin, I don't–"

Before you could protest, your friend had set off in his direction, loudly calling out his name.

Thanks to the—albeit small—amount of alcohol in your system, your typical response of freezing was out of service. You instead opted to ask the bartender for another shot—it didn't matter what, just something alcoholic and not totally disgusting. As soon as it was placed in front of you, you threw the shot back. Raspberry vodka. That'd do. As if on cue, Robin reappeared, dragging behind her the man in the leather jacket.

She sang out your name excitedly.

"This is Eddie. We went to high school together." she introduced you to Eddie as her 'best friend' and along with herself and Steve, a 'Scoops Ahoy survivor'.

You and Eddie exchanged pleasantries, asked about jobs and hobbies, all the usual elements of small talk. Before the air turned awkward, Robin suggested taking shots. You weren't anything beyond tipsy, so you joined in the fun, taking shots of whatever your friend had ordered.

Talking with Eddie was thankfully easy. You discovered that he was more interesting than the narrative you started creating in your head when you first laid eyes on him. He played guitar, he was working as an auto mechanic, and he played Dungeons and Dragons. Robin begged him to let her and Steve take part in his latest campaign, and after an ambush of pleas, he gave in to her request.

You asked Eddie about the game itself, and about his plans for his upcoming campaign. It was actually quite interesting, and you were a bit jealous that Robin and Steve would get to create characters to go on the journey. Your jealousy didn't last long once Eddie asked if you wanted to join. With sheepish acceptance, you took Eddie up on the offer.

Two weeks later, you, Robin, Steve, their friends from high school, a few of those friends' siblings, and some of their siblings' friends all gathered in the Wheelers' basement for the D&D campaign. Eddie mentioned that while most campaigns lasted over several meetings, this one was designed to cater to everyone's busy schedules, and could be completed in one session. Over the following three hours, everyone laughed, gasped, yelled, and enjoyed the twists, turns, betrayals, and challenges that came with Eddie's campaign. You'd spent the entire week leading up to that night reading up on D&D and creating your character. Finally getting to expand on your druid's story was as rewarding as it was exciting.

After that night, you and everyone who participated in the campaign exchanged information to stay in touch. Nancy told everyone to text her when they got home safely, so you made a mental note to do just that. After a short drive, you flopped on your bed with a satisfied sigh. You never thought playing such a "nerdy" game would be so entertaining. You enjoyed yourself much more than you had anticipated, and found yourself imagining what your character would do in other situations, or what kind of character you would create for different campaigns.

After changing into your pajamas and getting ready for bed, you texted Nancy to let her know you made it home and thanked her for hosting. You decided to send a text to Eddie as well, thanking him for the great campaign and for inviting you to play. You turned off your phone, only for it to buzz immediately after setting it down on your nightstand. It was a notification that Nancy had given your text a thumbs up. She was probably getting bombarded with texts similar to the one you had sent, so you took that as her response, setting your phone back down. Just as before, your phone vibrated, prompting you to retrieve the piece of technology once again. This time, it was a text from Eddie.

eddie: so glad u enjoyed it :) it was nice having u there

You stared at the words on your screen, thinking of how to respond, when another text came in.

eddie: for a dnd virgin u did a great job with ur character. wasn't expecting a druid in the party for this campaign but it worked out

You couldn't help but laugh at the phrase 'dnd virgin'.

you: aren't most dnd players virgins? jk i knew what u meant

you: are you working on another campaign?

eddie: maybe... why

eddie: u wanna be in the next one?

you: fuck yeah! i had so much fun

you: way more fun than i was expecting tbh eddie: glad to hear it :) eddie: it was fun making it and seeing it play out you: idk how i'm supposed to sleep after that i'm so pumped lol eddie: idk either. might smoke and look at the stars. pretty clear out tonight

you: luckyyyy i wanna smoke eddie: why cant u? you: i dont have any weed :(

you: i'm not asking u for weed btw. i had to pay rent and the dispensary near me is so overpriced so i have to wait until payday thursday 😅 eddie: u wanna smoke with me? i have a shit ton of weed you: that might be fun... how much for a joint? eddie: 35 you: $35? eddie: yup you: is that with or without the friend discount?

eddie: without you: ouch. do i not qualify for the friend discount? eddie: if u come over and smoke with me i'll give u the friend discount you: deal. you: where do u live? eddie: *shared his location with you* you: be there in 15.

Here you were, a woman in her 20s, driving to buy weed from a guy you barely knew. You knew you could trust Eddie, otherwise Robin wouldn't be friends with him. That didn't do much to settle the uneasiness you felt in your stomach as you approached the door to his trailer, the automatic porch light bathing you in its shine. You rapped on the door with your knuckles. After a minute or two, you figured you didn't knock loudly enough. You repeated your actions with a bit more force, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as you smoothed out your skirt. You looked at the message where Eddie shared his location with you, making sure you were at the right place. After a couple more minutes, you texted him.

you: i'm here :)

You heard some sort of clattering from inside the trailer, followed by the interior door opening. A man that wasn't Eddie jolted at the sight of you. Your felt your face heat up. You'd gone to the wrong house.

"Can I help you?" the man, probably in his late 50s, asks through the screen of the exterior door.

"Sorry, I think I have the wrong house. I didn't mean to disturb you."

"Who are you looking for?"

"Wayne, if someone comes to the door, I'll get it! I'm expecting someone to drop off my wallet, I left it at the Wheelers'!" you hear Eddie's muffled shouting from somewhere out of sight.

"He's left his wallet at the Wheelers' three times this week," the man, Wayne, tells you with a furrowed brow. "Kid thinks I don't know he's smoking," he pauses. "Must also think I don't have a nose!" he laughs with a wheeze before coughing into his elbow. "Sorry, my lungs ain't what they used to be. I'm Wayne."

After assuring Wayne it's alright, you tell him your name. Before any small talk ensues, you feel your phone buzz with a text from Eddie.

eddie: shit gimme 5 minutes. don't knock i'll come outside

Oops.

Wayne seems to have experienced this exact routine a few times before. The weary, yet slightly amused look in his eyes tells you as much.

"He thinks I'm gonna embarrass 'im. Ever consider he might be the one embarrassin' me?" you can't help but smile at his words. "Humor me for a moment, kiddo." Wayne gives you a wink before shaking out his shoulders as though he was warming up for something. "Who's coming over?" he shouts over his shoulder.

"A friend! They're just dropping off my wallet!" Eddie shouts back, voice still distant.

"What's your friend's name?"

"Dustin!"

"Dustin who?"

"Dustin Henderson! He's from Hellfire Club!"

"Curly haired kid?"

"Yes!"

"Are you lying to me, boy?"

"No, Uncle Wayne!"

"I must say, Dustin's got some cute shoes!"

"The fuck?!" you hear loud footsteps approaching before Eddie finally enters your field of vision.

"Maybe if you stopped lyin' to your uncle, you wouldn't have to be embarrassed every time you bring a friend over."

"I'm so sorry about him, I forgot to give him his dementia meds." Eddie glares at his uncle while gritting his teeth.

"If I have dementia, you've got somethin' worse!"

"I'm leaving! Don't wait up for me!"

"I never do!" Wayne ends the banter with a laugh. "Nice to meet you." he says. You tell him the same and wave goodbye before he shuts the door.

Eddie remains silent as he unlocks his van, opening the passenger's side door for you. You thank him before climbing in and closing the door.

"Sorry about that. My uncle's a pain in the ass." he finally says with a sigh after getting in the driver's seat.

"I like him, he's funny," you admit. "Was I supposed to bring your wallet? I didn't know you left it at Nancy's."

"What? Oh, no, I just said that to try and get Wayne off my back. He always tries to embarrass me when my friends come over. You're the first girl he's seen me bring around, so he saw an opportunity to strike gold."

"Not much of a heartbreaker? That's surprising." you comment thoughtlessly.

It's only after Eddie's response that you realize what your words could be implying.

"How so?"

"I just mean, you know," you look over at Eddie as you try to formulate the rest of your sentence, only to be met with a quirked eyebrow and a shake of his untamed hair. "You play guitar, you smoke, you make epic D&D campaigns, you wear cool rings and a leather jacket..."

"It may come as a shock to you, but some people find that stuff scary, especially in a place like Hawkins. If you're not wearing a letterman jacket and blue jeans, you're an alien."

"Maybe it's just me, but I'd prefer aliens over a stick in my ass." Eddie laughs at your comment, and you can't help but join him. You take in the details of his face; how his smile just about lights up the van, how his eyes crinkle in the corners and his nose scrunches for a brief second while he chuckles.

"Me too, me too," Eddie smiles to himself as he turns away from you to grab his seatbelt. "You wanna drive over to the lake and smoke this j?"

"Yes, please."

"Music?"

"Absolutely. Whatever you've got in there is fine with me."

Just loud enough to feel like you're in a movie where the main character drives along the California coast with her head out the window to a song that perfectly embodies her whirlwind of a journey, Greta Van Fleet's 'Heat Above' fills your ears. You allow yourself to embrace the cinematic moment, letting your arm find its way out the window as you make flowing waves with your wrist.

As your eyes take in the light from the full moon bouncing off the lake, Eddie briefly takes his eyes off the road to look at you, subconsciously lifting his foot off the gas. He wishes he could take a picture of you in this moment. You look so free, and he can just tell that it's a feeling you haven't allowed yourself to feel for a while. He can just imagine the scene playing out before him, captured in a polaroid that he'd keep in an old cigar box. Maybe he'd dig it up 30 years from now, telling his kids that he took a picture of a friend that he never saw again. It was poetic, but Eddie had a feeling he'd be seeing more of you after tonight, not less.

It's in the middle of 'Age of Machine' when Eddie reaches his favorite lookout spot. It also happens to be the perfect place to smoke on a clear summer night, tonight.

He opens the door for you, offering his hand for you to hold onto as you step out of the vehicle. Retrieving the joint from his pocket, Eddie holds it out to you.

"It's called Watermelon Diesel. Hybrid of indica and sativa. Rolled it myself."

"Wow, you're good. Every joint I've smoked looked like shit."

"All depends on who rolled it. Took me a lot of practice to get them looking like this."

"How much did you say? $35?"

"Yeah, but don't forget the friend discount."

"Right, how much with the discount?"

"You get half the joint for free."

"Huh?"

"You get half the joint-"

"I heard you. So you're making me pay $35 for half the joint? Or do I only pay $17.50 to smoke half of the joint, and I smoke the rest of it for free?"

"Neither."

"What?"

"The friend discount means you get to share this joint with me, and it's free."

"Oh, okay. Well what if I wanted a full joint for myself?"

"Do you?"

"No, but I'm asking what if I did?"

"Well I'd roll you one for yourself. You scared you'll get cooties or something?"

"No, I'm fine sharing one. I just don't understand the discount."

"The friend discount means you smoke for free. I said half, because I'll be smoking with you."

"Oh. I think I get it now."

"Good, now that that's out of the way, get ready to hear Greta Van Fleet in supersonic bliss."

Eddie opens the side sliding door of his van, grabbing something folded up in the back corner. It's an air mattress and pump. After five minutes, he's set up a cozy little smoke spot. You both take off your shoes and climb into the van, ready to get high.

Turns out, you and Eddie had a lot more in common than you'd realized. You were both outcasts in high school, never went to college, fans of rock music, and thanks to your newly found interest in D&D, it was safe to say you were just as nerdy as he was.

You couldn't help but wonder if Eddie found you attractive in the same way you did him. He'd always compliment your outfits when you would go for a night out with the gang, but it was never anything other than friendly. You were fine with that, of course, but that didn't stop your curiosity from blooming. Now was as good a time as any to find out, especially since Eddie had just reassured you that you could tell him anything.

"I probably sound lame for asking this, but am I attractive?"

"Yeah, you are. It's not lame, but why do you ask?"

"I dunno, I just was thinking about the first time we met. I found you attractive." you admit, shrugging as you fall back onto the air mattress. You can see the branches of the pine trees billowing in the breeze, adding to your high.

"You did?" you nod. "Like, in the past tense?"

"I mean, I thought you were attractive back then, and you look the same to me now, so no, I'd say it's more like an always thing."

"Well gee, thanks," Eddie rubs the back of his neck. You don't notice how flustered he is, you're too far out. "Yeah, I thought you were pretty when I saw you for the first time. Still think you're pretty."

"Thanks," you reply, bumping into his side before grabbing his shoulders and pulling him to lay down beside you. "I like smoking with you."

"Ditto."

"Can I tell you a secret?"

"I don't know, can you?"

"Asshole," you mutter. "Never mind."

"No, wait!" Eddie whines, sitting up. "Tell meeee!"

"Ugh, fine!" your annoyance is fictional, but you couldn't help teasing Eddie. "I like your rings, like, a lot."

Eddie scoffs.

"That's not a secret!"

You sit up in objection.

"Sure it is!"

"How? Whenever we smoke, you always fiddle with my rings! I'd be blind to think you felt any other way about them!"

"Okay, yeah, but you don't know the reason why I like them so much!" you boasted.

"You've told me about a hundred times. You like the designs, that they're shiny, that most of them can fit on your fingers too, and you like that I take such good care of them."

"Wow, I didn't know you paid that much attention when I talked."

"What kind of friend would I be if I didn't?" he smiled, and it almost made you angry. How could anyone have such a nice mouth? And to make things worse, he was attentive, kind, and liked being around you. In your current state, the lines between friend and boyfriend seemed blurrier than ever.

"A shitty one? Anyway-"

"Was there some other reason that you were going to tell me about?"

"Yes!" you found yourself a bit too eager to chime in. "Yes. I was going to say that one of the reasons I also like your rings is because they make your hands look sexy."

"They make my hands look... sexy?"

"Mhmm. I'm not entirely sure why, but the rings make your fingers look really nice, and then with the veins on the top of your hands, and the fact you play guitar, it all kind of adds up to this sexy vibe."

"Does it now?"

"It does, it always has. That's why I get so nervous when you play guitar around me."

"Well, shit. This whole time I was worried you thought I sucked!"

"No, not at all! If anything, you're too good at it! I don't want you to think I'm a weirdo who has some sort of hand fetish, because I don't. You just happen to have nice hands and I like to tell people how I feel. You happen to be my very good friend, so that means I'm always gonna hype you up. Not unrealistically, though. Maybe biased, but always truthful."

Your candor has Eddie struggling to stifle a laugh.

"You seem really... passionate about this." he chortles.

"Is this funny to you? I'm pouring my innermost thoughts and feelings to you, and you're gonna laugh? Rude." You huff and cross your arms, turning away from Eddie.

"No, no! Please don't ignore me, I'm sorry. It's just cute to see you get all mushy and sweet."

"Cute? Eddie, I'm a grown woman, I'm not cute."

"What, you want me to tell you that I think it's sexy when I catch you staring at my rings? That I have to fight off a boner every time you take my hand and start playing with my rings and my fingers?"

Eddie brings a hand to your shoulder, and you can feel the chill of his rings against your clavicle.

"Eddie-"

"Do you know how long I've wanted to lay you down on this stupid air mattress and kiss you?" All you can manage in that moment is a shake of your head. "A long time."

"Would you like to?" you ask softly, not trusting your voice to say much else beyond that.

"God, yes."

Eddie gently guides you to lie down on your back, supported by the pillows on the edge of the mattress. He maneuvers himself so that he's kneeling over you, your faces inches apart. He slowly draws nearer, eyeing you nervously. He's taking his time, allowing you the option to push him away or to say that this isn't what you really want. But it is.

The moment you finally feel his lips on yours, you can't be bothered to take things slow. You deepen the kiss, hoping to make up for lost time. It had taken months to get to this point, and you knew that there was no turning back. Obviously, Eddie was a good enough friend that you'd still be able to hang out and smoke like any other time even if things didn't work out. But you had a feeling that things would only get better from here.

"Can I please touch you?"

Eddie grins.

"How could I say no?"

[itsbeeble]

TRY HARD

SUMMARY: Need to get rid of some junk? Well these college hunks will haul YOUR junk! Give us a call at xxx-xxx-JUNK and we’ll haul YOUR junk for FREE! (limited time offer)

GENRE: smut, crack, fluff, minimal angst

PAIRING: Lee Juyeon x afab!reader (ft. sangyeon, sunwoo, and chanhee)

WC: 8.7k (oops)

SERIES MASTERLIST

PERM TAGLIST: @winterchimez @juyeonszn

18+ MDNI AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

WARNINGS: name calling (reader calls Juyeon stripper boy, baby, and pretty boy. Juyeon calls reader pretty girl), swearing, mentions of college parties, Y/N roasts Juyeon like a lot, Juyeon stops a door with his foot, one bed trope (for like two seconds), sunwoo slander (learning from Fawn <3) Juyeon is not god's strongest soldier, masturbation (m and kinda f), p in v sex, implied unprotected sex, restraints are used, dom!reader kinda, bratty!Juyo kinda, really poor attempts at humor, i think there's more but that covers the big stuff

A/N: This was NOT supposed to be almost 9k. It was supposed to be 3k at MOST but i will not lie i will prolly end up doing this again for most of the fics I'm putting out for this collab oops. Anywayyyyy let's kick off the collab with arguably my funniest fic.

The first time you meet Lee Juyeon, you’re dressed in sleep shorts and the biggest sweatshirt in your closet. He’s standing at your door, and for a moment you can’t help but be confused by the fact that yes, there is a hot man in a white tank top and cargo pants leaning against your doorframe. And yes, he is, in fact, there for you and not the girls living down the hall from you. 

And, to be fair, it wasn’t your fault that you thought he was a stripper. Really, it wasn’t. It’s not every day that you see a guy with a body to die for and the face of an angel. 

“Are you some sort of stripper?” For a moment, the two of you are quiet. There’s a look of pure astonishment on his face that eventually turns into him fighting back a grin. 

“Do you want me to be?” His tongue brushes over his lower lip while he scans you up and down and you scoff. 

“No. The girls you’re probably looking for are down the hall, the last door on the right.” You begin to shut the door. “Have fun.” 

“Wait!” His foot catches in the door before you can slam it shut and you hear him swear loudly. “Shit, that did not feel good.” 

“Are you fucking stupid?” You swing the door open again, scowling at him. “Why would you try to catch this heavy ass door with your foot?” 

“I thought it would look cool!” He winces, one hand gripping your door frame and the other cradling his aching foot. “Like in the movies!”

“I don’t know if you know this…” you trail off, squinting at him and realizing you have no idea who this man is. “Stripper boy,—”

“Juyeon,” you can practically hear his teeth grinding as he speaks. You hum.

“Stripper boy,” you bob your head. “That’s what I’m gonna call you.”

“Please don’t—”

“Anyway,” you interrupt again. “I don’t know if you know this, but romance movies are fictional. Of course, it’s not gonna look like the prop door and they’re gonna catch it like it’s nothing. This, however,” you hit your fist against your door, “is solid metal. Not gonna feel good when you catch this shit, dumbass.”

“Whatever,” Juyeon rolls his eyes and straightens his body out. “I was just making my rounds across campus, wanted to see if you’d be interested in supporting your local fraternity.”

You raise an eyebrow, reaching your hand out to take the flier from his hand. 

College Hunks Hauling Junk!

Need to get rid of some junk? Well, these college hunks will haul YOUR junk! Give us a call at xxx-xxx-JUNK and we’ll haul YOUR junk for FREE! (limited-time offer)

Scan HERE to book your appointment!

“College hunks hauling junk,” you can’t help but laugh at the name and take the flier from Juyeon’s hands. He grins at you. “People are actually paying you guys to haul their shit away?” 

He shrugs. “It’s free, technically. You’re allowed to donate, but we’re really just doing it for free. You know, help out fellow students and spread the word.” 

“You sure it wouldn’t be easier to just do some stripping if you can’t pay the rent?” You ask. “Also, what do you mean spread the word?” 

“I’m glad you asked.” Juyeon points a finger at the bottom of the flier, completely disregarding the first part of your sentence. Fuck, his hands are big.

This ad also doubles as your invitation to Tau Beta Zeta’s parties for the rest of the semester. Cash this in at any time and get into ANY parties for free! (Code word will be given at the time of flier being cashed in) (Girls get in for free, Guys $5 @ the door)

“We’re having a little competition with the sorority down the road from us,” Juyeon explains. “Whoever has more people by the end of the semester gets to host the end-of-the-year party and the other frat or sorority has to buy food and drinks.” 

You stare at the paper for a second, pondering your options. Then you smile, look up at the man that you are still pretty damn sure is a stripper, and hand back the flier. 

“I’m good, thanks.”

The door shuts, and you turn to go back to bed. The sound of paper sliding across the ground stops you, and you can see in the faint light that streams under your door that Juyeon slipped the flier into your room. 

Fucking try hard.

The second time you see Lee Juyeon, he’s handing out fliers again. Only he isn’t walking around random apartment buildings with a weird seductive look that you honestly don’t doubt was working. This time, he’s in a hoodie and jeans and walking around the center of campus with people that you can only assume are his frat brothers. 

At first, you almost don’t recognize him, but then his eyes meet yours, and you can see the corners wrinkle when he smiles. Again, you’re confused. Is he smiling at you? 

Your head whips around, trying to find someone around you that he might be looking at, and when you turn around again, Juyeon is approaching you.

“Have you thought about it, pretty girl?” He asked and you stared at him dumbly for a moment. Did he just call you pretty girl? 

“Thought about what?” He holds up that flier again, placing it in your hands similarly to the other night. “Oh.”

“Did you think I was kidding?” He leans down slightly, keeping eye contact. Your free hand places itself on his chest— which you hadn’t realized before was very solid— and pushes him back. He barely moves. In fact, you are the one who gets pushed back. 

“Listen, stripper boy—”

“Juyeon—” 

“Stripper boy,” you mimic the exasperated tone he uses with you. “If I wanted an invitation to a stereotypical frat party with a bunch of drunk 20-somethings and cheap beer and bad pizza and try-hard men like yourself, I would’ve gone by now.” You fold up the flier, smoothing out the edges before holding it out to him. He doesn’t take it, and you can see the gears turning in his brain. 

“So what you’re saying,” he starts to smile and steps toward you again.”

“Stripper boy,” you warn.

“…is that there’s a chance?”

“Absolutely not, there is not a chance in hell that I’m gonna call some college hunks to haul junk out of my college apartment that I can barely afford to live in let alone pay you to take things out of.” Juyeon shrugs.

“Like I said, payment is optional and can come in…” he wiggles his eyebrows at you, “many different forms, pretty girl.”

“That’s gross, stripper boy.” You scrunch up your nose and he laughs. “Also, why are you calling me that?”

“Calling you what?” his smile only grows and you huff. 

“Pretty girl.”

“Because you are a pretty girl.” 

“No, I’m—” You catch yourself in the sentence when he leans forward onto the tips of his toes, ready to stop you. “You know what, fuck you. I know that was a dirty little trick and I’m not gonna fall for it just so you can swoop in and say something like oh nooo, don’t say that about yourself! You’re so pretty! And then you’ll tuck my hair behind my ear and you’ll try to kiss me and then—” You stop yourself again. Juyeon’s smile is almost scary at this point, stretching all the way across his face as if this had been his plan all along and you walked right into it. 

“And then…?” He teases. 

“…fuck you and your frat, stripper boy. God, you guys are such try-hards.”

You hold onto the flier this time, whether too embarrassed to give it back or genuine curiosity, you aren’t sure. You do know that you can’t stop the pounding in your chest, or the heat rising in your cheeks. 

“Who was that?” Sunwoo slings an arm over Juyeon’s shoulder, both men watching you walk away with the flier held tightly in your hand. Juyeon smiles. 

“Just someone I know.” 

“Didn’t look like she was too happy to see you.” Sunwoo snickers and drops his arm down to stand straight. Juyeon turns to the younger man, the smile he had when standing with you now gone and replaced with a permanent scowl. 

“Who even asked you, Sunwoo?”

The younger raises his hands in defense. “I’m just saying! It looked like she hated you. Oooh, maybe you’re finally gonna get that enemies-to-lovers arc that Eric is always— WHOA, HEY—” Sunwoo nearly trips over himself trying to get away from Juyeon as the older frat brother swings his arm out in his direction. “Don’t hurt this pretty face! How else is the soccer team gonna get their funds?” A hand in the shape of a finger gun finds its way under Sunwoo’s chin, and the star soccer player smirks. 

“I think they’ll manage,” Juyeon swings his arm out again, wincing when Sunwoo lets out an ear-piercing squeal. 

It’s like you’re seeing him everywhere. Every class you go to, it’s like he’s always there handing out fliers or chatting with his friends. And, unfortunately, every time you see him, he sees you too. He animatedly waves at you, calling your name or running over to you. Every time, you somehow end up with another flier to add to your collection.

For weeks you’ve been seeing him in places that you swear you’d never seen him in before. You swear that he’s not in your environmental course. You swear that he’s not in your sociology course. He just has to be following you. 

That, or you just have shitty luck with Lee Juyeon.

It must be bad luck, you think as you watch the fire department evacuate your flooded building. It must be, you tell yourself as you stand there in the pouring rain in pajama shorts and a sweater, sans an umbrella. There’s nothing else it could be.

Your eyes narrow at the sight of Juyeon standing near a group of girls with those damned fliers in one hand and some umbrellas around the wrist of the other. Your hands tighten around your arms, body shaking from the cold of the rain. Your lips twist into a deep frown when he approaches you, his eyebrows knit together and his lips pursed at the sight of you. His mouth opens to say something, and you hold your hand up to stop him. 

“Save it, stripper boy. I don’t want your fucking spiel right now.” His shoulders slump a little.

“I was just going to ask if you wanted an umbrella.” He holds one out, the last one on his arm. “You have to be freezing right now, and you’re absolutely soaked.” Your hand wraps around the umbrella, your eyes still narrowed with suspicion.

“Thanks…” he smiles and backs up to give you space to open it. You would never admit to his face that he was right. That you were freezing your ass off in this godforsaken weather. 

“Are you okay?” You look up at him, sniff, and shrug.

“I mean, my home is currently flooding which leaves me homeless for at least a few days. It’s piss-pouring rain out here, I’m in my pajamas with all my clothing inside the flooded building, and now here you are probably trying to get me to buy from your stupid fundraiser thing.” You take a deep breath, finally looking him in the eye. “So no, I don’t think I’m okay, Juyeon. Thanks for asking.” He’s quiet for a moment, and then a small smile breaks onto his face.

“I think that’s the first time you’ve called me Juyeon.” You bite your tongue and turn to walk away from him. “Wait, fuck, Y/N it was a joke. I’m sorry.” He grabs your arm, pulling you back to him. You can see a little bit of panic in his gaze. 

“Yeah, well it was a shitty joke.” You scoff. 

“I know, poor taste, I was just trying to lighten the mood.” He pulls his hand from your arm, and you almost feel bad. It’s quiet between you two, and you think that this is the first time it’s ever been completely silent. Well, save for the chatter of other tenants and incoming sirens and the yells of officers. 

“This fucking sucks,” you grumble, and Juyeon huffs out a laugh.

“Do you have anywhere that you go?” 

You shake your head. “Nah, none of my friends have space for another person in their apartment or dorm.” 

“You could stay with me.” He says it so fast, so suddenly, that you thought you misheard him at first. 

“Excuse me?” Juyeon clears his throat, his cheeks and ears flushing and you can’t tell if it’s from the cold or embarrassment. 

“I— I mean you— I’m just—” he stumbles over his words and you smile. 

“Is the Lee Juyeon embarrassed right now? In front of little ol’ me, nonetheless?” 

“I’m not embarrassed,” he snaps, pressing the back of one of his hands to his neck in a poor attempt to cool himself down. “I’m just— I—”

“Juyeon,” your hand comes up to his arm and he flinches. You let your arm drop down to your side. “Are you trying to ask me to stay with you while the building is being repaired?” 

You’re smiling at him, and it’s like that tiny action brings back all of his previous confidence. He’s smirking again, leaning down under the tiny umbrella he gave you. It’s your turn to blush now, but your eyes don’t leave his.

“Because,” your voice nearly betrays you. “That would be a little…odd…wouldn’t it? A girl living with, what, ten men? People would talk.” He hums.

“But they would also find it odd if I just…left you to live in your car for god knows how long, wouldn’t they?” His hand is on your waist, and the breath in your lungs hitches. 

“That’s true…” you hum and pull away from him. “I don’t have any clothes, though. I’d need to find some before doing anything.” Juyeon clicks his tongue and leans back, a thoughtful look taking over the previous…you don’t even know what to call what you were doing. Was he flirting with you? Were you flirting with him?

“That’s true,” he nods his head. “We can grab some from the store tomorrow? And for now, you can borrow some of my stuff— I mean, if you’re comfortable with that.” He stumbles over his words again, and you can’t help but laugh. “Kevin’s clothes might fit you better but— you’re laughing. Why are— why are you laughing at me.”

“You’re just—” You break into another fit of giggles, covering your mouth with your hand to try and muffle the noise. “God, you’re so dumb.”

“How am I dumb?” Juyeon pouts at you, and you know he just wants you to be comfortable. 

“Never mind,” you wave him off, “let’s just get going. I’m tired and wet.” Juyeon raises an eyebrow, and you roll your eyes. “Not like that, stripper boy.” 

“I know,” he grins at you and tugs you by the sleeve to get you to start walking. “I just wanted to mess with you a little bit.”

“Seems like that’s all you do.” You roll your eyes. “And please tell me you drove here. I am not walking to the house in shorts and slippers.” Juyeon clicks his tongue. 

“As if I would walk anywhere in this weather.” He reaches into his pocket and you hear the click of a button, and then the lights of a car in front of you light up. He jogs forward, grabbing the handle of the passenger side door for you with a bright smile on his face. “After you, m’lady.”

“What a gentleman,” you shut the umbrella and duck into the vehicle. 

“Only for you, pretty girl.” He winks at you and shuts the door.

Juyeon is quiet when you exit his bathroom. Your hair is wrapped in a towel, your body swamped in Juyeon’s clothes. He’s lying flat on his back on his mattress, his legs dangling off the edge and his fingers drumming on his stomach. Your feet shuffle against the ground, the fabric of his sweatpants covering your feet entirely and dragging behind you. His t-shirt is almost like a dress on you, hanging down to your thighs and the sleeves baggy along your arms where it would be formfitting on him. 

“Where should I put these?” Juyeon lifts his head, and you hear a sharp inhale. He’s staring at you, and the gaze is heavy with something you can’t place. 

“You—” his voice cracks and he sits up fully, resting his elbows on his knees. “You can just toss them in the basket next to you. I’ll— I’ll wash it tomorrow.” You hum, doing as he says and tossing your clothing into the basket. 

His room is…weirdly clean. At least, it’s cleaner than you expected it to be for a frat boy. There’s a bit of laundry scattered across the room, sure, but you don’t feel gross just standing there. The floor is clean, the bed is made. 

The bed.

The one bed in the room. 

“Where— where should I set up a spot to sleep?” You wring your hands behind your back.

“What?” Juyeon stares at you dumbly, his eyes blank and jaw dropped slightly. If you look closely, you swear you can see a puddle of drool on the floor in front of him. Unintentionally, you snort and immediately slap a hand over your mouth. 

“I just— I mean this is your room, stripper boy.” You shrug, trying to keep the air as light as possible. “Where should I set up camp for the next three days?”

“You are not sleeping on the floor.” Juyeon shakes his head and pushes off the edge of his bed.

“Then where am I gonna sleep?” 

“The bed?” He says it as if it’s obvious. “The fuck? You really thought I was gonna make you sleep on the floor?” 

“Stripper boy, I am not sleeping in your bed.” You click your tongue.

“Yes, you are, pretty girl.” He takes a step toward you. “I’m not gonna let you sleep on the floor! First of all, you’re a guest. Second of all, I’m a gentleman. Third of all, I’m—” he cuts himself short again and you raise an eyebrow.

“Well, then I’ll sleep on the couch downstairs. That’ll solve it.” You move to the door, but he grabs your upper arm and pulls you toward him. “Dude, you have got to stop grabbing me like that. It’s kind of annoying.”

“Sorry.” He exhales and lets go of your arm, brushing his hand across the skin he grabbed as if to soothe it. It sends sparks of heat through your arm, and you fight back a shiver. “I just— what if we share my bed?” 

You stare at him for a moment.

Then another.

And then another.

And then Juyeon is wincing and stepping away from you. 

“I was just— that was stupid. I’m sorry.”

“I mean…” you purse your lips. “If it solves the problem, then sure.” 

“Wait seriously?” His eyes bug out of his head and you laugh. “You’re comfortable with that?” 

“Stripper boy, if you thought I was gonna kick you out of your bed, then you have a whole new thing coming.” He rolls his eyes. “We can just…I dunno. Put pillows between us?” 

“Yeah, that works. That works just fine.” He sighs heavily. Just fine. He’s gonna be just fine these next few days.

Juyeon realizes very quickly that it will not, in fact, be fine. He realizes this when he wakes up in the middle of the night, the pillows between the two of you thrown to the edge of the bed and your body wrapped around his like a vice. One of your legs is hooked around his, the other strewn across his hip to lock him down. You have one arm tucked under his, holding his shoulder while your free arm has slipped around his waist, under his shirt so your fingers are splayed across his abdomen. Your head is seemingly strategically placed on his chest, and he can feel every breath you release. He can feel every pulse of your heartbeat against his leg—

Wait.

…

Oh, this arrangement is not going to be good for his heart. 

He tries desperately to shift away from you, to gently pry you off of him, anything to get the pounding in his chest to go away. Anything to stop the blood from rushing to his dick like some goddamn virgin. It’s a normal thing. It’s not something to get fucking hard over, Lee Juyeon. Pull yourself together.

It feels like ages before he’s able to pull himself free, nearly falling out of his bed to get away from you. He freezes in place when he hears you shift, a quiet moan leaving you when your sleeping self finds the spot Juyeon once lay frozen is now empty. His heart is pounding, his feet padding quickly against the floor to get to his bathroom. He’s quick to shut the door, cringing at the squeak of the hinges. Gotta get those fixed, he notes. For future reference, of course.

He’s hard in his sweats, his dick straining against the fabric, and his body feels like it’s on fire. Juyeon leans against the counter, tapping his foot anxiously while he stares at himself in the mirror. His cheeks are flushed, his hair a mess, and his pupils are blown out. He grips the marble counter, squeezing his eyes shut and praying to god that he softens soon because he cannot and will not jerk off to you. Not when you’re right there, one thin wall over. 

Thinking that was a mistake. His dick twitches in his pants at the thought of you waking up and finding him in the bathroom, cock in hand, and frantically trying to rub one out. 

Oh, he’s so fucked, he squeezes his eyes shut as he shoves his sweatpants down just enough to be able to grab himself. Just enough for him to spring free and let the cold air wash over him. 

Juyeon is completely, royally fucked, and he knows it as he spits on his hand. He knows it when he wraps his hand around his cock. Juyeon knows it when his body shudders from the first pump of his hand, the brush of his thumb across his tip. He knows it when he fights the whine trying to erupt from his throat. 

He knows it when he cums in his hand, ropes of white covering his palm when he places his hand over his tip to minimize the mess. He knows it when all he thought about was you. You and your pretty face. You who calls him stripper boy, who hasn't hesitated to shoot him down every chance you get. You who he’s pretty damn sure is into him in the same way he’s into you.

It’s hard for Juyeon to get back in his bed and lie down next to you knowing that just a few minutes ago he came in his hand to the thought of you. It’s even harder for him to fall back to sleep when you wrap yourself around him again, relaxing against his body and releasing a contented sigh. He tries so, so hard to relax with you, to steady his pounding heart. 

God, he’s so fucked.

"When did you get here?” There’s a boy— a man, really— standing at the counter when you and Juyeon walk into the kitchen in the morning. The man is holding a ceramic Garfield mug that you assume is filled with coffee, and he’s got his phone in his free hand. You give him a short wave, and he nods back at you. 

Juyeon had been odd the whole morning. Or, at least, the two hours you had been awake and the one hour since he’d woken up and immediately rolled to his feet to get away from you. Something about morning wood. Since then, he’d been keeping a healthy distance from you, flinching away from your touch and giving short responses to your questions and statements. It makes you nervous. Were you intruding? Did he regret asking you to stay? 

“Last night,” Juyeon answers for you, leading you to the bar counter and pulling out a chair for you to sit in. “Y/N, this is Sangyeon. He’s the Tau Beta Zeta president. Sangyeon, this is Y/N. She’s gonna be staying with us for the next couple of days.” 

Sangyeon squints at you, gnawing at his lip in thought. 

“And you guys are…what? Friends? Lovers? Fuck buddies?” You scoff and Juyeon whips his head around, nearly spilling coffee onto his hand. 

“None of the above,” you wave your hand and almost miss the flash of emotion in Juyeon’s eyes. “Just someone who needed a hand, and strip- Juyeon happened to be there.” Sangyeon turns to Juyeon with an inquisitive look on his face. Juyeon shakes his head and turns back to you with two mugs in his hand. 

“I didn’t know how you take your coffee so I just threw some cream and a bit of sugar in there.” The mug he slides over to you is shaped like a ladybug, and you can’t help the laugh that escapes you at the sight of his mug. Normal, compared to yours. Just plain white with text that says ‘Stupid people shouldn’t breed!’. “What’s so funny?”

“Just the…interesting arrangement of mugs you all have here.” You smile at Juyeon, but he just scoffs. Sangyeon excuses himself and pats Juyeon on the shoulder before making his exit up the stairs.

“I’ll have you know that I picked these all out.” He defends, but you can see the embarrassment in the flush of his cheeks, the dark color spreading to the tips of his ears. “You got a problem with them?”

“No, no,” you smile into your mug and take a sip. It’s bitter, and a bit watered down, but you’re grateful for the caffeine boost. “It’s cute, really. You made some great choices, stripper boy.” 

“That sounded sarcastic,” Juyeon pouts at you and you shake your head.

“It wasn’t!” You reassure him, leaning your torso onto the counter. Juyeon stands near you now, on the shorter edge of the counter and he scoffs. 

“Sure it wasn’t. Because you’re the most supportive person in the world of my decisions.” He turns away from you, staring at the magnetic words on the refrigerator instead of at you and you rise from your seat to stand by his side. 

“Juyooo,” your voice is sing-song in tone and Juyeon fights every instinct inside of him that screams to pin you to the counter and fuck you senseless. “Are you mad at me?” 

“Of course I am,” he rolls his eyes and tilts his chin up when you come to stand in front of him. 

“Why?” You frown, but the corners of your lips fight to turn up.

“You made fun of me!” 

“Yeah, but it was all in good fun!” You protest. “I think your choice of mugs was cute!”

“No you don’t,” he scoffs and crosses his arms. “You think they’re stupid.” 

“No,” you shake your head. “I think they’re adorable.”

“Bullshit,” Juyeon says. “You think they’re stupid.”

“I do not.” You groan. 

“You do!”

“Do not!”

“Do too!”

“Do no—” 

Juyeon’s lips are on yours, and you let out a startled gasp, your hand flying up and finding purchase on his chest. 

You try to push him off, you really do! You think about it, you tell your body to push him off, and then somehow you end up pulling him closer, allowing your eyes to slip closed. Isn’t it so weird how that happens?

Your hand is holding his shirt tightly, keeping him close to you while your lips mesh in a sloppy kiss. His lips are rough against yours, his teeth nipping at your lower lip and then his tongue slips out and soothes the bites. The repeated actions have your legs trembling, your breathing becoming shaky, and your hand that isn’t in his shirt rises to the back of his neck to tangle in his hair and pull him impossibly closer to you.

His hands are all over you. They run up and down your waist, brushing under the waistband of the sweatpants he lent you, pushing into your back to keep you close to him. They run under your shirt, grazing the underside of your shirt, and he smiles when he feels you exhale shakily against him. 

You hesitantly, and ever so slowly, push your tongue out, letting it run across his lower lip and you’re a bit too pleased when he opens up for you immediately. He lets you push your tongue into his mouth, lets you explore, and is ever so patient with your hesitance. 

Gently, oh so gently, he sucks on your tongue while you try to pull it back into your mouth and you release the tiniest, almost inaudible whine. 

Apparently, to your complete dismay, this snaps Juyeon back into reality and he pulls away from you. He pulls away quickly, almost stumbling back and into some of the bar stools. You’re standing there, almost in a daze, and both of you just stare at each other for a moment. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do you, and Juyeon can tell that you’re regretting what the two of you just did. 

And it hurts. It really hurts when you open your mouth, going to speak and nothing comes out. He smiles sadly. 

“I should find a way to get to the store. You’re gonna need some clothes for the next few days.”

“Juyeon, wait—” You reach for him, but he just shakes his head.

“It’s fine, pretty girl.” He reassures you, but his voice breaks and betrays him. “No hard feelings. Let’s just forget it happened.”

“I don’t want to forget that!” You protest, but Juyeon just shakes his head.

“Like I said, pretty girl,” He grabs his mug and smiles at you. There’s no emotion behind it, at least not one that you want to recognize. “We gotta get you some clothes for the next three days.”

It’s infuriating how quickly he seems to move on. Three days pass by, and not once has he even hinted about talking about what happened. It was almost like he’d forgotten about it entirely.

Which, to your dismay, was exactly what he wanted you to do. It wasn’t as if you regretted the kiss, at least not in the way he thought. The regret that you knew you had let slip was from pulling away in the first place. You had only meant to come up for air, knowing that you would likely drown in him had you given yourself the chance. Now, due to your own stupid mistakes, the tables have turned for you. 

He’d been avoiding you since you moved back into your apartment two days ago. He’d avoided you in the classes you were now all too aware that you shared. It stung that he no longer sought you out, no longer yelled your name from across the room, and drew unwanted attention to you. He no longer pressured you to call the number on that damn flier that sat untouched on your desk.

“You could always just, I dunno,” Chanhee is lying on your bed, scrolling on his phone while you rant about his frat brother. “Call the number? I’m pretty sure it’s his number anyway.” 

“Wait seriously?” You spin around in your desk chair, turning away from the project you two are supposed to be working on together. 

“Yeah, it just happened to be really convenient that the last four digits of his phone number spelled junk. What do you think of this?” He flips his phone around to show you a coat. A black trench coat, nothing too fancy about it. 

“Eh. You have plenty of those, don’t you?”

“True.” He nods and lays back down.

“Should I really call him?” You lean your head back on your chair, lacing your fingers together on your lap. “What if he hates me, Chanhee?”

“Trust me, Y/N,” Chanhee exhales heavily, “that man does not hate you.”

“But how do you know that?” You ask. “If he told you that, he could be lying to you!”

“Girl,” Chanhee throws his phone down onto your mattress and sits up straight. “If a man hates you, he is not going to jack off at 3 in the goddamn morning— with his frat brothers in the other room that connects to his bathroom, mind you— to the thought of you. Trust me. He doesn’t hate you.”

“You don’t— I’m sorry, what?” Your eyes are bugging out of your head and Chanhee grimaces in a way that tells you that he was not supposed to tell you that. 

“Oops…” 

“What do you mean he— Chanhee, what are you talking about?” Chanhee is already rising from your bed, grabbing his laptop, and sliding his shoes on.

“I think it’s time for me to get out of here,” he tells you with a tight smile on his face. He comes toward you though, holding the flier in his hand. “But, I really think you should call this number. Could really help you both, I think.” 

When the door shuts behind your classmate, you sit in silence for a moment. A few moments, really, just holding the first flier that Juyeon ever gave you in your hand. There’s a little bit of water damage from the flooding, but the number in the middle of the page is still there. It’s almost ironic that Juyeon’s phone number is the only part of the advertisement that isn’t ruined, like something was telling you that you needed to call Juyeon. 

Your phone rings once, then twice, and you hear the line click on the other side.

“Thank you for calling College Hunks, what junk can we haul for you today?”

It takes Juyeon a little over an hour to get to your apartment. By that point, you’d gathered anything that you didn’t want into trash bags and set them in your living room. Each bag is organized to an extent. Things to be recycled, to be donated, or just thrown away. Most of the items that needed to be thrown away were damaged when your apartment building flooded, each damaged beyond repair. Almost like fate, isn’t it?

There’s a knock on your door. One, two, three. Your hands are shaking a bit when you grab the door handle. One, two, th—

You practically rip the door open before Juyeon can finish knocking. He’s standing there, wide-eyed with his mouth hanging open. The outfit he’s wearing is the same as the day he first showed up at your door. White tank top, cargo pants, and some worn-out sneakers. For once, his hair isn’t styled. He’s parted it down the middle, a little bit of gel used to keep it from falling into his face too much. 

“Hi,” you breathe out. It’s like Juyeon is stuck in a trance, his hand still frozen mid-knock and his mouth opening and closing like a damn fish. “You— do you want to come in?” Juyeon blinks. 

“Uh…yeah, yeah sure.” You step to the side, allowing him to walk into your apartment. It’s awkward, to say the least. When you shut your door, the click makes both of you flinch and suddenly you’ve forgotten everything that you wanted to say to him. 

“Is this—” Juyeon’s voice cracks a little bit, and he turns to face you but he doesn’t look you in the eye. “Is this everything?” 

“Yeah,” you nod, “yeah it is. Needed to get rid of some stuff after the building flooded, you know?” You laugh, but he doesn’t and you’re quick to shut your mouth. Say something, dammit. Anything. Your mind is screaming, whether at you or Juyeon you aren’t entirely sure. “Juyeon, can we ta—” 

“I should get started then,” he cuts you off and you grimace. “Got a couple of appointments today, so I can’t linger for long.”

“Right…” your voice trails off. “Yeah, I’ll get out of your way then.”

Plan A is a bust, then. 

Juyeon moves quickly. You don’t know if it’s work ethic or if he wants to get away from you as fast as possible, but it stings. You don’t say anything to each other the whole time, not that you staying in your bedroom the whole time did anything to help the situation. You can hear him moving around, carrying bag after bag down to his car, but not once does he come to talk to you. Not even about the junk he’s carrying out. 

Your forehead is against your desk, your eyes shut tightly as you try to block out the noise, knowing that he’ll be carrying out the last bag soon. The sound of your feet tapping on the ground is almost enough to drown out Juyeon, but not quite enough to drown out the knocking at your bedroom door. 

Your head snaps up, and you spin around to face Juyeon. 

“Hi,” he gives you a tight smile. “I just— I brought out the last bag so I guess— I guess I should go, huh?” 

Don’t, you want to tell him, don’t leave yet.

“Yeah, I guess so.” You stand up and clear your throat. “Here, what’s your Venmo? I can send you some money.”

Juyeon shakes his head. “I already told you that you don’t have to pay me.” 

“Yeah, you did,” you agree. “But I’d feel bad if I let you leave empty-handed.” 

“I’m not leaving emptyhanded, though!” He argues. “I have your junk! Which, surprisingly, all fit into the trunk of my car.”

“Go you,” you cheer halfheartedly. “That’s not gonna stop me from paying you.”

“Pretty girl,” he warns. “I’m not gonna let you pay me.”

“Then I’ll get Chanhee to tell me your Venmo.” You grin and Juyeon rolls his eyes. 

“You’re not gonna let this go, will you?”

“Nope,” you let the sound of the p pop when you say it and Juyeon lets out a dry laugh.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that right?” 

“That’s the plan.” you look at him, and this time he’s looking right back at you. The awkward air has cleared, and it almost feels normal. Like it was prior to the kiss. God, please let Plan B work. “Are you gonna tell me what your account is, or am I gonna have to find some other way to pay you?” 

There’s a spark of something in Juyeon’s eyes, and his eyebrows knit together. Please get it, please get it, please get it. C’mon Juyeon, don’t be dense.

“Some other way?” He echoes, and you mentally cheer when he steps toward you. 

“Mhm!” You bob your head. “Like you said, there are other ways to pay you, aren’t there?” 

He’s right in front of you now, and you swear you see him start to reach for you before he’s forcing his hands back down to his sides. 

“You’re not—” he inhales and squeezes his eyes shut. “Please tell me I’m not misinterpreting this.” 

“Depends on what you think I’m saying.” You smirk, and Juyeon starts to lean down, his eyes flitting from your eyes to your lips. 

“What I think you’re offering,” he speaks slowly and you can feel his breath on your lips. “Is not exactly…appropriate, pretty girl.”

“And I think you’re right.” You’re practically whispering, every movement from your mouth causes your lips to brush against his and you’re so close to caving and just yanking him down to crush his lips against yours. 

Thankfully, Juyeon moves fast and he’s grabbing you by the waist to yank you to him and your hands are in his hair by the time his lips are on your. 

This kiss is heavier than the first. It’s messier and sloppier and his tongue is in your mouth, pushing at yours and licking at every nook and cranny that he can reach. You walk him backward to your bed. You don’t separate your mouths, not when you push him down onto your mattress, not when you sit on his lap with your legs on either side of him. Your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving little crescents indented into his skin. 

Juyeon groans at the stinging feeling, sliding his hands under your shirt and gently pushing it up. He does it slowly, giving you time to stop him, but you get impatient and shove him back until he’s lying down. His hands are still on your waist, and he’s watching with a hazy gaze as you lift your shirt over your head and throw it somewhere across the room. 

“Shit, pretty girl,” he breathes out and tries to slide his hands up to your chest. You’re smirking when you slap his hands away. 

“No touching yet,” you tell him and he groans in response. 

“You can’t just do this and not let me touch you!” He whines. “It’s not fair!” 

“You should’ve thought about that before you ignored me for a week,” you retort and he falls silent. “It’s fine, though. I’ll just get you back with this.” Your hands reach behind your back and you swiftly unclip your bra and throw that in the direction you’d thrown your shirt in. Juyeon’s hands lurch up to touch you again but you’re faster, grabbing his wrists and pinning them down to his sides with a click of your tongue.

“Y/N please,” Juyeon begs, his breath hitching in his throat when you leave him completely, and he can only watch as you unbutton your jeans and tug the rest of your clothing off. He’s practically drooling as he sits up, watching you undress for him. He watches you walk to your dresser, digging through your drawers for a moment before returning with a long piece of silk. “Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking joking.” 

You laugh at his reaction and toss the silk onto the mattress behind him. 

“Why would I be joking, Juyeon?” You stand between his legs, and you grin when he doesn’t even try to touch you this time. You can see the tent in his cargo pants and let your hands trace up and down his thighs. “Take off your shirt for me?” 

There’s a dangerous look in your eye, one that Juyeon can’t find himself wanting to disobey and he’s lifting his shirt over his head without a second thought. Your eyes widen ever so slightly and Juyeon can’t help but smirk. He knows he’s attractive, knows that his body catches people’s attention and he’s proud of that. 

With you, however, there’s something different about how you look at him. Something primal, like a predator looking at her prey and he shifts in his spot. 

“Pants too.” He nods and rises to his feet again, tensing when you raise your hands. “What are you stopping for? Get moving, don’t you have other appointments to get to?” Your hands are tracing the lines of his abs, feeling the way he flinches at your touch. You continue to trace his body as he bends down to lower his pants and boxers to the ground. Your hands raise to the backs of his shoulders, to the back of his neck, and let them slip down to his pecs when he stands straight again. 

You almost let yourself falter when you see his cock for the first time. It’s big, bigger than any you’ve taken in the past, and you can’t help but imagine what he’d looked like when he was thinking of you. Did he look as messy as he does now, eyes practically crazed, his breathing labored as he fisted himself? Did he watch himself in the mirror, imagining it was your hand instead of his own? 

“So pretty, baby.” You breathe out, letting your hand drop down to wrap around his cock. He sucks in a breath, letting it out when he whines at the feeling of you running your hand up and down, squeezing at the base, and rubbing your thumb along the tip. “So pretty.” 

You push him back again, releasing him from your grasp and following him as he slides up your bed. You take the silk in your hand, gesturing for him to put his hands above his head, tying the silk tightly around his wrists so he can’t get loose. Juyeon lets out another broken whine when you straddle him, running your fingers over your core and gathering the wetness on your fingers. You allow yourself to moan quietly, gauging Juyeon’s reaction to you touching yourself. He’s staring with his mouth hanging open, his cock twitching against his abdomen as he watches you sink two fingers into your core. He whines when your body shudders against him, when you curl your fingers up into you. 

“Is this what you think about, Juyeon?” You try your best to keep your voice steady when you speak. “Do you think about this when you touch yourself? When you lock yourself in the bathroom, jacking off to the thought of me like some little virgin?” He doesn’t respond, too lost in the sight of you riding your own hand. 

He doesn’t see you reach your free hand up, gasping when he feels you squeeze your fingers around his throat. Not too tightly, but enough to get his attention back on you. 

“I asked you a question, baby.” You pull your fingers out of your dripping pussy, gazing at the arousal covering your hand and humming in thought. “I guess I should give a reason to not answer, shouldn’t I?”

“Please,” Juyeon whispers out, and you smile when you raise your fingers to his mouth. 

“Go on then,” you tell him, “suck.” 

His head lurches forward, taking your fingers into his mouth and moaning at the taste of you. He runs his tongue along your fingers, and you inhale sharply, your eyelids drooping when he tries to open his eyes, trying to watch and gauge your reaction. 

“Cleanin’ me up good, hm?” You pull your fingers from his mouth and Juyeon takes this time to catch his breath, to gather himself. You don’t give him long though, no more than a few moments before you’re grabbing his cock in your dainty hand and lining it up with your pussy. 

“Fuck,” Juyeon throws his head back, his hands curling into fists, and groaning as you sink down on him. Your walls are squeezing so tightly around him, and he knows it has to be a stretch for you but you act as if it was nothing for you, as if he didn’t hit that sweet spot inside of you just by you sinking down on him. You let your eyes drift shut, fighting back the urge to start riding him until he has nothing left to give you. You can feel him twitching inside of you, knowing that he’s close just from your warm walls squeezing around him. “Fuck, pretty girl, please.”

“Please what, baby?” You coo, the hand on his throat squeezing gently. He whines and you grin. “Use those words, pretty boy. You can do it.”

“Let me fuck you,” he gasps out and you let out a yelp when he thrusts his hips up and sends you falling over his body. 

Your breasts are in his face now, and he doesn’t give you the chance to do anything before he’s bringing his arms down and trapping you against him as best he can. He thrusts his hips up, driving his cock into you at a pace that you couldn’t keep up with if you tried. He reaches his head up, his teeth latching onto one of your nipples and practically forcing you to follow him as he brings his head back down. Juyeon sucks at your breast, pinning your chest against his face with his arms that he’s brought to rest between your shoulder blades. Every one of his thrusts sends you up his body, but he does his damn best to keep you in place, sucking and licking and biting at both of your tits, groaning every time your cunt clenches around him. 

You feel like you can’t breathe, the air being punched out of you in broken moans and pitched whines. Juyeon is in about the same state as you, the noises he’s letting out are louder than yours, more frequent, and it brings a fresh wave of arousal washing over you. 

“Are you close, pretty boy?” You gasp out. “Gonna— gonna cum for me?” 

“Fuck, yes,” He throws his head back, his hips stuttering against yours. You bring one of your hands down to your clit, rubbing furious circles into it, letting your walls flutter around him and drawing both of you closer to your orgasms. 

When you cum, it has you seeing stars. Your orgasm has you crying out his name, has you clenching around him so tightly that he’s finishing not long after you. You sink your body back, rolling your hips gently over his and placing a firm kiss on his lips. Your tongue pushes into his mouth, swallowing the sounds he makes as he pumps white hot cum into your core. It’s less of a kiss this time, though, and more teeth gnashing together and biting at each other’s lips. 

His hips slow down after a minute or two, and you let your body relax against his, reaching up to untie the silk around his wrists. 

“Fucking finally,” he groans and lets his hands roam your sweaty body. “Thought I was gonna die if you kept me tied up any longer.” You laugh, letting your head drop to his chest. 

“That’s what you get for making me wait.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he rolls his eyes at you. “And you called me a try-hard.”

“Because you are, Juyeon.” You roll off of him, staring at your ceiling while you lay next to him on your mattress.

“Whatever you say, pretty girl,” he rolls his head to look at you with a cheeky grin on his face. 

“Why are you smiling like that?” Your eyebrows knit together. He just keeps smiling. “What, stripper boy.”

“You know what all this means, right?” You shrug.

“That I have to go to all your parties now or you’re gonna hunt me down?” He laughs and you smile a bit.

“That, and I get to call you my girlfriend.”

“I never agreed to that.” You deny, turning on your side and facing him fully. 

“Sure you did! It was at the very bottom of the flier I gave you.” He tells you.

“No, it wasn’t.” You frown.

“Yeah, it was!” He sits up, reaching for the second flier he gave you that had been placed on your bedside table. “See? Right there at the bottom in tiny font that I knew you wouldn’t pay attention to!” You squint at the words he’s pointing at and let out a scoff.

“Seriously, stripper boy? If your name is Y/N L/N and you redeem this offer, you are legally obligated to become Lee Juyeon’s boyfriend, whether you like it or not. Xoxo.” You push the paper back into his hands. "When did you even put this on there? We hardly knew each other when you gave me this flier."

“I told you!” He beams and lays back down. “You’re my girlfriend now.”

"Cute, but that doesn't answer my question, stripper boy." He digs his fingers into your side, pulling you closer to him, and grins.

"Does it matter?"

"I mean...I guess not?"

"Exactly."

“Does this mean that when we break up, I get half of all your assets?” He glares at you playfully.

“Fuck, no.”

“Damn…” you sigh and lay down with your head on his chest. “I guess I’ll have to put up with you for life then, huh?”

“Mhm.” He cards his hands through your hair, gently combing through the knots. “You excited to spend the next 75 years with me, girlfriend?”

“Not at all, boyfriend.”

“Yes, you are.”

“…Try-hard.”

© itsbeeble. do not steal, claim, or repost.

[stunie]

SCARY BOYFRIEND EX PRIVILEGES! ❤︎ — Endo Yamato x f!reader ﾉ Sfw ﾉ Cw harassment (not from Endo) ﾉ My response to:

ANON’S ASK — Random thought but what the wind breaker boys protect you in spite of being your ex. Whether it was a mutual, [etc], uncertain, or bittersweet break up is up to you.

Other warnings: one mention of reader typically wearing makeup

As weird as it sounds, you’re not entirely sure if you and Endo have ever officially broken up. Dating through high school was one thing, but keeping the relationship strong after attending different universities was another.

At the very least, you’re 90% sure the relationship died, although you don’t remember exactly when the two of you stopped talking. After you switched your phone number following your first semester at university, you hadn’t even bothered to tell him. You don’t remember why you didn’t bother to either.

Everything is weird now.

Life has been entirely different without him. There’s one less free pocket in your bag now that you’ve started carrying pepper spray with you. You wear your headphones in one ear at a time, and your volume isn’t on full blast anymore.

You actually look where you’re going, and you pay attention to the time— take a mental note that it starts getting dark earlier at this point in the year.

Even with the precautions you’ve learned during your time at university, this type of thing would always be out of your control. How in the world did you get singled out wearing your pajamas and no makeup?

Life wasn’t being fair to you.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing here all alone?”

“Midterms.” You narrow your eyes to the best of your ability, balling your hands into little fists to mask how they’ve started to tremble. “I’m meeting up with some friends now.”

You used to be able to just say “I have a boyfriend.”

You also used to be walked home, so this wouldn’t have happened in the first place. You’re sure that if Endo saw the way you are now, he’d be making a comment by now. Something along the lines of “gonna hurt your hands if you throw a punch with your fists like that, sweet thing.”

Nothing is fair. Why is it now that you start missing him for the first time in years? The feeling comes a little too easily for a relationship that faded into nothing, but you’re too scared to kick yourself in the shin right now.

“That so?” The man in front of you laughs when your fight or flight finally starts to kick in. You take a couple of steps backward, and your frame is suddenly a lot smaller compared to his. How easy. “Where are these friends of yours? Can’t believe you’re out here all by yourself..”

“T-they have my location, y’know.”

There’s the stutter that always gives you away.

He laughs at this, and you can feel yourself breaking into a cold sweat. Keep your words steady. Ignore the way your heart rate is spiking. Do absolutely anything to avoid letting him know that you’re scared out of your mind.

It doesn’t work at all. “They won’t know if you don’t have your phone on you, will they?”

All the words you know seem to slip out of your brain, and your face feels painfully hot. “U-um…”

“You’re exactly my type. It’s a compliment… I’m being nice, so just come with me. You won’t regret it— I’ll make it worth your time.”

It doesn’t like sound an offer, and it doesn’t sound like a suggestion either. Your body freezes against your will, and he catches onto this pretty fast. The pepper spray in your bag seems too far away for you to even consider, and you’ve never felt so helpless in your life.

“Yeah? That sound good?” He moves to close the distance between the two of you with a grin, reaching out to grab your wrist. Your eyes slam shut, lips trembling even when you try to say something to protest. “Damn… you’re so docile for such a pretty girl. Usually, they’d be a bitch, but you—”

“How mean.” Your eyes shoot open when you’re suddenly tugged backward, gasping when your back roughly collides with someone’s chest. “I was waiting all alone. What’s my girl doing over here with you?”

The tattooed arms that drape themselves over your shoulders don’t look familiar at first glance, but the muscles and his scent are. Painfully familiar, as a matter of fact. They’re the same arms you used to cling onto- and you always used to wrap your fingers around his bicep and rest your head on his shoulder.

He loved that.

It all registers in your head as soon as he puts his weight on you, head right beside yours and you feel his hair tickle your neck. He gives the man in front of you an unamused look before turning to you.

“M-me?” You want to dig a hole and stay there for eternity after hearing just how shaky your voice comes out. Endo’s so close that you could simply turn your head to the side and you’d be kissing him.

He laughs, and you feel your face heat up again. Only this time, there’s a gentle fluttering of your heart that comes with it instead. “Yeah, you. What? Did you think I was talking to the loser? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The way you move to latch onto his arm in an instant is all he needs to confirm that your feelings haven’t changed. The man in front of you doesn’t speak— he can’t seem to move either. Your boyfriend has made quite the name for himself, but you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?

To you, he’s your bodyguard— and more, of course, but maybe you’d be honest and tell him about that another time. But to that guy, he’s pure danger. The way Endo looks over his shoulder to give him one last glance is already enough to have his knees buckling.

[izzih22]

them like having a tickle fight or like play fighting or something and paige bragging abt how she won

Winner Takes All

Note: some younger Paige and Azzi since y’all were begging😂

The winter sun was setting early outside the Bueckers’ house, casting the living room in a warm, gold haze.

Azzi was curled up on the couch in one of Paige’s hoodies, legs tucked under her, laughing at something dumb Paige had said — or maybe just laughing because Paige was looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered.

They’d spent the whole afternoon goofing around — shooting hoops in the driveway, playing HORSE (which had, predictably, turned into an intense showdown), and now arguing over what movie to watch like it was a championship game.

“You just don’t have taste,” Paige said, smirking as she flopped down onto the couch next to her.

“Says the girl who wanted to watch Shrek 2 for the fifth time,” Azzi shot back, grinning.

“Classic cinema. You wouldn’t understand,” Paige said, leaning over dramatically like she was offended.

Azzi shoved her playfully, and Paige caught her hand easily, grinning wider.

Bad idea.

Because then Azzi tried to pull her hand back.

And Paige — competitive, stubborn, cocky Paige — refused to let go.

“What, you wanna start something?” Paige teased, tightening her grip just enough to challenge her.

Azzi narrowed her eyes, playful. “Maybe I do.”

That was it.

Paige lunged.

In a blur, she pinned Azzi sideways into the couch cushions, both of them laughing so hard they could barely breathe.

“No fair!” Azzi squealed, writhing under her, trying to get free.

“Life isn’t fair, Fudd!” Paige crowed triumphantly.

Azzi squirmed harder, trying to shove her off, but Paige was bigger — taller, stronger — and she used it, grinning wickedly as she straddled Azzi’s hips and trapped her wrists above her head with one hand.

Azzi froze, blinking up at her — cheeks flushed, chest heaving from laughing so much — and for a second, they just stared at each other, the air crackling between them.

Paige’s smile softened for half a second.

God, she was beautiful.

But then — Paige struck.

She let go of Azzi’s wrists just long enough to start tickling her sides mercilessly, fingers flying, grinning like an absolute menace.

Azzi shrieked, dissolving into helpless laughter, kicking her legs wildly.

“P-Paige! Stop! I’m — I’m serious!” she gasped, tears of laughter streaming down her face.

“You started it!” Paige said, gleeful, laughing so hard herself she was practically shaking. “Now you gotta face the consequences!”

Azzi twisted, somehow managing to get one hand free, trying to fight back. She managed to land a soft punch to Paige’s shoulder — not that it did anything.

“You’re evil!” Azzi cried, laughing so hard she could barely get the words out.

“And undefeated!” Paige yelled, finally flopping down next to her, letting them both catch their breath.

They laid there, tangled together on the couch, breathless and giddy.

Paige had her arm thrown casually over Azzi’s stomach, like she was staking her claim even in victory.

“I won,” Paige said after a moment, smug as hell.

Azzi groaned dramatically, covering her face with her hands. “You’re literally the worst winner ever.”

“Correct,” Paige said without shame. She turned her head to grin at her. “Say it. Say I’m the champ.”

Azzi peeked at her through her fingers, her smile helpless. “No way.”

Paige rolled onto her side, hovering over her, a teasing glint in her eye. “Say it, or I’m tickling you again.”

Azzi shrieked, trying to scramble away, but Paige easily caught her around the waist, dragging her back into her arms.

“Fine!” Azzi gasped between giggles. “You’re the champ!”

Paige beamed like she’d just won a gold medal.

“Damn right,” she said, dropping a kiss on Azzi’s lips softly before settling back against the couch, pulling Azzi tightly against her chest like she had no intention of letting her go ever again.

Azzi sighed dramatically but curled into her anyway, tucking her head under Paige’s chin.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” she muttered.

Paige chuckled, squeezing her waist gently.

“I know,” she murmured against her hair. “You’re lucky I’m obsessed with you.”

Azzi’s heart squeezed tight in her chest.

Because underneath all the bragging and messing around, there it was — that fierce, unshakable love Paige had been giving her from the very beginning.

She didn’t say anything.

She didn’t have to.

She just reached up and laced their fingers together, holding on tight.

And Paige held her right back, the biggest winner there ever was.

[prettydaisygirl]

part 2 of the recent frat!james drabble i’m begging 😭

Just for you, my love! Hope you enjoy <3

frat!James Potter x fem!reader who finally get to hang out ✿ 777 words

cw: fem reader, frat boys, alcohol, a hint of wolfstar

james potter masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

part one | next part

You find some of your beer sloshing out of your cup and over your fingers as you lean forward. Your body heaves with laughter, hand slapping James’ thigh like he’s the funniest man in the universe. He takes the cup from your hand and sets it aside so you don’t spill more. 

When you sit back up straight, stomach sore from your heavy laughter, you see the look on James’ face. He’s flushed, the two of you having indulged more than you should have. But James makes you feel safe, you know you can trust him. Both with you and with your drink.

He runs a hand over your hair, eyes moving softly over your facial features. When he brushes his thumb over the bridge of your nose, you find your cheeks warming. You take his free hand in yours. For a moment, it feels like everything in the world narrows down to the two of you. The loud, booming music fades out, screams and chants of frat bros go unheard. 

“You’re so beautiful.” James whispers, and the butterflies in your stomach explode. 

“James…” Your voice is whispered back just as softly, as sweet as pie. 

He leans forward and brushes his lips against your brow. Your breath catches and you let your eyes fall shut as you take in the feel of him. 

“‘M so glad you’re here…” James’ sugary-sweet whisper is warm in your ear and you feel like you could melt into his arms. The alcohol flowing through your system makes you softer, more open than you normally would be. You take your free hand and run it through his hair. He looks at you like you are everything. 

You find yourself giggling at him, drunk and happy and relishing in his attention. 

“What?” James asks, smiling with you even though he doesn't know what is so funny. 

“You’re cute.” You tell him, and he turns a shade of red you’ve never seen before. That has you giggling even more, but you’re silenced when James lowers his lips to yours. Just for a moment. Once, twice, three times before he pulls away. You two look at each other like you’ve discovered something new. 

So of course you have to go and ruin it.

“Did you mean what you said in that voicemail?” You ask him before you can stop yourself. You don’t mean to ruin the moment, but the question has been on your mind all night. James’ smile falters, then falls entirely. Your own does too, and it’s like everything comes back into focus. The music is too loud, there’s too many people. 

“I thought you said you deleted that?” James’ voice is smaller than you ever want to hear it, and he looks like a kicked puppy. 

“I did!” You sit up, quickly trying to fix your mess as the moment with James slips from your fingers. “But I did… listen to it first. While you were buying the beer.” 

You hate the look on James’ face, his frown making your stomach churn painfully. 

“I didn’t mean it.” James tells you, and his voice is earnest. “I was just angry.” “It’s okay.” You tell him, and you squeeze his hand. His eyes glance down to where your fingers are interlaced. Your hands fit perfectly together. “You thought I stood you up and left your party without beer. I’d be mad too.”

“But it’s not fair.” James says with a shake of his head. Your eyes watch the soft bounce of his curls and you find yourself leaning in his direction once again. 

“I promise I’m not upset.” You say, but he puckers his lips like he’s eaten something sour. You take the chance to kiss him again, and he flusters. 

“I called you selfish.” His brows furrow in a way that takes over his expression and you run a thumb between them. 

“Jamie…” You say for the first time, and his whole face instantly softens. “I told you. I’m not upset with you.”

James stares at you for a long moment before he sighs, nodding and the tension seems to leave his body.

“And besides, I’m sure you’ll make it up to me.” You say with a small tilt of your head. James gets the hint and presses his lips to yours again.

“Oi! Get a room!” James hears Barty shout, but he reaches out his free hand to flip Barty off. 

“See, Rem?” Sirius pipes up from the other couch where his legs are sprawled across Remus’ lap, drunk as a sailor. “They’re ‘hanging out.’ We should hang out, Rem.”

Remus leans forward to press a kiss to Sirius’ lips too.

°˖✧✿✧˖°

© prettydaisygirl

[specific-dreamer]

thinking about there being a tension in the curtis house that’s been building for a few days and over dinner one night grouchily pony says “jesus darrel it’s like you hate us or something” and darry, who is so completely not here here bc he’s trying not to holler or do something he’ll regret, accidentally says “god if only” in the most wistful tone that has both his brothers snapping their necks to look at him

and soda, in a low voice that sounds like it’s taking everything in him to not panic, asks “what does that mean?”

eyes widening darry forces a laugh out and a fake smile that hardly reaches his cheeks let alone his eyes. “i didn’t mean to say that”

ponyboy waits, “but you did, so.” his voice is steady in the way that only a fresh teenagers could be; ready to be angry, better yet, ready to force his actual feelings down because it’ll be easier to hit and holler than feel upset. “what the heck does that mean”

there’s no escaping. he knows this, which might be part of why darry huffs through his nose and leans back in his chair. they’re silent for a moment as darry looks around; soda’s looking down at his plate, obviously having lost his appetite. the clock says it’s 6:36 pm, a later dinner than usual but eating dinner as a family isn’t a tradition that’s supposed to go away anytime soon. ponyboy’s doing his best to stare darry down, but darry knows his baby brother well enough to know that the kid’s staring into space in an ill attempt to not feel anything.

unfortunately, he’s done the same thing too many times to be able to do it again tonight. “i’m not saying i do hate yall, i just think it’d be easier if i did.” and he probably shouldn’t add the next part, but it’s only fair to be honest. “at least that way i wouldn’t be working myself into a stupor for feeling guilty.”

“what are you guilty of?” soda asks in that same melancholy tone he’s been harboring all week.

darry doesn’t want to admit this, but he’s been having these dreams where he’s still in school and the boys aren’t anything more than an afterthought. if he’s truthful those are one of his favorite dreams because it’s the only time he ever wakes up with a smile.

but then, once he gets out the bed and starts getting ready for the day, reality sets in and he’s quickly disappointed. and then he gets those chest stabs that always come along with guilty feelings.

all because he felt disappointed. because shouldn’t he be waking up with a smile everyday since his brothers aren’t living in a foster home with random strangers? shouldn’t he be happy that he got to keep his brothers even if he had threw all his goals away? even if he did “throw it all away” he’s got them and that ought to count for something right?

“it’s not fair,” he ends. “it’d be a lot easier if i did hate yall because id be able to just walk away, guilt free. but that’s never gonna happen,” he adds. darry’s started collecting their plates before he catches sight of ponyboys quivering lip and the shininess of sodapops eyes. “because i don’t hate yall. i love you. both of you. and that ain’t never gonna change no matter how much i wish it on a bad day, hear?”

he feels that guilt creeping up again when pony gives him a look that he hasn’t seen since the kid was five years old and darry shoved him away to go play with the big kids. his eyes are all squinty and his mouth is frowned and he’s taking shallow breaths like it’s all he can do to keep from sobbing. “you promise?”

a quick glance tells him soda ain’t fairing no better. he’s got his head laid on the table, not even bothering to wipe the tears cascading down his face.

darry sighs and leaves the table to put the plates in the sink. turning the tap on he says, “you know, when you were born soda cried his eyes out.”

“really?”

“mhm. that christmas, he made me write santa asking to exchange you for a real pony.”

he can hear pony’s wet gasp and the distinct sound of someone’s chair getting kicked. “soda!”

“darrel!”

it takes everything in him not to laugh yet as he scrubs the plates. “yeah, he told mama he hated you and wasn’t gonna love you unless you became a real pony.”

“darry, you said you wouldn’t tell him-“

“it’s alright though,” he says when he turns around and sees the crestfallen look on ponyboy’s face. “cause i said the same thing when soda was born.”

“you did?” they ask at the same time.

“yeah, i followed daddy around everywhere right? and when they told me they were pregnant with soda, i said i didn’t want a brother because then i’d have to share daddy. fast forward, im holding a baby soda in my arms and i look at his tiny face and say ‘i didn’t want you’ then mama asked why and i said ‘cause i hate him!’ and you know what mama did?”

he’s never seen them both so silent and still, but they’re clearly enraptured by his story because neither make an attempt to answer. “she laughed right in my face. she laughed and she’d said ‘no you don’t. you can dislike him all you want, but sodapop is family and you don’t hate family.’ mama was right, of course. later that night daddy said he found me in the crib with soda, both of us knocked out but i had let you use my arm as a pillow.

and christmas day, pones, you spat up all over my new sweater and soda ‘bout laughed himself silly declaring he loved you and you were his new favorite.”

the plates are drying on the counter with darry takes his seat again. both the boys have shiny eyes but also have a small smile attempting to grow.

darry doesn’t mean half the shit he says when he’s feeling stuck. he’s changes his mind on things every second of every day, because this his first time being a real adult or a guardian, but the only thing he hasn’t changed his mind on is loving his brothers.

even though he wishes he were still in college, darry hasn’t for a second regretted loving them enough to give up his dreams to be their legal guardian and keep them all together.

sometimes he has to remind himself that he doesn’t regret it, and sometimes he has to remind them, but that’s alright. because at the end of the day, they’re all together. at the end of the day he’s got both his brothers and (if he takes the time to spray their perfume and cologne on their pillows) it’s almost like he’s still got his parents too

[crsssie]

let's go gambling! - spencer reid x sharpshooter!reader

"Rossi, please?" You beg. "Reid's an incredible gambler. Also, I used to gamble in the military, so by technicality, I'm pretty good too. It's just 100k."

"I am banned from casinos in Las Vegas, Laughlin, and Parump because of my card-counting ability." Spencer hums. "Also—"

"If you do the math, there's a way to guarantee when to raise and fold. P times N minus one where P is pot and N is number of players in the final round of betting. You can send us both in. Pass as a couple." You offer.

"Stop stealing my lines." Spencer pauses. "Pass as a couple?"

"Your fault for telling me all of this. I was hustling the hell out of my old friends last weekend. I won like, a hundred bucks." You give him a finger gun.

"Fine, fine. Try not to lose all of my money?" Rossi tries.

"Oh, David." You rest a hand on his shoulder. "I'm getting that million bucks whether or not they want me to. I'll pay you ten percent."

Rossi gives you a look that can only really mean that he doesn't quite believe you.

You play with Spencer. He's significantly better than you, and you learn how to count your cards in the meantime, watching him run through everything in his head, and grab his wrist when he reaches for the 8-ball charm, signal going off in your free hand as Hotch understands to move in.

"Sorry. He's got a bad habit of grabbing." You glance at the door, watching as Hotch moves in. The man stands up to run, but Spencer kicks from under the table as the man trips, and you try to grab him, but he's out the door before you can even grab anything.

"Can we keep Reid in there to keep gambling?" You raise a brow, staring at the chips on the table. "He's winning. I want the million."

"This is why we don't take you to Vegas." Hotch sighs. "We need you on sight. Your rifle's in the trunk..."

"Can we keep him there?"

Hotch sighs. "Reid, don't lose it all."

"Definitely won't."

"What do you say? A nice trip to Bora bora?" You wink on your way out.

"I always wanted to visit the British Library." He nods.

You shoot two bullets when you find the unsub. One to the clock to get it to stop turning, and a second to get the gun out of the unsub's hand last minute before he can count down. Hotch is on the unsub immediately, and you watch as he's dragged off, the clocks in the car covered and numbers missing from the plates.

You meet Spencer back in the hotel room, cheek pressed to his in greeting as he hums.

"So?"

"Rossi keeps his money."

"And?"

"Fifty thousand to the banks. They didn't catch me counting cards this time." He laughs when you gasp.

"What happened to the million?" You tug at your shirt, and Spencer hums as he helps you out of it.

"Didn't want to blow it."

"Fair." You stretch your arms. "So... London?"

"Savings."

You boo at Spencer, sighing. "And here I thought you were finally going to get me a nice little present."

"Oh, that wouldn't be here, honey." He hums. "Something nicer in DC."

"Like a house?"

"Not enough money for that."

"Fair point." You tap your chin. "Wouldn't a big diamond necklace look nice on me?"

"And where would you wear that?"

"Nowhere." You pinch his cheek, humming. "Just make sure you don't gamble it off when you think about it."

"Oh, I can't play poker anywhere." He laughs, forehead pressing to yours. "But don't worry. I'll be sure to get you something nice."

If anyone notices the new cufflinks on your jacket, no one says a thing.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Head in the Clouds II

Barcelona Femení x Teen!Reader

Summary: You remain dazed and confused

You went crashing to the ground, skidding across the wet pitch.

"You feeling okay, champ?"

You groan, clutching at your ribs as you roll onto your back. "Can you tell Bright to please leave me alone? You're friends, right?"

Lucy laughs. "Funny, kid. Real funny. You feeling good, though? Okay to continue?"

You huff and let Lucy pull you up, wiping the rain from your face.

Chelsea had upped their game since that red card, truly, and as one of the younger ones on the pitch, you were baring the brunt of it. It seemed that they had forgotten you were once their academy player just like you did.

Though, to be fair, yours was more of you had genuinely forgotten while this seemed more like revenge on their part.

"Atta-girl," Lucy says, clapping you on the back.

"Hey," Ingrid approaches as well," That looked nasty. How are your ribs?"

"Sore," You answer," But I think I can keep going."

"There's that winning mentality!" Lucy says," Sticking it out until the end."

Ingrid gives Lucy a pointed look. "You know, I think I preferred it when you were more protective over her. She's hurt her ribs, Lucy!"

"I'll be fine."

"See! She'll be fine!"

Ingrid rolls her eyes but moves to take the free kick you've just won.

You go streaking up the pitch after it.

Carter and Charles both run up either side of you just as you release the ball from your foot, sending it towards Hampton.

One of them jostles you off balance and you trip, going careening forward.

It must have been a pretty forceful shove because you gain a lot of air, very quickly.

Quick enough to meet up with the ball you've already released.

You smash the top of your head against it just as you land on the ground.

"Ow..." You say to no one as your ribs flair in pain again as your body meets the pitch.

Over the ringing of your ears, you can't hear the roar of the crowd as your head propels the ball just an inch too far for Hampton to get her glove around.

It slots itself in the net but you're still faceplanted in the dirt to have even noticed.

Someone grabs you, Patri, you find, and shakes you almost too violently.

She's saying something but all you can do is mindlessly stare in confusion at her.

"I taught her that!" Lucy's proud voice cuts through the ringing in your ears. "Did you know? I taught her that."

"Sure, Luce," Comes Keira's dry reply.

"What? I did! Even the landing!"

"I..." You say, rubbing a sore spot on your head. "What happened?"

Patri laughs, jostling you again. "You just scored, idiot!"

"Did I?"

"Yes!" Comes the chorus of voice arounds you and you glance around to see the rest of the team.

"Oh...When did you guys get here?"

"How are your ribs?" It's Paredes now and you frown, pressing on them.

You wince. "I'll live."

Keira sighs. "God, Luce, couldn't you teach her anything else? We don't need another Lucy Bronze running around."

Lucy grins. "I think we do. She's my protégé."

"I don't think Alexia would be happy hearing you say that."

Lucy suddenly turns pale, eyes wide. "Oh, shit. Don't tell her I said that."

They go back and forth while you still stare up at confusion in the screen displaying the 3-0 score to Barcelona.

"Seriously," Paredes says," Your ribs. Are they okay?"

"I can still play on them."

"So they're not okay." She gestures to Jona to sub you off.

"But..."

"We need you for the final," She says to you," Besides, the match is nearly over. They're not catching up to us now."

Bruna comes on in your place and you sit, dazed and confused on the bench.

Jana giggles at your face, poking your cheeks as you try to mull over your goal.

"Are you sure it counts?" You ask.

"Are you saying they should disallow it?"

"No!" You say quickly," But...I don't know."

"Tell you what," Jana giggles," If this football thing doesn't work out for you then professional clown might."

You frown. "Huh?"

She mimics the face you pulled when you found out the ball went in.

Your eyes go wide.

"Oh no."

She grins. "Oh yes. It's been, what, five minutes? I've already seen ten separate Twitter accounts with it as the profile picture."

[h8aaz]

⋆ ࣪. — HOT COCOA — .࣪ ⋆

SUMMARY .ᐟ . . . you and sam make hot cocoa on a chilly day.

WARNINGS .ᐟ . . . none besides an established relationship . just good, loving fluff with sammy .

GABS YAPS .ᐟ . . . omg tysm for the love on my blueberry!sam post!! hopefully y'all like this, it came to mind literally bc i was drinking hot cocoa lol. likes, comments, + reblogs are very appreciated!! <33.

the wind blew against the two of you, sam's hand grasped firmly on your waist due to the 'chance that you might fly away', he excused.

you shivered from the cold and chilly air. you hugged yourself tighter into your sweater while leaning into your boyfriend's warmth. you heard him let out a soft chuckle at your state, which was immediately silenced at the pain of your punch to his side.

"shut up!" you scolded, though no actual anger lingered in your words. the two of you made it to the store by your shared apartment, immediately breaking free of sam's hand to run down the aisles.

"they're not gonna run away from you, y'know that, right?" sam smiled as he followed right behind you, watching you frantically grab a pack of marshmallows then circle around to another aisle in search of your favorite chocolate.

"you never know. i mean, with the shit we fight off every week, moving food doesn't seem too farfetched." you countered his tease while he nodded in fair agreement. "okay, but they aren't doing that now so," he grabbed the stacked chocolate bars out of your arms, snatching the ones your grabby hands were gripping as well. "let's not take their whole stock, yeah?"

you huffed as he put the sweet treats back into their box on the shelf, keeping two in his large hand. "see?" he waved them around, "better, right, baby?" he grinned while his puppy-dog eyes were on display.

"yeah, yeah, whatever." you grumbled, caving into his act. "can we pay and go now? the sooner we're home and out of the cold, the better." you grabbed onto his free hand, dragging him to the counter.

after paying and making the devastating speed-walk back to your apartment, sam unlocked the door to let you in. you frantically kicked off your shoes with a pleased sigh; taking in the warmth that the heater brought to your cozy place, a content smile playing on your lips. "thank god." you whispered.

sam had closed the door and locked it before taking off his shoes with a full grin. "feel good, baby?" he asked out with a small laugh as you simply nodded your head.

"y'know what would make it better?" you jokingly questioned back, being met with a hum. "a hot mug filled with delicious melted chocolate topped with marshmallows." you said as you walked towards him, slowly wrapping your arms around his torso. he stared down at you, your smile beaming up at him and making his heart clench at the adorableness you held.

he engulfed you in his arms as he began to lean down. "sounds perfect to me." he replied before placing a soft kiss onto your lips, being met with an equally gentle, yet slightly rough manner. 'i just love kissing you!' is what you'd say before kissing him so eagerly, it quickly turns into something more heated.

the two of you pulled away and began the process. sam taking out your mugs from the cupboard, you heating milk up on the stove, a movie already set up on the tv, and the dimmed lamps illuminating the apartment in warm, fuzzy lighting. sam broke the chocolate into pieces as you plopped an even amount into both mugs, stirring them until they were fully melted into the hot milk.

both you and sam topped your drinks with marshmallows before picking the mugs up and clinking them with smiles. you began to sip your hot cocoa, immediately letting out a squeal while sam laughed at you.

"OW! oh my god- that's so hot! why is it so hot?!" you shouted while sam doubled over. "stop! it's not funny, sam!" you shoved him lightly as to not spill his beverage. "i'm- hah- i'm sorry, honey, it's just-" he bellowed another laugh before catching his breath, "it's just that your face was so funny!"

"shut up! ugh, i hate you." you turned to make your way to the couch, settling down and draping a blanket over you.

"awh, baby, don't be like that." sam followed. "you know you love me." he leaned over from his new spot on the couch to kiss your cheek, pulling some of the blanket onto himself.

"mhm." you hummed in a sassy manner before sighing and turning to him, "i do. i love you." you said, seeing his eyes practically light up while he was sipping his hot cocoa.

"i'll never get tired of hearing you say it." he sighed happily. "and i love you too." he smiled before kissing you, you gladly reciprocating.

both of you turned your attention to the movie afterwards, laughing and talking about certain parts all while enjoying your fresh hot cocoas.

[fivestaralien]

it's okay, we're okay

-> mingi x gn!reader

warnings"+: little angsty, mingi and reader are in a fight but I didn't make it anything intense, fluffy towards the end. wordcount: 1,287 a.n.// I've never really written angst so this isn't anything crazy upsetting. I hope you enjoy and pls comment/reblog it helps me the most!! lmk if I missed anything. check in with loved ones and stay safe<3

//

 “What’s going on with you two?” 

 You look at your shoes then back to where Mingi was, looking as miserable as you felt. A kick to your calf gets you to finally pull your gaze away. Yunho is giving you his signature stern stare, causing you to crack quite quickly. 

 “We’re kind of fighting right now.” He gets you to admit. 

 He moves to sit on the table in front of you and then motions for you to explain further. You glance at Mingi once more, your features going soft when you watch him fake smile and laugh. 

 “It’s my fault. I came home really burnt out after a long work week and I had asked him to do the bathroom laundry. I had a specific pajama set that I really wanted to wear and when I went to check, there was nothing in the washer or dryer. I asked him if he did it and he forgot so I freaked out on him,” the shame in your voice is so prominent, “he didn’t even want to come to this. He wanted to stay home and resolve it but I just had to find a way to leave the conversation. Mingi only followed me out because he doesn’t like being alone even if we’re fighting. Am I a horrible partner?” You rest your face in your hands, elbows set on your knees.

 Yunho rests a hand on your shoulder, squeezing lightly. You were trying your best not to cry in the middle of a party but talking about the fight with someone that wasn’t Mingi was making you feel even worse. 

 “You’re not a horrible partner, every couple fights. You just need to talk to him. Take our princess home and apologize.” Yunho teases with a pinch to your arm. 

 You swat his hand away letting out a shaky laugh. He nudges you when you hesitate and you squeeze your eyes together to gather some courage. You barely found any but you really wanted to go home. 

 Mingi doesn’t need to see you to know you were walking up behind him. He always had a sixth sense when it came to you and where you were in a room. When he felt a gentle tug on the hem of his shirt he knew it was time to go home. A look of relief washes over his eyes when you motion for the front door. He turns to excuse himself then follows you out. 

 Your hand was itching to hold his but you didn’t think he would want to. Mingi on the other hand, doesn’t care that you were fighting. He wanted to hold your hand. So he does. He reaches his arm out in front of him, easily guiding his fingers through yours and clasping your hands tightly together. It felt comforting to be close to him again. To your surprise, as you reach the car he still opens your door like usual but he  doesn’t kiss your knuckles. Your heart squeezes, yet you have no right to be upset. 

 The car ride back wasn’t as heavy as coming over to Yunho and Yeosangs but it was still tough to sit through. When Mingi parks the car outside of your house, he makes no move to get out. The air around you is thick and you were too scared to break first. There was almost a static buzz, so loud to the point that it was nearly suffocating. Your eyes were beginning to burn with hot tears. 

 “I’m so sorry Min,” you sob into your hand, “I’ve been having such a hard week and kept it all in. I guess I had reached my breaking point. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. That wasn’t fair to you at all and I hate myself for doing that to the one person who is always there for me. I screwed everything up.” 

 You lift your hand up to wipe at your tears but he beats you to it. Mingi cups the right side of your face, turning your head so he can look you in the eyes. He then cups the other side with his free hand, his thumbs catching the salty tears trailing down your cheeks. You sit anxiously waiting for a response as he glances around your face. 

 “Can you take a deep breath for me, my love?” His voice is barely above a whisper. You nod and do as asked. Once you have calmed down a little he speaks up, “thank you for apologizing. You are the farthest thing from a horrible partner and you didn’t screw anything up. I could have just done the laundry. I was just feeling lazy and it totally spaced my mind.” 

 He brings a hand down to your knee, “I was never mad at you. I was a little upset, but I knew why what happened, happened. Can we just put this behind us? I know people fight but I don’t like fighting with you.” 

 You give him a sad smile and nod, a few tears still falling. Mingi places his palm against your cheek, pulling you to kiss the side of your head. 

 “Let’s go inside, okay.” He whispers. 

 You sit in your seat, waiting for him to come to your side. When he opens the door a frown forms on his face. You were feeling so much right now your emotions were going on hyperdrive and the tears wouldn’t stop flowing. 

 “I don’t know why I can’t stop. I feel so overwhelmed.” 

 Mingi unbuckles your seatbelt, bringing his arms around your shoulders, hugging you tightly to his chest. He threads one hand through your hair, gently massaging your head from time to time, his other hand rubbing up and down your back. He lets you cry and cry in his arms, holding you together as best as he could, leaving long kisses to your head. 

 “We’re okay baby. It was just a stupid fight.” Mingi continues his kisses down to your cheek. 

 Your grip on his shirt loosened eventually and you were able to pull away to lean back against the seat. His thumb traces along your cheek, watching with careful eyes as you steady your breath. Mingi then lifts you into his arms, shutting the door behind him with his foot. You nuzzle your face into his neck, his scent comforting you. 

 Mingi is too sweet for his own good while patiently waiting for you to change into comfier clothes before carrying you again. He sets you down on your side of the bed then goes to get something from the kitchen. You move to lean back against the headboard when he walks back in with two bowls of what looked to be your favorite ice cream. He waits for you to take the first bite before taking one of his own.

 “Thank you for this.” You say quietly a few bites in. 

 “Of course, baby. I got it yesterday for dessert, but…” he trails off. The both of you staring off into your bowls, “sorry, I didn’t mean to bring it up again.” 

 You shake your head,” it’s fine. It’s behind us now. Let’s not worry about it anymore.” You look up at him and he agrees with a nod before kissing you softly. 

 “I’ll try to be better.” He adds. 

 You repeat them back as a promise of your own. Shortly after the ice cream is gone and Mingi cuddles up against your back, both arms circling your middle, and legs intertwined with yours. A movie plays in the background but you weren’t paying attention at all. It had not even been one day and you never wanted to let him go again.

// all masterlists , ateez masterlist