#?!?!?@?@?!?@?!!?!?!???!??@?¿°¿°¿°¿°¿?!?!??!?!?@??!*@**?!¿♡•¿¿°¿¿°♡♡°♡¿¿°¿°¿¿°♡°¿°♡♡°¿•♡♡°¿♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

[mrkswan]

enhypen reacts to you doing the pc boob trend. ｡⋆୨୧˚

warnings. MDNI. y/n used. “baby”, “princess”, “good girl”. cursing. tit job referenced in jay’s. worship in sunoo’s. possibly more!

i actually wasn’t 100% sure what this was but i think the correct thing came up on my twt tl!

twitter link! [nsfw]

[slushysturniolo]

𝘿𝙄𝙑𝙄𝙉𝙀

⤷ 𝙛𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙮𝙜𝙪𝙖𝙧𝙙!𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙩 𝙭 𝙣𝙚𝙥𝙤𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

⤷ 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨

⤷ 𝙘𝙬: 𝙨𝙢𝙪𝙩(𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙤𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙭, 𝙤𝙧𝙖𝙡 𝙨𝙚𝙭, 𝙪𝙣𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙭), 𝙙𝙞𝙧𝙩𝙮 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠, 𝙥𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙨𝙚/𝙙𝙚𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙙𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣

 Your messages aren’t going through now. He must be on the plane. Your stomach churns with excitement and hope. Matt’s coming to Paris. For you. At least, that’s what you want to believe. What else could it be? He didn’t answer your thirty-plus phone calls last night.

Is he coming to end this? Whatever this was. 

Or did something happen to Leila?

What could make him come all the way to Paris? 

Maybe your dad embarrassed you, called Matt, told him how depressed you’ve been.

Your mind reels.

You want to let it slip, enter a space where anything could be possible. A space where Matt wants you. A space where things don’t have to be messy. A space where you don’t end up like your mother. 

Your stomach bubbles with possibilities. You can’t drink your coffee now.

You should get ready now. Look pretty. It’s been thirty days since you’ve seen him.

Thirty days.

Does he have stubble now?

Does he still run his tongue along his teeth when he’s anxious?

Quiet.

You have to quiet the thoughts. 

Empty bottles of wine are shoved into the recycling. Dirty dishes scrubbed until your fingers are pruned and raw. Like you can erase thirty days in thirty minutes.

His knock isn’t steady this time.

You didn’t change out of the dress from the night before. 

It’s not the Matt you know–it’s the shell of him, raw and restless, eyes rimmed with red and wild.

“Who the fuck was that?” he rasps, shoving past you into the apartment. He doesn’t even wait for an answer. He moves through each room with precision, opening doors, scanning corners.

Like he’s looking for something. Someone. 

And you can only trail after him in disbelief, heart in your throat. 

“What the fuck are you talking about, Matt?” You grab his arms, and he pauses. 

His eyes meet yours. Lip in a tight line.

 “What are you looking for?”

“Don’t play stupid with me.” His voice shakes like he’s holding something back.

He’s always holding something back.

His hand trembles as he yanks his phone from his back pocket. The screen lights up, three percent battery left, and there it is: the paparazzi shot from last night—the date your father forced you to go on. Blurry, pixelated. You’re not even sure how he could tell it was you.

“That’s why you didn’t answer,” you whisper. It’s not a question.

Matt’s mouth twists. “Looked like you were busy.”

“Busy?” Your voice cracks. “Busy? I called you thirty fucking times.”

“Don’t spin this on me.”

“Spin what, Matt? Like, what are you even talking about?”

Silence. His chest rises, falls. His eyes burn into you.

“Why are you even here?” You laugh, sharp and ugly. “You’re telling me you flew all the way to fucking Paris because you saw a blurry paparazzi photo?”

“You shouldn’t be out with random men,” he bites, low.

You bark out another laugh. “Oh, that’s rich. I think you lost the privilege of telling me what to do.”

His jaw works. “Y-you never take care of yourself. You just—you fucking—” He cuts off, voice breaking. “Who was that?”

“Why?”

“Tell me.”

“No,” you step closer, eyes narrowing. “Actually, I’d love for you to tell me why you want to know. You always do this shit—you’re so confusing. You don’t come to Paris because you can’t ‘pick up your life,’ right? But then you fly thousands of miles to tell me not to fuck random men? For my safety? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

His voice drops, wrecked. “It’s not— it wasn’t about your safety.”

You blink. “What?”

“It’s not about your safety,” he says again, softer this time, like the words scrape his throat raw.

Your pulse pounds. “Then fucking please, for once in your life, say what you mean, Matt.”

His face mimics the same one you saw in that dark Pennsylvania childhood bedroom. The same lips that mumbled, half asleep, you left her, start to move.

They part, trembling.

“I love you.”

No one moves.

You want to live here. In this impossible moment. Before he takes it back.

You let your brain slip into it—love. He loves you. Someone loves you.

“Say that again.”

His brows furrow. “Huh?”

“Say it again, Matt.”

He scoffs, shaky. “Okay, well… you didn’t say it back.”

Your throat burns. “God, can you just listen for once?”

His eyes close, jaw trembling. When they open again, it rips out of him:

“I love you.”

“You love me?” Your voice is small, almost taunting.

His jaw locks. His voice is a rasp, low and wrecked. “I’m going to fuck you up.”

And then he’s on you.

His lips on yours. It’s teeth, it’s clumsy, breath harsh. His hands cage your face like if he lets go, you’ll vanish. You stumble back into your bedroom door, the wood rattling as his body crushes against yours.

It’s not soft. It’s brutal. It’s charged. It’s years of wanting, of denying, of needing.

“You are so fucking unbelievable.” He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes wild. “Have me breaking every single rule I’ve made for myself.” His palms slide to your ribs, squeezing until you’re gasping, dizzy.

“And now you can’t even tell me you love me back, huh?” His breath sears your skin as he drags his mouth down to your ear. “You love me?”

His hand knots in your hair, tugging your head to the side, exposing your throat. “This okay?”

You can only nod, frantic.

“Say it,” he grumbles. “Tell me you love me. Tell me I didn’t make all of this up. That I didn’t make a mistake coming here. Tell me—please—” His voice breaks against your ear. “Tell me.”

“I love you.” It’s a whisper. A weight off your chest. It’s real. It’s been painted on your tongue for months, maybe years.

He swallows thickly—you can hear it, can almost feel it in your own throat.

You want to touch. To feel. To have the real Matt in your hands—unguarded, messy, ready for you. Finally ready for you. Your palms slide down his chest, desperate for more, while his grip stays tangled in your hair, holding you in place. His eyes are heavy, dark, watching you. 

“Still in this stupid fucking dress from the picture.” He smirks, rolling his eyes.

“Hey.” You frown, breathless. “Someone didn’t answer their phone, so I so sadly fell asleep in it.”

That pulls a laugh out of him. A real one. His eyes crease, his shoulders shaking, and for the first time in your life, you don’t feel like you’re fighting the past. You’re here. You’re present. 

Matt’s fingers are careful. Trailing up your thighs, pushing your dress higher, sucking in a harsh breath when the lace of your pink panties are revealed.

“This isn’t a mistake.” His voice is gravel, but it’s asking. It’s convincing himself. His eyes flicker up to yours.

“I wanted this for so long, you know.” His thumb hooks under the edge of the lace, knuckle brushing your skin. “Even when you wanted to act like a fucking brat, I wanted this. It wasn’t only ever about lust, either.” His throat works. “I wanted all of you. I wanted to save you. I always want to save everyone, but—fuck—I think you saved me.”

Your chest tightens. The words burn through you, but so does the panic. You grab his wrist. “Wait.”

His brows knit, instant concern. “What? Did I hurt you?”

“No.” You shake your head, cheeks burning. “I’m… I’m on my period.”

For a second, silence. He stills completely, searching your face.

And then he exhales through his nose, like it’s nothing. His lips twitch with something close to a smile. “You think I care about that?” His thumb strokes your thigh, steady, grounding. “We’ve always been messy.” His voice dips lower. “I don’t give a fuck. I still want you. All of you.”

“It’s… you’re not, like, grossed out?” you whisper.

Matt raises his eyebrows. “I don’t know who you’ve been fucking, but a little blood isn’t a big deal.” His lip curls. “That fucking loser you were with last night might have minded, but I don’t.”

You roll your eyes. “He was actually very nice.”

“Shut up,” Matt grunts, shoving your panties to the side. His gaze drops lower, and his breath stutters. “Shit.” His voice breaks on a whisper. “So pretty.”

Two fingers slide through your slick folds, slow, deliberate, and your mouth drops open with a gasp.

He leans in closer, breath hot against your cheek as his thumb circles your clit. “You know, I’ve always wondered…” His voice is rough, low. “What kind of noises you make. How you fuck. If someone fucking you would finally get you to listen, hm?”

Your hips jerk into his hand, helpless, and he swallows the sound you make with a kiss—slow, sloppy, biting at your bottom lip like he’s starving. You pull back and try to catch your breath. 

“I saved you?” You can hardly form the words. His fingers are relentless, thrusting into you.

“Mhm.” He kisses your cheek, lips soft against your tears. “You showed me I can love again. That I wasn’t broken. That I can let people in.” His mouth curves, the ghost of a smirk. “Really insufferable people.”

You bite down on your lip, staring into his eyes as his hand works between your thighs. It’s so dirty, so messy. But it’s intimate in a way that makes your chest ache. It’s like he read your mind.

“You’re a good girl,” he coos, voice low and sure. “You deserve love. You’re not the problem. You’re a good girl.”

Your breath shatters. Tears spill hot down your cheeks as his fingers curl inside you, hitting that spot with every flick. It’s overwhelming — your pussy fluttering around him as he tells you the one thing you’ve never believed:

That you’re good.

That you’re finally good.

“I wanna make you feel good, too.” Your voice trembles, hot tears stuck in your throat.

“You’re gonna cum first.” His tone leaves no other option. “I haven’t had any in a while, and I can tell by the way your pussy is squeezing around my fingers I’m not gonna last. You gonna be good, yeah? Cum for me?”

You nod your head, your chest heaving. 

“Open.” Your mouth opens as he lets go of your hair, shoving his fingers in your mouth. “Suck.”

Your tongue swirls around his fingers, his silver ring metallic and cold on your tongue. 

“Juust like that,” He nods as he watches you suck on his fingers. “Fuck–” Matt looks behind him, his head nodding towards your bed. “Bed. Now.”

You waste no time walking on shaky legs to your bed, lying down on your back. Matt pulls your underwear down, tossing it aside, and your heart pumps, waiting to see him completely vulnerable. But he doesn’t reach for his belt; he pulls you to the edge of the bed.

“Matt, you can’t—I’m on my period.” Your voice cracks, half shame, half warning. You try to squeeze your legs shut, but his palms press them wide, holding you down.

His eyes flash as he hovers over you. “And I told you I don’t give a fuck.”

“That’s cra—”

“Crazy?” He cuts you off with a sharp laugh, leaning down, his breath hot against your skin. “Not crazy. Obsessed, maybe. You think I’ve waited all this time just to stop now?”

His tongue drags through your folds, deliberate, slow, and you gasp so loud your hand flies to your mouth.

You feel Matt take a deep breath before sucking hard on your clit. His groan vibrates through you. “I’m gonna fucking cum just from this. Jesus Christ, baby.”

Baby.

His fingers slide inside, curling, his nose buried in your messy folds. Embarrassment doesn’t even touch you — not when he wants you like this. Messy. Open. Vulnerable.

Your hips rut against his face. You’re soaked. He’s soaked, devouring you like he’s been starved. Obscene sounds fill the room as he laps at you, not letting a single drop go to waste.

“Messy girl,” he mumbles into you. “Gonna cum on my tongue?” His fingers thrust harder, curling up, and you cry out, your legs shaking. “Give it to me, baby. I need it. Want all of it.”

You break.

You’ve cum before — with your own hand in the dark, a porn film muffled on your phone, with some random sweaty man who never even looked you in the eye. But this—this is nothing like that. This is white fire burning in your chest, noises you don’t even recognize ripping from your throat.

Not by someone who wants you.

Not by someone who uses you.

But by someone who loves you.

All of you.

Matt watches you in awe as you come down from your high. Silent, reverent. He sinks to his knees, unbuckling his belt with shaky fingers, pushing his pants down. His cock is heavy and straining in his boxers, the dark fabric soaked at the tip. He palms himself once, groaning low in his chest, waiting for you to come back down to earth.

“Please.” Your voice is broken, wrecked. Your fingers trace along the waistband of his boxers before dipping inside, pulling him free. His cock stands tall, flushed pink, wet at the tip. You give it one slow stroke and his hips jerk, a sharp gasp ripping out of him.

You don’t get another chance—he’s already pushing you back onto the bed, lips crashing to yours. You taste yourself on his tongue, metallic-sweet, as he licks into your mouth. His tip drags over your clit, slick and messy, and he groans, rutting against you.

“Fuck,” he gasps, kissing the corners of your mouth like he can’t get enough. He lets his cock slide against your clit again, again, smearing precum across you. Then he pulls back just enough to spit into your mouth, watching you swallow before kissing you deep.

You’re clawing at his t-shirt, a moaning mess beneath him, while he keeps teasing your entrance with the thick head of his cock, just barely slipping inside before pulling out.

He smirks down at you, hips grinding slow and cruel. “Yeah? You like when I fuck you just a little bit?” His voice is gravel, taunting. “Dirty girl.”

You tilt your hips up, desperate, and feel his thick cock slide deeper into you. You revel in it — the burn, the stretch, the whimper that vibrates out of his throat as your pussy clamps around him. Tight. Hot. Perfect.

When he finally bottoms out, you squirm, gasping as his pulsing cock fills you to the hilt. Your legs shake, and his forehead drops to yours, breath ragged.

“You can take it,” he grunts, fucking into your sloppy cunt slow and steady, making sure you feel every vein, every twitch, every throb. “I know you can.”

His hand yanks at your dress, pulling one strap down until your tit spills free, your nipple instantly hard. He groans, latching onto it — sucking, nipping, his teeth grazing just enough to make you cry out.

His hips get more urgent, faster, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing like sin through the Paris night. You’re babbling, moaning, incoherent as he switches from your breast to your mouth, swallowing every sound you make. Your pussy squelches around him, obscene, messy.

“She’s fucking talking to me, huh?” he grunts into your mouth, chest vibrating as he fucks you deeper. “My messy girl.”

“Tell me you love me. Again,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “Tell me.”

“I love you, baby. I love you.” His gasp shudders through your chest as he fucks you deeper, losing himself. “Gonna fucking cum.”

“In me.” The words tear out of you, desperate, intoxicating.

He falters, hips stuttering.

“It’s okay,” you promise, clutching him tighter.

His eyes roll back, a strangled moan ripping from his throat as he spills into you, hot and thick. His release mixes with yours, messy and unrestrained — your cycle, your ache, your need — all of it pooling together, staining the sheets, leaving its mark.

His breath is soft in bed next to you. Tangled, sweaty limbs molded together. You curl into him, wanting to take refuge in his rib cage. Dry your clothes on his bones and make a bed right next to his pumping heart.

The bottle of wine is opened in the stumbling of your steps. He sloshes half of it onto the counter trying to pour, cursing under his breath while you giggle. Two glasses of Château Angélus, poured to the brim. Red-stained mouths and soft kisses, some staining your teeth.

“I’ve never seen you tipsy,” you giggle as Matt traces clumsy love letters onto your arm.

“I couldn’t drink on the job.” His face is pink, movements loose, hands warm. He grins, leaning too heavily into your shoulder. “Kiss?” he whispers.

Your lips meet his again. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve tasted him tonight. He keeps going back for more like he’s starving.

“You’re really touchy,” you mumble when he kisses your fingers.

“You didn’t expect that?” He moves your hair aside, his mouth finding your neck.

You shake your head, and he laughs — too loud, covering his mouth like he’s embarrassed, then immediately pressing another sloppy kiss to your cheek.

“I guess I didn’t either,” he admits, tugging at the back of your neck, fingers brushing the tattoo he can’t quite see. “This tattoo…” he mumbles.

“You bring it up a lot.”

“Because it’s true.” His lips graze your shoulder, eyes glassy.

“Hm?”

“Divine feminine, right?” He licks his lips. “It’s true. It’s what you are.”

Your cheeks burn, though you blame the wine. That and the soreness between your thighs.

It’s quiet after that, comfortable. The only sound is the clink of your glasses and the tiny sips of bitter wine burning both your throats.

Matt tips his head back against the bed, eyes half-lidded, smiling like a kid. “You know that I jerked off after we slept in bed together in Pennsylvania,” he slurs slightly. “Like, we didn’t even do anything we just slept. That’s why I acted sooo weird in the morning.” 

Your jaw drops, a laugh bubbling out of your throat before you can stop it. “Matt!”

His face crumples a second later, groaning as he hides against your neck. “Forget I said that. Wine’s talking.”

“It can be like this forever, you know?”

Matt’s hand stills on your waist. His breath hitches, just barely, but you feel it.

His eyes drift to the window, to the stretch of Paris beyond it — temporary, fragile. He thinks of his mom. How she would be proud of him putting himself for once.

 And still there’s a gnawing ache in his chest whispering that he’s being selfish.

You grab his face, pulling him back to you. “Don’t think about it,” you whisper. “Just stay.”

He doesn’t answer with words. He kisses you instead, slow and deep, like he can pour his promises into your mouth.

When you finally pull back, you search his eyes. “Promise me.”

There’s a beat. A pause heavy enough to crush.

“…Promise.”

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand. Another text from your dad: "You need to clean up your image. That date was supposed to help." 

You roll your eyes so hard it hurts. 

"Wait," Matt clears his throat. "Your dad set that up?"

"Yes, dumbass."

[a/n: now everyone can stop threatening my life! they did it y'all!! also this isn't the end, i think one more part and then the series will be over!]

taglist: @y3sterdaysproblem @babyt0matoes @grace-sturnz @courta13 @sturnslutz @mattsdivaa @oopsiedaisydeer @iluvchr1s @pip4444chris @izzylovesmatt @sturniolofan-20 @hannahsturns @le4hsblog @silverspringsstare @chrattn1fan @xoxbunni @chrissturniolodailysluts @namelesssav @sorrybirds @meg-sturniolo @sturnwritess @sexyblkmf @mattsstarlet @sturniszn @mattsturnlover1 @hamzahsn1gf @matthewsdarlinggirl @pix3lsturniolo @idkwhatimdoinghereeeeeee @wtfiamad1no @sturniolosluttt @they-luvaaliyah4 @ivysturnss @mattsdiamonds @everythingaboutbags @sippindietpepsii @lynniethe4thtriplet @mattsturnsangel @spaghettislut1 @mamaagirlbehindu123 @megsturn @sturniolosymphony @chriss-slutt @eeyore-of-100-acre-wood @heartss4chris @chrattgetsmewetter @luvuhree @zokhlyxo @neverstopthekashh @idkwhatthisis2009

[musingsofheaven]

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀﹙ masterlist ⋮ request ˓ ask .ᐟ ﹚

RUMOR HAS IT

summary: Everyone knows the frat sweetheart is off-limits. But that rule didn’t exactly don’t stop the rumors. Some swear it’s Rafe. Others say Art. A few gossips led to Bob. Maybe it’s all three. And now? Patrick’s name is in the mix too. No one can decide who you are really with… but if secrets keep piling up, don’t be surprised when your name shows up on the campus gossip page.

pairings: frat president!rafe cameron ⧘ frat vice president!art donaldson ⧘ frat treasurer!bob reynolds ⧘ frat!patrick zweig ᙮ frat sweetheart!reader

warnings: 16.4k words. mature themes. alcohol use. smoking. unprotected p in v. fingering. oral sex (m!receiving & f!receiving). group sex. semi-public sex. voyeurism. exhibitionism. internal ejaculation. clit stimulation. spit play. dumbification undertones. filming / photography. degradation & humiliation. rough sex. breast play. belly bulge. breeding kink. overstimulation. brat-taming undertones. cuckolding. d/s dynamics. dubcon undertones. size kink. read & consume responsibly.

note: This is something I just randomly started writing since last week. So if it feels messy, please bear with me because I didn’t write it in one sitting because I am so busy with uni. (I just write it during breaks between studying, classes, and resting) But I hope people will like it hehe.

A girl like you doesn’t end up as a frat sweetheart without people talking. That house doesn’t hand it out to just anyone. Sweethearts are chosen. Special. Protected. Kept close. The rumors don’t line up. One says you’re fucking Rafe. Another swears it’s Bob, or maybe Art. Then someone else said it’s all three. You don’t say anything, so they keep guessing. And the boys- your boys- (or the frat as a whole) they don’t talk. If they’ve seen anything, they’re not saying. If they’ve heard anything, they’re not snitching. Loyalty runs deep in that house, and whatever’s going on behind closed doors isn’t anyone’s business but theirs- and yours.

You have the title. Obviously and officially. Voted in at the start of the semester. So now you wear their color and represent them. You help with their philanthropy and sometimes you’re their spokesperson. Most of the time you help them encourage other female students to attend fraternity events. And one of your favorites is helping decorate for their events and making it look better with your artistic ideas. You know the handshake. You know the rules. And one of the rules is: no fucking the sweetheart. Which is why no one can agree on which of them got to you first.

Some say it had to be Rafe. That he vouched for you when the boys were still deciding. That he told them you had the qualities and the face they’re looking to represent them. That he’d break anyone’s jaw if they disagreed with his suggestion. Of course, he laughed after but they knew he was not joking. He didn’t say much back then at first. Just watched. Always looking even though there’s a girl is on his lap during parties but his eyes just focus on you when you interact with people.

Someone swears he started fights over you. That he punched a pledge for making a joke if he got one of the benefits when he got accepted. The benefit: you. But the worst just always happens around Rafe. He almost got kicked out for dragging someone down the stairs after they grabbed your waist. That you were the one who calmed him down. Held his face. Said something private. That he only listens when it’s you.

But the others swore it was Art. That he was the first one you actually let close. It started with something small. He started staying late to help you paint banners, offered to carry your supplies after meetings, and once fixed the broken tape dispenser on your desk like it was a deadline for university activities. People always see him get ready to help you clean up after a party when no one else stays to do the same. That he kept finding reasons to be around you. Editing for flyers. Holding the ladder while you put fairy lights for the dinner that the frat is hosting.

He doesn’t flirt. Doesn’t try. That he’s planning out everything before doing anything. Just watches you with this look, like he’s memorizing what you need before you even say it. But there’s a rumor he walked you home one night and didn’t come back until morning. It was one of the party nights at the chapter and you were already tipsy when you left with him to go back to your dorm. That he left his hoodie in your room and it’s the same one you wore to the chapter meeting the next day. But the others say he wouldn’t risk it. That he’s too smart to break a rule that big. Too good at hiding it if he did. Which might be worse.

And then there was Bob. No one really noticed it at first. He’s quiet. Keeps to himself. Not the kind that likes to stand out like Rafe. Not like Art who easily caught people’s attention. Not the type anyone expected to be involved and the kind that hung back, always careful, always polite. Not flirty. Just… considerate. The type that made it hard to tell if he liked you or just couldn’t help being nice. You never sat on his lap like girls do with Rafe. Never left with him after parties the way they say you did with Art. But somehow Bob was the one to notice when you needed out of a conversation. He was the first to cut in when a guy got too close, smiling as he offered you a drink and making it look casual while his hand brushed your lower back.

But people swore they saw something on the bonfire night. When someone gets too drunk and tries to grind on you by the speaker and you look uncomfortable. There are a few who saw how fast Bob moved. How he didn’t even yell. Didn’t swing. Just stepped between you like it was instinct. But Bob covered it up fast. Smiled through it. Denied it so well that it made people second-guess what they saw. He still calls you “dude” sometimes. Still gets flustered when you touch his arm. Still acts like nothing’s going on.

And just like that, no one can agree. No one knows who you’re really with. Maybe it’s one of them. Maybe it’s all three. Who even really knows, right? It’s all speculation what they can give right now since the four of you are not opening your mouths to say something because if one of you does? It’s surely the effect will be more likely towards you, not them. But everyone agrees on one thing: That house doesn’t protect someone like you unless there’s something they don’t want anyone else to touch. Which is why it gets messy when you show up in someone’s territory.

You only went to the party because it was easier than saying no. That’s the thing since you are also representing the whole of them, what you say will matter. One wrong thing will lead people to whisper. It started when someone handed you a flyer earlier that week. You opened the rolled and stuffed flyer from the pocket of your tote bag and you didn’t even realize it was there until two days later. But when you pulled it out to smooth the crumpled paper flat, and read the name of the house. Curiosity climbed up your neck like heat.

They weren’t supposed to be your crowd. Everyone knows those two houses don’t mix. Not because of some deep rivalry, but because of something worse and shallow at the same time. It’s pettiness, ego, pride, and history. They play in the same league. They aim for the same trophies. They chase the same sorority girls. When that much testosterone and money are stacked side by side for too long. It curdles. It turns into something. Tolerating each other outside. Definitely talking shit at each other’s backs. That's what the boys do. They talk behind people like it’s some job they get paid for.

You weren’t supposed to go. Not alone. Not without a reason. And definitely not without one of them. But you didn’t tell anyone. You didn’t owe anyone anything. Not when you walked there just after ten, a jacket slung over your body to cover the sluttiest top you’re wearing with a short skirt. A small sling bag is lazy over one shoulder. Not when someone at the door clocked your face and let you in without asking for a name. Not even when the bass rolled under your shoes the second you stepped inside and felt eyes on your back- curious, cautious, trying to figure out if you were lost.

You weren’t. The house was louder than yours. Smaller with lower ceilings and LED strips pulsing red and purple along the corners. The floor smelled like beer. This feels more owned compared to your house. At least they let your opinions be heard about the interior. Here? It’s messy. There’s the big “EAT SHIT PHI!!!!!” banner in the middle which made you laugh. You don’t even know who invited you. But somehow the flyer ends up in your bag like they know it’s yours. Now you are here standing while other people are looking at you and wondering why you are alone. The heat is clinging to your skin, and people are pressed close in every corner. Shoulders brushing that made you feel irritated but you can’t blame them since the place is small.

The music’s loud enough to blur thoughts, and someone already passed you a red cup near the entrance. It’s half full with something sugary and strong. It’s the usual cheap shit drink every frat serves. You didn’t drink it. Why would you? It might be drugged, oh hell no. Not that stupid, thank you very much. There’s a boy leaning against the stair railing when you turn the corner. Tall, athletic build under a striped button-down with the sleeves rolled. He’s holding a beer and looking at you like he already knows who you are and he’s familiar but you can’t pinpoint who he is. You already saw him before- just… can’t remember where.

“Hey,” he says with lips pulling into a smirk as he straightens up. The word makes your spine prickle. His voice is smooth, casual, and too confident. “I’m Patrick,” he adds, then offers you the bottle in his hand. “Try this. Not roofied, I swear.” You take it. It smells strong and something sweet. “You from around here?” His voice is low. Not quiet, just low. Measured. Calculated like he’s testing the waters what he will do. “You’re asking like I’m lost,” you answer and a little laugh slips out. “I’m asking because I know you don’t belong to this house.” He answers with a straight face before he takes a sip of his own drink while his eyes are still on yours. “But everyone’s looking at you like they’ve seen you before.”

You take a drink after he said that- the feeling burns, but not too much. Though the burns either come from the drink or these words that feel like every corner of the campus is waiting for you to fuck up. His gaze stuck with the way your mouth and throat move after you swallow. “I’ve seen you before.” Of course he has. It's almost like half of the students here already seen you before but he says it like it’s something that should feel like a compliment. Your shoulder leans against the counter. You don’t say anything. Patrick doesn’t either. Not for a minute. His drink’s half gone before he speaks again. “You know they hate when girls like you come here.”

That gets your attention. “Girls like me?” you ask with your eyebrows knitting together. He hums before tilting his head to the side. It almost looks like he’s thinking about whether he should say the next word that will come out of his mouth. “The ones they keep close.” You don’t confirm or deny it but you know what he means by that. You just lift the drink to your lips again and watch him over the rim of the cup. That answer is good enough for him. “What’s your name again?” he asked even though you could tell he already knew. You gave it to him anyway. He repeated it once, slow, almost testing it out. You didn’t correct him. The bass from the music can feel more in the corner and even the floor is vibrating under your shoes.

“Cute name,” he said. “Too cute for those assholes.” He meant the boys. Your boys. He said it casually and maybe almost hatefully like it was funny and ironic to him. But the way he watched your reaction meant it wasn’t. You didn’t reply because you know that you didn’t have to and both of you just walk towards the kitchen when the drinks are emptied. Patrick just handed you the same cup he refilled while both of you kept standing there while sipping slowly and listening to whatever he said next. His shoulder brushed yours when someone passed behind him. He didn’t step away.

“What do they give you?” he asked. “To keep you there.” The question wasn’t loud. Just quiet enough to press into your skin. To know what he meant by that. You laughed a little like it’s stupid to hear that, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Nothing.” That made him smile. “So you give it to them for free?” His voice wasn’t mocking. It didn’t need to be. It’s more like he’s gauging you for something. Information maybe? To know something? Too curious? That grin told you everything. He was already pulling at the strings, trying to see which ones would break you first.

Across the room, someone pulled out their phone. They didn’t know you, not personally. But they knew enough. Knew who you were, what house you belonged to, and who would want to know if you were here. The text went out and hit Rafe’s phone while he was still at the house. He was halfway through a drink and leaned back on the couch with his jaw tight. Didn’t read it right away. Just glanced at the screen. Then looked again: “You see her? Short skirt. Black top. She's at the party. With them.”

There was no name attached. Just someone who owed him. One of those faces that smiled nervously like they’re scared and stayed out of the way. Rafe didn’t respond. Just stood up too fast, tossed the drink on the table, and walked out the front door. Art was already outside smoking. He saw the way Rafe moved and didn’t ask. “What happened?” Rafe didn’t answer and he just kept walking. Art stubbed the cigarette out and followed. Bob didn’t say anything either when he got walked past the porch. Just grabbed his keys and left before anyone asked questions. They didn’t speak in the car. They never needed to.

The house was loud when they got there. Lights spilled through the front windows. Bass thumped against the street. Rafe walked in first, pushing through the crowd like he already knew where to go. Art peeled off near the stairs, watching faces, and scanning rooms. Bob stayed close to the hall with his eyes moving slowly. It didn’t take long before Rafe saw you before either of them did. Through the open space between the fridge and the kitchen wall. Your back was turned. Patrick was close. He had his arm on the counter, leaning in, and his mouth tilted toward your ear. You weren’t pulling away, just letting him do it.

Rafe didn’t move, at least not right away. His hand clenched once at his side, then again. The sound around him faded. It’s like the music is low under the noise building in his chest. Someone tried to hand him a drink. He took it without looking but he didn’t drink it. His brain is frying like it doesn’t know how to work ever since he saw you there. Art found him less than a minute later and he glanced into the kitchen. He followed Rafe’s stare like he was stabbing someone, and saw what he was looking at. “That him?” he asked, calm like he didn’t already know the answer despite Rafe remaining silent.

Bob caught up seconds after. He didn’t ask. He didn’t need to. Patrick’s hand touched your waist. Not for long, but long enough to send a bolt of heat through Rafe’s body that made his fingers twitch against the plastic cup. You didn’t even notice because you were still talking, still smiling, and still standing too close. Then you were gone. All three of them saw it. Saw you left. Maybe they didn't even see you exactly because people keep walking in front of the view. The kitchen was empty the next time someone looked. The cup you were holding sat near the edge of the counter. Patrick was gone. So were you.

None of them said anything. They didn’t have to. The silence between the three of them is already too loud. Rafe’s jaw locked tight as he stared at the empty space where you had been. It looks like he’s ready to pick up a fight with anyone but doesn’t since they’re in another house. Art leaned against the wall and tilted his drink like it didn’t matter. But oh, it does. He’s just trying to look composed as he always does. Bob stayed near the edge of the hallway. His eyes are down but his shoulders are tense so. No one moved. “Don’t do anything,” Bob warns Rafe but he doesn't answer. “Relax,” Art said under his breath. It looks like it’s for both of them. “They probably just went to talk,” Art breathes out when he watches the side profile of Rafe who’s scarily quiet right now. “I’m serious,” Bob added. “Don’t make a scene. Not here.”

They all knew what it meant. The moment you walk away where people can see you, it’s already imposing something. It’s giving people a message because why would you leave with him? Just the two of you. Because Patrick fucking Zweig wasn’t the type to just “talk.” People know it. A guy like him doesn’t just pull girls alone just to talk about film, food, university, or whatever casual bullshit people talk about. Rafe looked toward the back hall with his jaw grinding and his fingers twitching at his side. It almost feels like he’s in a horror movie with how the walls feel like they’re closing in and going to squish people who are standing there. Art sighs before saying, “We’ll look around. Subtle.” Bob didn’t move, but his voice followed: “You go left. I’ll take upstairs.” But no one offered to check the laundry door. No one is smart enough to go inside. Or to think you’re there with Patrick.

Inside the laundry room smelled like detergent and dust. The typical room where people just stay there for a few minutes to wash their dirty clothes and forget that room exists. The lights flickered once when the door clicked shut behind you. Patrick’s hand is still loosely around your wrist. He didn’t squeeze. Didn’t pull. He just looked at you like he was already laughing at something you hadn’t said yet. You were halfway into a smile when he let go. “Sit,” he said, nodding toward the washer. “What?” His hands were already on your waist. Not rough- just sure. “You heard me.”

You made a noise like you might protest, but he was already lifting you. “You’re crazy.” Hands full of your hips. He’s lifting you easily like you weighed nothing, and then your thighs bumped the metal and you gasped a little when your ass landed on the cool lid. “Little bit.” He reached past you and pressed a button. The machine clicked, then started to vibrate under you. It’s low and slow. It’s not even intense, just right. The vibration is climbing up your thighs. Your legs shifted with it. You tried to keep a straight face but it didn’t work. Patrick watched you smile, then leaned forward until his chest brushed your knees. “See?” he said. “I knew I could make you laugh.”

“You’re such an asshole.” You shook your head, biting the inside of your cheek. It’s like you are trying to stop yourself from smiling more because you know he will be smug about it. “Maybe,” he shrugged. “But I made you laugh.” Your knees touched his sides now while the machine buzzed louder beneath you. A soft, steady rhythm that made your body bounce just slightly every few seconds. Nothing hard. Nothing too much. Just enough to make it obvious. He stepped closer. And you didn’t stop him, especially when he pressed his lips against yours. Mouths moving together like both of you are figuring out how to kiss each other. It keeps shifting from slow, sloppy, messy, and steady before he slips his tongue inside.

His body pressed to you and he’s flicking his tongue inside your mouth like he needs to taste the whole of you. The alcohol you both drink, the bubblegum you chew earlier, and the cigarettes he smoked before the party are mixing together the flavor in both of your mouths. Making out with him feels like one of the songs you like. It’s like playing on your head while you are sucking his tongue and he’s letting you before taking back from you to catch a breath a little by opening his mouth. It actually didn’t take long and he’s already wrapping his lips around your bottom lip like he wants it to be popped out more once this is done.

The vibrations grew heavier when the cycle shifted. A deeper shiver rolled up your spine and made your hips twitch where they sat, caught between movement and pressure. His mouth didn’t leave yours. It only pushed harder like he was trying to taste every sound you couldn’t hold back. One hand cupped your cheek, thumb dragging near the corner of your mouth. The other slipped lower. His fingers hooked under your panties to pull them to the side. The action is done slowly and easy like he had all the time in the world. He can feel the wet material of it as the fabric stays stretched and held there by his knuckles. Cold air licked across the wet skin he’d uncovered, and he smiled into your mouth when he felt your body jolt.

He didn’t look down. Just watched your face as two fingers slid into the mess between your folds. The pads rubbed once over your clit before dipping down, gliding through the slick that had already soaked past the cotton. The way your thighs tensed made him groan. “Fuck, you’re soaked.” The vibration under you didn’t stop. It kept rolling through your lower back and into your thighs, syncing with the rhythm of his hand as he moved it between your legs. He didn’t even have to try. The machine did half the work for him. All he did was push in.

Two fingers sank inside. The stretch made your legs twitch around his hips, but he didn’t pull back. He stayed close before kissing you again. It’s rougher this time. You gasped into his mouth when he curled his fingers and found the right spot on the first try. Wet sounds echoed under the buzz of the machine. Your pussy closed around his fingers like you couldn’t help but to suck him in and make it stay in place. It’s like your body is begging him to continue and don’t stop and he doesn’t. Patrick keeps pushing his fingers inside of you- it’s so sloppy and the only thing stopping his movement from being smooth is your pussy clenching from time to time.

The door cracked open behind him. Light spilled in for a second, just enough to catch on the curve of your skirt where it had bunched up at your waist. You didn’t see it. Didn’t hear it. You were too busy moaning into his mouth with your hips rocking into every thrust of his hand like you couldn’t get full fast enough. Art stood in the gap, eyes locked on your thighs spread wide around Patrick’s body. His eyes focused on how Patrick’s hand moved in between them, how it pushed and pulled, and how you keep your thighs unsteady and can’t help to keep them close but only opened by him. His tongue pressed flat to the inside of his cheek but he didn’t say anything. Not even storming in to get you from inside.

Then the door shut again. You were still whining into Patrick’s mouth, grinding down on his fingers like the vibration wasn’t enough without him. You didn’t know someone else had seen. You didn’t care. What matters right now is how all you could feel is the steady movement of his fingers. How his thumb brushes against your clit to add pleasure to you. How it circles there when you shut your legs close. How the wet sound feels so filthy and the heat rising fast in your chest. “You gonna cum like this?” he whispered before dragging his teeth along your jaw. “Right here on this fucking machine?” His fingers pushed deeper.

The washer kept humming even after the door closed quietly behind Art. He didn’t even rush. Just dragged his thumb to the knob, then stepped outside of the house. Cooler air met his face as the patio door slid open. Bob was already standing there when he stood beside him. Art exhaled through his nose. Didn’t say anything at first. He let the silence hang long enough to be noticed. Then, like he’d only just decided to speak, he glanced toward Bob and tipped the rim of his cup he managed to get on the way here. “Found her,” he said simply.

Bob turned his head. “She’s with Patrick,” Art added, stretching the pause just enough to make it mean something. “Laundry room.” That made Bob blink. His jaw twitched like he didn’t want to ask, but he already knew what came next. Art gave him a look. Barely raised his brows and his mouth tilted at the corner. “She was on the washer. Skirt up. He had his fingers inside her.” Bob looked away. Art took another sip. He’s slow and relaxed like he hadn’t just said that out loud. His shoulders rolled once like he was still working it out. His voice dropped lower. “Think we should tell Rafe?”

Bob’s silence stretched. He shifted his weight. Didn’t meet Art’s eye. Art hummed like he was weighing it out, but his mind had already made the call. He was going to tell. Just not yet. Not while Rafe was wound so tight he might knock Patrick’s head through a wall. The timing had to be perfect. Still, it felt good to say it first. To drop the words right into Bob’s lap and watch him carry the weight. Bob looked like he was choking on it. Art stayed there while his eyes were calm. He was already two steps past this. Already watching how it would ripple.

Inside the door, the machine is still humming. The rhythm under your thighs stayed steady, but the pressure had changed. There was more heat now. More stretch. The fingers were gone. Something thicker pushed inside- slow at first, then all at once. The moment he bottomed out, your nails dug into his shoulders. You didn’t remember when he unzipped. It didn’t matter. Your panties were still pushed to the side. Your skirt is still bunched under your thighs. His cock filled every inch that his fingers had worked open, and the first thrust had your mouth falling open around a broken gasp.

“Fuck,” he whispered into your ear. “Tight little pussy, holy shit.” Your walls clenched around him so hard he couldn’t move for a second. His hand gripped the edge of the washer. The other cupped the back of your head as he kissed you again, rougher now, tongue pressing past your lips while he rocked his hips forward. The machine vibrated under both of you. It made every movement shake. Your body jolted with every pump of his cock, the edge of the machine squeaking under the push of his hips. He was all the way in. Thrust after thrust, the sound of skin meeting skin filled the small room. Your cunt was soaked. Every movement dragged a wet squelch from deep inside you, louder each time he pulled out and pushed back in. He didn’t let up.

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, mouth dragging open under his as your moans got higher, needier. The washer bucked once beneath your ass and made the angle hit deeper. Patrick grinned. “I asked if you were gonna cum on my fingers,” he said against your neck. “But I think I like this better.” His hips slammed forward. The breath left your lungs. You couldn’t even answer. Didn’t matter. He already knew. Could feel it in the way your thighs clenched, how your cunt caught around him tight and messy. You whined under your breath, then louder- until his hand came up again, fingers spreading over your mouth. “Mmmf- mmph.” He kissed your jaw, the side of your face. “Shh.” He kept fucking you like no one else mattered.

While outside, it’s still the same. Art left Bob with a dilemma with the question he threw at him. He doesn’t know what to do. Two parts of him are battling- to tell Rafe so he can find you or for you not to witness one of his outbursts again. Bob sits down with his elbows digging into his thighs and head tilted down like that will help him to solve the shit he’s in. The door was locked behind them. Art had told him- no one’s going back in. That part was settled. But nothing else felt like it was. Wind passed and kicked up a loose leaf, and dragged it across the floorboards. Bob stared after it like it had something to say. His knee bounced once, then again, and until it became repetitive. Art didn’t move. Still standing with his arms crossed, barely breathing, like he’d been carved into the porch.

“You should let this go,” Bob said quietly, voice even. “She’s not ours,” Bob said after a while, low. Art didn’t turn. “I mean it,” Bob muttered. “You know you’re not Rafe.” Art hummed. Didn’t look at him. “So don’t make it worse.” He meant it. Meant it more than he could say. They weren’t saints. He knew that. But something about the way it was happening- how easy it would be to set Rafe off, how close he was to breaking something without even being in the room- it made Bob feel sick. Not because he cared about Patrick. Not because he thought it was wrong. But because the second Rafe found out, something would snap. And when it did, they’d all be standing too close.

Art shifted, slowly. Like he’d been waiting for Bob to say it. “I’m not Rafe,” he said. “That’s why I’m not storming in there.” His hand rested on his thigh. Barely moved. But there was something sharp under his voice that made Bob’s teeth grit. He could feel it. The part Art wasn’t saying out loud. He wasn’t going to stop it. He wasn’t going to warn her. He wasn’t going to tell Rafe either- not yet. And that was the difference. Not about control. Not about rules. Art wanted to let it happen just to see what it would do. Just to see what Rafe would do. Just to see what you would do.

Bob exhaled and looked ahead, but his pulse hadn’t slowed. He wasn’t sure if he should’ve gone back and told you instead. Told you Patrick wasn’t a secret anymore. That it wouldn’t stay between you two. But the door had already shut. And even if it wasn’t locked, Art made it clear he’d closed it for a reason. Bob stayed still, tried to stop thinking about what was happening just down the hall, on top of a machine that had probably been broken for weeks.

Inside, Patrick kept your mouth covered. His hips barely faltered as he fucked up into you, pressed in so deep your legs shook against the dryer door. Your moans were buried in his palm, but he could feel every one. Could hear how high they pitched when his cock nudged your spot just right. His grin pushed into your skin again as he whispered it low, almost smug. “You like it better when they’re not the ones doing it, huh?”

You tried to beg again- just a whimper behind his palm- but your head fell back and he kissed your throat instead. “Feel that?” he whispered, cock driving slow and deep again. “Right here?” You nodded fast, body twitching. “Fuckin’- shit- you’re perfect.” His voice shook now. He couldn’t stop moving inside. He didn’t want to not when he’s a few thrusts inside you before finishing. “I get it,” he whispered like it was a secret just for you. But maybe it is, knowing the implications he’s putting in his words. “I get why none of them wanna let you go.”

It’s like his words are turning you on by just talking about them because it became your trigger point and you cum around his cock. Patrick fucks you through it and hands shaking before he spills it inside you not so long after. You barely had time to catch your breath when he pulled out of you. Your skirt still lifts up, pussy pulsing, thighs sticky and twitching, and head falling back. Your heart catches when the door opens. It is so close to jumping out of your flesh and ribs. And Patrick- he didn’t even look startled. Smug little smile on his face, like the whole damn thing had been timed. Like he heard the footsteps long before the knob even turned.

Bob didn’t speak right away. Just stood there with one hand still on the handle, gaze landing first on your legs, then at Patrick’s hands around your waist. Watching the way he’s helping you fix your skirt. You were lucky he even let you finish. Lucky he waited long enough not to rip you off mid orgasm. Lucky that he’s the one who is waiting for you. Lucky in the loosest and most humiliating sense of the word. “Jesus Christ.” Bob’s voice came flat and quiet like all the sound in his chest had dropped out.

Patrick only looked over his shoulder and tilted his head. He is not even bothering to pretend at least to panic that there’s another person inside. “Hope you don’t need to wash something.” That earned nothing from Bob. Not a laugh. Not a scowl. Not even a shift in his face. He just looked at you. Like you are the only one that matters. The one he gives a fuck about. Long enough that it made you press your knees together and sit up like it would somehow erase what just happened. Like folding your arms over your chest could block out the smell of it. The heat of it. The mess between your thighs that Patrick left like a signature.

“You done?” he asked. Not to Patrick. Just to you. You nodded, but it’s barely there and you jump down from where you are sitting. The room had already gone sour. Bob stepped back to give space. He’s not slamming the door but not exactly gentle either. Just pushed it halfway open and waited. You didn’t say anything, didn’t try to explain. What could you even say? Patrick looks like he was proud to be caught. Like he wanted it. Outside, the air hit hard in your skin and was cooler. You followed Bob down the short hallway, past the patio, past the corner where Art had been standing earlier. His spot was empty now, no sign of him, no trace- just the faint burn of his cologne still stuck in the wood railing where he must’ve leaned. You are not even sure if your skirt is sitting right and you left Patrick there because Bob looks like he doesn’t have time for it.

Neither of you spoke right away. The silence is too loud but it doesn't feel like punishment. It doesn’t feel like he’s quiet to make you feel bad. Your shoes tapped low against the curb. Bob didn’t talk as you crossed campus. Didn’t ask if you wanted him there or if it was okay to walk you home. Just trailed a step behind like he knew better than to push. You didn’t stop him. The hallway outside your dorm smelled like cheap weed and knockoff perfume. Someone’s speaker rattled two doors down. Inside your room, the lights hummed softly and the window had been cracked open hours ago, so the air felt cool but stale.

Bob shut the door behind him without looking around. You peeled off your jacket. Stood near the edge of your bed for a moment before sitting there. He didn’t sit until you did. Bob settled on the chair by your desk, elbows resting on his knees like he didn’t know what else to do with them. Neither of you said anything for a while. “I didn’t hear anything.” You blinked, startled. He didn’t even look at you when he said it. “Outside. I didn’t hear you,” he added. “I was already there just right when you two are done, but… I didn’t hear anything before that.”

Your eyes are stuck with your shoes especially with the smear of dirt on the edge of them. His words didn’t feel like a relief. Just made it worse. “Art told me first,” he said. “I thought he was messing with me. Or being petty. He sounded like he wanted it to hurt. You know how he gets. But he didn’t show me shit. Just said it. Said he saw you.” Your jaw twitched, but you didn’t respond. “He looked like he was gonna throw up.” Bob let out a small laugh that didn’t reach anywhere.

His fingers shut tight like he needed something to grip or else he’d start yelling. “I tried to talk to him. Told him not to make it a thing. That maybe it wasn’t what he thought it was. But he just-” Bob shook his head, eyes narrowing at the grass. “He already decided. Said he was gonna tell Rafe.” You flinched. Not hard, but enough that Bob noticed. “I told him not to. I told him it wasn’t his to say.” Bob gulps as he tries to keep his voice even although something is boiling under it. The room stayed frozen because there’s no other noise coming from either both of you besides the fan and the noise outside from the students outside of the room. You crossed the space and sat beside him. Not close. Just enough to let the mattress shift with your weight.

He let out a breath, something low that could’ve been frustration or something worse. “He looked like he wanted a reason to burn it all down. He doesn’t wanna process, he just wants to retaliate. And Rafe? He’s the only one Art can use to get to you.” You stayed quiet, throat tight. “I left him there. Didn’t argue. Just walked to the other side of the house and waited outside the laundry door.” His eyes finally met yours. Your fingers curled against your leg. The fabric under your nails was still warm.

“I didn’t want to see it. Wasn’t trying to catch you,” he said. “I really didn’t. I told myself it wasn’t my business. But when Art described it really well like he’s… provoking something, it makes me want to see it.” His head finally turned your way. Eyes steady, calm. “I didn’t want him to tell Rafe.” He repeats because that part never changed. You stared back, stomach twisting, mouth dry. Bob looked away first. “He’s gonna tell him,” he said. “You know that, right? Doesn’t matter what I say. He already made up his mind.”

You didn’t answer. There wasn’t one you could give him. He reached up to rub the back of his neck like the words were still crawling under his skin. It’s uncomfortable and he wants to take off his own skin to get rid of it. “I’m not saying what you did was right or wrong,” he said. “I’m not fuckin’ policing anything. But I do know Art sometimes can be petty and he knows Rafe can’t control his temper and he’s going to use it to mess everything up.” A pause hung there. He didn’t fill it. Just wait. You try to breathe through the pressure building in your throat as you sit straighter. He glanced over again and his face was softening. “I didn’t bring you here to lecture you,” he said. “I just didn’t want anyone else to get to you first. I know everything- between the four of us is fucked up.”

After that, Bob said you should take a bath. Something about washing off the night, about how you probably felt gross after everything, and yeah- maybe he had a point. You weren’t gonna argue with him. Not tonight. Not with how calm his voice was when he said it. Not with how heavy your limbs felt. Not after what happened, what didn’t happen, and whatever that was. You just nodded, slipped off the bed, and disappeared into the frat’s crusty bathroom with your phone buzzing like a gnat in your pocket.

He didn’t say much after that. Just looked down at his lap, brows pulled in, something unreadable crossing his face that you didn’t have the energy to name. By the time the door clicked behind you and steam started to curl around your knees, he was already fishing his phone out. A few texts came in right after. One from Art. Another from Rafe. Then a few more. Rapid. The kind of flood that made the phone feel like it had something to say. The screen lit up in bursts against his thigh, buzzing once, twice, then again, as if they knew you were there. As if they could smell it on him. On you.

He opened one. Then another. Didn’t reply. Just sat there with his thumb hovering over the keyboard, face blank. The words were short. Rafe’s messages always looked like they’d been typed with teeth clenched. Art felt messier. It's not like Rafe’s, but just as loaded. Both of them were asking where you were. Where he was. Asking if you were together. He knows the two of them are currently together but still blowing up both of your phones like they can’t wait like this is some kind of emergency that needs some urgent reply.

The water stopped running. It doesn’t take you long before you step out of it with a towel wrapped around your body while your hair is still dripping with water on your back. Something about how quiet the room had gotten made it feel like the walls were listening. You didn’t say anything and you just padded over to the scattered pile of shirts on the couch and grabbed the first one that smelled clean enough. It was big on you and covered the shorts you wear which also came from the pile of clothes. Hang off your frame like it didn’t belong. Might’ve been Bob’s. Might’ve been Art’s. Could’ve been Rafe’s. You didn’t bother to ask.

He looked up after you pulled it over your head. His eyes dragged down to your thighs where the hem barely touched. He blinked once, then set his phone face down. “They’re texting,” he said, voice low. “They’re on their way up.” And you were still toweling off the ends of your hair when the knock landed hard. No pause. No second tap. Just one loud, blunt slam of knuckles that made the whole door rattle in its frame. Bob didn’t move right away. He just looked at the door, then at you, slowly. His jaw clenched like he already knew what was coming.

Another knock followed. Then a voice, sharp and already pissed, even through the wood. “You fuckin’ serious right now?” It was Rafe. No doubt. That tone didn’t belong to anyone else. Bob stood, dragged a hand down his face, and muttered something under his breath that didn’t reach full words. You didn’t ask. The shirt you were wearing hung loose over your shorts, collar dipping low at the neck. You hadn’t thought about it until now. Until the way Bob was looking at the doorknob like it might explode.

“Open the door,” Rafe barked. “I swear to fucking god.” Bob got there before you could even twitch. He opened it halfway, bracing his arm against the doorframe. “You need to cool off,” he said, low and even. “Don’t fucking tell me to cool off,” Rafe snapped. “When you’re here playing what, babysitter?” Art was just behind him. Less loud. More still. Eyes fixed over Bob’s shoulder, straight at you. “She’s fine,” Bob answered, shoulders squaring. “I’m making sure no one does something stupid.”

“Is that mine?” he asked. You didn’t say anything. “You know what? No. Actually, don’t answer that.” He looked you up and down like the sight of you physically bothered him, jaw clenched so hard you could see it twitch. “I texted you ten times,” he said. “And you’re just here. You left the party with Bob,” he said. You didn’t speak. Couldn’t. The weight in your stomach was thick. Rafe managed to push through Bob who’s been covering the door for half of the conversation. He also came in first. He dragged over you again slow and full of heat, but not the kind that felt good. It burned, and it stayed.

His eyes hit your legs, the hem of the shirt, your bare thighs, the neckline stretched loose, and stayed there too long. His jaw was tight. Mouth set in that way he had when he was holding in too many things at once. Art followed after him. Shoulders tense, brows pulled in. He didn’t look at you right away. Just shut the door behind him and stood near it like he was guarding it. The air felt hotter. Heavier. Rafe scoffed. “This is what we’re doing now?” You didn’t say anything and were just biting your cheeks.

“You skip the party, disappear without saying a fuckin’ word, end up at the rival house-” He stepped further in. Boots hitting the floor harder than they needed to. “Rafe,” Bob warned, low. He ignored him. “-and let Patrick fucking Zweig put his hands on you?” His voice dropped near the end, tighter than before. “Or his dick. Whatever the fuck it was. You’re not gonna say anything about that?” His words came fast. Not shouted. Just laid out with venom. It’s obvious that he’s upset. It’s obvious with how his words are hard around the edges, how heavy it is, and how spiked it turned out to be. Rafe is very much trying not to snap more because he’s slowly can’t hold it in anymore.

“I didn’t plan any of this.” You crossed your arms even though the room wasn’t cold. “No?” His voice dropped. Not quieter, just lower. Like it burned. “You didn’t plan to go behind our backs and show up at a rival frat party, didn’t plan to let Patrick fucking Zweig get his hands on you, didn’t plan to walk out with Bob while Art and I were looking for you all night?” Bob moved before Rafe could say anything else. “You need to chill.” Rafe laughed but the four of you knew it wasn’t a real one. Just air through his nose, like something bitter caught in his chest. “Don’t talk to me about chilling. You’re the one who didn’t text back. Who didn’t tell us where you were.”

“Rafe.” His name said like a reminder or a warning- not really sure at this point, but Art’s tone is deep and low while he’s sitting on the edge of your desk chair. Elbows on his knees and his hands clasped like he was trying to hold the room steady. “What?” Rafe snapped. “You saw the same shit I did. She walked in wearing that guy’s scent. Let him touch her. Kiss her. What the fuck are we even doing here if we’re pretending that’s fine?” Art didn’t answer. He just looked at you. Oh, the silence that followed after Rafe’s words? It felt too thick to breathe in. It almost feels like there’s an airborne virus through it. Your fingers curling around the hem of the shirt like that could ground you. Rafe’s eyes dropped again to your thighs, then back to your face.

“I don’t even know who you belong to right now,” he said. That hit harder than yelling because how can he say that? Where did he get the audacity because you are about to slap the shit out of him. The room didn’t move. Not even Bob. Then Rafe stepped closer, slowly, measured. “But I’m about to find out.” Your eyes flicked up to meet him. It looks different now under the light. Heat coiled low in your skin. It’s not from the tension but from the weight of the silence pressing down. He stood too close. You just know that his voice earlier is low and thick like it wanted to grab your throat. Like it want to prove something without being smart about it. There’s part of you that never learned when to quit, a habit you learned from when you were younger and only got worse when you stayed at their house, it’s stirring behind your ribs now.

“Maybe I’m just exploring my options,” you said confidently. Like you know it will piss them more but you say it for the thrill of it or maybe just to get back at him a little. There’s a small smile forming at your lips but it disappeared fast enough. You didn’t back away when his eyes narrowed. Didn’t blink. Just leaned your weight into one hip and dragged the towel once more down the ends of your hair before tossing it over the back of your chair. Bob let out a low snort like he couldn’t help it. It broke through the quiet like glass cracking under a shoe. You know Bob has this same expression he has all night even when you are not looking at him. It’s the same tired expression. Not annoyed. Just resigned. Like knew this would happen.

Rafe’s jaw clenched so tight before he released a ‘whoosh’ sound from his mouth like he was trying to calm himself before he could truly snap. “You think this is funny?” His eyes didn’t leave yours, didn’t blink. “I already let you fuck around with Art. I didn’t say shit when it was Bob, either. But now Patrick fucking Zweig? You letting him taste you too?” The words scraped like they’d been dragged out of him. His hand lifted halfway like he might slam it against the wall just to have somewhere to put the feeling, but he didn’t. He just stood there, seething, taking in the way you leaned back against the desk, bare legs crossed, smile still tugging at your mouth like none of this bothered you.

“Didn’t realize I was dating any of you,” you said, lifting your brows. “Did I miss the talk?” Art moved before Rafe could. His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t crack. The only thing you noticed the most was that the way he looked at you had changed. Eyes serious but tired. His hands flexed once before settling again in his lap. “So none of it meant anything to you?” That softened something. For a second, the brat in your chest slipped. Not enough to kill it, but enough to let a pause settle before you spoke again. “Don’t twist it like that,” you muttered. “I never said that.” Your eyes glare at him and you are biting your cheeks because you know how Art and his words work sometimes. How can they easily get into your system without him even trying to be mean about it.

“You didn’t have to.” His tone wasn’t angry. Just quiet. Hurt in a way that stung more than yelling. His eyes dropped like he couldn’t hold yours anymore, fingers curling tighter between his knees. Bob finally leaned forward, elbows on his thighs. “You know she’s pushing,” he said to no one in particular. His voice was low. You don’t even know what the point of his saying this is. Is this his way to save things? To calm it down a little? To make things easy for you? Because you can’t see the angle he’s going for with it. But his voice is patient like he was the only one who remembered how you were when you wanted to pick a fight. “She does this when she’s scared.”

“I’m not scared,” you shot back, faster than you meant to. He didn’t argue. Just looked at you, steady, and let the silence answer for him. Rafe stepped in close again, close enough to feel his breath when he spoke. “You’re not scared?” His mouth brushed near your ear, not soft. “Mmh.” The sound rumbled low in his throat. “Figured.” He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t even look at the others. But you felt it shift behind you. The quiet presence of Bob was somewhere near the far wall. Art standing farther off, shoulder resting against something solid. But he’s still watching.

They’re not opening their mouths because they know they didn’t have to. This wasn’t about them, not yet, and they can see what’s building here. It was about what you’d let Rafe drag out of you first. His hand moved now. Just two fingers. It’s slow, teasing, and sliding over your outer thigh, then pausing. “You’re wet already,” he murmured. Like he didn’t even have to touch it to know what the state of it was. “Don’t even need help with that part, do you?” Your breath hitched. The back of your throat went tight. He leaned closer until his nose brushed the shell of your ear. “Just wanna get used up.”

Rafe didn’t move his hand right away. It looks like he’s making it linger there to punish you. To make you feel like he knows how filthy you are. That he can feel how you’re literally heating up and this is not your normal body temperature while his thumb is still pressed gently to your thigh. You must be crazy for almost feeling the heat of his palm through the thin fabric of your shorts. His gaze stuck on your face long enough to feel like he was searching for something before he opened his mouth again. “You want this?” His voice was low but steady. The kind that didn’t leave room for confusion. “All of us?” The question landed heavier than the touch. It didn’t rush you.

A slow swallow moved down your throat. “Yeah.” He tilted his head slightly, still watching your face. “Say it again so they hear it.” You could feel the quiet weight of Bob somewhere near the far wall and Art leaning casually with his shoulder against the dresser. You close your eyes as you try not to brat about. Speaking things like this in front of others is not a very happy experience. It’s humiliating. It’s shameful. What could possibly go wrong once you said it…? Many things are entering your head but you just exhale and take some breath for courage before you open your mouth and let out the soft words. “I want it.”

Rafe’s mouth curled at the edge. He finally eased his fingers from your thigh, but only so he could step back half a pace and glance at the others. “Help me out, then. She’s overdressed.” Art was the first to move. The bed dipped under his knee as he climbed up beside you. The scent of his cologne brushes over your skin. His hands were warm when they caught the hem of the frat shirt. He’s lifting it until the loose cotton peels up past your ribs.

Bob came in from the other side, fingers brushing along your waist as he helped pull it over your head. The shirt slid free, leaving your bra straps snug against your shoulders. Cool air prickled over your skin where their hands had just been. Rafe stayed close enough to see everything. His belt was undone now, the sound of the buckle faint as his hand lingered at the waist of his jeans. “Bra next,” he said, but not to you- his eyes flicked to Bob.

The clasp gave way with one twist of Bob’s fingers. The straps slipped down your arms until the cups fell away completely. He dropped it to the floor, gaze lingering on the soft curve of your breasts before his thumb swept lightly under one. Art’s hand had already found the edge of your shorts. He hooked his fingers inside, tugging them down slowly enough for the fabric to catch on your thighs. The cotton brushed along your skin until it cleared your knees. He left them pooled at your ankles, fingertips drifting higher again to the waistband of your panties.

“Tell me,” Rafe murmured, stepping in close enough that his shadow cut over your bare chest. His eyes locked on yours. “Do you really still want this?” Your answer came out in a breath. “Yes.” Words are certain and sure like nothing can ever change your mind after that. The obvious twitch in the corner of his mouth is caught by yours and the tension in the room shifts like someone has opened the dam and water is breaking out. Your legs brushed the mattress. The bed creaked under your weight when you sat, then again when he pushed you further, until your shoulders sank into the thin pillow.

“Spread a little,” he said with a low but not rough voice. His palms rested heavily on your knees and opened them apart until the cool air reached the damp heat between your thighs. Bob stayed close at your side, the mattress dipping under his knee. He bent low, his mouth brushing the top curve of your breast before his lips closed around it, warm and wet. A soft pull drew the skin tight, his tongue sweeping over your nipple.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured against you. The words were low enough that only you could hear. His hand smoothed up your side. “Don’t need to. We’ll take care of you.” Fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your panties. Art didn’t yank them down. He tugged slowly, letting the fabric drag over your clit before peeling it past your hips. They joined the rest of their clothes on the floor. Bob’s free hand brushed the edge of your other breast, thumb circling lazily while his mouth worked over the first. You reached down without thinking, fingers finding the firm line of his thigh and you can feel the rough feel of his pants under your palm.

Rafe is sitting back in the desk chair on the other side of the room. His eyes are just focused on your body like it’s some canvas he’s watching to finish. When he leaned into it the wood creaked under his weight. He managed to work on his zipper and belt while the three of you are busy in the bed. One arm rested on the armrest while the other worked slow strokes over his cock. His gaze didn’t waver.

Art lowered himself between your thighs. His thumbs spread you open, the wet heat of your slit catching the light as he looked at you. “Still soft from earlier,” he muttered, not hiding the edge in his tone. You knew who he meant. Bob’s mouth left your breast with a quiet pop. His lips dragged lower to press a kiss just under it, the warmth of his breath sinking into your skin. “Ignore him,” he whispered, voice calm even while his fingers pinched your nipple lightly. “Right now it’s us. Just us.” Art leaned in, his breath ghosting over your clit before his tongue pressed flat against it, slow and steady.

Art’s tongue pressed firmer against your clit, drawing a slow circle before flicking the tip over it. Warmth rushed to your cheeks, the sound that slipped from you muffled against Bob’s shoulder when his mouth latched onto your other nipple. A low hum came from Art, the vibration making your thighs twitch against his arms. He dragged his tongue lower, flattening it to taste along your slit before dipping into you. The wet push of it sent your breath stuttering, hips shifting toward him without thinking.

Bob’s hand found the back of your neck, steadying you while his mouth worked over your chest. The movement was constant- gentle and teasing in a way he knows you will like. Teeth often grazed the nipple before using his tongue to soothe the bud. It just rotates in three actions: suck, bite, and lick. “That’s it,” he murmured into your skin with a low voice that was enough for Rafe not to hear from the other side of the room. “Don’t hold back on me.” Words feel hot in your skin when he says them.

Your palm moved over the hard line in Bob’s pants. Heat throbbed there under your touch and the fabric grew harder than he already is as you rubbed along his outline. His breath was held up in his throat for a moment when he felt your hand, but he didn't let that stop him from playing with your chest. The buckle of his belt remains cold against your hand as you try to work it open. Clinking sounds are obvious in the room but can be masked more by the wet sounds between your thighs.

Art pulls back just enough to stare at you before he looks down at your pussy to spit against your clit. He watches the clear and slippery slide down from your clit down to your ass before he goes back to putting his mouth around the bud. He kept his mouth sealed over and suck there until your toes curled into the thin bedding. Fingers find their way between between your folds- one slides into your pussy without any struggle. The first stretch makes the glide almost too smooth. A second joined quickly, curling up as his mouth kept working on you.

Bob’s zipper gave way under your hand, the teeth parting until you could slip inside. The heat of his cock under the thin cotton made your pulse jump. Your fingers curled around him to give him slow first strokes. His hips shift almost too quickly in your hand while his lips stay busy at your chest. Your hand moves in the same motion and pace the same way his tongue flicks lazily against your peaked nipple he’d trapped between his teeth. The pleasure is almost overwhelming. Mouths on your chest and cunt along with both of their hands moving too.

From the desk chair, Rafe remained glued there and didn’t move except for his hand that was moving to give his cock slow strokes. The open waistband of his pants hung loose on his hips and his shirt was already gone. His gaze didn’t leave the point where Art’s face was buried between your legs, but every now and then his eyes flicked up to watch your mouth fall open or the way your hand worked Bob harder. There was no rush in him. Just steady and quietly watching like he wanted every second to drag.

Art fucked his fingers into you faster now, his thumb grinding against your clit as his tongue moved lower to push into your cunt. The wet slide of it was matched by the stretch of his fingers, his other hand keeping your thigh pinned so you couldn’t close around his head. Art’s pace deepens when the third finger pushes in slowly until your walls flutter around him. His other hand spreads you open, thumb and forefinger pulling your folds apart so there’s nothing hidden from view.

“Look at that,” he mutters, eyes flicking up toward the others. The sudden cold drip of spit lands right on your clit, sliding down over his knuckles before his mouth covers you again. Wet heat surrounds the spot, tongue pressing tight while his fingers work in steady pumps. Your thigh catches the flex of his hips. The faint grind of his cock against your skin makes the muscles there twitch. Every roll is dragging over you as if he’s trying to take the edge off without stopping what he’s doing to you.

Above, Bob’s fingers slip past your lip and the pads brush your tongue as if he’s testing how far you’ll take him. “Keep that there,” he says quietly with his eyes narrowing when you try to breathe around him. The taste of skin and faint salt coats your tongue while his mouth stays at your chest. He’s sucking until the sting blooms under the area. His teeth catch your nipple before he lets go just enough to kiss it again. The pressure in his pants thickens under your palm. You keep stroking him through the fabric, feeling the twitch each time Art’s fingers push deeper.

Bob hums against your chest, his free hand pinching and rolling the other nipple while his fingers in your mouth flex just enough to make you gag lightly. A shadow moves from the desk. Rafe stands now with one hand already curled around himself. He’s stroking slowly as he looks down at you. The muscles in his stomach shift under the light, chest showing, and his belt still hanging open. When your eyes flick up to meet his- you can see the way his grip tightens and his thumb dragging over his tip.

When Bob finally pulls his fingers from your mouth, his touch glides down your jaw as he steps back to strip off his clothes. In the space he leaves, Rafe moves closer to replace him. His cockhead brushes the corner of your mouth just to tease and feel you. The slick is already dampening your lips. Bob’s palm hovers in front of your face. It’s steady despite the flicker in his eyes that looks like he’s going to shake. “Spit in my hand.” The warmth in your throat turns heavier as you lean in and let a thick string fall into his open palm. He doesn’t rush anything and he just watches it land.

He steps back into his spot before nudging Rafe out with a quiet, “Move.” A hum is the only response Rafe gave him with a slow grin forming in his mouth to show he’s not going to fight it. He takes a step back away from you while his thumb is dragging lazily over the underside of his cock while his eyes stay locked between your thighs and to Art who’s working there. Bob wipes the spit along his cock in slow and teasing strokes before letting it go to angle and turn your body into a side-lying position and especially he angled your hips enough to make your widespread and bent in half leg to touch against his stomach while you remain spread for Art.

The angle forces Art to hook his hands under your thighs to hold you open while his mouth drags over your clit. His jaw works steadily with his tongue flicking until your hips twitch, and the low sound he makes against you vibrates through every nerve. Rafe’s eyes linger on the side of the room while he lets the two have their fun first before he can take you later. “She’s not even looking at me,” he says with a flat voice but threaded out he’s sulking about not getting an ounce of your attention. “You’ll live,” Art mutters into you without pulling away.

While Bob doesn’t give them a flicker of his attention and just focuses on the shape of your mouth and the image he already created with his cock deep inside them. He watches the way your lips part open when you try to take a breath when Art spits again in your cunt. “You want to take me in your mouth how you want,” he says and his voice is low and calm. His eyes welcome yours when you look up at him before he speaks again, “or you want me to hold you still and fuck it?” He doesn’t move closer. Just waits, stroking himself slowly, patient, the tip of his cock flushed and wet. Heat pools in your chest as your gaze drifts over the three of them - Bob’s steady stare, Art’s dark eyes lifting briefly from between your legs, Rafe’s smirk twisting at the corner like he’s waiting for you to flinch.

Art takes the moment to peel off his shirt, then shoves down the rest. The shift of the air makes the heat from his skin hit you harder in a way that you didn’t even know where it came from. Muscles flex along his arms as he hooks them back under your thighs. He’s locking you open so your folds stay spread for his mouth. Your voice comes out softer than you expect. “I want you to fuck it.” A shadow crosses Bob’s face. It’s not quite a smile, but something dark curling at the edge. He steps in with one hand cradling the back of your head and the other wrapped around his cock.

The blunt head presses to your lips heat radiating off him and the salty taste brushes your tongue as he pushes in. Hips roll slowly like he’s making you feel every inch that slides over your tongue. The weight of his cock fills your mouth and makes your mouth stretch wide enough for it to make you feel worked out already. The slow and steady movement of his cock that’s dragging in and out that made your jaw ache but it’s in the best way possible. His thumb rests under your chin, keeping you steady without forcing.

Art’s mouth leaves you to be replaced by the smooth glide of his cockhead rubbing over your slit. He drags it along your folds and circles your clit before pressing lower until it’s pushing right at your hole. “Fuck…” he breathes and his voice is heavy. “So warm.” After Art’s comment about how you feel, Rafe’s voice cuts in. Like you can’t tell if he’s fucking around Art’s head piss each other off like they always do or if he’s serious. “Where’s the condom?” Art doesn’t even look at him. His grin tilts slowly. “Don’t need one. I’m clean. Been fucking her for months.” He tilts his head toward you just to catch the way your eyes flick up. “You’re not telling me she doesn’t let you go raw?” Rafe’s smirk fades into something tighter. “You’re an asshole.”

“Maybe,” Art says while pushing the blunt head against you again until your hips twitch. “Still feels better like this.” Bob’s hand tightens in your hair at the sound you make- a muffled hum around his length. He pulls out halfway just to watch the wet stretch of your lips around him before sliding back in, slow enough to keep your eyes locked on his. “Focus on me,” he murmurs and his voice is rougher now. “He can wait his turn.” These three are assholes and as typical frat boys as they can ever be with the way their words are blurted out of their mouths.

They just know they have to make it up to you big time by just saying shit like “waiting for his turn” because it looks like they’re insinuating that you’re a toy. Art laughs under his breath but doesn’t move away. His cockhead drags over your slit again, catching on the slick that’s already there, rubbing circles over your clit that make your throat tighten around Bob. A low sound rumbles from Bob’s chest at the way your mouth clenches. His hips push in deeper, the head of his cock nudging at the back of your throat for a moment before easing out. Rafe shifts his stance at the foot of the bed, eyes locked on where Art’s cock is sliding over you. “You’re doing that just to get under my skin.”

“You think?” Art presses a little harder. The head of his cock just started to sink inside before pulling back. “Nah. This is for her.” The heat between your legs burns more when his words hit, and Bob’s next thrust into your mouth comes slower. It’s heavier like he’s savoring the way you’re caught between them. Bob’s hand stayed steady at the back of your head, his cock sliding over your tongue in slow, heavy pushes. The blunt tip brushed the back of your throat once and he caught the sharp swallow you made, hips stalling. “Sorry,” he murmured quickly, even though his thumb still stroked along your jaw like he was picturing doing it again. The apology didn’t hide the faint hitch in his breath when you relaxed around him, letting him go deeper on the next pass.

Art worked into a slow pace between your thighs that makes it very pleasurable for you that he’s not just pounding. The head of his cock is kissing your cervix with every roll of his hips. His palm slid up to your belly to feel you and press his hand there to feel his cock bulging inside of you before he led it down so his fingers could circle your clit in tight and lazy strokes. “Told you,” he said and the words aimed at Rafe more than you. “She’s still warm from earlier. Can feel it grabbing me.” Rafe’s jaw flexed from where he leaned at the side as his eyes dragged over the way your lips stretched around Bob while Art rocked into you. “You’re doing that on purpose,” he said flatly.

Art’s laugh was low, but his tone stayed soft when he looked back down at you. “Relax, I’m not gonna break her.” But his actions say the opposite with the way his hips push deeper. It almost looks like he’s letting you feel the slow grind of his cockhead pressing inside before pulling back only to slide in again until your cunt clenches around him. The fingertips on your clit stayed there and he kept rubbing them while the motion picked up just enough to make your legs twitch.

Bob’s cock dragged out of your mouth with a slick sound before pushing back in, the weight of him forcing your lips wider. He groaned quietly when you swallowed around him. Hips shifting in a short thrust that made your throat tighten. “That’s it,” he breathed. It’s almost too soft to hear. He eased back an inch when he pushed his cock more deeply instinctively. “Didn’t mean to-” His words broke off when you sucked harder, and his grip at your nape tightened for a beat before he let out another low apology.

Your hips jerked when Art rolled his fingers tighter over your clit. The steady pulse of his cock hits deep enough to make your breath catch around Bob. “You hear that?” Art tilted his head toward Rafe without slowing. “She’s dripping down my balls, and you’re just standing there.” Rafe stepped in closer, knuckles brushing your hair as he looked down at you. “Keep talking, see what happens,” he muttered to Art, though his gaze didn’t leave your face.

“Move over when I’m done watching.” Art smirked but didn’t answer, pushing in deep enough to grind against you while his thumb worked faster. Bob’s pace in your mouth stayed slow and careful, though his eyes kept flicking to the way your throat worked around him like he wanted to push further. Heat curled low when his cock twitched against your tongue, his breath breaking in a rougher sound he didn’t bother to hide.

Bob adjusted his stance, one knee pressed to the mattress so he could angle you just where he wanted. The slow slide of his cock over your tongue grew heavier, your lips pulling tight around him as his hand guided your head in steady strokes. He didn’t speak now, only watching your eyes as he pushed a little deeper and felt the wet heat close in around him.

Art’s hips kept that deep and even tempo so his cock nudged the top of your cunt each time before dragging back through the slick mess he’d made. His other hand was never still- sliding up your side, catching the soft weight of your breast before rubbing your nipple with his thumb before gliding down to circle your clit again. “Gonna make you cum before he even gets his turn,” he murmured. It’s just loud enough for Rafe to hear.

The scrape of a drawer made you glance sideways. Rafe had moved to your desk to pull open the top until he found the pale blue polaroid camera he’d given you months ago. He popped it open and thumbed to check the film then lifted it to his eye. “Keep going,” he said. “Don’t stop just because I’m watching.” The click and whirr of the camera cut through the wet sounds in the room. A flash went off as white light caught you mid-motion with Bob’s cock deep in your mouth and your eyes tilted up through your lashes.

The photo slid out, and he waited a few seconds until the photo appeared with clear colors. “Perfect,” he said, voice low but still enough to hear. “Do that again.” Art’s thumb pressed harder against your clit and he drew a sharp sound from your throat that vibrated around Bob. The pulse of it made him groan under his breath. His hips pushed forward in a single rougher thrust before he reined it back in. His hand stayed warm at your nape and his thumb stroked once over your skin like it was instinct.

Rafe leaned closer with the camera, waiting until your lips looked stretched just right around Bob before snapping another shot. “Look at me,” he ordered and you did what he said. It was so fast because the second you lifted your gaze, there was already another flash that filled your vision. It’s bright enough to make your eyes sting. “That one’s going on my wall,” Bob said after Rafe took a photo of you. His words made your pussy clench around Art’s and it shows with the way he grunts at the action you just made. Bob’s cock slid free just enough for you to breathe. Your mouth was wet and open as a strand of spit clung to the tip. Art’s fingers never left your clit, his pace picking up until your hips twitched against him. “She’s close,” he said, smirking at Rafe without pausing.

“Want me to make her cum before you even touch her?” Rafe’s jaw tightened before the camera lowered slowly. He licks his lips and he watches the way Art keeps smirking like he’s enjoying making little comments because he’s the one inside of you right now. “You try, and I’ll make sure she’s still dripping when you’re done.” Art just grinned as his hips rolled deeper, and the way his fingers worked made it hard to focus on anything else. Bob’s cock was right there again. It’s sliding over your tongue in a smooth and heavy stroke as his breath grows shorter.

Art’s pace turned heavier while his hips pressed in deeper until the thick head of his cock kissed your cervix again and again. His fingers didn’t stop their rhythm on your clit. He keeps rubbing fast enough to make your thighs tighten against him. “Come on,” he urged and his eyes dragged up your body until they met yours. “Let me feel you cum on it.” The way he worked you left no room to think. Only the hot pull of release curls through your belly. The pulse started low, squeezing around Art’s cock in quick, wet spasms. His hand locked on your hip while the other kept circling your clit, drawing the orgasm out until your legs trembled.

It almost feels telepathic when Bob’s cock starts spurting his cum inside your mouth with that slow thrust of his. The weight and the way your mouth is filled in the back of your throat are making your eyes water. At this point, you don’t know if it’s because of your orgasm or because of his cumming in your mouth. He didn’t push it too hard to make you choke, almost too careful even. There’s this sound quiet sound he makes while he watches you swallow. His eyes stay locked on the way your throat moves and the twitch of your lips as you try to take it all down. Rafe’s camera clicked again and the flash burst as you moaned around Bob.

“Fuck- there it is,” Art gritted, feeling you squeeze around him. He rode the clutch of your cunt until the spasms slowed. A slick white ring clung to the base of his cock when he finally pulled back an inch. He caught Rafe’s eye and tilted his hips just enough to show it off. The look he gave wasn’t loud, but it said everything. Take the photo. Rafe didn’t hesitate. The click came sharp and the print slid free from the camera while Art’s smirk widened. “You’re gonna want that one,” Rafe muttered to him.

Bob’s cock slipped from your mouth for a moment, spit and cum glistening down your chin as you dragged in air. His hand brushed your cheek once before guiding you back onto him, the tip pressing past your lips. “Almost there,” he said low, his tone rougher now. He was still hard, still twitching, still using your throat even after spilling inside it. His hips pushed forward just enough to stretch you, then eased back so you could breathe before driving deeper again, chasing something sharper through the sensitivity.

Art stayed close, sliding back into you with a groan. The thrusts came quicker now, his grip tightening as his cock pushed deep into the mess you’d both made. “Gonna fill you up,” he rasped, voice edged with heat. “Bet you’ll still be dripping when Rafe gets in there.” The mention of his name made Rafe finally set the camera down, his eyes glued to the way Art’s cock disappeared inside you. “Move when you’re done,” he ordered, tone low and steady.

Art’s breath went heavier, pace turning almost sloppy as the tension coiled hard in his hips. The slap of skin echoed in the room, mixed with your muffled moans around Bob. With one last deep push, Art groaned and stilled, the heat of his cum spilling inside you in thick pulses. His fingers kept you open, letting every drop sink deep before he finally pulled back to watch it leak. “Fuck- look at that.” He lingered for a moment, spreading your folds with two fingers so the mess glistened in the low light. His smirk was sharp when he glanced up at Rafe. “See? She’s too tired for you.”

Rafe lowered the camera then, the strap slid from his hand as he set it on the nightstand. He stepped in where Art had been. It’s slow but sure. He crouches between your thighs. His hands hooked under your knees to spread you wider. Before you could even catch your breath, his mouth was on you. The first drag of his tongue pulled a gasp from your chest, the wet heat licking up your slit to taste the mix of you and Art. “Messy little thing,” he muttered against you before sealing his mouth over your clit.

The shift of weight beside you drew your gaze up. Art had already reached for the camera again, angling it down to catch the new view- Rafe’s jaw tight, his tongue buried between your folds. The flash went off mid-lick, catching it all. Bob’s pace in your mouth turned firmer, his cock sliding until your lips brushed his base. The grip at your nape tightened, his groan rough. “Gonna finish again- fuck-” he warned, but didn’t pull out. The first hot spurt hit your tongue, then another, his hips jerking with each pulse. He was overstimulated, chasing it anyway, and the second orgasm ripped through him fast, leaving you swallowing all over again while his body shook.

The camera clicked again, capturing your cheeks hollowed and your mouth full, the shine of cum glistening on your lips before you swallowed it down. Rafe didn’t slow at the sound of it. His tongue flicked quickly over your clit before he dipped down to fuck into your pussy. He’s scooping every drop left inside. His grip on your thighs pinned you open, forcing you to take it until your hips started to jerk against his mouth. When Bob finally pulled free, strings of spit and cum clung from your lips to his tip. He stepped back from the bed, chest heaving, giving space for the others to close in.

Rafe finally wiped his chin with the back of his hand as he stood, eyes fixed on your pussy like it had been calling him all night. “Move her up,” he told Art before flickering his eyes at him. Art leaned down, sliding his arms under your shoulders. He lifted you just enough off the mattress, then climbed onto the bed himself, settling against the headboard. With you still in his hold, he shifted you higher until your head fit across his lap. The warmth of his thighs framed your temples, his fingers stroking lazily through your hair as though this was nothing new. “Better,” he murmured, gaze flicking toward Rafe. “Now you can watch him while I watch you.”

Bob lingered at the edge of the room. His chest still rising heavy as he watched Rafe between your thighs who just finished licking you off. His gaze grew heavier the longer he stood there until he finally pulled the desk chair forward and set it at the edge of the mattress. He sat down, knees spread, and his hand already reaching for you. His fingers brushed your clit in slow teasing circles. The pressure is light but enough to make your hips twitch. “She’s still soaked,” he murmured before his eyes met Rafe’s.

Rafe climbed onto the bed, settling between your legs. His cock brushed your thigh, already hard, the heat of it making you squirm. “Spread,” he ordered, his hands pushing your knees wider. When he lined up, the blunt head pressed against your entrance, catching for just a moment before he sank in. The stretch pulled a sound from your chest that made Art’s fingers thread through your hair. “You feel that?” he asked, looking down at you with a smirk. “Bet you can see it from here.”

Rafe’s hips pushed forward until he bottomed out, the thick length forcing your walls to stretch around him. He glanced down, watching the bulge form low in your belly with each small rock of his hips. “Look at that,” he said, pressing his palm over the rise. “You take it all, and it shows.” Bob’s thumb pressed a little harder on your clit, his other hand cupping your breast and rolling your nipple between his fingers. “We’ve got budget approvals next week,” he said, glancing at Rafe as if the three of you weren’t tangled up in bed. “Gonna need you to sign off on the charity event.”

“You’re- hnn- asking me that now?” The absurdity made you let out a shaky laugh that broke into a moan when Rafe thrust again, deeper this time. “Why not?” Art’s tone was casual, his hand stroking along your throat before resting under your chin. “You’re the sweetheart. You have input.” Rafe’s thrusts stayed steady, his hand pressing down on your belly to feel himself move inside you. “Tell him you’ll be there,” he said, not breaking rhythm. “Y-yeah,” you managed, your voice catching when Bob’s fingers pinched your nipple. “Good,” Bob said simply, his eyes still on the way Rafe’s cock stretched you. Art leaned down until his mouth brushed your ear.

“We’ve also got recruitment coming up. Think you can charm the new girls after this?” The words made heat flood your face, your hips jerking when Rafe’s cock hit the spot deep inside again. “I- ahh- maybe-” You try to say but words not coming clearly “Maybe?” Rafe’s brows pulled together, his next thrust sharper. “You don’t sound too sure.” Bob’s hand moved faster on your clit, the sensation building hard under the constant push of Rafe’s cock. Art’s thighs tensed under your head, his fingers still in your hair. “She’ll do it,” he said for you. “She always does.”

Rafe’s thrusts stayed deep and unhurried. It looks like he’s savoring it after being on the sidelines. The weight of his cock pushing into you again and again while his hand pressed low on your stomach. He’s feeling the outline of it under his palm like he’s figuring out how deep he is. The heat from him burned through your skin, but his voice stayed almost casual when he spoke. “Have we ever heard back from Brent’s lawyer?” His tone made it sound like he was asking about ordering pizza, not pounding into you with enough force to make the bed shift.

Bob’s thumb swept across your clit in slow, lazy circles. “Yeah. Charges aren’t going anywhere. He called in a favor with that judge his family knows. Case is gone.” Art’s fingers traced over your ribs where your chest rose and fell. “That’s it? Just gone?” He asks while his fingers continue to trace your body. “Paper trail says the arrest never happened,” Bob said, eyes dropping briefly to watch Rafe’s cock slide in and out of you. “No record. Not even on campus.” Rafe grunted, hips rolling harder. “Kid’s a fuckin’ idiot. Getting caught with that much coke in his car during Greek Week? Might as well hang a banner off the balcony.”

A pulse ran through you at the way they said it so openly. They weren’t lowering their voices, weren’t glancing at you like you didn’t belong here. This wasn’t party gossip. It was something heavy, the kind of thing that should’ve been locked away in a back room with the door shut. “If that got out, nationals would’ve shut us down. Whole chapter gone in a month.” Art’s hand smoothed over your chest, his thumb flicking lazily over a nipple before resting on your collarbone. “That’s why it didn’t get out,” Bob said simply, thumb still circling your clit like he had all the time in the world. “Brent’s old man wrote the check. More than one.”

“Bet half the house would’ve turned on him if it meant keeping themselves clean.” Rafe’s palm pressed harder into your belly as he bottomed out, forcing a low sound from your throat. “They would,” Art agreed. His knee shifted under your head, tilting you so your eyes caught the sharp lines of his jaw. “Some of them have already tried. We handled it.” Bob’s eyes stayed on the spot where your body took Rafe to the hilt. “Handled it” meant something else entirely here, and none of them felt the need to explain.

“That pledge last year tried to leak it. Remember?” Rafe’s voice dropped lower, but not softer. “Yeah,” Bob said. “He’s not here anymore.” His thumb flicked your clit harder, sending another shiver up your spine. “Guess he figured out the hard way that loyalty’s not optional.” The room felt hotter. Not just from the way Rafe’s hips kept slamming into you, or how Art’s thumb brushed your lips like he was daring you to open them. It was the way they were talking - calm, controlled, like this was nothing. Like it didn’t matter you were naked under all of them, hearing every word.

Art leaned forward until his mouth brushed your ear. “You gonna keep that between us?” His voice was smooth, but the curl in it left no question that it wasn’t really a question. “Yeah.” Your breath came out shaky, the pulse at your clit tightening under Bob’s steady rhythm. “Good,” Rafe said, dragging his cock out almost to the tip before driving back in hard enough to make the mattress jolt. “Because if you didn’t…” His mouth brushed your jaw, the heat of his breath spilling over your skin. “We’d have to deal with you, too.”

Bob’s hand slipped higher, cupping your breast and rolling the nipple between his fingers while his other hand kept working your clit. “Don’t mind him. She’s smarter than that.” Art’s laugh was low in your ear. “She’s also wetter than that.” Rafe’s thrusts picked up, the sound of skin meeting skin sharper now, the pressure of him hitting deep enough to make your toes curl. “That’s ‘cause she likes it,” he said, looking down at you through half-lidded eyes. “All of it.”

Rafe’s pace had gone from steady to relentless, hips driving into you with the kind of weight that made your whole body shift up the mattress. His hand stayed heavy on your stomach, pressing down so the shape of him inside you was impossible to miss. Every thrust dragged a sound out of you, high and shaky, and the bed creaked under the force of it. Bob’s thumb hadn’t left your clit, each circle rubbing tighter and wetter with every push from Rafe. His other hand gripped your thigh to keep you open, his knuckles brushing against Rafe’s hip as he worked you. “She’s close again,” he said, voice low but certain.

“She’s not the only one,” Rafe muttered, breathing heavier now. His gaze locked on the slick ring around his cock. “Fuck- look at that. Taking me like you were made for it.” Art’s palm rested on your jaw, tilting your face so you were looking at him instead of Rafe. “Think she’s even hearing you?” His thumb stroked over your bottom lip until it caught on the wetness there. “She’s too far gone.”

“Not too far,” Rafe shot back, shoving deep enough to make you gasp. “She knows exactly who’s inside her right now.” The words hit with the same weight as his thrusts. Heat pulled low in your stomach, every nerve focused on the thick stretch of him inside you. Bob’s thumb rolled over your clit harder, faster, until the pleasure built sharp and tight. “Hnnnh-” The sound caught in your throat, your hips twitching against Rafe’s grip.

“Yeah,” Bob said, almost under his breath. “There it is.” Art leaned down, lips brushing your ear. “Let him feel it.” The words been said are clear enough to catch that it wasn’t a suggestion. Rafe’s movement is slowly turning rougher and the noise from the skin slapping is loud enough to echo in the room. “Gonna fill you up,” he said, his voice deep and certain. “All of it. You’re gonna keep every drop.” Bob didn’t stop working your clit, even when your legs started to shake. “Hold her there,” he told Rafe.

“I’ve got her,” Rafe answered, his hands locking on your hips to pin you in place. Art’s thumb pressed harder against your jaw. “Eyes on me when he does it.” Your chest heaved, the orgasm hitting so fast it tore through you in a rush. Muscles clamped down around Rafe’s cock and it’s milking him with every pulse. It's almost like he’s sucking him inside and choking him around. The sound he made was rough and his hips were grinding deep as his cum surged hot inside you. He keeps pushing so it can be more deeper.

“Fuck-” His grip tightened, keeping you flush against him while the thick warmth spilled deep, each pulse marked by another low curse under his breath. “That’s it. Take all of it.” Bob’s thumb kept moving, dragging the orgasm out until you were trembling. His gaze stayed on the way Rafe’s cock disappeared into you, his tone unreadable. “Messy already.” Art smirked from above you. “Better not waste any.”

Rafe stayed buried inside until the last slow spurt, his chest rising and falling hard. Then his palm smoothed over your stomach again, pressing lightly as if to feel the heat he’d left inside. Rafe finally eased back, his cock sliding out slowly, the thick drip of his cum spilling hot between your thighs. His palm stayed pressed to your stomach for a beat like he wanted to feel it sitting deep before it leaked. Then he let go, dragging his hand down to smear the mess over your slit with a lazy stroke.

Bob’s fingers were already there, pushing some of it back inside without asking. “You’re not wasting this,” he said, watching every twitch of your hips as his knuckles worked between your folds. Art’s hand smoothed over your thigh, nails grazing your skin. “Look at her. Can’t even move.” His grin was sharp as he shifted closer, thumb brushing your lips until they parted. “Bet she’d let us start all over if we wanted.”

Before you could answer, Rafe’s phone went off on the nightstand. Then yours. Then Art’s. Then Bob’s. The vibration was constant, one buzz after another, until the sound filled the room. Rafe frowned, reaching for his phone with one hand while the other stayed heavy on your hip. The screen lit up with notifications stacked on top of each other. “What the fuck…” His eyes scanned, then narrowed. “You seeing this?”

Bob pulled his own phone from his pocket, his other hand still idly stroking your slit. “Oh, yeah. Everyone’s seeing this.” Art didn’t even bother hiding his smirk as he unlocked his screen. “Well… guess the rumors weren’t just rumors anymore.” Bob’s thumb pressed deeper into your slit, slow and deliberate. “This isn’t random. Timing’s too perfect. Someone waited for this week for a reason.”

You leaned enough to catch a glimpse over Rafe’s arm. The font is too big so you already saw what’s in the campus gossip site where it says, “Rumor has it… The sweetheart privileges come with three special perks.” Rafe tossed his phone onto the bed with a laugh that didn’t reach his eyes like as if seeing that was an absurd idea. “Fucking cowards. Can’t even put their name on it.” Art kept scrolling, smirk still in place. “Probably someone who’s still pissed they couldn’t get her in their bed instead. Or someone who hates us enough to do this.”

“Then they’re gonna be real disappointed,” Rafe said, leaning back over you, his cock still hanging heavy against your thigh. “Because I’m not giving them what they want.” His gaze dropped to where Bob’s fingers were still working on you, then back to your face. “And neither are you.” Art’s palm slid down your chest, slow enough to make your breath hitch. “If anything, they just gave us another reason to make it obvious.” Bob’s voice was quiet but firm. “And another reason for you to stay right where you are.” Guess the whole campus will watch you more than ever.

⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀ twenty-twenty-five © addie / musingsofheaven

⠀⠀⠀

[blossomizedd]

"Kiss me, love me"

— Diasomnia edition

Pairings: Malleus Draconia x reader, Lilia Vanrouge x reader, Silver Vanrouge x reader, Sebek Zigvolt x reader

Genre: fluff // headcanons

« even the most intimidating men like to kiss, just each their own way »

A continuation of the kissing series! This one's for all the diasomnia lovers out there 💋

Other editions: Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw, Pomefiore

The soft kisser;

For all the cautionary tales that are told about malleus, the man is gentle beyond belief with you. The hands capable of summoning scorching lightning cup your cheeks, thumbs caressing your skin as he flashes the most lovesick smile in the seconds before he kisses you. His lips, surprisingly soft, meet your skin wherever makes your heart flutter; the back of your hand, the corner of your lips, the space between your eyes. He'll leave traces of him all over you in a way that show his undying love without being overbearing. Though this is born of a deep fear of hurting you with his overwhelming power, the looks he gets from you are plenty to forget all of it and focus only on your love.

The unpredictable kisser;

Lilia as a person is like a jack in a box that continously changes it's shape and colors and keeps you on your toes every time it pops out. His kisses are no different. One day you might be walking down a path to randomly find him appearing upside down above you to kiss your forehead, another he'll hold you by your waist and kiss your temple as you converse with friends, and yet another he'll deny you anything as to "keep appearances" in front of others only to later drag you into an empty room and kiss you breathless. He's fond of many approaches but you never know what you'll get, which is half the fun of being with him. So enter his room after a long day of being apart; will he hold you ever so gently and place soft kisses on the top of your head, or will he pounce on you before you even get to step inside and latch his lips onto yours with no intention of ever letting go? Go ahead and find out!

The light kisser;

Silver's kisses feel like feathers and clouds brushing over your lips, barely there but oh so heavenly. Sometimes it is almost as if you're dreaming, his touch so soft you think you might be imagining it. It's satisfying, yet always leaves you yearning for more, resulting in longer embraces and more time with him. Sure, he's fallen asleep mid kiss before, but you also get the most dream like scenarios in turn. Think of kisses shared beneath the moonlight, spectated by small woodland creatures, dancing lights all around you.. Kissing Sillver is like acting out childhood fantasies of being betrothed to a prince, like being the protagnist of your own fairytale. Nothing compares to the feeling of floating you get in the aftermath.

The dignified kisser;

One thing you'll never catch Sebek do is embarrassing himself in front of others (let alone his liege!) by engaging in overt pda, preferring to hold your hand or your shoulder to keep you close (and show off in front of silver). Then again, he won't let people think he's as heartless as to deprive his lover of affection either, so the occasional kiss on the back of your hand is his way to go in public. Behind closed doors though, he'll allow himself to indulge in your love some more, but he's a bit shy about it. He tries to keep the dignified aura of a gentleman around him as he cups your cheeks and kisses you directly, but when you pepper his face with little pecks he'll start blushing like mad. Secretly though they're his favorite kind of kisses, so he won't get too mad if you do it in front of his diasomnia family too. Flustered beyond words he'll be, sure, but at the same time your love sends him over the moon. So much for the dignified kisser..

[rafesangelita]

♡ pranking rafe by telling him another man did your brazilian wax : dilf!rafe x bunny!reader au

warnings: none really, just rafe being a lil mean..

a/n: mini moodboard for this fic could be found here ! this was inspired by some tiktoks that came across my fyp lol

rafe was outside waiting in the girly pink lobby of your favorite wax place when he finally heard the click of your heels coming from down the hallway, your sweet voice filling his ears as the receptionist lead you back to the front. “thank you for coming, y/n! we hope to see you again, babe!” you smiled, waving goodbye as rafe took your free hand in his own before leading you two out to his truck. “everything go good?” he asked, hoisting you up in the passenger’s seat. just then, you remembered a prank trend going around that your wax lady had mentioned earlier.

“it was great! i look like a glazed donut down there.” rafe snorted, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he shut your door and made his way around to the driver’s side. “did it hurt less this time around?” you knew better than to reply before rafe could get out of the parking lot, the joke sitting on the tip of your tongue as he drove onto the main street and in the direction of tanneyhill. “no, not really, he was pretty gentle—” you regretted your words as soon as they left your mouth, the truck coming to a screeching halt as rafe’s head shot in your direction.

“what did you just say?” he narrowed his eyes, his face twisting in confusion like he couldn’t have heard you correctly. you looked down at the charms on your nails as heat creeped up your neck. you could feel the burn of rafe’s glare against the side of your face while you sat there no longer amused by the idea of ticking him off. “that it didn’t hurt—?” rafe cut you off, “no, before that. you said ‘he’ was gentle.. as in a fucking man was the one who did your service.” rafe knew he shouldn’t have cursed at you but he couldn’t get past the mental image of you spread out on a table, bare and all, in front of a man other than himself.

rafe could’ve sworn he heard ringing in his ears with how livid he felt right now, your nervous antics only irritating him further as you refused to meet his gaze. rafe had never been the type you could play around with like this, especially when the subject matter revolved around you. “i was just kidding, ray—” not hearing you through his whirlwind of rage, he didn’t let you finish talking before pressing the gas and doing a turnaround. “i’m gonna kill somebody.” he seethed, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel. your eyes widened. “it was a joke!” you yelled, your heart hammering in your chest as rafe continued speeding.

you dropped the small shopping bag that was sitting in your lap when you reached out and tugged on his shirt. “stop it!” rafe pulled back into the strip where the place was located, your fingers working to turn his head so he could look at you. “katie did it for me, okay?! i was just doing a prank that’s been going around, that’s all! there’s no men estheticians in there!” rafe blinked upon hearing ‘no men’ and ‘prank’. both of you were breathless as the tension in the air slowly dissipated. “that’s a shitty prank,” he spat, “who the fuck even thinks that’s funny?” he closed his eyes, leaning back in his seat before moving your hands away from his face.

“i did.. at first.” you whispered, guilt pooling in your stomach as you watched him wipe a bead of sweat from his forehead. “you can’t be kidding about stuff like that, seriously bunny.” he sighed, swallowing thickly before turning his attention on you once again. you were sitting there with worry etched all over your features, your hair slightly out of place with a few stray stands falling in your face. “i didn’t mean to scare you,” he leaned in, wrapping his arms around your waist, “but you nearly made me lose my shit.” you apologized in return, pressing a soft kiss to the spot underneath his ear.

“i’ll wax you myself if you make another joke like that ever again.”

[rafehoneymoon]

just thinking about hanging off of rafe’s bicep….

your both walking through the country club, the subtle clinking of cylindrical glasses and overexposed talk about the weather, while your trailing slightly behind rafe with a closed hand around his full arm. 

he’s got that upfront expression, neutral with that unmissable scowl, heavy steps all determined and demanding like he paved each solid plank of wood beneath him. your all soft laughter with glitter, hair bouncing with your fixed steps trying to meet his impossible speed.

it was as if a mode was activated ready in him, an expected frown on his lips, the word unapproachable written in his eye - a face like he was daring anyone to look at you the wrong way.

your cheek was nearly smushed into his arm, clutching rafe firm like your own teddy bear, just more broad, more sharp edged.

“where the fuck are these idiots?” he muttered under steady breath, searching around for topper and kelce, all without slowing down his movements. 

you barely turned a head just continued to walk with him, all clueless - primal focus on him and how perfect your manicured hand clasped around his pure muscle. your kitten heels were announcing, humorous in comparison to the way you kept to yourself, slightly hidden into him. 

“jesus baby slow down, gonna trip over” he chuckled at the way you nearly lost footing, a defeated pout covered your lips, whispering something inaudible. you tightened your hand around him on dependency, like a promise to keep you walking straight.

rafe loved showing you off like this, his strong front, flashy watch, how his walk was mechanic and you just hanging off of him like the perfect picture of contrary - a daze in lipgloss. 

finally the two kooks came into view, spotted onto a table, topped with already ordered drinks. they both caught onto you immediately, cocky grins and the straightening of crisp shirts were the telling. 

“sup man” they greeted in almost unison, clasping hands with rafe’s unclaimed one. “see you brought this princess huh” kelce snickered at the sight, hinting at all the differences between you. 

“yeah everyone’s been saying how you’re practically flashing her about, all pretty and shy in your arm” topper agreed, his hand motioning towards you like some inner secret. 

truthfully you were used to their antics, the way they talked and bragged, all in shouts. you weren’t even fully listening to the conversation, just wanted the drink rafe had promised you - something fruity, rimmed with sugar. he’d joke about your drink of choice, when he’d be nursing a bitter whiskey. 

you knew how it tasted from when you begged him for a sip, it was always in his hand, downing it sharp like it was a washing away of problems. so you tried to be all grown and wise, promising you would like it - only to be left with him laughing at you, wiping your mouth when you instantly spat it out.

“yeah yeah- watch how you talk about her though, man” his tone quickly transitioning serious, that line of possessiveness thick. 

as he watched you from the corner of his eye, admiring the way you weren’t even paying attention to the boys talk - just clinging to him, here for him.

                  𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐰་༘࿐                                   

[cameronsbabydoll]

puppy!reader calling rafe daddy infront of his friends

topper and kelce are over, feet up on rafe’s coffee table, beer bottles sweating into little rings he’ll gripe about later. they’re talking trash, half-watching whatever game is on the tv, and you’re padding around the living room, chewing on the sleeve of one of rafe’s hoodies that drags down past your hands.

“rafey…” you tug on his shoulder, needing him, the way you always do when there are too many voices, too much noise. “can i sit with you? please?”

“yeah, c’mere, pup,” rafe says, distracted, patting his lap.

and you climb right in, curling small against his chest. topper makes a noise, teasing, but you don’t hear it—you just nuzzle your nose against rafe’s jaw.

then it slips out.
“thank you, daddy.”

the room goes silent. topper’s eyes go wide, kelce coughs into his drink, trying not to choke.

you freeze, eyes big and watery, because you didn’t mean to. it just came out.

rafe’s hand curls protectively around your hip, sharp blue eyes flicking toward his friends. “say one word, either of you, and i’ll put your teeth on the curb.”

they both immediately shut up, snorting into their beers, pretending to be so invested in the tv.

you whimper softly, embarrassed, hiding your face in his hoodie. “i didn’t mean to—”

“shhh, pup,” rafe murmurs low, brushing his thumb over your jaw. “don’t worry. they don’t matter. just me and you, yeah?”

and the way his voice drops when he says it… makes you think maybe he liked it more than he’ll ever admit in front of them.

[yumesmizuki]

college au! phainon hcs because of that collab art

- the type to say this one's for you and ACTUALLY get the score

sometimes does fumble because he gets a bit too excited and puts in way much energy and it misses by a long mile instead

- waits for your classes to get done if your schedules match so that he can walk you to your next class. he adores these small moments of getting to spend time with you

- has a lot of photos of you on his account. he loves the one where you're unbothered by the lens and give the biggest smile because of something he said

- loves and encourages you rambling about the things you're studying during shared meals, giving you his full attention with a smile on his face as you speak. he loves seeing you like this—sparkles in your eyes and the clear passion you have with each and every syllable

- invites you over to his dorm room often and you both have movie nights as you huddle under a blanket with him. looooves holding your hand, tracing the patterns on your palm and just having the skin to skin contact. also loves it when you end up sleeping before the movie ends as he can now just stare at your cute face instead!!

- helps you practice for any interviews or presentations, often hyping you up but also giving pointers on small things to improve upon. you always get a sweet message right before it starts with a sticker (or multiple) following it. he'll always be by your side to cheer you on after all!

- loves just laying on your lap after a tiring week or day, just letting himself relax and feel the touch of your fingers gently playing with his hair while you absent mindedly hum or speak about something

[oneclickangel]

reblog if you're corny and insufferable

[guldaastan]

greta was time's person of the year a few years ago. she was adored by all liberal world leaders and parties. and when she learnt about people's struggle under occupation and colonialism, she stood in solidarity with them . she now stands with palestine and armenia and kashmir and every oppressed person in the world. she could have been rich as fuck by simply remaining as a climate activist. yet she chose to do the right thing. i love her for her integrity.

[uroko]

Rainy day in Kyoto

[winter-wish]

i would have first to publish anything, but. like. yes. i have authors i adore, and i really wish someone would adore me too one day (if i had enough courage to publish stuff)..........

my dream as a fanfic writer is for one day, one of my fics to be someones comfort fic. like the fic that they reread when they don't feel good and want to be happy. i want my words to comfort someone one day

[lesbianjudasiscariot]

small talk enjoyers when the weather is in any way notable:

[matchadolly]

girlie that's not a random headache u are dehydrated malnourished over caffeinated over stressed and sleep deprived