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smutoperator · 4 months ago

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Training My Daughter

Seol YoonA (Sullyoon), Minatozaki Sana x Male Reader

Part 2 of 4 of All In Family

Tags: alternative universe, assgasms, belly bulging, choking, daddy kink, deepthroating, dirty talking, facesitting, facefucking, finger-fucking, floor sex, leg-locking 69, mating press, messy and sweaty, mother and daughter, multiple creampies, plot twist, rimming, (very) rough sex, (lots of) spanking, squirting, star wars

Word count: 8027.

Sullyoon is one of Dankook University's most popular students. Yesterday, she celebrated her 21st birthday with a crazy party involving members of her sorority and the neighboring fraternity.

However, although she's getting increasingly popular, she still has a way to go before catching her mother.

"SANA, SANA, CAN YOU PLEASE GIVE ME AN AUTOGRAPH?" a university student screams as Sullyoon's mother slowly climbs out of the passenger's seat of a very luxurious car. As soon as Sana walks in her daughter's direction, the campus becomes a Twice fan meet, with many students rushing for the unique opportunity to meet Sullyoon's celebrity mother. Even though many years have passed since her idol career ended, lots are still aware of her viral moves like the iconic "shy shy, shy".

Despite the massive crowd, Sana displays the professionalism she's well known for, while never losing sight of her daughter either. After a few selcas and autographs for some lucky students, she picks up Sullyoon as the two climb into the car and head home.

Sana starts asking questions about Sullyoon regarding her on-campus birthday party. The two chat a lot as Sana is really happy about her daughter being able to go to one of the top colleges in Korea after all her hard work as an once young girl who came from Japan in search of her dreams and became one of the biggest foreign celebrities of Korea in the process. But after a while, the spiciest questions finally arrive.

"How many guys have you fucked in that party, YoonA?" Sana asks her daughter. "T-two," Sullyoon answers, hesitating to tell her mother. But Sana knows she is lying.

"It was at least double that, right, YoonA?" Sana asks again. "Yes, Mother," Sullyoon answers sincerely. "And how are you feeling about that?" Sana keeps launching questions. "A bit sore," Sullyoon answers.

"Looks like you need some training, YoonA. Taking on that many guys at once can be a challenge. I may be shy about lots of things, but sex was never one of them, you know you can always ask me for advice, right?" Sana asks. "Sure," Sullyoon responds, blushing a bit.

"Do you want me to train you for those occasions? I know a guy that will be perfect for you to handle those situations. Should I call him, YoonA?" Sana tells her daughter. "It's your call, Mother, I'll do it as you please," Sullyoon answers.

"Alright, let's head home and prepare ourselves," Sana tells her daughter they dress themselves in very casual clothes that expose their midriffs, Sana taking a top plus Yoga pants while Sullyoon dresses herself in an undersized t-shirt and booty shorts. "Your tummy is so beautiful YoonA, I envy it so much," Sana says. "Thanks, Mom," Sullyoon says as her face turns red again. Both of them are wearing high heels, as Sana gives Sullyoon the first lesson. "The heels always stay on, YoonA," she tells her daughter.

Sana arrives at your house, greeting you with kisses. "Meet my daughter, YoonA," Sana presents Sullyoon to you. "Wow, she's beautiful, but knowing her mother, that's no surprise," you say.

Sana smiles as she enters your living room, full of sculptures and paintings with sexual undertones. She stops right by one that depicts a nude woman and her curves. "That's your mother too," you tell Sullyoon, pointing at the painting. "It's called 'The Perfect Woman', the artist drew its inspiration from Sana and later gave it to me," you say.

"But let's get to the point, every time your mother comes to me, I know she's looking for sex. We know each other since before you were born and that's always been the case," you tell Sullyoon. "Are you excited to be part of a mother-daughter threesome, YoonA?" you ask the young girl.

"Yeah," Sullyoon answers, still a little shy. "Then let's start, I want to worship this beautiful body, I can see you've got the perfect genetics from your mother," you tell her. "Well, she's taller and bulkier, she's got the beauty from myself, but the strength from her father," Sana says, grabbing her daughter's ass.

"Sana, can you show me your ass too?" you ask her as she turns around and displays her nice backside covered by her yoga pants. Sullyoon's cheeks on the other hand already have her cheeks fully in the open. "Damn, your daughter got a great ass," you tell Sana.

"My mother said you are very rough fucking girls, is that true?" Sullyoon asks. "Well, there is a difference, I'm not like the guys at your birthday party yesterday that you had and Sana told me about, who are rough but don't know what they are doing. I'm different, I'm rough in a way that makes girls push themselves to the edge," you say.

"Alright girls, enough of talking and let's start fucking," you tell them as you immediately pull Sana's top down, displaying her beautiful erect nipples. Sana smiles as you put your mouth in her perky tits and suck them in front of her daughter.

"Your turn, YoonA," you say as Sullyoon pushes her top up and lets you suck her tits next. "They are so cute," you say as you press them. You quickly start showing up your credentials, pinching Sullyoon's tits and giving a little tap to her legs that make her let out her first moans. Sana just watches, letting you handle her daughter all by yourself.

"She's so sexy," you say about Sullyoon as you start choking her. "Turn around, let me see that ass," you order as Sullyoon obliges. "Damn, it's really plump," you say, praising her backside. Quickly, you pull her shorts down, unveiling Sullyoon's white panties under it, which are quickly gone in seconds too.

"Damn, she's got a really meaty pussy, are you sure she's your daughter, Sana? Because yours isn't meaty like this," you say, quickly diving to eat it. "Hmmm, so tasty," you say, diving your face between Sullyoon's ass cheeks. "Beautiful ass, meaty pussy, pretty face, damn, Sana, your daughter is a full-course meal," you say, pleasing Sullyoon's meaty cunt and making her moan again.

Sullyoon shows you she's not so innocent, grabbing your head and pushing it against her fuckholes. "Does my daughter taste good?" Sana asks, taking the initiative herself and grabbing your head as well. "Oh, she tastes amazing, just like her mother," you say.

"How about you, Sana, are you gonna let me taste that delicious ass?" you ask her as you push Sana in your direction and pull her pants down in one go. "First lesson, YoonA, horny sluts like your mother don't wear panties when they are horny," you tell Sullyoon.

You spread Sana's ass and dive right on her folds, licking her delicious asshole and her pink pussy. "YoonA, your mother must have the most beautiful and flexible asshole ever, I fucked it countless times and it always goes back to this tight, small hole every time," you tell Sullyoon as you tongue Sana's anus.

"Open that asshole for me, YoonA," you command as Sullyoon spreads her mother's ass. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, you lick my ass so good" Sana moans as you tongue her strawberry-flavored butthole.

But you were far from done, lifting Sana as she clings herself to her daughter while you lick her ass with her up in the air. "Shake that ass in my face, slut," you tell her. Sana does it perfectly even though she's way up in the air, even reaching her legs to caress your clothed cock while Sullyoon kisses her mother's perky tits and jerks herself off to the scene.

"Your mother is such a great slut, YoonA, she lets me do anything I want to her, I hope you're like this too," you say to Sullyoon as you eat Sana's pussy with her body lifted. Sana takes things up a notch, showing she's no slouch and hitting your face with her ass while you try to eat her out. "Damn I didn't think my mother was this crazy," Sullyoon thinks in her head.

You kiss and worship Sana's pussy as you slowly bring her back to the ground. "Best pussy in the world, if yours is half as good, we are in for a treat," you say to Sullyoon.

"Come here, YoonA, worship your mother's pussy, it's where you came from after all," you tell Sullyoon, grabbing her head and shoving it against Sana's perfect cunt. Sullyoon's skill impresses Sana. "Wow, she's very good at that," she says. Needless to say, Sullyoon has been training to lick pussies in her sorority since she joined it, so, of course, she's already well-versed in the art of coochie eating.

You kiss Sana and worship her body while Sullyoon remains glued to her mother's pussy. "Wanna suck my dick, horny bitch?" you ask her, taking your clothes off and displaying your muscular body and your cock. "Yes, I do," Sana enthusiastically answers.

Sana gets on her knees and sucks her favorite big fat cock. "Looks like you already trained your daughter to be nasty, my job will be really easy then," you tell her as you start sensing Sullyoon's tongue rimming your asshole. You grab Sana's head, fucking her face and watching her choke on your cock, the only guy that can truly tame that crazy slut.

Sana worships your balls but you quickly stop her and pound her face, the move of your hips sweeping your ass all over Sullyoon's face. You quickly grab both girls' heads and push them against your both, making them choke all over your cock and anus. "Come on, you nasty bitches, show me how much you want it," you tell them as Sana and Sullyoon's faces turn red.

"Push that dick deep in your throat," you tell Sana, bending her over and spanking her ass before manhandling her throat until she gags again. "You nasty Japanese bitch," you say to her as saliva drips out of her chin and you slap your cock in her face while Sana gives you a radiant smile. "I know you like that, I know you go crazy when I'm your nasty bitch," she tells you, deepthroating your cock shortly after.

"Your mother is a tough bitch to tame, YoonA, but she always falls on her knees for me," you tell Sullyoon as you go really rough on Sana, fucking her face like a fleshlight while turning her ass cheeks red with countless spanks. "You should have a safe word for those occasions, YoonA, I know not every girl is as tough and slutty as your mother," you instruct Sullyoon as you destroy Sana's mouth with all your might, her asshole winking at every thrust you give her.

"Look at your mother's asshole, so beautiful and small," you tell Sullyoon. "Can't deny I would love to fuck that but today your mother said it was going to be all about pussy and I'll respect her," you continued as Sana jerks your cock and spit on it before you shove it back in her face balls deep and put her back in her place.

"Come here, YoonA, now you're gonna watch your mother get fucked like a proper slut," you say as Sana bends over and you start pushing your cock in her pussy. Like every single time, you struggle to fit your thick meat in her tight, very small entrance, needing to make a big effort just to push it inside her. "Oh my Gosh, oh fuck," Sana moaned as your cock shaped her walls like a sculptor shapes his work of art.

"AHHHHHHH," Sana screamed as you quickly switched pace, her hair getting messy and falling all over her face while her cheeks got clapped from behind. You grabbed her slim waist, using all the support you needed to drill her pussy. Sullyoon had flashbacks of some guys doing the same at her party and fucking her from behind, but this looked far more intense, as Sana just closed her eyes and took your cock deep in her pussy repeatedly.

"OH MY GODDDDD," Sana yelled as her pussy got completely rag-dolled. Sullyoon was in awe, watching her mother get completely obliterated in a way she had never seen before, your thrusts at very high speeds clapping her cheeks as you and Sana looked at the painting she inspired, you more convinced than ever she was truly the perfect woman, or, better yet, the perfect fuckdoll for you to freely use.

"Fuck, that fucking dick is so big in my pussy," Sana says as she starts getting wetter and wetter down low. Sullyoon is hyper-fixated, amazed as she looks right at her mom's tight pussy being stretched out at an insane pace, your full nine inches going in and out of it like a piston. But what would come next would surprise her even more.

You give Sana's ass a big spank, which triggers a reaction that shocks the cute Sullyoon. Suddenly, despite being drilled like crazy, her mother fights back, moving her hips in the direction of your shaft and taking control, hitting her cheeks right against your muscular belly. "OH FUCK," Sana screams with a very angry voice, ready to unleash her slutty self to the fullest.

"FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK," Sana repeats endlessly as she keeps moving her hips like crazy, turning you into a passenger of her insanity. Sullyoon smiles as both of you fuck like animals now, as you grab Sana's hair and try to tame her, spanking her butt countless times and answering her moves. "YEEHAW," you say, pulling her hair with one hand as if she was your pony toy, while your other hand takes care of spanking her ass and grabbing her waist. "Holy fuck, I want this for me," Sullyoon thinks.

"OHHHHH, OHHHHHH, OHHHHH," Sana screams, clinging to a handrail as you freely use her body, moving it at your will with violent thrusts deep in her tight cunt that make her cheeks clap. Sana answers it, moving her hips even more frenetically. Sullyoon is baffled at what she's watching, her mother getting plowed like the good slut she is.

"Look at me licking my squirt, YoonA, I'm such a greedy whore," Sana tells her daughter as you briefly pull out of her and let her bend herself over on all fours. But not for long, as soon as Sana drops to taste her juices from the floor, you mount on top of her and quickly go back to plow her pink pussy relentlessly, your balls smashing hard against her clit.

"OH MY GOD, FUCK, THIS DICK IS SO DEEP IN ME, DADDY, HOLY SHIT" Sana screams as you keep drilling her pussy in front of her daughter. Sullyoon fingers her pussy, getting heavily turned on as she watches her mother lower her head to the floor while you stomp on it. "Taste that pussy," Sullyoon says as she starts squirting on the floor, Sana moving her immobilized head to reach for her daughter's juices.

"Kiss your mother's ass," you order to Sullyoon as you finish pounding Sana, giving her pale butt a few spanks. Sullyoon obliges, going further and licking Sana's butthole. "I said kiss her ass, not lick her asshole," you tell Sullyoon, spanking the disobedient vixen's face. "Harder," Sullyoon begs as you hit her face before she dives back to lick Sana's strawberry-flavored anus again.

"Are you sure you want it harder?" you ask Sullyoon, spanking her again. "Yes, Daddy, I want to be your cockslut, just like my mother," she tells you as you choke her and spank her whole body, especially her fat ass, making the young slut moan. Sana just watches, still recovering from the pounding you delivered to her as you push your face to eat Sullyoon's ass. "Get your fucking face in there," the young slut demands, pushing it against her body as she starts shaking her ass.

"Damn, YoonA, you're so fucking dirty," Sana says as she watches her daughter go full slutty and gives Sullyoon a big smile. You bring both girls side by side, taking turns kissing and worshipping their perfect pussies. Sullyoon is so excited she grabs your head and pushes it against her cunt, before moving it towards her mother's slit, doing it back and forth.

You choke Sana and give her face a few hits. "You're such a nasty whore, you said your daughter needed training but she's a big slut just like her mother," you tell her as Sana smiles. "Now I'm gonna teach her a lesson," you tell Sana.

You put Sullyoon on all fours on the floor as your cock invades her meaty cunt. You start plowing her a little slower than Sana, Sullyoon gleefully moaning as your cock hits deep in her wet pussy. "It's so big, fuck," she moans as you steadily fuck her, your hips hitting Sullyoon's fat ass nonstop. "Oh yeah," Sullyoon moans and ducks her head down, closing her eyes trying to cope with the heat you put in her pussy.

"OHHHH SHIT," Sullyoon lets out her first scream while Sana comes in, you sucking her tits while pounding her daughter. "Are you gonna destroy her pussy in front of me?" she asks as you keep moving your hips and sucking Sana's tits. "OH FUCK," Sullyoon screams as you hit her cervix. "You're gonna make me cum so fucking good, fuck me harder, daddy" she then begs, getting her ass hit in response.

"Can you make me squirt all over my daughter's body?" Sana asks. You promptly follow, reach to finger her cunt as her juices drop all over Sullyoon's back. "Harder, Daddy, harder," Sullyoon keeps begging. You put Sana's high heels on her daughter's back as you make Sana rain all over her daughter's back and pick up the speed. "YEAH, LIKE THAT," Sullyoon screams as she gets showered with squirts and pounded like a slut.

"Please, Daddy, don't stop, I'm gonna cum, don't stop," Sullyoon says as her face starts turning red. You grab her waist and push further deep into her pussy, Sullyoon 's long legs shaking. "Give it to me Daddy, don't stop, I'm so close, fucking take it, please," she begs as she creams all over your cock before you handle the duties to her mother. "You're such a pathetic slut, look at you," Sana says as she disciplines her daughter.

"SPIT IN MY FUCKING MOUTH," Sullyoon begs her mother as Sana follows. "I saw how hungry you were for that dick, you want more?" Sana asks. "Yes, I want more, please," she says. "Then spit on my hand," Sana orders. "Yes, rub it on my face," Sullyoon begs. "Don't be so greedy, YoonA," Sana answers as she does it.

"OH YESSSS," Sullyoon screams as you let her and Sana play with each other a little. Sullyoon sucks her mother's tits and dives into her pink pussy. "I wanna taste it, it's the best-flavored pussy I've ever seen," Sullyoon says. You just masturbate to the scene, watching this lovely affair between mother and daughter as you slap your cock in Sana's greedy face and she licks your balls.

"Rub those sweaty balls all over my face," Sana tells you as Sullyoon moves to watch as Sana worships your big cock. Soon, you turn your attention back to Sullyoon. "Looks like she's hungry for that cock too," Sana says as you hit YoonA's pretty face again. Sana laughs as she watches her daughter get spanked multiple times all over her body.

"AHHHH, YEAH," Sullyoon moans as you keep hitting her ass, before going back to mount on top of her. "FUCK, YES, AHHHHH," she screams. "Open your legs," you tell Sullyoon, pounding her much harder than before. "YES, DADDY," she screams.

But you have different plans, fully committed to humiliating that young slut, quickly pulling out and sitting on her face. "Lick my dirty ass," you tell her as you and Sana team up on Sullyoon, you getting rimmed while Sana eats her daughter's pussy, Sullyoon barely able to breathe as you suffocate her with your ass and Sana bends over to suck your cock.

"Your fucking ass tastes so good all over my face, so fucking sweaty," Sullyoon says while Sana chokes on your cock. You put your feet in Sullyoon's mouth, putting the young vixen in a fully submissive position. "She loves my feet like her mother loves my dick," you say as you spit on Sana's sweaty face while she rubs her face on your cock.

"No wonder YoonA already knows so much, look at the fucking slut that her mother is," you tell Sana, hitting her face. "Yes, I'm a fucking slut for this big fucking dick," Sana answers as she hits back, you two trading kisses, chokes, and spanks on top of Sullyoon's body. You then grope Sana's tits and suck them while she jerks your cock off, Sullyoon moaning and tasting your feet.

"Sit on my dick," you order Sana, who is promptly ready, opening her legs and descending that big pole with ease. "Oh my Gosh, holy shit," Sana moans as she bounces on your cock under Sullyoon's watch, impressed with how fast her mother moves her hips and fingers herself while getting impaled by your massive meat.

"OH MY GOD, THAT FUCKING DICK FEELS SO FUCKING GOOD," Sana moans just as Sullyoon spits in her mother's pussy. She looks at her mother with naughty eyes, pondering how can she be such a good cock rider, as Sana's cheeks clap against your crotch nonstop, her legs fully open as she bounces so fast your cock pops out of her pussy a few times, but quickly putting it back on. "YOUR FUCKING DICK HITS SO FUCKING DEEP," she moans.

"You're stretching her pussy out so good, Daddy," Sullyoon says as she watches your cock go balls deep in Sana's cunt. You start pounding Sana from up top, the Japanese slut holding herself against the wall to not lose balance as her insides get drilled. "OH YEAH, YEAH," she moans.

"Let me taste that fucking cock," Sullyoon begs as she pulls it out of Sana's pussy, ready to suck all her mother's juices. "Hmm I can smell it," Sullyoon says as she sniffs your cock while you share kisses with Sana, deepthroating it to the fullest. "I wanna gag on it so bad," Sullyoon says. "Throat this dick, learn from your mother," you tell her, as Sana helps Sullyoon engulf your cock balls deep.

"Hold your breath and take it all the way deep," Sana instructs Sullyoon as her daughter tries to take your full nine inches plus your balls in her throat. Sullyoon gags multiple times but keeps pushing anyway. "Spit all over his dirty fucking dick," Sana says, pushing her daughter's head against your pole. "Make it fucking bulge on your throat, dive your slutty face on that dick," Sana keeps instructing, Sullyoon making gagging sounds and losing her breath.

"Let me teach you," Sana says as she grabs your cock to herself, quickly bobbing her head hard on it as she pushes deeper and deeper with ease. "It's so fucking sexy watching you choke on that dick, Mom," Sullyoon says as Sana stays focused, taking your length down her mouth, all the way down to your balls. "Give it to me," Sullyoon begs as she lets her mother spit on her face afterward.

"I love this so much," you say as you watch mother and daughter duel like two nasty sluts for your cock. When Sana takes her next turn, you decided to show Sullyoon how far you can push the limits with her mother, locking Sana's small face between your legs and making her choke on your dick, Sullyoon enjoying the graphic image of her mother's beautiful face turned into a mess as she gags on your cock.

"Oh my God, one day I promise I'll be as much of a slut as my mother," Sullyoon tells you as she watches Sana's face get pancaked between your strong legs and your big cock, getting behind her as both of your team up to eat Sana's pussy, the Japanese slut almost puking in your cock with the pressure it exerts in her naughty throat, Sana not looking like a mess, her hair completely ruined as she still manages to take that cock in her mouth all the way deep.

"Are you getting it wet for me, mom?" Sullyoon asks Sana, spitting on her face as you unlock her. Sana is so cock drunk she doesn't want to let it go, but Sullyoon is ready to add her spit to it, both girls now fighting for every inch of your cock, Sana taking your balls while Sullyoon impales her mouth on your shaft. "Oh my God," Sana says with a smile as she watches her daughter tries to match her sluttiness.

"You feel so good down there taking care of our little holes," Sana says as you take turns licking both their pussies and anuses. You then climb back on top, fingering Sana's butthole. "Look how tight your mother is," you tell Sullyoon as Sana's anal cavity refuses to give up. "OH MY GOD FUCK, SHITTTT," Sana starts screaming as you attempt to give her an anal orgasm, her belly moving with your thrusts in her butthole.

"SHITTTTTT," Sana screams as your fingers up her anus make her cum. "Taste it," you tell her as soon as her cunt squirts, Sana swallowing up your wet fingers. "OH MY GOD," Sana keeps screaming as you go back to finger-fucking her asshole. "If she's already cumming like that with just my fingers, can you imagine what she does with my cock in there?" you ask Sullyoon. "I can't wait to see it," Sullyoon answers. "I promise next time she brings you here you'll see, now I need to fuck your beautiful pussies more," you tell her.

You feed your fingers from Sana's butthole straight to Sullyoon's mouth. "Your mother is all sweaty but her ass still tastes like strawberries," you tell Sullyoon. "Yes, you're right, Daddy," she tells you as you fist her mouth, making Sullyoon spit all over her pussy. You two team up on Sana, as Sullyoon eats her mother's cunt while you keep fisting her anus. "That slut is so tight, I can put my whole arm up her ass and her hole shirks back to normal as soon as I pull out," you say.

"OH MY GOD, FUCKKKK," Sana keeps moaning as your finger stimulates her asshole, making her squirt all over her daughter's face. "You're gonna have many anal orgasms like this in the future, YoonA, even better if you can do it just with hands instead of a cock like your slutty mother," you tell Sullyoon as she licks Sana's pussy to the fullest. "OH FUCK MY ASS IS GETTING USED SO WELL," Sana screams as she gets one last anal orgasm.

"You wanna watch how you were conceived, YoonA?" you ask Sullyoon. "Of course, Daddy," the young slut answers. You warm Sana up with some dirty talk and choking. "Who's the biggest slut on the planet?" you ask Sana. "I am," she answers. "That's right," you tell her.

"You're so fucking beautiful, Sana, the perfect woman," you say as you start licking her pussy. Sullyoon is right to her side, masturbating to the hot scene. You give Sana a little anal tease, putting the tip of your cock in her butthole before pulling out and switching to her cunt. "I'll save it for another day," you say.

Despite getting pinned to the floor, Sana moves her hips to meet your cock as soon as it gets in her pussy. You spread her beautiful legs as Sullyoon is already creaming herself watching her mother getting drilled. You drive Sana to the floor, pounding her on an anime-esque mating press position. "OH MY GOD, OH SHIT," she moans as you stretch her pussy out, pounding it balls deep, her asshole winking every time your cock hits her cervix.

You choke Sana and talk dirty to her. "I'm gonna put a baby in that womb, give YoonA a sister that will grow up to be another big slut just like her mother," you tell Sana as you keep drilling her pussy, pressing her cheeks against the floor at each thrust while Sullyoon watches.

"Oh my God, show me the slut I am, breed me, give YoonA another sister," Sana begs as she looks at you with sexy eyes, letting herself get completely stopped in front of her daughter as your rough but very passionate thrusts in her pussy keep mounting. Sullyoon is bemused, watching your cock bulging under Sana's belly. "That woman looks so cute but is so nasty, how does it feel to have the perfect nympho as your mother, YoonA?" you ask Sullyoon. "Well, she's for sure a good mother to me," the young girl answers.

Sana manages to move her hips even pressed to the floor. "AHHHH, FUCK, FUCK, HOLY SHIT," she moans. You let her spin on your cock for a bit, you two trading sexy stares as Sana bounces on your cock while on the floor. "I'm gonna fill this fucking slut pussy," you tell her, getting completely on top of Sana and drilling her harder than ever, making loud noises as your bodies collide with each other at each thrust you give her.

"Watch this YoonA, learn how babies are made," you tell Sullyoon as you slow down, passionately kissing Sana and letting her walls squeeze your cock to the fullest until you fill her womb to the brim. "Your mother said she was not on the pill, hope you can get a younger sister over 20 years later, YoonA," you tell Sullyoon as your semen oozes out of Sana's tight pussy onto the floor. "You wanna go next, YoonA?" you ask the young girl. "Of course," Sullyoon answers.

"Then let's get to the couch," you say to Sullyoon as she follows you. Sana stays on the floor a little more as scoops your cum from it and licks it, while you turn your attention to her daughter.

You shove your cock balls deep in Sullyoon's mouth. "Get me hard again," you tell her. Sullyoon quickly obliges as she lets you fuck her face, but this time shows more willingness to fight back, bobbing her head hard as Sana is already back there to give her daughter instructions. "Keep your eyes open, take it all the way in, get him hard again for that meaty young pussy," her mother says.

Sullyoon grows more and more accustomed to your cock, filling it full of her saliva as deepthroats it hard. "Keep going, YoonA, get it wet for your pussy," Sana tells her as Sullyoon keeps choking on your already hard meat. You push it balls deep once again, her trying to last longer with it deep in her mouth, enjoying the string of saliva covering her pretty face.

"Open your eyes," Sana keeps saying as Sullyoon struggles to gag on your meat. "Louder, keep choking," her mother commands. "Here, let me teach you," Sana says, giving you a no-hands blowjob in front of her daughter. "Learn it, YoonA, I want you to take on that cock by yourself," Sana says as soon as she pops your cock out of her mouth.

You take turns fucking their throats and slap your cock in Sullyoon's face, letting both girls fight for your cock. Sana rubs your shaft all over her daughter's face while Sullyoon dives for your balls. "Come on, YoonA, you can do it," she says.

Sullyoon coughs all over your cock as Sana keeps telling her to keep her eyes open. You grab Sullyoon's pretty face and fuck it, the young girl struggling with your meat being much larger than her university colleagues. "She's still young, she's gonna be a great slut soon," Sana says.

"Follow your mother and lay on the couch," you tell Sullyoon as they get themselves lying upside down on the couch, their faces in prime position to get pounded. You tease both girls, taking turns between their mouths, before turning to Sullyoon, enjoying your cock bulge under her cheeks while Sana licks it.

"I think it's wet enough, turn around YoonA, and let me fuck your pussy," you tell Sullyoon as she follows your instructions. "Open your legs," you tell Sullyoon as you dive to eat her meaty pussy out while Sana sits on her face and starts squirting again over her daughter's body. Sullyoon eats Sana's pussy out, her mouths's lips perfectly interlocking with Sana's pussy lips.

"Look at her, getting my pussy wet so good, I think she's learning quite well," Sana says as you keep herself occupied with Sullyoon's pussy, pushing your head in the direction as you tongue all over her meaty clit. "Spread those lips for me," you tell Sullyoon, while Sana grinds her cunt in her daughter's mouth.

"Oh that feels so good," Sullyoon says as you two team up on her. Sana pushes harder, grinding her pussy all over her daughter's face. "AHHHHH," Sullyon suddenly screams as you shove your 9-inch cock back in her throbbing pussy without warning, Sana gets out of Sullyoon and lets her scream freely. "You're on your own, kid," she tells her daughter.

You drill Sullyoon's pussy hard, her moaning softly while Sana masturbates and goes back to squirting over her daughter. "Do you think she's learning how to take that big fat cock?" Sana asks you. "Yes, she's a good learner, just like her slutty mother," you answer, pushing harder into Sullyon's throbbing cunt.

"Spread it all over me, AHHHH, YEAHHH, THAT'S SO FUCKING HOT" Sullyoon begs as Sana gives her the biggest squirt shower yet. You keep pounding Sullyoon and instructing her. "Drink it, taste your mother's slutty juices," you command as you pick up the pace, grabbing Sullyoon's tits and enjoying her skin turn redder and redder the more you pound her.

Sana squirts all over Sullyoon's toned midriff, turning her daughter into a wet mess as your cock bulges under her fit belly. Sana goes back down, licking her juices from Sullyoon's belly and tasting your cock before you push it back inside her cunt. "Let me see that meaty cunt taking it all the way deep," she says. "AHHH, YEAH," Sullyoon moans up top.

You drill Sullyoon's pussy faster and faster, Sanna enjoying the bulge under her daughter's belly, licking the tip every time it pops under Sullyoon's navel. "Can you squirt like your mother?" you ask Sullyoon as Sana rubs her daughter's clit while you fuck her.

"I'll try, Daddy," Sullyoon answers you as her pussy starts getting wetter and wetter. "I LOVE HOW HARD YOU FUCK ME, DADDY," Sullyoon screams as you push harder and harder in her pussy. "Lick my ass, YoonA," Sana demands as she gets back to sit on her daughter's face, as Sullyoon obliges and puts her tongue deep in Sana's strawberry-flavored anus.

Sullyoon's legs tremble as you spread her long legs further and keep drilling her cunt nonstop. "Don't cum yet," Sana commands to her daughter, who tries to deal with it by pushing even harder into her mother's asshole.

But you have different plans. "Stay there," you tell Sullyoon, pulling out of her and fisting her cunt all of a sudden. "AHHHHH FUCKKKK," she suddenly screams, your massage in her cunt pushing her to the verge of orgasm. "Don't move YoonA, stay strong," you tell her. "FUCKKKK, DADDDY, I CAN'T TAKE IT YOU'RE GONNA MAKE ME CUM, OH MY GOD" Sullyoon screams as she explodes in the most mind-blowing orgasm she has ever had in her life, her cheeks getting completely covered with juices.

"It smells so sweet," Sana says as she licks her daughter's squirt. "Just like her mother," you tell her. "You told her not to cum, should I punish your daughter for not following your instructions?" you ask Sana. "Well, she's all yours, do whatever you want to her," Sana answers.

You put Sullyoon on the top of the couch, putting her under a mating press just like you did to her mother. "Should I cum in her pussy just like I did to you?" you ask Sana. "Of course," she answers, letting you have total control over Sullyoon.

"Look at this nasty bitch," you say as Sana comes from behind to watch you fuck her daughter and starts rimming your asshole, making you push harder against Sullyoon's meaty cunt, your ass rubbing all over Sana's sexy face. "AHHH, YEAHHH," Sullyoon screams as you punish her, spanking her red face and choking her hard as her cunt keeps getting drilled.

The couch creaks with the intensity of your pounding, you are now in total control of Sullyoon's sexy young body, pushing it against the couch as your whole weight is on top of her. Sana doesn't give a shit about her daughter getting choked to the extreme, just staying entertained licking your asshole. "I'm gonna cum so hard for you, Daddy," Sullyoon says as she can barely breathe with your strong hands wrapped around her neck, her body getting pushed harder and harder as you fuck her at full speed now.

"Oh right there, right there, Daddy, PLEASE, PLEASE" Sullyoon begs as you ramp up the intensity. She's just your fucktoy now, the only thing you care about now is fucking her meaty young cunt until she can't walk, destroying her hot sexy body to the maximum like a horning raging bull. "OH YEAH, OH FUCK," it's your turn to scream as you can feel Sullyoon's walls tighten around your cock, her whole body trembling and her moaning out of breath as you feel it's now or never.

You empty your balls in Sullyoon's meaty cunt, but your cock gets hard again as soon as your cum finishes painting her walls. "Look what you made me do, you dirty slut, you made me cum inside you in front of your mother," you tell Sullyoon. "I didn't do anything Daddy, you wanted," she says.

You grab Sullyoon's neck once again, plowing her even harder than before the creampie. "Why did you have to be so hot? Why did you have to be such a dirty slut just like your mother?" you keep asking her, massacring her pussy and choking her almost to death.

"Spank on her face, spit on it, be a good mother and discipline your daughter," you tell Sana. "Are you ready to cum on his dick, YoonA?" Sana asks. "YES, MOM, I WANT TO CUM ALL OVER DADDY'S COCK," Sullyoon screams, her face completely red as you and Sana watch from above. Sana disciplines Sullyoon, hitting her daughter's body as she is ready to orgasm. "My daughter is such a dirty slut, I'm so proud of her," she says.

"FUCK, AH, AH, AH, AH," Sullyoon starts to scream. "Cum on his dick," Sana orders, spanking her daughter more. "You want more?" you ask Sullyoon as you feel her walls tightening again. "YES, DADDY, CUM IN MY PUSSY AGAIN," Sullyoon begs.

You spread Sullyoon's legs again and go back to drill her cunt hard. Sana spanks her daughter's feet as you too discipline Sullyoon with countless spankings. "You want more?" you keep asking Sullyoon as you choke and fuck her. "YES, DADDY," she emphatically answers every single time.

"USE ME, DADDY, USE ME PLEASE," Sullyoon begs as she can barely think straight. "Dirty fucking slut taking his filthy cock," Sana says of her daughter as her legs start shaking and you two cum at the same time. "THIS IS SO GOOD, THANK YOU, MOM, YOU'RE THE BEST, THANK YOU FOR TRAINING ME LIKE THIS," Sullyoon says as she's completely overwhelmed, that experience will make her never see sex in the same way she once did. All the nights with those fraternity bros at her university will look tame and vanilla now compared to Daddy's 9-inch thick cock.

You and Sana massage Sullyoon's meaty pussy, signaling you two aren't done torturing the young girl with pleasure. "I'M GONNA CUM SO HARD, FUCKKKK, YESS" she screams as your hands touch her cum-filled folds and her legs shake. "YoonA, your pussy is still so tight it can break my little hands," Sana says.

"Oh my God it's so intense," Sullyoon says as she cums again. But you aren't done with her. "Easy, please," she begs as you put your finger up her asshole and then feed it to Sana to taste. "You want to have an assgasm like your mother?" you ask Sullyoon. "Yes, Daddy, anything you want," she answers.

You massage Sullyoon's asshole as Sana watches and laughs. "Ohhhh it's so intense," she says. "Next time we meet I'm gonna fuck your ass and you will think twice to find this intense," you tell her as you make her taste her butthole. "That's it. "Yes, Daddy, fist my ass like I'm a fucking whore, a fucking slut, I love being used like this and treated like a whore," Sullyoon says.

"AHHHH I'M GONNA CUM AGAIN," Sullyoon screams as you manage to give her an anal orgasm. "Daddy, I never felt so good like today, thank you," she says as you two share passionate kisses, Sana watching on the side as you make love with her daughter after giving her the nastiest possible orgasm. "That's why I love him so much, YoonA, he's the only dude who can finger your asshole and then hug and kiss you a second after," Sana says.

"Cum in me again, Daddy, turn me into your cum dump," Sullyoon begs as Sana smiles watching her daughter begging for more. "She's turning into such a good slut," she says. "You like that, you dirty slut? The more you get, the more you want," you say, enraged as you spank Sullyoon's face and tying to find more cum in your balls to give to her.

Sana gives you more naughty stares, pleased with the way you fuck her daughter and happy her training was successful. You keep spanking Sullyoon's face. "You're getting on my nerves, slut," you tell her, choking Sullyoon. "Sorry, Daddy, I'm just a needy girl who wants cum," she says, her face completely red as Sana kisses her. "You're so beautiful taking all this cock," Sana tells her as you lift Sullyon's right leg and put both your feet in her face. "YES, PLEASE, PLEASE," Sullyoon begs as she gets used like a toy,"

"Here's the cum you wanted, bitch," you tell Sullyoon as Sana gets up, watching her daughter get filled up again as her body is completely under your control. "That's fucking amazing," Sullyoon says. "My daughter is such a beautiful slut," Sana says as Sullyoon collapses on the couch, exhausted as your drilling sucked all her energy. But you still have one other horny woman yet to be fully satisfied in the room, all sweaty and ready to be pounded once again even as your cock was so drained by Sullyoon you might be shooting blanks at this point.

But Sana is not like the other girls, she always has a move up her sleeve.

"YoonA, I know you're all dizzy over his cock, but I need to teach you one final move, it's called 'The Snake Enchanter,'" Sana says as she starts kissing you.

"Carry me, let's do it," Sana says as you grab her from the couch and start bouncing on your cock while you lift her. "Holy shit, my mother is insane," Sullyoon says as she watches the way Sana moves her hips, getting you hard once again as she does her signature riding moves. "You're gonna empty your balls in my pussy just like you did to my daughter," she tells you.

"AH, AH, AH, AH," Sana moans as she works on your cock. Sullyoon tries to be a good student just like in her university, watching her mother with her eyes wide open as you carry-fuck Sana all over your living room, getting close to the mirror. Sullyoon is exhausted but comes close to watching her mother bounce on your dick. "So fucking sexy," she says, looking from below as Sana's pussy moves up and down your shaft in a perfect rhythm.

You grab Sana's ass and spread her cheeks in front of Sullyoon, as her mother continues to moan every time she reaches the bottom of your cock, her hips grinding to perfection on your big fat cock. "Squirt on me," you beg Sana as you put her back on the ground, sitting on your chair and letting her finger her pussy right in your face. "Watch this, YoonA," she tells her daughter, covering your face with a geyser of juices.

Sana grabs your head and rubs her pussy in your face. "Yes, baby, worship my juicy pussy," she says as Sullyoon comes back to the scene and jerks your cock off. "Good girl, preparing this cock for your mother to sit on," Sana praises her.

"Sit on my dick," you tell Sana as Sullyoon keeps moving her hands around your cock, lining it up to her mother's entrance and watching her bounce on it. "Pay attention YoonA, this is how you milk a cock dry," Sana says, moving her hips in an insanely fast manner, grinding on your cock to perfection with very fast and strong bounces, her asshole wiking as she moves.

"OH MY GOD, PLEASE, CUM IN MY PUSSY, AHHHH," Sana begs, driving you insane, you grab her and start pushing upwards against her cunt. "OH MY GOD, FUCK," she screams, Sullyoon watches as your thrusts push her mother's body up in the air. "Holy fuck, he's gonna split my mom in half," she thinks.

"AH, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK," Sana screams as you thrust so hard you nearly send her flying against the wall. As you pull out of her pussy, your cum oozes out of it and drops to the floor. "Taste it, YoonA," Sana tells her daughter, who crawls into the stains of semen on the ground and licks them to perfection. "From my pussy too," Sana commands as Sullyoon obliges.

The three of you are exhausted after nearly an hour and a half of rough fucking. "I can't wait to see you again, fucking sexy girls," you tell Sana and Sullyoon, giving them some kisses as they head back to their homes full of sweat and cum.

Sana and Sullyoon arrive home, taking a shower together. "What did you think of your training?" Sana asks her daughter. "It was amazing, mom, thank you again," Sullyoon answers. She's so tired that she goes straight to sleeping after finishing the shower, while Sana sends you some texts.

"My daughter really liked it," she says to you. "It was a pleasure," you text back.

On the following morning, Sana wakes up to her routine. As she heads towards Sullyoon's bedroom, she doesn't find her daughter in there. "YOONA, WHERE ARE YOU?" she screams as she searches all over the house before her motherly instincts kick in.

Sana drives to your house, opens the door, and gets shocked as she watches her daughter naked on all fours on the floor getting her ass fucked while her head gets stomped and she begs for more.

"YES, DADDY, PLEASE, FUCK MY ASS HARDER," Sullyoon screams before she sees her mother right beside her and gets shy as the fucking session comes to a halt.

"You really like your father's cock, don't you, YoonA?" Sana asks her daughter. "My, what?" Sullyoon asks, confused. "Your father," Sana answers. "Mom, you must be joking," she replies to Sana. "No, I'm not, I know it's hard to resist but you really need to contain the impulses of fucking your father," Sana answers.

"Are you really my father or is she joking?" Sullyoon asks you.

"Yes, YoonA, I am your father," you affirmatively answer, only to receive a very unexpected answer from your daughter.

"That's so hot."

#sullyoon smut #sana smut #nmixx smut #twice smut #female idol smut #girl group smut #kpop smut #male reader smut

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tiza0925 · 1 year ago

Note

okok hear me out but Akaashi dating reader and she has a spit kink 👉🏻👈🏻 you don't have to write anything about it but i would love to hear about it from you! (i love your works sm 💗)

…i think you’ve just woken something inside me, anon 🫠

Intimate | 18+

Warnings/Tags: nsfw, afab/female!reader, praise kink, jealous!reader, dom!Akaashi, raw sex, multiple orgasms, slight dumbification, squirting, pussy slapping, petnames, little bit of choking, overstimulation, creampie, spit kink ♡ SET IN A TIMELINE WHERE ALL CHARACTERS ARE AGED-UP AND OVER 18

Pairing: Akaashi Keiji x Female Reader

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

You’re not a jealous person, you swear.

Your relationship with Akaashi is the most secure relationship you’ve ever been in—not once has he ever given you a reason to doubt him.

To not trust him.

He’s shown you nothing but respect, kindness—god, so much love and patience—ever since you two started dating.

But—

Your jaw ticks as you watch a random girl get a little too close to him—watching how she laughs a little too much and looks at him with stars in her eyes.

You can’t blame her, though—you look at him the same way—he’s good-looking and deserves to be appreciated for that.

But that doesn’t mean it still doesn’t get to you whenever you see other people do it.

Especially this particular girl who seems to refuse to leave his side ever since you two arrived at Kuroo’s house party.

Because apparently—she’s close with Bokuto.

Which means she knows Akaashi.

But you barely hear Akaashi talk about her so it’s either he doesn’t see her as close as she thinks they are—

Or he’s hiding something from you.

But that would be ridiculous—it’s Akaashi.

He wouldn’t.

Right?

You take a sip from your drink, then you turn to the person who’s currently talking to you—you think her name is Yachi—and you give her a slightly apologetic look as you walk away and straight towards him.

And the girl that’s seemingly too giddy with whatever Akaashi is saying.

It’s why you come up to his side with a small smile at the other girl, your arms around his waist, and Akaashi stops mid-sentence to look at you with a slightly concerned look—his one eyebrow raised as he asks in a soft murmur, “You okay?”

You hum, a small smile threatens to pull at your mouth as he wraps one arm around you, holding you closer, and you nod. “Just tired.”

He gives your waist a small squeeze, his voice a soft rumble against you. “Wanna go home then?”

You blink up at him, then you quickly glance at the girl that was talking to him—and you feel a slight bud of satisfaction in your chest when you notice how annoyed she looks—and you nod, blinking up at him all sweetly. “Please?”

You end up in the passenger seat of his car a few moments later—looking out the window—as he drives you two home.

It’s quiet—comfortably so—as you watch light posts and buildings until—

“Are you going to tell me what that was all about?”

You hear him ask that, his voice calm and quiet, and your eyes widen with surprise as your heart flips.

You blink, turning to look at him—his eyes remaining on the road ahead—and you frown. “What?”

“Suddenly wanting to go home and hugging me like that,” Akaashi then turns his head a little to give you a look like he knows something. “What was that about?”

Oh.

Was it that obvious how you felt?

You blink.

Silent.

Then you swallow hard, playing dumb as you look away, murmuring, “…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But then you hear him let loose a low, caustic laugh—as if he doesn’t believe you—and you feel his hand, heavy and large on your thigh, with the heat seeping through your pants and skin, as he gives it a small squeeze. “Alright.”

It’s how you end up with your face stuffed into a pillow, back arched, and ass out the moment you two arrive back home—

“Oh fuck—”

And you’re cumming around a thick cock with your moan getting muffled into the cushion.

“Look how well you take me,” His voice comes out a low drawl, sounding so nonchalant as if he isn’t fucking you deep into your cunt with a harsh grip around your waist—holding you in place as Akaashi makes you take all of him with your orgasm throbbing through you.

Your mind goes numb, and you whine when he drags his dick against your G-spot, overstimulating you.

“Keiji—fuck—please—”

But then he pulls out—leaving you empty and pulsing around nothing—causing a trickle of your juice to leak out, and you let out a sudden cry when Akaashi leaves a harsh slap against your wet pussy with his hand.

“Turn around.”

Fuck.

You listen almost immediately—moving to lay on your back, breathing heavily, and Akaashi smiles down at you from the bridge of his nose, admiring you for just a moment—

Then he’s hooking your legs over his shoulder—and your eyes grow wide when you feel the head of his cock slide over your drooling pussy, bumping your clit that has your head going dizzy, and then—

“Do you think she’d be able to take me as well as you do?”

Then he starts to ask that—in that taunting, calm voice of his—and your cheeks grow hot at the mere mention of that girl, jealousy pricking the edges of your vision and—

You whimper when he pushes his cock back inside you, filling you and making you feel so full as he rolls his hips against yours, building that sweet buzzing ache in your pussy again.

Akaashi watches the way your cunt swallows him so perfectly—his girth opening you up as you cream all over him—and he wets his lips, his smirk turning lecherous. “You think she’d look this pretty around my cock too, baby?”

He’s not blind.

He can pick up on the small signs of jealousy from you with just a small look, word—even the way you act.

He’s observant—and he clearly didn’t miss the way you were eyeing that girl from earlier.

You suck in a large breath, feeling him in your damn throat as he fucks you languidly, and your voice is breathy when you bite out a response. “Why don’t you go and find out for yourself then.”

Akaashi leans down and god—you sob out a moan when he nearly bends you in half, shoving his dick so deep into you that your entire body goes limp.

You’re practically shaking as his lips hover over yours, and his eyes—all half-lidded as he observes you—grow alight with something darker and amused as he hums lowly. “I don’t think I will.”

He pulls out, the tip of his dick catching your hole, then he immediately thrusts back in with one, harsh slap of his skin against yours—making you gasp as your juices gush out. “Nobody else can get messy like you do, baby.”

His smirk comes slow and syrupy, his hooded eyes observing you—how your eyes are glossy with tears threatening to spill out—and he goes to pull on your lower lip with his mouth, kissing you so achingly soft despite the harsh fucking. “Nobody else feels this tight around me.”

You moan against him, your arms numbly wrapping around his neck as you take his cock pushing in and out of you—your pussy swallowing him whole like it needs his dick in there.

It’s so fucking needy that even when you feel him digging into your lungs with his cock—you still want more of him, that swelling ache in your clit just begging for it.

And god—he gives it to you.

He fucks you with one hand coming to thumb your sensitive clit—rubbing it in slow circles with your juices coating it until you’re clenching around his cock, squeezing him and throbbing as you cum for a second time.

“Shit,” Akaashi groans, driving into you as his head gets foggy with lust, and heat overwhelms him as you make a mess on you both—clear liquid squirting out of your poor little pussy with every rock of his hips, and tears finally spill down your cheeks with oversensitivity.

“Don’t cry, angel,” Akaashi soothes you, his voice throaty and heavy, and his hand that was on your clit comes up to wipe your tears—spreading your fluids all over your face and getting you dirty as he calmly shushes you. “You asked for this.”

You know.

You just didn’t anticipate how intense Akaashi will be to make sure you know that you were being irrational for feeling jealous—to fuck you until you felt all loose and dumb from his dick that you can’t do or say anything but whimper and cry for him.

God—

You suck in small, gasping breaths as he slides his hand down until he’s rolling his thumb over your bottom lip, and—

And then his pupils grow wide and dark, there’s a small tick at the side of his lips that looks carnal, and your heart leaps into your throat as he forces your mouth open as he presses down onto your lip—your heart thundering in your ears as you watch with shiny eyes, unsure what he plans to do until—

Until he also opens his mouth as well, and your mind grows heady with submission with your tongue out for him, your pussy clenching him so fucking tight as he lets a small, pearly glob of his saliva string down onto your tongue.

And fuck—he lets out a low groan of approval, making your chest swell at how satisfied he looks as you please him.

“Swallow.” His voice is so deceptively soft.

But you listen and swallow.

With no hesitation.

And it should feel gross with him spitting in your mouth like that—making you feel like some whore under him—

But instead—it does things to you.

It makes things so much more fucking intimate.

You keep eye contact with him as your throat bobs with an obedient swallow, your body moving with every thrust of him inside you, and Akaashi can’t help but lean down to kiss you so deeply that you shudder against him—

“Such a good girl for me—shit,” His hand comes to the front of your neck, his calloused fingers wrapping around it and giving it a little squeeze, making you moan as you sloppily kiss him back, your vision growing blurry.

Then he leans back, hand still on your throat, and his chest rise and falls as he continues to fuck your abused pussy, your fluids making a mess, and he turns his head to brush his lips against your calf.

“I want you to cum on my cock again, love, you do it so well for me.”

Then he brings his other hand to press on your lower stomach, making you keen with a wet moan—and you feel so fucked out and dumb in the head as another orgasm steadily pulses through you.

“And say my name when you do, love,” Akaashi breathes out lowly, his dick in your guts as he pushes his hand down a little more, “Because nobody else gets to do that except you.”

More clear liquid gushes out of you, spraying and squirting all over him as your legs shake with another orgasm for that night—his name on your tongue, making his head spin as he fucks you through it.

And then he’s spurting out thick loads of his hot cum into your sore pussy, shoving it further into you with every push of his cock inside your walls—making sure you know that only you get to be marked like this by him.

end.

Masterpost

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 1 year ago

Text

reunion

Pairing: Art Donaldson x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only. minors, please get off my lawn.

Notes: Not beta-read because when is it ever.

Length: 4.5K

Warnings: Slow burn; unrequited love; angst; yearning; divorced Art Donaldson; oral sex (female receiving); vaginal sex; safe sex

Summary: It wasn't that Art Donaldson was the one that got away. It was more like Art Donaldson was the one that never really knew you existed.

"Did you hear Art Donaldson is supposed to be here?"

The question is whispered behind you and makes your hand freeze in its signing. You're half-bent over the table at reception, fingers tight around a pen as your mind is jogged.

No way was he turning up, that's what Anne had said.

Tashi will be there, she's the head of the goddamn reunion committee, the ink is still wet on their divorce—that's what Anne had said. Hell, she'd sworn it.

So what the hell is he doing here?

The sound of your name jogs your attention and you manage to finish signing in. You straighten, taking up your name tag and haphazardly slapping the adhesive onto your top. You need a drink, and quickly. You're halfway to the bar before you feel someone wind their arm through yours.

"Okay, I know you didn't wanna come—"

"Anne."

"And I so appreciate you being here so that I didn't have to come alone—"

"Anne—"

"But I got some news and it's going to be a little shocking so I think you should hear it from me—"

"I know he's here."

"What?" Anne freezes, her arm dropping from yours. You turn to see her looking stricken, her cheeks pinking with panic and embarrassment. You sigh softly, glancing around your fellow alumni. Less than half of them look familiar; your eyes catch on the odd face before you realize that you're inadvertently looking for him.

"Look, there are, like...Five hundred people here, alright?" You add. "I probably won't even see him."

"We can go."

"Look, we made the trip, we're here, we may as well stay. It's fine, okay? We're all adults here! It doesn't matter!" Your insistence is chased by a slightly hysterical laugh. "It was, like, a hundred years ago."

"...You're sure?"

"I am positive."

Positive that you need a drink, and positive that you're going to regret agreeing to stay.

It wasn't that Art Donaldson was the one that got away. It was more like Art Donaldson was the one that never really knew you existed.

You were friends, sure. You palled around, had a few classes together, hung out at a few parties—but he was so in love with Tashi Duncan that you'd never made his romantic radar. You'd forced yourself to believe that that was for the best, that you didn't need his love or romantic validation to be happy. But you couldn't pretend that wanting him didn't sting.

He'd had a couple of girlfriends while you were at Stanford, but you could always feel, always see that they were never really his priority. It was Tashi, then tennis, then them.

The two of you had kept touch a little after college, but you'd pushed yourself to move on. Conversation had begun to fade, and when he hadn't tried to keep it up, you had resolved to let him go.

You'd avoided his name in the news as much as you can, but it had been hard. He was on billboards, packaging, tv—it was like you couldn't escape him.

Want melted to sadness; sadness shifted to annoyance; annoyance hardened into disdain. You couldn't see his likeness or hear his name without rolling your eyes. It wasn't his fault, of course, but the prospect of running into Art fuckin' Donaldson made you queasy.

Still, you put on a brave face for Anne, forcing your focus into conversation.

It's a struggle to keep your gaze from seeking him out. You take each sip with a little white lie, convincing yourself that you're looking to make sure you can avoid contact. You spot Tashi a couple of times, but you don't go out of your way to say hello. She's surrounded by a cloud of people—taking pictures, signing programs and name tags and old Duncanator shirts.

When Anne insists on going to say hello, you force a small smile.

"You, um—you go ahead," You nod, taking a couple of steps back. "I'm gonna get some air."

Anne's dark eyes flit over you questioningly before she blessedly lets it go, nodding and going on her way. You turn, swiping a fresh drink off of a passing waiter's tray as you leave.

It takes a few moments for the buzz of conversation to clear from your head. You take a gulp of the prosecco, wrinkling your nose. It's a little sweeter than you usually like, and doesn't mingle well with the three other drinks that you've downed. Tashi's not going to find your lack of presence or greeting conspicuous; you'd been cordial and on speaking terms in college, but the two of you had never been close.

Damn, but it's chillier outside than you thought it would be. The reception had been so warm, so crammed with people. Paired your head being near-permanently on a swivel, you hadn't realize how hot and tense you'd been.

You frown at the waft of cigarette smoke that catches your nose. Who the hell is still smoking in this day and age—

"Are you hiding, too?"

Maybe you can feign that you didn't hear him—that the sound of his voice didn't jog a hundred memories and trigger a flurry of butterflies. But before you can stop yourself, you turn, the words, "I thought you quit smoking," tumbling out of your mouth.

Art's smile widens as he draw the cigarette back from his lips, a stream of smoke pushed out of the side of his mouth.

"I did. Quit quitting, though." He takes one more puff before he flicks it away, drifting closer. "Hi."

Hi, like it's not the first time you've seen him in the better part of a decade. Hi, like neither of you are oceans from where you where when you last saw one another.

"Hi," You manage. He doesn't hesitate to draw you into his arms; he seems to almost do it without thinking. You only allow yourself a moment of resistance before you raise and curl your arms around him. The clean scent of his pressed jacket and woodsy cologne are muddled with smoke. The fingers of one if your hands curls covetously in the fabric of his jacket as his palms smooth gently over your back. You hear him draw in a deep breath, feel him hold it, and then release it with a soft hum.

"How the hell are you?"

Probably better than you are these days.

You shrug a little, mumbling, "Fine."

He draws away, eyes skating across your face.

"You don't sound so sure about that."

"I'm sure."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

You can feel him winding up for another pass at it, but you hold your glass out before he can. His fingers brush against yours as he drains it.

"Why are you hiding?" You ask. He shrugs, nods toward the door.

"It's a lot in there. I forgot what these events are like."

"People wanna congratulate you. They're proud."

"Are you?"

"I am, but I'll hold off. Don't wanna crowd you."

Your attention is drawn from Art's smile as you hear someone clearing their throat over the speaker system inside:

"If we could have the reunion chairpersons to the stage, please!"

You glance toward Art and find him fidgeting, his thumb smoothing across his bare ring finger.

"…Do you wanna go back in?" You offer. He considers before he says, "Wait here."

You watch curiously as he darts inside, and are stunned when he reappears a moment later. You just barely catch a glimpse of the bottle of champagne clenched in his fist before he rests his other hand on your lower back, steering you away with an urgent murmur of, "C'mon."

"I'm surprised you came," You tell him. Art doesn't look at you for a moment, and you take the chance to lean back against the hard plastic seat. He's as beautiful as he was the last time the two of you were together, the night before graduation—practically in the same seats. You don't know if he was thinking about that when he'd led the way into the stands, chosen where to sit. Maybe it was pure muscle-memory.

Either way, you don't know how long the two of you have been sitting out there, knees bumping, passing the bottle back and forth. You take in his profile—the slope of his nose and cut of his jaw; the bob of his adam's apple as he swallows.

"My therapist said it would be good," He finally admits. "Told me I needed to get out more, start getting back into events, work at the foundation...What about you, huh?" He turns, brows raising. "You always told me that you hated this stuff."

You're surprised he remembers.

"I do hate this stuff, but," You shrug. "Anne didn't want to come alone."

"You're a good friend. I never forgot that." He sits up and passes the bottle back to you. "What happened to us, huh?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why did we stop talking?"

I couldn't keep begging for scraps of attention.

"I don't know," You deflect. "Guess we just lost touch. It happens."

"I shouldn't have let it happen to us."

You look down at the bottle, sweeping your finger across a slipping drop of condensation.

"You were busy."

"You weren't?"

"Not in the same way," You laugh self-consciously.

"What were you busy with then, huh?" He shifts, thigh pressing against yours. "You used to always say you'd uh—burn out by twenty-six."

"Yeah."

"Did you?"

"Oh, it didn't take nearly that long."

"What!" He laughs. "What the hell happened?"

"I don't know what to tell you, man. A girl can only take a soul-sucking marketing job for so long."

"So what do you do now?"

"Still in marketing, but I'm a manager, so. Still soul-sucking, but making a little more money."

"You like it?"

"God no, but I don't know what else I would do." You pass the bottle back.

"Could find something for you at the foundation."

You wrinkle your nose, shaking your head as Art sputters a laugh, asks, "What?"

"Don't do that, Art."

"Don't do what?"

"I don't need, you know—"

"We could use you—"

"You don't even know what I do at work."

"I bet it's great—"

"You don't even know if I'm a good worker—"

"Sure I do, I know you."

"No, you don't!"

You know it's a mistake the second it leaves your mouth. Art's smile wavers as he leans away again.

"I just mean—" You try.

"I know what you mean. It's been a long time."

"...Yeah, it has." You take the bottle back, drawing deeply from it before passing it back. "I should get going. I'm sure Anne's looking for me."

"Sure."

You don't say goodbye or tell him that it was nice to see him. You just make as hasty a retreat as you can without tripping over your feet.

@ a_donaldsonofficial requested to follow you. 3h

You're not sure what surprises you more—the follow request or the message in your DMs: Dinner?

His groan is sinful and low, and makes you rethink ever losing contact with the guy. Under the warm glow of the diner's lights, his eyes slip shut, fingers tightening around the bun.

"...When's the last time you had a burger?" You finally manage to ask.

"I can't remember." He admits it through the mouthful, and you don't begrudge him the couple of flecks of food that land on the table. You smile, plucking up a couple of fries.

"Art?"

"Mm."

"Why'd you ask me to dinner?"

Art sets the burger down as he swallows, taking off his napkin to clean off his hands.

"I was thinking...About what you said at the reunion."

"Mhm."

"About me not knowing you. You're right. But you know what?" He presses on before you can process your surprise. "I don't think you know me, either."

You think for a moment, brows furrowing. He's right. You know the image of Art Donaldson that's been projected to you over the years—on tv screens, in magazines, in online clips.

"...I don't think I do," You agree.

"Figured we should fix that. Catch up, fill each other in on what we've missed."

"Okay."

"So, after college..." He trails off, waving his hand. "Fill me in."

"Moved to New York."

"Uh-huh."

"Working in marketing."

"Burned out before 26—"

"Yeah, hit my capitalistic peak at 23."

"That fast?"

"I mean, that's the last time I remember giving a shit about work, so. Yeah."

"Relationships?"

"...A couple," You admit.

"Serious?"

"Yeah. One."

"Married?"

"No. Engaged." His eyes drop to your bare left hand, and you hurriedly tuck it into your lap. "Formerly engaged."

"What happened?"

"It just didn't feel right. I don't think either of us were ready."

"...Was it anyone I knew? I don't remember you dating much at school."

"Guess I didn't."

"You weren't shy."

"Well no, but—"

"So what was it?"

"I had the worst crush on you, dude!" It's another mistake, but where the last one seemed to make Art retreat, this one leaves his gobsmacked. His eyes widen, mouth opening in a wide smile.

"You what?"

"Oh, kay, you know what—"

"I had no idea!"

"I was very subtle."

Art leans back in the diner booth, watching you openly. You can see the gears turning in his head, and you wonder what he may be remembering, holding up and twisting about in this new light.

"...Huh," He mutters.

"You can feel free to forget that at any time."

"I don't think I will...I wish I'd known."

You consider for a moment before you shrug. "I don't know. I'm kinda glad that you didn't."

"Really?" His brows knit with confusion. "Why?"

"I don't like coming second, Art."

Art nods slowly, and you see something tight pass across his face before it's smoothed away again.

"You know what?" He smiles bitterly. "Neither do I."

You nod toward his plate.

"Your burger's getting cold."

"So, uh..." Art clears his throat as the two of you take slow, drifting steps to your car. "I'm gonna say two things, and I don't want you to think that they've got anything to do with what you said earlier."

You know exactly what he means, but you just grumble, "I said a lot of things earlier."

"I think we both know which one I'm talking about."

"Uh-huh. So what's up?"

"...I wanna see you again."

"Okay."

"But things are a little...Messy right now. Tashi and I are working on getting Lily into a regular rhythm and it's harder than we thought it would be."

You lean back against your car, tucking your hands into your pockets.

"Mhm...I hesitate to ask."

"Yeah."

"How does this have to do with what I said earlier?"

"I just don't want you to think that this is—"

"A consolation prize?"

"Something like that."

"Whatever you need to do to get in a good place with Lily is fine, Art, you don't need to justify that to me."

"Even if it means you come second?"

You tip your head to the side, pursing your lips. "It's different when it's your kid. I meant that I didn't want to be second to—You know."

"...Yeah," He mutters, looking at his feet as he takes another foot forward. "And for the record, I was thinking of asking you out again by the time we sat down."

"You could've changed your mind."

"I didn't. And I don't want to."

You smile, nodding. "Well I don't want you to, either." You straighten up as you fish into your bag for your keys. "Call me the next time you're in New York."

"Sure."

You reach out, cupping his cheek and leaning in, pecking his cheek. You pull away, smiling at the flush creeping across his face.

"Goodnight, Art."

"Night."

It isn't easy at first. Messages are far and few, mostly how are yous and how was your days. You think that as nice as the little swell of contact has been, that's all it'll be—but the two of you both start to really try. The odd text becomes the weekly phone call. Weekly phone calls become daily FaceTimes. On the nights when he has Lily, they're late, usually when you're getting ready for bed. On the nights when he's on his own, the two of you eat dinner together and chat over your calls. It isn't always perfect, but it's more than you could've anticipated from that dinner a couple of months ago.

"She down?"

"Yeah."

"Are you in a hotel again?"

"...Yeah." Art seems to admit it grudgingly, and you smile a little as you take up your toner and a cotton pad.

"There's nothing wrong with leaning into it if it's working," You argue. "And not to be that bitch, but you're not exactly broke."

"Might be if she keeps ordering room service and movies on-demand."

You laugh softly, turning your attention to your reflection as you swipe the toner across your face.

"How's your day been?" Art asks.

"Fine, standard. I had to fill out an assessment ahead of my annual review."

"When's that?"

"End of the week."

"How do you feel about it?"

"Mm," You shrug reaching for a serum. "Fine, I guess. I'm doing okay, my team's hitting their targets."

"You're doing better than okay."

"Art."

"You are."

"Well. Thank you for that." You glance over as he goes quiet, catching a glimpse of him as you smooth the serum into your skin. You raise your brows at the sight of his gentle, warm smile. "What is it?"

"You're beautiful."

Your face goes warm at the compliment, and you bite the inside of your cheek to tamp down your wide, idiotic smile.

"You are tired, huh," You deflect.

"I mean it."

"...I know," You murmur, reaching for your moisturizer. "Tell me what you got up to today."

"I had a meeting at the foundation. We're starting planning for the gala."

"Oh yeah? Have you done them before?"

"We've had three before, but I was usually playing or training, so I haven't been as involved in the planning."

"How's it been?"

"We're still in the preliminary stages, but it's been interesting, you know, seeing how the pieces come together before I usually see them."

You nod, picking the phone up from the mirror holder and heading into your bedroom.

"Where are you gonna have it?"

"We're still scouting locations...As a matter of fact," Art adds, "We're considering a few in New York."

"Oh?"

"I'll be down there for at least a few days, and I wanna see you."

You grin bashfully as you climb into bed, settling against your pillows.

"I wanna see you, too. Are you gonna, um—I mean, is Lily gonna be with you?"

"No, it'll be Tashi's weekend."

"Okay, cool. Just wanna make sure I don't mess up your time."

"I appreciate that." Art's tongue swipes across his lower lip, eyes sweeping across your face. "I gotta say..."

"Mmm?"

"I'm looking forward to seeing your apartment."

"Oh, really?" You chuckle. "Why's that?"

"It'll be interesting, that's all. I mean, you already take me to bed every night."

You laugh, covering your eyes as you groan, "Oh, god, shut up!" as Art chuckles.

"Let me know when you're free," You add. "Your schedule's gonna be weirder than mine."

"Yeah, I will, as soon as I know what it is." You watch as Art lays down, propping his phone up on the nightstand. "...Can you stay on?"

"Yeah," You soothe, setting your phone on the nightstand in suit. "Until we fall asleep."

"Okay," He murmurs. The two of you settle in on your sides, watching one another on the phone.

"Night, Art."

"Sweet dreams."

The restaurant is picked. Your nails are done, your hair is done; you get a new dress, new shoes, a new bag. You're going to have an amazing night—a good dinner, a great conversation, and, if you have any luck, an amazing good night kiss.

You know the minute you see him that you're not making it to the restaurant. Art's eyes sweep over you in covetous wonder when you open the door. He closes the gap between the two of you, drawing you into his arms, and this time you go without a second thought. He presses his face into your neck, letting out a gentle hum at the scent of your perfume. The tip of his nose trails up over your jaw, his lips brushing the corner of your lips as his forehead rests against yours. He sighs as you draw in a nervous breath, and he sways in, lips pressing to yours.

You raise your hand to cup his neck, shivering as his hands smooth over your hips. He guides you deeper inside, blindly reaching back and shoving the door shut behind you as you fling your purse toward the bench in your entryway. His kisses grow hungrier as he steers you down the hall. You slip your tongue along his, smoothing your hand up to grasp his hair. Your fingers fumble with the buttons on his shirt, exposing more of his pale, muscled chest to you. He slides down the zipper on the back of your dress and leans away just long enough to draw the dress up over your head. His eyes sweep across you, taking in your lingerie.

You hook your thumbs under the band of your underwear, giving them a teasing wiggle as you back further away from him. You expect him to follow, but he steers you back against the wall, dropping his head to suck hot kisses along your neck and down to your chest. He yanks one of the cups of your bra down, taking your nipple into his mouth. You bite your lip, tipping your head back against the wall and whining as he slots his knee between your thighs. You roll your hips down against the hard muscle as he laves and teases your nipple, reaching up to thumb and tweak the other.

"Art—Mm, god that feels so good."

He groans against your skin, trailing his kisses further down as he lowers himself to his knees. You look down as he curls his fingers around your panties—and waits. You smile softly, nodding, murmuring, "Please?"

Art grins, pressing a kiss to your hip before he gently eases the fabric down, waiting for you to lift your feet so he can fling them away. He leans in, swiping his tongue across your aching clit. Your knees would knock if he wasn't wedged between them. You draw in a shallow breath, letting your head tip back as he draws your leg over his shoulder. You shiver at the feeling of the chilly air against your heated, slick flesh. He nuzzles and laps against your cunt, taking each tip of your hips in stride. His hand smooths up your trembling inner thigh, giving your ass a gentle squeeze before he teases a finger into you. You whimper at the touch, unable to help the way your pussy clenches around it.

Art groans at the feeling, turning his head to smear his lips slips against your hip.

"Goddamn," He breaths against you.

"More."

You feel more than hear his gentle chuckle as he eases another finger in.

"Need it bad, huh?"

"You have no idea."

"I'm getting a pretty good idea." He turns his head, leveling a sucking kiss to your clit that makes you cry out. You tighten your grip on his hair as he pumps his fingers harder, curling and scissoring them as he pushes you closer to the edge.

"Art—Mm, god, fuck, yes—Yes—" Your toes curl in your shoes as your hips rabbit down against his face and fingers, chasing the swell of your orgasm. You look back down as he draws back and find his lips and chin shining with your juices.

"Bed," He urges.

"You can fuck me right here."

Art laughs, standing and smoothing his hand over your thigh.

"We're doing this right."

"We could be doing this right...." You slid your hand down his chest to palm his cock through his pants. "Here."

You grin as Art's eyelids flutter, his dick twitching against you.

"Bed," He insists again.

It isn't far to go, and the two of you are entirely bare by the time you get there. You scooch back onto the bed, spreading your legs as he rolls on a condom. He's over you a moment later, and you watch the bulge of his biceps as he braces his hands on either side of your head. You bite your lip as you feel the brush of his cock against your entrance. You reach down, grasping his cock and guiding him closer.

You tip your head up, tongue teasing the seam of his lips as he eases into you. You melt into the mattress as he crushes against you, filling you completely. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, sliding your legs over his, as if you'll manage to fuse the two of you together. Art's tongue swirls around yours before he captures your lips in a kiss, rolling his hips slowly.

"More," You plead, but Art keeps his pace achingly steady, even when you try to pick up the pace.

"You feel so fucking good," He breathes, "Even better than you taste."

"Harder, Art, please, god damn, please," You whimper. He tips his head to the side nipping at the hinge of your jaw as he reaches down, hiking your hip up even higher. Your mouth fell open with a stunned moan as he presses deeper, the slap of his hips filthily filling the stifling air around you. You arch up against him, nails raking down his back as you feel the swell of another orgasm.

"Art."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm—Fuck, almost—"

"That's it." He sucks his fingers between his lips before he slips them between your bodies, swiping across your tender clit. You begin to close your eyes, but he tuts softly.

"Don't—Don't close your eyes—Look at me," He orders between breaths. You force yourself to focus on Art, taking in the flush on his cheeks, his almost dazed eyes.

"You, too—" You urge.

"Yeah—"

"Oh—yeah," You gasp, unable to keep your gaze on his you cum. You feel Art's hips slap roughly against yours before he slows, groaning low in his chest. You draw in a deep breath as your heart pounds in your chest, sinking back against your pillows as he settles down over you. You smooth your hand over his nape, smiling as he nuzzles against your shoulder, dropping tender kisses to your skin.

"...Art?"

"Yeah?"

"I think we're going to be late for dinner."

"You know, I've been thinking."

"You've been doing a lot more than thinking, mister," You mutter, and grin as Art laughs. You cuddle closer against his side, nuzzling into his chest as he tightens his arm around your shoulders.

"I'm glad I didn't know you liked me in college."

"Really?" You tip your head up, brow furrowing. "Why's that?"

"...I wasn't ready for you back then." He smooths his fingers along your jaw, eyes wandering your face contemplatively. "It's like you said, you know. You would've come second."

You nod, turning your head to press a kiss to his palm.

"I don't think I was ready for you, either," You admit. Art smiles.

"And you are now?"

"More than."

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ;

@buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989

#Art Donaldson x Reader #Art Donaldson x You #Art Donaldson/Reader #Art Donaldson/You #Art Donaldson fic #Art Donaldson imagine #reunion

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sanakimohara · 8 months ago

Text

But wait… dating Chan has so many perks! - …p*rn links

explicit content ahead + masterlist > + 0T8 list >

- You’re never not spoiled and a little greedy for his attention! Always so demanding and pouty when he doesn’t give you what you want and sometimes he’ll have to remind who’s in change! But it’s so worth it!

- You’re the first to hear any and every song he’s working on. So you spend a lot of time in the studio with him when he isn’t too overwhelmed by work!

- You get the very best hugs.

- You don’t have to worry about feeling lonely because when he’s not around there’s always someone to keep you company. Maybe Felix. Maybe Minho. Hyunjin. Seungmin, Changbin, Or even Jisung and Jeongin! They’re always around to help you out when Chan gets caught up in work! But don’t worry because he won’t forget to make it up to you and give a reward for being so patient!

- You get whatever you want from him as long as you say ‘please’ just like he taught you. Always so polite. Always so sweet for him!

- You get to take care of him! He’s always being everything for everyone and sometimes even he needs a little break so helping him relax is your favorite thing to do!

- You can wear any and all the cute little outfits your heart desires -but be careful because it’s not always going to stay ‘cute’ around him! And that’s okay cause he’ll buy you something prettier!

- You get the cutest messages from him! Voice memos and videos made just for you! All for you.. And he’s always so excited and proud of you when you send him one of your own!

- You can sit on his lap whenever you want, for as long as you want, and he loves it when you do! He won’t wanna let you go!

- You get all the best kisses. The ones that leave your head spinning and all foggy just the way he likes it!

- You can relieve some of his stress. Ease his mind when no one else can and he appreciates it!

- You’ll be the love of his life. A point of inspiration he draws from every second you’re with him…

- You could be all his

Alright…so how did I do on this? Should I do the other members too or no? 🖤

Also, the literal battle I had to fight to get these vids and audios was nothing short of a rollercoaster. Literally was melting, crying, and dying all at once so you’re welcome-! 🖤

[ Tag list is open… ]

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sweetlovepascal · 15 days ago

Text

love hangover

pairings oldman!joel miller x sunshine!reader

summary you talking to joel’s dick like it’s a human being and calling it ‘princess sofia’ catching him off guard. “does princess sofia wanna come out and play?”

tags grumpy x sunshine, minors dni cuteness overload. established relationship, unspecified age gap, jackson era. drunk reader, joel becoming confused as fuck, explicit language, dirty talking. joel calling you sugar, baby, & sweetheart.

masterlist

joel fumbled with his keys at the door, trying to keep his balance while holding you up. you were leaning against him like a sleepy sloth. the party that tommy had sponsored had been wild.

joel hadn’t even had more than one beer, but you? well, you had lost count somewhere between the fourth shot. the world was pleasantly blurry and the ground beneath your feet shifting when you least expected it.

joel sighed, opened the lights, and kicked the door shut behind him, amusement lining his words as he muttered something about your inability to pace yourself, but his grip was unwavering.

joel caught you elbow just before you walked directly into a coat rack.

“easy there,” he said with a chuckle. “that rack ain’t done anything wrong to you, sweetheart,”

sensing your unsteady sway, without hesitation, swept you up into his arms, carrying you bridal style. the sudden lift made your stomach flip in surprise, but his grip was steady, firm, effortless.

“you alright, darlin'?”

“i feel like i’m on those things that goes round and round on a horse? a merry-go-round, yeah, that one, ”

“you’re hopeless,” he murmured. you barely had the energy to protest, only managing a content sigh as you pressed closer against his chest. he smelled like fresh laundry and the lingering traces of cologne.

with you in his arms, he moved through the dimly lit livingroom, lowering you carefully onto the couch. the moment your head hit the armrest, a satisfied hum escaped your lips.

joel lingered for a moment, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, his touch feather-light.

“stay put,” he said but you seem to be in a different planet.

“i love you,”

“i love you too.” joel smiled, kneeling to unlace your boots.

with a tired sigh, joel finally let himself sink onto the couch beside you. the cushions shifted under his weight, his arm naturally draping over the backrest as he tilted his head back, exhaling slowly.

he let his hand rest lightly against your thigh, his fingers absentmindedly tracing invisible patterns.

you leaned into him, warm and soft and buzzing with end-of-the-night chaos.

then you looked down and paused.

you leaned in close, “i’ve been thinking…”

“that’s ‘lways concernin’.”

you pointed at his crotch. “we need to talk about her.”

joel blinked and looked at you. “who?”

she grinned devilishly. “princess sofia.”

there was a beat of stunned silence.

joel squinted. “am sorry but who the fuck is princess sofia?”

“princess sofia. that’s what i’ve just now decided to call your—” you waved vaguely at his groin.

“what? ain’t no way you’re s’posed to go namin’ things while being under the influence.”

“but she’s been hidden away all evening,”

you poked his hip with exaggerated gentleness. “you’ve been hiding her from the world, joel.”

“...my pants?”

you didn’t answer. instead, you sat in his lap with your legs in between joel's. your fingers moved up to his chest, swift and mischievous, and began unbuttoning his shirt. fast and precise.

joel blinked, startled. “whoa, sweetheart, we doin’ this right now?”

“shh,” you said, still working on the buttons. “this is important.”

“what?”

you looked up at him, eyes gleaming, then dropped your gaze once again and whispered with all the sultry seriousness you could muster.

“i miss you,” you said dramatically, now addressing his lower half as if it is your lover instead.

"damn sugar, i'm over here,"

before he could protest further, you leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his bare stomach, just above his waistband.

joel inhaled sharply, his hands grabbing hold of your waist.

you pulled back, looking up at him with faux-seriousness.

"that was for her. princess sofia.”

he stared at you, stunned. “am i the one ya callin’ princess sofia?”

“she deserves affection, joel,” you whispered, fingers gently grazing his chest. “she’s been neglected. lonely. cold.”

“she’s ain’t cold— i'm not—” he tried to argue, then stopped himself, rubbing his hand over his face.

“baby— you’ve had plenty enough of wine.”

you grinned devilishly, your gaze dropping, and your focus locked below his belt like you were staring at a treasure chest, ready to claim the crown jewels. then you leaned in.

“does princess sofia wanna come out and play?” you whispered, full of playful mischief.

joel froze, eyes widening in horror. “wait, what?”

“whoa now—ya talkin’ ‘bout my—" joel sputtered, clearly trying to process what was happening, his eyes darting around like he was trapped in some bizarre dream.

“no, no, no... ya ain’t—”

“your member, joel.” you looked at him and leaned in even closer, voice rich with seriousness. “the meat wand?”

joel just stared at you in wide-eyed disbelief. his face contorted in an expression of utter confusion.

joel continued to sputter, face red.

“who… who are you?? what happened to my sweet, normal girlfriend who don’t go throwin’ words like ‘meat wand’ ‘round?“

you smiled innocently. “she evolved.”

joel buried his face in his hands. “this is the weirdest... funniest... most terrifying thing that’s ever happened to me,”

you paused for a moment, “are you denying princess sofia her royal liberation?”

“ain’t nobody ever talked ‘bout my thing like this before. this some weird dream?”

“let’s make this dream come true then,” you said, eyes twinkling.

but you were already moving. your fingers dropping to the front of his pants and before joel could catch up, you were hurriedly unbuckling his belt, the metal clinking as you tugged at it like a woman on a mission.

“whoa—baby, wait—” joel stammered, caught entirely off guard, eyes wide as your fingers worked fast.

“she’s waited long enough, let her breathe, joel.”

joel caught your hands before you got the zipper undone.

“okay, alright—time out, princess. we ain’t doin’ this while ya narratin’ my junk like it’s a medieval artifact.”

you leaned back with a sigh, dramatically resting your head on his shoulder. “you never let me have anything.”

joel wrapped an arm around you, kissing your temple. “you can have breakfast. and a very intense conversation about your namin’ conventions tomorrow.”

“she’s going to file a complaint.”

“she can talk to hr.”

“her royalness is hr.”

joel just shook his head, grinning as he tucked you under his arm.

“goddamn help me, i love you.”

you smiled into his chest. “and she loves you, too.”

the next morning, joel was flipping pancakes, grinning as he caught a glimpse of you, wrapped in a blanket, trudging into the kitchen.

as the two of you sat down to eat pancakes, the tension of last night melted into something warm and easy.

joel handed you a syrup-covered pancake and you bit into it. “just for the record, though... i wouldn’t mind a bit of princess sofia’s return.”

you narrowed your eyes at him as you chew the pancake joel had fed you. “do not remind me of last night.”

joel’s brown eyes twinkled as he grinned, clearly yearning for you.

“princess sofia doesn’t mind playin’ today.”

you raised an eyebrow, feeling a mischievous spark.

“oh? how does princess sofia want to play today?”

joel chuckled, then leaned in close. “ain’t sure but princess sofia deserves the world. she’s earned it.”

“well, maybe your huuugee intimidating friend, princess sofia, can get it… after breakfast.”

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cherrygirlfriend · 29 days ago

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─── YOU'VE GOT MAIL .ᐟ

...or him dreaming of you.

★ pairing.ᐟ frat!rafe x nerd!reader

★ summary.ᐟ rafe cameron is the golden boy of kildare university; certified frat boy, captain of the football team, relentless party animal with lines of girls to sleep with.

reader couldn't be more different; while she has the best grades in the whole school, she suffers from social anxiety disorder, and her social life is limited to her three best friends and the cat she secretly snuck into her dorm room.

both of them decide to join the anonymous chatroom for their campus, and start talking to one another, a friendship starting to form between the two; but neither of them know how different the other is.

★ author's note.ᐟ this is a bit of a fluffy filler… i have something exciting coming for them it makes me giggle!!

YOU'VE GOT MAIL!

the fall break was coming up, and so far, the only plan you had was to crash over at vivian's place, fully aware that you were less than welcome to go home to your parents. you were on your laptop, your messages with MalachiConstant open on KildareUChats.

YOU: you got any plans for over the break?

MalachiConstant: yeah, a bunch of us are going to our buddy's lakehouse.

YOU: geez, i'm jealous.

MalachiConstant: well i'd invite you to tag along but i'm pretty sure your response would be 'i'd rather die'

YOU: you know me so well, vonnegut. YOU: nah, my plan is to go to my friends' place, we're just gonna spend the entire week playing video games and watching really bad romcoms while eating half our bodyweight in junk food.

MalachiConstant: and is the cat coming too?

you chuckled, looking to angel who was currently munching on her dinner, before turning back to your laptop.

YOU: nah, i got a catsitter. my friend's mom is allergic.

MalachiConstant: damn, cat-free and everything. MalachiConstant: don't do anything i wouldn't do poe

YOU: i don't think there's much you wouldn't do. YOU: i still remember you telling me about diving off a roof into a pool.

MalachiConstant: hey, i used to take swimming lessons. i was a pro at work

YOU: and also under a nice amount of promilles.

MalachiConstant: someone's just jealous because she doesn't have the balls to dive off a roof.

YOU: let's not get it twisted. i'm smart enough to not dive off a roof.

you and vivian were studying in the library for an exam, when she suddenly spoke up. "so… i have some news." vivian looked at you with pursed lips, making you instantly aware that whatever her news was, it would not be good.

"what is it, viv?" you asked, trying not to show to the girl how nervous you were. "come on, spit it out."

"soo... topper kind of invited me to come hang out with him over the break..." she tapped the rubber end of her pencil against the desk. "alright...?" you questioned, your brows furrowed. "what's so bad about that?"

"it's for the whole week." vivian cleared her throat, "at his family's lake house..."

"viv!" you groaned in exasperation, "we have plans. you told him no, right? that we were hanging out for the break?"

"well..." she looked down, doing everything to keep her eyes anywhere but on your face, "i kind of said i'd talk to you about it..."

"i can't believe you." you scoffed, "you're ditching me. you know the crap i go through when i go home and you're-"

"no, it's not like that!" your best friend interrupted, putting her hand on your arm as a way to calm you down. "i told him that i couldn't do it because i was gonna hang out with you, but then he told me to bring you along. and he said i can bring zainab and emilia along, too. zainab said she couldn't make it, but em is fully in."

you shook your head, letting out a soft scoff, "vivian, you know how bad my anxiety is. spending a week with a bunch of strangers sounds like my worst nightmare."

"hear me out." vivian insisted, "most of the football team is gonna be there. which means that your online boyfriend is also likely gonna be there."

"so?"

"so you have a chance to finally find out your mystery guy's identity! then you'll fall in love, get married and have a bunch of babies who'll call me auntie viv and i'll secretly buy them beer when they're too young to buy it themselves."

"i'm seriously starting to think that you don't have any morals."

"i'm dead inside." the pink-haired girl shrugged her shoulders, "so? are you in?"

"what makes you think i want to know the identity of the dude?"

"the fact that you get all giggly whenever your damn phone lights up like you're a middle schooler passing notes with your crush. you wanna be with him, don't you? you're so much more open, so much happier than you were BFB."

"BFB?"

"before frat boy." vivian grinned at her own wit, softly nudging your arm, "you totally have the hots for him."

"no one says that anymore." you rolled your eyes, fiddling with the edge of a sheet of paper, "i'm nervous. what if he doesn't like me?"

"girl, shut up." vivian let out a frustrated groan, "i've seen the messages you send each other. it's like the online version of eye-fucking someone. seriously, you two might as well be sexting, and that would somehow be less couple-y than the shit you have going on now."

"we're not that bad!" you exclaim in feigned offense, making vivian lift her brows, "not that bad? what did the message he sent you last night say again... something about dreaming about just staring into your eyes. him asking you to describe how they look just so it could be accurate?"

you couldn't help but feel your cheeks starting to burn as you thought back to the messages you'd been exchanging the night before.

YOU: i'm currently looking up at the stars. YOU: i actually took an astronomy class a while back!

MalachiConstant: of course you did, nerd. MalachiConstant: you know what'd be nice?

YOU: i'm sure you'll tell me!

MalachiConstant: ha ha. MalachiConstant: i wanna look at the stars with you, poe. i can picture you womansplaining all the constellations and shit.

YOU: aww, that's weirdly kinda sweet. YOU: who are you and what have you done with vonnegut boy?

MalachiConstant: really appreciate how seriously you're taking this MalachiConstant: i dream of you sometimes, you know

YOU: oh? YOU: what do you dream about?

MalachiConstant: all kinds of sappy shit MalachiConstant: i dream of just staring into your eyes MalachiConstant: i'm pretty sure your eyes are gorgeous

YOU: good theory. you don't even know what they look like. does that line seriously work on any girls?

MalachiConstant: maybe you should describe them to me.

you bit down on your bottom lip, vivian looking at you with an expectant look on her face, "he likes you, sweetie. and he's still gonna like you when he finds out who you really are. if he doesn't, then he's a fucking idiot."

"viv-"

"say yes. say that you'll come. what do you have to lose?"

letting out a sigh, you shook your head, vivian looking at you with a pleading look in her eyes. "i hate you, viv."

"is that a yes?"

"yeah." you rolled your eyes, "it's a yes."

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matchpointfaist · 2 months ago

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super rich kids with nothing but loose ends

art donaldson x pr relationship! reader

tw for drinking, drug usage, smut, might split into two parts

art donaldson had a tiny image problem. okay, maybe tiny wasn’t the right word. according to his team, and grandmother, he was on a downward spiral headed nowhere. he was at the height of his career, fresh out of stanford and in with the pros, perpetually gearing up for his next tournament, always running on as little sleep as possible. he had more than he knew how to handle; more money, more alcohol, more parties, more people offering him coke and more of a reason to finally try it. when he was younger, 16 or 17, he’d preached about his body being a temple, he’d never have dreamed of putting anything harmful into it. but now? now, he was living in a free for all, and he just kept coming out on top.

you, on the other hand? the media loved you. you were riding a high from your US open win straight out of college, on a winning streak that was finally being recognized as more to do with skill than luck. your team was a tight ship, constantly keeping tags on you, making sure nothing undesirable slipped through. it wasn’t just about winning, for you. it was about being the best, and that meant every aspect of your life revolving around getting people to like you. behind closed doors, though? that was a whole different story.

you could, and often did, keep up with art and all of his friends. you weren’t close, really, but you ran in the same circles, always running into each other at parties, occasionally flirting. he’d run into you once at some magazine launch, making small talk, already half drunk. “how do you do it?” he’d let slip through, watching you with hazy eyes. “do what?” you’d laughed, brows knit. “keep it together. you’re always more fucked up than i am, but you go out and win the next day like nothing happened,” he’d sounded frustrated, like he was holding it against you. “i just do it,” you’d shrugged, knowing fully well it was a blatant lie. every moment of your life was choreographed and orchestrated- you never just did anything. “bullshit,” he’d said under his breath, turning away before you could ask him what he meant. he’d avoided you after that, watching from afar as you drank the other girls under the table, as you stayed out even later than he did despite having a 8am match. he didn’t need to know how you did it. he could figure it out himself.

six months later, he found himself sitting in his manager's glass office, getting scolded for what felt like hours, lectured endlessly about his problematic behavior. "we need to rehab your image," his manager told him, leaned over his desk, "you need a girlfriend, someone to soften your appearance, make you more favorable to brands," "i'm a tennis player," art sighed, sinking down in the crinkling plastic seat, "i didn't sign up for all this shit, honestly, and i'm certainly not gonna go date some random girl just so a brand will sponsor me," "you don't need a random girl," his manager smiled, paging his assistant, and before art could ask him to clarify, you were strolling through the door. "oh, fuck no," he shook his head, standing without hesitation, "no. i don't need tennis' golden girl to tidy up my image, okay? this is bullshit," "if you want to stay signed on here, you'll sit down,"

art sat back down with an agitated huff, crossing his legs, trying to keep his eyes off of you as you sat down in the chair just beside his. "you need to understand that the two of you are not just tennis players anymore, alright? you're celebrities. my firm represents both of you, and i have zero intention of letting my investment go to waste because you can't get a grip, donaldson. we've drawn up contracts-" the man slid two folders across his desk, rigid with tension, "the two of you will maintain a stable, healthy relationship for a minimum of six months, until the buzz about art's recent escapades dies down. if, for any reason, this relationship ends before the six month term, both of your contracts with this firm will be terminated. got it?" a handful of mumbled expletives and messy signatures later, you were following art out of the office, the tension palpable.

"i think this is all bullshit, for the record," he told you as the elevator doors closed behind the two of you, "i don't need this. i'm doing perfectly fine for myself," "you're an alcoholic who sleeps his way through whichever city he finds himself competing in, don't be stupid. i know you, art. or were you too fucked up to remember all the times you hit on me at parties?" "i'm not an alcoholic," he scoffed, running a hand through his hair, "and that's rich, coming from you. you drink more than half the guys there," "and yet i still show up and don't make an ass out of myself!" you laughed incredulously, "face it, art, really. you need this,"

the elevator dinged and he watched as you stepped off, hesitating before following after you. “we might as well make the best of it,” he finally sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, “we need to be seen out together,” “just call me when you set something up,” you told him, smoothing out your skirt, “see you around, art,” and then you were gone, slipped out the door and into the back of some dark suv, just casual enough to get under his skin. he waited a week before calling you, finally deciding just to take you to dinner, try to at least be friends if you were stuck together for 6 months. he picked the restaurant, insisting on picking you up himself- he had a new sports car he was itching to drive- and sent you the details. he pulled into your driveway 5 minutes late, debating if he should get out and come to the door before changing his mind. this wasn’t a real date, after all.

you walked out after a moment, a vision of long legs and a sleek dress, your hair falling in loose curls down your back. “rude to make a lady come to the car alone,” you told him as you slid into the passenger seat, “i’d prefer if you didn’t do it again,” “do forgive me,” he rolled his eyes, raising his hands in mock surrender before putting the car back in drive, pulling out of your driveway, “you look nice,” “hm, you do too,” you smiled just slightly, eyes raking over his blazer and slacks, the shining watch on his wrist. he reached over to turn the music up, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “we need to talk about how we want to come across," you said over the song, "like what do we want the public to think about our relationship?"

"i couldn't give a fuck less," he laughed, shrugging one shoulder, "as long as they think we're together, who cares about specifics?" "well you can't be seen with anyone else," you frowned slightly, irritated by his nonchalance, "you know that, right?" "getting jealous already?" he flashed you a grin, one hand coming to rest on your thigh. you jerked away immediately, glaring at him from the corner of your eye, but he just waved it off, pulling you back towards him. "relax, i'm just getting in character," he smiled, more like smirked, his eyes gleaming with mischief, "you want it to come natural, don't you?" you tried to relax, ignoring the way his thumb rubbed circles on the skin of your thigh, the way his hand felt warm against you. it wasn't real, so it didn't matter that the simple touch had your heart racing.

the dinner went smoothly, the two of you falling into practiced touches easily, your hand lingering on his arm and his eyes lingering on your lips. by the end of the night, you had a near perfect rhythm. "you're good at this," he mumbled as he walked you down the crowded sidewalk back to his car, his hand on your low back, "guess you get used to that, being the golden girl of american tennis," "that's funny coming from you," you laughed slightly, "you're number one in the country, damn near in the world. you should be used to it by now," "never get used to having a beautiful woman on my arm," his voice was dangerously slow, suspiciously genuine. "bet you say that to all the girls," you rolled your eyes, attempting to brush off the way goosebumps dotted along your skin. "you're naive if you think i care about the other girls enough to flatter them," it sounds too easy to be a lie, "they throw themselves at me, i don't really have time to try and impress them,"

"you're an asshole," you laughed, shocked at his bluntness, "i thought you were nice, you're always so soft at parties," "soft?" he repeated, like he'd been scorned, "i am not soft, i just try not to be as aggressive as some of the other guys," "well i'm glad to discover you're actually exactly the same as they are," you rolled your eyes, "frat boys are all the same anyway, i'm not surprised," "i'm not a frat boy!" he argued, "i graduated last year, thank you very much," "once a frat boy, always a frat boy," you grinned, looking up at his flushed face. he looked down at you, the tension melting away as a boyish smile spread across his lips, "god, should've known you were just fucking with me," he laughed, nudging your shoulder. "i have no room to talk," you laughed, running a hand through your hair before letting it fall to his shoulder, looping your arm through his as you walked, "guess we're not too different,"

the drive home was quiet, his playlist playing idly in the background as he drove, your eyes glued to your phone so you wouldn't look at him for too long. he walked you to the door when you got there, smiling apologetically, "hopefully this makes up for earlier," "i guess so," you grinned, leaning against your doorway. "so we won't see anyone else," he said after a moment, "what about affection? i know we have to sell it, but are you okay with kissing in public? i don't want to take it too far," "wow, a frat boy who cares about consent," you teased, "why don't you come inside? we can sit down and talk about everything,"

you shouldn't have invited him in. you knew it as soon as you actually saw him in your space, sitting on your couch like he belonged there, his dress shoes by the door right next to your discarded heels. it made it all too real, his sobering presence casting a light on your home. "your place is so nice," he said, standing from the couch to run his fingers along the frame of a painting, "i'm surprised you don't have all your trophies out on display," "oh, they're out, just not in here," you assured him, "i have a room for that," "can i see?" he sounded genuinely curious, bordering on excited, and you cursed yourself for being so stupid before pushing it down and leading him through the house.

you opened a door along the main hallway, hesitating before letting him step inside after you, the only person you'd ever allowed inside besides your parents. "jesus," he said under his breath, glancing around. you knew you must look insane to a normal person- there were trophies and medals littering the shelves, plaques displayed, framed photos of winning shots or of you posing with coaches. there was a small tv against the wall, only used to watch back matches, and a loveseat for when you spent hours locked in the room, examining your every played back movement. you watched as he studied each trophy, his eyes lingering on the US Junior Open cup, the first one you'd ever won. "you were 15," he finally said, his fingers tracing the inscription in the copper, "weren't you?" "yeah, i was," you nodded, surprised that he even knew that, "why?" "that's fucking incredible," he continued on over the awards, "this is all fucking incredible,"

"i thought you'd think i was crazy," you admitted, "like this was some kinda shrine or something," "i think this is the hottest thing i've ever seen," his voice was hoarse, his eyes on the photo of you just after your most recent win, kissing your trophy. "what?" you almost laughed, to diffuse the tension if nothing else. "you're so fucking talented," he turned to face you, and your breath left you, your cheeks flushing. he looked undone, pupils dilated and cheeks tinged pink, "do you just sit in here and look at all you've done?" "i only come in here to watch matches," you felt suddenly embarrassed, like you were admitting some weakness, baring some part of your soul to him, "that's really all," "oh, god," he ran a hand through his hair, "you're so intense," "is that a bad thing?" you asked defensively, crossing your arms over your chest. "no, god no," he said quickly, shaking his head, "this whole thing is just- you're just insanely talented,"

a mental alarm goes off as he crosses the room, standing just in front of you, brushing a lock of hair from your face. “you make all those other girls look like a fucking joke,” he murmured, “you know that? wouldn’t even bother playing against you if i were them,” that does it- ignore the voice in your head telling you this is wrong, that this isn’t real- and kiss him, feverish and hot, rough and quick. he grabs hold of your hips, tight and greedy, with an intensity you’d only ever seen on the court. “we shouldn’t,” it comes out in a pant between kisses, your voice heady, “art, wait-“ “fuck waiting,” he mumbles, pulling you back to kiss you again, your back hitting the wall behind you. he tastes like vodka and redbull and mint gum, your lips tingling against his. a startled gasp leaves you as he halfway picks you up, your shoulder knocking a trophy from the wall with a clang. “shit, i’m sorry-“ “bedroom,” you cut him off, sliding out of his arms to pull him down the hallway, stumbling steps taken between messy kisses.

he laid you back on your bed, his kisses getting sloppier the needier he got, his hands anywhere he could reach. “these fucking legs,” he choked out, his hands grabbing at your thighs, lips trailing down your neck, “gonna be the death of me,” “shut up and fuck me,” you pulled his lips back to yours, eager for more. your body was taut with need by the time he finally rolled on a condom, ignoring your chastising remark when he pulled it from his wallet, and fucked into you, stretching you out more than you’d expected. “art, fuck,” you moaned against his lips, back arching. “oh,” he pulled away just enough that you could see the moment his eyes rolled back, his lips swollen and red, all blissed out as he rolled his hips. “oh, fuck me, that feels good,” his hands came to your thighs as his thrusts grew faster, his fingers leaving little marks across your skin, roaming pointlessly until he stretched your legs up, holding them above you, the new angle making you squeeze him even tighter. “oh, right there,” you were breathless, reaching between your parted thighs to circle your clit, desperate for your high. “you like that?” he panted, pressing a kiss to your calf, “tell me, baby,” in any other situation, you’d have rolled your eyes at his cockiness, but it only served to bring you closer. “yes, feels so fucking good,” you nodded, shameless and eager, “oh! oh, art, right fuckin there-“ he fucked you even harder, your muscles burning as he held your legs higher, a scream nearly leaving your throat as you came, trembling beneath him. “oh, jesus-“ he followed you almost immediately, filling the condom with a moan, his hips stilling slowly, “god, that was good,”

he slowly pulled your legs back down, pulling out of you and disposing of the condom as he caught his breath. your eyes were heavy with exhaustion, a serene feeling enveloping you as you curled up into bed, yawning quietly. “you can stay over,” you offered- something you never did- “if you want,” “yeah, okay,” he nodded, curling up behind you, his hands resting on your waist, “g’night, then,” “mm, night art,” you hummed, eyes closing.

you woke up only a couple of hours later, blinking into the darkness of your room, the spot beside you cold. your brows furrowed as you sat up, glancing around, only to find art gone, as well as the pile of clothes he’d shed earlier that evening. “what the fuck?” you mumbled to yourself, checking the time on your phone, rubbing your eyes. just under the 3:14am, there was a text from art. ‘sorry i dipped. don’t think we should do that again, wasn’t in the contract and all that. night!’ your face stung, anger and humiliation filling your veins. you slammed your phone down on the nightstand, pulling the pillow over your head and trying your best to get some sleep. he was right, you thought. it wasn’t real, so why pretend? only five months and 29 days to go, anyway.

#challengers #art donaldson #art x reader #challengers 2024 #mike faist #art donaldson fic #art donaldson x reader #artdonaldson #art donaldson smut #spotify #art donaldson au #art donaldson x pr! reader #art donaldson x you #stanford art donaldson #art x you #artxreader #art x reader smut

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julietsbody · 1 year ago

Text

innocence — modern ! coriolanus snow + reader : your friends ask you to get some drugs from the local dealer, but you never expect he would take a liking to you.

tags : 18+!!! MDNI!!! drug dealing ! coryo, drugs, praise kink, overprotective behavior, possessive behavior, porn with feelings, p in v sex, fingering, special treatment

coriolanus snow hated parties, they were loud, and the people were insufferable— but he needed the money from the things he sold. cocaine, weed, even some ecstasy. whatever the people wanted, whatever helped support his grandmother and cousin. they weren’t living in the most luxury like all the other people who held parties in these neighborhoods, so that’s why coriolanus attended them, they always paid the most.

he typically got douchebags or stuck - up pretty girls, they both always paid him in crumpled up ones that he took forever to straighten out and count— what a bunch of assholes.

what he never expected, though, was you, coming up to the man dressed in a korn shirt and baggy jeans with a bow in your hair as well as wearing a pretty dress. your doe eyes peered up at him when you tapped his shoulder, he turned, eyes slotting down to meet yours, “hey.”

“hi,” you hesitate, cute, “i.. do you sell drugs?”

he clears his throat, “sorry?”

“do you—“

“probably shouldn’t repeat yourself, doll,” he tips his head up, “i do, are you buying?“

“just for my friends, yeah,” you smile shyly at him, and he returns it.

you’re so innocent, had you ever done any drugs before? definitely not the ones he sells, maybe the weed, but cocaine or ecstasy? no, no way. if it were for you, he wouldn’t be selling you it anyway. coriolanus had a certain soft spot, if you will, for the innocent girls that wander up to him at parties with their batting eyelashes and naturally pouted lips.

“alright, let’s go upstairs,” he tips his head to the stairs, chuckling when you move to give a thumbs up to your friends before following after him, “why do they make you ask for them?”

he suddenly moves back to grab your wrist when the halls find themselves crowded, not wanting to lose you in the sea of people, nor you lose him. you were a client, a customer, and he always treats his customer this way.

loud incorrect buzzer.

he doesn’t!

coriolanus never dares to allow himself to sweeten up around his customers, or anyone, but something about your shy, deer like attitude— it had a wolf wanting to protect.

“they say they’re too nervous to do it themselves,” you finally answer when he leads you into the nearest empty room, closing the door behind you.

he finally lets go of your wrist, “that so? what are they askin’ for?”

“cocaine,” you swallow.

“then they’re not nervous,” he chuckles, having to deal with his fair share of cocaine users, none of them are nervous to approach him, “why do you let them push you around?”

he moves to sit on the bed, chopping up the cocaine from his pocket on the nightstand next to him. he typically doesn’t like when his customers stand over him, because he never knows what they will do, and he likes to be in control at all times— but you’re harmless, aren’t you? just a little deer.

you exhale a nervous laugh, “they’re not pushing me around, they’re just asking me for favors.”

he hums, eyes peering up at you as his hands absentmindedly work on the pearl powder, it was muscle memory for him at this point. “you promise you’re not doing this shit, too?”

“i promise,” your lips tip up to a curt smile, “it’s really.. scary, honestly.”

he exhales, eyes trailing over the curves of your face before they meet the nightstand again, swiping the powdered sugar like substance into a little baggie. you watch him, almost admiring, “yeah. it is really scary, dangerous, too— don’t want you doin’ this shit too.”

a warm feeling courses through your veins, you hardly realize he’s holding the baggies out for you until he clears his throat, you blink a few times, quickly trying to grasp the money you had— it wasn’t given to you by your friends to spend for them, it was just your own money. how cruel.

“it’s on the house,” he quickly says, almost unaware of what he was saying himself until it finally passes his lips.

you bat your lashes at him, “what—“

“free, doll, just take it,” he allows himself a faint smile.

you hesitantly reach to take the baggies, “are you sure…?”

he nods, “‘m positive.”

“thank you, snow,” his eyebrows furrow at how sweet his name sounds on your tongue, like nectar delivered by the kindest dove from the gods.

you turn to leave, but he quickly stands, “hey—“ he pauses, eyes sweeping over your figure as he tries to figure out what to say, you probably go to millions of parties with your asshole friends, possibly with other dealers.. “some other dealers are gonna try to rip you off, make you pay a lot for a little bit— so just, come to me and i’ll treat you good as long as you’re staying out of trouble, princess.”

“okay, i will,” you nod quickly.

“good girl.”

⊹˚. ౨ৎ

you don’t see coriolanus for a while after that night, it has been no more than a few days, less than a week but the idea of you is rotting in his brain and eating him whole from the inside out. at every party he went to, every girl with a bow in their hair (he despises that it’s the latest trend) or wearing a baby pink dress reminds him of you. with their fluttering lashes and soft smiles, god, he hates that he sees you in every one of them. he hates that you have completely plagued his entire conscience, but yet he never complains about it, not once.

sometimes, sejanus, one of the other known dealers, though he more so considers himself a look - out when coriolanus is selling, or a promoter for coriolanus’ business— he notices how coriolanus’ eyes linger more than usual on the women at parties, it almost makes him laugh, or tease coriolanus.

isn’t he supposed to be intimidating? not a man easily falling for women.

a lover boy, that’s what he seemed like now.

sejanus swishes around his drink in his cup, eyes falling to coriolanus, “what’s up with you?”

coriolanus blinks once, twice, “what are you talking about?”

“you haven’t blinked in like an hour,” sejanus liked to overexaggerate, “are you okay?”

“of course i am,” he scoffs, “‘m gonna find arachne.”

arachne, sejanus’ best friend, albeit she talks so much shit about him behind his back. sejanus is sweet, passive, and arachne is the complete opposite. some would call arachne a maneater, coriolanus thinks of her as a conceited bitch who needs to be put on a leash. she had a tendency to run off whenever she went to parties with coriolanus and sejanus, so coriolanus always had to run after her to try and find her.

sejanus nods, offering a small i’ll look too.

coriolanus allows sejanus to walk the opposite way as he turns the corner, eyes scanning each room for a brunette with a bold red lip. he doesn’t find her anywhere, god, she better not be having sex in one of the rooms upstairs like how she was last time. coriolanus likes to think opening that door to that sight was something out of a horror movie.

he does find a different brunette, though, with more golden tones and curlier hair.

festus creed, of fucking course creed is here. he was another one of the other well known dealers in the area. he wasn’t that well with his sells, mostly because he acts like he’s above everyone else in the worst way possible, and even allows people to pay with sex.

coriolanus heard his sex is never good.

funny, isn’t it? how someone with a small dick and hardly any skills on pleasing women would offer sex as payment.

coriolanus, at least, thinks it’s hilarious.

what he doesn’t think is hilarious, though, is that festus is talking to someone coriolanus is far too familiar with. glittery eye makeup, a lacy bow in their hair, baby pink dress.. it’s you.

coriolanus’ mouth runs dry when you spot him in the corner of your eye, your lips twisting into a sugar - coated grin as soon as your eyes widen, “snow!”

you immediately move to give him a hug, festus’ searing gaze following your every movement in the creepiest way possible— god, coriolanus hates him. his fingers lace around your waist, tugging you close, “hey, princess.”

“princess?” festus snickers.

coriolanus tries to ignore him, but he finds it near impossible with the words that leave your lips next, “this is festus, my friend, do you know him?”

coriolanus scoffs, does he know him, what a joke, “i know of him.”

festus finds himself chuckling bitterly, “is that right, pretty boy?”

coriolanus takes a step, and you feel a certain mold of metal against your waist when he does, a gun, his cold lips part, “sure is.”

your eyes roam over his features, the curves of his skin when his brows collide, the way his eyes darken with malice, the grit of his sharp teeth, the flush of his jaw against his flesh as he moves it. his muscles flex underneath his baggy band t - shirt, veins pulsing. he was angry.

festus’ lips part, but you speak before him, “snow?”

his head nods in your direction, but he doesn’t say anything.

“answer your girl, snow,” festus taunts.

“go upstairs,” he mumbles, it’s to you.

so you do.

⊹˚. ౨ৎ

coriolanus sighs when he closes the door behind him, coming in mere minutes later. you had been sitting on the bed in the vacant room, fingers playing together, eyes glossed over in fear and pricking with tears. coriolanus wasn’t the only one who carried, but you didn’t hear any shots, fortunately.

“kid’s such a fuckin’ asshole,” he mumbles, cracking his bruising knuckles, “he’s not sellin’ you shit, is he?”

“sometimes—“

“don’t buy from him anymore,” coriolanus pauses, swallowing, “he laces his shit sometimes.”

it was true, festus was messy with his work, he didn’t lace the products himself but the people that distributed them to him would, he was just too lazy to even notice.

“i’m sorry,” it comes out hushed, a mere whisper, but coriolanus’ ears pick up on it easily.

his tone is softer now, “why?”

“i didn’t know—“

“then don’t apologize,” his head tips to the side, sniffling the bubbling blood in his nose, he inhales, pupils wide as they roam your features. a glass tear raced down your pliant cheek, and he immediately moved to carefully wipe it away, “don’t cry, doll.”

you don’t say anything, merely melt into his touch. coriolanus isn’t good with affection, he’s hardly had any girlfriend before and if he has, they don’t last long due to his struggles with showing kindness. so it’s obvious the next word that leaves his mouth isn’t one born from honeysuckle, “cocaine?”

your lips move nervously, bottom lip tugging under your teeth as your mascara covered lashes move to his frost - bitten eyes, “do you have.. ecstasy?”

his lips drop to a frown, “why?”

your lips tremble when they part, cheeks heating under his touch, “my friends want to try it.”

“no,” he swallows, jaw ticking, “i’m not selling you that shit.”

“what? why not?”

“that shit is too dangerous,” he chuckles, albeit it’s bitterness, “i don’t want you around that, it’s trouble.”

“i’ve been good,” you reassure, hips swaying when you scoot closer to the edge of the bed, closer to him.

“have you, now?” his thumb is gently rubbing against your skin.

“i have, i promise,” you offer, feeling his fingers move so his thumb is now moving against your bottom lip, dipping into your mouth ever so slightly.

you smile around it and his pupils dilate even more, are his eyes blue anymore or merely just sole pupil? “naughty girl.”

then he stops, as if he had realized something, and pulled away. your lips curve downward to a frown, desperate to have his touch again, “snow?”

“don’t,” his molars collide, “i’ll hurt you.”

“that’s okay—“

“—i’m bad news—“

“—i don’t think that—“

“—i’m dangerous, doll.”

you hesitate, inhaling sharply, “but you won’t hurt me.”

he doesn’t say anything for a minute, “so, you want cocaine?”

you give him a careful nod, and he smiles. again, he’s being sweet.

“you know how to chop up cocaine?”

you allow yourself a giggle, “you know i don’t.”

“i’ll show you.”

and he does, his hand is gentle as it guides yours, fingers curling against the curve of your own as he crushes up the cocaine, guiding you to chop it up with the card he gave you. you’re warm underneath his cold touch, his movements experienced whilst yours are new. “how many times have you done this?”

he shrugs, breath fresh against the shell of your ear, “a couple hundred, for sure.”

“i could help you, you know, with the business,” you offer, despite not even really wanting to.

“no,” his fingers are tighter against your skin, but not enough to hurt, “i don’t want you in this business, you being around me is dangerous enough.”

“you’re not dangerous, snow,” you hush out.

he moves closer, and you feel his gun brush against your ass, lips curving into a smile, “you think so?”

you shiver from the touch, it’s loaded, the safety is probably off, “i know so.”

your thighs push together, he feels it, making him chuckle, “you’re so needy, princess.”

“snow,” you breathe out, “this isn’t fair.”

“how so?” he presses a soft kiss behind your ear, “just because you aren’t getting what you want?”

“do you want it?” you pause your movements.

“of course i do, i want it as much as you,” he moves your fingers so you drop the card, guiding them to his bulge, “‘m just not spoiled.”

you frown at his works, fingers curving around his bulge, god, how big was he? “‘m not spoiled either.”

“whatever you say, princess,” he grits out.

you palm him so well, it nearly has him rutting against your hand, breathing getting heavier against your ear. his fingers move to trail down down your back, dipping underneath the hem of your skirt and tracing along the thin material of your lace panties. his jaw shifts, “such a dirty girl, wearing these panties.”

you whimper when his fingers graze along the soaked part of your panties, thick fingers brushing against your clothed clit, “please— snow.”

“please what, princess?” you mumble something in response, but it’s nearly incoherent, more of a whimper, “use your words.”

he moves to pull your panties to the side, now touching your bare clit, making your thighs tremble, “i need— fuck, i need you— inside.”

he nods, pressing kisses along the side of your neck, finding himself already pussy - drunk. it almost felt sacrificial, a sinful man dipping his fingers inside of a goddess, the way you moaned at the feeling of his finger stretching you out— it was as if he could be confessing of his sins at any minute.

to see your hips bucking against his finger, his name hushed on the tip of your delicate tongue. didn’t you know that many people wanted him dead? how many people hated him? how the police could arrest him at any second? yet you didn’t care, a lamb to the slaughter, a deer in between the jaws of a wolf.

yet you were rutting against his hand, begging for more, desiring him to push another finger in— and he did exactly that, prepping your tight cunt for his cock, “you’re so fuckin’ tight, doll, i don’t know if it’ll fit.”

“it will— it will, i know it will—,” you’re just babbling nonsense at this point, and coriolanus wanted to be gentle, he really did, but your sweet moans, your sugary whimpers, the way he so easily pushed his fingers inside of you, the way that when you curl, your moans up a few octaves. you were so sensitive, god, were you a virgin?

the thought had coriolanus pulling his fingers out, twirling you around so he can push his fingers into your mouth, allowing you to taste yourself as his other hand undoes the belt holding his baggy jeans up. his eyes are crystalizing the memory of your tongue swirling against his fingers, sucking up every taste of your own cunt— have you thought of this as many times as he has?

he moves his hand to take his gun before it falls, placing it on the counter behind you, his fingers move from your mouth to help him push his jeans down, your lips part, “why do you have a gun?”

he smiles sweetly at your words, nearly chuckling, “why do you think?”

“‘m not sure, that’s why i asked,” you had a certain tinge in your voice that makes him quirk a brow.

“it’s to protect myself, princess,” he pushes his boxers down, finally freeing his cock, “now be a good girl, turn around, and bend over.”

of course you do exactly what he asks, bending over the counter so he can push your skirt up. the feeling of your innocence being stripped away right in front of you was far too good, like a cross ripped from the chain around your neck, or your holy water being unpurified. you were a cupcake with frosting on top, and coriolanus was sinking his teeth into you, rotting his sweet tooth.

his dick slaps against your heat when your legs part with desire, making you whine against nothing, “snow— please..”

“just say it, princess,” he moves to rub his red tip against your clit, making you shudder, knees buckling already.

“fuck me— f..fuck me,” you repeatedly beg.

he moves closer to press a sweet kiss on the back of your neck, bones colliding when his cock finally pushes into your cunt. you were so tight around him, squeezing him around your velvet walls. your jaw falls slack when you gasp at the feeling of him stretching you out, his lips pull tight together in a grunt, “so tight for me, princess— jesus christ..”

his breathing is labored when he pulls his hips back and thrusts in, he goes slow at first, treating you like you were a fragile statue made from porcelain, but then you’re begging him to go faster, to go harder. your fingers graze along the gun placed on the counter, right next to the cocaine. his tongue swipes along the roof of his mouth before he speaks, “are you sure, doll? i don’t— fuck— want to hurt you.”

“h-hurt me, it’s okay,” you mumble out, and he truly does hesitate for a second, then his thrusts are suddenly faster, bumping you into the counter with the sheer snap of his hips. your cries sound like noises formed from a blessed harp, passed down by the gods for him to listen to, each moan getting louder and louder until his ears are ringing, until the music sounds hushed compared to your screams.

it’s so obscene, all of the things that he finds himself spitting out as he harshly bucks into you. so cute, jus’ wanna ruin you, takin’ my cock so well, that feel good princess? he can’t help the way his hands snake up to your hair, tugging at the pretty bow wrapped around it, earning a frosted moan from your glossed lips.

it’s not long until you’re cuming on his cock, with him pulling out to twirl you around and push you to your knees, allowing you to jerk him off until thick white stripes are decorating your face. the white glitter, the sweet scent of your lip - gloss, now accompanied by his cum.

how cute.

“so fuckin’ pretty,” he mumbles as he tucks his dick back in his boxers, pulling his jeans back up when your painted nails move to wipe away the cum on your face, lapping it up with your pretty tongue.

you giggle sweetly, “do you do this with all your customers?”

he shakes his head, “no, doll, you’re special, you know that.”

and it’s true, you really were special.

you were a dangerous man’s doll.

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mattsfavoritestar · 9 months ago

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STOCKHOLM SYNDROME, matt sturniolo

synopsis… matt finally decided to be a true frat boy and do a one night stand. unfortunately for him, he didn’t know addicting you were which turned that one night to nearly every night

warnings… fratboy!matt, collagestudent!reader, mentions of alcohol and drug usage, kinda pussydrunk!matt, kinda obsessive!matt, mentions of fratboy!chris, p in v (HOORAY HE PULLS OUT), overstimulation

@bernardsbendystraws for the dividers <3

matt didn’t even want to join a frat sorority house, he was just following chris. yes, he did participate in the parties sometimes and he’s gotten high once or twice. matt isn’t a prude but he likes to think that he has morals. which is why he’s most likely the only guy in the frat house who doesn’t do regular hook ups.

“bro you gotta catch an ass or something, this life your living is boring as shit” chris laughs. both brothers had heavy red eyes as they sat at the couch in a random party they found themselves in. yet again, matt followed chris. matt licked his dry lips then shook his head. he looked around the party at all the collage girls in their skimpiest outfits, drunk off their asses.

“alright how bout this,” he says as he looks at chris, “next girl to walk in, i’ll take her home” he offers. chris laughs at his proposal as he tags a drag from the nearly finished blunt. they kept an eye on the door, waiting for someone, anyone to walk in. then you did.

“can’t back out now” chris smirks.

you rolled your eyes with a groan as you heard a ring from your phone again. you didn’t even have to look at the caller id to know who it was. matt sturniolo. for the past three days since that party, he’s been hot on your trail. it was like you couldn’t go a day without hearing from him.

you pick up the phone, “yes matthew.” you sigh. you heard shuffling then heavy breathing. “come over baby please- i need you” he moaned. you could hear him shamelessly stroking himself through the speaker.

“matt i have a test in the morning-“

“please- fuck- i’ll drive you to class tomorrow”

you decided to cave in and close your laptop. what’s one more day? you grabbed your school bag and an overnight bag then packed up your stuff. “tell one of the boys to leave the door unlocked” you say before hanging up. you walked out your dorm as quiet as possible, trying not to wake your roommates up.

“one more- just one more f’me” he sighed as he rolled his hips. matt was leaning over you with his legs trapping you between them. he had his hands on your waist with a tight grip as if he was afraid you’d disappear if he’d let go. you were drowning in your own moans as your nails dragged down his back. “just can’t get enough of this pussy” he moans.

you couldn’t tell if he was being honest this time granted the last three rounds. you looked at matt through your glossed eyes. his head was thrown back with his eyes squeezed shut. you shook your head as you felt yet another orgasm being forced out of you. “m-matt i can’t!” you whined.

“c’mon baby just give it t’me” he mutters. you felt your legs shake as you released for the fourth time tonight. matt hissed as he felt his own getting ready to spill out. he didn’t want to pull out. but he also didn’t want to give you something that you weren’t ready for.

finally, he pulls out as ropes of his seed painted your stomach. matt looked at you with a smile as he tried catching his breath. your face was flushed with your hair slightly sticking to your forehead from sweat. “can i take a picture?” he asked as he reached for his phone. you weakly threw a pillow at him as he lets out a small laugh.

“matt”

“matt!”

“what chris” matt grumbled. he wasn’t even looking at chris when he answered, he was looking at you. “kid what the fuck is up with you lately” chris questioned. for the past two weeks, matt has been leaving the house way more and skipping out on hanging out with the guys.

matt didn’t even acknowledge his question. he was too busy staring at the guy who you were giggling with. his nose was flared and his eyes were holding a harsh glare. “holy shit kid, she’s got you tied down” chris laughs. matt lets out a much needed breath of air before finally turned to chris.

he crosses his arms then leans back to the wall. “there’s some shit going on later right?” matt asks. chris nods, “and our favorite friend is gonna be there” he smirks. matt knew he was referring to the well known dealer. he closed his eyes but quickly shot them open as images of you flashed across his mind.

“where the fuck am i?” matt grumbles as he nearly trips over his own feet. he pulls his phone out his pocket and winces at the brightness as it turns on. matt was completely out of it and a whole three blocks away from the party he was supposed to be at.

it was half past midnight, and matt was high and drunk of whatever bullshit he got his hands on. he noticed familiar street lights in his surroundings then allowed his feet to take him towards the memorized direction. the common dorms were a street away. your dorm was a street away.

matt stumbled as he found himself in front of the door where your dorm laid behind. he tried to call your phone as quick as possible before nearly dropping it. “matt?” he heard your tired voice say. a lopsided smile found it way to his face.

“i’m o-outside” he slurred. shuffling and a deep sigh was heard from the other side before hearing the door open. “stay there okay? i’m coming” you tell him. matt did exactly as you said and waited for you to come get him.

his smile slightly dropped when hearing the call end but it quickly came back as soon as he saw your face when the door opened. he stumbled forward and pulled you into a messy kiss. you pushed him away slightly then steadied him with your hands on his forearms.

“your eyes are really red and you taste like vodka” you stated. he wasn’t even listening to your complaints as he admired your features. you rolled your eyes then pulled him inside. he trialed behind you like a lost puppy as you took him back to your dorm as quiet as possible.

as soon as your door was shut, matt tried kissing you again. you stopped him with a hand on his chest then pushed him back onto your bed. “does anyone know that you’re here?” you ask him. matt shakes his head with that dopey smile still stuck on his face.

“they’ll probably come to find me soon” he says. you bit your lip as you cautiously walk closer to him and stand between his legs. you felt his hands trail up to your waist then rest it there as if they belonged. “we aren’t doing anything tonight, okay?” you tell him.

matt sighs as he lets his head drop down to your stomach. “look what you’ve done to me” he whispers. he groans as you run your fingers through his hair. “go lay down, i gotta finish this paper” you tell him before kissing the top of his head.

#matt sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #matt stuniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #Spotify #𝓜𝐚𝐭𝐭 𝓢.#𝓜𝐚𝐭𝐭 𝓢. ♡ 𝑠𝑚𝑢𝑡 #𝓜𝐚𝐭𝐭 𝓢. ♡ 𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑡𝑠 #sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #sturniolo imagine

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smutoperator · 3 months ago

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Takin' All of Their Air

Hwang Yeji, Aeri Uchinaga (Giselle), Julie Han x Male Reader, 2 original chacaters

Tags: airtight, (lots of) anal, ass stacking, bukkake, couch sex, deepthroating, double penetration, facefucking, faces turning red, floor sex, mounting on top, orgy, out of breath, party, prone bone, (lots of) rimming, rough sex, sixsome, spanking, twerking

Word count: 5696

Yeji, Giselle, and Julie had just finished recording their performance of Toxic. The girls chatted with each other until Yeji suddenly received a message. "What happened?" Giselle and Julie ask her as they see her friend blush.

"My solo just got approved; I'll be debuting soon," Yeji answers. "Oh, that's incredible," Giselle replies. "I think we should throw a party," she continues.

"But we are going on tour soon," Julie warns them. Giselle remembers that's also the case for her, so she asks her friend.

"When are you gonna debut?" Giselle asks Yeji. "March," Yeji answers. "Damn, our tours will be on the way; we won't be around," Julie says. "We need a plan; I still want her to celebrate with us," Giselle says.

"Girls, I've got a plan; let's do it tomorrow," Yeji says. "Alright," Julie replies. "Done," Giselle says as well. On the next day, the girls go to the house Yeji has indicated to them.

"Hello," Yeji greets Giselle and Julie as they arrive. Some black balloons cover the walls, matching the theme of her solo. Yeji pops a bottle of champagne, serving Giselle and Julie as well. "Our special guests will be coming soon," she tells them.

"Hmmm, what kind of special guests?" Giselle asks. "You're always curious, Gigi, just let them come," Yeji answers her. "Oh, I hope we are gonna have a good party tonight," Julie adds.

The girls chat a little bit more, waiting for the guests arrival. "It's taking a really long time," Giselle says. "Don't worry, they already texted me; they are coming soon," Yeji answers her as the girls keep playing with each other and chatting about some really naughty stuff.

The trio of guests finally arrive, you leading your two friends Danny and Johnny as the girls wait on the couch. "Show me your gifts," Yeji says. Giselle and Julie don't get it at first, as you three don't have anything in hand. "What kind of gift is she talking about?" Julie asks.

But soon, the girls get the answer as your cock pops out of your pants, and soon Danny and Johnny also follow suit. "Hmmm, so that was the gift she was talking about," Giselle says.

"Let's go, girls; there is no better way to celebrate a debut than a sex party," Yeji says as she quickly starts bobbing her head on your cock and choking on it. Giselle and Julie follow suit, gagging on Danny's and Johnny's dicks, respectively.

The party has begun; the beautiful shot of three girls bending over on the couch and sucking their partners cocks is an amazing way to start it. While Giselle and Julie take it slow at first, Yeji quickly shows her prowess as a deepthroat queen, taking your cock all as deep as possible in her mouth and moving it hard up and down your shaft, pushing you to the edge right from the get-go.

"You seem really hungry, feeling really motivated by that solo debut, aren't you?" you ask Yeji, who obviously doesn't answer as she turns her whole attention into sucking that enormous pole. "Shake that ass for me," you tell her, Yeji wiggling that tail as she bobs her head on your shaft.

"Your partners got some great asses; you really never miss when it comes to selecting your sexiest friends to join you," you tell Yeji as you take a peek from above at Giselle and Julie's butts almost popping off their pants, while Yeji gets louder and louder with her mouth.

"FUCK," the first cursing of the night comes from Giselle as Danny spanks her fat ass. If you noticed Yeji's friends packed butts, it wouldn't take long for your friends to notice it as well.

Yeji gets on her knees on the floor and sucks your cock louder than ever, harder than ever. "You really like a big microphone in your mouth, don't you? That's why you wanted to debut solo so much," you tell her. Giselle and Julie look from afar, watching her suck your cock and thinking that she must be crazy, quickly trying to follow Yeji's footsteps.

"AHHHH," Giselle loses her breath as you fuck her face while she takes your cock deep in her throat, losing her air for a bit while saliva comes out of her mouth. Julie lines up to her side, taking on Johnny's cock with her perfect dick-sucking lips but still taking it at a very slow pace, Giselle soon joining them as she takes on Danny.

"Suck my balls, slut," you command to Yeji as she makes a mess under your sack, closing her eyes and taking it all in her mouth. "Oh shit," you groan, and so does Johnny as Julie now gives him a no-hands blowjob, still very far from Yeji's sheer insanity, as the new soloist in town takes your cock literally balls deep in her mouth, you shoving your shaft and balls down her throat and making the so-called deepthroat queen gag for real for the first time.

Julie watches the mess Yeji makes on your cock, using it as motivation as she deepthroats Johnny. "It's getting so fucking wet," Julie tells him. Well, not as wet as yours, as Yeji is already turning her face into a mess full of spit. "Look at me and tell me how much you love that cock," you command to her.

"Oh, I love it so much; I can't wait to have it in all my holes," Yeji says. "Then show me," you tell her, fucking her face one more time while Julie has fun with Johnny's balls to her side. "Damn, such a hungry slut," you tell her.

Giselle soon joins the fun, letting Danny shove his cock down her mouth, him grabbing her neck and making her deepthroat it. "Take it, baby, come on," Danny tells her, trying to shove his 9-inch cock plus his balls in Aeri's hungry mouth. On the other side of the room, Yeji is so hungry she has made your pants come completely off, finding ways you didn't even know were possible to suck your cock.

"There you go, baby, take all those fucking balls," Danny says, praising Giselle's cock-sucking skills as she chokes on his dick. "You want it inside you?" he asks her, Giselle answering by nodding her head positively. "Then get it fucking wet," he tells her, shoving it even harder as Giselle's face is the next one to get full of spit.

Giselle's face turns red as Danny's cock in her mouth quickly takes all her air out. The party has just begun, yet she's already losing her senses, slapping his big cock all over her face as she dives for his balls too. "This is the best cock ever," she says, and she's definitely not saying it for the sake of it.

Yeji keeps the insanity going on as she strips you fully naked. You do the same to her, leaving only the fishnets she's wearing under her pants. Your balls are all over her pretty face as she now dives to rim your asshole, not satisfied with the mess she already made on your cock.

"Who told you to eat my fucking ass?" you tell Yeji, regaining control and pushing her face against the couch, plowing it. "I'm gonna take all your fucking air," you tell her, climbing on top of the couch and manhandling her slutty throat, making your huge sword bulge it while her perky tits jiggle with your thrusts.

"Look at her taking all that cock," Julie says about Yeji, pushing Johnny to the couch right by your side as she rims his ass and takes off his and her clothes. "AHHHH," Yeji screams as your cock pops out of her mouth for a bit, her moving her hands towards her pussy to start fingering herself.

Giselle is the last to take her clothes off, the three girls now wearing matching fishnets. Danny can't resist the urge and quickly rips her apart, unveiling Gigi's big fat butt in all its glory. "Oh yeah, look at this fucking ass," he says, marveled, as he starts fingering her anus.

The craziness continues on the other side. Julie tongues Johnny's ass deeper and deeper while you challenge Yeji to take on your cock as deep as possible. "OH FUCK, GOD DAMN IT!" Yeji screams. As Julie stays on all fours, Danny rips her fishnets too, Julie starting to do her signature twerk as soon as her ass is out in the open, while he gives her pussy a little massage.

You take Yeji's air out one more time before taking advantage of all the saliva she left on your cock to open the works by sticking it on Julie's juicy booty, sliding it with ease. "OHHHHH," the Hawaiian girl suddenly screams as she finds your meat stuffed in her asshole. "OHHH FUCKK, AHHHH, OH SHIT, OH MY GOD," she suddenly starts screaming as you drill her ass with no regard, mounting on top of the little big butt cutie while Yeji watches.

"Damn, he's really hungry," Yeji says as you pound Julie's ass. "And I bet you're hungry to taste it," you tell Yeji, finishing the quick fuck to feed your cock straight back in her mouth. "Very dirty, isn't it?" you ask as you impale her throat, Yeji only nodding.

Giselle opens the works on the other side, riding a still-clothed Danny as she sits her pink pussy on his cock, working her big ass out as she rides him. "OH FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK," she moans as his 10-inch monster stretches her cunt out. Julie soon follows suit, taking Johnny in her pussy and twerking her ass, her fast bounces contrasting with Giselle's powerful squats.

"OH SHIT, YES, DO IT LIKE THAT," Julie screams as Johnny spanks her ass while she rides him. "OH DAMN, I'M SO FULL OF COCK," Giselle also screams as she increases the pace of her ride on Danny. Only you and Yeji stay on the throat game, but really, given her crazy cock-sucking skills, it's hard to blame you.

"Look at your friends; I think it's time for you to sit on my fucking cock too," you tell Yeji, ripping her fishnets in one go. "God damn it, you're so fast," she tells you. By her side, Julie keeps riding, her cheeks turning red as Johnny can't seem to stop spanking her fat ass.

"It's not as big as your slutty friends but still a great piece of work," you say to Yeji about her ass as she rides your cock. "OH SHIT, FUCK," Yeji moans as your massive meat impales her cunt, her and Julie bouncing side by side. "Damn girl, you're really fast with that bounce," Yeji says to Julie.

Yeji picks up the pace, you spanking her ass so you two match Johnny and Julie, both couples working hard to see who can fuck the hardest. You two spread their cheeks, pushing their bodies down and sucking their perky tits while pounding them from down low.

"OH MY GOD, HOLY FUCK!" Yeji moans as you pound her. Julie quickly moves to the next challenge, letting Johnny take her in the ass too after you opened it up first, showing why she's the next anal queen in town. Finally, Giselle is rimming the hell out of Danny, getting him ready for his turn to finally fuck her ass.

"FUCK THAT ASS LIKE THAT," Julie begs as Danny stuffs her butt. You do the same but to Yeji's pussy, pounding it harder than ever and then letting her bounce hard. "I want you to stretch that big fat ass," Giselle tells Danny, turning around as she stuffs his 10-inch monster up her butt like a pro, riding it in reverse cowgirl and giving him the best possible angle of her big fat butt getting impaled.

"YES, BABY, STRETCH MY ASS, SHIT, THAT FUCKING DICK IS SO BIG," Giselle moans as Danny pumps her ass upward. "FUCK, I LOVE IT SO MUCH, AHHHHH," she moans as Danny's pounding quickly makes her lose her breath. "FUCK, FILL ME WITH THAT BIG DICK," Giselle begs.

Yeji and Julie switch partners; the Itzy girl is now bouncing her pussy on Johnny's cock while you impale Julie's pussy, wrapping your arms around the Hawaiian girl and fucking her pussy as she twerks nonstop on your cock. Giselle lies on the couch, letting Danny pound her in her favorite position, prone bone.

"I NEED YOUR FUCKING COCK IN MY ASS, PLEASE, PLEASE," Giselle begs as Danny stuffs her asshole one more time, using her big butt as a pillow while landing his hard thrusts. "OH MY GOD, I LOVE, USE ALL MY FUCKING HOLES, TREAT ME LIKE A FUCKING SLUT, I'M THE BEST WHORE YOU'LL EVER FIND," Giselle tells him as Danny takes turns between her ass and her pussy.

"DESTROY ME, PLEASE," Giselle continues to beg as Danny keeps pounding. Back to you, Julie now deepthroats your cock, tasting her wet cunt from it and bobbing her head on your massive pole while Yeji continues to ride Johnny. Julie shows you how nasty she can be, getting down on the floor and tonguing your asshole as you jerk your cock off, sending you to the heavens. "FUCKKKK," you groan as Julie's magic tongue hits your anus, sweeping it to the fullest, her twerking her ass while eating yours.

"GIVE ME MORE OF THAT BIG FUCKING DICK," Giselle begs as her prone bone session keeps going. Yeji grabs Johnny's cock, letting him be the first to take her in the ass. Meanwhile, you pin Julie against the couch and give her a hard mating press as you top her tiny body, destroying her big butt as all three girls now compete to see who can get fucked the best in their asses.

"YEAH, YEAH, YEAH, PLEASE GIVE ME ALL," Julie begs as you pound her ass hard. "YOU'RE GONNA MAKE ME CUM, OHHHHH, FUCK," she keeps screaming as your balls clap her cheeks hard. Danny spanks Giselle's butt hard, choking her as he now switches to her pussy. Meanwhile, your anal destruction of Julie just ramps up, her asshole getting used like a fleshlight as your cock fucks it balls deep.

The sounds of their three butts getting spanked fill the room as the anal pounding of Yeji, Giselle, and Julie continues, each girl's cheeks turning redder and redder. Julie gets even nastier as you let her stop to taste her ass from your cock before her little body ducks under your legs and tongues your anus one more time. "You're getting good at this," you tell her, fucking her face as a reward.

Giselle squirts all over the couch as you and Johnny swap partners once again, you taking your cock right from Julie's ass back to your favorite hole: Yeji's meaty pussy. "Damn, he spanked you really good," you say to her as you notice her very red cheeks. Julie does to Johnny what she did to you, showing her evolving rimming skills on his asshole this time.

"Go fuck her," Danny tells Johnny as they swap Giselle and Julie between themselves, while you attack Yeji's cunt at full speed, sucking her perky tits while she creams all over your cock. Julie moves in Giselle's direction, sitting on her face and suffocating Gigi with her fat ass as she watches Johnny fuck her.

Meanwhile, Yeji is about to get her air taken out once again.

"OH SHIT, THAT DICK IS SO BIG!" Yeji screams hard as Danny's monster cock finds its way into her ass. You and he work in perfect sync, fucking her holes together to perfection right from the start, giving her the pounding she deserves. "Is that what you want for your party, isn't it?" you ask Yeji as she gets double stuffed.

"OH FUCK, OH MY GOD, OH SHIT, THESE COCKS ARE SO FUCKING BIG" is all Yeji can say as she gets her pussy and ass destroyed at the same time, just ducking her head and bracing herself for the wreckage your cock and Danny's impose in her holes. "OH GOD DAMN IT, OH SHITTTT," Yeji screams again as both girls enjoy her getting double penetrated. "Yes, destroy her," Julie says as he watches. Meanwhile, Johnny is having a good time just switching between Giselle's already heavily stretched-out holes nonstop, surveying to see which one he can go deeper.

Julie gets taken by surprise as Danny switches from Yeji's ass into hers, becoming the first one to take on all three assholes. You quickly fill the void, taking your cock on Yeji's ass while Julie gets spit-roasted. "Let's destroy this fucking asshole," Danny tells her. "OH FUCK," Julie screams.

"You're such a fucking bitch," Johnny tells Giselle, hitting her face as he fucks her ass. Julie gets in the couch, Danny pounding her in a spooning position while you drag Yeji around. "OH MY GOD, IT'S SO HUGE, YES," Julie screams as she gets her ass pounded from behind.

"GIVE IT TO ME, GIVE IT TO ME," Yeji begs as she gets on all fours as you hand her to Johnny to fuck her ass next, turning your attention to Giselle for the first time. You quickly show your prowess, choking Gigi and attacking her ass with fast-paced thrusts. Johnny pins Yeji against the couch, mounting on top of her while Danny keeps drilling Julie with his big dick. "OH GOD DAMN IT," Yej screams as she gets pounded like crazy.

Back to you, Giselle kneels down and becomes the final girl to have a taste of your asshole. "If you want me to fuck your asshole more, you better taste mine," you tell her as Giselle quickly obliges and goes down that dirty hole with her tongue.

As Johnny feeds his cock for Yeji to taste, you let Giselle mount on top of yours, taking her pussy first. "Twerk on that dick," you ask her with a little spank on her big butt, Gigi obliging as she is soon riding it like a maniac, you enjoying her bouncing on your cock while Johnny drills Yeji by your side. "OH FUCK ME LIKE THAT," the party host screams as he does a number in her ass.

Giselle's hard bounces on your cock are like an earthquake; she's really strong, and her cheeks hit hard against your crotch every time she takes your full length deep in her cunt. "GIVE IT TO ME, BABY," Giselle begs, matching your thrusts with bounces of her own. By your side, Yeji turns into a squirting machine, fingering her cunt as Johnny pounds it while groping her perky tits, her legs shaking. "ME ME CUM, OH MY GOD, YEAHHHH," Yeji screams, Julie right there to taste the juices erupting from her cunt.

You and Danny decide to do more teamwork, double stuffing Giselle this time. "FUCK, TWO BIG DICKS INSIDE ME, I LOVE IT," Gigi screams as she becomes subject to the same hard DP you two gave Yeji earlier in the night. "AHHHH FUCK, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, THESE COCKS ARE SO FUCKING HUGE," Giselle screams.

"Don't back down; take those fucking cocks balls deep, you big ass bitch," you tell Giselle as you and Danny increase the pace inside her fuckholes, pumping her like a pair of pistons. "USE MY FUCKING HOLES," Giselle begs as the DP gets more and more intense, both you and Danny grabbing her neck.

Meanwhile, Johnny is in heaven, having the four holes of two girls at his disposal. "Fuck her, Johnny," Yeji tells him as Julie stacks her juicy booty on top of her body; Johnny happily obliges, switching between Yeji's butt and Julie's nonstop. "AHHHH FUCK," Julie screams, shaking her ass as she gets pounded, Yeji smiling as she watches.

"Feed me that cock, let me taste that ass," Yeji says as Johnny gives her his cock, Yeji bobbing her head all over it like usual and giving him the lube he needs to fuck Julie's big ass. By their side, Guselle gets spit-roasted, impaling her face on your cock while Danny spanks her big ass and fucks her pussy, putting her arms behind her back. "Eat my ass too, you fucking bitch," you tell Giselle, moving your body for her to rim your asshole.

Julie twerks on top of Johnny, Yeji coming in to get his cock wet from time to time and get her face fucked. "GULP, GULP, GULP, GULP," the sound comes out of Yeji's mouth, Julie turning her face around to watch. "Suck that dick," she commands, enjoying Yeji's face getting impaled before shoving that prick straight into Julie's ass. "OH MY GOD," Julie screams, as Yeji doesn't go for long without a cock to play with, Danny plugging her ass next.

"You fucking cock is so fucking huge," Yeji says as Danny takes the air out of her. On the other side, you're mounting on top of Giselle, destroying her fat ass with powerful thrusts. Each girl now does what he does best: Giselle getting pounded from behind, Julie twerking on Johnny's cock, and Yeji deepthroating Danny's 10-inch meat.

"FUCK, THAT'S SO AMAZING, USE ME LIKE A FUCKING WHORE," Giselle begs as you destroy her ass with all your strength, your cock attacking it nonstop and turning her into your personal anal fleshlight, her big butt getting clapped like crazy as you top her like a raging bull. "Hmmm, hmmm, hmmm," you groan. "I wanna fuck that ass for the rest of my life," you tell her.

You give Giselle a little break and watch her go insane, her taking Johnny and bobbing her head on his cock. "Looks like she's cock-drunk," you say, watching the scene unfold as Giselle suddenly lifts him up and sucks his cock up in the air before flipping him upside down. "WHAT IS SHE DOING?" Julie asks, giggling. "GIGI, ARE YOU CRAZY?" Yeji asks her, baffled at what she's seeing, the two then diving to take on his cock too.

"Oh my God, Gigi is a champ," Julie says as the girls watch her get cock-drunk on Johnny before taking some turns themselves. You feed your cock to Yeji, giving her privileged first dibs on tasting Giselle's ass while Danny goes for another round on it, taking the Japanese girl in a spooning position. "OH FUCK," Gselle screams as his big cock is back inside her sore ass.

"FUCK, FUCK, YOU'RE DESTROYING MY ASS, GOD DAMN IT, YOU'RE FUCKING ME SO GOOD." Giselle screams as Danny claps her cheeks hard. On the other side, you continue your raging bull spree, mounting on top of Yeji this time. "AHHHHHH," the party host screams, your cock feeling too big for her tiny little ass sometimes despite all her experience. You take turns fucking her ass and her face, being rough at all times.

"God, I love your dick," Giselle tells Danny as he keeps fucking her. Meanwhile, you go all-in to tame the wild wolf Yeji, giving her the same anal mating press you gave Julie early on, but this time pushing even harder. "FUCK, FUCK, OH MY GOD, IT'S SO DEEP, YOU'RE PUSHING IT SO HARD," Yeji screams, her face turning redder and redder at each thrust. "YOU KEEP TAKIN' ALL OF MY AIR, AHHH, AHHH, AHHH," she moans as your anal invasion of her continues, as you can't slow yourself, pumping her ass 258 times.

The more Yeji loses her sight, the harder you fuck her; she's nothing but your fucktoy, as you put her feet up in the air and let Julie use it to muffle her moans as Johnny gets back in her ass. "Smack that cock against my face; I love it so much," Giselle begs Danny as he uses his meat as a stick to shove it all over her face. "Choke me too," she continues to beg as he shoves it down her throat as well.

Yeji, Giselle, and Julie's faces turn redder and redder, but they can't stop sucking cock. You grab Julie's face now, making her deepthroat your meat. "Get on the floor," you tell her. But Julie decides to do something better, stacking her body on top of Giselle's as both girls present their big asses for your wet cock. Meanwhile, Yeji takes on Johnny, riding his cock all by herself.

Julie twerks her ass in anticipation, shaking it as she stays on top of Giselle, their holes already heavily stretched out but ready for more, as their assholes wink for you. "AHHHHH," Julie screams as you pound her butt first, attacking it relentlessly before switching to Giselle's. The two girls moan and scream, as your anal rampage makes them see stars.

"OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD!" Julie screams when her next turn arrives. You then go back to Giselle, clapping her cheeks hard and making her scream. Then back to Julie. "Shake your ass, slut," you tell her as Julie bounces on top of Giselle.

"OH FUCKKKK," Yeji screams as she squirts on the couch with Johnny fingering her cunt as he fucks her ass. You keep taking turns between Julie's and Giselle's fat asses, both girls begging you to fuck them even harder. Julie pleads to god while Giselle screams about the size of your dick as you keep pounding their asses.

While you keep having fun with Giselle and Julie's butts, Danny and Johnny turn their attention to Yeji, double stuffing her for the second time in the night. "OH SHIT, DON'T STOP," Yeji screams as she gets double penetrated on the couch again. "OH MY GOD, ALL THAT FUCKING COCK STRETCHING ME OUT," she moans. "YOU GUYS ARE SO FUCKING BIG," she keeps screaming.

"Make her go airtight," Giselle tells you as you switch back to Yeji, feeding your cock into her mouth. "AIRTIGHT, AIRTIGHT, AIRTIGHT," the other girls clap their hands and chant as Yeji gets stuffed in all her holes. "Take all this cock, you fucking bitch," you tell Yeji.

As Yeji's DP session comes to an end, you sit on the couch, Julie going back to rim your ass. "You really like that asshole, don't you?" you ask Julie as she ducks down. "Come back up," you tell Julie, sticking your cock back in her pussy and letting her show you the power of her twerking, bouncing her ass hard on your cock.

"Come here, Danny; her asshole is begging for more cock," you tell one of your friends, who promptly obliges and sticks his cock on Julie's wide-open butthole, making her the final girl to join the DP fun. "FUCKKKK," Julie screams as both your cocks pump her like a piston, clinging to Giselle's tits in her sight while both her holes get destroyed.

"FUCK ME LIKE THAT, HARDER, DON'T STOP," Julie begs as she gets double stuffed. "How do these cocks feel?" Giselle asks her. "SO FUCKING AMAZING, Julie answers, screaming as both of you stuff your cocks all the way deep in her. "OH MY GOD, YOU FUCK ME SO HARD, I'M NOT GONNA BE ABLE TO SHIT FOR A WEEK," she screams as the pounding only gets harder. "Take those dicks; show them you're an anal and DP queen," Giselle pushes her as Julie starts rolling her eyes, her holes getting sore as both your cocks attack them hard, more so than you ever did to Yeji and Giselle.

Julie's DP is over, but you guys still want more. "We aren't finished with you yet," Danny says, spanking her ass. "You said we aren't gonna shit for a week; how about we make it a month?" you tell her, letting Danny start first for another round of rough anal pounding. "OH MY GOD, THAT DICK IS SO FUCKING BIG, AHHHH," Julie screams as Danny sticks his 10-inch prick balls deep in her.

"She's got such a nice asshole; no wonder you guys want to fuck it so hard," Giselle says. "You want more dick in there?" she asks Julie. "Yes," Julie answers as you're next to take a turn in her asshole, giving your characteristic mounting on top of her. "OH MY GOD, FUCKKK," Julie screams. "She really wants some dick," Giselle says, as she also watches Yeji get pounded in her pussy while Johnny chokes her.

"FUCK, THAT DICK IS SO GOOD," Julie screams as you keep pounding her. "GIVE ME MORE, POUND THAT PUSSY," Yeji begs to Johnny as well. Giselle giggles as she watches both her friends get fucked hard. "AHHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHHH," you turn Julie into a screaming machine, showing no mercy for her asshole, knocking her out of breath. "OH MY GOD, ALL THAT DICK IN MY ASS, IT'S SO LONG, IT'S SO BIG, OH FUCK," Julie screams as you wreck her asshole, toying with her massive gape. "FUCK, YES, YES, YES," she begs.

Giselle gets back into action as she sits on Johnny's cock. But you suddenly hit her by surprise. "OH SHIT, OH SHIT, SHIT, SHIT," she screams as you go from one big ass to another, sticking your cock in her butthole for another round of DP. "Fuck, I was so tired to be that anchor guy; I need to pound some ass too," you tell her as you carry your hard pounding of Julie into her.

"THAT'S IT, THAT'S IT, GOD, I LOVE IT, I LOVE IT, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, I LOVE GETTING TWO COCKS INSIDE ME AT THE SAME TIME," Giselle screams as you clap her cheeks hard, Johnny barely moving in her pussy as you do all the action, while Yeji watches.

"How about we do some riding competition next?" Yeji asks the girls after you and Johnny finish double stuffing Giselle. After the trio bends over on the floor a little to suck more cock and eat more ass, Yeji is the first to jump, ready to ride your cock in her ass as you spank her butt. "You really missed it, didn't you?" you ask her. "Oh definitely, she answers.

"Oh Jesus, put it in me, oh fuck," Yeji begs as she lets you pump her from down low, fingering her cunt while you grope her tits. "OH MY GOD, I LOVE THAT COCK, she moans. Giselle is next, riding on Danny's pole, then Julie as she takes on Johnny. The girls alternate between bouncing on the trio of cocks and getting pumped from down low, competing to see who can move faster and squirt the hardest. Yeji takes a little time to deepthroat your cock, almost making you cum, while Julie and Giselle bounce hard on the other guys.

It's been nearly an hour, and the girls are really exhausted at this point, but you keep pumping, attacking Yeji's ass as if things had just started. Julie twerks on Johnny's cock, getting her asshole stuffed one more time. "FUCKKK," Yeji screams as she's the next girl to feel the wrath of your cock when it comes to fucking an asshole, just floating in the air while she gets her guts rearranged by your monster meat. Meanwhile, Giselle takes Danny in her pussy but lets him first in her stretched-out butthole while she rides his prick.

"OH GOD," Yeji screams as you clearly seem to be the most committed of the three guys to ass-fucking all the girls until they are sore. After a while, the girls keep taking a break, but you only transfer your wrath from Yeji's ass to her face, fucking it hard before finally letting her lick your balls. Everybody seems to be on their last legs except for you, showing formidable stamina to pound the party host's asshole, putting Yeji in a spooning position for one more round of drilling.

"MAKE ME SCREAM, BABY, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, DAMN IT, YES," Yeji screams and curses as you pound her ass nonstop, her cheeks redder than ever. You then switch to her pussy, pushing her body in your direction and continuing the fucking, her getting out of air the longer you fuck her.

"Let's go to the floor for one last round," Giselle tells the girls. Julie is the first to take it, getting on all fours on the floor as she lets Johnny fuck her ass. Giselle is next, getting on her favorite prone bone position. Yeji is busy with your balls for a bit but finally follows them.

The three girls get pounded side by side on the floor. They have taken so much cock over the past hour their entire bodies are red after screaming and moaning for so long. You three are also very close to cumming, barely able to hold it for long.

"FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, YES, YES, YES, FUCK OUR ASSES, YEAH, YEAH, YEAH!" the girls scream together. "Where should we cum?" you ask them. "How about you cum all over our host Yeji?" Giselle asks.

"YEJI, YEJI, YEJI," Giselle and Julie start to chant as the guys finish fucking and point their cocks towards the Itzy leader and soon-to-be soloist. She licks Johnny's balls and soon makes him become the first to blast his load in her face. "Feed me with that fucking cum," Yeji says as he glazes her face, letting Julie and Giselle taste his cock afterward. You come next, delivering a bullseye cumshot to Yeji that spills into Julie, Danny finishing with a strong cumshot that spills into Giselle's face.

"Share with us," Giselle and Julie ask Yeji as they stare at her bukkaked face. Yeji happily obliges, letting them clean her cum-filled face while she kisses them, you guys watching and enjoying the scene between the three.

The party is finally over; each girl heads back to their home. As Julie and Giselle embark on their group's tours, Yeji prepares the final touches of her solo, not seeing you for many months until she finally gets to hold her debut showcase and spots you.

"I missed you," you tell her.

"Let's pick up right where we left off. I want you takin' all of my air," she says.

#yeji smut #giselle smut #julie smut #itzy smut #aespa smut #kiss of life smut #female idol smut #girl group smut #kpop smut #male reader smut #Spotify

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zae-heeyyy · 2 months ago

Text

Peregrine

Summary: Arthur misses your birthday. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female!reader Word count: 2,124 Tags: angst, smut, high honor Arthur, oral, pnv, fingering Warnings: 18+ MDNI

an: A request fulfilment for my dear Kenny @emerald-ranch. I kinda added in the birthday thing, I hope that was alright! It became clear to me as I was writing this that I 1000% have a thing for Arthur on his knees...XD anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Peregrine: having a tendency to wander

The length of Arthur’s absences varied like the frequency of rumbles during a storm. Dark clouds hung heavy over every departure, and your tears threatened to drop like rain down a window.

“I’ll be back soon,” he always promised while kissing the top of your head and squeezing you tight. Some trips were short cracks of thunder, ending just as fast as they began; others would roll on for days, the heavy rain flooding the rushing river that was your anxiety.

But in time, he’d arrive with blood, dirt, and sweat staining his shirt and the scar on his chin covered by his overgrown beard. Outstretched arms would warm you like the afternoon sun. You’d breathe him in, sighing contentedly despite scents of gunpowder and musk clinging to him.

This time was different.

The sun fell below the horizon for the fourth time since he’d departed. Glass bottles clinked as camp buzzed with the lively energy of celebration—a celebration for your birthday. You tried everything to enjoy yourself, forcing air through your vocal cords to mimic a laugh, stretching your lips and showing your teeth to fake a smile, all while trying not to panic.

All the possibilities of his absence spun in your brain in a demonic sacrificial waltz. Was he still alive? Did he get arrested? Was he captured by Pinkertons and tortured while the rest of you partied the night away? Or worse, was he out there, perfectly content with being away knowing you were desperately waiting? To keep yourself sane, you rationalized. He was out finding food and making money. He had mouths to feed and people to take care of. Survival was more important than a birthday.

Whether they were too drunk to notice or respectfully giving you space, nobody protested when you slipped away to Arthur’s tent for the night. Tears spilled down your face and onto his pillow as the last hours of your birthday ticked by.

The stench of dread infiltrated your dreams and ruminated even in your waking hours. Nothing you did could free you from the pain of missing him. At high noon, heavy footsteps prompted you to look up from the growing line of yarn in your lap. You’d memorized the sound of Arthur’s walk like your favorite song, yet the man standing before you felt like an imposter. He wore a familiar cattleman revolver on his hip and long silky locs of hair rested over broad shoulders like always–though more tame this time. And despite their vibrant colors, the wildflowers in his hands dulled in comparison to the bright white, freshly pressed shirt he wore.

And your heart plummeted like a stone in a lake; while you were crying yourself to sleep on your birthday, he saw to himself instead of you. Privy to your dismay, the cowboy’s features lowered into a frown.

“Darlin,” he started, quiet and hesitant. “I–I ain’t got an excuse.”

You huffed, losing your stitch count and refusing to meet his eyes. “The king has returned.”

Leaves and twigs cracked under his uncomfortable shuffle as he faltered, “thought we could go for a ride, to–”

And you didn’t let him finish. “M’busy, Arthur.”

Silence hung in the air while he thought of a response. “M’sorry.” He said, then continued when you didn’t acknowledge him. “I’m sorry, and that should’ve been the first thing outta my mouth.”

“Yeah, it should’ve,” you agreed grudgingly. The threads of intertwined yarn were jumbled and lopsided now, a tangled reflection of this whole week. You threw the needles and yarn down into the grass beside you and finally brought yourself to face him. He wanted to smile finally seeing you, but instead, something like a sigh of relief rolled out with his words.

“Time just…got away from me,” he admitted. “I’m a self-serving idiot bastard, and I’m just…sorry. Just lemme make it up to ya’.”

You thought for a moment, then glanced over your shoulder at Grimshaw, trying to find an out.

” But I got chores,” you told him.

“Don’tchu’ worry ’bout that.” He extended his free hand out to you, and dammit, yours was in it faster than you could deny yourself. The outlaw lifted you up from your seat with one arm and locked yours and his together as he drew you away from camp. And you had to give credit where credit was due because he pulled out all the stops: a ride in a stolen stagecoach, wine, dinner, and a room. He spoiled you in the only ways he knew how, but still, you couldn’t rid yourself of the uninvited guest, unadulterated hurt, that squatted in your bones.

“How was the party?” He’d asked.

“Fine.” You replied, pushing food around on your plate.

“Charles told me the girls managed to get you a cake.”

“They did.”

And the conversation trailed off like it had so often tonight. Every time you glanced at him, the hair, and especially the shirt, hate-filled magma churned within, and you couldn’t hold it any longer, your words spewing out like lava.

“S’a fancy shirt.”

His chin touched his chest as he fiddled with the top button. He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off for the second time tonight.

“Glad you had time to stop and pamper yourself. Nice shave, fancy hair, new shirt. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it was your birthday.”

You didn’t mean to sound so crass, but now that the pot had boiled over, stopping the overflow felt damn near impossible.

“I thought–”

“Thought?” A curt laugh halted his attempt to explain himself. “It’s hard to imagine you doing any of that.”

And he hung his head, an old dog with his tail between his legs–shameful that he’d disappointed the one he loved the most.

“And you paid for a bath too. Tell me, was it twenty-five cents or fifty?”

Your chair screeched against the floor, and you jerked back before he could answer, fleeing to anywhere but that table with him. The room key Arthur gave you in the stagecoach burned a hole in your pocket. You trotted up the stairs, searching for 2C and ignoring his calls from behind you. The least you deserved was a night behind closed doors, locked away from everything, even if it meant locking him out in the process.

Warm light burst out as you crossed into the room. Lit candles lined the fireplace mantle, their flames casting dancing shadows on the walls. A brand new day dress draped across the chair, a decorative hair comb resting atop it.

“Saw it in a window.” His words poured out smoothly like aged whisky, the sudden sound causing you to jump but prompting the skin on your arms to prick up all the same. And you were embracing each other without another thought—your fingers intertwining behind his neck, his hands settling on your hips.

“M’sorry, sweetheart. Ain’t ever gonna forgive m’self for lettin’ you down.”

And you listened patiently while he devolved into his long-winded explanation.

“Was hoping to make a quick house call. Get in n’ out in one night, quick and easy. And I did, but some goddamn bounty hunters found my trail on the way back. Spent a day hiding out, and knew I wouldn’t make it back in time. Figured I oughta bring something nice back with me, you deserved that much.”

Your eyes drifted to the buttons of the shirt again, and he tilted your chin to look back up at him.

“I saw the dress in a window, and let the man sell me the shirt too. Wanted to be at least a little presentable–somebody you’d wanna look at. Ain’t much I can do about my face, but...”

Chuckling under his breath, he snaked a hand into yours and flicked your stuck-out lip. “Then I saw a sign outside the barber. Buy some pomade and get a free comb for your lady,” he touched his hair and rubbed the grease between his fingers.

“Then I got the key, laid everything out nice, stopped for some flowers, and thought I was prince charmin’ off to sweep you away to the ball–well, the room, more like.” He scratched his neck nervously and shook his head. “I thought you’d think a stagecoach fancy enough to make you forget how much I screwed up. No magic pumpkins ’round here though,” he shrugged. “Just an idiot, head-over-heels, hoping you can find it in you to forgive him.”

And frankly, you’d forgiven him the second you stepped foot into the room. Trying to fight your smile was a losing battle.

“You’re right about the idiot part.”

The gunslinger let out a breathy, almost laugh, before taking your hands in his and ushering you to the bed. Relief ran through you. After four long nights, you could finally submerge yourself in those eyes, blue and gold-like specks of sunlight reflecting on the sea.

“Please, forgive me, darlin’, I’m beggin’.”

Rough pads of his fingers traced over your knuckles as he waited patiently for your response. You crossed your legs and bounced your foot playfully.

“I don’t know, I seen dogs beg for scraps better than that, Arthur Morgan.”

And while your words were harsh, both of you were smiling now. He grunted, a sure sound of him swallowing his pride, then sunk to one knee, then another.

“Sweetheart,” the pet name came out thick and rich like honey, “M’sorry. Lemme fix it.”

His hands gripped both your knees, squeezing them lovingly, his touch so reassuringly familiar. He scooted in closer, guiding your legs apart and settling them on either side of his shoulders.

“I can do that thing ya’ like.” he offered, his chipped tooth smile brightening his face.

You ran one hand through his hair and brought him in by the collar with the other, pecking his lips once, then twice. On the third, you slowed down, lingering with your mouth against his, savoring the all too fleeting feeling of home. Soft giggles slipping between your lips interrupted the moment. Arthur stared up at you with nothing but devotion in his eyes, that laugh like the sweetest medicine, healing his diseased heart long riddled by self-loathing and loss. His right hand had started slow circles on your thigh, reminding you of his proposition.

“Thing I like? Don’t know what you mean, Mr. Morgan.”

But you were shimmying yourself back onto the bed, and he was grabbing at your bloomers at the same time. He lifted his brow knowingly, and hummed a “mhm,” while you lifted your hips, helping him take the garment off and toss it to the floor.

You bunched up your skirts around your waist and looked down at your lover as he lay on his stomach between your legs. His beard grazed your inner thigh, sending thousands of butterflies fluttering in your stomach. Squeezing your eyes shut, you sighed in relief, releasing four nights of pent-up anxiety as his lips found your center.

And minutes later, just after letting you come down from the first one, he got to work on another climax, fingers pistoning steadily while he whispered all the things he loved about you in your ear. He was on his side next to you now, his own arousal nudging your thigh. The gruffness in his voice sent another surge of pleasure through you.

“You know, I never stop thinking ’bout you when I’m away.” You fluttered around his fingers, and your hips arched a little higher off the bed, “always thinkin’ ’bout you like this, all pretty and spread open for me.”

His thumb started fast circles on your clit, and you braced yourself for another tidal wave as his passionate speech continued.

“Next time y’miss me, get on that cot, spread these pretty thighs, think about what I’m doing t’ya, and use those fingers to getcherself off, can you do that for me?”

Your eyes rolled back as your mouth fell open, but only sounds of absolute ecstasy came out of you.

“Whatd’ya say, darlin’?”

And with that last question, the dam broke, your orgasm busting out around his fingers. Your sounds were the most divine opera, rising in pitch with every “Yes, Arthur,” as you melted.

And he wasn’t done with you yet. Despite being miles away from camp, both of you made a home with each other. Home was the trail of raised skin that followed his touch and pairs of eyes meeting in love-filled exchanges. Home was the first few flutters of your pussy as he sheathed himself deep inside you. One night or even a week’s journey wouldn’t deter him, for he’d claw his way through the fiery depths of perdition to get back home to you.

#wrote the last sentence in my Castiel voice lol #i thought his hands looked so heavenly in the coach pic #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 community #rdr2 arthur #read dead redemption 2 photography #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #zaefic #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan angst #arthur morgan fluff #request

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puppym3 · 10 months ago

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⋆˚࿔ seven minutes in heaven 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

lee felix x fem!reader

synopsis: you and your best friend, felix are at a party. felix has a massive crush on you and you have no idea, so when you get picked for seven minutes in heaven with him, you didn't expect it to change everything for you.

wc: 3.6k

warnings: MDNI! 18+, friends to lovers, 7 minutes in heaven (duh), alcohol consumption (not much), reader is dumb, fluffy, kinda angst, a lot of kissing, they're both horny, felix is pining, confessions, a lot of banter, other members are mentioned, (lmk if i missed any)

a/n: SECOND FELIX FIC OF THE DAY, EAT UP. no fr i love spoiling you guys. pls pls leave suggestions in my inbox i literally am running out of ideas... also also if u want to be tagged in future fics lmk, i think that's it, I LOVE YOU GUYS FR!!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The music thumped through the walls, the bass reverberating in your chest as you sat on the edge of the couch, nervously sipping your drink. Felix stood beside you, offering comfort amidst the sea of strangers. The house party, hosted by Chan, was in full swing, with people mingling and chatting all around.

You'd been reluctant to come, but Felix had convinced you with his warm smile and persistent charm. After all, you’d been best friends for years, sharing countless memories and inside jokes. What you didn’t know was that Felix had been harboring a crush on you for almost as long.

"Hey, are you having fun?" Felix nudged you gently, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that familiar, reassuring way. His cheerful voice always brightened the place.

"Yeah, it's alright," you lied, forcing a smile. Parties weren't really your thing, and mingling with strangers made you uneasy. But with Felix by your side, it was bearable.

As the song ended, Changbin’s voice rang out, calling everyone to gather in a circle. "Alright, everyone! We're playing 7 Minutes in Heaven!"

You groaned inwardly, rolling your eyes. "Seriously? That's so stupid," you muttered under your breath. Felix laughed in response, his laugh a soothing balm to your nerves. "Don’t worry, he’s just doing this so he can get a kiss from Hyunjin."

"Okay, but if I get picked, I’m not doing anything," you said with finality, taking another sip of your drink. Felix gave a non-committal hum, nodding as if he agreed with you. The thought of Felix potentially being picked by someone else made you uneasy, and you didn’t like the feeling. It was selfish, but you knew that if he did get picked, you’d probably make a scene or throw up so he'd be distracted and not have to go along with it.

You took a seat in the circle, positioning yourself right next to Felix as the others settled in around you. Your red solo cup was perched behind you, barely noticed.

Changbin spun an empty bottle in the center of the circle. You tried to keep your composure as you watched it spin, your heart rate increasing with every slow rotation. The bottle eventually landed on a girl you didn’t recognize.

You heard Changbin mutter a curse word under his breath as he stood up.

"Why does he look so serious about it?" you whispered to Felix. "It’s not like you actually have to do anything, right?"

Felix shrugged, a faint smile on his face as he watched them walk to the closet. "That’s the rule, though," he explained, leaning in close. "If you’re chosen, you have to at least kiss."

Your stomach twisted at that comment. The thought of Felix, your best friend, being paired with someone else, made you nervous. Maybe it was the alcohol not sitting right with you, even though you hadn’t finished your first drink yet.

The 7 minutes went by quickly. Felix couldn’t help but steal a few glances at you. Your eyes were fixated on the floor, and your fingers twirled your hair absentmindedly.

"Alright, that’s enough time! Out, out, out!" Changbin shouted, pounding on the closet that locked from the outside. Chan was laughing as he unlocked the door, letting the two out.

The girl looked flustered, her lips swollen and her cheeks pink, while Changbin looked smug. You watched them rejoin the circle and settle back in.

The game continued, and eventually, it was Felix’s turn to spin. You swallowed thickly, praying that the bottle wouldn’t land on anyone.

"H-Hey Felix, maybe we should—"

He spun the bottle before you could finish your sentence. The sound of the glass against the floor made your nerves go haywire. You held your breath as the bottle began to slow, watching as it spun round and round. A woman you didn’t know from across the circle was giggling and whispering while looking at Felix, and it made your blood boil.

The bottle stopped, and your eyes widened as it pointed directly at you. Your heart seemed to skip a beat, a momentary pause in the rhythm of anticipation. You looked at Felix, who was trying to hide his smile, his freckled cheeks rosy.

You couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol, the nerves, or the sudden burst of emotions that made you feel dizzy. You could hear the circle “ooh” ing and starting to whisper. Minho had a shit-eating grin on his face, and Changbin was giving Felix a thumbs up.

Felix stood up and held his hand out to you. "Come on, let’s go," he said, his voice surprisingly calm, a smile plastered on his face. You were too stunned to say anything, and the butterflies and alcohol in your stomach were making you nauseous.

You hesitantly took his hand and followed him to the closet.

The closet was tiny, only big enough for the two of you to stand facing each other. Once the door was closed and locked, the tension in the air felt palpable. The dim light barely illuminated Felix’s face. Your heart pounded in your ears, and the muffled sounds of the party outside only added to the surreal atmosphere.

Felix took a deep breath, his hand still holding yours. "Are you okay?" he asked softly, his concern evident in his eyes.

"Yeah, just... nervous," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "This is kind of awkward."

He chuckled softly, his thumb gently rubbing the back of your hand. "It doesn’t have to be."

"But Felix, you’re my best friend," you protested, your voice trembling slightly. "What... what if this changes things?"

He shook his head, leaning closer to you. You could smell his shampoo, the familiar scent comforting you. "I would never let anything change that," he whispered, his eyes searching yours with earnest sincerity. "I promise."

You bit your lip, nodding slightly. He cupped your cheek with his free hand, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. The gentle touch made your breath hitch.

"Okay, well... don’t make fun of me if I’m a shit kisser, then," you said, trying to break the tension with a joke.

Felix let out a small laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Only if you don’t make fun of me," he replied, a tiny smile on his face.

You looked up into his eyes, the intensity of his gaze sending a shiver down your spine. Despite being best friends, or perhaps because of the three sips of alcohol, you wanted this. Felix leaned forward, his lips brushing against yours softly, barely a kiss, testing the waters. The contact sent a jolt through your body, and you felt your breath hitch. You closed your eyes, leaning into the kiss, your heart pounding in your chest.

You’d always imagined how his lips would feel on yours—they always looked so plump and soft. And now that they were on your lips, they definitely exceeded your expectations. His warm, slightly alcoholic-tasting lips were soft against yours.

Felix’s lips lingered against yours, the kiss soft and tentative. The initial brush of his lips sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt a rush of warmth spreading through you. His kiss was gentle but full of a quiet longing that made your knees weak.

He pulled away slightly, giving both of you a moment to breathe. Your eyes scanned his face, noting his flushed cheeks and slightly parted lips. The desire in his gaze made your heart race. You wanted more.

Without a second thought, you pulled him back in, grabbing the sides of his face and pressing your lips to his once more. Felix hesitated for a second, his eyes widening in surprise, before he began to kiss you back. His arms snaked around your waist, pulling you closer. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your hands tangling in his hair as the kiss intensified with a new sense of desire.

The initial softness of the kiss transformed into something deeper, more passionate. You could feel his tongue gently probing at your lips, and you hesitated only for a moment before parting them to allow him access. His tongue slipped into your mouth, exploring every inch with a skill and tenderness that took your breath away.

The kiss was slow and sensual, filled with a growing urgency. Your stomach fluttered as his hands explored your waist, his body heat pressing against you. Goosebumps spread across your skin, and you could feel a knot forming in your stomach.

A soft whine escaped your lips, and Felix responded by pressing his body more firmly against yours. His chest pressed against your soft breasts, his knee parting your legs as he pressed closer. His leg pressing against your core only heightened your arousal.

You didn’t realize you were panting until you pulled away to take a deep breath. Felix’s lips immediately trailed down to your neck, his soft kisses sending your heart racing. His warm breath brushed your skin, his teeth lightly grazing your neck before his tongue soothed the area. It drove you wild.

His kisses traveled down to your collarbone, and you felt weak in the knees, literally. Your legs trembled, perhaps from the lack of oxygen or the overwhelming excitement. Felix picked you up and pressed you against the wall of the closet, his strong hands lifting you by your thighs. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist.

"Lix," you moaned out, barely above a whisper. His lips lightly brushed over your neck, peppering you with tender, gentle kisses.

"Hmm?" he hummed against your skin, his breath hot and reassuring. His grip on you tightened as he sucked another mark on your skin.

You could barely get the words out, the feeling of his lips and teeth and tongue all over your neck was driving you wild. You could feel your cheeks burning and the wetness pooling in your underwear, and you could tell he was getting hard from the bulge pressing against your core.

You heard a light knocking on the door.

"Do... do you think... the seven minutes are up?" you managed to get out, the words barely coherent. Felix stopped what he was doing, and it looked like he snapped back into it a little, you could feel his shoulders tense.

"Oh shit, we have been in here for a while." Felix's voice was shaky, and he sounded breathless.

He put you down, and you stumbled a little, still light-headed from the kisses. He helped you get steady, his arm supporting you. You could see the flush on his face and his tousled hair, and he could see the marks and red spots littered on your neck, his eyes were glossed over, and his breathing was heavy.

You tried to straighten your clothes, and he cleared his throat, fixing his hair.

The sound of the door unlocking startled you both.

You were still flustered and breathing heavily as the door opened. Chan was standing there, a smirk on his face. "Alright, come on out."

"You better not have fucked in there," Changbin said, appearing next to Chan, his arms crossed. "We have to sit on that floor."

You walked out of the closet, a dazed expression on your face, Felix close behind. You felt as if everyone in the room could see the marks all over your neck and the fact that your legs were still shaky.

The other members were gathered around the two, and their stares were almost enough to make you blush more. Minho's smug expression and the look of amusement on Jisung's face told you that they were aware of what just transpired.

"I need some fresh air," you said, trying to sound normal.

You didn't wait for Felix to respond and made your way through the crowded living room, towards the patio doors. The chilly night air felt refreshing against your heated skin, and you inhaled deeply, closing your eyes for a moment. You could hear the laughter and music coming from inside, the sounds far less intrusive out here.

You laid your head in your hands as you tried to take deep breaths, clearing your mind. You'd been best friends with Felix for years, and you pulled him in for another unrequired kiss.

You felt stupid for doing it, but it felt so good, the way he picked you up and devoured your neck and lips as if he was starving.

You could still taste him, and the memory alone made you weak.

But... what if it was just a mistake?

The alcohol made you reckless, and you didn't want to lose him, your best friend, just because you couldn't control yourself.

The thought of never feeling his lips against yours again made you feel a dull ache.

You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts. You should go back inside and forget about it for the night, besides, he said he'd promise this wouldn't ruin anything.

When you got back inside, you could see the girl you noticed earlier, giggling and batting her eyelashes at Felix.

She was pretty, sure, but it irked you.

But you'd seen her before, and you knew she wasn't as perfect as she seemed. She was a player, always going for men that were already in relationships, or men that were too young for her.

"Oh, it's my turn!" She exclaimed, looking over at Felix. Her voice was shrill, and it grated on your ears.

You observed her spinning the bottle, and just as it was about to halt, you caught her slyly halting its rotation with a discreet movement of her foot towards Felix. A surge of anger erupted within you, fueling an immediate response as you strode forward and forcefully kicked the bottle across the room.

It went flying across the room and shattered against the wall.

There was a moment of stunned silence as everyone stared at you.

"Jealous much? You already had your moment with Felix." The girl taunted, her voice grating.

"Fuck you. You used your foot to stop the bottle on him." You retorted, glaring at her.

Felix's eyes widened, and he gave you a confused look. "Wait, what?"

"Yeah, right! She's just a lying bitch." She rolled her eyes, clearly annoyed.

You clenched your fists, trying to keep your cool. "Don't call me a bitch," you said, stepping towards her.

"Oh, so we're going to fight? Okay, fine. I've been wanting to mess up that pretty little face of yours."

Right before she could attempt to swing at you, but Felix stopped her hand, catching her wrist.

"Stop," he said, his tone stern.

"Felix is single, so he can kiss whoever he wants."

"Yeah, well, he's not single." You blurted out before you could stop yourself.

Everyone from the circle was shocked and confused, and you could hear the whispers and questions.

"What?" the girl asked, her eyes wide.

Felix's expression was similar.

The words spilled from your lips, leaving you stunned and at a loss for an explanation, grappling with the sudden revelation that had escaped your own lips. You could feel the eyes on you, the curious stares and the whispers. Your heart was pounding in your ears, and you felt like your head was about to explode.

"He's not single." You repeated, your voice firm. "He's... he's my boyfriend."

Felix had an unreadable expression, but it looked like he was trying not to laugh. You didn't know why, and you couldn't think straight at the moment.

"Wait, you guys are finally dating?" Changbin interjected, his brows furrowed.

You nodded, not taking your eyes off the girl. "Yeah. We're together."

You grabbed Felix's hand before anyone else could call you out on your bluff, leading him to a random room and closing the door behind you.

"So... I'm your boyfriend, huh?" Felix said, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Shut up..." You murmured, embarrassed. He could tell by the look on your face that you were struggling internally.

"Hey," he said softly, putting his hands on your shoulders. "I'm just teasing you."

You sighed, trying to calm your racing heart. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that, I shouldn't have picked a fight for something as little as that, she can kiss you if she wants, it's not like we're together."

"It's okay, really," he reassured you in a soft tone. "She can't kiss me."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm already taken." He said with a smile, his eyes searching yours.

"I'm the only one who gets to kiss those soft lips," you whispered out.

He looked surprised, and then he chuckled softly. "Is that so?"

You nodded, feeling a blush creep up your neck.

"Well, then..." He leaned down and brushed his lips against yours, feather-light and barely a kiss.

Your heart skipped a beat.

"Claim them," he whispered, his words sending a shiver down your spine.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him passionately. He responded eagerly, his hands gripping your waist and pulling you close. The kiss was intense and desperate, full of pent-up desire. His tongue explored your mouth, tasting every inch, making you moan softly into the kiss.

Your hands found their way into his hair, tangling in the soft strands and tugging slightly. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, and the way he was gripping your waist was almost bruising.

When you broke apart, you were both panting. His gaze was intense, his pupils blown wide.

"Lix," you started, your voice shaky.

"What?"

"I... I'm sorry."

His brows furrowed, a confused look on his face. "For what?"

"This is so confusing, now" you started, your a tear swelling in your eye. "You're my best friend and... what are we doing? Why do I feel like this? Is this supposed to be casual?"

"You mean like how you were jealous of that girl? And how you're currently making out with me right now?" Felix said, his voice laced with sarcasm.

"What's that supposed to mean?" You shot back, the words hitting you.

"It means that I love you," he confessed, the words coming out of his mouth quickly. "I'm in love with you, have been for a while, and I thought you were too."

You could hear your heartbeat, and it felt like the room was spinning.

"What?"

He smiled sadly, his eyes filled with emotion.

"But... I..." You didn't know what to say. Your feelings for him were clear, and yet you'd never let it click, you refused to.

Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest, and tears were spilling down your cheeks.

"It's okay," he said, his voice gentle. "I don't expect you to feel the same way. I just wanted you to know."

"No, it's not okay," you cried, wiping away your tears. "I'm in love with you too."

His eyes widened, and his lips parted in surprise.

"I just didn't realize it until now. I was scared of admitting it to myself, but... I love you, Lix. I love you so much."

Felix's smile was like the sun, bright and warm, and it made your heart soar.

"I'm in love with you too," he said softly.

You couldn't help but laugh, tears still rolling down your cheeks. "I know"

He cupped your cheek and wiped away your tears, his gaze intense. "I'm going to kiss you again," he whispered.

"Okay," you smiled.

And he did.

His lips were soft and warm, and his kiss was filled with a tenderness that took your breath away. You could taste the salt of your tears on his lips, and you could feel the warmth of his skin against yours.

He pulled away after a few moments, and you couldn't help but sigh.

"Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?" he murmured, his eyes searching yours.

"Me? You're the beautiful one."

"No, you're the beautiful one," he said, shaking his head. "I've never seen anyone as beautiful as you."

You blushed, unable to hold his gaze.

"Hey," he said, lifting your chin with his finger. "I mean it. You're the most beautiful person I've ever met."

"Lix, you're the beautiful one," you said, smiling at him. "You're the most beautiful person I've ever met. Your eyes, your smile, the way you laugh, the way you light up a room when you walk in. And your stupid freckles."

He laughed, shaking his head. "My freckles aren't stupid," he said, trying to sound offended.

"They're cute, and they make you even more beautiful," you said, scoffing. "Don't try to deny it."

He gave you a warm smile. "If you say so."

"I do," you said, feeling bold. You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips, enjoying the way he tasted.

He chuckled softly and pulled away, his eyes shining.

"So, was this casual? Or are you finally going to let me date you?"

"We've been dating since I confessed," you said, raising a brow.

"Then can we go on a real date? Where we dress up, go out to dinner, and then make out afterwards?"

"That's basically what we just did."

"But we only made out," he whined.

"Okay, okay, fine. We can go on a proper date."

He smiled and gave you another quick kiss.

"I'm going to spoil the fuck out of you," he said.

"Just spoil me? Or spoil me, and then fuck me?" You teased, trailing fingers down his chest.

"Is that an invitation?"

"Maybe it is," you smiled, your hands running back up his chest.

He groaned and buried his face in your neck, his hands rubbing at your waist. "Can we please leave now?"

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

pt 2 here <3

#stray kids x reader #skz #stray kids #skz smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids felix #straykids #skz felix #skz imagines #skz x reader #lee felix x reader #lee felix smut #lee felix #felix lee #felix smut #felix x reader #felix #stray kids smut

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capuccinodoll · 4 months ago

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The boyfriend act, part 3: "The one with the birthday party" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERIST

Chapter Summary: At Frankie’s mom’s birthday party, you aim to keep a low profile, doing just enough to blend in. But the night takes an unexpected turn—his family pulls you in more than you anticipated, catching you off guard with their warmth. And then, just when you think you’ve made it through unscathed, the pavement has a surprise for you too. WC: 18.8k (CAREFUL, THIS BABY IS LOOOONG LOL)

A/N: Alright, it's here at last! You have no idea how much I've been looking forward to sharing this chapter. For some reason, life kept getting in the way and I couldn’t finish it sooner, but NOW IT’S FINALLY DONE! I’d love to know what you think—your feedback always helps me improve, and I really enjoy reading your comments! <3 LOVE YOU YOU ALL, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!!! If you want to be in the tag list, let me know. Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifs!

Friday, August 9th.

“Hey,” you said as you opened the door, stepping aside to let Frankie in. You barely glanced at him before turning toward the other room. “I’ll be ready in a minute.”

He walked in without a word, shutting the door with a soft click. His silence felt heavier than it should have, like an unspoken critique. You gestured toward the door on the right, in front of the stairs that led to the second floor and to your apartment.

You went into the bookshop, and he followed you, his shoes heavy against the floor.

Inside, Frankie lingered by the doorway, his eyes darting around the room as though assessing it for structural integrity. You ignored him, sliding behind the counter to finish typing something on the computer.

“What are you doing?” he asked, leaning on the edge of the counter with the practiced impatience of someone who believes they’re above waiting. His tone had a sharp edge, as if the concept of you having a to-do list offended him. “Can’t this wait?”

You exhaled, a soft, deliberate sigh that was barely audible over the quiet clatter of the keys.

“Just finishing an order. If you’re going to stand there and criticize, at least try to look useful.” A few more taps, and you turned the screen toward him with a mock flourish. “There. Done. Satisfied?”

Frankie didn’t bother responding, his attention shifting to you instead. His gaze dragged up and down, his expression a mix of scrutiny and reluctant approval.

You stepped around to the other side of the counter, reaching for the bookshop keys. With them in hand, you paused in front of him, your gaze drifting down the length of his body.

“Well, this is… unexpected,” you said, letting your eyes linger pointedly on his polished black coat, white buttoned shirt and neatly pressed pants. “You look decent.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he said dryly, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smirk. “And you look…” His eyes trailed to your dress, narrowing. “Half-dressed.”

“Excuse me?”

Frankie crossed his arms, tilting his head as though giving your outfit a second appraisal.

“I’m not joking. Did you forget part of your dress? Or is it supposed to look like that?”

Confused, you glanced down at yourself. You were wearing one of your favorite dresses—a white one with delicate straps and a fit that was snug but not tight, elegant in its simplicity. It was modest enough: the neckline wasn’t too low, the hem rested just above your knees. Perfectly normal. Perfectly appropriate.

“There’s nothing wrong with my dress. You’re just being annoying and mean.”

“Your back,” he said flatly, gesturing with his hand.

Your fingers flew to the back of the dress, and sure enough, they met the unzipped fabric.

“Oh,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I… I was going to zip it upstairs. I have this little hook thing for it—”

“For god’s sake,” Frankie cut in, pinching the bridge of his nose like this was the single most inconvenient thing anyone had ever asked of him. “Turn around. I’ll do it.”

You stared at him like he’d just suggested performing open-heart surgery.

“You don’t have to—”

“It’s a zipper, not a marriage proposal. Turn around.”

Reluctantly, you turned, feeling his presence close behind you. His fingers were quick but precise as he tugged the zipper up, the movement so mundane yet strangely charged. The warmth of his breath hit the back of your neck, and you froze for a second, hyperaware of the proximity.

“There,” he said gruffly, stepping back as if the contact had been nothing more than a chore. “Happy now? Let's go.”

You turned to face him, adjusting the straps with an exaggerated shake of your shoulders.

“Ecstatic,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Truly life-changing.”

Frankie rolled his eyes and made a beeline for the door, opening it with a sharp glance over his shoulder.

“Are you done with the dramatics?”

Adjusting your bag on your shoulder, you followed him outside, muttering under your breath just loud enough for him to hear.

“You’re lucky I didn’t ask you to tie my heels.”

The party was being held in the gilded elegance of the Golden Room at Hotel Le Grand. Frankie had mentioned, in passing, that he and his sisters had been planning the event for months—though it was clear Luna had been the one to shoulder the real burden. Frankie didn’t strike you as someone who knew how to color-coordinate table linens or confirm catering orders. Luna, on the other hand, sounded like the kind of woman who thrived on spreadsheets and perfectly executed itineraries.

You walked down the wide, carpeted hallway toward the entrance, feeling an unfamiliar kind of nervousness bloom in your chest. It wasn’t fear exactly, nor excitement—it was something in between, something that lived in the pit of your stomach and coiled tighter the closer you got. You could hear the faint hum of voices, glasses clinking, the muffled thrum of music filtering out from the room ahead. Frankie’s pace slowed beside you, his polished shoes scuffing lightly against the floor.

When you turned to look at him, his expression was hard to read. He was studying you, eyes narrowing slightly as if you’d done something suspicious, though you couldn’t imagine what.

“Wait,” he said abruptly, stepping closer and grabbing your arm—not roughly, but firmly enough that you stumbled slightly.

“What—”

He didn’t answer, just pulled you along a few steps before opening a nearby door and tugging you inside.

“What the hell are you doing, Francisco?” you hissed, glancing around the dim, utilitarian room. It smelled faintly of dust and lemon cleaner, the air heavy with the static quiet of spaces not meant to be used by guests. Stacks of chairs loomed in uneven piles against the walls, making the room feel even smaller.

Frankie shut the door behind you with an exhale.

“Let’s go over it one more time,” he said, his voice low and edged with impatience.

“You’re kidding.”

“Just—humor me, okay?” He glanced at you, his dark eyes darting quickly over your face before he looked away again, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Are you nervous?”

“No,” he replied, too fast. He planted his hands on his hips, his expression careful. “Santi introduced us. We’ve been dating for two months. We kept it private because we wanted to talk to him first. It’s… fine. Normal. Our relationship is easy.”

“Easy?”

“Yes, easy. It just happened. The usual.”

“You’re so nervous,” you said, fighting the urge to laugh. “Look at you.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“You’re definitely nervous.”

“I just need you to promise me that you’re not going to do anything to ruin this. Okay? Can you promise me that?”

You scoffed, clicking your tongue in mock offense.

“Why do you automatically assume I’m the one who’s going to ruin it? If you want my honest opinion, you’re way more likely to mess this up. Look at you—you’re sweating.”

“I’m not—”

“You are. You look like a dog with its tail between its legs,” you said, lightly poking his shoulder with two fingers.

“You are going to make me fucking nervous if you keep talking like that,” he said, pushing your shoulder with two fingers, a perfect imitation of your earlier gesture.

You exaggerated the movement, stumbling back as though his touch had been far more forceful than it was.

“Deny it all you want, but I’m not the nervous one, and I’m not going to ruin this. I still need you for the wedding, remember? Or has that slipped your mind?”

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head in exasperation.

“I guess so. What a ridiculous plan,” he said, his voice dripping with faux superiority. When his gaze found yours again, it was sharp. “And I’m not nervous.”

Frankie didn’t seem to realize how obvious his nerves were. His eyes darted around like they were chasing his thoughts, moving too quickly for comfort. Every so often, his eyebrows would twitch in a way that betrayed the tight control he thought he had over himself. And you’d noticed it earlier, too, during the car ride—his restlessness, the way his fingers drummed against the steering wheel, harder and faster than usual. It was almost endearing, if not for the fact that he refused to admit it. Instead, he was blaming you.

A thought sparked in your mind and you couldn’t stop yourself from leaning into it. Your eyes brightened as you tilted your head, feigning an exaggerated air of curiosity.

“Well, if you say so,” you sighed, looking away for just a beat before locking eyes with him again. “So, where can I touch you?”

Frankie froze, his entire body going rigid.

“What?”

“Where can I touch you?” you repeated, slowly, as if he might need help processing the question. “Like, can I hold your hand? Touch your face? Your arms? Anywhere that’s off-limits? I just want to make sure you’re comfortable.”

You could feel the corners of your mouth twitching, fighting the urge to fully smile. God, this was too easy. He looked equal parts horrified and confused, his eyebrows knitting together as his eyes widened slightly.

“Stick to the basics,” he said, his tone clipped and no-nonsense. He was trying to regain control, though the way he crossed his arms over his chest only made him look more defensive.

“And what exactly are the basics, Francisco?”

“It doesn’t matter. This is a family event. Just don’t—don’t overdo it.”

“Well, that’s a start,” you said, nodding like you were taking mental notes. “So, can I hold your hand? Or is that too intimate for you? If I make you nervous, you can just say so.”

Your voice had softened into something almost saccharine, a honeyed sweetness that didn’t belong to you.

Frankie stared at you in silence, his dark, intense eyes fixed on your face like they were trying to strip you down to your core. You could almost feel him siphoning your energy, leaving you lighter, emptier.

“Yes, you can hold my fucking hand.”

“Great,” you said brightly, nodding as if you were in complete agreement. “And what about kissing?”

“There’s no need.”

“No need? That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” You paused, letting the silence settle just long enough to be deliberate. “Now I’ll tell you what I’ll allow.”

Frankie frowned, his head tilting slightly in irritation.

“There’s no need. I don’t plan to—”

“You can hold my hand, my shoulders, and my waist. My waist, but no lower—understood?” You raised your index finger for emphasis, looking up at him with mock authority.

Frankie blinked, caught somewhere between disbelief and amusement. He stifled a laugh, though you caught the way his mouth twitched at the corners.

You shook your head, crossing your arms over your chest like a disappointed teacher.

“What? Are you seriously planning to convince your family that you’re head over heels for me without even touching my shoulders? That’s ambitious, Francisco. And, honestly, not very convincing. You’re out of your depth here. And nervous,” you added, tilting your head to one side with a knowing smirk. “But I get it. You’re not exactly the picture of confidence, are you? In fact, you strike me as one of those guys who find it really difficult to socialize with women. You know the type.”

Frankie’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might actually snap. But instead, he nodded slowly, biting the inside of his cheek as a bitter, humorless smile spread across his face.

“I’m very sociable with women, sweetheart,” he said, his voice smooth and edged with something sharp. “The thing is, I have to like them first.”

You raised your eyebrows, disbelief etched across your face.

“Well, I think that makes you a bad actor. You’re not cut out for the job.”

Frankie leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. His gaze, steady and unflinching, fixed on you like he was deciding whether you were worth responding to.

“Oh, no?”

“Yeah, you know, for the act,” you said, tilting your head.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re a nervous coward.”

Frankie didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he stared at you, his silence stretching long enough to make you shift under the weight of his gaze. You could see the wheels turning in his head, and for a brief, panicked moment, you thought he might just open the door, leave you standing there alone, and abandon the whole charade.

But then, his face shifted. A smug expression slid into place, slow and calculated, accompanied by that crooked smile that always made your stomach tighten—not in a pleasant way, but in a way that felt like a warning.

“And what about you, Meryl Streep?” he asked, his tone light but laced with an edge. “You want to talk about bad acting, but yesterday, after I kissed you, you looked completely out of place.”

You sighed, a deliberate move to buy yourself a second to think.

“Sorry,” you said finally, tilting your head like you were truly apologetic. “I guess that happens when I get the most unpleasant kiss in the world.”

Frankie laughed under his breath, shaking his head.

“Then it shouldn’t bother you that this party is kiss-free, should it? Little physical contact, just the necessary effort.”

For a moment, you felt the wind knocked out of you—not by his words, but by the realization that he had managed to flip the conversation so seamlessly, deflating your earlier momentum. But you recovered quickly, letting a slow, understanding smile spread across your face.

You leaned in slightly, your hand lifting toward his face. Frankie, ever cautious, instinctively moved his head back, but you didn’t stop. Your fingers found his cheek, warm under your touch, and your thumb rested lightly at the corner of his mouth.

“You have no idea how much I’m going to enjoy it when you come begging for a kiss or a small demonstration of affection, Francisco,” you said softly, your voice dripping with satisfaction. “Because even though I know how much you hate this whole thing, I also know that your need to make this convincing is even stronger.”

You dropped your hand and stepped back, feeling a delicious sense of control settle over you like a second skin.

Frankie’s jaw tightened as he turned toward the door, his hand gripping the handle tightly, knuckles faintly white. He paused just before opening it fully, glancing over his shoulder at you, his eyes sharp and impatient.

“Ready?”

“Yes,” you said lightly, brushing past him as you moved toward the door.

Already in the hallway, Frankie fell into step beside you, his shoulder brushing lightly against yours. Without warning, his fingers found yours, intertwining them in a quiet, deliberate motion. His steps were slow, measured, as you both neared the doorway leading back to the crowded hall.

You turned to him, a soft smile playing on your lips.

“I thought that—”

“No way,” a voice cut in from behind, smooth and teasing. “Sneaking off to a closet during Mom’s birthday party? That’s risky, Frankie.”

Frankie froze, his grip on your hand loosening for a second. He turned, his face momentarily pale, but when he saw her, something shifted. The tension in his jaw melted away, replaced by a warm, easy smile. You followed his gaze.

The woman approached, a grin already forming, arms outstretched. She pulled Frankie into a tight embrace, her dark eyes bright.

He kissed her cheek before pulling back.

“How are you?” he asked, his voice lighter than before. “How’s Mom? Is she happy?”

“She’s great, so so happy. She wants to see you,” the woman said, and then her attention flicked to you. Curiosity glimmered in her gaze. “Aren’t you going to... introduce me to your girl?”

Frankie hesitated, like the thought had only just occurred to him. Then, his hand slid to your waist, his grip warm and steady as he pulled you closer.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, and your name slipped from his lips with an unfamiliar sweetness. “My girlfriend.” He paused, like he was testing the words, then smiled. “And baby, this is my sister, Maia.”

The way he said it caught you off guard. There was a natural ease to it, like he’d said it a hundred times before. Like it wasn’t the first time he was calling you that in front of someone else. Baby.

Your mind went back to what Frankie had told you the night before. Maia, of all his sisters, was the most perceptive. She’ll figure us out if we’re not careful.

You turned to her with a genuine smile. She was beautiful—big brown eyes framed by long lashes, dark hair swept back effortlessly. There was something about her features, the sharp cheekbones, the knowing glint in her eyes, that reminded you of Frankie.

“Oh, it’s so nice to meet you,” you said, meaning it. “Your brother’s told me so much about you. You look gorgeous.”

Maia’s grin widened, a pink flush rising to her cheeks.

“Oh, stop, really? You’re gorgeous.” She reached out, touching your arm lightly. Her hands were soft. “I wish I could say the same, but this idiot kept you a secret. He’s told us next to nothing.”

“Maia,” Frankie started, already formulating an excuse.

"It’s my fault," you cut in, glancing at him briefly before turning back to her. "I asked him to keep it private, at least until we told my brother."

Maia's brows lifted. "Oh? And why—"

Frankie exhaled. “She’s Santi’s sister.”

Maia’s mouth fell open slightly, then curved into an amused, knowing smile.

“Shut up,” she said, her tone laced with delight. “You’re dating your best friend’s little sister?”

A small laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

“Can you believe it?” you said, glancing at Frankie before turning back to her. “And I’m dating my brother’s best friend. Talk about a cliché.”

“Unbelievable,” Maia echoed, her laughter bright and infectious. “And what did he say when you told him?”

“Oh, Santi thought it was a little ridiculous at first,” you admitted, glancing at Frankie, amusement dancing in your expression. “But he got over it pretty fast.”

Your eyes met his then, full of plastic love.

Maia smirked knowingly.

“Well,” she said, tilting her head, “this just got interesting.”

Frankie cut the conversation short, brushing off Maia’s questions with the kind of firm, practiced ease that suggested he’d been doing it his whole life. She rolled her eyes but didn’t press further, leading the two of you deeper into the party.

His hand found your waist again as you stepped inside the hall. The space was vast and elegant, bathed in the warm glow of fairy lights strung overhead. White tablecloths stretched across the tables, each adorned with delicate centerpieces of white lilies—his mother’s favorite, according to Frankie. The scent was soft, fresh.

Maia wove through the gathering guests with the effortless familiarity of someone who had done this a thousand times. You, however, were hyper-aware of every step, every shift of movement. The closer you got to the main table, where the rest of his family sat in easy conversation, the more your nerves crept up, curling around your ribs like vines. Without thinking, your fingers sought Frankie’s again, gripping them tighter than necessary.

He leaned down, his breath warm against your ear.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice a quiet reassurance meant only for you. “I’ve got you.”

You nodded, even if you weren’t entirely convinced.

Then Helena spotted Frankie, and everything else in the room faded.

Her eyes went wide, bright with unfiltered joy. “Francisco!”

She pushed back her chair in an instant, standing with her arms already outstretched. Frankie barely had time to let go of your hand before she pulled him into a tight embrace, holding him the way only a mother could—like she needed to be sure he was still whole. She kissed both his cheeks, then held his face between her hands, searching it, memorizing him.

“Esta fiesta es increible, mi amor (this party is incredible, my love),” she told him, eyes still shining. “The best gift of all. Just having everyone together, that’s all I wanted. All my babies with me.”

Frankie smiled, a real one, the kind that made his entire face look younger, lighter.

“Feliz cumpleaños, ma, te mereces esto y mucho más. Una fiesta increible para una mujer increible, ¿o no?. (Happy birthday, Mom, you deserve this and much more. An incredible party for an incredible woman, right?)”

You felt something swell in your chest at the way he said it, at the way his voice sounded softer in spanish—his voice warm with love.

Helena beamed, then turned toward you.

The shift was subtle, but sharp. Her gaze landed on you with something keen behind it, something appraising.

“Mom,” he said, his fingers brushing your back again, “I want you to meet someone.” He pulled you closer, and when he said your name, it was softer than usual, careful. “She’s my... She's my girlfriend.”

The word hit the air, and you felt Frankie tense beside you, just for a second.

Helena didn’t react right away. She simply looked at you, studying, deciding. And then—she smiled. Broadly, like she’d decided something in your favor.

She repeated your name, and up close, you saw it now—how much of her was in Frankie. The same warm brown eyes, the same mischievous pull at the corner of the mouth, like they were both always half a second away from teasing you.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful girl,” she said, reaching for your hands. “What a lovely surprise, sweetheart.”

Your face warmed immediately, heat spreading down to your chest, and you knew you were blushing. Next to you, Frankie smirked, clearly amused by your reaction.

“Thank you so much,” you managed, shifting slightly closer to him for balance. “And happy birthday. It’s really wonderful to finally meet you, Helena. Francisco has told me nothing but amazing things about you.”

“Oh, thank God,” she teased, tossing her son a look before giving his arm a gentle pat. “And I do hope you’ll fill in the gaps. I’ve been waiting so long for this one to bring someone home, you have no idea. If you only knew!” She clasped her hands together in mock prayer. “Now, come—come! Come meet the rest of our family.”

Before you could react, she had already taken your arm, gently pulling you away from Frankie. You barely had time to glance back at him, your expression somewhere between help and save me, before you saw the exact same look mirrored on his face. He could do nothing but follow as Helena paraded you toward the table.

Introductions unfolded in a series of warm, overlapping voices.

Luna was stunning, exactly as you’d imagined. Her dark hair was swept back, save for a few loose strands that framed her delicate features. Her green eyes carried a quiet curiosity as she hugged you gently, greeting you with the kind of reserved kindness that made you think she was someone who observed before she spoke.

Next to her was Henry, her husband, who greeted you with a polite nod and a brief kiss on the cheek. Jamie, their son, waved shyly from his seat, his big brown eyes round with something close to awe. His curls bounced slightly when he moved, making him look like some kind of cherub from a Renaissance painting.

Then came Grace, Frankie’s niece, who stood just long enough to kiss your cheek before shyly murmuring, “I like your dress.” She had the kind of effortless sweetness that made you instantly want to protect her.

Her mother, Sofia, was beside her. Of all the sisters, she resembled Helena the most. Her dark curls fell over her shoulders, her smile was warm and knowing, and something about her presence felt effortlessly welcoming.

And then Maia, despite having already met you, stood again to press another kiss to your cheek, like she simply had to.

Once everyone was settled, Helena guided you to the empty chair beside her, which you realized—only as Frankie moved toward it—was the seat he had been planning to take. He hesitated for half a second, then shifted to the free chair on your right instead.

You exhaled, trying to ignore the way your nerves still buzzed under your skin. But when you turned your head, Frankie was already watching you.

He leaned in, his breath just barely grazing your ear.

“Calm down,” he murmured, his voice low, easy. “Just do the minimum.”

You huffed a quiet laugh.

“Like you?” you whispered back.

Frankie gave you a crooked smile, his eyes gleaming with the urge to fire something back at you. But he held it in.

“So, how did you two meet?” Grace asked, her voice sweet, playful. She turned to Frankie with a teasing grin. “I didn’t know you had it in you to charm such a pretty girl.”

Frankie let out a low chuckle. You felt heat creep up your neck.

“Oh, you’re going to love this,” Maia said, eyebrows arching in anticipation.

“Frankie was a total heartbreaker when we were kids, baby,” Luna added, her tone rich with amusement. “The girls loved the whole brooding, shy boy act.”

“I was shy,” Frankie defended, frowning slightly, as if the memory still perplexed him. “I think that was just my secret weapon.” He shrugged, then winked.

Helena shook her head, smiling.

“And how did this happen?” She turned to you, her gaze warm, almost knowing. “Francisco hasn’t told me a thing, no matter how much I insisted on it. I can’t believe he kept it a secret—especially with someone as lovely as you.”

“I thought he was about to take a vow of celibacy,” Sofia chimed in dryly, swirling her wine before taking a sip. “After he turned down that date with Genevieve’s daughter, we were convinced. She’s very pretty.”

“What’s celibacy?” Jamie piped up.

Henry, sitting next to him, burst out laughing.

Frankie exhaled through his nose, then leaned in, his arm draping over the back of your chair. The shift in posture was subtle but intentional. You felt the warmth of him at your side.

“Yeah, well, did you ever think that maybe you all just wore me out with that?” His voice was even, but his eyes moved slowly across the table.

“Ay, sweetheart, we were just worried,” Helena said, her concern soft and painfully genuine. “We just want you to be happy, genuinely happy. And after everything that’s happened…” She hesitated, her gaze lingering on her son.

Frankie stiffened, his jaw tight. His eyes flicked to hers, a silent warning: Don’t say it.

Helena caught it instantly. She inhaled, then softened her expression. “I’m just happy to hear you say that you’re happy with someone great.”

You turned to look at Frankie. He was still close, his face unreadable, his body warm next to yours.

What exactly had he told them? That he was happy? That he was in love? How intense was it all according to him?

“How did you two meet?” Sofía asked, her voice light but perceptive, her gaze flickering between you and Frankie. She had noticed his discomfort—of course, she had.

“It’s a funny story, actually.” His eyes found yours, holding them for a fraction too long, something unspoken passing between you. A silent negotiation. A mutual recognition. “Do you remember Santi?”

Everyone nodded. Even Henry, who had never met your brother but had certainly heard his name before.

“Well,” Frankie said, as if stating the most obvious fact in the world, “she’s his sister.”

For a second, there was silence, the air thick with realization. Then—

Helena, Luna, and Sofía all widened their eyes in synchronized surprise. Grace, on the other hand, grinned like she had just won something.

“You’re Santiago’s sister?” Helena asked, reaching out and taking your arm gently, warmth in her touch. She looked genuinely delighted, like this was some grand revelation that connected dots she hadn’t even known were unconnected.

You nodded, already feeling heat crawl up your neck.

“Oh my God, Francisco, why didn’t you tell me?” She asked her son, her tone accusatory.

Frankie shrugged, but before he could speak, you jumped in.

“Oh, that was because of me,” you admitted, smiling at her. “I asked Frankie to keep it private until I had the chance to talk to Santi. I… I wanted to tell him first.”

Luna, who had been watching with her chin propped on her palm, suddenly straightened, her lips curving into something sharp and entertained.

“Wait, but how?” she demanded, eyes glinting. “Was it sudden? Was it a secret? Please tell me everything.”

Frankie clicked his tongue.

“Jesus, relax.”

“Hey, we want to know!” Maia chimed in, twisting in her seat to get a better angle on you both. Grace nodded eagerly beside her, practically vibrating with interest.

Frankie glanced at you then, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—caution, amusement, curiosity. A silent question.

You held his gaze, then gave the smallest nod. Permission granted.

He turned back to them, exhaling like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“It just happened,” Frankie said, his tone edged with impatience, like he was eager to get it over with. “We’d known each other for years, but we never really talked. Not much, anyway. Then Santi asked me to pick her up in Dallas because he couldn’t go, and he’d already promised. So I did.” He paused, tilting his head slightly, like he was considering the weight of his own words. “It was the longest trip of my life.” He glanced at you then, a slow, almost taunting smile curving his lips. “But I think something changed there. Don’t you?”

You held his gaze, matching his expression, refusing to break first.

For his family, this was a love story. For you, it was the beginning of a nightmare in a roadside diner, the longest meal of your life.

“Oh, of course it did,” you said, letting your hand fall onto his knee without warning. You felt him tense under your touch—so subtle no one else would have noticed. But you did. The corners of your mouth lifted, amusement flickering in your eyes as you smoothed it over with something softer, something that could be mistaken for affection.

“Actually,” you continued, turning toward Helena, who was watching you with quiet curiosity, “we never got along too well. The few times we saw each other, we ended up arguing, or worse.” You flicked your gaze back to Frankie, like you were measuring his reaction. “I always thought he disliked me. He always seemed uncomfortable, like he was disgusted by me.” You let the words hang in the air for a second longer than necessary before adding, lightly, “Apparently, not at all.”

“He liked you,” Grace said, beaming as if this was the best news she’d heard all night. “It’s so obvious.”

“Ah, typical,” Maia chimed in, crossing her arms, as if she had seen this exact scenario unfold a hundred times before.

Helena, still completely engrossed, leaned in slightly. “So what happened then?”

Frankie exhaled, his voice smoothing into something more deliberate, as if the story was forming in real-time.

“She left something in my car. I went to drop it off at her place a few days later. We talked for a while and—”

“And he kissed me,” you cut in, turning to look at him, eyes sparkling with amusement.

Frankie’s expression barely changed, but you caught the flicker of irritation in his eyes, the way his jaw tensed for half a second. He had been telling the story clean, simple, effortless. And now, suddenly, you had made it romantic. More than it needed to be.

Helena squeezed your arm gently, as if this moment—this entire fabricated story—was something to be treasured.

“Oh, who would have imagined it!” she said, delighted. “And what did your brother say? Was he angry? Did he approve?”

You tilted your head, considering. “Well, at first, he was just… shocked.” You smiled, remembering the way Santiago had looked at you when you told him your plan the day before, like he genuinely thought he had misheard. “I don’t think he was angry, exactly. More like—‘of all the people in the world, you and Francisco?’” You mimicked your brother’s voice, shaking your head. “His exact words: You two couldn’t even be in the same room without arguing.” Okay. That was fake, he never said that, but was it a lie?

Helena laughed, eyes warm.

Frankie sighed beside you, and when you glanced at him, his gaze was already on you—steady, unreadable. A story told a little too well.

“Well,” he said finally, his voice dry. “I guess people change.”

“Well, actually, I don’t find it strange at all,” Helena said suddenly, glancing at her daughters as if they should have known this already. “When I met your father, I didn’t like him. Not even a little. I thought he was insufferable, so arrogant. He asked me out five times, and I turned him down every single time. I was convinced he was conceited.” She shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “In reality, he was just… shy and a little bit awkward.”

You smiled, genuinely this time. Maybe that had been true for Frankie's father, but not for his son. With you, Frankie hadn’t been misunderstood—he had been downright mean. What had he called you once? Ah, yes, “little insufferable brat.”

The memory made you tighten your grip around your glass.

Luckily, the party had started to fill with more guests, and Helena excused herself to greet them. Frankie’s sisters kept you in their orbit a little longer, but their questions were harmless. You answered lightly, intentionally keeping your responses vague, avoiding any personal detail that might reveal too much.

By the time dinner was served, the conversation had shifted entirely, now centered on Helena’s upcoming trip. She was going to Maui with her two sisters.

“Maybe I’ll just stay and live there,” she mused at one point, raising an eyebrow as she sipped her wine. “If the sand convinces me.”

“I think you’re going to love it,” Luna said. “Honestly, I think it’s the best thing you can do. Travel. Go to all those places you always told us about.”

Helena smiled at her daughter, but there was something behind it. A flicker of sadness, a private grief.

“Oh, yes,” she said, exhaling softly. “I just wish I could have had my Gabriel with me.” She smiled as she said it, but the words landed heavier than anything else had all evening.

You glanced at Frankie without meaning to, and that’s when you noticed how he was looking at his mother. Not just listening, watching, the way someone does when they know exactly what’s behind a statement like that. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. The same quiet ache was there, in his eyes, in the way his fingers curled loosely around the stem of his glass. Then he caught you looking and dropped his gaze to his plate.

After dinner, Luna and Sofía stood under the spotlights, microphones in hand, offering heartfelt words to their mother. Helena sat at the center of it all, her expression soft, her eyes shining as she listened. Friends and family followed, sharing anecdotes—some sentimental, others ridiculous.

You found yourself genuinely enjoying the evening. Frankie's family was incredible—funny, loud, and full of life. The stories they told about Helena were the kind of stories that made you want to listen forever.

At one point, Eli, one of her oldest friends, recounted a story about the time she and Helena had snuck into David Bowie’s hotel as teenagers, only to steal a pair of underwear that—to this day—they weren’t entirely sure had belonged to Bowie himself or just some unfortunate member of his team. Either way, they still had them, tucked away somewhere.

The entire room erupted into laughter.

You were still caught in the story, your attention fully on the speaker, when you felt the weight of Frankie’s arm settle lightly against your back. He leaned in, his mouth near your ear, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“You didn’t have to say all that,” he murmured.

It took a second for you to register what he meant.

“Huh?” You turned slightly over your shoulder, catching the sharpness in his expression.

“This doesn’t have to be romantic.”

You blinked at him. Then scoffed.

“There’s no way it’s not romantic,” you whispered back, exasperated. “I’m your best friend’s sister. It just happened. How do you expect people not to romanticize it?”

Frankie exhaled, his hand briefly flexing against your back before he pulled it away.

“Just… just leave it to me from now on, okay?”

You rolled your eyes and turned back to the spotlight, where Helena’s friend was still mid-story.

“Fine,” you muttered.

The party carried on the way these gatherings always did—laughter spilling into the air, the clinking of glasses as a few heartfelt toasts were made, voices overlapping in lively conversation. At the center of it all stood the towering delicious cake, drawing admiration before being sliced and passed around on small plates. Cameras flashed as family members huddled together for pictures, arms wrapped around shoulders, cheeks pressed close, and after a few more anecdotes and a couple more glasses of wine, Frankie leaned in, his breath warm against your shoulder as he murmured that he needed to find the bathroom. You nodded, barely looking up, stretching your legs as you stood. The air inside had started to feel thick, a little too warm, a little too full of laughter and clinking glasses.

You wandered toward the courtyard at the heart of the hall, a quiet oasis strung with soft lights, vines curling around wrought iron railings. The hotel was stunning, all old-world charm and careful elegance, the kind of place you’d never had a reason to visit before tonight.

Sinking onto a small stone bench, you exhaled slowly, watching the golden glow of the party through the enormous windows. Inside, the music throbbed, rich and nostalgic—ABBA, because of course it was. Guests twirled and swayed, arms flung around each other, faces flushed with wine and joy.

You lifted your glass to your lips, the white wine still pleasantly cool, still sweet. For a moment, you stared down at your shoes, tracing patterns on the stone floor with the tip of your toe. This was ridiculous. All of it.

What the hell were you doing here, at Frankie’s mother’s party? How had you let yourself get talked into this? His family was lovely, yes. His mother, especially. But did you really need to be here, sitting among strangers, smiling politely at old stories that weren’t yours? And Harry’s wedding—did you really want to go to that, after everything?

“Enjoying the peace and quiet?”

The voice startled you out of your thoughts. You turned to see Helena stepping into the courtyard, lifting the hem of her dress as she walked. Her cheeks were flushed, her dark hair slightly undone from all the dancing.

You smiled despite yourself, tilting your head.

“It’s beautiful out here,” you said, glancing around as she lowered herself onto the bench beside you. “It’s a beautiful place.”

She hummed in agreement, smoothing the fabric of her dress. “Yes, it is. My kids did a good job.”

“It’s a wonderful party. You have so many people who love you.” You hesitated, then laughed lightly. “The stories were funny.”

Helena smiled, and for a split second, you saw Frankie in her—the dimple that appeared when she laughed, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners.

“I really liked them,” you added.

“Yeah?” she asked, turning to you, her expression open, curious.

You nodded.

“Good,” she said. “Me too.” Her gaze drifted toward the party, toward the window where music and voices poured through. “The years go by, and sometimes I forget just how much has happened to me. It’s strange. Sometimes it feels like my life after Gabriel passed away is… something separate. Like a different life entirely, like I became another woman without even realizing it.”

She looked down at her hands, twisting her ring absentmindedly.

Frankie had never talked to you about his father, but you knew. He had died suddenly two years ago. Santi had mentioned it in passing on the day of the funeral, his voice thick with something you couldn’t quite place—grief, exhaustion, maybe both. You had called him that morning, not knowing what had happened, and when he told you, it felt like the air had changed. Gabriel. You remembered the name, the way Santi had said it so carefully, like it was something fragile. He loved him, that much was clear. Like a second father, he said.

Helena’s words pressed against something in you, something raw. You and Santi had lost your own father a couple of years ago, when you were twenty-three. It had been sudden, too—death always seemed to be, no matter how much warning you had. Your mother had taken it the hardest. She couldn’t bear to stay in the house they had shared for nearly thirty-five years. The grief sat too thick in the walls, in the corners of every room, in the quiet that used to be filled with his voice. So she left. Packed her things and moved to New York to live with your aunt. Sometimes, when she called, she sounded lighter. Other times, she just sounded far away.

You glanced at Helena, something warm and unspoken passing between you.

“As if you had been torn in two,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “As if there was the version of you that knew him, and a new one that spends every day missing him.”

Helena turned toward you, studying you in the dim light. Then she nodded, her gaze drifting back to the party, to the golden glow of the room beyond the window.

“That’s right,” she murmured. “But I’m very lucky, aren’t I? To have a family like this?” She turned back to you, a small smile playing at the edges of her mouth. “Tell me, do you like us?”

You let out a breath of laughter, shaking your head slightly.

“Oh, of course I do,” you said, meaning it. “You have a beautiful family.”

Helena studied you for a long moment, her smile still in place but something shifting behind her eyes. A quiet kind of consideration.

“Can I ask you something?”

You hesitated, then nodded, suddenly unsure of yourself, worried you weren’t as good an actress as you had hoped.

“How is he?” she asked, her voice warm, gentle. There was no interrogation in it, only concern, the careful curiosity of a mother trying not to overstep but unable to help herself. “I don’t want to be that kind of mother, but… I think I am.” She smiled, a little self-deprecating. “Of all my children, he’s always been the most sensitive. Did you know that?”

You swallowed, your fingers tightening slightly around your glass. You didn’t know what to say. What could you say? You didn’t know Frankie. Not really. Not in any way that mattered. Your impression of him had been built on a handful of unfortunate encounters, on snide comments exchanged in passing, on the way he always seemed to carry himself like he had something to prove.

She watched you hesitate, and before you could scramble for an answer, she reached out, her hand landing gently on your leg, a mother’s touch—steadying, reassuring.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I don’t mean to pry—”

“Oh, no,” you cut in quickly, shaking your head. “I’m sorry, I…” You let out a breath, deciding there was no point in pretending. “He’s fine. Maybe a little nervous about tonight.”

It wasn’t a lie.

Helena sighed, nodding knowingly.

“Oh, yeah. I noticed that. That boy isn’t very good at hiding things, dear.” She smiled again, her expression fond. “He’s always been like that. Very transparent with his feelings. From the moment he arrived, I could tell—he looked as nervous as a cat backed into a corner.”

You laughed, unable to help it.

“Oh, yes,” you agreed. “On the way here, he was humming this song, and I swear, it was the funniest thing. And before we even walked in, he gave me this whole speech—like, a full-on monologue.”

Helena let out a laugh, shaking her head.

“But you have nothing to worry about,” she said softly. “I already like you very much.”

Her hand came up, brushing against your cheek for the briefest moment, warm and gentle. You felt yourself smile, unthinking, almost reflexive.

“And I’m really sorry about what I said at the table,” she continued, her voice quiet, careful. “I am happy that he’s happy. It’s just… when he told me the other day that he was seeing someone, I really thought he was lying. I hate to admit that, but I did.” She sighed, shaking her head lightly. “My daughters and I have been… a little difficult with him. And I know he wouldn’t want me to talk about this, but I feel like I have to.”

You nodded.

“Of course,” you murmured, your brows pulling together.

She looked at you then, as if weighing something, as if considering whether or not she should say the thing already forming on her tongue.

“I worry about him,” she admitted finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “After Rachel…” She hesitated. “Did he ever talk to you about her?”

You nodded once.

“Well,” she exhaled, leaning back slightly. “I had never seen him like that before.” She glanced away, her fingers smoothing over the fabric of her dress. “Of course, it wasn’t just her. It was everything. His father’s death shattered him, and Rachel… well, she only made it worse. And Francisco has always been strong, but underneath all that, there’s his enormous heart, and he tucks everything away in there. He carries it all.”

Her eyes softened, as if remembering something.

“And when he finally started to come back to himself, I noticed he was… lonely,” she admitted. “I know I can be overbearing, and I know he’s probably told you all about the blind dates.”

She raised her eyebrows, smiling a little.

You laughed, nodding. “Oh, yes. Absolutely.”

Helena let out a small chuckle, shaking her head, but the warmth in her expression didn’t fade. She studied you for a long moment, as if trying to piece something together, as if she had already made up her mind about you and was simply waiting for you to realize it, too.

“I think you’re a good person,” she said at last. “No, I know you are. My intuition is rarely wrong about these things.” She tilted her head slightly, considering you. “And you’re Santiago’s sister. I know no one of his blood could have a bad heart.”

She leaned forward then. “Can I trust you?”

Your breath caught for a second.

You stared at her, your smile slowly slipping away, your expression shifting into something more uncertain. Could she trust you?

No.

She couldn’t.

You were nothing more than a woman her son had convinced to pretend. A stranger caught up in a performance. And yet, here she was, speaking to you with nothing but honesty, with nothing but trust. Her words settled into you, heavy and warm, and you felt something tighten in your chest, something uncomfortable, something that almost hurt.

“Hey. There you are.”

The voice cut through the quiet, startling you. You turned instinctively, your body tensing before your eyes even landed on him.

Frankie.

He stood in the doorway, framed by the soft glow of the garden lights, his expression pulled into something that looked like a smile, but wasn’t. His eyes gave him away—something sharp, something unsettled lurking just beneath the surface.

Helena moved first. She stood, smoothing out the skirt of her dress as if shaking off the weight of your conversation. By the time she reached her son, any trace of emotion had been neatly tucked away.

“I’ll leave you two,” she said lightly, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I can’t abandon my own party just yet.”

Frankie barely glanced at her, his gaze still fixed on you. Helena disappeared through the doorway, her presence vanishing as quickly as it had arrived.

You stayed where you were, fingers pressed against the fabric of your dress, trying to ignore the way your pulse had picked up.

“What do you think you’re doing?” His voice was low, edged with something you didn’t like. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

He moved toward you, sinking onto the bench beside you. Too close.

“What the hell were you doing talking to my mom?”

You exhaled sharply, already exhausted by the conversation before it had even properly begun.

“I just needed air,” you said, leveling him with a look. “She just… showed up.”

“Well, no. Don’t.”

You blinked at him. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t talk to her.”

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head.

“What did you want me to do, Francisco? Turn my back on her?”

He didn’t answer right away, just studied you, his jaw tight.

“What did you say to her?”

The accusatory edge in his tone made something twist inside you—something hot, something unpleasant. Your heart kicked up a little, the way it had when you were younger and had done something wrong, when an adult’s disappointment settled over you like a heavy weight. But this wasn’t that. You weren’t a child, and Frankie sure as hell wasn’t some authority figure.

Still, something about this—his sharp words, his narrowed eyes—made you feel small. And maybe, just maybe, that conversation with Helena had already set something loose inside you. Had already made you feel like the fraud you were.

“I didn’t say anything,” you said firmly. “Seriously.”

Frankie let out a harsh breath, rubbing a hand over his face before gesturing sharply with his hands.

“You already ruined it,” he said, his voice low but forceful. “What was that at dinner, huh?”

“What?”

“Everything. I thought we’d been clear. Nothing too personal. Nothing too over the top.”

You inhaled, slow and steady, trying to keep your irritation in check. But it was creeping in, needling its way under your skin.

“I didn’t do anything wrong, I just acted how we agreed—”

“No,” he interrupted, turning to fully face you. His expression had hardened, frustration and something else—something darker—etched into the lines of his face. “You went too far. You did it wrong.”

Your stomach twisted.

“I did exactly what we agreed on,” you repeated, your voice sharper now. “It’s not my fault your mom wanted to talk to me—”

“You said too much—”

“No, I was just being myself but a little—”

“Exactly,” he cut in, his voice a little louder, a little rougher. “You shouldn’t have been you!”

You felt it like a slap.

Your breath hitched, your throat tightening, heat rising to your face before you could stop it. The burn started behind your nose, your vision blurring slightly at the edges.

Frankie’s expression shifted just the slightest bit, his mouth pressing into a tight line, as if he had only just realized what he’d said. As if he could see it—the way you were gripping your empty wine glass too tightly, the way your whole body had gone rigid.

But he didn’t have time to take it back.

Because you stood so quickly the bench wobbled slightly beneath you. And then you were moving—away from him, away from the awful heat crawling up your neck, away from the sharp edge of his words.

“Hey—” Frankie started, standing just as fast, his voice breaking through the air. But it was useless.

The music swelled, drowning him out, swallowing whatever poor attempt at damage control he was about to make.

You didn’t stop.

Didn’t look back.

Couldn’t.

The farther you walked into the party, the harder your heart pounded, the sound of it loud in your ears, almost drowning out the music. The heat in your face hadn’t faded. Neither had the sharp, lingering sting of Frankie’s words, pressing like a bruise against your ribs.

You exhaled, slow and deliberate, eyes scanning the room. The dim lighting worked in your favor—candles flickering on the tables, the dance floor bathed in a shifting wash of blues and reds, everything softened by the haze of too much champagne and conversation. You doubted anyone would notice you slipping away.

For a brief second, you considered heading straight for the door. Walking out, stepping into the night, inhaling air that wasn’t thick with perfume and laughter and the weight of everything that had just happened.

But instead, you turned on your heel and went to the bar.

You weren’t going to leave. Not yet.

You were angry, and there was an open bar. It would be stupid not to take advantage.

You slid onto a stool, pressing your elbows onto the smooth wood, and ordered a margarita.

The bartender nodded, reaching for a bottle of tequila, his movements fluid, practiced. You watched him pour, shake, pour again. The salt rim sparkled under the low lights. When he finally set the drink in front of you, you didn’t hesitate—lifting the glass to your lips and taking a long, slow pull. The cold hit your tongue first, followed by the sharpness of the lime, the bite of the alcohol. You drank like you had something to prove, and by the time you set the glass back down, it was already halfway empty.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw movement.

Frankie.

He slid onto the stool next to you, his presence shifting the air before you even fully registered him. He didn’t say anything. Just sat there, his body angled toward you, his forearm resting on the bar, his fingers absently grazing his mouth like he was considering his next words. Or maybe biting them back.

Your jaw tightened.

Then he ordered a whiskey, and you rolled your eyes—not at the drink itself, but at the sound of his voice, at the way it cut through the music and curled under your skin.

Still, he didn’t speak. Just watched you, his gaze flicking toward you every few seconds, charged with something unreadable. You refused to meet it, keeping your attention locked onto anything else—the melting ice in your glass, the vodka label in front of you, the way the bartender’s hands moved as he made another round of drinks.

And so it went.

You started your second margarita. He started his second whiskey.

Minutes passed.

Then, finally, you turned to look at him for the first time since the courtyard.

He was already looking at you.

“I know you’re nervous, but that doesn’t give you the right to talk to me like that.”

Frankie opened his mouth, but you cut him off before he could get a word out.

“You’re not going to talk to me like that,” you repeated, quieter this time, sharper.

His eyes flickered—something hesitant, something almost guilty.

“I’m—”

“Look at me,” you murmured, leaning in just enough that your words landed between you, closer than they needed to be. “I spent hours getting ready for this. Hours making sure I looked perfect for this stupid charade. Do you have any idea how long it took me to fix my hair? No, you don’t. Because you’re a complete idiot. An idiot who treats me like shit when I’m the one standing here, at your mother’s party, pretending to be someone I’m not—for you. And do you know why I'm doing this, Frankie?” Your voice wavered, not with weakness but with the sheer force of your anger. “Because I chose to. Not because you deserve it or I need you for another stupid lie. Because let’s be honest—” you tilted your head, smiling coldly, “—we’re not even fucking friends.”

His gaze hardened, but he didn’t look away.

“You owed me,” he said simply, like that was supposed to mean something.

You let out a quiet scoff, your eyes flicking to the dance floor, where Maia was watching the two of you from a distance, her expression unreadable.

When you turned back to Frankie, something had shifted in your eyes—something lighter, something amused. A slow, deliberate smile tugged at your lips as you lifted a hand, resting it against his cheek.

His brows knit together in confusion.

“Your sister is watching,” you murmured.

His shoulders relaxed, his expression softening just slightly. Your thumb brushed over his cheek, slow and calculated.

“Forget about the wedding,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. You tilted your head, your smile still sweet, still deceptive. “Because after tonight, I don’t want to spend another fucking second with you.”

Frankie let out a low breath, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

“I’m useful to you,” he said, his voice smooth, certain.

“You’re useless to me.”

He leaned in just enough that your knees touched. “I don’t think so, shortcake.”

"Huh?" You let out an incredulous laugh, letting your eyes flick across his face—his mouth, his jaw, the slight smugness settled into his features. Beneath your hand, you could feel the warmth of his skin, the steady pulse beneath your palm.

Your fingers slid from his cheek to his neck, and you squeezed, just enough to make a point.

“To me,” you whispered, your breath brushing against his skin, “you’re nothing but a pathetic, desperate little loser trying to convince his mommy he’s something he’s not.”

Frankie let out a quiet, bitter laugh, the kind that barely curled the edges of his mouth but darkened his eyes in a way that made your stomach twist. He lifted a hand and wrapped his fingers around yours, prying them gently from his neck. But he didn’t let go. Instead, he laced his fingers with yours, lowering your joined hands to his chest.

His body shifted forward, closing the already dangerous space between you. If you leaned in even slightly, your nose would brush against his.

Your breath hitched, the heat pooling in your cheeks betraying every emotion you were trying to suppress. Anger, frustration, something sharper beneath the surface.

Frankie studied you for a second, his expression unreadable. Then he spoke, his voice low, edged with amusement.

“You sound a little too confident for someone who might be a pathetic, desperate loser herself,” he murmured.

You swallowed, your pulse a steady, insistent beat against your ribs.

“Can I ask you a question?” he continued, his fingers flexing against yours.

“No.”

He ignored you, tilting his head slightly, considering something. And then—

“Which came first,” he asked, voice almost teasing, “the moon or the sun? I thought you were afraid of needles.”

You stared at him in silence, the smug smile on his lips igniting something hot and restless inside you. It wasn’t just anger—it was something stranger, something you didn’t want to name.

Your tattoo.

He must have seen it earlier, when he helped you with your dress. A small moon and sun, delicately inked on your lower back—a reckless decision from a night out drinking with Emma. She was the sun, you were the moon. At the time, in your drunken haze, it had seemed like an aesthetically brilliant idea. Sober, you weren’t so sure.

A quiet laugh slipped from your lips, amusement curling at the edges of your mouth. Your fingers tightened slightly, gripping the fabric of his shirt beneath his hand.

“Look at you, a regular voyeur,” you murmured, tilting your head. “Why do you ask, Francisco? Is it you talking, or the whiskey? And how many glasses of wine had you had before this? Three? Four? ”

His grin didn’t falter. If anything, it deepened, his gaze trailing over your face like he was enjoying something about this moment, about you.

“I really didn't think of you as the type of person who would wear a tattoo like that.”

You raised an eyebrow, lips curling into a half-smile.

“Ah, funny. So, you spend a lot of time thinking about me and what I wear? Or is it only when you’re bored, staring at the walls of your sad, monotonous life?”

“Said the woman who spends her nights with a cat and an imaginary boyfriend,” Frankie said, grinning as he watched you roll your eyes. The dim bar light caught the edge of his smile, sharpening it. He lifted his glass—dark amber, expensive—and took a slow sip. You followed the movement of his throat, the way the muscles shifted beneath his skin.

“Mr. Darcy’s excellent company. And at least I have a cat. What do you have?”

Frankie made a show of looking around, scanning the crowded room like the answer might be hidden somewhere between the swaying bodies on the dance floor or in the clinking glasses behind the bar. Then his gaze settled back on you, steady, assessing.

“What do I have?” He hummed as if considering it, then leaned in just slightly. “I think I really want to have another drink to make being around you more bearable.”

You pressed your lips together, biting back a retort. The warmth of alcohol sat low in your stomach, and the room was just a little too bright, a little too soft at the edges.

Across the room, Frankie’s sisters were dancing, their hair spilling over their shoulders, their laughter rising above the music. Maia caught your eye, her face flushed, and raised her eyebrows in an invitation. Without a second thought, you hopped off your stool, smoothing the fabric of your dress.

Frankie watched you, something unreadable flickering in his expression. He parted his lips like he was about to say something, but before he could, you turned and walked away. His mouth actually dropped open when he saw where you were going.

Maia pulled you in by the arm, and just like that, you were dancing, your body falling easily into the rhythm of the music. The moment felt expansive, electric. A kind of joy buzzed beneath your skin—the kind that only came from being a little tipsy and surrounded by people who knew how to have fun. You let it take you, the laughter, the music, the hands brushing against yours as you moved.

And yet—his words clung to you like the aftertaste of something bitter. You need to seem... normal. Forgettable, even. Like he was the authority on that. Like it was his job to keep you contained, manageable.

Well, if he wanted you to behave, maybe you should do something to really piss him off.

You turned to find him, just to check. Luna leaned in, murmured something nice about your dress, but you barely registered it. Frankie was still at the bar, one arm draped lazily against the counter, the other wrapped around his glass. His expression was unreadable—neutral, detached—but you knew better. You knew him. And if you had to guess, he was furious.

A song passed, then another. Your cheeks were flushed, your hair a little wild. Helena was dancing beside you, swaying Jamie from side to side, both of them beaming. The kind of easy happiness you never saw at parties in your own family. Frankie was still there, but his eyes weren’t on you anymore. He was looking at his phone.

Two songs later, you weren’t thinking about him at all.

You were laughing, lost in the pulse of the music, your head tipped back as you let it all go. Then—fingers wrapped around your arm. Warm. Familiar. Frankie.

Helena appeared beside him, her voice bright and teasing. “Finally! A girl shouldn’t dance alone when her boyfriend’s around.”

Frankie didn’t answer. He just smiled at his mother—an easy, charming kind of smile that didn’t fool you at all—before tugging you toward him. You stumbled a little, your hands catching against his chest as he turned you, pulled you in close.

Your breath hitched, but your smile didn’t falter. You tilted your chin up at him, your fingers settling on his shoulders.

“Are you going to dance with me now, honey?” you asked, your voice syrupy sweet, thick with amusement.

His hand tightened around yours.

Yeah, he was mad.

And you were having the best time.

Frankie licked his teeth, a slow, deliberate motion, like he was holding something back. A smile curved at the corner of his mouth, tight and humorless. He leaned in, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

"I see what you're doing," he murmured, his voice slurring slightly, softened by alcohol. "I think you should stop."

You didn’t pull away. Instead, you lifted your chin, closing the space between you until your lips were just beside his ear.

"I'm just having fun," you said, your voice light, teasing. "Completely harmless."

He exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. Amusement flickered across his face, but his eyes told another story—sharp, dark, frustrated. Like enduring this moment, enduring you, required every ounce of patience he had left.

Then, without warning, his hands slid to your waist, fingers pressing in just enough to make you aware of them. Before you could react, he pulled you closer, the movement rough, unhesitating. Your chest bumped against his, knocking the air from your lungs in a quiet, startled gasp.

Your eyes met, and something flickered in the space between you.

"What are you doing?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, a nervous smile pulling at your lips.

Frankie tilted his head, his expression unreadable, his gaze steady on yours.

"I’m playing your game, didn’t you want to dance?"

You could smell the whiskey on him, the faint traces of something else—lavender, salt, the remnants of the night on his skin. Your hands were still on his shoulders, fingertips pressing into the fabric of his shirt, and for a brief, unsteady second, you let yourself feel it. The warmth of him. The way his body fit against yours.

You flicked a glance around the room, searching for familiar faces—Maia, Sofía, Helena, someone who might be watching. But no. Everyone was lost in their own drunken happiness, in laughter, in swaying bodies and half-empty glasses.

Then Frankie moved.

He stepped forward, hands firm at your waist, steering you with him. The crowd swallowed you both, the music vibrating through the floor, through your ribs, through him.

"This isn't a good idea," you murmured, but you didn't pull away.

Frankie barely reacted. His hand traced up your arm, fingers curling around yours, guiding them into place, his movements seamless, practiced. He looked down at you, his mouth twitching at the corner, like he was already enjoying whatever this was more than he should.

"Oh no? Why not?"

His face was close. Too close.

Then, before you could register it, his cheek brushed against yours, a fleeting touch, just enough to make your breath hitch. The warmth of his skin, the slow, deliberate way he moved to the rhythm of the music—it was too much, all of it. Your fingers tightened around his without thinking.

You exhaled, a slow, shuddering sigh, and with it came the scent of him—warm skin, whiskey, and something else. Something deeper. Was it cologne? Was he wearing fucking cologne?

Whatever it was, he smelled fucking good.

Your eyes fluttered shut, as if that might help erase the fact that Francisco Morales, of all people, smelled good, and that his body was pressed against yours, and—worst of all—that none of it felt bad. In fact, your feet lifted slightly onto your toes, seeking some fraction of closeness, your body betraying you in real time.

It was the alcohol.

It was absolutely, one hundred percent the alcohol. That, and the undeniable, frustrating fact that you were touch-starved. When was the last time a man had held you like this? You couldn’t remember. Your mind was too foggy, too wrapped up in the moment, in the warmth of him, in the firm weight of his hands.

But then it hit you.

It was Frankie. Frankie was the one holding you.

Your eyes snapped open, the realization jolting through you like a slap. Without thinking, you yanked yourself away, stumbling backward. It was clumsy, too sudden, and your own body felt unsteady, like it hadn’t caught up with your decision yet. Your pulse roared in your ears.

Frankie just watched you, an amused, almost devilish grin tugging at his lips. And then, slowly, that amusement shifted into something else—confusion, curiosity—as he took in your wide eyes, your rapid breath, your entire mess of a reaction.

You didn’t wait to see what he would do next. You turned and bolted, and didn’t stop moving until you were outside, back in the courtyard.

The air was crisp and cool, a sharp contrast to the heat burning beneath your skin. You stepped into the garden, tilting your head back, letting the night air kiss your cheeks. It helped, a little. It grounded you, just enough to breathe, just enough to press your hands against your ribs like you could steady your own heartbeat.

"Hey, you okay?"

You stiffened at the sound of his voice.

Of course he followed you.

You didn’t turn around. You heard his footsteps approach, felt him standing just a little too close beside you. He was silent for a moment, and for some reason, that was worse than if he’d said something right away.

"You should drink some water," he said finally, his voice quieter now, less sharp around the edges. You caught the sound of his palm scraping over the back of his neck. "And so should I, honestly. I think I drank—"

“Stop pretending to care,” you snapped, cutting him off. Your voice was sharper than you meant it to be, your arms folding tightly across your chest. And why were you angry? You weren’t even sure. You just were.

Frankie let out a soft, amused breath. He clicked his tongue, then shifted his weight, considering you.

“I’m not pretending anything. I promised Santi I’d look after you.”

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh, finally turning to face him.

“What, like you’re my fucking babysitter or something?” You shook your head, your words dripping with frustration. “I’m twenty-nine, Francisco. I can take care of myself.”

Frankie’s jaw tightened. His hands went to his hips, his eyes dropping to your feet like he was biting back whatever he actually wanted to say.

“Fine,” he muttered.

The silence between you stretched, thin but not fragile, the kind that neither of you felt the need to break. You both stood still, eyes moving across the garden as though searching for something worth commenting on. The music inside thrummed against the walls of the house, muffled but insistent, the bass vibrating faintly under your skin.

And then you became aware of your body—every muscle, every inch of discomfort. The dull ache in your feet flared as if your nerves had only just remembered to complain.

You exhaled sharply, tilting your head back, exposing your throat to the cool night air.

“My feet are killing me,” you murmured, shifting your weight, closing your eyes for just a second.

Frankie snorted. You cracked an eye open in time to see him glance down at your heels—six inches of poor decision-making, glossy under the dim garden lights. His gaze moved up your legs, thoughtful. Then he scratched his chin, eyes narrowing slightly, as if making a decision.

“Sit down,” he said after a pause, nodding toward the bench you’d been perched on earlier, next to Helena. “I’ll be back in a second.”

Before you could ask where he was going, he was already walking off, disappearing through the door.

You hesitated, then lowered yourself onto the seat—not because he told you to, obviously, just because you wanted to. You stretched your legs out, rolling your ankles, relishing the brief relief.

A couple of minutes passed. The music shifted to something softer, slower. You had just started to wonder if Frankie had left you out here for good when the door creaked open again.

He stepped back outside, a crease between his brows and—

You blinked.

“What are you doing?” Your voice carried an edge of suspicion. “What are those?”

Frankie knelt in front of you, setting a pair of slippers at your feet. His expression was flat, unimpressed.

He sighed, already irritated, already prepared for your resistance.

“They’re new, don't worry,” he said, like it was nothing, like this was something he did all the time. His fingers curled around your ankle before you could flinch away. Warm, certain. “Sofia gave them to me, but they’re too small and... not my style anyway. I left them in the car to exchange them, but I never got around to it.” He shot you a pointed look, as if to say, So really, I’m doing us both a favor. “Might as well put them to use.”

Before you could argue, before you could come up with something clever to deflect the strange weight of this moment, he unclipped your heel and slid it off with practiced ease.

You swallowed. Watched him. Felt a strange, unwelcome awareness creep up your spine.

The pads of his fingers brushed over your ankle as he repeated the motion with the other shoe. His focus stayed on the task, entirely unbothered. Meanwhile, something in your chest wound too tight, a tension that hadn’t been there moments ago.

You didn’t like it.

Frankie slid the slippers onto your feet, adjusting them slightly before leaning back on his heels with a groan. He pushed himself up, exhaling through his nose, then dropped onto the bench beside you. A hand scrubbed over his face, rubbing at his eyes, and a yawn slipped past his lips.

You looked down at your feet, flexing your toes experimentally against the soft fabric. You weren’t sure what to say.

But, despite yourself, it did feel better.

“Thanks,” you murmured, voice flat, almost absent.

Frankie nodded, his gaze flicking to your feet, now resting comfortably on the floor.

“You’re welcome.”

And then, silence. The kind that stretched and settled, filling the space between you like heavy fog. Through the glass windows, the muffled thrum of music hummed in the background, but all you could really hear was your own breathing, steady but uneven. Would it be rude if you told him you were ready to go home?

“You okay?” he asked suddenly, pulling you from the thought.

“Yeah,” you said, shifting slightly in your seat. “My feet don’t hurt anymore.”

Frankie leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head tipped down between his shoulders. He exhaled, like he was bracing himself.

“I meant before,” he said, glancing up at you. “I—”

“Ah. Yeah.”

His fingers brushed idly over the seam of his pants, and when he spoke again, it was barely above a murmur.

“I’m sorry I was an asshole to you.” He hesitated, as if deciding whether to keep going. “You just... you... you get under my skin sometimes, but—anyway. I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

You blinked at him.

“It’s okay.”

His lips twitched, like he wanted to say something else but changed his mind. Instead, he let out a short, breathy laugh and leaned back in his chair.

“This was a fucking terrible idea,” he admitted, shaking his head, his eyes glinting with something light, something almost fond. “What the hell were we thinking?”

A laugh bubbled up from your throat before you could stop it. “I have no idea.”

Frankie grinned, pushing to his feet, rubbing a hand over his face as if that might somehow wipe away the flush of warmth creeping up his neck. When he looked back at you, his expression was softer.

“Come on,” he said, holding out a hand. “Let’s stay a little longer, and then I’ll take you home. Deal?”

You eyed his hand, hesitating. There was something about the gesture—about the unspoken truce it implied—that made your chest tighten. But still, after a beat, you placed your palm against his.

Frankie pulled you to your feet, steadying you before letting go.

“You’re drunk,” you observed. “Are you seriously going to drive like that?”

“I’ll call a cab,” he said immediately, as if he’d already made up his mind.

You nodded, about to say something else when the door creaked open.

A man stepped inside, his movements sluggish, a cigarette dangling between his fingers. Frankie shifted closer to you, his body angling slightly in your direction.

“Hey, it's our little pilot,” the man drawled, his words slurring together as his eyes flicked lazily between the two of you. A smirk played on his lips. “How’s it going?”

Frankie’s expression barely changed.

“Ian,” he said, his voice unreadable. “Didn’t see you earlier.”

“Nah, I was running late,” Ian replied with a slow shrug. “You know how it is—time moves like shit when you wanna leave work early.” He clicked his tongue, his gaze dragging over you with undisguised interest. “So, this your new girl?”

Frankie didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah,” he said smoothly. “We were actually just heading out—”

“You still having those problems?” Ian interrupted, tilting his head.

Frankie exhaled sharply. “Not really any of your business.” A beat. “You still avoiding your ex-wife?”

You raised your eyebrows, glancing between them. Ian laughed, shaking his head.

“Tell me,” he mused, voice laced with something cruel. “Does your dick even work with all those antidepressants? Must be a fucking nightmare trying to keep up with something as sweet as this one.” He gestured vaguely in your direction, his smirk widening.

Your stomach twisted in revulsion.

Frankie went still beside you, his jaw locking, his shoulders tight. His gaze was fixed on Ian, his expression eerily blank, but you could feel the tension rolling off him in waves. You thought of Helena’s words about her son and felt something sharp and bitter curdle in your chest.

Ian chuckled to himself, clearly entertained, clearly drunk beyond reason. Frankie was about to say something—you could see it in the way his mouth parted slightly, the way his fingers flexed at his sides—but before he could, before he even had the chance, the anger—and maybe the alcohol—made the decision for you.

“Oh, not that it’s any of your business, Ian,” you said, tilting your head slightly, voice light, almost sweet. “But since you’re so curious…”

You let out a soft chuckle, flicking your gaze to Frankie for the briefest moment before returning your attention to the man in front of you.

“I suppose I could tell you that... yeah, it works. Before we came here, this man had me seeing stars. Multiple times, actually.” You paused, just long enough to watch the words land, to see the flicker of surprise cross Ian’s face. “So really, I guess that answers your question, doesn’t it?”

You reached out then, the movement slow, deliberate, brushing your fingers along Frankie’s cheek, letting your thumb rest lightly against his lips. His breath caught, just for a second, and his eyes darted to yours, startled but composed, like he wasn’t entirely sure what you were doing but was curious enough to let it happen.

Ian scoffed, recovering quickly.

“Sure,” he said, dragging the word out, his expression shifting into something vaguely amused, vaguely condescending. “I doubt that, gorgeous.”

Your gaze flicked over him, head to toe, as if you were appraising something unimpressive on display. You didn’t bother hiding the disdain curling at the corners of your mouth.

Still, your hand remained on Frankie’s face, still at your side. Turning back to him, you found him already watching you, his lips twitching like he was barely resisting a smile. He didn’t care about Ian’s words, about his tone—he was far more interested in whatever it was you were doing.

And then, without really thinking, without hesitating, you pushed up onto your toes and cradled his face in both hands.

You kissed him.

Not a tentative, testing-the-waters kind of kiss. No, this was different. Your lips pressed against his like you’d been wanting to all night, like you didn’t particularly care if Ian was still standing there, gaping at you. Frankie made a sound in the back of his throat, one of surprise that melted quickly into something else. His hands found your waist, firm and steady, pulling you closer as he angled his head, deepening it.

Your tongue traced the seam of his lips, and he let you in, meeting you there, matching you effortlessly. When you finally broke apart, the sound between you was wet and sharp, but you barely had a second to take a breath before you kissed him again.

Your hands slid to the back of his neck, your fingers curling there as you smiled against his lips.

Frankie exhaled a quiet laugh, his thumb brushing your hip.

And then, just because you could, because it felt like the right thing to do, you nipped lightly at his bottom lip before pulling back completely. When you finally turned to Ian, his face was frozen in something close to shock, his eyebrows nearly at his hairline, his mouth slightly open like he wasn’t sure if he should speak or just accept his defeat.

You bit your lip, suppressing a laugh, and turned to Frankie again. He was staring at you now, serious, a little dazed, his hands still resting on your waist.

“Now take me home, baby,” you murmured, your voice just loud enough for Ian to hear.

Frankie blinked, as if snapping back into himself.

“I—” His lips parted, then curved into something lopsided, something close to a smirk. “Of course, baby.”

His hand found yours easily, fingers curling around yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You turned, stepping past Ian with a saccharine smile.

“Bye, Ian,” you said, not bothering to hide the smirk in your voice.

Frankie pushed open the door, and the pulse of the music hit you instantly—deep bass reverberating through your chest, the sharp hum of laughter and voices filling the gaps between beats. You stepped inside, weaving through the press of bodies until you reached the edge of the dance floor. The lights were dim, warm, shifting in color. The air smelled like spilled beer, expensive perfume, and something sweet you couldn’t quite place.

You turned to Frankie, amusement tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“Who the fuck was that?” you asked, voice teasing as you lifted onto your toes, your hands finding their way to his shoulders.

Frankie dipped his head slightly, his breath warm against your ear.

“My cousin,” he murmured. “He’s an asshole.”

You huffed out a laugh. “Oh, yeah? I hadn’t noticed.”

His gaze locked onto yours, something flickering behind his eyes—amusement, maybe, or something else entirely. For two long seconds, neither of you spoke. Then, his focus shifted over your shoulder.

“They’re watching,” he said, low enough that only you could hear. “Don’t turn around.”

Your brows lifted slightly. “Who?”

“Mai and Sofía,” he said. “They’re having fun with us.”

The adrenaline still buzzed under your skin, your pulse quick from everything that had just unfolded. You laughed, looping your arms around his neck without thinking, and his hands found their place at your waist like it was second nature.

Frankie exhaled, a sound that was almost a sigh but not quite. His fingers flexed slightly against your hips, like he wasn’t sure whether to hold you tighter or let go.

“I think you should kiss me again,” he said suddenly, like the thought had slipped out before he could catch it, voice rougher than before.

You tilted your head, studying him, letting him sit with what he’d just said.

A slow, satisfied smirk tugged at your lips. “See? What did I tell you, Francisco? Begging for a little kiss. It was only a matter of time.”

Frankie’s throat worked around a swallowed laugh. His grip on your waist tightened for just a second.

“I’m not begging for anything,” he muttered.

“Sure.”

You lifted your chin slightly, and he didn’t waste a second—he ducked his head, his mouth finding yours with an easy sort of urgency.

This time, the kiss was different—less urgent, less about spectacle. His lips found yours with a quiet kind of certainty, warm and unhurried, like something unfolding naturally rather than something being taken. His palm slid up, fingertips brushing your jaw before settling against your cheek, his skin rough but his touch impossibly gentle. His thumb moved absently over your cheekbone, a slow, soothing motion, like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.

When his tongue met yours, it wasn’t demanding, just deliberate—like he was tasting the moment, like he was letting it settle between you before deciding what to do with it.

And then, before it could tip into something deeper, he pulled back. His lips lingered for a second longer, like he wasn’t quite ready to let go, before he pressed one last, fleeting kiss against your mouth—light, almost absentminded. Then his hand slipped from your cheek, leaving behind the ghost of his touch.

A small smile played at your lips.

“I thought this was supposed to be a kiss-free party.”

“You started it.”

“And you were the one asking for another,” you countered, tilting your head.

He rolled his eyes. “Didn’t take much asking.”

You let out an exaggerated gasp, smacking his arm lightly.

“Oh, by the way—you’re welcome.”

His brows knitted together, head tilting slightly, a stray curl slipping over his forehead. “For what?”

“For what?” you echoed. “I don’t know, Francisco, maybe for showing up to your mom’s party? For saving you a second ago out there?”

“Right. Yes. Thank you. You know that.”

“Do I?” You raised an eyebrow. “How would I know?”

He leaned back a little, his hands slipping away from your waist.

“I thought witches just… knew things like that.”

Your mouth fell open in mock offense as you crossed your arms. Then, without another word, you turned toward the bar, fully aware of him following you, just a step behind.

“You’re not going to the wedding, then?” he asked, leaning his forearms on the bar, watching you carefully.

You shook your head, meeting his gaze. “Why would I?”

He pursed his lips, tilting his head like he was considering something.

“I thought you wanted to prove a point. Show him you were happy. And, I mean… do you even know what kind of food they’re serving?”

You narrowed your eyes. “You sound very invested in this wedding all of a sudden. If you want to go, Francisco, just go. You don’t need me.”

“Maybe I will,” he mused. “Might even steal a bottle or two of champagne while I’m at it.”

A laugh bubbled out of you, light and unguarded.

Your gaze drifted across the bar, unfocused, catching on the row of glass bottles lined up neatly on the shelves. Their labels were intricate, embossed with gold filigree and elegant cursive, the kind of lettering that—under normal circumstances—you might have found charming. Right now, though, your brain, pleasantly fogged from alcohol, couldn’t make sense of them. The letters blurred together, swirling into something abstract and unreadable.

You exhaled, rolling your shoulder as if shaking off the evening itself. The sound of a cork popping somewhere behind the bar made you flinch slightly, and you let your hand drift absently over your opposite arm.

“Ready to go home?”

Frankie’s voice was low, steady, just beside you.

You nodded but didn’t look at him, your eyes lingering instead on the dance floor. Helena was still out there, her laughter bright and careless, her arms thrown around one of her friends. Of Frankie’s sisters, only Luna remained, swaying easily to the music with Henry, her movements fluid, like she could keep going for hours.

Frankie pulled out his phone and stepped away to call an Uber. You tracked his movements for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, a light touch on your arm pulled your focus back.

Maia had appeared on the stool next to you, her cheeks flushed, her hair loose and a little wild. She was smiling, the kind of grin that promised trouble.

“My brother’s a pain in the ass,” she announced. “Dragged you off the dance floor, didn’t he?”

You smirked, amused but not denying it.

“He’s afraid we’ll scare you off,” she continued, lifting an eyebrow in mock seriousness. “But it’s too late for that now. You’ve already witnessed my mom shaking her ass—so, what do you say? One last drink?”

You hesitated for all of three seconds before shrugging and settling back onto the stool. One more wouldn’t kill you. Probably.

Maia was quick with her order—tequila, no hesitation. When the bartender set up the shot glasses in front of you, you eyed them warily, unsure if your stomach was on board with this decision. Was it irresponsible to drink this much at your boyfriend’s mother’s birthday party? Absolutely. But then again, Frankie wasn’t your boyfriend. So, really, what did it matter?

Ten minutes later, the tequila had done its job, blurring the edges of the evening, making everything feel a little looser, a little funnier. Maia had leaned in close, her voice low and conspiratorial, her hands gesturing dramatically as she spoke.

“I mean, she wasn’t explicitly awful,” she said, dragging out the word like she was still weighing it. “But she had… this energy. Something off. You know what I mean? Like, no matter how hard I tried, I could never figure her out. And she could never blend in with the family, like something was repelling her. I know—no, I know—she hated me.”

You shook your head, appalled, as if this was the greatest injustice you had ever heard.

“But you’re so cute,” you blurted, voice thick and slow, your eyes shining with conviction.

“Right?” Maia snorted. “That’s what I’ve been saying. But Frankie didn’t get it. She was nothing like him. Too cold, too shallow. And every time she treated him like an idiot, I swear I—”

“What are you two talking about?”

A new voice cut through the moment, clear and direct, and you turned just in time to see Frankie standing there with Helena at his side. His eyes flicked between you and Maia, suspicion creeping into his expression.

“Maia, shut your mouth,” he said, more exhausted than angry.

Maia made a dismissive sound. “Oh, please, we’re having girl talk.”

“Well, our cab’s here in five,” Frankie said. His voice was flat, final.

You felt a small pang of disappointment. The conversation had been just getting interesting.

Helena stepped forward, her smile soft and radiant, her cheeks flushed from dancing and champagne. She reached for your arm, her touch warm, familiar, like she’d known you for years instead of just a few hours.

“It was so lovely to meet you, sweetheart,” she said, her voice brimming with sincerity. “You have to come over for dinner one of these nights so we can actually sit down and talk properly. How about it?”

Frankie was watching you. Not just watching—staring, as if he was trying to telepathically send you some urgent message. But you weren’t looking at him. You were too busy giggling, too charmed by Helena’s smile, too caught up in the easy, affectionate way she spoke to you.

“I’d love to!” you said, too eagerly, too enthusiastically.

Helena clapped her hands together. “Wonderful! How about next week?”

Before you could answer, Frankie’s hand landed on your lower back, grounding, insistent. His voice was tight when he spoke.

“I think we should go.”

Maia let out a dramatic sigh, shaking her head.

“Don’t be rude, Frankie.” Then she turned back to you, her grin conspiratorial. “So? Next week?”

You blinked, suddenly feeling like a deer caught in headlights. But Maia and Helena were both looking at you with those eyes—hopeful, expectant, impossible to refuse.

“Yes,” you murmured, stepping off the stool, your smile a little uncertain.

The car door shut with a muted thud. Frankie exhaled, pressing himself into the seat beside you, saying something to the driver in a voice that was trying very hard to sound composed. It didn’t quite land.

You slumped against the seat, your arms folded over your chest, your head feeling heavy on your shoulders. He had practically dragged you out of there. You hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye to the rest of his family.

Outside, the city blurred past in streaks of streetlights and neon, and the radio hummed something soft and familiar—an ‘80s ballad, the kind that lived permanently in the background of cab rides at ungodly hours. The dashboard clock read 4:03 a.m.

After a few minutes, he turned his head toward you.

“You okay?”

“Mmhmm,” you murmured, eyes closed.

“Good.”

A silence settled between you, neither comfortable nor tense, just thick with something unspoken.

After a while, he exhaled sharply.

You cracked one eye open. “What’s your problem?”

“Nothing,” he said, staring ahead. “I’m just tired.”

“Me too.”

Another beat of silence. Then he said, “Why did you accepted? Now I have to come up with some excuse to get you out of dinner.”

You turned your head lazily toward him, your eyebrows knitting together.

“I felt cornered, okay? They were both looking at me with those eyes…” You trailed off, searching for the right words before finally landing on him, blinking slowly. “Those eyes. Exactly.”

His expression didn’t change. “They’re just my eyes.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem.”

His brow furrowed. “What’s wrong with my eyes?”

“I don’t know. They’re kind of… intense.”

“Is that an insult?”

You sighed dramatically, letting your head fall back against the seat.

“I don’t even know anymore. I’m too drunk for your dumb questions.”

Frankie let out a short, derisive snort, shifting his gaze toward the window, his thoughts scattering in odd, untraceable directions.

“You left your car at the hotel,” you murmured after a beat, your voice quiet beneath the steady hum of the radio. Maneater by Daryl Hall played, tinny through the car speakers.

He turned his head toward you with an excruciating slowness, like he already knew you’d be looking at him. And you were. Your head tilted back against the seat, arms curled tightly around yourself, fingers bunched into the fabric of your dress.

“I’ll get it tomorrow,” he muttered, as though your comment had somehow irritated him.

“Do what you want.”

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “What’s with you and that attitude?”

You exhaled, your shoulders rising and falling as you turned toward the window, the passing streetlights slicing gold ribbons across the glass.

“What’s wrong with my attitude?”

“A lot of things.”

Your eyes flicked back to his, the darkness between you not quite enough to make out his expression, but enough to catch the sharp glint of his gaze. The passing lights reflected off them like tiny, fractured stars.

“You look just like your mom,” you said, the words slipping out, direct and unfiltered. “Same eyes. Same dimples.” Your hand moved before you could think better of it, the tip of your finger pressing into the crease of his mouth. “But she’s nice.”

Frankie huffed out a quiet laugh. “Yeah, my mom’s nice.”

You nodded, shifting back against the seat. “Yeah. Not like you, Francisco.”

He didn’t say anything to that, but you caught the faint twitch of his lips as he turned away, like he was suppressing a smirk. He was pretending to be less drunk than he was. But so were you.

A few minutes later, the Uber rolled to a stop in front of your house. You sighed, pushing the door open, but before stepping out, you turned back, fixing Frankie with a long, unfocused look.

“See ya,” you mumbled, dragging your feet out of the car, your gaze still locked onto his. “I hope this never happens again—oh, fuck—”

The next second, the world tilted sharply. There was no time to react, no time to process the way gravity wrenched you down. Just the sudden, violent awareness of pavement rushing toward your face.

Somewhere behind you, the driver made a startled sound. But Frankie’s reaction was immediate. The car door slammed, quick footsteps on asphalt. Then his hands—warm, steady, bracing under your arms, lifting you before you had time to register the impact.

“Jesus—Are you okay? Fuck—fuck—are you bleeding?” His voice was strained, almost frantic, his palm finding your chin, tilting your face up.

There was a sharp, metallic tang on your tongue. Something wet trickled past your lips. You blinked down at your hands, lifted them into the glow of the streetlamp. Blood.

“Oh, shit.” Your breath caught. Your stomach lurched. “Oh my God, how bad is it? How bad is it?”

Frankie didn’t let go of your face. His fingers pressed lightly beneath your jaw, guiding your head back.

“You’re fine. It’s fine. Just a nosebleed—stop moving, Jesus—hold still.”

You let out a noise somewhere between a whimper and a cry, your hands still hovering uselessly in front of your face.

“It was the slippers,” you muttered, voice thick, your fingers pressing beneath your nose as Frankie tilted your head back. “They’re too big. I tripped.”

Frankie exhaled, a short, sharp breath.

“It wasn’t my fault, if that’s what you’re implying.” Then, when you tried to look at him, he clicked his tongue and pressed his palm against your forehead, forcing your head back again. “No, keep it back. Jesus.”

You made a weak sound of protest but obeyed.

“Where are your keys?”

You blinked at him for a second like you had to remember what keys were. Then, with exaggerated effort, you fumbled through your bag, fingers clumsy as they scraped against receipts and loose change. When you finally found them, you thrust them toward him, and Frankie took them without comment, his mouth pressed into a tight line.

The door wasn’t hard to unlock. He nudged it open, watching as you hesitated on the threshold, swaying slightly. He helped you inside, his hand warm around your wrist as he guided you up the stairs.

Halfway up, you mumbled, “They’re moving.”

Frankie frowned. “What?”

“The stairs.” You squinted. “They’re moving.”

Frankie huffed out a laugh. “No, you’re drunk.”

Then, without thinking, he tightened his grip on your arm, steadying you as you wobbled again.

As soon as the door of your apartment clicked shut, a small, sleepy meow filled the quiet. Mr. Darcy stirred from his spot on the couch, stretching lazily before trotting toward you, his tail curling high in greeting.

“My child,” you said dramatically, bending down as if to scoop him up, only to pause when you caught sight of your own hand, still slick with blood. “Oh—no. Later, my love. Later.”

Frankie crouched down with far less hesitation, rubbing the cat’s head in that familiar, absentminded way. Darcy pushed into his touch, purring loudly, winding between his legs like he belonged to him instead of you.

You narrowed your eyes. “I don’t know why he likes you so much.”

Frankie shrugged, still scratching behind the cat’s ears.

You snorted, wincing as the movement sent a fresh wave of pain through your nose. Frankie caught it immediately. He stood, his expression shifting into something more serious, brows drawn together.

“Oh,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “You look awful.”

“Huh?”

“No, I mean—really bad.” His hand found your jaw, holding it lightly between his fingers as he turned your face toward the light. He made a thoughtful noise. “I don’t think you’re gonna recover. Honestly, I think it’s permanent.”

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

Frankie’s lips twitched, but before he could say anything else, you swatted his hand away and shoved past him, making a beeline for the bathroom. The second you flicked on the light and caught your reflection, your mouth fell open.

Your face, usually warm and flushed, was pale beneath the streaks of dried blood smeared across your cheeks, your mouth, your chin. Your nose was red and swollen. Your hair was a mess. You looked—

“Oh my God.”

Frankie leaned against the doorway, watching you with amused curiosity.

“I look like Carrie,” you whispered, horrified.

You turned on the faucet and bent over the sink, splashing cold water onto your face with frantic urgency. Beneath you, pink-tinted water ran down the white porcelain, swirling toward the drain.

“Hey,” Frankie said, stepping closer. His voice had softened slightly. “I was kidding.”

You didn’t answer, just scrubbed harder.

Frankie sighed, then reached out, gathering your hair in his hands and pulling it back, holding it away from your face. His grip was gentle, careful, his fingers brushing against the nape of your neck.

“It hurts,” you blurted, voice uneven, breaking on the last syllable.

Your upper lip throbbed—hot, swollen, like it was pulsing with its own heartbeat. Your nose ached with a sharp, stinging pain that settled deep in the bridge, radiating outward. The tears welled without permission, collecting on your lashes, blurring the edges of the bathroom light.

Frankie’s eyes flickered with something close to panic. He shifted on his feet, glancing around the room like the answer to fixing you was written somewhere on the walls.

“Okay, okay,” he said, voice slightly unsteady. “I—uh—come on, sit down. Sit on the toilet.”

He guided you gently, hands pressing into your shoulders until you sank onto the closed lid. Your body was sluggish, your movements heavy. You let your head tip back, exhaling sharply as a fresh wave of discomfort spread across your face.

Most of the blood was gone now, wiped away in streaks of pink-tinted water, revealing the damage beneath. The split in your upper lip was small but deep, the skin torn at the center, already swelling around it. Your lower lip, though unbroken, was puffy. And your nose—God, your nose.

Frankie crouched in front of you, his knees pressing into the tile. “Show me your teeth.”

You parted your lips obediently, and he leaned in, squinting like he was searching for something. After a second, he sat back, exhaling through his nose. “Okay. They’re fine.”

You blinked at him, still dazed, then let your gaze drop to his shirt. A dark red smear stretched across the fabric, half-dried, stark against the soft white cotton.

“You have blood on you,” you mumbled.

Frankie looked down, as if just now noticing.

“Yeah,” he muttered, then turned abruptly, yanking open the nearest drawer and shuffling through it.

You watched, brow furrowing, as he fumbled through an assortment of things that had nothing to do with first aid—spare toothbrushes, old makeup, boxes of tampons, a crumpled tube of moisturizer. His hands moved too fast, fingers twitching as he knocked things over, searching for something useful.

You let out a small huff. “Not there.”

“I know that now,” he grumbled, slamming it shut and pulling open another one.

Finally, he found a bottle of antiseptic and a pack of cotton pads, exhaling like he’d just won a small battle. He turned back to you, unscrewing the cap with his thumb.

“Hold still,” he said.

You did as you were told, though every so often a soft, involuntary whimper escaped you, the pain still sharp enough to make your breath catch. It wasn’t unbearable, but it was enough to make everything feel worse—amplified by exhaustion, by alcohol, by the surreal absurdity of it all.

Frankie moved carefully, dabbing the antiseptic along your lip, then your nose, pausing when fresh blood welled up from the split skin. He wiped it away, slow and methodical, before moving on to your knees, gently cleaning the scraped skin there too. You had forgotten about them, but the second the cotton touched the raw, stinging patches, you inhaled sharply.

“Oh, my God,” you muttered under your breath.

Frankie huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Scraped knees suck.”

A few minutes later, he tossed the stained cotton into the small trash can and started putting things back where he found them.

When you stood, Frankie’s gaze snapped to your nose, scanning for any new blood. You caught the movement and narrowed your eyes at him.

“What?”

“Just making sure you’re not gonna start gushing again.”

You turned to the mirror, taking in your reflection with a fresh wave of despair. Your skin was still damp, your nose and cheeks flushed from scrubbing and crying. Your lip looked even worse now, swollen and bruising at the edges. And your dress—your favorite dress—was ruined. White satin, now streaked with dark, rust-colored stains.

Your throat tightened. “I look awful.”

Frankie sighed. “You don’t—”

“My dress is ruined.” You turned to face him, your expression nothing short of tragic. “I love this dress, Francisco.”

“We’ll fix it,” he assured you, nodding quickly. “We’ll take it to the laundry—”

“It’s white.”

“I know.” He waved his hands, exasperated. “But they know how to get these stains out, don’t they?”

You frowned. “I think so. I’m not sure.”

“They do,” he said, nodding like it was law. Then, after a beat—“Do you have any anti-inflammatories?”

“In the kitchen.”

Frankie waited, then lifted his eyebrows. “Where?”

“In the kitchen,” you repeated.

He rolled his eyes. “I know in the kitchen, where in the kitchen?”

You thought for a second. “Oh. Over the fridge.”

Frankie shifted, his body tilting toward the door, ready to leave. But before he could get too far, your fingers curled around his wrist.

He stopped. Turned. His frown was immediate, brow creased like he was bracing for whatever was coming next.

“Can you—” you hesitated, suddenly too aware of the weight of your own request. “Can you help me with the zipper?”

You were already turning before he could answer, offering him your back like you were giving him no real choice in the matter. Your hand ghosted over the clasp, fingertips brushing the delicate fabric, then dropping to your side in silent surrender.

Behind you, Frankie let out a long, tired sigh. Then, a moment later, the unmistakable sound of the zipper being drawn down, slow and careful. The fabric parted beneath his touch, cool air rushing in where warmth had been. His knuckles skimmed the length of your spine, steady and impersonal, but still—

A few hours ago, you might have been embarrassed.

Now, not so much.

The man had seen your bloodied face. Your tampons. Your secret tattoo, the one no one was supposed to know about. What was left to be embarrassed about? Any lingering self-consciousness had evaporated somewhere between the pavement and the bathroom floor. Or maybe it was just the alcohol, stripping you of inhibition, loosening things that might have otherwise remained tightly wound. Maybe.

The zipper reached its end. Frankie’s hand fell away. He left the bathroom without another word, and you didn’t wait to see him go.

You hurried to your room, pushing the door shut behind you.

The dress slid from your shoulders, pooling at your feet. Your slippers followed, discarded without care. You unclasped your strapless bra with an exhausted groan and tossed it somewhere—where, exactly, didn’t matter.

The closet door creaked as you pulled it open, grabbing the first thing within reach: a worn-out T-shirt, oversized enough to swallow you whole. You pulled it over your head, wincing as soreness pulsed through your body, a dull and aching reminder of the fall.

Then, just as you were tucking the fabric against your thighs, a knock at the door.

A dull thud, careful but firm.

“Don’t come in!” you called instinctively.

Frankie’s voice filtered through the wood, low and steady.

“You okay? I brought you some aspirin.”

You exhaled, raking a hand through your tangled hair.

“Wait,” you warned, shifting on your feet, making sure the shirt was long enough, that everything was—decent. Or as decent as it could be at this point.

Once satisfied, you reached for the doorknob and cracked the door open.

Frankie stood there, quiet, holding a glass of water in one hand and a small white pill in the other. His gaze flickered briefly—to the dress on the floor, then back up—but he didn’t let his eyes stray from your face.

He held out the aspirin. You took it without a word, placing it on your tongue before chasing it down with a sip of water. He watched you carefully, noting how your swollen lip pressed against the rim of the glass, how you winced slightly, the tenderness in your face growing more pronounced with every passing minute.

Something twisted in his chest. A strange, unnameable thing.

He swallowed.

“You feeling okay?” His voice had softened.

You nodded, then immediately regretted it as your lip pulled in protest. Grimacing, you wordlessly handed him back the empty glass.

Frankie hesitated before taking it from you, his brow still creased with that same look—something tight and unreadable, like watching an injured animal struggle to stand. Like witnessing something fragile and knowing there was nothing he could do to fix it.

"I'm sleepy, I..."

Your voice trailed off as you turned toward your bed, your gaze settling on the smooth, undisturbed surface of the sheets. They looked impossibly soft, the kind of soft that could swallow you whole, erase the sting in your knees, the throbbing in your mouth, the hazy weight of the night pressing on your shoulders.

Frankie nodded, shifting his weight. "Yeah. You need rest. Get some sleep."

He took a small step back, like he was giving you space, but not too much.

Without much thought, you turned and walked toward your bed, your limbs heavy with exhaustion. The second you reached it, you collapsed onto the mattress, sinking in, the cool fabric pressing against your skin. You didn’t even bother with the quilt.

"Good night," you mumbled, already curling into yourself, your back to him.

Frankie hesitated. He stood there for a moment, watching you, feeling strangely uncertain, though he wasn’t sure why.

"I'll call an Uber," he said after a beat, voice quiet, as if he wasn’t sure if you were still awake enough to hear him. "Head home."

"Okay." Your response was barely above a whisper, thick with sleep.

"Okay." A pause. "Good night."

He waited a second longer, then turned and made his way out of the room, walking slowly into the dimly lit living room. The air was cooler here, quieter. Mr. Darcy was waiting for him, perched on the coffee table like some kind of tiny, judgmental sentry. The cat’s tail flicked, his green eyes tracking Frankie’s every move.

Frankie exhaled, running a hand down his face before stepping toward him. He reached out, dragging his fingers gently over soft fur. Mr. Darcy purred instantly, pressing into the touch, rubbing his face against Frankie’s hand like he’d been waiting for this all night.

Frankie huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

He sat down on the couch, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the Uber app. His body was too heavy, too worn out, but he forced himself to go through the motions—searching for a ride, entering the address, preparing to leave.

But then—

A small weight landed on his lap.

Mr. Darcy, stretching out comfortably, his tiny paws kneading into Frankie’s thigh before settling completely, purring so loudly it was practically vibrating through him.

Frankie sighed, phone slipping from his hand onto the cushion beside him.

It was only for a second, just to close his eyes, just to let his body sink into something solid. Just until the exhaustion stopped weighing so heavily on his limbs.

The next thing he knew, he was lying flat on his back, his arm draped over his stomach, the cat now curled up on his chest. Frankie’s breathing slowed, deepened, and before he could fight it, his eyes shut completely.

His body gave in.

And then—sleep.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Taglis: @paleidiot @gothcsz @everyth1ngfan @katw474 @mellymbee @pedritosgirl2000 @tsunamistorm123 @jokesonthem @sunnytuliptime @greenwitchfromthewoods @ashleyfilm @darkheartgatita @joelmillerisapunk @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti @daybleedsintonightfa11 @mys2425 @pigeonmama @speaktothehandpeasants @pez3639 (some tags aren't working apparently sorry!)

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steveseddie · 5 months ago

Text

apply directly to the forehead

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles | prompt: alone | rating: t | wc: 997 | tags: hurt comfort, steve has migraines, eddie takes care of him, hand holding, forehead kisses read on ao3

No one notices when Steve slips out the front door. No one but Eddie, who tells Jonathan he’s going out for a smoke and follows him.

There are only woods around the Hopper-Byers cabin, and the only light comes from the Christmas lights hanging from the roof so it takes a moment for Eddie’s eyes to adjust to the near darkness. He sees Steve sitting on the steps with his head between his knees and taking slow, deep breaths.

“Steve?” Eddie speaks softly, trying not to startle him but Steve still flinches. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Steve mumbles, keeping his head down.

Eddie sits next to him. “Wanna try again? That wasn’t very convincing.”

Steve groans but it’s not his ‘Eddie is being annoying’ groan, it’s a pained groan.

“‘S just a headache, ‘m fine,” Steve insists but his voice sounds weak.

“Look at me.” Eddie squeezes his knee. “Stevie, please, look at me.”

Steve sighs but lifts his head. Eddie can’t help but wince at how he looks. His face is twisted into a grimace, his skin is paper-white and there are tears in his eyes.

“Oh, Steve. It’s a migraine, isn’t it? A bad one?” He gently brushes some hair off Steve’s face. Steve gives a tiny nod. “When did it start?”

“A few hours ago,” Steve says with a shuddery breath. “While shopping with Robin, all the lights, the music and the crowds–”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

Steve shrugs, then winces. “Didn’t want to worry anyone.”

“Of course not.” That’s why Steve still showed up to the Hopper-Byers Christmas party, knowing there would be loud music and even louder kids, and then forced himself to smile through his pain. Eddie sighs. “C’mon, I’m taking you home.”

“No, Eds–” Steve protests weakly. “I can drive myself-”

Eddie huffs. “Steve, you can’t even keep your eyes open right now.”

“But the party–”

“–will carry on without us,” Eddie finishes, rolling his eyes. “Wait here, okay?”

Steve sighs and nods, and Eddie squeezes his knee again before heading back inside.

He finds Robin and tells her that Steve isn’t feeling well and he’s taking him home.

“Do you want me to come?” She asks, worried.

“Nah, I got him,” Eddie says. Steve wouldn’t want someone else to leave the party early because of him. “Just tell Hopper I’ll pick up the van tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay, thanks, Eddie,” she says with a quick hug.

Outside, Eddie finds Steve leaning against the railing, looking like he’s about to keel over.

“Alright, big boy. Let’s get you home,” he says, leading them to the Beemer.

“No van?”

“Nope. You complain about how fucking loud my van is on a good day. Figured you wouldn’t appreciate it today of all days.”

Steve chuckles weakly. “Admit it, you just want an excuse to drive a cool car for once.”

Eddie scoffs indignantly. “My van is plenty cool, Harrington.”

“Uh huh.”

He sticks his tongue out at Steve and starts the car. The drive to his house is quiet. Eddie turns the radio all the way off, Steve keeps his head against the window and his eyes closed, and Eddie tries his best not to jostle the car too much.

He has to gently shake Steve’s shoulder once they arrive and then he follows him inside.

He goes straight to his bedroom and collapses on the bed, taking his shoes off but leaving his jeans and his ugly Christmas sweater on.

Eddie finds some sleeping clothes and tosses them his way. “Take those jeans off, Harrington.”

Steve huffs. “At least buy me dinner first, Munson,” he says, his hands working on his belt buckle.

Eddie’s cheeks turn pink but with just the moonlight illuminating the room through the curtains, he doubts Steve can see it. “So that’s what it takes to get into Steve Harrington’s pants?”

“Usually,” Steve says, shoving his jeans off before sliding on sweatpants, keeping his movements slow to not make his headache worse. “But for a guy as hot as you, I can make an exception.”

Eddie chokes on his spit. Leave it to Steve to flirt while his head is waging a war against the rest of him.

After changing out of his Christmas sweater, Steve falls back into bed, burrowing his face into his pillow with a groan. The mattress dips when Eddie sits next to him, his back against the headboard. Steve blinks one eye open. “You don’t have to stay, I’m–”

“-in no condition to be alone right now,” Eddie finishes, rolling his eyes.

“You should go back to the party. I didn’t mean to ruin your night–”

“Steve Harrington called me hot. Nothing could ruin my night after that,” he jokes even if there’s some truth to it.

Steve groans– this time it is his ‘Eddie is being annoying’ groan. “I’m gonna regret saying that.”

“Because you didn’t mean it or–”

“Oh, I meant it,” Steve says, rolling to his side and looking up at Eddie through half-lidded eyes that might not have anything to do with his migraine. “But now you can hold it against me.”

“It would be kind of hypocritical of me since I also find you hot,” Eddie says, playing with a rip in his jeans.

Steve’s fingers find his, intertwining them. “If my head wasn’t about to explode I would suggest we do something about that.”

Eddie’s widen. “Something like–”

“Like kissing. Though I could be persuaded to do other things.”

“Jesus,” Eddie says laughing shakily. “Now my head feels like it might explode.”

“We can talk in the morning,” Steve says, shifting until he finds a comfortable position.

“Thought you didn’t want me to stay,” Eddie teases.

“Said you didn’t have to stay, Eds. I always want you here.”

Eddie’s stomach flutters. “Okay,” he says, sliding down until he’s lying next to Steve, their fingers still intertwined.

“Thanks for taking care of me,” Steve whispers, half asleep already.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” Eddie says softly, kissing Steve’s forehead. “Anytime.”

#steddie #steddie fic #steddieholidaydrabbles #stranger things #stranger things fic #soft boys being soft!#steve harrington #eddie munson #monse writes

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thewinter-eden · 4 months ago

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You Called?

images are mine (except middle HJ pic that I got from pinterest). please do not use without permission. ATE pcs are my inspo for this series.

part 5 of the skz crack!horror series.

pairing: Han Jisung x fem!reader rating: mature, dark themes summary: demon!Jisung is summoned by your friends during a drunken college party. They’re trying to scare you, pretend to summon a demon and then lock you in the basement until they decide to let you out, but then the demon actually comes, and he thinks your friends are jerks.

warnings: Fear/comfort, edgy but soft Jisung, terrorizing of minor characters, discussion of spiritualism/afterlife, my only reference for demons is Supernatural, reader is freaked out by witchcraft, slight disparaging of witchcraft and mysticism (does not reflect actual beliefs), Jisung is instantly whipped, deals, fear, this one turned out a little angsty, truth or dare.

word count: 5k

Comment a request to be tagged.

series info

“I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Of course you don’t. But clearly, your aunt did.”

Yes, it’s your aunt’s fault. If only she didn’t have a basement full of jarred herbs and tarot cards and ouija boards and weird leathery spell books, you wouldn’t be in this predicament. You’d be in a different one, for sure, because having the friends that you have isn’t your aunt’s fault, it’s yours, but still—you wouldn’t be locked in a basement with three of your friends browsing through your aunt’s dusty new agey books.

“Now, come on, sit around the circle thing.” One of your friends, Rami, tugs you down by your elbow to sit cross-legged on the edge of a chalk rune on the floor. It looks aged and scuffed and mostly faded by dust and time, but present enough to be identifiable as something mystical.

“I’m serious, I don’t think my aunt would have wanted us down here.” You mutter. It seems colder all of a sudden, chills covering your arms and shivering down your spine.

“Then she should have cleaned it out before she died I guess.” Rami returned, gesturing for Chae and Boyoung to sit down as well. “And besides, this was your penalty. You accepted it, so this is what we’re doing.”

You wouldn’t have accepted the stupid penalty for the stupid drinking game from the stupid college party upstairs if the alternative hadn’t been being cornered by the greasy frat boy who kept slipping his hands under your shirt every time he got the chance.

Next time your cousin tries to convince you to come over and “let loose with a couple of friends” you’re going to remember that her idea of hanging out is a massive college kegger.

“Alright, here it is.” Boyoung draws her legs up underneath her and rests the massive tome of the spell book she’s holding across her knees. She shoots the others a devious smirk, and then clears her throat. “Are we ready?”

You most certainly are not.

It’s not like you believe in the afterlife and mysticism and witchcraft and all of the other spiritualism nuances that your aunt was into, but you also recognize that you definitely don’t know everything about the scope of the universe. You’re willing to admit that you might be wrong about what exists and what is folklore, and you’re certainly not enthusiastic about playing around with the afterlife—just in case.

You’ve never even touched a Ouija board, because what if?

You don’t think they work, but what if?

And now, because you lost a stupid drinking game, your stupid friends are going to use the demon summoning ritual that your aunt just had, like it’s an old family recipe or something.

“Can I pick a different penalty?” You try again, your palms sweating. Yeah, sure, nothing’s going to happen because it’s obviously an old gift shop spell book (a really old, really big gift shop spell book), but all the half-burnt candles and chalk runes and hanging herbs around you are starting to freak you out.

Boyoung and Chae both shake their heads, while Rami reaches out and snatches your elbow. “This was the deal—one summoning spell, and then ten minutes by yourself. You agreed.”

You feel like crying.

You regret it. You regret coming. You didn’t like your aunt when she was alive—who gives their nieces and nephews cat whiskers and tinctures for birthdays?—and you certainly don’t like your cousin now—she clearly has a terrible idea of a good time—so why did you even come tonight?

At this point, you’re even wishing you can go back upstairs and ask the greasy frat boy to rescue you from your friends. They’re way too excited about leaving you locked in the creepy basement after a demonic invocation, whether they believe in it or not.

“Go ahead!” Chae nudges Boyoung. “Hurry up, I wanna go back upstairs.”

“It’s fucking creepy in here.” Rami agrees, rubbing her arms and jutting her chin towards the book.

“Why don’t we just do something else? Forget the basement.” You complain, starting to get back to your feet.

Predictably, Rami yanks you back down. “Rules are rules! Go ahead, Boyoung-ah.”

That’s how you find yourself sitting in a dark basement while your friend chants ominously in Latin, your heart racing like you’ve just run a marathon. Why did it have to be a demon summoning? Why couldn’t it have been a séance? At least if you were going to be playing around with pretend spiritualism, you could pretend to talk to someone you actually liked.

Your dad had died when you were little, you could pretend to have a tear-jerking reunion and then get the fuck out of that creepy old witch house once your friends were satisfied.

Why do you even call them your friends anyway?

You’re all just the members of a few too many group projects for your biology classes, more associates than anything else.

But Boyoung is still chanting, tripping over awkward pronunciation of the dead language and squinting through the faint light to see the faded text on the ancient pages.

You don’t think it’s your imagination when a whisper of air ruffles the hair at the back of your neck, but you’re also extremely anxious at the moment. So anxious that you physically jump when Boyoung slams the book shut.

“Done!” She chirps, hopping to her feet and dusting off the seat of her skirt. She fixes you with an evil grin. “Ten minutes by yourself!” Then she loops her arm through Chae’s and your three associates clamber back up the rickety stairs to the basement door.

Before they leave you, teary and trembling on the concrete floor, Rami pauses and looks back at you. “And no using your phone. If we see any light under the door, we’ll keep it locked for an extra ten minutes.”

It was a meaningless threat, because you know for sure they’re gonna go upstairs and get more drinks and find more friends, and you’re going to have to call your cousin to let you out after they forget about you.

So there you are. In the dark, in a creepy basement, all by yourself. You’re still sitting on the ground, cross-legged, your shaky hands gripping at your knees like it’s the only thing grounding you.

It’s just an empty basement.

It’s just you, by yourself.

You decide to close your eyes and focus on your breathing, counting the lengths of each inhale and exhale until the vague sounds of Boyoung’s invocation fades from your memory. You sit there, just breathing, urging the tension to melt from your muscles, until it feels like an eternity has passed.

The party is still in full swing on the floor above you, the music and laughter floating beneath the door down to you. You focus on the shouting voices until your spine relaxes.

When your eyes finally open and blink down at the bright screen of your phone, reading the giant numbers of the clock glaring back at you, you realize you’ve only been alone for three minutes.

Every ounce of tension returns, winding through the fibers in your muscles until it’s clamped around your bones and settled in the roots of your teeth. You’re still in a creepy witchy basement for another seven freaking minutes. As the darkness seems to physically seep into your skin, your gaze is sweeping the shadows of the room.

Bookshelves covered in spilled wax, random feathers, jars of little stones and dirt (hopefully dirt?), various crystals, tons of super old books, crates of more books, larger jars of plants and branches that you can’t begin to make sense of, and an aura that you can’t quite put your finger on.

You can’t say why you feel like you’re being watched, especially when you know you’re alone, but your heart is once again inexplicably racing in your chest.

There’s no one.

The shadow to your left is the marble bust of a saint or an angel or something, the one near your feet is the pile of musty blankets on an old wooden chair, the one straight ahead of you is the kettle that hangs from a frame over the ashy pit of a cold fireplace.

Honestly what the hell was your aunt up to before she died?

You bring yourself back, focusing on the cold concrete beneath your butt, the way your ankle is grinding into the floor, the cold that’s curling its fingers around your throat when your shirt slips off of one shoulder.

As you try to slip back into the calm refuge that you’d found with your eyes closed, desperate to not emerge from the pit of the basement with tear streaks of dust and mascara, all you can hear is your own breathing.

There’s no one in there with you, no one in the shadows, no one lurking behind the stairs.

Sucking in a deep breath, you hold it and listen to your heart pounding in your ears. It’s a trick you learned to calm yourself when you were young, counting to four between breaths. In the next few moments, you feel your body begin to relax and sink back into a neutral position.

Your lungs burn as you count to four for the tenth time.

The next exhale is loud.

And it is most decidedly not your own.

You shoot upright, hand snapping out to clutch at your phone. Fuck what Rami said, you need that flashlight. Tracking the shadows again as your sweat-slicked hands fight your thumbprint reader, eyes widely combing every inch of the dark room, you find yourself unable to peer past the blackness to see the source of the sound that made your heart flip.

Your phone just keeps shaking its “try again” message at you, stubbornly refusing to unlock.

Until you see them—and you realize that you’ve already been looking at them—your gaze landing on them a dozen times in the past thirty seconds, not even registering them.

Until they blink back at you.

Your fingers stomp your passcode in and swipe on the flashlight.

Cold white light floods the room, and he’s standing there, staring at you.

You scream, bundled nerves exploding your body backwards and you find yourself on your feet, scrambling back against a heavy bookshelf.

But he’s just standing there, watching you from the other edge of the chalk circle thing you were sitting on. His head is tilted slightly, sharp eyes hooded as he beholds you silently.

Your arm is practically spasming as you try to keep your light pointed at him and check all the walls and corners at the same time, your brain screaming at you to figure out where he came from. Where did he come from? There’s only one door in the basement, and it’s up the flight of stairs to your left.

“What the fuck?” You screech, your other hand scrambling for something—anything.

The man’s eyes narrow.

He’s not especially tall, but he’s lean and strong, dressed in all black, his raven hair curling over his forehead and neck. There’s something devilishly beautiful about him, about the honey of his skin and the flick of his tongue between his lips.

His eyes mimic yours, tracing you up and down, and his tongue flicks again. Then he opens his mouth and his chin twitches up, short locks of hair flipping away from his eyes. “You called?”

The sultry baritone of his voice floats to your ears with heavy, dangerous weight, and your fingers automatically clamp around the first thing you find. Before you can reason your way through your next decision, you hurl it—the book you’re suddenly holding—directly at his head.

The man flinches, knocking the book aside with the swipe of his hand, but doesn’t realize there’s a second one coming.

You’re pelting them as quickly as you can find them, yanking ancient (probably valuable) books off of the shelf, sending up plumes of dust everywhere, hurling them at the man as you edge your way towards the stairs. He’s standing between you and your exit and you’ll be damned (hopefully not literally) if you’re going to be sacrificed to a demon in your freaky aunt’s basement.

But then his voice reaches you with a completely different tone.

“Stop! Oh my god, stop!” He’s twisted away from you, his hands up covering his face. You see glimpses of his eyes gone impossibly wide, lips jutting out in a disbelieving pout, trying desperately to catch your gaze. He dodges another book and dances away from another. “Why are you—stop!—you called me!”

Another book strikes his shoulder and his pitch goes even higher.

“You literally called me! Stop!”

You stop.

He sounds so…offended that you’re battering him with books that you just plant yourself, clutching a heavy tome to your chest, gaping at him.

He takes a second to collect himself, smoothing down the sleek black jacket that wraps around his thick shoulders and falls snugly around his narrow waist.

Running a hand through his hair and shaking dust out of it, he gapes right back at you. “Do you know how rare it is for this to happen?” He demands, eyes still comically wide. “We don’t just come when called anymore! You—” He jabs a finger in your direction and you shriek, flinching. “Are lucky that I was curious!”

Your hope of coming out of this experience without wearing your mascara in crusted ribbons down your cheeks went out the window about fifteen books ago. “You…you’re…” You suck in a deep breath that sounds like it choked you all the way down. “You?”

The man glares at you, planting his hands on his hips. “You are unbelievably rude.” He decides, taking a step closer as though you aren’t literally hiding behind the giant book in your hands. “You reach through the veil to call upon a spiritual being in the year of our Lord, 2025, and when I answer the freaking phone you throw a library at me? This is why we don’t talk to you people anymore.”

But he doesn’t reach to touch you or attack you and stomp on your skull, so you lower the book away from your face ever so slightly.

He’s standing in front of you, arms crossed over his chest, a disappointed frown on his face.

You take a second to blink at him, a flood of tears trickling down your cheeks. There’s so much happening, so much shattering your entire perception of the universe right now, but there’s only one thing on your mind. “Did you just say ‘oh my god’?”

At your timid, whimpering voice, the demon’s eyes roll. “Are you serious right now?”

You flinch, stumbling back. “It’s just…” Your eyes wander and you mentally pinch yourself. But, honestly, he’s fucking gorgeous and your racing heart is making your head spin already. “You’re a demon?”

“Yeah, so?” He shoots back.

“So…” you swallow harshly. “God?”

This brings a smirk to his lips. “If you came down here to ask about God, I think you’ve got the wrong number.”

“I didn’t call you.” You argue, glancing behind you to make sure you aren’t going to be falling into a coffin or some other terrible thing that your aunt has hidden back there.

He looks confused. “You didn’t?” He glances around. “Someone did. It’s not like I can get the address wrong.”

“My friends called you.” There’s nowhere for you to go. You’re standing against the wall, mere feet away from a literal demon, and there’s nowhere you can run from him.

At the obviously otherwise empty basement, the demon raises his eyebrows at you. “Where are they?”

You shakily point towards the stairs as you slide down the wall to the floor. “At the party. It was a dare. A penalty for a dumb game—they were supposed to pretend to summon a demon with all of this weird shit and then I was supposed to stay down here for ten minutes by myself—they just wanted to scare me. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Please just go away, I’ll never bother you, I swear.” You’re sobbing, completely overwhelmed, feeling completely exposed to this spiritual being as he watches you fall apart.

You’ve got the massive tome propped up on your lap, leaned against your forehead to shield yourself as you weep.

Do demons kill people?

Do they just possess people?

Are you going to go on from this night demon-possessed?

Are you supposed to pray or something?

Weight lifts from your bones as the tome is suddenly taken from you, and you blink past tears to see that the demon is crouched in front of you, dark strands of hair dancing with his eyelashes as he peers into your fearful face.

His gaze traces the trembling in your shoulders, your hands, your thighs, the rigid, bulging muscles in your throat and forearms as your body tightens with terror. When he speaks again, his deep voice is gentle. “Your friends summoned a demon and locked you in here by yourself?”

There’s nothing you can do but nod, wishing you hadn’t skipped your weekly phone call to your mom earlier. You wish you’d told her you love her, that you never meant to be possessed by a demon.

You see his hand lift and your eyes squeeze shut, a whimpering gasp rushing past your lips. If you get out of here alive, you’re burning down the basement and going to church.

But then his warm—feverishly hot, actually—fingertips glide over the wetness of your face, and his thumb is wiping at your tears. When your eyes snap open, he’s cupping your cheek in one hand but his eyes are black fire. “Stay here, baby, I’ll be right back.”

His touch disappears in a swirl of black smoke and he’s gone, vanished right before you like he was never there.

But your cheek is still throbbing from the heat of his palm, your heart thumping in your chest from the impact of his low voice.

Did he just call you baby?

All of that goes directly out of your mind because in the next second, you can hear enormous crashes of thunder above your head. The music from the party dies with an electric squeal that makes your ears sting, and then screams fill the air. The ceiling of the basement pounds and trembles with running footsteps from the floor above, furniture crashing and college students stumbling into things.

There’s a flicker from beneath the basement door, and then the light disappears.

The single bulb over your head goes out.

You scramble for your phone, turning the flashlight back on, heart hammering as you listen.

The screams begin to fade, sounding farther and farther away, until the house above you is completely silent.

Black smoke puffs in front of you and there he is again, the demon with the fire in his eyes.

The reflexive yelp that scratches up your throat is accidental, but it seems to douse the flames and the man’s gaze softens as he lowers himself to the floor, mimicking your folded-knees position. He lifts a hand and gestures to you, beckoning you closer.

Obviously you don’t move, terrified out of your mind. “What the hell did you just do?”

“I locked them in a room with me and scared them.” He shrugs. “It wasn’t as funny as they thought it was going to be. Your friends are assholes and I don’t think you should hang out with them anymore.” He tilts his head at you, his hand still extended. “I didn’t hurt them, I promise. They just ran away. As long as they stay away from you, they’ll be fine.”

You’re going to be completely honest with yourself, you didn’t have nearly enough wits about you to wonder if he’d gone up and slaughtered the whole bunch of them. But it’s nice that he didn’t, you guess.

“So.” He claps both hands to his knees. “This is a college party? I haven’t been to one of these in ages. Do you still play truth or dare?”

Your mouth falls open.

He scoots closer.

“Why as long as they stay away from me?” You’re grasping for understanding, wondering why you’re still on the filthy floor in the creepiest room you’ve ever found yourself in, staring at a demon who’s just asked you to play truth or dare.

The demon’s eyes narrow but his lips curl in a playful smirk. “Truth or dare, baby?”

You can’t help the shiver. Do you refuse to play? He’s a literal demon who can apparently call upon thunder and destroy sound and electrical systems and frighten the bejeezus out of an entire college party.

It stands to reason that playing the silly game is probably in your best interest.

“Truth.” The tiny whisper of your voice puts a flash of teasing disappointment in his eyes.

“Okay,” He says, and scoots even closer. “Are you grateful I made your friends piss themselves for you?”

A storm of emotions strike you. Are you grateful? Yeah, a little bit. It would have been hilarious to watch, now that you think about it. Are you confused as to why he did it? More than you can articulate. Would you have ever asked him to get revenge over a penalty that was supposed to be a joke? Honestly, probably not. Are you going to tell him that?

Hell to the no.

“Yes.” You swallow. “I’m grateful.”

He looks satisfied with your answer, with himself. “Good. Your turn. Ask me.”

You don’t want to ask him. You want to leave this house just like everybody else did, with your tail between your legs and your world changed forever—but alive. But you can’t. So you clench your fists and shed another round of tears. “Truth or dare?”

What would you even dare him to do?

“Dare,” He says devilishly, tongue flicking out to scrape his teeth. His eyes are mischief and intrigue, but they’re watching the trail of your tears with undeniable softness.

“I dare you…” Your voice chokes like a candle being blown out, and you struggle to get it back. “I dare you not to hurt me.” It’s pathetic. It’s laughably pathetic, but you’re scared beyond all reason and you need any kind of reassurance to keep you sane right now.

The teasing falls from his expression instantly, and a solemn stare levels with you. “I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe with me, I swear it.” His hands twitch, he wants to wipe the tears from your face, but he won’t—not again—not until you’re not afraid of him anymore.

You could weep all over again from the sheer anxiety of it all. “Why? Why would I believe you? Why me?”

He just smiles. “It’s my turn. Truth or dare?”

You are absolutely not ready to take a dare from a demon. “Truth.”

“Tell me your name. I’m Jisung.”

Jisung is looking at you like you’re a harbinger of hope, and you suddenly wonder if your name is supposed to hold power. Does giving your name to a demon give him power over you? Should you lie? Do you keep it to yourself?

But he gave you his name. (Or did he lie?)

You tell him. You’re locked in a basement with him—he doesn’t need a magical connection to you to kill you. He could hurt you whenever he wants.

He says your name out loud and you flinch, waiting. But your blood doesn’t boil, your eyes don’t explode, your brain doesn’t leak out of your ears. Your name on his tongue gives you confidence though, like he’s acknowledged you on an existential level and now you can look him in the eyes.

“Truth or dare.”

“Truth.” He already knows you won’t dare him to do anything, not while your mind is still racing with questions.

“Tell me why I’m safe with you, Jisung.”

He blinks at the strength in your voice, at his name in your mouth. It’s so overwhelming, to hear his name spoken aloud, that he has to turn away from you. How long has it been since he’s heard it? A millennium? An eon? Has it ever sounded so warm before? He’s blinking back tears, coughing past an ache in his chest, scrambling to collect himself before he looks back at you.

He could tell you any number of things and they would be true, but would they be enough? You’re the first face he’s seen in decades. You’re the first person who’s looked at him in years. You’re the first person who’s said his name without hurling it like a curse against him. You didn’t beg for your life when he appeared, you apologized like you bumped into him at the supermarket. Because he keeps waiting to see what you’re going to do next, say next, if you’re going to hold his gaze again.

But how does he say that to you?

He settles on his first realization of you. “Because you didn’t use me.”

You’re confused, fear falling away from your face completely as you puzzle through that statement. “I didn’t use you?”

He nods towards the book of spells that holds his invocation. “People summon demons to make deals—to use our power for their own gain. If we answer a call, it’s with the understanding that we’re being summoned to be leeched off of. You’re the first human I’ve ever come to who didn’t want anything from me.” If his throat tightens as he says it, he blames it on a millennium of loneliness and not the swell of pity that floods your eyes.

So he clears his throat and plops his chin in both palms. “Truth or dare?”

You’re warming up now, leaning into the rawness of the open wound he just exposed to you, and you feel your cheeks heat. “Dare.”

He’s stunned, delighted, and he smiles. “Dare?”

You swallow thickly, avoiding his gaze, and nod. “Dare.”

Jisung leans forward on his knees and one hand, the other lifting to wipe the last of your tears, and he lingers there, hovering right next to you. “Make a deal with me.”

The words strike you with conflicting fear and excitement, your eyes wide as you stare at him. Radiating heat from his skin kisses your face, feeding the blush on your cheeks. “But you just said—”

“It’s my deal,” He interrupts. “My terms with you.”

You don’t know whether to be scared or interested, but you have few options in the way of reactions. “What are the terms?”

“Summon me again.” He says simply. “Whenever you want to. Regularly. And I’ll protect you.”

You’re gaping directly into his face now, utterly baffled and not at all afraid. “Protect me from what?”

Jisung shrugs and lowers himself back into a seated position, this time so close that his knees are touching yours. “Anything, really. But there is the reality that once you’ve reached through the veil, there are traces of you on my side of it as well. Your presence is known now, you might be vulnerable to things from the other side.”

“Things?” You repeat. “What kinds of things?”

He frowns, like he doesn’t want to tell you. “Demons, spirits, the fallen. But I’ll protect you from all of them. They might not find you, they might not care—but if they do, I’ll be there.”

This is so much worse than a stupid prank demon summoning. “Why? Why would you make this deal?”

He smiles at you then, and it’s the most vulnerable he’s looked so far. “There’s not much in the way of goodness where I’m from. I miss it.”

“Goodness?” You repeat, frowning.

“You.” He says, reaching out and flicking your knee lightly. “Friendship. Smiles. Warm touch. Laughter. Shit—” He breaks off and turns his head away and you think you see him wiping wetness away from his own eyes. When he looks at you again, you almost think you had imagined it. “Give up your stupid ass friends and take me instead.”

You’re stunned; floored; flabbergasted. One of those weird hawk feathers on the bookshelves could knock you right over. “Jisung?” What do you even say to that?

He heaves a massive sigh and both of his hands curl over your knees. You don’t mind. You honestly don’t mind. Even if you know better than to trust him all at once, you don’t mind the way he’s touching you—the way he’s looking at you.

If he’s trying to trick you into some kind of possession, grooming you to be some kind of slave, you don’t know. You’re terrified that you’re being taken in by the most beautiful sad eyes you’ve ever seen, but right now you’re stuck.

He’s still watching you, eyes hooded and hoping, and you give a nod. “Okay. Deal.”

His fingers tighten around your knees and you would be terrified at the feeling of being caught in his grasp if it weren’t for the gaping grin that spreads across his face like you’ve just told a child he can go to Disney World.

“Is there some kind of blood pact we have to do to settle the deal? A contract?” You ask nervously, hoping you know which of the dozens of the books on the floor holds the invocation. “What if I summon the wrong demon on accident?”

“Just add my name to the invocation, I’ll come.” He says, and the smile on his face is addictive.

“You’ll come just because I call?”

Jisung squeezes your knees. “If you call me, I’ll come. And promise me you’ll ditch those assholes that locked you down here.” He pulls you closer to him, eyebrows lowering in earnest. “If any demon other than myself had answered, you could have come out of this experience very differently. I don’t want you around any more of their idiotic ideas.”

You laugh then, finally, and he stares at you in awe. “I promise.”

The demon straightens, satisfied, and then he’s extending one hand to you, which you willingly take this time. “The deal seals with a kiss. There’s no fine print, not for you. You have my word—regardless of what you think a demon’s word is worth.”

He has a point, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. You let him pull you to your feet, you help him find the spell book and tear the page out, slipping it into your pocket like you’ve just gotten his phone number.

When he circles back to you, he doesn’t look so dangerous anymore. “Are you ready?”

You’re nervous, still doubting what may come of your future, but you’re not scared right now. Instead, you nod, and let his warm hands tilt your chin up. You see the black flames ignite in his eyes once again, just before Jisung presses a searing kiss to your lips and fire shoots down your body.

It’s a simple kiss, as simple as pushing a stamp into a wax seal, but when he leans back to observe the heat blooming across your cheeks, your mind is gone. You feel his forehead touch yours, the whisper of his breath on your skin, the burning impact of his next words, but you’re only barely keeping up.

Because you definitely no longer regret coming to this party, or losing that stupid drinking game.

“You’re mine now, baby,” Jisung whispers against your cheek, and flashes you a wink. “Just call me and I’m yours.”

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