#and coke with booze

[mars-ipan]

Small curiousity, what kind of alcohol do you think Hajime would like to drink the most?

*projecting* i just know he’s a rum guy. get my man a daiquiri

[maybeamiles]

Someone direct me to resources on how to order alcohol without making a fucking fool of myself cause I ordered a Gin and Tonic today thinking "oh, this is similar to other drinks I've had, alcohol + soda base" and learned that A: it literally tastes like the gross sticky fluoride the dentist used to put on my teeth because my insurance didn't cover the kind that didn't taste BITTER AS HELL and B: it's apparently an old lady drink (unlike beer which reeks and I've been avoiding for a while).

[kennys-parka-jacket]

thinking about this time i was doing shots at a party and the host poured everyone tequila and gave us dr pepper to chase it with. after throwing the drink back we all started doubling over coughing and she just laughed at us for a solid ten seconds before giving us orange fanta

[iasipcel]

soemtimes you can absolutely tell when lovejoy have ripped off arctic monkeys and that new snippet is the biggest giveaway

[pandabibble]

*wistfully looking at writers of olde* Oh I'm so unproductive

*learning that before coca cola was invented it was a cocaine-wine and the manufacturer replaced the wine with syrup because alchohol was banned in the state it made in* Oh, that's why all the writers of olde died of heart attacks at age 30 having written 20 novels during a 5 year period

[madamechrissy]

Baby You're a Star Masterlist // Pornstar Satoru headcanons

Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five - Chapter Six

Pairings- Pornstar Satoru x shy f!reader

Summary- You meet Satoru Gojo at a wild Hollywood party, insanely out of place, waiting for your friend to show up. The two of you hit it off, spending time together, and share a kiss, but you're a good girl, and you just don't do this, but he is the top pornstar there is, and the top .01 % on OnlyFans. Once you find out, you know there's probably no match, as Satoru doesn't date, and you don't sleep around, but after meeting, you keep in touch- and soon Satoru can't get hard without thinking of you, and you get over curious, and join a livestream.

Warnings- mentions of sex and sexwork, masturbation, mentions of drug use, weed smoking, Gojo has an OF hehe, lots of longing, pining, Satoru can't get hard if it's not you, whipped ass Satoru, explicit sexual content, angst - WC 67k 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻 Playlist -Ao3 link-Headcanons below!

Pornstar Satoru is one of the most famous pornstars there are, hence him constantly wearing jet black shades and hoodies at times, he never knew just who he'd run into that would recognize him. Whether it's his flicks or his OF - he's the top .01 % - he gets a lot of notice, especially in bustling LA. But, he loves what he does, he especially loves watching his abs flex in the camera as he hits one of his lovely costars from the back.

Pornstar Satoru loves making the costars and girls he collabs with actually cum, where they're shaking and squirting all over his latex covered cock. Not that fake shit like he watches them do with other men- no Satoru makes sure to slam that curved tip against their cervix, to roll his thumb right on their clit with the perfect amount of pressure. Perhaps that's the secret to how famous he really is, along with his good looks.

Pornstar Satoru makes so much money from each shoot and is in high demand, so he can have whoever he wants as a co star. They line up to have a chance at him, watching his videos and aching for a chance to feel his cock hitting them deeper than damn near anyone could hit, to say they got to shoot with the Satoru Gojo. This just makes Satoru fuck them harder, smiling right at that camera, as women dream it's really them that have captured his pretty blue eyed gaze.

Pornstar Satoru thinks it's a pretty damn good life, being rich for fucking beautiful women on camera, as he's inhaling a blunt after a threesome shoot with his best friend - and often costar- Pornstar Suguru, as they talk about who got the girl to squirt more, right in the middle of a bouguie party in East LA. Suguru let's out a throaty laugh, while Satoru narrows his blue eyes. 'I had her cumming so hard she was shaking' he says, taking a hit and handing it back to Suguru. 'Nah, that was all for me, did you see...'

Pornstar Satoru stops listening when he sees you enter the room, completely out of place at the coke filled, booze filled party, wearing a pair of black glasses that cover half of your pretty face, and a little nervous look as you stand there, in a cute white pleated skirt and a big oversized sweater. Satoru smacks Suguru on the shoulder then and he coughs up smoke. 'Shit what is it?' Satoru looks back at you, when you're handed a drink, some guy flirting as you look down shyly. 'Who's she?' Suguru blinks a bit curiously. 'I don't know, she's pretty though'

Pornstar Satoru scowls at Suguru who snorts in laughter then. 'Satoru we don't have 'girlfriends' and she... looks like a good girl' your eyes catch his then, across the room, like something shifts as you smile sweetly, before peering at your phone, biting your lip in concentration. 'I'm talking to her' Suguru chuckles as he watches his friend, and Satoru feels his heart race when he comes too close to you, something he can't say he's felt, even pleasing countless beauties, nothing has quite altered him as your sweet turn of lips, as you look down at your converse, so out of place you're fucking adorable. 'Hey sweetheart... Satoru Gojo' he says, introducing himself with ease, expecting you to maybe notice him, get starstruck, fuck women get wet just near him, but you simply grin, and your name whispers through his mind when it spills from your lips.

Pornstar Satoru has you sitting with him later, you fall into easy conversation, you're a little gamer nerd, you love science and the environment, he just bets you were head of your ecology club in college, which you quickly confirm, all while you're in awe of just how beautiful this man is. He's sweet, he's sexy... you feel he shouldn't even be talking to you. You're pretty but... he's experienced so clearly, by every way he moves, he's worldly, so confident, and you've never really left this little part of LA, but the two of you can't stop talking, to the point you forget what brought you here.

Pornstar Satoru laughs with you, as you're sitting side by side, and he lights up a blunt, leaning back on the burgundy couch on the outskirts of the party, inhaling it deep into his lungs. 'Want a hit, sweets?' he murmurs, you take it nervously, putting it to your lips and inhaling a bit, before coughing, covering your mouth. Satoru chuckles, 'you're cute' earning your cheeks heating up. 'Can you tell I don't do this?' you're nervously tapping your leg now. 'Yeah, what does bring you here, doesn't seem your...' 'my scene?' he nods then. 'yeah, that.'

Pornstar Satoru watches avidly as you sip on your drink, wincing at the strong liquor. 'Well, my friend invited me over, but she's running late' Satoru grins now. 'Party time is different, everyone comes late, that's on time. About fifteen minutes late' 'oh no I came early!' you smack your own forehead, giggling along with him. 'Are you like... a model, or an actor?' you ask, eyeing him and his baby blues, the cheekbones so perfect, those lips that wrap the blunt again. 'You could say I'm a bit of both,' he muses, then spits out his drink when you ask 'what are you in!?'

Pornstar Satoru coughs just a bit, he's never been ashamed of what he does, but he's nervous for some reason to tell you. Why, he doesn't know. 'I'm... into some indie flicks' you brighten up then. 'Oh, let me know, I love lowkey films! I bet you're great' Satoru sighs, gulping down the rest of his drink and eyeing your cup. 'Want more?' you frown now, maybe you're asking too much, or offending this actor that you don't recognize him!? You nod, the amount of people around you making you press against this friendly, pretty white haired stranger just a little more.

Pornstar Satoru has another drink, eyeing the sea of bodies undulating in the extravagant mansion, and soon the two of you are dancing together you're cute and so awkward, Satoru's enjoying this far, far too much. He has plenty of costars and fans come up to the two of you, but he's too interested in showing you how to move your hips to pay them any mind, when finally your friend comes. Satoru instantly recognizes her, she's a pretty famous co star he's collabed with on her Onlyfans not long ago. When she sees you giggling and enjoying yourself so much, she damn near drags you away, making Satoru curse.

Pornstar Satoru eyes you when your friend whispers in your ear- 'you really don't recognize him!?' you blink curiously, looking at him more closely. 'Should I?' she sighs then, eyeing Satoru up and down. 'He was in my OF videos, we collabed' you heat up furiously then. 'I never watched your videos! I just subbed to be supportive!' she giggles. 'You're so cute, I thought you at least watched some?' you shake your head nervously. 'I don't really watch, is he... like an OnlyFans guy?' Satoru is back over with Suguru now, while you sip your drink, feeling your body warm up. 'He's the top pornstar there is, the collab was like a dream. He's really sweet but you should know is all, you're kinda...' you glare. 'kinda what?' she giggles again. 'you're just... sweet, emotional, is all'

Pornstar Satoru expects you to be done with him once you find out, after all you just seem innocent, uncorrupted for this city, not the kind of girl to be at this party where lines are being snorted off bodies, and people are naked and jumping in the pools, a heady, wild atmosphere. But you smile at him, as you murmur - 'he's sweet?' to your friend. She nods then. 'He is, but just know... he doesn't date so, it'd only be physical' you frown at that now, that's not something you think you can do, you're about as demisexual as it gets, hence your very limited experience. 'He doesn't date at all?' Your friend gently touches your shoulder. 'No, love, I'd hate to see you hurt'

Pornstar Satoru catches you before you leave later that night, when you are just feeling too out of place, his big hand wrapped around your delicate wrist, earning you looking up at him. He can't stop thinking how pretty your eyes would look rolled back, how good your lips would feel wrapped around his cock, as you relax a bit, turning and looking up. 'Headed out already?' he asks softly, you flush as you remember just what he does for a living, your friend had just described his cock in far too vivid detail. 'It's not really my thing, but I'm glad we met, Gojo' you smile so cute then, leaning up and pecking him on the cheek, his arm wraps your waist as he leans down, inhaling that sweet vanilla scent cloying to your skin.

Pornstar Satoru pulls you in closer, blue eyes staring under snowy lashes. 'Can I... get your number?' Satoru has never asked for a number a day in his life, but he delights in watching you shift nervously, nodding as you tuck your hair behind your ear. 'Yeah, I'd like that' he exchanges numbers, tilting your chin up then, watching the way your eyes dilate, the color spread on your pretty cheeks. 'She told you?' you clear your throat, nodding a bit, still being captured by his fingers. 'I don't judge at all, Gojo, I'd still like to be... friends...' your whisper is met with the most subtle kiss on your lips, shooting desire hot and heavy until Satoru releases you, plump lips smirking- 'sure, sweets, we can be friends'

Pornstar Satoru can't get you off his mind, the feel of your skin on his, the sweet sigh against his lips. He is on a big shoot and - the Satoru Gojo that never gets soft - is having trouble keeping it up, to the amusement of his costar Pornstar Sukuna. Satoru scowls at his comments, just picturing your sweet lips against his for that brief moment. A man who just fucks and fucks, and doesn't feel, is hung up just on some fucking kiss. He has to take a break after pleasing his costar with his fingers, she's cumming so much she doesn't notice, but the directors wonder why he's off. He's in his own dressing room, eyeing the phone, hands shaking as he decides to type a message - 'could you give me a picture, sweets, to save as your caller id?'

Pornstar Satoru finds his cock is right back on hard when you send one quickly, just a cute selfie with a little peace sign, but he sees your glossy fucking lips, the teeth indentations he aches to rub the tip of his cock on, along with just a hint of your breasts. Your nipples press against the thin material of your little tee shirt- Pokemon, he notices, smiling- his cock throbbing. 'Can I get one too?' you're biting that lower lip nervously as you ask, getting a picture of him shirtless then, doing nothing to stifle the curiosity in your mind, your heart racing as you seee his body. 'You at a shoot?' you ask in the messages, he hesitates before answering - 'yes' - and somehow you feel jealous of whoever his costar is. You message a - kill it, Gojo! - despite the feeling in your tummy, little do you know you're drowning his fucking mind when he performs later, feeling the star squirting all over his latex covered cock.

Pornstar Satoru can't stop texting you that week, he can't even get hard if he doesn't look at that picture, and you can't stop your curiosity, when you friend mentions he's doing a live stream. Since Satoru can hardly perform, he's decided to masturbate on live cam, in minutes making more than he'd make in a shoot, all while having your picture propped up. People are chatting, watching, dollars by the hundreds being tipped every moment, fuck he's making way more than he usually would, and he can think of you. He laughs softly, abs flexing as he hits the right angle, reading the comments, making you dripping wet, this isn't what you do!?

Pornstar Satoru is stroking his wet, slick cock that's glistening, up and down with his huge hand, and you feel your pussy clench, breath coming faster, unsure whether to look away or keep staring, meanwhile he's picturing you in all sorts of positions, on your knees, a fucking mating press. He's shutting his eyes for a moment, grinning as the viewers go crazy. 'I know, it's pretty, huh?' he spits right on that long, veiny cock of his, pinching his pink tip and whining, white lashes fluttering open right when he sees a familiar name enter the chat.

Your name.

Pornstar Sukuna hcs here // Pornstar Suguru hcs here // Onlyfans Nanami hcs here

Kofi link (if you feel generous & wanna buy me a ☕️

[electracx]

i think im finally gettinng mature ennough to get tranquility base hotel and casino

[investorocean0007]

Old Monk is a popular brand of rum that has become an iconic symbol in India and is widely recognized for its distinctive flavor and heritage. It is a dark rum, known for its rich, smooth taste and unique blend of spices. Here’s a more detailed description:

History and Origin

Old Monk was created in 1954 by Mohan Meakin, an Indian company that has a long history of producing alcoholic beverages. The rum was first introduced by the company’s founder, Mohan Singh Oberoi, and has since become one of the most beloved and enduring brands in India. The rum is produced in Ghaziabad, Uttar Pradesh, and has earned a reputation for being both affordable and high-quality.

Taste and Characteristics

Old Monk is a dark rum, known for its deep amber color and smooth, full-bodied flavor. It is made from molasses and is aged in oak barrels, which contribute to its rich, mellow taste. The rum is often described as sweet, with flavors of vanilla, caramel, and spices like cinnamon and nutmeg. There’s also a subtle hint of honey, which gives it a smoother profile compared to some other dark rums.

The rum’s smoothness and relatively low alcohol content (usually around 42.8% ABV) make it easy to drink, whether sipped straight, with water, or mixed into cocktails.

Packaging and Branding

Old Monk’s packaging is easily recognizable due to its distinctive bottle design. The rum comes in a black, monk-shaped bottle, which adds to its unique appeal and contributes to the brand's memorable image. The brand's name and logo, featuring a monk, highlight its traditional roots and association with the old-world charm.

Popularity

Old Monk has a cult following in India and abroad, particularly among rum drinkers who appreciate its rich flavor and affordable price. It is one of the largest-selling rums in India and has a significant fanbase in countries like the United States, the UK, and the Middle East, where Indian diaspora communities are prevalent.

It is a common drink at social gatherings, casual get-togethers, and parties. The rum is often enjoyed in various forms:

Neat: Served straight for those who prefer the full flavor.

With a Mixer: Typically with cola, soda, or fruit juices.

In Cocktails: Mixed in drinks like the classic "Rum Punch" or even with a dash of lime.

Cultural Significance

Old Monk has become more than just a rum; it holds a special place in Indian culture. Over the years, it has been a part of the drinking experience for generations of Indians. The brand is also seen as somewhat of a nostalgic symbol, often linked to college years and youthful memories of bonding with friends over a bottle of rum.

Price and Value

Old Monk is considered an affordable luxury in the rum category, making it accessible to a wide audience. It provides good value for money, with a quality that is comparable to higher-priced rums, which has helped it maintain its popularity across diverse demographics.

Variants

Over the years, Old Monk has expanded its product line to include various flavors and versions:

Old Monk XXX: The standard version, which is the most commonly found.

Old Monk Supreme: A more premium variant with a smoother finish.

Old Monk Gold Reserve: A higher-end version with a more refined taste and aged longer.

Legacy and Popularity

Old Monk remains one of India's most beloved alcoholic beverages, even as new brands and options come into the market. It is celebrated not just for its taste but for its nostalgic association with a simpler time, when enjoying a bottle of Old Monk with friends or family was part of creating lasting memories.

In essence, Old Monk isn't just a drink—it's an enduring part of India's drinking culture, treasured for its history, taste, and the memories it evokes. Whether you're a casual drinker or a rum enthusiast, Old Monk offers a unique experience that stands apart from many other spirits.

4o mini

Old Monk Rum

Type: Dark Rum Origin: India (1954) Manufacturer: Mohan Meakin Ltd. Founder: H.G. Meakin

Description:

Old Monk is a iconic Indian dark rum, known for its smooth, rich, and full-bodied flavor. With a legacy spanning over 60 years, it's one of India's most popular and enduring spirits.

Characteristics:

Dark amber color

42.8% ABV (alcohol by volume)

Blend of matured spirits, aged up to 7 years

Vanilla, caramel, and oak wood notes

Smooth, velvety texture

Variants:

Old Monk Rum (original)

Old Monk Deluxe XXX Rum

Old Monk Supreme Rum

Old Monk Gold Reserve Rum

Awards and Recognition:

Gold Medal at the 2004 International Spirits Challenge

Silver Medal at the 2013 International Wine and Spirit Competition

Cultural Significance:

Old Monk has become an integral part of Indian culture, often associated with nostalgia and warmth. It's a popular choice for social gatherings and special occasions.

Tagline: "The Rum that makes you feel like a Monk"

Price Range: Affordable (approximately ₹800-₹1,500 / $10-$20 USD per bottle, depending on location)

Old Monk Rum is a beloved and iconic Indian spirit, cherished for its rich flavor and cultural significance.

[avesseloflanguage]

i want. two shots of vodka and like 3 austin eastciders. right now.

[jellogram]

I don't mind doing the whole "press your face on the bathroom tile and sweat it out" routine if I felt like a god the night before but I feel like I didn't deserve this one. I didn't even do anything wrong. I didn't even drink that much. I just went to a couple bars and caught half a show and then got so dizzy I could barely stand. I didn't even talk to anyone and I was home by 11pm. Absolutely not worth it. I'd say I'm getting old but I drank twice as much last week on an emptier stomach and had a great night with no consequences so I don't even know anymore. Maybe the middle stage before getting old is that your body becomes a roulette wheel.

[cjwhitcomb]

So drunk right now, feeling good on a Sunday, watching blade writing my book and getting fucked up.

[agreeewrites]

what about 1000 glances with steve 🥺

anything for my doomsdaybby 🫶🏻

1000 glances | S.H.

feat. Steve Harrington x bartender!reader

cw: MDNI 18+, making out/heavy petting, bar setting, drinking, creepy drunk men, lots of banter, sorry to edge you at the end lol

1000 things prompt list | masterlist

“Well, well. If it isn’t Hawkins most troublesome trio,” you called, flipping up the tap on the beer you were pouring.

Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley, and Steve Harrington shuffled up to your bar looking thirsty. Steve in particular, though you could tell by his wandering eye that it wasn't booze he craved.

The music from the band thumped loudly through the packed bar, rattling the bottles behind you. The Hideaway was busier than usual tonight, and you'd been running ragged your entire shift, but you couldn't help but pause for your favorite regulars.

“Hello gorgeous,” Eddie cooed, bracing his hands on the bar and leaning towards you. “Band tonight's dog shit, eh?”

You rolled your eyes. “Just because it's not Corroded Cattails or whatever—”

“Coffin! You smartass,” Eddie huffed, flipping you the bird.

“Yeah, yeah. Ever think about getting yourself some real friends, Buckley?” You asked, glancing at the brunette picking pretzels out of the snack bowl.

Robin shrugged. “They keep the rednecks away.”

“Fair enough,” you replied. “And what's your excuse, Harrington? Lost your invite to country club?”

Steve chuckled, his hip leaned against the bar. “Something like that.” His eyes flicked up from your corset top, meeting yours with the intensity of a thunderclap.

You told yourself that you wore it for the extra tips, and not because you knew Steve would be there tonight, but it was a lie. As soon as you saw the burgundy leather, held together with string and prayer, you thought of Steve, and how quickly he could get it off of you.

And it seemed that Steve was thinking the same thing, his brown eyes melting like honey as he stared at you.

“So, what'll it be?” You asked, breaking the prolonged eye contact. “Jack and coke and two PBR’s?”

“Yes ma’am!” Eddie chirped.

“Comin’ right up.” You turned back to your station, starting on Eddie’s Jack and coke, but could feel Steve's eyes lingering on you, stealing glances at you between people watching and his friends.

You were just as guilty, glancing up at him between pours, while scooping ice, while rummaging through the cooler. You couldn't help it, he looked particularly handsome tonight in his white t-shirt and blue bomber jacket, light wash jeans hugging his thighs and hips perfectly—

“Hey, y/n, uh, you're overflowing,” a customer called out to you, jerking you out of your stupor. Coke was pouring over the glass and all over your hand.

“Shit! Thanks,” you said, setting Eddies drink aside and running your hand under the sink. You prayed Steve didn't see, but when your risked a glance at him, he was smiling, lower lip caught between his teeth.

“Alright, one Jack and coke, and two cans of ice cold piss.” You set the drinks on the bar, avoiding Steve's eye.

“Thanks, honey,” Steve said, his finger tips brushing yours when he took the chilled can, sending a wave of tingles up your arm, your heart pounding in your chest.

You hurried away to tend to other customers, the line having piled up in just that few minutes you were talking to them. The perfect distraction from the all-consuming presence of Steve Harrington.

The two of you had been making eyes at each other for months, stolen glances across bars and over heads, but neither of you had made a move towards one another. You avoided bar-related dalliances at all costs, and Steve was, well, an incorrigible flirt despite having matured considerably since graduation. You chalked his attention up to old habits, and left it that.

But Steve was growing hard to resist, especially when your reasoning for keeping him at arms length was as flimsy as the half-cooked french fries the kitchen put out.

You wanted him. Bad. And from the flush crawling up his neck and the way he kept shifting his weight, he wanted you just as badly.

Your proof came twenty minutes later when you went to grab Steve and Robin's empty cans. Beneath Steve's can was a napkin, blue ink scribbled across the bottom.

New top?

Your heart skipped a beat, and when you brought them fresh ones, you left a return note under Steve's.

You noticed? Creep.

Steve huffed a laugh after you turned your back.

Ten minutes later, they put in an order from some burgers, and you noticed another note written on the opposite corner of yours, facing you.

Can't help myself.

You placed their order with the kitchen, giving the line cook a stern word about properly cooked meat, and when you brought out the loaded up tray, you left another note under Steve's cheeseburger.

Just going to stare?

It was a bold move, far bolder than you typically like to be, but you had a feeling Steve would reciprocate.

Your suspicions were confirmed when you brought them a round of whiskey shots, with an extra tequila one for yourself for courage. There was a note folded at the end of the tray.

When does your shift end?

Steve grinned when you lifted your shot with them, earning a cheer from Eddie and Robin. You licked the rim and slammed the clear liquor back, savoring the pleasant burn of tequila and lime as it slid down your throat.

Holding Steve's openly appreciative stare, you licked the extra salt off the rim of the glass. “One,” you said and he smirked, dipping his chin in acknowledgment.

You lost track of the trio not long after that, all of them dispensing out to the dance floor or pit. But when you clocked out and gathered your things, stepping out from the humid bar and into the cool night, you found Steve was waiting for you, sitting on the open tailgate of a baby blue pickup truck.

“You’re late,” He teased, sliding off the back of the truck with a smile.

“It is—” you checked your watch “—1:03, to be exact.”

“Longest three minutes of my life,” he said, one of his hands reaching for your hip and drawing you closer.

“So impatient,” you hummed, leaning into his chest and looking up at him, your head barely reaching his clavicle.

“Been waiting a long time for you to work up the courage to talk to me.”

You barked a laugh, giddy excitement surging through you, and he caught the sound with a soft kiss. It was a barely a brush, a shameless tease, but it has your body practically purring with desire.

“This okay?” He asked, his voice a bit more breathless than it was before, his nose bumping against yours

You nodded, rising on your toes to kiss him again, tasting the booze on his lips, poorly masked by the mint he must have popped before you came out. God, he was adorable.

Without breaking the kiss, Steve took your things from your arms and set them on the edge of the tailgate, freeing your arms. He embraced you again, one hand on your lower back bringing your bodies flush together, the other cupping your face to angle your head just right. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, inquisitive, and you welcomed him, gliding your tongue against his.

The kiss quickly turned sensual, his fingertips trailing beneath the hem of your shirt to feel the smooth skin of your hip, his hand tangling in your hair. You melted into him, allowing yourself to get swept up in the moment, enjoy the taste and feel of Steve Harrington’s self-control unraveling just for you.

A burst of voices coming out of the bar yanked you from the moment, though, startling you enough to break the kiss. You could feel their eyes on you, slimy, cancerous stares that made your skin crawl.

“Hey, it's y/n!” One of them called, your name slurring on their tongue.

“C’mon, baby! Whatcha doin’ with that boy? Girl like you needs a man!”

Steve pulled you tighter to him, mouth set in a hard line as he glared across the parking lot.

“Take your limp dick back home to your wife, Shaw!” You shouted back. “See how manly you are then, flopping on top of her like a goddamn fish!”

The drunks roared in protest. Steve grabbed your things and hurried you back around the truck, shaking his head and trying very hard to look stern despite the smile tugging at the edges of his mouth.

“You're a menace,” he murmured, his voice honeyed with affection as he pressed you back against the passenger door. He leaned in again, but instead of kissing you his lips found your neck, trailing kisses along the column of your throat.

“Mhm—does your truck have a bench seat?” You asked, tilting your head back against the window.

He nodded, smirking against your skin. “Leather, too,” he said, nipping at a soft spot he found beneath your ear.

“Steve Harrington,” you gasped, combing your fingers through his hair and tugging his head up. “I had no idea you could be so bold.”

“What can I say? I'm full of surprises.”

“Prove it,” you taunted.

In a quick motion, he pulled you forward and opened the passenger door, then was tossing you up onto the seat.

“Oh, baby. I intend to.”

[nadvs]

home before dark (part three)

pairing rafe cameron x kook! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary as children, you and rafe were best friends, but then tragedy suddenly struck his family and he shut everybody out. years later, you need his help when a pushy ex-boyfriend won’t leave you alone. rafe is perfect for the job because everybody’s afraid of him. except for you.

content warnings stalker ex, violence, substance abuse, death and mourning of parent

» masterlist

· · ── ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ── · ·

Rafe is sitting in a chair in the front room of your home, his chin resting on his hand, hardly paying any attention to the sitcom playing on the tv screen.

He’s pissed off. Why did it have to storm tonight of all nights, when he doesn’t have anything to numb the pain, nothing to drown out the sound of the rain drumming on the windows?

In his haste, he didn’t pack any coke before coming here. He didn’t think he’d need it this bad.

And that photo he saw upstairs. It’s making everything so much fucking worse.

This is how the world repays him for helping someone. Figures. He’s used to having shit luck. Trying to make his own father love him has been a losing game, and he’s been at that for years, so why would anything else go his way?

“Hey.” Rafe straightens when he hears you. You look into the room. “Did the thunder wake you up, too?”

He hasn’t slept at all. But he nods.

There’s a blankness in his stare, the tv casting dull colors over his face. He didn’t bother to turn the light on.

You cross the room, hazy from your interrupted sleep, and settle on the couch. You’re far away from him, acting like you’ve never touched, even though you were just pressed against each other on his motorcycle.

You wonder if it felt nice to him, too. Or if you were just extra weight on his bike, an irritating responsibility he was cornered into taking on.

“Do you have any booze around here?” Rafe mutters. You catch the desolation in his tone.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

You instantly feel ridiculous for expecting you won’t be met with the cold shoulder. You doubt he’ll answer. But then, because the world must be off its axis, he does.

“Fucking hate this weather,” he says.

His words make a chill sink into your bones. You remember your father telling you the news years ago after he got the phone call. A torrential downpour. The freeway. Zero visibility.

Anne lost control of her car.

By the look on your dad’s face, you knew what that meant. Rafe’s mother didn’t survive the wreck.

He doesn’t have to say it. You know that’s why he hates storms.

“I can distract you,” you offer, “if you want?”

It was something you did as kids. Rafe would be angry or sad or hurt or anything and you’d talk his ear off about whatever you could think of until the dark cloud hanging over him drifted away.

His feelings always felt too big for him. You were the best at making them small enough to manage.

Rafe is used to wanting to be left alone. But not right now. Not if he can be with you. Admitting it feels impossible. The wall he spent years building around himself is solid from both sides.

“It’s your house,” he finally says. “Do what you want.”

You take it an invitation to stay. You turn your attention to the tv, as if holding eye contact with him will make him take it back.

It gives him a chance to look at you. How the fuck have you not lost patience with him yet? Why do you still care?

“I keep wanting to ask why you’re helping me,” you say, just loud enough to be heard over the tv.

Rafe exhales sharply, rubbing his forehead.

“This is you distracting me,” he scoffs. “Aren’t you supposed to do the talking?”

The fact that he’s expecting you to replicate the days of your youth gives you a sliver of hope that maybe he misses them, too.

“There has to be a reason you’re doing it,” you murmur.

“Can’t you just be happy that I am?” he responds. A white flash of lighting pools into the room for a split second.

“No,” you say. Finally, he gives in.

“Because I…” he begins.

The noise from the show is adding to the frustrating confusion engulfing him. He angrily picks up the remote and turns the tv off, plunging both of you in darkness.

You turn your head towards him again, only able to make out the hard outline of his jaw.

“I always had to look out for you,” he says. “I guess I still do.”

You look down at your lap, taken aback that Rafe holds any sense of loyalty for you.

You almost want to remind him of what he said earlier, that you’re not kids anymore, but you don’t want to challenge him.

“And I don’t know why,” he adds, voice thin, “but you’re not a dick to me like everyone else is, so I kind of owe you.”

All you can hear is your own breathing and the ticking of the clock in the foyer and the tap of faltering raindrops. The storm is passing.

“It’s because you didn’t do anything wrong,” you say into the silence. “It’s not like you did something to make me hate you. You shut me out, but I get why.”

Your words reverberate through him. He wonders if you think that he hates you.

Still, you could have gone to any other guy and asked him to pretend to be your boyfriend.

“Why’d you come to me?” he asks.

“Because he’s scared of you.” You don’t have to nor do you want to say your ex’s name.

“And you’re not?”

“No.” You tilt your head. “We used to be best friends.”

You say it like he wouldn’t remember. He couldn’t erase it from his brain if he tried. And he has.

The heaviness of all this is suffocating to him. The past is done. There’s no point in digging up things that’ll just hurt him all over again.

He stands up, chasing out the familiarity that was slowly growing between you. But before he leaves the room, he pauses, pinching the bridge of his nose with trembling fingers.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, either, alright?” Rafe says into the dark, irritated, answering the question you asked him on the shoreline hours ago. “Not on purpose.”

As his shadow retreats, the words he left you with ring in your head. He doesn’t blame you. But you did do something wrong.

Rafe had his head buried into his pillow, throat burning from crying through his grief, every night for months.

As he lies in an unfamiliar bed all for a girl whose very existence makes him feel a multitude of good and bad all at once, he’s thrown back into those days, as if he’s a boy again.

His mother used to tell him it was a strength to be so sensitive, but her voice faded and his father’s voice got so much louder. What he tells him every time Rafe can’t swallow down the tears echoes in his mind. Toughen up. You’re fine.

But he’s not fine. He can’t stop crying and he knows he has to tell you he can’t do this anymore. Being with you brings back too much.

But the next morning, when Rafe finds you sitting at the kitchen island, wearing your pajamas and a smile, the prospect of ending this is tossed away.

You have access to him that nobody else does. You and that damn smile are a weakness that he didn’t know he had. And while he can act happy and careless around everyone else, he can’t put on an act for you. Ever.

“How’d you sleep?” you ask. Your hands are cupping a mug, your phone sitting beside it.

“Like shit,” Rafe replies, pacing to the fridge. “Took hours to fall asleep.”

You feel guilty that he didn’t have a good rest, considering he’s only here because you were too frightened to be alone.

“You?” he says after a beat. The ice must be melting if he’s actually asking about you for once.

“My sleep was good,” you reply. “It helped having you here.”

Rafe’s cheeks get warm. Someone actually wanting him around is a foreign feeling.

By the time your conversation was over last night, the rain and thunder had dwindled. It couldn’t have been the storm keeping him awake. Curiosity pushes you to figure it out.

“Was the bed uncomfortable?” you ask.

“No,” he answers. He finds a glass and fills it with water. His throat still hurts from crying last night.

You watch him, his presence commanding as he leans back against the counter opposite you. The dark, shallow bags beneath his eyes are illuminated in the bright lights above you. He looks exhausted.

“Was the room too warm? Or too cold?” you say.

“Can you relax?” Rafe huffs, his tone almost playful.

He isn’t about to admit that he can’t remember the last time he fell asleep sober. And he’s definitely not going to tell you that the last thing he thought about before finally passing out was that his cheeks burned from how hard he was wiping his tears away.

“The least I can do is make sure you’re comfortable since I made you stay the night,” you say.

His brows furrow as he takes a long gulp, tipping his head back.

“Nobody can make me do anything,” he replies once he downs the water. You know it’s the truth. It makes the fact that he’s doing this for you all the more meaningful.

Before you can respond, your phone buzzes loudly on the countertop. Rafe sees your face fall when your eyes drop to the screen. You read the notification for a moment, then sigh and shake your head.

“He emailed me,” you say incredulously. “I blocked him on everything and he emailed me.”

Rafe leans over to see if you’ll let him look for himself. You slide your phone towards him and he picks it up to read Ty’s message.

What you have with him isn’t real. We both know it. Let me prove that I can treat you how you deserve. Please. I’m sorry for everything. I love you.

A part of Rafe is concerned you’ll fall for it.

“What’re you gonna do?” he asks.

“Block him there, too,” you mutter. “He does this. He’s mean, then he pretends like he changed, then he’s mean again… It’s the same bullshit over and over.”

Rafe blocks him for you and places your phone on the counter. You bite the inside of your cheek as the dread you always feel when Ty contacts you floods your every sense.

The despair on your face makes Rafe’s stomach sink. The next time he sees Ty, he’s beating the shit out of him.

“He’ll stop, okay? I’ll make him,” he says.

You’re still skeptical. Rafe definitely scares him, but Ty called him a bullshit rebound last night. He wrote that what you have with Rafe isn’t real. You’re not fooling him. And you’re afraid he won’t leave you alone until he believes you’re actually in a new relationship now.

“Yeah.” You exhale slowly. “Doesn’t sound like he’s falling for this, though.” You motion between you and him.

Rafe has to take a moment to catch your meaning. Falling for this. Your pretend relationship. Right.

“I didn’t tell anyone it’s fake,” you say, afraid it somehow got out. “Did you?”

Rafe shakes his head no and puts his empty glass in the sink. He scratches the back of his neck and looks at you again.

“Do you want me to keep crashing here until your mom and dad get back?” he asks.

You hate that your mind goes there, but you wonder when the last time he said mom out loud was. You shake away the thought.

“Not if you can’t get any actual sleep,” you respond.

Rafe typically gets irritated when someone can’t make up their mind. He wants everything done quickly, so he doesn’t have to stop and think.

But this is you and even though you’re scared of sleeping on your own, you’re considering how staying here affects Rafe and it gives him a heavy feeling of shame. He spent years avoiding the only person who never abandoned him. The only person who still gives a shit.

“I’ll just leave my stuff here,” he says, making the decision for you.

“Thank you.” You mean it. The thought of someone being here with you is comforting.

As usual, Rafe ends the conversation quickly and abruptly, leaving the room. You soon hear the engine of his motorcycle rattling loudly from outside, the roar fading as he drives away.

You hoped that he’d at least want to hang out with you now. You don’t understand why you keep expecting more from him. It just hurts you every time.

You don’t hear from Ty for the rest of the day. You manage to run some errands without worrying you’ll see him because even when Rafe isn’t with you, you don’t feel as scared knowing he’s in your corner.

The days of the week mean practically nothing on the north side of the island over the summer. There’s a party almost every night, this time at a house just down the street from you.

You invite your friends to your place, drinking as you get ready, deciding to walk over to the party. You turn up already tipsy, finding yourself looking for Rafe even though you know you should only really be doing that if Ty is bothering you.

When you walk into the loud, crowded house, seeing you reminds Rafe of why he isn’t smoking or drinking or snorting anything tonight.

He’s had countless fights while wasted, but he wants to have a clear mind when he sees Ty. He needs to make the fucker pay and not give him a chance to get even one punch in.

You meet Rafe’s blue eyes every so often throughout the night, glad you’re finally able to have fun again because you know he’s keeping you safe.

The second Ty walks in, even though he hasn’t come close to approaching you, you make your way to Rafe.

You stand close to him, placing your hand in his, acting like a girlfriend to someone who is only doing this because he feels an overdue sense of loyalty to you.

Rafe stills for a moment before he laces his fingers with yours. His skin is hot, making your heart flutter in a way you know it shouldn’t.

“Hey,” you say over the music. His ring presses against your thumb.

“Hey,” he says tensely. He’s not used to affection, especially in front of people.

But this is what he signed up for. He needs to act like a boyfriend and he’s not going to fuck this up. It’s the first real responsibility he’s had that he actually gives a shit about.

His eyes land on Ty and his plan to confront him takes a backseat when he realizes he doesn’t want to let go of you. Right now, he’d rather have his hand in yours instead of using it to throw a punch. It’s like every touch you give him leaves a heavier impact than the last.

You immediately notice how tense Rafe is.

“Can you relax?” you joke, imitating the way he said it this morning. Your heart warms when his dimples appear, framing a smile he can’t stifle.

“I don’t sound like that,” he says.

“You sound exactly like that,” you reply with a laugh, picturing how tired he looked in your kitchen. “Please tell me you got some sleep today.”

Again, the concern you seem to have never lost for him appears.

“I did,” he says. He crashed in his bed the second he got home.

“How come it took you so long to fall asleep last night?”

Rafe’s knee-jerk reaction is to avoid the question. Especially if it’s you asking. But he can’t forget how shitty it felt when you brushed him off last night at the beach, so he pushes himself to answer.

“Just, uh…” He looks away. “Couldn’t turn off my brain.”

You gaze up at him. It almost aches, how badly you’d love to know what goes through his mind.

“When did this start?” one of his friends amusedly asks, pointing between you two. You notice Ty close by, his gaze sharp as he eavesdrops. Rafe notices him, too.

You squeeze Rafe’s hand tighter, clinging to him. He notices that his entire body buzzes when you do that.

“What, was I supposed to call you?” Rafe responds.

“I’m just saying,” his friend replies with a laugh, “it’s like all of a sudden, you got a girl out of nowhere.”

Alarm stings every inch of your skin when you notice Ty’s posture straighten in your peripheral.

“Don’t sound so surprised, asshole,” Rafe replies lightheartedly, gently pulling his hand out of your grasp to drape his heavy arm around your shoulders, pulling you flush against him.

You follow his lead, wrapping your arms around his torso. The relief from how well he played it off and the comfort you get from how he’s holding you is overwhelming.

Rafe dips his head to speak into your ear, his cheek brushing against yours, his cologne fresh.

“Think he’s falling for it now?” he mumbles, voice lowering an octave. With the way he’s holding you, you might fall for it yourself.

“Yeah,” you breathe. You squeeze him tighter, not for show, but because you want to. You’ve wanted to hug him since the funeral, when he was a boy with bloodshot eyes in a crumpled black suit, but he never let you get this close.

He brings his other hand up to your face, cradling your jaw, his thumb rubbing over your cheek. His touch is so tender that you have to remind yourself it’s Rafe doing this.

You’re suspended, bodies curved together, cheeks brushing, like you’re playing a game to see who’ll let go first.

“And he’s staying away from you, right?” His breath is warm against the shell of your ear.

You nod, at a loss for words.

“Is he watching?” he asks. You can see from the corner of your eye that your ex is staring right at you.

“Mhm,” you hum with a nod.

At this point, Rafe is being selfish. This is close enough. You wanted him to act like you’re a couple and he’s done it. He can pull away now. Maybe he should keep his arm around you for a little longer, but he doesn’t need to be this close.

Instead, he lowers to press his lips against your cheek and you hug him tighter, and fuck, it feels so good that he misses it before it’s even over.

He can’t believe that his body yearns to be this close to you. You opened up the floodgates the second you put your hand on him the first time a couple of nights ago. How good would it feel if you were doing it for real?

You lean into his kiss. His lips are so soft. You wish you could feel them against yours. It’s all to make everyone think you’re actually together. You keep telling yourself that.

When your arms around him weaken just a little, you feel something at his back, protruding against your forearm.

Your eyebrows draw together as you pull back only a few inches to meet Rafe’s eyes, your mind going to the worst possible scenario. Your breath catches. It’s a weapon.

“What is that?” you ask quietly, nudging against the hard item tucked into the band of his jeans.

“What do you think?”

“Rafe,” you say. His jaw tightens. The moment is gone. The wall is back up. Your tone teeters on a thin edge, like you’re judging him.

“You’re surprised the psycho owns a gun?” he scoffs.

He didn’t brush off what Ty said like you thought he did. It makes your stomach turn that your ex’s lie actually stuck with Rafe.

You glance over to see Ty’s back as he storms out of the room. Part of you is relieved, but right now, you mostly feel anxious that Rafe believes a lie.

“I never called you that,” you reiterate to him quietly. “I’ve never said anything bad about you. You think you can trust what he says?”

“I’m not planning on using it on him, okay?” Rafe snaps. “Unless he asks for it.”

He wishes you didn’t notice it. If you didn’t think he was fucked up before, you do now. He’s pissed off and embarrassed and disappointed all at once.

You’ve been trying to reconnect with him for so long. If he gives in, you’ll see that he’s not even close to who he was when you knew him. He’ll just let you down.

He realizes he hasn’t kept his distance only because you’re a painful reminder of a time he wants to forget. It’s also because he’s sure you wouldn’t like who he’s become. And he can’t take the rejection.

You’re still, unable to believe that he actually has a gun. That he would use it. That these are the lengths he’s going to to keep you safe.

You haven’t lost contact with him, but Rafe checks out of the moment and pulls his arm away.

“He’s gone now,” he mutters. You get the message. He’s done pretending. You drop your arms and find your friends again.

Hours later, the party is dwindling, but far from over. Rafe has been sober the entire time, making him all the more antsy and irritable.

He thought he’d beat the shit out of Ty tonight, but he’s exhausted and he can’t stop shaking. Why the hell is he shaking?

Rafe loses his patience and approaches you while you’re dancing with your friends.

“Let’s go,” he says, holding your hand. The contact makes your head spin all over again. Even though you’d like to stay, you comply.

You notice Ty’s eyes on you when you leave. He’s pretending to be a good guy again, keeping his distance, but you know it’s only a matter of time before he cracks.

Once you reach Rafe’s motorcycle in the cool night air, he hands you his helmet and you take it without hesitation.

After the short drive, you walk up the steps to your front door together. But you soon stop in your tracks, eyes wide as you stare at the ground.

Rafe follows your eye line. Mud’s been tracked onto the porch in fragmented footprints.

“I can’t… I can’t remember if that was there before,” you stammer. “Did you see it this morning?”

“I don’t know,” he responds. He rushed out of here too quickly to have noticed something like that.

You look around, as if you can find an answer in the darkness surrounding your home. You would have noticed it after you ran your errands earlier today. Probably. Maybe.

It could have been you. Or Rafe. Or one of your friends.

Or Ty. He didn’t arrive at the party until late into the night. Could he have been creeping around your house? Why would he?

Rafe glances up to confirm that there aren’t any cameras aiming at the door. It pisses him off when he notices there aren’t any cameras at all. He quickly catches on that your breathing has grown faster.

“Come on,” he says, gently pulling you by the crook of your elbow. “Let’s go inside. It’s nothing.”

He doesn’t believe his own words, but there’s no reason to scare you any further.

“What if he was here?” you say, letting Rafe pull you to the door. He takes the key out of your hand and pushes it into the lock.

“Then I’ll shoot him,” he mutters.

“That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t joking.”

The door swings open, prompting the security system to start beeping.

You flip on the light and enter the code as he shuts the door behind you. You’re so frightened and unnerved that you jam one of the buttons with the wrong finger, prompting a harsh error noise from the system.

“Can you do this?” you huff. You tell Rafe the five-digit code and he quickly enters it, arming the system again. You notice his hand is trembling.

“Are you okay?” you ask. You know it’s not from fear. Rafe isn’t afraid of anything. He must be high on something. “What’d you take?”

“Nothing,” he says with a humorless laugh. It dawns on him that his body is reacting to the lack of coke in his system. “That’s the problem.”

“What?” you ask.

Rafe sighs, double-checking that the front door is locked for your peace of mind.

“I can’t be wasted if that asshole tries me. I haven’t taken anything since last night,” he says. “But it just made shit worse.”

He realizes how messed up it sounds. How messed up it is that being sober for one night makes him shake like this. He has a problem. But he never really had a reason to get clean before now.

You watch Rafe checking the lock and like a riptide, everything crashes down on you at once.

The torment from Ty harassing you. The guilt from asking Rafe to take on this responsibility. The sadness from knowing that he’s only doing it because he feels a sense of obligation for you and wants nothing more.

“Bet you’re glad I have a gun now,” Rafe mutters. He turns to look at you, your expression grim. “What?”

“I don’t want to keep bothering you with this,” you admit, your heart racing with panic. “I don’t want you to have to sleep here and I don’t want you to have to drive me home all the time and… I hate that this is happening and that I had to drag you into it.”

His eyes travel over the anguish etched on your face.

“What, like it’s your fault he’s a piece of shit?” he says.

You chew on the inside of your cheek and look up to the ceiling, trying to keep your tears at bay. It’s still odd being alone with him, having him in your home.

Rafe hasn’t tried to make someone feel better in a long time. He hasn’t cared enough to. He takes a deep breath.

“I don’t mind doing this, alright?” he says.

“You don’t?” You take in the softness in his eyes that you don’t often see.

“Think I’d be here if I did?”

“I don’t know,” you say. “You used to do things you didn’t want to all the time for me.”

The Rafe that was your best friend always went along with whatever you wanted to play, wherever you wanted to go.

He grits his teeth, tearing his eyes off of you, trying not to think about how when he was a kid, if someone asked him who his favorite person was, he’d tell them that it was a tie between you and his mom.

“Don’t talk about how shit used to be,” he says quietly. And because he doesn’t want to see that hurt look on your face again, he adds, “Please.”

The mere prospect of talking about the past seems to actually give him pain. It dawns on you that you’re looking at a man who may have never processed what happened to him.

“Do you want something to eat?” you offer, changing the subject swiftly.

Rafe realizes he’s starving.

“Yeah,” he says.

A memory washes over you as Rafe sits at your kitchen counter, eating leftovers you heated up for him.

It was a humid summer day and you two were scarfing down the lunch his mother made for you after a morning of swimming behind his house.

Rafe always liked picking the wildflowers that grew in the grass that lined the beach for his mom. The ones he found that day were purple, sitting in a small vase she put in the center of the dining room table.

Every time he gave her a small bundle of uneven flowers, she had the same joyful reaction. Rafe always looked so proud of himself when she enthusiastically thanked her son.

It was just another happy day.

Until Ward came into the kitchen and like always, Rafe’s smile disappeared. Your best friend tended to shrink when his dad was around. Ward almost always found something to chide his son about. He never spoke like that to his daughters.

“Could you eat any faster?” Ward muttered. “Where are your manners?”

“Leave him alone, Ward,” Anne said with a sigh. His mother’s tone was only ever sharp when she was defending her little boy.

You remember watching her lean to kiss Rafe’s head, earning a small smile from him. Then she winked at you, trying to dismiss the tension from the room.

You wonder what Ward has said to Rafe ever since he lost the only person who stuck up for him.

You face the sink as you wash your hands, your back to Rafe, trying to stifle the tears that build as you imagine what the world would be like if the wreck never happened. Who would Rafe be if he never lost her? If a part of him didn’t die with her?

Is it crazy to think that you’d still be best friends, instead of two strangers pushed together in such an arduous situation? You miss her so much that it hurts and all this is yet another thing adding to the weight sitting on your shoulders.

Rafe hears you sniffle and when you finally turn around, you stare at the floor as you try to rush away.

“What is it?” he asks. Is he already failing at making you feel safe?

You freeze. You can’t tell him what’s really bothering you. Especially since he asked you not to talk about your memories.

“I’m just freaked out.” It’s not exactly what you’re thinking of now, but it’s true. This mess with Ty is a nightmare. “If he was really creeping around here… Ugh, I don’t know what he’s going to do next.”

Rafe chews slower as he observes you through narrow eyes. He’s no stranger to the pain of crying to sleep. He doesn’t want that for you.

You notice his hands are still trembling. You have no idea how often he does coke, but it must be an addiction if one night without it makes his body react like this.

“What else do you need?” he asks. It comes out sharper than he intended, like he’s asking what else you could possibly want from him after he’s given you so much.

Your lips thin as you stare at him from across the counter. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone look so miserable.

“Nothing,” you mutter. “Good night.”

You start to walk away but Rafe says your name to stop you and it sounds so good coming out of his mouth that your stomach numbs. When was the last time he said it?

You turn to look at him. His eyes dart down to his food.

“What if…” he begins, his fork loudly clattering against the dish. “Would it help if I slept in your room?”

You’re surprised. And soothed by the thought of him sleeping close by in case your ex does something as unhinged as break in.

Everyone else paints Rafe as rude and aggressive, but you knew it. You knew he still had some kindness in him.

“Yeah,” you say. “It would help.”

(part four)

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

[ghoulishhx]

love your work, you write frankie so well it always has a tear run down my leg 🤭💖

i saw you post the smut prompt list. how about frankie with number 8, however you’d like to have it happen

thank you 💖💖💖

8.) open your legs for me baby, i wanna see you

aa thank you for your kind words!! i've been working on this on and off throughout the day so if seems weird or paced odd, i do apologise. once again im VERY self conscious (what's new) but like i need this and i need him

18+ MDNI !!

My Masterlist!

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Pairing: Frank Castle x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: semi-public sex, oral (f!recieving), one night stand type vibes, unprotected pinv sex (wrap it before you tap it), dom!frank, use of restraints, creampie, dirty talk, praise, mutual pining, choking

Wordcount: 2.3k

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✦ strangers

You don’t usually make the habit of fucking strangers you’ve known for one conversation, in the dingy bathroom of the dive bar you chose to drown your sorrows in, but fuck it. Tonight you’ve earned it, earned a well needed distraction.

You don’t know what came over you, deciding to take the gruff man, who bought you a rum and coke, by the hand and dragging him with you into the small tiled room and locking the door shut behind you both. This is the same man who minutes ago was listening to you venting about your fucked family issues, your stuck up boss who loves to put you through hell. He offered you nods of mutual understanding and a lingering hand on yours, the warmth of his large calloused fingers tracing small comforting circles across your knuckles made your breath hitch. Before you know it, you’re whispering you need him in his ear and gesturing to the bathroom behind him. 

You tell yourself it’s his eyes that drew you in, those dark chocolate eyes baring directly into your soul, mixed emotions swirled within the colours of his iris’, drawing you in and subconsciously telling you he gets it, gets you. You find solace in the little to no communication. 

“Oh, what’s your name by the way?” you softly speak into his ear as you enter the bathroom together.

“Huh? Oh, yeah it’s uh, it’s Frank.” he looks at you inquisitively, wondering why you chose this moment to finally ask him. You pick up on this and answer his question before he can even ask.

“Just wanna know what to scream when you make me cum.” you bite your lower lip, this newfound confidence is definitely the booze talking, you go to look away as you feel embarrassed blush travel up your neck however you’re brought back to earth with the sound of a dark chuckle that comes from Frank’s mouth.

“That right? Well ya can’t be too loud darlin’, don’t wanna get caught now do we?”

The realisation of the riskiness of the situation floods your panties with arousal as he pushes you against the door, lifting your thigh from behind and wrapping it around his waist as he tastes the inside of your mouth with his tongue. You moan into his mouth, his own subduing the noises and capturing them as he bites down on your lower lip softly, before softening the sting with his tongue. The kiss you share is nothing short of desperate, passionate, raw. It’s as if he needed this just as much as you, needing to release whatever pent up emotions he has kept locked within himself for god knows how long. 

You trail down your hands down his button up shirt, prying the fabric apart with shaky hands as quickly as you can, needing to see him, feel him. The groan Frank makes when you run your nails down his now exposed chest makes you clench around nothing, feeling the firm muscles beneath the pads of your fingers as your nails softly scratch at him makes his jaw tick, his mouth moving to your neck as he bites down, sucking purple bruises into the sensitive skin below your ear before softening the sting with his tongue. He curses as your hand lands on his bulge, straining against the confines of his jeans and he cannot help but buck his hips into your touch, neediness for any amount of friction he can get taking over him.

“Y'so fuckin’ gorgeous doll” he mumbles into your ear as he lifts you effortlessly, you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you over to the counter below the dirty, graffiti coated mirror. Frank continues the relentless assault of kisses along your neck, trailing his lips down your exposed chest, your tits perfectly accentuated by the tight black dress you decided to wear tonight. His tongue travels between the valley of your chest as he reaches down and lifts your dress up above your hips, his hands gripping at the meat of your thighs, thumbs dangerously close to where you need him most as you arch your back into his touch, craving more. 

“Open your legs f’me baby, I wanna see ya..” 

Frank groans as you comply with his request, exposing your soaked panties. He reaches out and brushes his digit along the stain of arousal in your underwear, lowly whistling under his breath as you shudder at his touch. “Shit, girl.. all f'me? Fuckin’ soaked doll, lemme take care of it for ya, yeah?”

With any other lover, you'd usually make them work for it, beg for you, but your desperation possesses you as you wildly nod, throbbing around nothing as you move your hips closer to him. 

“Use y'words sweet girl,” Frank teases as he flashes you a shit eating grin, fully aware of the effect he has over you as he crouches down, his eyes now level with your cunt. “Want me to taste ya, hmm? Make ya feel good?”

“Fuck.. please. Please taste me Frank, I need yo-” your begs are cut off as he latches his lips around your clit through your panties. The fabric rubs deliciously across your swollen bud as he pulls it further up you, your folds peaking around the edges as more slick coats your underwear. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you throw your head back onto the glass behind you, not hard enough to cause damage. He chuckles at your body's reactions and peels the garment from your soaked core, shoving your panties in his back jean pocket before he feasts on you properly. 

You can't help but grind yourself into his face as best you can, wrapping your fingers in his hair and tugging before he removes your hands and pins them down by your side, disallowing any movements. You whine, trying to escape the vice grip he has on your wrists, itching to touch him, feel him with your fingers as he devours you. 

Frank moans into your entrance, licking stripes up your pussy to your clit before trailing back down and fucking you on his tongue. He feels his cock twitch as your walls clench around him, already making his boxers damp with precum. 

“Taste so fuckin’ sweet, babydoll. Could stay between y'legs forever.” The words echo through your body, the vibrations of his words making you buck into his touch. Your clit rubs deliciously along his large nose, the sensation reeling you closer and closer to your much needed release. 

“Frank- don't stop pleasepleaseplease.. I-I'm so close..” you whimper, biting down on your lip. Only now he lets go of your hands, allowing you to wrap yourself in his curls, grounding you as your orgasm threatens to spill. 

“Yeah? Let go doll, cum f'me. Lemme have it girl, thaaaat’s it pretty girl, make a mess of m'face.” his consent for you to let go allows you to do just that. Your whines fill the room along with chants of his name with strings of curse words as you gush all over his nose and mouth. Frank swallows every drop up gratefully, humming into your core as his pace continues its relentless speed, lapping up your folds like it’s the last meal he will ever have. His pace only falters when you squirm beneath him and physically pull his face from your core, the overstimulation overwhelming you.

Frank slowly stands, eyes never leaving yours for a second as he begins to unbuckle his belt. Without thinking you thrust your wrists towards him,

“Dirty fuckin’ girl,” he darkly chuckles, accepting your request and wrapping the leather around you, pulling the belt tight before raising it above your head, pushing your hands against the glass. “Be a doll and keep ‘em there, yeah?” You nod as he pushes his thumb between your lips, you instantly swirl your tongue around his digit. He groans at the view, firmly tapping your cheek with his free fingers. “Attagirl, tell me if it’s too tight, alright?”

Frank removes his hands from you and unbuttons his jeans, unzipping them so they rest across his thighs along with his boxers. Your breath hitches as your eyes land on his cock, thick, long and leaking before you. Frank can’t help but smirk at your fascination with his cock, and as if he read your mind once more.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, it’ll fit. I’ll make it fit.” you blush at his dirty words, jaw going slack as he begins pushing himself into your entrance. 

“That‘s it girl, tight stretch, attagirl takin�� it so well,” he coos as he guides his length inside of you, your whines like music to his ears before he captures them in his mouth, placing wet kisses across your already kiss-swollen lips, nibbling on your lower lip as he pushes himself fully inside of you. Frank sighs with pleasure as he fills you to the hilt, his pubic bone resting on your spent clit.

His hands rest on your hips as he begins thrusting slowly in and out of you, fully removing himself from your entrance before thrusting himself back inside fully once more. The repetitive motion makes your eyes roll to the back of your head, already cock drunk from him and how he feels.

“M-more, please Frank.. Faster.. Need you” you whimper between broken sobs as his pace quickens, just as passionate as before, just faster. Frank’s lips trail across your chest, using his teeth to pull your dress down further to expose your chest to the cool of the bathroom. Your nipples instantly harden with the change of temperature and Frank can’t help but wrap his lips around the pebbled bud, sucking harshly before nibbling and soothing the sting. Your back arches into his touch, slightly regretting wanting him to bound you with his belt, you’d give anything to feel him, run your hands through his hair, leave scratches along his back to make sure he remembers this night just as much as you will. 

“Still so fuckin’ tight babygirl, feel so good like ya were made f’me.” he grunts into your body, hands resting on your ass now as he harshly grips at the flesh bruisingly, sure to leave purple marks that will no douby turn you on whenever you see them. The familiar coil twists in your stomach, hyper aware that another orgasm was approaching and fast. “Ya gonna cum, huh? Feel ya clenchin’ me, that’s it doll give it t’me. Make a mess of my cock.” 

Within seconds your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave, impossibly stronger than the one before. Frank’s hand wraps around your throat, squeezing slightly only to elevate the sensation as you shudder in his hold. His name is moaned between broken sobs, fulfilling the promise you told him prior about screaming his name. Neither of you care about the noise anymore, so lost in each other and the pleasure it’s not even a thought anymore. Frank’s grunts increase, you know he’s close as he groans, resting his sweaty forehead on yours. You can’t stop yourself from bringing your arms down from the glass, placing each one on each shoulder as you trap him closer to you, craving him. He doesn’t seem to mind your defiance and allows you to pull him closer into your lips, instantly plunging his tongue into your mouth.

“Cum inside me, please Frank. Wanna feel you for days.” you whine into his mouth as you wrap your tongue around his own. One, two, three more thrusts and he’s spilling himself inside of you, painting your walls white with his hot, sticky release. 

Frank moans into your mouth, wrapping his arms around the small of your back and resting his hands on your ass once again as he pulls you as close to him as humanly possible, trailing kisses along your jawline as he emptied himself inside of you. You let out a soft giggle into his ear, the realisation of what just happens making you quiver. He joins you in a hearty chuckle as he reaches up and pulls your arms from around his neck and places them back into your lap before removing the belt bounding you, wrapping it around his jeans once more.

You whimper as he unsheathes himself from you, the loss of his length inside of you makes you hiss as you feel the stretch of where he once was. After tucking himself back into his pants, you place your hands back on his shoulders as you play with the stray curls of his slightly overgrown hair as he lifts you from the sink onto wobbly knees, catching you before you topple over onto the ground.

“Want ya to know, uh, I don't do that very often.” he begins, arm still wrapped around your waist as he places a kiss on the top of your head, smirking into your hair.

‘Me either,” you chuckle as you turn to face him. “Don’t know what came over me, asking you to come in here and, uhm, do that..”

“Year? Well I’m glad ya did sweetheart.” he hums as he pulls you into his chest. “But next time, when I tell ya to keep y’arms there, listen to me.”

“Next time?” you tilt your head up and rest it on his chest.

“Yeah next time, if that’s something you’d want..?”

“Yeah it is.. I’d like that very much.”

──── ୨୧ ────

a/n: once again, pleaseee lemme know if you liked this. struggling a lot rn with my confidence with writing lmao. sorry to be so annoying and ask a lot

my inbox is open!

[lady-lostmind]

Hellfire Club part one

Read on a03 Rating: E

thank you @oh-stars for betaing!

Eddie strides into The Hideout with a heavy sigh, letting the loud roar of music and drunken debauchery wash over him and settle his nerves. He moves through the familiar space quickly, nodding to people as he passes and makes his way to his usual table. He takes a long drag from his cigarette, nudging Gareth’s shoulder as he plops down in the chair next to him, flicking ashes haphazardly in the direction of the ashtray. “How’s it hangin’ Gare? You get lucky with that pretty girl last night?” 

Gareth rolls his eyes and flicks him off. “Fuck you, Munson.” 

Eddie huffs out a little laugh. “Guess that’s a no.” 

Eddie’s eyes scan over the bar, landing on an absolute bombshell of a man serving drinks that looks ridiculously out of place in their grimey clubhouse bar. 

Eddie smacks Gareth’s shoulder and points. “Who’s the new bartender?” 

Gareth snorts. “Leave him alone, Eddie.” 

A cocky grin pulls at Eddie’s mouth and he holds up his hands innocently. “I didn’t do anything!” 

Gareth shakes his head. “His name is Steve. Chrissy hired him.” 

Eddie hums, taking another drag from his cigarette as he watches Steve smile as he pours a drink. “He know what he’s getting into, working here?”

Gareth shrugs. “I’m sure she filled him in. Chrissy doesn’t hire someone new lightly.” 

Eddie lets out a long sigh, tipping back in his chair before letting it slam to the ground and getting up. “I’m suddenly very thirsty.” 

Gareth groans and mumbles under his breath. “Good luck, Steve.”

Eddie chuckles, his grin pulling wider as he saunters over to the bar and leans against it. Eddie whistles and waves when Steve looks over at him from the other end of the bar, holding up a finger before turning back to the drink he was in the middle of making. 

Eddie flicks his cigarette before letting it dangle from his lips, knocking his knuckle against the bar in time to the song playing. Steve makes his way over to Eddie, leaning against the bar with a shining smile, the hem of his shirt riding up and showing a sliver of skin. Eddie’s eyes linger there before he drags them back up to Steve’s face where he’s staring at him intently. 

“What can I get for you?” 

Eddie leans in close, talking loudly over the music. “I’ll take a jack and coke, handsome.” 

Steve scoffs, but Eddie catches the way his mouth quirks up at the corner as he turns away. 

Steve brings him his drink, setting it down lightly with a turn and a tap on the bar. “Enjoy.”

Eddie snatches the glass up and swirls it. “Oh, I’m sure I will.” 

Steve rolls his eyes and moves on to another customer. Eddie stays put, watching him work and flashing him little smiles whenever his eyes wander over to Eddie’s end of the bar. Eventually Steve wanders back over when his glass is empty and points at it. 

“Another?”

Eddie nods, sliding his glass across the bar into Steve’s hand. Steve fills it up, eyes flicking up to Eddie’s face as his cheeks flush a pretty pink. Eddie smiles at him again, making sure his dimple pops on one side. 

Steve goes to turn away again and Eddie calls out, raising his voice just enough to be heard over the music. “You’re new.” 

Steve turns back, raising his brows and leaning his hip against the bar. “Yep, first night.”

Eddie takes a sip before settling his ringed fingers around his glass, tapping them lightly. “How’ya liking it so far?” 

Steve huffs out a laugh and looks pointedly around the rambunctious room. “You guys know how to party, that’s for sure. Tips are good so far, though.” 

Eddie grins and nods. “Oh, yeah. We’re very generous to those holding access to booze.” 

Steve shrugs. “Wasn’t sure since this is a private club. Drinks are free, right?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “I mean, if you don’t count the membership fees, sure.” 

Someone at the other end of the bar raises their hand to grab Steve’s attention again. He sighs and gives Eddie a ‘back to the grind’ look before topping him off and heading back to work. Eddie sighs and downs his drink before digging into his wallet and setting a hundred dollar bill under his glass. He makes his way toward the door, flicking Gareth off and clapping him on the shoulder as he passes. 

He’s just swinging his leg over his bike when the door opens. Steve steps out, a crumpled bill in his hand, raised in front of him in question. “Hey! What the fuck is this?” 

Eddie leans back on his bike and shrugs, mouth pulling up on one side. “A tip.” 

Steve rolls his eyes and strides forward, hand on his hip as he holds the money out with the other. “For two drinks? This is way too much, man.” 

Eddie shakes his head and reaches out to push Steve’s hand back. “For the good company.” He pats Steve’s hand before he leans back and kicks his bike to life, throwing a wink at Steve as he revs it loudly and pulls away.

part two

[sadhours]

dirty laundry

billy hargrove x fem!reader

masterlist • requests open

cw: 18+ minors dni, established relationship, smut, public sex, swallowing c*m hehehe I missed billy

🧡🧡🧡🧡

it’s kind of fitting. after a weekend of partying, you had to do some laundry. so monday morning, 9 AM, you’re sitting in the laundromat beside your boyfriend. you’re hungover. billy smokes a Marlboro and the smell is making you nauseous. you’re nursing a sprite he’d bought you from the vending machine. he has a coke. you’re somewhat regretting not indulging in the breakfast beer billy offered you but the thought of the booze had made your stomach twist something wicked. the shitty speakers spill a tinny “dirty laundry” by don henley.

“this songs actually pretty badass,” billy mumbles around the butt of his smoke, tapping his scuffed motorcycle boots.

you frown, “i like don henley.”

your boyfriend laughs, it’s a loud bellow and you really wish you had that beer to dull the headache splitting your head. but you love his laugh.

“like him like you’d suck his dick or…?” he teases and you roll your eyes despite the way it pains you.

“no, not my type,” you grumble. “i like his music.”

there’s a liquor store two stores up. you keep rubbernecking out the window at it and your boyfriend picks up on it. he reaches over and squeezes your knee, “regretting not having a beer with me this morning?”

“a little,” you gripe, “the lights are too bright, your cigarette stinks and i’m so tired.”

billy leans close to you with a pout, eyebrows furrowed. he looks adorable, even though he’s condescending you. “want me to go get baby a shot and a beer?”

“would you?” you ask, all wide eyed in a silent beg you know gets him.

he smirks, leans forward and bites your nose. it pulls a giggle from you which is exactly what you need. “i’ll be back,” he grabs your face and squeezes it before pulling away and heading out the door, it chimes with his steps. you lean back and watch his ass saunter down the sidewalk in his too-tight Levi’s.

once he disappears into the liquor store, you bring your attention back to the washing machine. watching as your clothes spin in circles, which doesn’t do anything positive for the spinning happening in your gut so you look away quickly. billy’s hard to keep up with but you’ve never had so much fun in your life. and he’s so sweet, really, when he wants to be. you’d kind of saved him when you brought up him moving him after only a month of hooking up. you were shocked when he jumped at the opportunity but that was before you met neil. it makes sense now. your boyfriend is free to be himself, and you love every bit of him.

he’s quick in the liquor store, returning and hopping up on the row of unused washing machines opposite the chair you’re sitting in. he opens up the black plastic back and displays a little bottle of Jack Daniels.

“come get your hair of the dog, baby,” he says in a seductive voice, all low as he wiggles his eyebrows. you extend your hand and then his brows furrow, “I got you trained better than that. C’mere, girl.”

you exhale with a frustrated sigh but obey your sexy beyond belief boyfriend. standing up and taking the few short steps to situate yourself between his thighs.

“atta girl,” he purrs, opening the shooter and pressing it to your lips, “head back, foxy.”

you lean your head back, downing the shot in a quick three gulps. he hums, all satisfied as he watches. the whiskey isn’t sitting in your tummy the best but the way billy chases forward and licks a drip off your chin quells any sickness. he follows it with a filthy kiss, tongue dragging against yours as his right hand grabs the back of your head, knitting his fingers into the roots of your hair and tugs lightly. a helpless little whine escapes from your throat but billy swallows it, smiling into the dirty kiss. once he pulls away, he smirks, eyes darker than before.

“better?”

you nod, biting your lip as you look to him. billy retrieves the shooter he bought for himself and downs it easily, like it doesn’t make his stomach curl. then he hands you a tall can of beer, opens it for you before he does. you take an eager sip to get the bitterness of the whiskey off your tongue. billy chuckles, it’s deep and rattles his chest. he nudges his nose against yours, “i know that look.”

“s’your fault,” you mumble, cheeks hot as you admit, “‘cause you kissed me like that.”

billy hums, hooks his knuckle under your chin and tilts your head up a bit. “like this?” he whispers back before pressing his lips to yours hungrily. licks into your mouth like you’re not in public and has your spine tingling, thighs warm and cunt aching. you respond by kissing him back just as desperately, putting your beer down beside him before both your hands move to grip his white t-shirt. his mouth tastes like whiskey, cigarettes and Billy. You get lost in it, moaning pathetically as you make out like a couple of high school kids.

Then the dryer buzzes, loud and jarring. You pull away, groaning softly before strutting over to the machine. You open it, grabbing a cart and wheeling it over. You tug all the clothes into basket, reaching in deep and wiggling your ass because you can feel your boyfriends eyes on it. You don’t even realize he’s jumped off the washers and made his way behind you until he’s kicking the cart away and grabbing onto your hips.

“you missed something,” he tells you, all nonchalant.

“huh?” you peer inside the massive dryer but you don’t see anything. billy’s hips meet the fat of your ass, pushing your upper half deeper into the machine.

“it’s really in there,” he says, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your leggings. his other hand presses on the middle of your back, bending you over completely into the dryer. “almost there, you’re so close.”

you giggle, knowing exactly what you’re asshole of a boyfriend is doing. he pulls your leggings down to your thighs, moving his hand to rub your pussy through your underwear. you moan softly, still playing his game as you pretend to reach for the clothing he says in deep in there. billy’s impatient though, tugs your underwear down with your leggings. feels the slick collecting at your hole and hums, rubbing his fingers in circles at your entrance. his fingers are so thick, you can feel him stretching your hole just from the teasing. hangover suddenly forgotten, you’re spreading your legs and silently begging for him to slide inside you.

billy teases, “aw… keep reaching, baby… you’re almost there.”

his middle and ring finger slip inside your dripping cunt, the stretch delicious and intoxicating in their own right. he drags the pads of his fingers against your walls, pushing in and pulling out. your brains already fuzzy, eyes rolling back before your lids flutter shut. he laughs, soft and sultry as he fucks you with his fingers. out in the open. anyone can walk in here or hell, walk by and see your boyfriend bending you into the industrial dryer and fingering you senseless. the rush of it only make your cunt slicker.

he scissors his fingers, stretching your hole open wider as he smoothes his other hand over the expanse of your back.

“god, you’re so fucking wet,” billy exhales, his voice echoing slightly into the drum of the dryer. hits your ears something fierce. has you pushing your ass back at him. you moan out, nails dragging against the metal of the dryer as he finger fucks you open.

you don’t even hear the sound of his zipper or the shuffle of him pushing his jeans back. suddenly he’s pulling his fingers out and you feel the round, thick tip of his cock pushing at your pussy.

“fuck, billy,” you gasp, arching your back just slightly.

“atta girl,” he purrs, “so wet and desperate for my cock, yeah?”

“yeah— ah!” your response is hijacked by a moan, result of billy snapping his hips forward and completely sheathing his girthy cock in your fluttering hole.

he groans, a vibrating and sexy sound. let’s you know you feel so so so good for him. he doesn’t go slow, a hand on the small of your back and the other on your hip as he bullies his cock deep in your walls. billy always makes you feel like such a desperate slut. knows he can use and abuse your hole whenever and however. and how the fuck could you say no? the stretch is fucking unworldly. his cock is a goddamn masterpiece. crafted by the gods themselves to help please. if there ain’t nothing else to live for, billy’s cock is all you need.

once he’s inside you, you’re fucking gone. cockdrunk in a second. his hands move to knead at your ass as he pummels into you. rough and reckless. so billy. reality slips, you’re not even thinking about how the two of you are in a public place. fucking so filthy, so rough where there’s nowhere to hide. if you get caught, you get caught and you don’t fucking care. both so zoned in on getting off.

your hips slightly ache from where they bounce against the edge of the dryer but the sensation of Billy deep in your cunt dulls any pain. his cock pulsing as it drags in and out of your fluttering walls. you squeeze him, want him buried so deep and dirty.

“that’s it, slut,” he groans, voice deep as it bounces around the drum of the deeper, “taking my cock like a good girl.”

you whine back, not able to do much else. there’s no way you could form sensible thoughts. you ache to tell him how fucking good it feels but it’s useless, would fumble out of your mouth like word soup because billy fucks you stupid.

it’s a fucking joke when he moves his hand around your hip to rub at your clit. his goal is to get you to cum as quick as he can, because once those skilled fingers start strumming against your clit, your legs are shaking and your voice is uncontrollable in the moans bellowing from you.

“you gonna cum for me?” he chuckles, circles firm and quick against your clit, “so easy. such an easy slut for me, ain’t ya?”

“billy…” you cry in a plea, a whiny and pathetic sound. you’re on the edge, you can see it. each little stroke of his fingers and each drag of his cock against your tight walls threatens to toss you over it.

“ya wanna cum?” he spits, fingers working faster, “cream all over my cock, be a good slut for daddy.”

that sends you. a deep breath and sinking over the edge you go, crying out in absolute ecstasy as his cock works you overtime. drags your orgasm out with his fingers not letting up. you’re dead weight after, billy’s hands moving to your hips to hold you up as he barrels his cock faster and faster into your sensitive cunt. he pulls back rather quickly, grabbing your hair and pulling you out of the dryer.

“on your knees,” he instructs and you obey, hands on his thighs to steady you as you stick your tongue out flat. eyes wide and needy as you gaze up at your boyfriend. a curl has fallen into the center of his forehead, blue eyes dark with lust as he fingers move to grip his cock, jerking it in quick and firm strokes. “that’s it, good girl, yeah…”

he busts, spilling cum into your eager tongue. you love the taste of billy’s cum. abnormally sweet for a guy whose diet consists of booze and red meat. and when billy cums, he doesn’t close his eyes. he stares down at you, his lips part and you can see the swell of his tongue against his lower lip as he moans. you swallow, licking your lips so you don’t miss any.

he reaches for the back of your hand, scratching at the back of your scalp as he smiles warmly down at you. after a beat of lovingly looking at each other, you both get dressed. you plant a sloppy kiss on his lips before moving to transfer the load from the washer into the dryer. billy sits on the chairs and lights up another cigarette.

“you’re something else, foxy,” he grins, cheeks flushed all pretty.