#someone probably pushes him in a pool; pool guy

[urdreamgirls-dreamgirl]

despite assumptions and stereotypes, steve harrington actually doesn’t love dating around. sure, he does it and at the end of the night if someone wants to go a little bit further, who is he to say no? he’s only a man, after all.

but steve and eddie have been… doing whatever they’ve been doing for a couple of months now and steve wants more. when steve finds what he wants, he holds on tight with everything he has. but this time is a little different. eddie’s made it pretty clear that he’s not exactly looking for anything serious. steve’s pretty sure eddie likes him, but he’s not sure that affection goes far beyond that thing he can do with his tongue.

which sucks. steve’s still gun-shy from what happened with nancy and tommy and jonathan back in high school. he hasn’t felt this way abt anyone in a pretty long time and it just sucks that eddie’s only interested in coming over at 3 in the morning. steve wants to go to the drive-in and to the state fair and out to lovers lake for stargazing. he wants dates and sleepy make out sessions and movie nights on saturdays.

but steve likes eddie so he’ll take whatever eddie’s willing to give him. he knows it might make him pathetic or whatever, but he’s accepted it. it’s fine. he’s just waiting for the day eddie stops showing up, for the day that eddie looks at him and tells him enough is enough, that it’s been fun and all but eddie’s on to bigger and better things.

saturday nights are the worst. steve knows eddie plays the hideout almost every weekend and steve’s left to sit home alone thinking about what eddie might be getting up to out at the dive bar. he knows what eddie looks like when he performs, knows how beautiful he looks in the low lights. he’s seen the way the audience looks at eddie while he’s on stage, grinding his hips into his guitar. it makes steve’s stomach hurt just thinking abt it. and sure, more often than not, eddie comes crawling into steve’s window in the late hours after his show ends, sweaty and smiling, high on adrenaline. those are steve’s favorite moments, the moments when he gets to kiss the look of triumph off of eddie’s face, when he gets to watch that look get replaced by a look of pure pleasure. but one day, probably soon, eddie won’t come crawling through his window and steve will be left alone in the worst case scenario.

so when a customer at family video gives steve a look, smiling, and asks him if he’s busy this saturday, steve can’t really find a reason to blow him off. the guy—pete—is dressed in a cut up band tee, his hands in his pockets as he leans against the counter, all cool confidence and charm. steve can’t help but compare him to eddie. but steve doesn’t want to be left in the dust when eddie and dustin and robin all eventually leave this shitty little town, so he agrees to a date. what’s one date gonna do? he knows eddie dates, even though they don’t really talk abt it. it’s not like he’s doing anything wrong.

for the first time ever, steve is the one getting picked up on a saturday night. pete rings the doorbell, leads steve out to his beat up pick up, and even opens the door for steve to slide it. steve feels something a little fuzzy in his chest and can’t help but smile as pete gets into the drivers seat. pete starts up the car and pulls out of the driveway. once they turn out of steve’s neighborhood, pete reaches over to slide his hand into steve’s.

“so i heard abt this pretty cool spot. live music, pool, beer,” pete glances over at steve and squeezes his hand. “you in?”

steve’s breath hitches a little. he’s kind of missed this, the promise of a first date, the magic of things just starting out. it feels even better to be on the other side of it, to have someone else take control. he pushes aside the wish that this was someone else.

“sounds good,” he finally responds, shooting pete a small smile. pete grins.

ten minutes later, they pull into a gravel parking lot and steve’s stomach drops. there aren’t that many bars in hawkins and even fewer places that host live music on the weekends. he should have known, really, that the one place they’d end up is the one place eddie’s guaranteed to be on a saturday night.

i’ve been sitting on this draft since the fall. inspired by rory and logan at that one tarantino party in gilmore girls. heard ao3 was gonna be down for a couple of hours, so here u go lol awkward spot to land on but part ii to come :P encourage me to finish this…

[thinkinonsense]

forgive if it’s a bit scatterbrained but hear me out… some sort of reverse corruption w old man!logan >///< i just feel like he won’t be the type of guy who’d immediately be into having a thing w young!reader. i feel like he won’t even take it seriously at first or there’s def gonna be more resistance from him, he’d probably feel initially repulsed by the idea of even beginning to think of them that way given how young they are. but reader is bold bold, so they’re gonna keep pushing and pushing until they’ve got him where they want him. but even if she’s practically sinking down on him, logan is still probably gonna be like “fuck’s wrong with you, huh? old enough to be your fucking grandfather, kid. c’mon, you don’t really want this.”

poor old man’s just too decent for his own good :(

old man!logan x young bold fem!reader *mdni

logan couldn't stand you. how young and ambitious you were; how you couldn't just take no as a fuckin' answer. you thought it was cute but logan found it rather obnoxious. you were persistent with your attraction towards the older man; frequenting the only bar in town that logan was still welcomed in.

"what are we drinking tonight, lo?" your voice was a siren song that he wished he could turn off.

"whiskey." he mumbles against the glass.

the mean glare he sent your way would've made anyone else run in fear, but not you. instead smiling up at him with bambi eyes. at first, logan thought you were just dumb, not picking up on his signals but as it turned out, you're just stubborn.

every friday night, you sat on the stool next to him. you should've been flirting with guys your age by the pool table but no, you would rather get rejected by the old man who drinks alone. at one point even the bartenders started to think that you two were together which logan quickly shut down.

"c'mon, at least let me pretend that i'm yours," you whine, swirling around your second fruity drink tonight.

"you don't want to 'be mine', kid," he said in a stern voice, similar to one you would use on a child who won't behave.

"aaand...why not?" you ask him, crossing your arms and already getting pissy. "don't gimme that bullshit about you being 'too old' either."

"has anyone ever told you that you're-"

"pretty? hilarious? tight? yeah, a few times actually."

logan sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. he tries to give you some sympathy but there's only so many times that you can burn your hand on the stove until you learn your lesson.

"look, cherry..." logan sets his glass down. you adored when he called you, cherry because that meant he was paying attention to you and what you drank, always having to top it off with a cherry. "i'm probably your grandfather's age-"

"don't care." you interrupt him, leaning forward to stare into his eyes and run a hand through his hair. "your grey hair is so hot, lo. should let me pull on it sometime."

logan was finding it more difficult to resist you. almost letting out a groan when you pull slightly. logan could smell your arousal forming; clouding his vision.

"why don't you throw your panties in someone else's direction, huh? i'm sure those boys over there wouldn't mind." logan snarls, getting fed up with your attitude.

it wasn't that he didn't find you attractive, quite the opposite really. maybe if he was younger or you were older then he wouldn't mind your flirty personality so much but that's not the way that the world works. logan is -whether or not he wants to admit it- old and he didn't have time to put up with your whiney shit.

"okay." you shrug, getting up from the barstool.

logan doesn't believe that you'll actually go talk to those boys. in one minute your ass will be back here annoying him. he was sure of it.

then ten minutes passed and giggles were still falling from your lips. nothing the guys said was actually funny but you played it up to look better. there was one guy who you actually didn't mind talking to; both of you went to the same college and shared the same major. for a second, you'd completely forgotten about the man burning holes into your side.

the two of you talked for a while, exchanging stories while you leaned against the pool table in your tiny cut-off shorts. logan watched those boys gawk at you; staring everywhere but your face.

"i know right! her class was horrible! all she did was-" your words fell short when someone grabbed your upper arm, attempting to pull you away from the guy, who you think his name was josh, or john, or jake? you couldn't really remember and you definitely didn't care.

"c'mon kid, i'll give you a ride home." logan growled in your ear.

"oh, it's okay!" you chirp like a little bird at him. "think i'll find another way home tonight."

it's just a facade, logan told himself. you were just trying to prove a point. always stubborn.

"i'm not messing 'round, kid-"

"leave her alone, old man." the kid interrupted, giving logan a push.

logan snarls, about to teach this boy a lesson but you are faster; heel-kicking him in the nuts. the boy hunched over, allowing you to be ear level with him.

"fuck off." you spit, angrily before walking away.

logan looked at you completely dumbfounded. he had no other choice than to follow you blindly outside of the bar. he found you leaning against his truck; under the dim street light, logan would've misplaced you for some angelic figure.

"mind takin' me home, lo?" you ask him, for once not acting like some horny little rabbit towards him.

he nods, fishing out his keys. you give him directions to your apartment. the silence in the car makes you think logan's mad at you for real this time. you pushed it too far, embarrassing him and yourself this time. logan wasn't this dirty old perv who would actually give you the time of day, and maybe it was time for you to face that reality.

"i just wanted to say sorry for everything." your voice is low and quiet. afraid logan won't even acknowledge you. "i know that i should've left you alone a long time ago. you wouldn't want someone like me anyway-"

the car came to a dead halt in the driveway. logan turns to face you and you fear the worst; afraid he will yell at you.

"do you seriously think i wouldn't want you?" he asks. "you haven't left my mind since the day we bumped into each other at the bar and i spilled my whisky down your shirt. remember that, cherry?"

you nod, carefully. that day was imprinted in your mind. your friends and you were celebrating your birthday when logan bumped into you at the bar on accident. he frantically apologized for ruining your white shirt which you suggested for him to lick you clean. it had been so long since someone had flirted with him that he didn't know how to react.

"i'd never seen someone look so pretty and sticky at the same time." logan's hand gently caresses your cheek.

"could've seen it more often if you had fucked me like i wish you would've." the words fall out without pressure, making logan smirk. no matter how much you tried, you were desperate for him.

"you've got one dirty fuckin' mouth, cherry."

"it gets dirtier than that."

"hmm... don't know if that's possible."

"i could show you if you like."

the offer hangs hot in the truck. logan leans back into his seat, asking for forgiveness on what he's about to do. three light taps on his thigh and you crawl right into it.

"atta fuckin' girl, cherry." he groans as you grind against his crotch and bite on his neck.

"also for the record, the only person i want to have my panties is you, logan." you purred in his ear, referring back to your earlier conversation at the bar.

"i know, sweetheart. i know." he chuckles, watching you kick off your shorts and underwear.

once your back in his lap, you unbuckle his belt and wait eagerly for him to have his way with you. yet, logan doesn't offer anything.

"if you want to fuck an old man like me then you need to get used to doin' all the work, cherry." he says, half-joking. "can't keep up with an eager little thing like you."

you knew his game. to scare you off by acting like an asshole but you didn't mind doing the work to get what you want.

"fine with me." you smile, hands inching towards the glasses that hang on his button-down. "can't forget these, want you to see what you do to me."

logan groaned when you pulled him out of his pants, pumping him a few times before aligning him to your entrance. he was a bit bigger than you would've guessed, only making you wetter. just as you are about to sink down onto him, logan stops you, holding your hips in the air.

"fuck's wrong with you, cherry? you still want this, huh?" he taunts you, only getting a whine from you in response. "such a desperate little thing."

"p-p-please, logan." your hips wiggle against his tight grip. "want you... need you."

without another word, he lowers you down onto his length. both of you moan at the adjustment. your nails claw at logan's shoulders and you feel him twitch inside of you at the pain.

"happy now?" logan groaned, watching you bounce up and down on your own. his hands stayed on your waist, squeezing at the fat of your hips. "got what you fuckin' wanted."

"mhm..." you nod along dumbly agreeing to whatever he says. too busy trying to get his white button-down off of him. frustrated, you break open all the buttons.

once his chest was exposed, you litter it with kisses and dark bruises. for the first time, logan was happy that his healing abilities were slowing down so now he can admire your artwork longer. you grab both of his giant palms bringing one hand to your chest and taking the other thumb into your mouth, licking the pad of it before moving it down to your clit. tracing circles in a way that made your head fall back with your mouth wide open.

"do you always get this wet for older men or is it just for me, sweetheart?" logan asked, fist full of your hair.

"j-just you, lo..." you gasp.

logan's lips found your jaw, kissing up to your chin before capturing your lips. he wasn't a fan of fruity drinks but he loved the taste they left in your mouth. your backs against the wheel lazily and logan can tell that your orgasm is approaching.

"don't give up now, cherry." he teased. "you were doing so good, being a perfect little slut in my lap. what happened to her?"

you were too fucked out to say anything back and he knew it. logan finally took pity on you and started pistoling into you, listening to every pretty curse word that fell from your trembling lips.

"where do you want me, sweetheart?" logan grunts in your ear, pulling at the lobe as you come down from your high.

"inside, please."

that's all logan needed to hear to spill inside of you. the warmth indescribably flooded you. the two of you collapse in each other's arms, collecting yourself for a few minutes.

"told you, i'm a good fuck." you told him, looking up at him with messy hair and an unapologetic smile.

"didn't doubt you," he says, mirroring your smile as he moves some pieces of hair from your forehead. maybe logan could see you being a permanent person in his life.

"and to think..." your words drift off as you start to move again, feeling him get hard again inside of you. "we are just getting started."

[drefear]

Closer by NIN

This is part two for Nasty

Summary: You and Miguel have been finding things out about each other through your music choices.

TW: When I say that this one is rough, I mean that this type of sex could get you arrested. I'd bail him out. biting, scratching, dacrophilia, p in v, breeding kink, honestly just everything.

Miguel was panting a bit, rolling off of your body as you both came down from your high together. It had been a few weeks since he listened to that damn song you loved and found out about what you liked in bed, fully using this to his advantage and constantly making you a squirming mess underneath him. 

His eyes stared at the ceiling with a smile on his lips, then closing them for a second before feeling you shift beside him in his bed. He felt your breast press onto his chest as you laid on top of him and his hands slid to hold your waist, peaking open one eye at your smirking face. 

“What’s going on in that head of yours, mamacita?” He questioned, tapping his fingers into your skin a bit as you rested your chin on his pecks. You could feel his heartbeat becoming normal again after your rigorous rounds. 

“I’m just wondering what your turn ons are? What makes you insatiable and want more?” You go on and on as he just chuckles, brushing some of the hair from your face as you stare at him with your big doe eyes, filled with curiosity. 

“You, mi amor.” He answers and closes his eyes again, pulling you tight to him as he rolls onto his side and pecks your forehead. “Now we need to sleep, we have an early debriefing tomorrow.” He mumbled and you pouted a bit, pushing out your bottom lip even though his eyes were closed. 

You maniacally rubbed your hand against his still half-hard cock and his grunted, grabbing your wrist quickly to stop you. “Bebe.” His tone had shifted to authoritarian fast and you let out a ‘hmph.’

“One more, papi, please. One more round and I’ll sleep like a baby.” You begged and his eyes opened as an amused grin fell on his full lips. “I promise.” You finished and he yanked one of your legs around his hips, burying his face into your neck. 

“I can’t so no to my precious girl.” he nipped as you giggled, and you both continued once more, before falling asleep. 

The next day, Miguel was exhausted. One more round turned into three more rounds and then sex on the bathroom floor, in his kitchen, and giving him head in his elevator. 

So you could say it was definitely worth it to him. 

You brought out a sexual prince in him, someone caring and full of sweet, buttery smooth words that made your panties a swimming pool in the middle of July. And he was always welcome to dive in. 

“Wow. That’s a new record.” Jess spoke and you looked around, confused. “The hickeys, I mean.” She points to your neck and you immediately close the mask of your suit to avoid her scrutiny any more. She laughed lightly, “don’t be like that, remember that I’m technically the one who led him to give you said hickeys.” She prompts and sits, leaning on your desk. “So I’m guessing it’s all going good?” 

“Better than good, Jess. He’s- he’s like a God in bed.” 

“Wow. He must really be into it.” 

“What do you mean?” You asked, now scrunching your brows together. 

“Well, listen- he’s an attractive guy, and you’re not the only person with eyes at the HQ. He’s slept with a few in the past before he met you, but it was always a one-and-done thing, so I’m just impressed that he’s opened up about what he’s into.” 

And then you sunk down in your seat. “What… he’s into?” You questioned. 

“Well, yeah. You two always do what you both want, right? He used to complain about how vanilla most people were, so you must be doing something right.” She stands again and walks off. 

Leaving you alone to your thoughts. What… he wanted? You assumed that he was into what you were into, since you’d found him jerking off to exactly the things you’d wanted to hear, especially after that song- 

The song!

Oh, Jess and her big mouth probably told him about your love for that song! You blushed in embarrassment as you thought about him submitting to what you wanted. 

You didn’t want him to only focus on your turn ons, you wanted compromise and to share his darker fantasies. Isn’t that what a relationship was? 

“Lyla,” you called out and found the little AI pop up in front of you. “I need to know what sexual interests Miguel has.” The orange hologram sputtered a cough for a second while you rolled your eyes at her overdramatic display. “Lyla, you don’t even breathe.” 

“If I did, I'd be gasping in shock and clutching my pearls.” She shot back and you just sighed in defeat. “Besides, those files aren’t accessible to just anyone. You need permission from Miguel or me.” She folded her arms.

“Wait- permission? Like… his passcode?” You blurted out with hopes and Lyla nodded. 

“Well, yes, but-“ 

“Thanks Lyla.” You cut her off and hurried to his office, ignoring the hologram calling back to you. Your steps finally made it to the dark office Miguel used, more like a workshop for a robotics technician, but you didn’t dare correct him when it came to the Society. 

“Miguelito?” You called out, testing out a theory. When silence was your only companion in the room, you smiled and continued your plans. 'Perfect!' You cheered to yourself and hopped to swing onto his platform. 

The screens were much higher than you could see or reach, so you jumped up to sit on his desk and tap along the floating screens. You found what you were looking for after a minute, being greeted by Lyla once more. 

“You know, he’ll be made when he finds out.” She announced and you shrugged. 

“Not if I put what I find to good use.” You answered and the AI pretended to wretch, feigning nausea. 

“Gross. Hold on, if it’s that important to you, I might be able to bypass the code. But I’ll deny ever being here if you throw me under the bus.” Lyla answered and tapped something, then letting you watch the code fill itself. 

“This is his porn history. He doesn’t know I can see it, and I’m happy he doesn’t because that conversation would be really weird.” She pops a few screens, but most of them are just… 

“Is this... my social media?” You wobbled on the desk for a second from leaning back in shock. 

“Yeah, it tends to get him going pretty easily. Sometimes he listens to certain music, too.” She adds and you look directly at her, making her sigh and hold her glasses in disappointment. “I hate that I’m enabling you.” 

“Don’t stop now.” You demand and she lets his playlist pop up, one titled after you. 

Most of the songs seem to be very lovey dovey- and that’s when you find it. 

“Nine inch nails…?” Your surprise was evident as you read the band name once more. “I listened to this band in high school.”

“So did he. Believe it or not, he was a little rebellious in high school. I think it was the daddy issues.” Lyla tapped the song and the strange sounds from the song played heavily. 

“Thanks Lyla!” You tapped her away and ran from his desk, trying to make it as though you had never been there. Your mistake. 

That night, you began playing the song while cooking and tried to focus on the lyrics. 

“You let me violate you 

You let me desecrate you 

You let me penetrate you 

You let me complicate you”

Your jaw dropped, listening to the words. Oh.

The song exuded dominance and power, something very Miguel. But you didn’t think he could be so… rough. Of course he could be rough, the man had fangs and claws, but you thought he was much more into sentimental experiences, making love and such. You didn't realize he wanted to fuck.

Pressing your palms flat into the counter, you'd long forgotten your meal when the chorus bursts through your speakers. 

“I wanna fuck you like an animal 

I wanna feel you from the inside 

I wanna fuck you like an animal 

My whole existence is flawed 

You get me closer to God”

Your knees became jelly as you imagined him saying thing these things to you, gravel voice smirking as you fall to the ground before him and worship him like he deserves- like he would demand. 

“you tear down my reason

(Help me) it's your sex I can smell 

(Help me) you make me perfect

Help me become somebody else”

You could feel the desperation in the reverb of the songs drums. It’s no wonder he always inhales so deeply when he eats you out, he’s letting his animalistic instincts take over. He’s technically part spider, which is inherently an animal. He literally needs to fuck you like an animal to feel his whole DNA’s satisfaction. 

“I wanna fuck you like an animal 

I wanna feel you from the inside 

I wanna fuck you like an animal 

My whole existence is flawed 

You get me closer to God”

You breath hitches and you hear the door close, your head shooting up as you can hear the sound of his boots coming closer, spider senses tingling from behind you. 

“So… the scent of your wet pussy was all over my desk when I got back from Peter's universe… want to tell me why?” He inquired and you wanted to answer, but the hand sliding up your body and the thoughts plaguing your mind from the still-playing song we’re holding your tongue hostage. “No answer? My good girl always answers me, what's wrong? His gentle kisses land on the slope of your neck and you give him more access by tilting your head.

“What if I don’t want to be a 'good girl' tonight? What if…” he freezes and starts to put everything together. You snuck into his office, this song, your pheromones filling the room. 

“What if what?” He growls and you practically cum at the sound of his aggravated voice hissing at you. 

“What if… I want you to do what the song says… and fuck me like an animal.” 

His brain drowns in conflicted emotions. He wants nothing more to practically maim your skin with his claws and teeth, fucking you so roughly that you beg him to stop and take a break, plead for him to breed you like a whore, to hear you crying from how hard he’s going, how bad it hurts and amazing it feels. He wants to see you wake up with a limp in your walk and a belly full of his potential children. 

But then he also doesn’t want to scare you away. He doesn’t want you to be forced to do those things just because you want him to finish, to feel satisfaction. He’s more than satisfied with you, loves the sex you two have, he doesn’t need-

The words fly through his head, but everything stops when you roughly grab his cock through his suit and get onto your knees before him. 

“Mi corazón… you don’t know what you’re asking for.” He encourages you to stand up again, to stop asking for this, but you bury your face into the fabric and breathe in deeply. 

“Please, I need it in my mouth. I want you to fuck my mouth.” You beg and who is he to deny such a gorgeous request when he can see your fat tits practically spilling from the keyhole of your spider suit from this angle. 

“Fuck. Fine.” He says through gritted teeth and yanks your head backwards by your hair, disabling his suit completely as his cock pops out and smacks you a bit. He likes the sounds, likes the view of his face smothering precum across your cheeks and lips. And he wants more. “You like the idea of me suffocating you on my cock, forcing myself down your throat for you to suck?” He slaps his hard dick across your face and because of the weight and width, it actually kinda stings. “That’s it, my little slut… so horny just for me, so hungry to take my dick.” He roughly grabs your face and forces your mouth open, smushing your cheeks in his large hands and tapping his tip on your tongue. “Open wide and stick out that tongue.” He commands and you comply, tongue out and mouth open for him. 

He slams into your mouth until you can’t take much more, still missing a few inches of him. “Relax your throat, or I’ll fuck it so hard that you’ll be forced to.” He threatens and you try to lessen your muscles tightening. Pulling your hair into his body until your nose is smashed against his pelvis, dark happy trail against your lips.

The gagging makes him practically cum then and there, but he won’t let this end just yet. No, he needs to enjoy this more. unbeknownst to him, you were on the verges of an orgasm just from him fucking into the back of your throat one time. You hand slides down to touch your clit and rub yourself in gentle circles.

Sliding out, he rams his cock back into your waiting cavern and begins a relentless speed, shoving himself further and further each time until he can see the bulge of his dick in your esophagus. His head falls back and his fingers tighten in your hair, tears flowing freely down your cheeks as he brutalizes your throat and refuses to stop. His hand pins your head between the countertop of the kitchen and his postponing hips, refusing to stop until he feels your nails on one hand digging into his thighs and making him almost cum. You groan on his dick and he realizes that sound, he knows that's a signal that you've just finished with your own hand. He yanks himself out and starts fisting his cock fast as you cough and gasp for air, tears still forming mascara tracks down your cheeks. 

He bends down and hurls you over his shoulder, then throwing you onto the ground of the living room and making you do a split on your back, blushing at how exposed he had you. Three sharp claws formed from his fingers and he shredded the hips of your suit, bending down to your tits and latching the top in his mouth so when he turned his head, the rip was loud and your nipples were open to the cold air. 

“You’re going to lay here and take my cock until the only words you know how to say are ‘Miguel please fuck me.’ And I’m not stopping until you pass out from exhaustion.” He declares and puts the tip of his dick in your entrance, not even wasting a second and thrusting into you completely, making a scream tear through your throat in pain as he once again found your hair and thrusted. The lack of accommodation made you tighter than you’d ever felt, jerking hips his harder as your hand fell onto his abs to push him away, hiccups coming from your lips as the pain begins to grow at how hard he could go. 

“That’s it, shut the fuck up and take this cock. Cry about it, try to get away, but I’ll pull you back and fuck. You. Harder.” He rammed his hips into yours to punctuate every word of the end of the sentence. “I’ll fuck you so hard, you won't be able to get up for work tomorrow.” He says as he pounds his tip into your cervix, most definitely bruised and possibly hurt worse. But god, did it feel good, watching him get so crazy, so psychotically obsessed with you. 

“Migu-el!” Your words get broken up with as I should have been gone. 

“That’s it, my little bitch in heat, I’ll fuck you so hard, your entire bottom half with be black and blue.” He grunted and groaned, starting to feel like an animal on the discovery channel, then bending down and biting into your skin hard. Blood drew at the little punctures and he continued to bite deep, painful marks all over, looking like you were stung by a bunch of bees. His hands slid up your back and you felt the claws in his fingers latch onto you, scrapping across your smooth body and forming bloodied lines and marks of what looked like pure aggression, but if only everyone who saw them knows… 

You were fucking loving this.

Your body looked like an anomaly mission gone wrong; dark, scattered bruises that looked like they’d take weeks to heal, punctures all over your body like you were a piece of cheese, and red scraps like you’d tumbled into a bed of razors. All done by Miguel and his primal needs, and you’d let him do it again and again as long as he used his cock to completely pummel your insides. 

“F-fuck me, please, Miguel…” you gasped and choked out as his eyes blared red like sirens on a cop car, heaving and large above you. You orgasm around him and he makes a sound as if he’s a roaring lion.

“That’s it, ask me to destroy this slutty pussy, to breed you, to own you.” His words come out in an octave you didn’t know he could reach and your back arches, keeping his dick in you as he flips you over. 

Like a battering ram in and out of your pussy, he holds your arms and yanks your body back and forth on his cock like his own life sized pocket pussy. “Perfect little cocksleeve, letting me use her body like a fuckin whore. Only mine, no one else can touch you, mine.” he grunts and growls as he attacks your back again, wet lines of him basically slobbering all over you like a dog. He humps into you at a dizzying speed and you cum again, the searing burn of a too-fast orgasm swimming through your belly as he smiles and ruts upward, bullying your g-spot more and more. 

“One more, you can do one more, right?” He insists and makes sharp, hard movements against that spot. You weep louder as the lewd sounds of your wet pussy sucking him in and milking him dry echo around the room. Miguel moves to web together your arms behind your back, holding them now with one hand and grasping the back of your neck like a handle with the other, smashing his hips into your suffocating insides. "I'm not asking, you will give me one more, I want to feel your cunt clamp down on me again and try to suck the cum out of my cock."

Everything becomes white noise as another painful and overwhelming orgasm wracks though your body, making you jerk and shutter wildly as he holds you in his control and rides you through it. 

“That’s it, you’re my fucktoy, my personal little cunt for me to ruin and get pregnant. Gonna be all knocked up, gonna let me cum in you and fill you up. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Fuck this cunt for the rest of my fuckin life.” His words send him tumbling into his own climax, shooting his seed so deep inside you that you swear it’s gonna spill out of your mouth. Miguel’s dick is so deeply buried within you as he cums that your legs shake and the muscles cramp, dropping below him. You’re completely fucked out, everything feeling like an irritation to your bloody, bruised skin. 

And the look on Miguel’s face is heartbreaking once he looks at you. Yes, it makes his dick hard again, but it makes his mind unravel into panic. He needs to apologize. How could he mark you up like this, damage you like this? He never should have let go, never should have-

“Wanna go again?” You mumble out and give him a little smirk. And he completely malfunctions.

“You… enjoyed that?”

“Are you joking? That was the most amazing sex of my entire life. We can do the sweet sappy stuff I taught you some other time, now abuse my cunt with your cock again please.” You beg and Miguel thinks he’s gonna lose his mind. 

You will be the death of him, and as he plunges into your hole once more, propping a pillow under your hips, he thinks about what type of sex playlist you two are gonna make together.

[taintedcigs]

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ୨ ୧ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ 𝐔𝐍𝐖𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃.

summary: in which you show your best friend the new christmas lingerie you bought for a guy, and he finally snaps and shows you how much better he is for you. (wc:2.8k+)

warnings: smut smut smut, minors DNI, p in v, unprotected (wrap it up irl), possessive!eddie, slight breeding kink, degrading, praises, kinda dom!eddie, but v soft dom/sub tones, kind of a daddy kink (its used like 2 times i can never properly do daddy kinks im stupid) no use of ‘y/n’, nicknames!

pairing: best friend!eddie munson x bratty!fem!reader

authors note: so i was just looking for christmas lingeries, and saw those bow ones that wrap around your body. and i was listening to sabrina carpenter's fruitcake ep and this was made oops. not proof-read ignore any mistakes pls or ill bite u. [EDIT: sorry for posting this a million times tumblr won't co-operate w me so i got rid of the dividers. i hope it works or im gonna bang my head against the wall.]

“Do you think Chris will like it?” You hummed, admiring yourself against the mirror, moving around with a giggle as anticipation pooled in Eddie’s tummy, his breath getting more ragged, and pants getting tighter around his relentless bulge. 

Speechless. 

Eddie stood speechless, gaze darkening the more he admired you, he didn’t even know which part of you he wanted to take a mental image of. 

It was like you stepped from his filthiest fantasies, giggling up at him with that alluring smirk on your face. God, you had to know what you were doing to him. 

The red bowknot wrapped around you perfectly, cradling your curves, tantalizing him further and further. You were his precious Christmas gift, just waiting to be unwrapped by him, and him only. 

Not that stupid jock who probably couldn’t even make you cum no matter how hard he tried. 

No, you needed him, you needed Eddie to unwrap you, and show you how to properly be punished for even suggesting if this was good enough for you to surprise your boy toy with. 

“N-no!” He spat quickly, getting up from the comfortable way he was sprawled on your bed.

Your head cocked to face him. “W-what? Do you not like it?” You jutted out your bottom lip, and he so badly wanted to bite those plushy lips, shut you up, and show you who fucking owned you. 

You had been teasing him non-stop lately, and this had been your last resort, you knew Eddie always fell for your jealous antics, but this had been too much, you knew this would finally push him off the edge, finally handle you the way you wanted to be handled, rough and possessive. 

Neither of you were good at communicating your feelings, but this, this is what you were good at. And you had been wanting Eddie ever since the two of you became best friends. 

There was something unspoken there, a line the two of you always wanted to cross, always handsy with each other, always too close, but never stepping over that boundary. And you were growing tired of it, the nights you spent with your fingertips circling over your clit, imagining his calloused hands, mewling for him. 

And the nights, the mornings, the showers he spent, abusing his hardened cock with the images of you sprawled out for him, begging to fuck him had been torturous enough.

He deserved this, he deserved you.  

This was it, and Eddie was willing to fuck over the friendship once and for all. To finally make you his. 

“N-no, I like- love it.” He stammered, taking a step closer to you, “but there’s no fuckin’ way he gets you like this.” 

You wanted to smirk, the excitement you felt in your tummy was unexplainable, heat pooling with a need for him as you wanted nothing more than to have him push you against the sturdy beige wall of your room, exploring you, marking you as his. 

“That inexperienced asshole, doesn’t deserve you,” he spat, pushing his body closer to yours, merely inches away from you, and you nodded dumbly at his words. 

“You need someone who can take better care of you, princess. That can handle you like you deserve to be handled, don’t you think?” He coos, hand dipping to the lacey bow that adorned your curves, everywhere he touches feels hot, so hot that you almost whine, just at the sensation of his rough hands. 

“Do you think he knows you better than me, angel?” He tsks mockingly and you’re quick to shake your head. 

“That’s what I thought too, baby…” He hums, running his fingertips over the soft fabric that barely covers your slit, “Do you think he can handle a brat like you? D’you think he can actually put you in your place like I would?”

His fingers now dance over the wrapped bow, teasingly, wanting nothing more than to unwrap it and see you fully, naked, and begging for him. 

Your thighs rubbed together with need, “Honey,” he hummed dangerously close to your ear, breath fanning against your cheeks, and you melted into him, “if I unwrap you, am I going to find you soaking for me?” He pressed open-mouthed kisses down the shell of your ear, tongue striping a lick down to your throat. 

The anticipation is killing you and you want to answer him, but his slight touches on your body are making it impossible, he’s fucking perfect, and could probably make you cum undone with just his words. 

You whimper slightly, glossy bottom lips still jutting at him and he tsks, “Nuh-uh… baby, I thought I told you not to be a brat.”

“Use your words, sweets.”

“Yes,” You breathed, barely, eyes opening wide to see the way his amber gaze darkened. 

“Yes, what?” He taunted, grip on your body getting tighter. 

“Y-yes, sir,” you gulped, gauging Eddie’s reaction obediently. 

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he smirks under his greedy moan, quick to let his hands roam around everywhere, fingertips slipping underneath the fragile fabric barely covering your slit, he groans when he realizes just how wet you are. 

“Is that all for me, baby?” He hums into your mouth, swirling your slickness inside of your clit, grinning while having no mercy on your lips, all biting and nibbling. 

You’re quick to nod, breathless when he’s basically everywhere, and it isn’t long before he frustratingly unties the stupid bow getting in the way of him and you. 

With a growl he almost rips it apart, tossing it aside, and his eyes widen at the sight in front of him. 

“F-fuck, princess, you’re so fuckin’ perfect,” he moans needily, eyes taking in the sight of you, naked, pooling for him. Perfect tits, waiting to be sucked by him, bare ass waiting to be marked up by him, crimson red handprints would look perfect on it, he decides. 

He presses his plushy lips onto yours, desperate and sucking on your tongue, while his finger slides inside of your tight cunt, other grabbing onto your breasts, and you can do nothing more than mewl for him. 

Then his finger retracts from your sloppy walls, you whine at the loss and he’s quick to shove his fingers down your throat, you happily accept it, sucking greedily on his fingers, tasting yourself on his fingers, it’s all so filthy and you throb more and more for him. 

His darkened amber gaze is on you, almost groaning at the way you suck on his fingers, wishing he could fuck your greedy throat with his aching cock. But not now, because fuck, he needs to be inside of you. 

With a growl he wastes no time picking you up, tossing you against the bed with a soft plop, and you giggle when he settles beneath your thighs, enjoying how rough and attentive he is.

His grabby hands are everywhere, hips rolling into you, but he’s far too clothed, yet you can still feel his bulge pressing against your thigh, making your sloppy cunt clench around nothing. You’re desperate, and he feels big, so big that your mouth waters at the thought of him not fitting into your mouth, his cock stretching you out, fully.  

You tug at his pants, almost signaling for him to take them off, so that he could finally be inside of you. He taunts your desperate attempt with a breathy laugh, “Patience, doll,” he tuts, voice low and gravelly, making you hum sweetly. 

He wets his lip before his lips attack you again, hands giving more attention to your breasts, pinching your nipples to earn more whines out of your pouted lips, wasting no time to dive down into your aching cunt, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses all over your breasts, your stomach, and your dripping inner thighs, doing it all with a grin while he watches you shudder beneath him. 

He takes his time admiring your pussy, padded thumb slightly playing with your clit as he watches your eyes squeeze shut at his movements, he groans at your lips glistening with arousal. Perfect, just fucking perfect. And he doesn’t know how much longer he can handle not being inside of you. 

His cock is strained against his zipper, and it hurts, just the thought of your velvety walls engulfing him is enough to have him explode in his pants. He needs you. 

“Such a perfect fuckin’ pussy,” he growls, head dipping between your shaking thighs, inhaling and tasting you once he places open-mouthed kisses on your pussy lips, and your clit, giving you all the attention you need. 

“Tastes so fuckin’ sweet, too,” he hums into your walls, lapping up at your juices like a man-starved, and you’re too far gone to register anything, nodding dumbly and trashing beneath him. 

“Need you to sit on my face after we’re done, baby,” he purred. “But I need to fuck you now, doll, need to feel this tight cunt wrapped around my cock, yea?” He pulls back slightly, and you pout at the sudden loss of contact, it makes him grin, knowing how desperate you are for him. 

Frustrated, and restrained, he unbuckles his belt quickly, even quicker to take off his boxers, with a hiss, his cock slaps against his stomach, your eyes widening with it. 

No wonder you felt his bulge against your ass every time he passed by you, his cock slightly brushing against your ass, making you whimper quietly. No wonder you always felt the need to rub your thighs together when he wore those slutty grey sweatpants, he was packing. 

Slightly curved to the left, thick, and deliciously beading with pre-cum, his angry crimson red tip faced your inner thighs, you nearly whined at the sight. “S-so big,” you murmured, doe-eyes looking up at him with so much promise. 

“I’m going to treat you the way you deserve to be treated,” he grins up at you. “Gonna ruin you for everyone else, sweetheart.” You whine at that, his possessiveness slicking your thighs further as if that was even possible. 

“P-please,” you looked up at him, desperate. 

He tugs at his cock at your mewls, teeth drawing on his bottom lip at you. All sprawled out for him, legs spread apart, glistening pussy greedily waiting for his cock. 

He reaches for the condom but you’re quick to stop him. “No, no. ‘M on the pill,” you murmured. He nearly groans at your words. The thought of fucking you raw, feeling your walls hug him sweetly shoots pleasure through his entire body. 

“P-please, sir, wanna feel you,” you cry out, nearly wailing, glossy eyes looking down at him, pleading. 

And who’s he to deny you? 

“Want to feel you inside, fully, been waitin’ for this so long, Eds.” He groans at that, his cock aching, wanting to spill his load inside of you. 

“Already, beggin’ honey?” A teasing throaty chuckle escapes his lips, he’s more than amused, letting just the tip of his fat cock tease over your entrance, pre-cum smearing all over your throbbing clit.

“Mhmm,” you unashamedly moan. “I need you, been spendin’ too much time, touching myself to the thought of you, your cock… Need you to stretch me, ruin me, wanna be yours so badly,” you whined, voice cracking as you desperately thrashed beneath him, his teasing making you pathetic and dumb. 

That’s all he needed to hear before he slammed inside of you with a rough thrust, he couldn’t help himself, knowing that he could’ve had you all this time, made you his, and you were fucking touching yourself to the thought of him? 

He was about to lose it, and you were quick to cry out at his size, your tight walls trying to accommodate his fat cock, feeling him stretching you fully. 

“F-fuck!” He gritted through his teeth, holding onto your hips with a bruising hold. Your whines and your pussy clamping around his cock was enough to send him into a frenzy, wanting nothing more than to fill you up. 

“Eds, t-too much,” you wail out, glossy eyes looking up at him. 

“Ssshh, I know, baby, I know,” he coos condescendingly, making you whine more. “But you can handle it, can’t you, princess?” He bit on your bottom lip with a grin, “Look how well this greedy cunt is pullin’ me in,” he thrusts further into you with a groan. 

You cry out at the intrusion, welcoming the way the slight pain turns fully into pleasure, his cock driving into you with such force that you can almost feel him everywhere. “See? Such a good girl f’me, mmpf, just like that, honey,” he praises, flutters fill your stomach and heat rushes to your cheeks. 

He’s so perfect and you’re so proud to be his good girl. His padded thumb is quick to find its way to your clit, circling it gently to elicit more pretty whines from you. “This is mine, now.”

With a groan, “you’re all mine.” He continues to gloriously pump into you, enjoying the way you look so fucked out, his fingertips rubbing against your clit, you feel so full, so fucking full. Eyes lulling the more his cock dives deeper into you. 

“All yours, daddy,” you breathe, not realizing what you just said, it makes Eddie hiss loudly as his movements pick up, eyes rolling to the back of his head with a delicious growl spilling from his lips. 

You’re going to be the fucking death of him. 

“P-princess, fuck, Jesus fuckin’, you can’t just say shit like that to me,” He spills out through gritted teeth, enjoying the way you move your hips against him, desperate for more friction. 

“Look at you, shit,” Eddie groaned, pressing his thumb into your clit with more pressure, circling it with a grin, cock hitting that spongey spot deliciously while your back arched in pleasure. 

Babbles, and incoherent pleas left your lips, and Eddie grinned at the way you looked so cockdrunk on him, clenching around his cock, letting him know that you were getting closer. 

“Such a whore for me, aren’t ya?” He mocked, rough hands squeezing your cheeks as he made you look at him, “Love the way you go so dumb on me, pretty girl, not a single thought in that lil’ head of yours, only my cock, isn’t that right?” 

Your breathing picks up at his words, orgasm pooling in your tummy, you know you’re about to lose it soon, “Daddy, please,” you whimpered, not even knowing what you were begging for, it was all too much, his filthy words, his thumb on your clit, the way he was deep inside of your walls, hitting spots you didn’t know that existed. 

He growls at that, sinking further into you, “I know, baby,” he murmurs into your heated skin, reveling in the way you claw at his back, freshly manicured nails marking him. “You wanna cum, pretty girl? Go ahead, and cream my cock like the good girl you are, hmm?” His hold on your hips was rough, his other hand still circling your swollen clit, hips smacking against yours with such force that you were sure you were entirely gone now. 

“Come with me, Daddy,” Is what you managed to slip past your lips before you couldn’t handle it anymore, head falling back, mouth forming into a perfect ‘o’ shape, you felt that tight coil snap in your tummy, making your vision blurry as you sobbed beneath him. 

Your pussy squeezed and gripped his cock deliciously and with one more of his hips rutting into you, your orgasm was quick to trigger his. “Shit, gon- gonna fuck my load into you, angel.” He growled through gritted teeth, thrusts becoming shallow. 

“Gonna fill you with so much cum that y-you won’t get it outta you for days, f-fuck!”

“Feel s-so fuckin, good, baby, shit, shit, shit!” He grunted, and finally spilled his load inside of you with a loud groan, painting your overstimulated walls, cock twitching inside of you as his groans mixed with yours. 

Breathless, fucked out, and just a little sated, he was quick to slip out of you only when he made sure your pussy milked him dry and that every single drop was inside of you. 

Both of you struggled to come down from your highs, all those years of pent-up sexual frustration too much to even sate. 

“We’re nowhere near done,” Eddie hummed breathlessly, his head cocking toward you. 

With a smirk, you turned to him. “Oh, yeah?” You quirked a brow, excitement, and pleasure were quick to pool at your tummy. 

“Mmmhmm, still need to punish you for that whole Chris thing, princess. Even though it worked,” He gave you a hearty chuckle, “Don’t think you can tease me like that and get away with it, pretty girl.”

“And what did you have in mind?”

“Those Christmas lights you hung up on that tree,” He pointed toward the giant tree, decorated with lots of flashy lights. 

“I’ve heard they were a really good substitute for ropes, hmm? And the best form of punishment for bratty girls,” he grinned wickedly, attacking your lips again without giving you a chance to breathe. 

[hairmetal666]

Steve has a problem. Not a big problem--not an Upside Down-sized problem--but still. A problem. In the form of Eddie Munson. And not the person Eddie Munson, who is second only to Robin in the hierarchy of Steve's heart, but his feelings in regard to one Eddie Munson. Namely, his enormous, devastating, gay crush on the guy.

And he knows, okay, he knows Eddie is gay, but that doesn't mean he wants Steve. Eddie is probably into other metalheads or dnd nerds. What could Steve, with his sports and his polo shirts, possibly have to offer?

He's coping, though. Or, at least, he thought he was until the Family Video phone rings and Jonathan invites them to the New Year's Eve party he and Argyle are throwing at their new apartment.

"We have to make a no-date pact." He tells Robin as soon as the phone is back in the cradle.

"Or you could just ask Eddie."

"You could just ask Nancy." He raises an eyebrow.

She lets out a slow breath. "Yeah, okay. No-date pact. I'm down."

It's just as easy to get Nancy and Eddie on board. Nancy just laughs and says "yeah, like I'd bring a date to the party my ex-boyfriend is hosting with his new boyfriend. How you do you even start to explain that dynamic?"

And Eddie snorts right in Steve's face (it's not cute, it's not), says, "Right, cause my dating pool in Hawkins, Indiana is just ripe with guys who want to ring in the New Year with me."

Steve wants to say that he would be that guy, happily, giddily, but he can't risk blowing up his second most important friendship like that, not when Eddie's never given a fraction of a hint that he wants Steve too.

But that's his problem solved, right? The four of them aren't bringing dates. Easy-peasy.

Unfortunately, Steve's life hasn't ever worked out like that, and the party turns out to not be only their little end of the world crew and a handful of people Jon knows from his grocery store job, but an actual motherfucking party.

It takes almost ten minutes for him and Robin to navigate through the sea of strangers to find Jon and Argyle handing out solo cups in the kitchen.

"Who are all these people?" He shouts over the pounding music, nothing like Steve's ever heard.

"Argyle got a job at the record store down the street," Jon yells.

"Co-workers." Argyle nods. "And a few of their friends."

"A few, right."

"The more the merrier. Right, my dude?"

"Sure." Steve takes a cup. "You seen Eddie around?"

"Living room, last time I looked." Jonathan answers.

"See you around?" Robin asks.

"At least meet up for the ball drop," Argyle answers.

They push their way into the cramped living room, and Steve searches for that familiar cloud of hair, the ripped black jeans. It takes a minute just for the sheer amount of bodies pressed into the small space, and when he sees him Eddie's--

He's standing against a wall, next to the stereo (of course), but there's someone with him. Someone who is tall and leanly muscled in a way that Steve isn't. Someone with long hair pushed back from his forehead. Someone with facial piercings in places Steve didn't even know you could pierce and tattoos and a chain hanging from his worn blue jeans and a bandana in his back pocket, just like Eddie.

And Eddie he's--he's gazing up at this dude with clear stars in his brown doe eyes, body angling towards the other man like he can't help but push more into his orbit.

Steve turns hard, Robin colliding with his side. "Steve, what the--oh."

"I hate New Year's Eve," Steve sighs, trying to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach. It's always been the kind of holiday that is high on expectation and low on follow-through.

"C'mon, I think I spotted Nance over by the bedroom."

He lets Robin guide him across the room, steadfastly not looking back at where Eddie is very obviously finding himself a date. It's okay, Steve reasons. It's okay because that was obviously the kind of guy Eddie would be into it. He knew he had, like, no chance. He shouldn't be disappointed. He shouldn't.

The evening slips away in the shove of people, in the solo cup that manages to always be full in his hand, and he tries as hard as he can to ignore the way Robin and Nancy start sharing the same space.

So much for the no-date pact. He would laugh if a sort of deep loneliness wasn't seeping into his bones.

There's a girl, though, across the room. She's in a short dress and glances at Steve from under hooded eyelids. He could make a move; could have someone to kiss at midnight; have someone just for the night. But then--his heart makes a pathetic patter--Eddie.

Eddie who is practically in that stranger's lap.

He goes out for a cigarette.

When he comes back inside, it's five minutes til midnight and Nancy and Robin are dancing slow and sweet to a song that is neither.

He's happy for them, almost incandescent with it, but the loneliness sinks deeper, reaches marrow, especially after he fails to find Eddie in the crowd.

Steve thinks it might be time to give the whole failed endeavor up for good, but Jonathan and Argyle, both in tiny 1987 novelty top hats, appear at his side.

"Stevie-boy!" Argyle bellows. He lifts Steve at the waist, twirling him, and Steve laughs despite himself.

"Keeping busy?" He asks.

Jonathan pounds him on the back, just a little too hard.

A guest yells from deep in the apartment, "one minute to midnight!" and the music turns off, the TV tuned to Dick Clark and turned up.

Nancy and Robin find their way over, Robin mouthing "sorry," on her way. He pulls her into a side-hug; he'll never begrudge her any happiness, even on his worst day.

From across the room, there's a crash, a short yelp, and then a familiar head of fuzzy brown curls makes its way to them.

"Sorry, sorry." Eddie apologizes as he shoves through the other guests.

"Hi, guys!" He beams at them, cheeks flushed. Steve looks away so he doesn't have to think about how beautiful Eddie is; about how he's not the one who made him blush so pretty.

The countdown on the screen reaches 30 seconds, and the party goers start chanting.

"What happened to--?" Steve can't help but asking.

"Psh, that dude? He's a punk. Plus, I couldn't imagine ringing in 1987 without you guys by my side."

Steve blushes and rolls his eyes. "Sap." He knocks his hip into Eddie's.

"You love it," Eddie wraps him in a loose hold.

The count is down to 10, the ball almost dropped, Jonathan and Argyle and Nancy and Robin making soft eyes at each other.

"What's going on in that head of yours, sweetheart?" Eddie knocks his head gently against Steve's.

"It's nothing."

"You're pouting." Eddie mimics him with a poked out lip.

The count is down to 5.

"Fuck, I just--I wanted to have someone to kiss at midnight, you know?"

The ball drops, the year changes over, the room cheers. His coupled up friends cling to each other in soft, joyous kisses.

Eddie's eyes flick to their friends, to the guests, all kissing and embracing and celebrating, then back to Steve.

With two careful fingers, Eddie lifts Steve's chin, makes it so he can't look away.

"Fuck it," Eddie says. He leans forward, kisses Steve with soft authority.

And Steve just--he just fucking--crumbles into it. He makes a soft noise, curls his fists into Eddie's t-shirt.

Eddie's hands work their way into his hair, pulling him closer. Steve goes eagerly, crushes their bodies together.

They kiss and they kiss, and it's already so far from a friendly New Year's kiss, but then Eddie's tongue swipes into Steve's mouth, and the kiss breaks.

"Um," Eddie says.

Steve can't respond because all his focus is on not giving into the weakness in his knees and collapsing to the floor.

"I've wanted you to do that all night," Steve says.

"Oh." Eddie's face blossoms into a slow smile. "Me too. A lot longer than that, actually."

It's Steve's turn to smile, and he does, so hard it hurts his cheeks. "Me too."

Eddie presses their foreheads together. "Happy New Year, Stevie."

Someone starts singing Auld Lang Syne loudly and off-key, but they're quickly drowned out by a chorus of accompanying voices.

"Happy New Year, Ed."

Steve pulls him in for another kiss. 1987 is already shaping up to be the best year of his life.

[fuctacles]

wiggly wormy wednesday

Thanks @formosusiniquis for tagging me!!! Here's a thing inspired by that one fanart of Eddie in that one t-shirt that I can't find now

Steve works during the summer as a pool boy. 

It's a good ego boost as he's been in high demand among the housewives in the area. His schedule is full, to the point he has to start declining some offers to have time for himself. When his phone rings with another job offer, he doesn't reject it right away because he's startled to hear a man's voice for a change. Then he hears he'll double the salary and he agrees. 

The address he jotted down leads him to the oldest mansion in town, dark and looming over the neighborhood. He understands the raise in money now and is glad that he told Robin where he'll be. 

The gate is open, so he pushes his way through the artfully neglected garden towards the door, where a note is waiting for him.

You'll find cleaning tools in the shed. Knock on the back door when you're done.

Steve knew of eccentric old people but this one was slowly taking the cake. He rounds the estate to find the pool behind it, and the cake is pulled out of his grip. Who in their right mind paints the pool red? 

By the state it's in, it probably hasn't been used in weeks. The surface is fully covered in leaves and twigs, and the tiles around it are covered in grime. It's a wild 180 after being called to clean pools just so he can hand out sodas and towels to a group of old ladies, but he rolls up his sleeves and gets to work.

Every now and then, he looks up from his work, expecting to find someone ogling him, but he never finds anyone. It's a weird thing to consider a constant of his job, but he came to expect it. Double-checking that he's really alone, he starts humming to himself to make the time go faster. If he's ever called here again, he might take a radio or a walkman with him. 

He's done surprisingly fast, with the sun still high when he goes to knock on the back door. His curiosity is through the roof to see what kind of person his employer is. 

He hears a click by his feet and when he looks down, he realizes the cat door has spat out an envelope. Inside he finds his payment and a note. 

Will double it if you come at 5pm next week

So Steve does, not worried much because the sun is still up, even if it casts ominous shadows around the mansion. 

In one of these dark corners, he spots a lawn chair, the shade doubled with a huge umbrella over it. He wonders if this time, some rich lady is going to join him. Or, the tiny bi-curious bone in his body supplies, the guy who hired him. For the time being, he focuses on his task. 

It's so dark, that he almost misses it. But when he does a double take as he's swiping the poolside, he yells. 

On the chair in the double shade, wearing all black, a huge straw hat, and sunglasses, sits a figure. Steve's eyes are confused as to why they're seeing a black-and-white picture in the middle of his technicolor world. 

The figure raises its hand, making its features more distinguishable. 

"Sorry!" says a voice Steve vaguely recognizes from the phone call. "Don't mind me, just getting my money's worth!" The man grins, sharp and bright, and relaxes against the chair with intent to stay, a glass of wine held in his hand.

Steve considers him for all of two seconds, before grabbing at the bottom of his t-shirt. Fuck it. This is what half of the job is about anyway.

The fabric hits the ground, and he gets a surprisingly goofy whoop of approval. 

tagging if u wanna join: @stevesjockstrap @yesdangerpls @stevieharringtonwifeguy @doublecherrypiediscosuperfly @adverbally

[torakowalski]

Continued from here but heading all the way back to the beginning. (Not yet) Olympic Swimmer Steve, Hawkins Public Pool, summer 1986:

Eddie isn't a natural swimmer, but he has to find some way to regain the strength those fucking bats took. So when he finds out that Steve and Max are both doing their physio in the public pool, he blows Wayne's mind by demanding he goes to Melvalds and buys Eddie some swim trunks.

Not that Eddie is a follower. But if the rest of Team Rehab is in the pool, then Eddie is gonna be in the pool too.

The problem is that now Eddie is in the pool. He's wet, he's exhausted, and he's wearing nothing except what's basically soaked, clingy underwear, while Steve fucking Harrington looks majestic and gorgeous, swimming lengths not ten feet away.

"It's better through binoculars," says Max. She's sitting on the edge of the pool, even more tired out that Eddie is. Eddie is half taking a break and half making sure she doesn't slide off the side and drown.

"Hm?" Eddie asks.

"Steve. Shirtless. It's hotter through binoculars."

Eddie has one second of limb-freezing, stomach-tightening terror, the same second he always gets, no matter whether someone is being too perceptive or whether he's deliberately outing himself.

He makes himself breath through it.

"Jesus Christ, Maxine," he says and gets kicked in the back for his troubles. He'd like to think the kick is gentle because she's worried about his injuries, but it's probably just the hardest she can kick, right now. "Maybe I'm looking at his form."

Max laughs. "Well, yeah."

Eddie gives up. He looks over his shoulder at her. She has the expression of a person who is cool about you being queer and also wants you to know that she's cool about you being queer and also is fifteen and doesn't want to have fucked up.

Eddie makes himself be brave back. "Is it me or is he just getting more built, while you and I flounder around over here, just trying to regain any muscles at all?"

"He's here like, all the time," Max says. "Like hours before us and hours after we go home. He says it turns his brain off."

Eddie can kind of see that; it's definitely harder to think about all the shit that went down at spring break when you're busy trying not to get chlorinated water up your nose.

"Doesn't he have his own pool though? I'm damn sure he has his own pool."

Max shrugs. "I think it got earthquaked." She lifts her head, using a hand to shield her eyes. "Hey, who's that?"

Eddie looks where she's looking and sees a middle aged dude in red swimming trunks and a white t-shirt squat down at the far end of the pool, catching Steve's attention when he surfaces after what must be his fiftieth length in a row.

They're too far away to hear what's being said, but Steve pushes his hair back off his face and bobs in place, clearing listening hard. They talk for a while, long enough that Eddie and Max both start shifting, Max - like Eddie - clearly wondering if they need to stage a rescue.

Then the guy nods to Steve and stands up, walking away, while Steve turns, looking around.

When he spots Eddie and Max, he swims over, all long, and golden and wet.

"Who was that?" Eddie asks, when Steve pops up next to them. "Trouble?"

"No." Steve shakes his head, clear drops of pool water flying from the ends of his hair. "No, he's a swim coach here. He says I'm good."

"Duh," says Eddie.

"You know you're good," says Max.

Steve grins. He does know he's good; it's written all over his face. But so is some bafflement and Eddie doesn't think that's faked.

"Yeah, but like, he wants to train me. He thinks I could compete?"

"Like at the Olympics?" Eddie asks, not totally sure where else swimming people go to swim.

Steve laughs, but only a little meanly. "Jumping a hell of a lot of steps there, Munson. But maybe State? I could maybe do State? I was supposed to be at tryouts last year, but." He shrugs.

"But Billy gave you a massive concussion," Max fills in for him.

Steve shrugs again.

Max kicks him, about as hard as she kicked Eddie. "You better have said yes to that guy or so help me I'll crawl after him myself."

Steve rolls his eyes at her, but they're sparkling. He looks excited, pleased in a way that Eddie hasn't seen for months. "Yeah," he says. "I said yes."

(Part three now here)

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 OFFICE ESCAPADES

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dazai decides to take advantage of everyone leaving the office for lunch to get some much needed time with you. you know it's a mistake, and that you're going to get caught, but you can't bring yourself to deny him—you never can. (wordcount: 1kish; nsfw)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: i was going to give you guys a long one shot today but i got cold feet unfortunately </3 maybe next week i'll have the balls to post it. for now, take a lil drabble i wrote

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, public ??? not sex but it was getting heated

“They’ll all be back any minute,” you whisper, voice breathless as you feel Dazai’s lips drag down your neck, soft and wet as he sucks and nips at your skin. 

He only responds with a hum, and you know your words probably aren't even even registering through his head. You think that you should be more insistent—push him back and get off of his lap, because Kunikida will be livid if he comes back to the office to find the two of you in a compromising position, and Yosano and Ranpo will never let you hear the end of it. But it’s hard to focus with Dazai’s tongue tracing patterns on your neck, with his fingers digging into your hips as he grinds you down on his cock.

His touch is dizzying, fogging your mind of all common sense, and he’s been testing your limits all morning so really, how can you blame yourself for finally giving in to a little release?

It started with subtle brushes and lingering touches that set your skin aflame, then came the lidded stares as he watched you instead of doing his work, and finally, just before lunch break, when you went into the kitchen to grab some water, he followed you right in under the guise of grabbing a snack from one of the upper cabinets. He caged you against the counter and pressed his body against yours as he reached above you, the outline of his cock pressing into your ass for a few seconds too long before Kunikida started yelling for Dazai to hurry up. 

“It’s fine, bella,” he finally murmurs against your skin, acknowledging your words. “Relax.”

“It’s not-“ You try to say, but Dazai doesn’t even give you the chance to finish the sentence, lifting his head from your neck to capture your lips with his. 

And if his touches are dizzying, his kisses are addicting. Your eyes flutter shut when you feel his lips moving against yours, painfully slow but you feel like you can’t even breathe, tongue brushing along your lower lip to get you to part them for him. You think you could kiss him forever and never get enough of it. 

His hands slip beneath your shirt, warm palms sliding up and down your sides as if to try to calm you down.  

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, breath hot against your lips as his eyes trace yours, lidded and hazy. “Heaven-sent.”

“Osamu,” you protest, a bit flustered. Dazai is always poetic and flowery with his compliments but heaven-sent?

Dazai lets out a soft noise, you can’t tell if it’s a moan or a shaky breath as his hips jerk up enough to make your body shudder. God, this is so bad, you know it and you know he knows it even if he won't admit it. This needs to stop before anyone walks in but neither of you can drag yourself away from the other.

“It’s the truth,” he replies, reverence dripping from his tone as he stares up at you, dark eyes wide with an emotion so intense that it has your breath catching. “You’re divine, utterly angelic. You’re not meant to be with someone like me. I’ll ruin you.”

You can’t tell if it’s a warning, a threat or a promise—maybe a combination of all three. Your fingers trace his cheekbones as you cup his face, eyes searching his as you ask with a teasing smile, “What if I want you to?”

The reaction is instantaneous—Dazai’s eyes darken, pupils dilating as he stares up at you. His grip on your hips tightens just a bit. 

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Dazai rasps, his voice is a bit lower, a far cry from the loud dramatic tone he usually took—heat pools in your lower stomach as you let out a soft puff of air.

“I do,” you reply, leaning down to nip his jaw, relishing in the way he instinctively lets his head fall back, baring his throat for you. You kiss down to where his bandages peek out from under his shirt, before trailing back up to the spot behind his ear that makes him writhe, smiling against his skin when you hear the soft, pitched moan that spills from his lips. “I want you to ruin me, Osamu. In every possible way you can.” 

Dazai’s lips part to respond, but he doesn’t get the chance. The office doors slam open and Kunikida is shouting: “You two have no decency!”

You throw yourself off of Dazai’s lap, flustered and hot as you fix your shirt and make your way back over to your own desk, ignoring Yosano’s cat calls and Ranpo’s snickering.

Your fingers tremble as you log back into your computer, but it’s hard to concentrate when you can feel Dazai’s gaze on you even as Kunikida shouts at him. 

You peek over one last time—he’s resting his head on on his hand as he stares in your direction, gaze lidded and so intense that you can barely bring yourself to imagine the thoughts that might be running through his head. 

When he catches you looking, the corner of his lip quirks up into a smirk, and you think, balefully, that there’s no way you’re going to last another six hours of work with him looking at you like this.

And more importantly, there’s no way you’re going to survive the night with him now that he's being given six hours to come up with countless ways to ruin you. 

[peachesofteal]

18+ noncon, Simon drugs you/her, somnophilia

Girl who takes herself to her favorite coffee shop on the corner to post up with her laptop and a latte.

They serve them in those big ceramic mugs she likes. The white ones that seem so wide you could take a bath in them. Filled to the brim with an unbroken layer of foam on top, she always appreciates when the barista takes the extra time to draw her a quick little design. Makes her feel seen, special, almost.

She always sits a corner, headphones in, typing away on whatever it is she’s working that week, barely away of the comings and goings around her.

She doesn’t notice anyone, and no one notices her.

It’s perfect, really.

Until one morning when she attracts the wrong kind of attention.

It starts with the cup being just a tad too full, balancing on its saucer, ceramic trembling in her fingers. The shop is busy, and someone at the long table in the middle fails to look over his shoulder, sliding backwards in his chair to stand. Hot espresso and milk splashes down her chest, her shirt, and she gasps, sizzling pain shocking the breath from her body.

“Oh shit,” the man starts, turning to face her, hands out and frantic. It’s quiet now, eyes in the room fixed on her, watching, waiting, expecting a civilized reaction. They want her to say ‘oh that’s alright, it was an accident’ or ‘no harm no foul, it happens’ something like that, effectively releasing the burden of shame hanging over the perpetrator.

But, alas. She’s not the one.

“Oh shit?” She rolls her eyes. “You just made me spill my fucking coffee all over myself, and your response is oh shit?” If it was quiet in the coffee shop before, it’s pin drop worthy now.

She expects the man to back down. To cower, start stuttering a profuse apology. That, or the other option, the one where they get defensive, enraged, emotions running wild at the idea of being challenged.

The man does neither of these things. He crosses his arms and cocks his head, sizing her up like he forgot to eat dinner last night and she’s his next meal. The hair on the back of her neck stands up. “Are you going to let me finish, little spitfire?” Jesus Christ. She shoots him the nastiest glare she can conjure, then turns on her heels.

Fuck that guy.

Simon likes himself a little spitfire. A little piece of c4 in his hand, his finger on the trigger. Likes a girl with fight in her, one that scratches, that yells.

His cock aches thinking about how she’d howl under him, face screwed up with rage, salty, sweaty slick pooling between her legs. He’d jam his thigh right in that spot, and order her to rub her pussy against the grain of his jeans until she was cumming on them. He wants to hear her gag on his finger as he scratches her tonsils with it, pressing down on her tongue, forcing her teeth wide, testing.

So, of course, he does the thing he knows he’s not supposed to do. He’s got some time, some leave, plenty of time to hunt his prey and set a snare, a rope around her ankle, stringing her up like a pretty precious offering.

She’s got a nice home. It’s small, one story, windows open with the breeze. The curtains wave with the wind, exposing slivers of her living room, kitchen, bedroom. She putters around the house for a while before the lights go dark, noise of the street enough to drown out the sound of his knife surgically cutting an opening in a screen.

Once the window is open, it’s over. There’s no match, no matter how explosive she is, there’s no him vs her. It’s just him, with her underneath, throat clogged by his cock.

Probably not tonight. Tonight, he’s going to peel her free from the top sheet and jab a needle into her ass to push diprivan, enough to keep her loose and sweet, trapped in sleep long after he leaves. She’ll be more than groggy when she wakes again, chalking it all up to some sort of dream.

She takes it so easy too. Doesn’t fuss. Barely stirs when he rubs a hand over the fat of her hips, squeezes the flesh for his needle. She gasps in her sleep, brow furrowed, listlessly drifting away.

The first thing he does is roll her to her back. She sleeps naked, a pleasant surprise, muscles soft as he pushes her knees to her chest, exposing her cunt to his hungry eyes. He’s only supposed to look, to inspect, but he can’t help pulling a glob of spit from his cheeks to the tip of his tongue, letting it drip down in a long drop, oozing onto her clit.

“Pretty pet.” He murmurs, gloved finger stroking through her folds, fingertip barely pushing against her hole, sliding down to feel the tight furl between her cheeks. “Perfect little holes f’me, eh? Tight little things you’ve got.” Maybe she’s never been fucked before. Too much acid in her blood to bend or break for anyone. He buzzes with the idea that no one has ever had a cock, or anything, inside her, and spits again, this time a bigger wad, bubbles and all, thick and viscous. “Let’s check little spitfire.” He presses inside her, working his finger in easy strokes, feeling her walls, the heated clutch of her cunt. There’s resistance there, a flimsy, thin barrier separating him and the rest of her, his chuckle dangerous in the dark. It’s tempting to take it right now, but he’d rather watch her face when it happens so he can see the moment she realizes, when he ruins her, when he rips through her purity and makes her his own.

He unzips his pants, fisting his cock, precum already beaded at the tip and dripping, coating his palm as he pumps. She moans, like she knows somehow. It’s a high pitched, breathy thing, one that rattles his bones. He answers with a thumb on her clit, pressing, circling, still stroking himself, indulging in her shudders, the jerking of her legs as she she climbs to her climax.

He wants it at the same time. Wants to paint her pussy with his cum when she explode into hers, wants to do it together. As he gets close, he works both himself and her furiously, waiting for that moment when her muscles will go rigid and her pussy will flutter.

When it hits, he follows, white spend shooting up over her belly to her breasts, almost too much to be believed. It’s a mess, really, and he doesn’t want to leave her like this. Too obvious.

He takes his time licking her clean, filling his mouth with his own cum, holding it against his teeth, under and over his tongue. He breathes through his nose until he’s satisfied he got it all, and then sticks a thumb between her teeth, prying her jaw wide-

so he can spit it, drool it, into her unsuspecting mouth, letting it drip to the back of her throat, white sticky load of spit and cum coating her tonsils, her teeth, her tongue.

See you tomorrow.

[teddiesworldd]

muffled moans and whiskey kisses.

is it morally okay to fuck a customer? (2.4k words)

a\n: thank you for all the love on my first posts! i hope you love this one just as much! also, if it wasn't made clear, ghost is wearing a mask with a cut-out for his mouth. enjoy!

pairing: ghost x female waitress!reader

tags/warnings: nsfw mdni!!, just a regular ol' bathroom hookup with the biggest guy you've ever seen, porn with plot, hickeys, a little choking if you squint

it was one of those shifts where the hours just dragged on and on. the day felt like it was never going to end as you wiped down another table and laid out the silverware neatly on top of a napkin. your mind wandered off somewhere else, but you snapped back to reality when you saw 4 huge guys walk through the pub doors and stroll over to the bar. one looked a little older than the others with a thick blonde moustache and cream bucket hat. two of them were a little shorter, a scruffy mohawk on one and the other with tanned skin covered by a blue jacket. however, it was the fella trailing behind them who made your hairs stand on end. he was absolutely giant. he was wearing a tight black t-shirt that showed off the thick, red scars which ran down his massive arms. and just to add to it, his whole face, except for his eyes and mouth, was covered by a worn-out skull mask. you realised you were staring when his dark eyes met yours and you shifted your glance back down to the table you were tending to. you could feel his eyes burning onto you as he walked past.

it was only when all 4 men were seated that you realised your colleague was still out the back and you'd have to go over and make their drinks for them yourself.

no biggie.

you make drinks for people all the time.

you desperately tried to calm your own nerves as you walked over to the bar, suddenly aware of how tight your clothes felt. the sweat on your palms. the loose hairs that had fallen from your ponytail and were now tickling your neck.

not people like this.

you were a confident person most of the time, but this skull-face guy was intimidating as hell. and the way he looked at you like a piece of meat earlier, like he wanted to eat you up. yikes. you pushed the little door open and walked behind the bar, smoothing down your waitressing apron and putting on your best customer-service smile.

"what can i get for you?"

the first three were relatively nice. the older chap was quite charming, really, making polite small talk and asking about your day. the guy with the mohawk tried cracking a few jokes which made you cringe a little but it was sweet regardless. and you noticed the military badge on the blue jacket of the third man, which made a lot of sense as the bar was right next to the military base. you had soldiers and the likes come in often, trying to drink away the stress of their day. but these guys were different. high-ranking, probably. after you had served the three, you moved down towards the fourth and asked the same question. it was only now that you realised how dark his eyes actually were. they were like dark pools of chocolate. like an empty street at night. and his pretty blonde lashes were like the stars. how could someone so big and scarred be pretty? you wondered.

"a whiskey, please."

his voice was so deep, and he had a bit of a manchester twang to his words. something about him, though frightening, was sort of attractive. the way the corners of his mouth turned up when he spoke to you. the way his huge hands rested on the bar, twiddling and fidgeting with his thick fingers and rings like he was nervous. the way he looked at you said otherwise. you wondered what those hands would feel like on you. in you. he didn't break eye contact with you the whole time he ordered, licking his lips with a sparkle in his eye. you poured the drink, then turned back to him and placed it in front of him. he thanked you and sipped it slowly.

the men stayed for a while, chatting about their recent missions and such, laughing and ordering more drinks. but the masked guy kept looking at you, sometimes at your face, sometimes at where your flesh spilled out over the buttons of your white shirt. he wasn't exactly trying to hide it either, the perv. you couldn't help but look at him too, shamelessly. he even caught you a few times looking at the way his muscles moved as he brought the glass up to his lips.

when he excused himself and walked over to the bathrooms, you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, the tension between the two of you was almost suffocating. however, this was the complete opposite of a break from him.

he stood in front of the door like, well, like a ghost. his finger beckoning you to follow him. you questioned your life up to this point and scanned around the pub, it was pretty late on a weekday so it was completely empty except for the group at the bar. you put down the glass you were polishing, took off your apron and excused yourself to the three men who remained in front of you. luckily, none of them payed much attention, going straight back to their conversation.

you know what he wanted from you, of course, it wasn't like he was bringing you into the bathroom for a conversation. but still, a part of you just couldn't believe what was about to happen. he was probably a whole foot taller than you, and twice as wide.

he must be absolutely packing. he'd probably spilt me open.

you tried not to think about it.

you pushed the door quietly, your manicured nails tapping gently when they made contact. you barely even pushed the thing open before he was pulling you by the wrist into the nearest cubical, and locking the door behind him. he didn't say a word. he just pressed his lips to yours. the kiss got heated pretty quickly. you could taste the whiskey on his tongue. the way your mouths fitted together - it was like you were made for each other. it felt so perfect. so addictive.

he pulled away and moved his head into the crook of your neck, kissing and sucking and leaving dark red marks across your collarbone. you couldn't help the moan that left your lips, earning a quiet "shhhh, lovie" between kisses. his voice was gorgeous. he soon reached your cleavage, planting bites and kisses all over. there was something so refreshing about him. most guys you'd been with didn't care about any of this stuff, they just wanted to be done as quickly as possible. not him, he took his time marking you, like you were something rare and precious. like you were something special. he moved his hand up to undo the buttons of your shirt, looking up at you with lust filled eyes.

"do you want this? hm? do you want me?" he growled.

you couldn't believe he was teasing you already. of course you did. "mhmm" you nodded frantically, trying to speed him up by undoing your buttons yourself, but he stopped you at the first one.

"ah ah, no. be patient, doll. tell me. tell me you want me." he asked nicely this time, waiting for your response.

"please," you whined out, a little more desperately as you intended, trying to retain a little bit of your dignity. you were still fully clothed, you didn't want to seem too needy. yet.

after hearing your response, he placed another kiss to your chest and started undoing the buttons. so slowly. it was like torture. you placed you small hand onto the back of his head, guiding him down, which he must of liked because it made him look up at you with the most devilish glint in his eye. oh, this man was about to ruin you. he hooked his fingers into the waist of your skirt, pulling it all the way off and stuffing it into the pocket of his jeans. what a gentleman, he didn't want your clothes getting all dirty on the floor of the men's bathroom. gross. after spending a second admiring your pretty lace panties and matching bra, he asked you, "you always wear underwear like this, love? what a little slut you are." something about the way he spoke to you made you absolutely wet. he looked gorgeous at this angle, knelt down in front of you, shoulders broad, inches away from your heat. part of you wanted to just pull his face into you, but he was definitely much stronger than you, so unfortunately you'd just have to wait it out.

he kissed the inside of your thighs, then over your clothed clit, making you beg for him again. then he pulled your underwear to the side, finally pressing his mouth to your soaked pussy. he felt amazing. he must be pretty experienced because he knew exactly how, when and where to make you whine and pant at every movement. the way his tongue swirled in little circles around your clit made your head spin. and the way he looked at you, never breaking eye contact, he was intoxicating. you knew if you made too much noise then his friends would definitely hear you - the walls were pretty thin. but it was so hard when he was sending you towards the edge so quickly. and when he pushed two of his thick fingers inside of you, you had to cover your mouth to keep yourself quiet. he curled it just right to hit the perfect spot inside you over and over. just his hand was stretching you out, and hitting spots that had never been hit by your own fingers. you knew you weren't going to last much longer at the brutal pace he was moving inside of you. you hooked your leg over his huge shoulder, and when he started sucking you could feel the knot in your stomach twisting. he knew this too and when you clenched around his fingers he pulled away, leaving you a panting, sweaty mess and depriving you of your orgasm.

"don't worry, doll. i'm not done with you yet," he said, standing up and turning you around so your chest was against the wall with your back to him. "want you to come on my cock, not on my fingers."

you could hear him undoing his belt and his cargo pants dropping to the floor behind you. he grabbed your hips and pulled your ass back towards him, lining you up nicely. you just knew it was going to be the biggest you'd ever taken. his tip prodded at your entrance, and he pushed slowly into you. he was huge. you hissed as he pushed inside, and he immediately stopped, checking if you're okay before carrying on, splitting you open. once you had adjusted, he started moving at a more regular pace, fucking you deep and slow. your tight pussy gripping his dick like a vice. he managed to find that spongey spot inside of you pretty quickly, hitting it over and over and causing you to let out a pornographic moan. he brought his hand over your mouth in response, muffling your slutty noises.

"is that good, lovie? yeah? you like it when i fuck you like that?" he groaned into your ear, bending over to kiss your neck and bare shoulder.

your eyes rolled back in response, bouncing back into him, which he didn't appreciate very much. with a deep grunt, the hand that remained on your hip tightened its grip, keeping you in place as he pounded into you. your head fell back into his chest in pure ecstasy, the pleasure being almost overwhelming. you could feel like knot building inside you again, getting close to your orgasm once more. his hand moved from his hip down between your legs, rubbing your clit just right, causing you to shriek into his hand. your legs began to shake as you were hurtling towards your climax. when you finally came, he had to move his hand from your clit to under your waist, holding you upright as your orgasm rocked through you. you cried out into his palm, tears forming in the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure.

when you finally fell back down to earth, he brought you to your knees and pushed his huge cock into your mouth to chase his own orgasm. it was the first time you'd managed to get a proper look at it. it was the perfect shade of baby pink, your own juices gleaming on his tip. a thick vein ran down the shaft all the way to his firm, full balls. he had a decent amount of blonde hair that trailed upwards towards his bellybutton and disappeared under his t-shirt. you happily took him into you mouth, taking him as far as you could and stroking the rest with your hand. his hand found its way around your neck and squeezed gently, feeling so small in his massive hand. you looked up at him and noticed how he was biting his lip, trying to keep himself quiet. the way his eyes rolled back when you chocked on the sheer size of his dick was so hot that it almost made you want to turn back around and ask for round two. but before you knew it, he was holding your ponytail in his fist and thick ropes of cum were filling your cheeks and running down your throat. his grip on your neck and hair tightened as he let out a grunt, which was loud enough for the boys at the bar to hear for sure, but you didn't care anymore. this man was truly something else.

he helped you get up, dressed and clean afterwards, returning your skirt and carefully wiping your mouth with his thumb. he smiled at you as he did this, telling you how pretty you were and how he just had to fuck you. you went back into the pub one after the other, as to not raise suspicion. but your makeup was all ruined and he had sort of a pornstar sweat-glow to him, so it was pretty obvious regardless. he finished the last mouthful of his whiskey and left with his boys.

it was only when you'd cleaned up their glasses and locked up the pub that you realised you didn't ask for his number. or even his name, for god's sake.

but you were sure that this wouldn't be the last time that giant of a man would stumble in for a drink on a wednesday afternoon.

˚✧. thank you for reading!

˚✧. please reblog to support me <3

˚✧. dividers by @ saradika-graphics and @ si-eunnis

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[hottpinkpenguin]

Letting Someone Go - Part 1

Benny Cross X Reader A/n: saw Bikeriders yesterday, needless to say I have a new Austin Butler character to obsess over <3 no better soundtrack to Benny Cross breakin' hearts than Zach Bryan. *the poem in this is lyrics from his song 'Letting Someone Go' Word Count: 2253 Warnings: cursing, alcohol use, Benny breaking hearts, angst, unhappy ending

What you had done to deserve Benny was beyond you. After all, you’d always tried to be a good person. Tried to do the right thing, to treat other people well. So who had you wronged so mightily as to deserve the torture that was Benny Cross?

“Hey. Hey! I’m talkin’ here!”

Sheila snapped at you, wrenching you out of your own miserable head. You dragged your gaze off of Benny, playing pool in the corner, and back to your friend. 

“Sorry, Sheils,” you mumbled. She rolled her eyes at you as you took a deep gulp from your Budweiser. 

“You’re still draggin’ ass about that man, aren’t ya?” She nodded unabashedly towards Benny, raising an eyebrow at you in question. You wanted to sink into the dirty floorboards beneath you, just get swept away in the sewer pipes or water table or whatever the fuck was below this personal hell you’d found yourself in. 

You shrugged, gulping down more beer in the hopes that it might dull the ache in your chest. 

“He ain’t worth it, hunnie.” 

You fixed Sheila with a hard stare. She shook off your glare, lighting her cigarette and blowing a plume of smoke up into the rafters. 

“I’m just sayin’, there’s plenty of guys ‘round here for you to shack up with. Benny’s just a loose cannon is all, who cares if he’s off ya.” 

You drank until your beer was empty. Your head was beginning to swim, but unfortunately the booze wasn’t touching the sadness that had sent you to the bottle in the first place. You stood up from your chair, pushing back from the table with a loud and clumsy clatter. No one really noticed over the thumping bass of the jukebox or the din of the crowd. You walked over to the bar, trading in your two empty bottles for two fresh ones. Zipco eyed you curiously from his usual seat at the back corner of the bar, but you refused to acknowledge him. Last thing you needed was another friend trying to cajole you out of your heartbreak. 

By the time you came back to Sheila, Wahoo and Corky had plunked down on either side of her. Probably trying to get her into bed, you thought darkly. And they’d likely succeed, based on how she was batting her eyes up at them. Usually, you welcomed the company of the Vandals, but tonight you found you could hardly stand them. Not necessarily that you wanted to be alone, just left alone. Sitting by yourself and knocking back an obscene amount of beer as you stared daggers into the back of Benny’s head was all you were really game for tonight. 

Rather than join the others, you swerved and walked towards the back of the bar, past where Johnny was sitting with Brucie, Gail, and Cal. The light was broken back here, and the shadows suited your dark mood quite nicely. You settled into a chair, tucking your legs up underneath you as you cracked open one of the new bottles and gulped down another greedy mouthful. Finally by yourself for the moment, you let your mind run wild over the last few weeks.

Where had it gone wrong? What did she have that you didn’t? And why the hell did you care so much, while Benny clearly cared so little? 

After all, it’s not like you and Benny were anything. You’d been sleeping together for a couple months, sure; but that was just the lifestyle. You’d been raised up on the back of your daddy’s bike. He was a founding member of the Red Devils of Hamilton, Ontario; so that made you practically royalty in the MC world. You knew what it was to be a Vandal before they’d even existed as an idea in Johnny Davis’ head. Hell, you practically taught Johnny everything you knew about how to run a successful club. 

That was probably why Benny hurt so damn much, you realized. You’d never admit it out loud, but this whole thing was ass backwards. You were the one that was supposed to run around and break the biker boys’ hearts. You were the one that wasn’t supposed to get attached, the one who would cut bait and run at the first sign of feelings. You were definitely not the kind of girl who’d get hung up on some loser just because he rode a nice chopper. 

But instead, Benny Cross had gone and played you at your own game. When you’d come back to Chicago to check on Johnny Davis’ pet project, you hadn’t planned to stay more than a few days, maybe a week. You had your sights set on California, on a small rancher high up in the mountains outside Crescent City. 

But then you’d met Benny. Benny with those piercing blue eyes, that gentle pillow talky voice, and the most gorgeous set of lips you’d ever kissed. He’d had you panting after him like a puppy dog within three days. A few days had turned into a few weeks, which had stretched into a few months. Now, you were still here, looking to spend your second Christmas in the cold. And unlike the last one, this Christmas would be a lonely one.

You’d been tangled up in Benny for the better part of a year now. He still drove you just as wild as that first time you’d seen him. Even from this far away, you could hardly stand to look at him without squirming. 

The first eight or nine months had been good. Maybe not great, but damn good. You’d wanted it to be fucking terrific, Lord knows you wanted that more than anything. But something in Benny just wouldn’t thaw for you. He was exactly the type of man that every other hard biker tried to be. He didn’t care about much, except his club. Didn’t show feelings for the simple fact that he didn’t have many, at least not the deep kind that you were desperate for. He was a detached, unbothered person. At first, you’d mistaken that for easy-going. It certainly made getting to know him nice and easy. But after nine or ten months, the edges of your relationship had started to turn brittle. While you were lying awake at night, daydreaming about getting a house together and getting married and maybe a baby or two, Benny was out doing the same old shit. Drinking, fighting. Generally avoiding anything that required commitment or persistence. Just livin’ life in the breeze.

But things had really taken a turn when she showed up. You could remember the night so clearly. It had been late fall, maybe two months ago. She’d come in looking like a misfit, all prim and proper in her white jeans and pink sweater, with her hair done up like Jackie Kennedy and her perfect eyeliner. Way too shiny and sweet for this kind of crowd. The guys had, predictably, gobbled her up with their eyes. No one more so than Benny.

The moment was seared in your memory: she was looking at the door, Benny was looking at her, and you were looking at Benny. Next thing you knew, Benny was gone, racing after her into the November air. You’d watched from the foggy window as she’d climbed on the back of his bike and they’d rode off down the street, all the while the club was cheering like it was fucking homecoming or something. Never mind that you were literally gutted, your heart trampled and lying like a used up bag on the floor of the bar. 

Benny had come back the next night, all hang-dog and apologies. All “I’m sorry baby, that was wrong” and “I dunno what came over me” and “I promise, it was nothing”. Both of you knew those were all lies, but only one of you really wanted to believe them. You were clinging on tight to the fading dream that was Benjamin Cross, meanwhile he was racing headfirst into the future that was Kathy Bauer. 

She kept coming around after that. That’s how you really knew that you were going to lose him. If that pretty little minx had kept her distance, then maybe Benny would have really been able to close that door. But she couldn’t. And, as much as you hated her for it, you couldn’t blame her. She wasn’t blind. She saw the same things in Benny that you did, you could tell just from looking at her expression when he was around. She had stars in her eyes, same as you. 

At first, Benny had put on a pretty good show of sticking by you. Even though the two of you weren’t officially anything, there was a code in the club. Fellas stuck by their gals, and vice versa. And, just by virtue of how long you and Benny had been, well, how long you’d been you and Benny, you were owed some measure of loyalty. 

But after a week or two, Benny was straying. Kathy would come into the bar and Benny would get this tiny smile. He’d find excuses to sit near her. Then it turned into talking to her. Then it turned into talking with her alone. 

Then he’d finally said the words you’d been dreading. 

“Baby, we gotta talk.”

No no no no no, you were screaming inside as you calmly sat down at the kitchen table of the small apartment you'd set yourself up in. Your hands were shaking, so you’d played with the nearest coffee mug until you’d chipped your nails. 

“Listen, darlin’, I… well, I’m not too good at this sorta thing.”

One tear had slipped out. You’d practically smacked yourself in a hurry to get rid of it. You couldn’t stand how upset he had you. 

“Just say it, Benny.”

Benny had tried to grab your hands from across the table - for what purpose, you couldn’t imagine. But you’d pulled away from him, your eyes burning. 

“I didn’t… I wasn’t trying to find someone else, baby. I swear. I just… it just… happened.”

Too many tears to wipe away now. You were squeezing the coffee mug so tightly in your palms that it was a wonder it didn’t shatter.

“It’s Kathy, isn’t it?”

Benny hadn’t said anything, just nodded. 

“And you’re moving in with her, aren’t ya?” 

To add insult to injury, before Benny even had the guts to properly break things off with you, he’d adopted a bad habit of sleeping on the back of his bike in front of her house. At least, that was what Cal told you. After you’d practically threatened to cut his throat with your blade. Not that you were much of a threat, but Cal had a soft spot for you and you knew it. You weren’t afraid to press on the soft spots when needed. 

Another single nod from Benny. You couldn’t tell if he was looking at you or not.

“So… you’re done with me then, yea? Is that what you’re saying?”

Another. Fucking. Nod.

And so, that was the end of it. A fitting ending, all things considered. Benny, quiet as the grave, just nodding away the entire future you’d dreamt up for yourself at his side. 

Unable to figure out what to say or how to feel, you just shrugged and let the tears slip off your jaw and plunk down onto the plastic checkerboard tablecloth. 

“Aight then, Benny, you best get your stuff and get out, then.”

You wished you’d have added some harsher words at the end, leave a little sting on him, but you didn’t trust your voice not to crack. So it had been your turn to stay quiet while Benny packed up his things - a shockingly small amount, you realized, as it took him less than three minutes to shove them all into a pillowcase. 

The final dagger had been when he’d hesitated at the door, looking back over his shoulder at you. You were exactly where he’d left you: sitting at the kitchen table, crying, that coffee mug turning over and over in your shaking palms. He’d turned back and walked over to lay a soft, sweet kiss on your forehead. The most affection that man had ever shown you had been in the goodbye that he’d made you say for him. It was an irony that you didn’t think you’d ever get over. 

As you sat in that dark, lightless corner of the bar, watching Benny shoot pool with Big Jack and Cockroach, Kathy leaning against a high-top table a few feet away and beaming at him, you thought about some ridiculous poem you’d heard once. If someone had put a pistol to your head, you wouldn’t have been able to tell them where you heard it or who wrote it or even what the rest of the poem was about. Just one line came floating back to you out of the back of your mind:

One thing I’ve come to know, nothing kills you slower than letting someone go.

**Read part 2 here! **Let me know if you want to be tagged in future chapters!

[caelivir]

red lips, dying for a kiss | rayne ames

— synopsis. in which rayne discovers that red lip combos are his weakness.

— pairing. rayne ames x fem!reader

— genres. university au, friends-ish to lovers, rayne has a little bit of a crush

— word count. 2.3k

— warnings. very brief violence mention in the beginning, alcohol consumption (rayne and reader are 21 in this), making out (i tried to keep it brief), ooc rayne but he’s kinda drunk so

— notes. breaking theme for this one but it’s okay. i wanted to drop this on valentine’s day… clearly that didn’t work out. also as i go to post this hidden lights reached 1k notes which is absolutely insane to think of. thank you for giving it so much love. anyway, happy 100 followers! thanks for sticking with me. enjoy!

dedicated to all the rayne girlies. i pray we find (or already have) a man like him. ♡

ryoh’s parties are always a bad idea. rayne can’t count the number of times something has gone wrong. cops show up. someone locks every single bathroom from the inside. a dumbass jumps off the roof and into the pool. any incident you could think of has probably happened. the last one rayne went to nearly got him screwed over when he fought against a guy picking on his brother, and it was not pretty (for the other guy) to say the least.

from that moment on, rayne had made the decision to never attend another one of ryoh’s parties. it doesn’t matter who begged him or what the circumstances were. no one was going to change his mind on that.

unfortunately, ryoh grantz would not have that. it took three days and a two hundred dollar bribe to convince rayne to go because who would he be if not taking advantage of the rich.

so that’s where he finds himself now, standing in a circle with his friends as music blasts in ryoh’s mansion. they talk about who knows what as rayne wishes he could go home. he has to see it out though because this would be the easiest two hundred dollars he would ever make.

his second red solo cup of the night is filled with some unknown (but surprisingly delicious) concoction that sits untouched. he swirls the cup around in his hand, his eyes darting around the room for an escape.

rayne chugs his entire drink down, setting the empty cup on the first surface he finds before mumbling an excuse of having to use the bathroom, not caring whether his friends heard it or not. he stops by the kitchen to rummage through a cooler, skin freezing as he digs through the ice. he finds two cans of a beer brand that he likes.

he weaves through the crowd in the living room, trying his best to not bump into anyone or spill any drinks because the last thing he needs is another altercation.

unfortunately for him, life always has a curveball in store for him.

“hey, look! (y/n)’s here!” someone had yelled, causing people to push closer towards the front door. the flow carries him closer despite his protests.

the half blonde finds you easily. it’s hard to miss your bright smile, even in a room surrounded by dozens. a crowd surrounds you and your group of friends. they greet you with hellos, offer drinks, and fight for your attention. you try your best to address everyone as you and your friends inch closer to the dance floor.

rayne knows you. your friend groups overlap often so he was bound to meet you at one point. you're popular around campus, known for your friendly nature, kind acts, and most of all, you're known for your beauty. he hears about a new attempt to gain your affection almost weekly. you never seem to accept them for some odd reason. it doesn't matter who it is. the d1 basketball prodigy? the rich girl in your philosophy class? they'd be rejected all the same. your lack of care for relationships has sparked up rumors, but even those never seem to faze you.

as for his opinion on you, rayne acutally likes you, which is a rare feat considering that the half-blonde cannot stand the presence of most people. but in this case, he likes you. he has the smallest of crushes that he wouldn't dare to admit to anyone except his brother, maybe.

in the times your paths had crossed, you had been an easy person to be around, never doing anything to irritate him and always trying to include him in every conversation and activity. it makes him feel all warm inside. the thought of it brings the ghost of a smile onto his face.

he also can't deny that you are indeed one of the most beautiful people that he's ever come across. you would have to be a fool to try and deny that. it's a little shallow on his part to like you partly for your looks, but he can't help it when your smile has the power to blind angels.

"rayne?" your head tilts, surprise written all over your face. he locates two shots in your hands. "woah, i'm surprised you're here! people said you wouldn't come to these anymore!"

rayne is barely to pick up the sound of your voice over all the music. "got paid to be here." he speaks loudly, avoiding yelling as much as he can.

"well, that's one way to get someone to come to a party." you giggle.

it's at this point where rayne closely inspects your face. his eyes are immediately drawn to your lips, colored in a combination of reds. he's never seen it on you before, and paired with the rest of the makeup on your face, it stands out, commands attention.

and it looks… really fucking good. rayne takes the sight of you in fully. yeah, you look really fucking good tonight. the half-blonde gulps, forcing his eyes back up to your face.

"take this with me!" you urge rayne, holding out a plastic shot glass to him.

unwilling to bring himself to say no to you, rayne sighs, accepting it. the two of you raise your glasses up in a silent toast before pressing the plastic to his lips, tilting his head back, and letting the alcohol slide down his throat. it burns. it tastes horrid on his tastebuds. the half-blonde scrunches his nose in disgust, and you take the empty glass from him, how you went unbothered by such a disgusting beverage is beyond him.

as much as rayne wishes he could be with you, he desperately longs to find someplace quiet. the bass of the music pounds against his head. "i'll see you around, (y/n). have fun tonight. be safe." rayne says.

"oh okay. see you rayne." you frown, but maybe that's just the lighting messing with him. he swears there's disappointment laced in your voice, but that could also just be the alcohol playing games with him.

rayne makes his way upstairs. he prays that he won't barge into people having sex. luckily for him, it's still early, and the room that he chooses, the one at the very end of the hall, is empty. he relaxes the moment he locks the door as if a weight was being lifted off him.

the half-blonde sets his unopened beers onto the nightstand and lies on the made bed. he stares at the ceiling for fifteen minutes, contemplating his life choices. his thoughts drift to you and your gorgeous lips, but he’s quick to dismiss them. when he’s finished with that, he cracks open his first beer, leaving a ring of condensation on the nightstand, and opens up his phone.

the next hour or so is spent watching compilations of bunnies and sipping on his beers. it’s perfectly fine like this. save for the bass of the music bouncing against the walls, it’s peaceful. he feels the effects of the alcohol he drank humming in his veins. it puts him into a lighter mood. however, that peace is disturbed when there’s a loud pounding on the door.

“what the hell?” rayne mumbles under his breath. did someone confuse this room for the bathroom? the half-blonde pulls himself out of bed, unlocks the door, and cracks it open just a little bit to see who it is.

“rayne, is that you? oh my god, please let me in.” you beg, clasping your hands together in prayer.

confused, but without any complaint, he allows you into the room, shutting the door behind him and locking it.

you practically collapse on the edge of the bed, and rayne can sense that something is amiss.

“are you alright?” he asks cautiously, standing a foot away from you.

“do you ever just get sick of people?” you ponder suddenly, shooting to sit straight up.

“sure.” rayne shrugs, still unmoving from his spot.

“you can’t tell anyone i told you this,” you point at him with narrowed eyes, voice slurred. “swear you won’t.”

“i won’t.”

“good.” you nod. “as i was saying, i get so sick of people sometimes. being popular is fucking exhausting. i don’t know how much longer i can keep up with this. i swear i can’t enjoy things on my own time without people barging in or commenting on it.

“i can’t sit on a couch to catch my breath without people wanting to talk to me. not that that’s bad of course, i love talking to people, but christ, just back up a bit. like can’t they just take a hint and realize that i don’t want to talk? do you get that?”

rayne nods. “must be rough.”

“it is,” you groan and then sigh, standing up to dust off your clothes. you stumble from dizziness after having gotten up too fast. however, you shake the feeling out. “sorry, i shouldn’t have dumped all of that on you. that was a stupid thing to complain about.”

“no, it wasn’t.” rayne argues. “people who are always in your space are fucking annoying. i would know so there’s nothing wrong with feeling that way.” at this point, he could tell the alcohol is doing its number on him, making him more vocal and bold.

“do i annoy you, rayne?” you ask, eyelashes batting at him, this innocent worry behind your eyes. it drives him mad.

“no.” he says sternly, inching closer, his gaze falling to your crimson lips. that damn red lipstick. he wonders what would happen if he were to mess it up. what would happen if he were to ruin that precise lining of color? what you let him cross that line? in his tipsy state of mind, he wants to find out.

“are you sure? because i know whenever we see each other i kinda cling to you, but if that bothers you, just let me know. really it’s no-” you ramble before rayne cuts you off.

“i want to kiss you.” the half-blonde mutters. his eyes stare deep into your own. your eyebrows raise in shock.

"huh?"

"i want" rayne's hand flexes at his side as he exhales, resisting the urge to touch you. "to kiss you."

"why?" you whisper so quietly that he almost didn't hear you.

maybe this is a reckless decision. maybe he shouldn't be risking a friendship with a drunken mind, but honestly in the moment, he really couldn't care less. he can regret it in the morning if things fell apart.

"i like you." rayne admits.

a moment of silence falls onto the room. you stare and stare, sinking your eyes deep into rayne’s as his confession weighs further down onto you.

“oh thank god.” you exhale, pulling rayne in by his shirt.

rayne practically melts into the feeling of your lips, soft against his own. he can taste faint traces of alcohol on you. he places his hands on your hips to press your bodies together. his palms explore your figure, circling around your lower back, trailing upwards to your ribs and back down to your waist. your hands entangle themselves in his hair, eliciting a soft groan out of him.

kissing you is a feeling like no other. it’s straight euphoria, maybe even something greater than that. the butterflies flap violently on his stomach. fireworks ignite his blood. being with you is like soaring across the sky.

you deepen the kiss, exploring each other with such desperation that it makes you dizzy. his tongue moves against yours in perfect sync, as if it were a choreographed dance. by the time you pull away to catch air, you and rayne are breathless, huffing as the half-blonde rests his forehead against yours.

you beautiful red lipstick is now smeared across your mouth, staining at the corners and below the chin. rayne pulls his head back. his fingers graze over your lips, admiring the mess. he’s sure it transferred onto him as well.

“you got something right there.” you joke, pointing at him.

“shut up.” he whispers. however, a smile breaks out onto his face, betraying his words.

“so,” you say, snaking your arms around the half-blonde’s waist. “the rayne ames has a crush on me? i never thought i’d see the day.”

he hums as confirmation. “would i be wrong to guess that you like me too?”

“no.” you grin. “in fact, you’d be one hundred percent right.”

“wonderful.” he mutters, leaning in for another kiss. you turn your head, having him miss your mouth entirely.

“i’m starting to believe you only like me so you could have a make out partner.” you tease, causing the half-blonde to sigh at your antics.

“i like you because you’re kind.”

he pecks one cheek.

“because you’re fun.”

he pecks the other.

“because you’re intelligent.”

he presses his stained lips to your forehead.

“because you’re so beautiful.”

rayne kisses the tip of your nose.

“my beautiful, (y/n).” he mumbles with a barely noticeable slur, cupping your face.

“you should drink more often. i like this side of you.” you comment, looking up at him with a gaze that drives him crazy.

“please just let me kiss you again.” rayne quietly begs, his mouth centimeters from yours.

“kiss me whenever you want.” you whisper before colliding with him once more.

in the morning, ryoh has to pick the lock to get into the guest bedroom. he stumbles in pissed off and ready to blow up on the person who dared to put him through such a hassle.

however, the sight he walks into flips his mood instantly. ryoh finds you and rayne tangled in each other’s arms completely knocked out. upon closer inspection, he notes the matching lipstick stains on both of your mouths, and a knowing smirk spreads across his face.

the blonde man pulls out his phone, snapping pictures in different angles to solidify this moment in history.

“he better thank me for this.” ryoh says to himself before walking out and shutting the door behind him.

[seeingivy]

slut!

satoru gojo x f!reader

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

--

“just so you know, the dining hall closes at seven.” 

you look up to find a short girl – dirty blonde hair braided at her sides with an awkward smile on her face – as you shoot her an apologetic smile. 

“right, cornelia. sorry, i’m almost done, i’ll just be out.” 

cornelia works morning shifts in the dining hall. 

you tend to frequent the place at odd hours – particularly getting cravings when it’s closed – and she’s always sweet enough to oblige you with whatever they have left over. 

you have a sneaking hunch it’s because she saw utahime be over-exceedingly harsh with you on the first day of training. you’re thankful for it nonetheless. 

“just…finish up by seven. i’ll be out of here by then to go home.” she responds, words laced in her thick dutch accent. 

you shoot her a grateful smile, looking down at the mess of rice and chicken that you’ve demolished into oblivion with your fork, and wonder if it’s still edible. you mindlessly reach for your phone, scrolling through the litter of texts on the screen. 

in amsterdam gymnasts 2024 

[shoko]: there’s a party on the first floor if you guys are down 

[nobara]: do yk think that girl we saw on the train will be there? 

[yuuji]: BRO literally has green hair. she’d be hard to miss 

[nobara]: stfu 

[utahime]: We’re training early tomorrow. Don’t be irresponsible. 

knowing yuuji and nobara, they had probably already schemed their way to the party. out of everyone on the mixed teams, you could tell that they were enjoying themselves the most – sitting with the spanish water polo players in the dining hall, scrolling on hinge to find people in the olympic village, and attending every party they could. 

you were happy for them. at least they were enjoying themselves. the mindless mantra that was ringing through your head was stopping all your attempts to enjoy the three weeks you were spending here. 

if you put your head down and give an honest effort, things will work out for you.

that’s how it’s always been and always how it was going to be – sitting at the back of the class, answering the questions in your head. being sought for your work and your work alone – you had to be outstanding just to be noticed, because you weren’t going to mention it otherwise. 

working hard in silence until it was pointed out, hustling and grinding until you couldn’t anymore, just so that someone would, on an odd chance, remember you and push you forward. 

and it worked. it worked most of the time and got you far enough. but at the end of the day, it was always the same result. 

you got drowned out. you get drowned out like you always do but it doesn’t sting any less. 

by a loud, boisterous voice – an emboldened sense of confidence that you don’t have, one that utahime does – and three words that sent all of your efforts down the drain.

if only you were brave enough to talk. emboldened enough to boast – to show off, to embellish, to call attention to yourself – but, you weren’t. it just wasn’t something you could bring yourself to do. 

it was just another day. 

“are you okay?” 

you look up from the plate – you’re positive the fork must have left scratches in the porcelain – to find the source of the voice, light glowing around his frame and head blocking the glow of the dingy light bulbs in the ghost town that is the dining hall. 

you know those eyes. satoru gojo. 

you immediately reach up, wiping away the leftover wetness on your face, and feeling the burning of your cheeks underneath your fingertips as you gesture for him to take the seat across from you.  

satoru gives you a lopsided smile – blue eyes filled with kindness or pity that’s just masked very well – as he slides his legs over the bench. you can smell the faintest hint of chlorine, his hair still matted and damp from the pool. 

“yeah. yeah, i’m good. how’d she…how’d she let you in?” you respond, noting the shake in your voice, as you try to change the subject. 

satoru gojo is a seven time olympic medalist – the pride and joy of team usa at the amsterdam olympics. six foot five, easy on the eyes, and an absolute menace in the swimming pool. coupled with an irritatingly charming personality and the grit of a professional – he’s one of the few athletes that’s taken seriously on the team. 

he was the flag bearer at the opening ceremony. you’ve seen him at meets here and there, exchanged pleasantries, over the past few years. 

not that he would remember that. 

“she likes me.” he responds. 

you snort. 

“of course she does. who doesn’t?” you mutter. 

you look up, feeling the leftover heat and tension from the crying still simmering behind your cheeks, as he shoots you a glimmering smile. 

the mere thought of it – smiling so freely, that he looks so joyful or that really, this entire experience must culminate into everything that he has wanted and worked towards – sends an aching pang through your chest. 

“you know who i am?” he asks. 

“satoru gojo. small town college student turned gold olympic medalist. everyone’s heard the story. they don’t pick just anyone to be the flag bearer, you know?” you repeat, attempting to mimic the monotone voices of the news reports you’ve heard hundreds of times. 

he clicks his tongue in his cheek, giving you a sly smile as he leans forward on his forearms, his face only inches from yours. it’s at this moment that you realize that he’s tall, obscenely tall even, because he’s able to reach over the length of the table while still sitting down – hovering in your space entirely. 

“and we’ve…we’ve met before.” 

“i know.” 

you pause. 

“you do?” 

“are you shocked that i can remember conversations i have with people?” 

“um. no, i guess not. you’re just a really big deal and all, figured you talk to everyone.” you respond. 

“bold coming from you, y/n l/n. rookie gymnast with only three years of training under her belt overperforms in the olympic trials and makes it to the final team roster.” he responds, mimicking the same tone of your voice. 

hearing the words, the premise, sends the tears running straight back to your eyes, as you try your best to swallow them down by staring down at the mottled mix of food. you give him a noncommittal hum in response, which you’re positive that he clocks immediately as he leans forward, his calloused hand on yours as he squeezes. 

“hey really. are you okay?” he whispers. 

you look up, warm and hot tears spilling out of your eyes at this point, as he squeezes your hand again, tilting his head to the side as he waits for an explanation. you sigh, biting at the side of your already demolished lip, as you look back up at him. 

your voice wobbles when you finally muster a response. 

“you caught me at a really bad time. i don’t actually do this whole thing.” you respond. 

satoru smiles. 

“what thing?” 

“crying in front of strangers. and…and telling random people my business.” 

satoru gives you an airy laugh, before squeezing your hand again. 

“i’ll take your word for it. it’ll be a one time thing.” he murmurs. 

you study his eyes – examining and analyzing for any sense of patronization in his eyes and tone – but you don’t find any. 

if anything, he just looks curious. 

“do you ever feel like all of your hard work has amounted to nothing?” you whisper. 

satoru gives you a confused look, eyes expectant as he waits for a proper explanation. and you’re not sure what it is – why you give it to him knowing his reputation, that sweet talking and charming was just part of his human nature – but in the late hours of the night, when he walks you back to your room, you reason that it was just the circumstances. 

that he was in the wrong place at the right time. 

“you…you’ve struggled your entire life with your body. sometimes you almost feel like you’re at war with it and…and it’s frustrating feeling like you don’t have control. that you can pass out on a whim, that you’ll be on top of the world one day and at the bottom the next, and that there’s nothing you can do to remedy it.” 

you sigh. 

“you decide that you want to put in the work. that you’re going to push the limits, even if it seems impossible, because you’re not going to let this thing – this nervousness, the anxiousness tie you down. i spent a whole year training, figuring out how to do this thing. the second year, i qualified for the olympic trials and i choked. i took the loss so seriously, trained so hard that i actually made it here, and now that i am, i can’t even try for real because i’m being undermined by someone else.” you state. 

“undermined by someone else?” he asks. 

“utahime iori. she’s a four time medalist, the senior on the team. she’s been to the olympics twice. she told masamichi, our coach, that…that i got nervous on the floor routine that i’ve been preparing for the final and that they should just pull it to prevent a point loss. she thinks that she should just compete on the floor as well.” you state. 

satoru gives you a frown. 

“did you? choke i mean?” 

“it was a bad day. i was all in my head and i couldn’t…i couldn’t bring myself to do some of the twists. i could do it the next three days and…and i’ll be ready to do it by the time we compete.” you state. 

satoru smiles. 

“of course you will. so what’s got you down?” he asks. 

“that masamichi believed her. he’s trying to get me to change the floor routine to one that i did before. easier, it’s more safe, but it’s also less points.” 

satoru hums in response. 

“it’s just frustrating that i put in so much work to get here, that everyone knows i did and that i had put in so much hard work, and all it took was one person who’s louder than me to drown me out. that all the effort they’ve seen was easily discredited because someone else said so. that…that my work wasn’t able to stand out on it’s own and it almost never is. i’ve never been one to speak up and that’s always my downfall.” 

you drop the fork against the plate, deciding that you’ve assaulted the chicken enough. 

“so, no. i’m not okay. i cried so hard that the people let me stay here in the dining hall after it closed just because she felt bad for me. she even brought this cookie over while i was sobbing and then walked away.” you respond, holding it up in between the two of you. 

you’re not a natural. and no matter how hard you try, you won’t ever make it to the top. it was in your fingertips and now it’s miles away, like you’re at the starting line but your feet are glued to the start. 

because the time is running out, because you won’t get this opportunity again, and this is all that you’ll amount to. 

“i’m just sad. i’ll get over it, deep down i know i will, because…because i know things happen for a reason, but it just…feels hard to find one right now.” 

satoru takes the cookie from your hands, nimble fingers quickly undoing the packaging and splitting the cookie in half. he takes the bigger half, placing it in your hand, as he gestures for you to eat it. 

you give him an irritated glare, taking a bite out as you swallow it down your dry throat. 

“i mean, you get to be here before everyone else eats the cookies. and you don’t even have to get up to grab them, they actually deliver them to your seat all special.” satoru states. 

you sigh. 

“i can’t wait to tell the news when they ask me how i’m coping with not winning a medal that the cookies are great and life is good regardless.” you respond, voice coated in bitterness. 

satoru slides the other way on the bench, now leaning his elbows and his torso against the table, his head leaned all the way back and eyes pinched shut. you immediately wince, noting the harshness of your words when he was just trying to be nice, as you sigh. 

“sorry. i know you’re trying to be nice. and it’s a great cookie! i’m just frustrated. i just hate thinking that –” 

“i do feel like all my hard work has amounted to nothing.” satoru responds. 

you pause. 

“what?” you ask. 

“you asked me, at the start, if i ever felt like all of my work amounted to nothing. the answer is yes. i do feel like all of my hard work has amounted to nothing.” he answers, the tone in his voice steady. 

you look down at the cookie, lifting to take another bite, as you ponder over the thought. 

but he had everything. other teams – they were scared to see him coming. hopefully pining over the silver because they already knew that the gold was his, that there was no point in even hoping when they were competing against the best of the best. 

“really?” 

“mhm.” 

“you’re telling me the satoru gojo doesn’t feel like he’s amounted to anything? you have seven gold medals. they’re literally scared to see you coming.” 

satoru laughs. 

“you really think they’re scared?” he jokes. 

you roll your eyes. 

“i sat with the canadian swimmer the other day at breakfast. they were over there debating who was going to get the silver, because they saw no point in even vying for the gold when they were competing against you.” you respond. 

satoru’s face is painted in a satisfied grin. 

“amounted to nothing? you’re literally at the top of your game.” 

“i guess. if that’s what mattered. if i still liked swimming.” 

you pause. 

“you…you don’t like swimming?” 

he smiles.

“not anymore. losing passion for the one thing that you’re good at can….cause it’s own type of meltdown. especially when there’s fifty people asking you how you're going to top yourself next time.”  

satoru twists around on the bench, giving you a smile, as he leans forward. 

“count yourself lucky, y/n. you’ve got a reason to move forward and prove yourself. the drive. something to push you forward.” 

he pauses, taking a beat, before responding. 

“things are entirely bleak when you have nothing to work towards.” he responds. 

satoru gives you a smile, before pushing off the bench – fingers messing through his damp hair – before shooting you a smile over his shoulder. 

“cornelia will get mad. it’s ten minutes to seven.” he murmurs. 

you give him a noncommittal nod, pondering over his words, as you watch him walk away – the letters of his last name brightly stitched to the back of his jacket. 

“hey. gojo?” you ask. 

he turns around, eyes expectant as he waits for an answer. 

“just because you don’t have something to work towards now doesn’t mean you won’t have something later.” 

there’s an awkward pause – mainly because he doesn’t respond – and you give him a shrug back. 

“satoru.” he states. 

“what?” 

“you can call me satoru.” 

--

“she was at the party.” nobara states. 

you look up from the bowl, noting the darkness around nobara and yuuji’s eyes, as you roll your eyes. you relish the fifteen minutes of peace you’ll get before utahime comes down to berate the two of them and most likely loop the rest of you in with it in the process. 

“did you even talk to her, cupid?” you joke. 

nobara kicks you under the table, as the group of you snicker under your breaths. 

“we made very prolonged eye contact. you wouldn’t get it.” nobara responds. 

“they were eye fucking each other. i felt like i was interrupting something.” yuuji adds. 

it’s right at that moment that nobara and yuuji stop talking, eyes wide, as you give them a confused look. yuuji lightly waves his eyes to the left and you follow – only to see someone standing at the side of the table. 

he’s decently tall, spiky black hair and solemn blue eyes. you note the embroidery on his jacket – megumi fushiguro, team usa, javelin throwing – and give him a smile. 

you look back at nobara and yuuji, the two of them looking awkwardly back down at their plates.and decide to take one for the team and extend your hand out to him. 

“hello. i’m y/n l/n.” 

he places his hand in yours – you can’t help but notice how sweaty it is and silently wonder how he throws javelins with that slip – as you give him a polite smile. 

“megumi fushiguro. i’m from new york. i uh…throw javelins.” 

“cool. we’re with team japan. we all do gymnastics. these are my friends nobara and yuuji. nobara does all of the gymnastic rhythmic events and yuuji does specials with rings and the pommel horse.” you add. 

megumi gives you a smile, before awkwardly running his hand across his neck before looking at yuuji. you note that whatever yuuji was talking about between nobara and the girl with the green hair is exactly what’s happening now – the eye contact the two of them were sharing so intense that you felt like you were interrupting something. 

“right. um, it’s nice to meet you. well, we met last night but i’m not sure if you remembered since you…had a lot to drink.” 

it’s swelteringly awkward – so awkward because yuuji’s so starstruck? or surprised that he doesn’t give him a response and instead just stares at him straight on. you kick him under the table, jostling him under the table, to talk. 

“i love you.” yuuji responds. 

you watch as megumi’s eyes widen, you and nobara shooting each other a look before attempting damage control. 

“he doesn’t mean that! why would he love you? you don’t even know each other!” nobara responds. 

“i mean, not to say that he won’t ever love you. maybe in the future! you’re probably a great guy!” you respond. 

“he’s like repressed or something, i swear he’s normal when you get to know him.” nobara adds. 

“but not in a weird way! we all get a little nervous here and there, right?” 

“you know meets make people really nervous. he actually doesn’t even know english so..so that’s why he didn’t respond.” 

you kick nobara under the table. 

“he knows english. obviously! how else would you guys talk to each other?” you respond, trying to give a hint to nobara. 

you and nobara pause, cheeks warm from the second hand embarrassment, as megumi nods at the three of you – unable to parse if you’re all part of some circus show or having an aneurysm – and smiles awkwardly. 

“right. i’ll see you around, yuuji. it was uh…nice to meet you, y/n.” 

“you too.”  

the second he walks away, the three of you start shouting at each other. 

“who the fuck was that?” you ask. 

“i’m repressed? why would you say that, nobara?” yuuji responds, head in his hands as he pulls at the pink strands. 

“because you fucking are. why were you staring at him like a deer in headlights? you had no problem putting your whole fucking tongue down his throat last night.” nobara responds. 

you gasp. 

“you kissed that guy last night?” you whisper. 

“yes! it was so fucking good, i literally didn’t even sleep last night out of pure excitement.” yuuji responds back, a hint of a giggle on his lips. 

the three of you silence at the sound of utahime’s tray smacking next to yours on the table, the three of you adjusting your posture – nobara and yuuji rubbing at their tired eyes – as you drop the conversation completely. 

“well, don’t stop on my accord.” she states. 

“good morning, utahime.” nobara responds, shooting you a pinched look. 

she sighs, hands aggressive with the knife on her plate as she slams it down against the porcelain. 

“just so you know, this is our one day to slack off since we’re touring the city. nobara, your beam is still sloppy. and y/n, i told you to start working on the other floor routine. i’ll let your shenanigans slide for today, but you both really need to stop fraternizing with other athletes and focus on what we’re really doing here.” 

“we’re not fraternizing with other athletes.” nobara states. 

utahime rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest, as she gives the two of you an accusatory look. 

“so the girl with the green hair three tables down is just staring bullets into the back of your head for no reason, kugisaki?” 

nobara’s cheeks go pink as she turns around – the girl immediately ducking her head down, embarrassed by being caught – as nobara turns back around and shakes her head. you can tell that utahime’s satisfied from her hunch being correct, as she turns her accusatory eyes towards  you. 

“and don’t even get me started on you.” 

“i’m not fraternizing with other athletes.” 

“right. satoru gojo’s sudden love for gymnastics just came out of nowhere, y/n.” she deadpans. 

you feel your throat dry. 

“what?” 

“you haven’t seen the tweets?” 

you shake your head, reaching for your phone in your pocket, as you slide open to the app. you note that there’s an obscene amount of notifications in your inbox but two that stand out particularly. 

@satorugojo followed you! 

@satorugojo retweeted your post. 

you click on the notification to find the video of you at the finals – doing your original floor routine. 

@satorugojo: every shred of patriotism coming back to my body as i watch the olympic gymnastics team…. 

you laugh at the tweet, cheeks warm from the acknowledgement – especially from someone with as many followers as him – as you immediately put your phone down and look back at utamime. 

“i’d watch out for him if i were you.” utahime states. 

“sorry, what?” 

“he knows how to get around. focus on your floor routine and less on slutting yourself out. we all know what we’re here for and let’s remember that.” 

her comment leaves a sour taste in your mouth. 

--

“y/n, can you come here?” nobara asks. 

you and yuuji shoot a lazy look over your shoulders to see her standing at the door, rolling your eyes. 

“it’s your turn to pay for room service, bitch. don’t look at me.” you respond. 

nobara turns around properly, eyes shooting bullets into your forehead, as she gives you an awkwardly peachy smile. 

“y/n. i really think you’ll want to take this one.” she responds, her tone urgent. 

you reach for the closest object to you, one of yuuji’s shoes on the ground, and lazily throw it in her direction. 

“my bank account is doing just fine, actually. i think i’m good.” you respond. 

nobara turns around, raising her finger in the air gesturing for a pause, before picking up the show and throwing it right back at you with full force. she’s quick to walk over, yanking your arms up from the bed, as you rub the sore spot on your forehead. 

“get the fuck up. satoru fucking gojo is at the door asking for you.” she whispers. 

you shoot her an apologetic smile, yanking your jacket off from the hook on the door and pulling it on, as you walk over to the doorway to find satoru standing there, hands politely in his pockets as he gives you a smile. 

“good evening, rookie. how are you?” he asks. 

you pause. 

“i’m um…good, gojo. how are you?” you ask. 

“satoru.” he insists. 

you shake your head. 

“right. satoru. uh, to what do i owe the pleasure? at nine forty-five in the evening? at my dorm….?” 

he smiles. 

“i have an in with the people at the gym the same way i do with cornelia at the dining hall. do you want to come and keep me company?” he asks. 

you pause – hearing utahime’s words about slutting yourself out rattle in your head – as you give him an awkward smile. 

“right, i would love to go but –” 

it’s right at that moment that you feel two pairs of warm hands on your arms as nobara and yuuji rush to your side. 

“she’s right, she would love to go! which is why she’s going!” yuuji responds. 

satoru flickers his eyes in between the two of them, before looking back at you. you shoot him an apologetic smile, but not before the two of them keep talking. 

“she loves to go out with guys.” nobara adds. 

you elbow her in the side. 

“i mean, not other guys! just you. she hasn’t talked to anyone in four years.” yuuji adds, tapping you lovingly on the head. 

“but she’s not like decrepit or anything. she’s in her prime, trust us. she’s got a great ass.” nobara affirms. 

satoru flickers his eyes in between the two of them, before looking back at you. you shoot him an apologetic smile, but not before the two of them keep talking. 

“she loves swimming. knows everything about it.” nobara responds. 

“i mean, not everything. she doesn’t even know how to swim!” 

satoru’s eyes widen. 

“you don’t know how to swim?” he asks, eyes wide in shock – and what you pander is amusement. 

you sigh. 

“i’m scared of the water.” 

“well, now you have to come with me. swimming is a necessary survival skill, rookie. i can’t have you dying on me now.” 

satoru shoots you a boyish grin – one that you can tell excites nobara and yuuji, who you’re assuming are probably starstruck at this point – as they squeeze down on your arms and push you out of the door. the two of them give you bright smiles as they push you out of the door, leaving you and satoru alone in the hallway. 

you shoot him an awkward smile, as he reaches forward, twisting one of your pigtail braids in his hands. 

“they seem fun.” he jokes. 

you groan. 

“that’s an interesting word for it.” you respond. 

“who threw the shoe?” he asks. 

you pause. he leans forward, thumbs soft on your forehead as he rubs at the spot. 

“oh. nobara. but i threw it first so, it’s only fair.” you respond. 

“naturally.” he jokes. 

--

there’s a frigid chill in the gym as satoru opens the door for you, gesturing for you to enter the pool deck first, as he follows behind. the girl at the top of the stands shoots him a polite smile before leaving – which leaves a sour taste in your mouth. 

who is she? is that who he has an in with at the gym? is that how he gets in with all of these girls – like cordelia and her – and most of all, now you? 

though you’re not really sure what you’d have to offer that he’d really want. 

“hey. you okay?” he asks. 

“hm?” 

“i was talking. you didn’t respond.” he states. 

you widen your eyes. 

“oh god, i’m sorry. was just in my head, thinking about the uneven practice i did this morning.” 

satoru walks all the way to the front of the aquamarine pool, plopping down as he pulls his shirt over his head, and dips his legs into the pool. you follow suit, discarding your shoes at your side, the two of you sitting shoulder to shoulder with your knees brushing as you swing your legs in the cold water. 

“what happened?” 

“nothing. i kind of face planted during the warm-up.” you state. 

“did you get hurt?” 

“just a little bit of carpet burn from the floor.” 

you lift the sleeve of your jacket up to show him the red marks on your forearm to which he leans forward, fingers featherlike as he brushes against the raised skin. he looks up at you, blue eyes peering into yours, that make you endlessly nervous before the thought comes to you. 

how many times has he used that move on someone else?

you immediately jerk your hand back, pulling your sleeve up as you shoot him a polite smile. he gives you a strange look, eyes focused back down on the water as he reaches forward and feels the temperature with his hand. 

“ready to go in?” he asks. 

you give him a nervous nod, as he jumps down into the pool, and you pull your shirt over your head. satoru’s waiting, eyes expectant as you look down at the water, at the ten feet depth, before looking back at him with nervousness jittering in your stomach. 

“don’t you think i should start with a smaller pool?” you ask. 

he shakes his head. 

“i’ve got you. i won’t let anything happen.” 

“you can’t just…drag me out if something happens.” 

satoru rolls his eyes. 

“you don’t do your research, do you?” he asks. 

“hm?” 

“small town college student turned gold olympic medalist. did you ever wonder how that even happened?” he asks, repeating your words from yesterday. 

“oh, no. how?” you ask. 

satoru smiles. 

“i got scouted at my job. as a lifeguard. trust me, i’m more than equipped to help you if something happens to you.” 

you sigh, eyeing the depth of the water, before looking back down at him. 

“okay, just. just…don’t let me go, okay? i’m not joking when i say i don’t know how to swim.” 

he gives you an encouraging smile, as you dip down into the pool, immediately feeling the weight of the water as the panic surges through you. you immediately reach forward, looping your arms around his neck and leaning forward against him, your grip death like. 

you can feel his hands on your waist, his grasp firm, as he leans back, his tone quiet as he talks. 

“relax.” 

“no, no. i should probably get out. this is really deep, satoru.” 

“y/n.”

“it’s dragging me down.” you state. 

“nothing’s dragging you down. i’m right here with you, rookie.” he whispers. 

“satoru.” 

“y/n.” 

“i can’t die before i go to the olympics!” you shout. 

satoru takes a beat, before giving you a full laugh. 

“you’re not going to die before you go to the olympics. you’re already here.” 

you groan, pressing your forehead against his bare collarbone as you feel the tenseness wrack all over your body, before one of his wet hands comes across your cheek, pulling you back with you flesh against his chest. 

“hey. this really won’t work unless you listen to me, okay?” he whispers. 

“okay. okay, okay. just…just…i’m being serious. please don’t let me go until i’m ready. this entire thing will blow up in your pretty face if you do.” 

satoru grins, pinching at the side of your cheek, as you glare at him. 

“this entire thing?” he asks. 

you want to bite your tongue. 

“you know. swimming.” 

“right. swimming.” he repeats. 

he hums in response, but you can tell that he doesn’t believe it. satoru drops his hand from your face, hands on your waist as he looks back up at you. 

“let go of me.” he responds. 

“no.” 

“y/n.”

“satoru, no.” 

“as much as i like you holding on to me the way you are, you won’t be able to swim if you don’t let go.” 

you sigh. 

“you’re going to paddle your feet back and forth like i am. when you let go, do the same thing with your arms, it’ll give you more control.” 

you look down at your feet, before satoru’s hand is at the bottom of your chin, guiding your gaze back up at him. 

“it’s not rocket science. don’t overthink it. it helps to keep your mind on something else.” he responds. 

you give him a nod as you start mimicking his motions, your legs heavy as lead, as you try to get yourself to do it. 

“uh. what do you think about? when you swim?” you ask. 

“porn.” he states. 

“what?” 

he lets out a boyish laugh and you feel your cheeks burn as you lift one of your hands to lightly smack at his shoulder. 

“that wasn’t funny.” you state. 

“it was a little funny.” he defends. 

“you were about to live up to your reputation there.” you state. 

satoru pauses, narrowed eyes, before he talks again. 

“my reputation?” he asks. 

you pause, regretting your last words, as you look up at him, shooting an apologetic smile as you try to backtrack. 

“i didn’t mean…you know a lot of people talk and i don’t mean to offend you when i say…” 

satoru smiles. 

“so that’s why you’re being weird.”

“i’m not being weird.” 

“can i say one thing before you continue?” he murmurs. 

you sink into the embarrassment, giving him a quiet nod. 

“if she says things about you that aren’t true, would you really expect her to be entirely truthful when she talks about everyone else too?” satoru asks. 

you groan – noting satoru’s sweet smile as he clocks you understand what he’s saying – and knot your hands back together behind his neck. 

“hey. i’m really sorry, satoru. i just thought that –” 

he smiles, reaching forward to cup the side of your face again. 

“no wonder you were glaring at that girl up there. i can promise you, the only reason that i get late night access to the gym is because my coach arranged it for me. i don’t even know her name.” 

you groan. 

“oh fuck, this is so embarrassing.” 

he laughs. 

“don’t worry, rookie. i’m flattered you’re so worried about it. but i’m not going anywhere.” he whispers. 

“you’re not?” 

he shakes his head. 

“i told you i wouldn’t let go.” he states. 

“i was talking about swimming.” you mumble. 

“and i wasn’t.” 

you smile at him – one that he fully returns back. 

he finally closes the space between two of you when he drops you back off at your dorm – matching pair of chlorine soaked hair – his skin still damp from the water. 

nobara and yuuji watch it through the peephole, their excited chatter behind the door pulling the two of you apart. 

--

almost fourteen days later – of you and satoru biking through amsterdam, you teaching him how to balance on a beam, and warm kisses later – you’re filled with nervousness at the thought of the floor routine. 

you can hear his voice in his head right there with yours. that you’ve got this. that you can’t overthink.  

there’s a tense energy in the air the morning of the final. you and nobara head down to the gym early, a very sleepy yuuji in tow for moral support, as you start drilling through your stretches. 

you note that yuuji’s not offering his moral support alone, the awkward encounter you had a week prior shockingly coming off as endearing to megumi, who sits at his side with a coffee in his hand. 

you can’t help but shake the feeling that the other teams are staring as you and nobara run through your warmups, the jittery feeling in your stomach accumulating as you chalk up your hands. 

you have to focus. it helps to think about something else. you’ve done this routine hundreds of times – just let the muscles take over. 

“you’re going to do the original floor routine. we’ll bet on it for the teams, but we’ll scale back for the all around at the end of the week if it’s lower than the trials.” masamichi states. 

you give him a non-committal nod, eyeing the bars as you walk up to the podium, jumping up as you feel for the swing of the equipment. you can see the australian gymnasts swinging through the air out of your peripheral vision, the chatter of the people talking around filling your ears as you try to focus. 

“no, i don’t think she’s coming.” 

“the seam of the uniform is kind of fraying at the end, i might try to change it.” 

“i’m just hoping to qualify for next time, when i have more time to train.” 

“i heard her and gojo do it in the pool. like all the time.” 

you miss the handle on the last swing, falling face first into the floor, the group of them turning around at the loud sound. you note that there’s a small sense of relief on their face from the mishap, as you lift off the floor, dusting the chalk off of your hands. 

you can feel your throat dry as you make your way over to the bench, where nobara is sitting, your mind swirling with anger. she gives you a squeeze on the shoulder in support and you note that yuuji tells you to shake it off from his place in the stands. 

“they’re saying that satoru and i did it in the pool last night.” you note, miserably. 

“dude. they talk. they’re trying to put you off your game. we’re not even talking about this right now. focus on the bars.” nobara responds. 

you sigh, looking back at the group of them as they fly on the beams, and feel the acid rise up in your throat. 

you knew that people talked. you knew that it was natural – to comment on what it was that they were seeing in the dining halls and the hallways – but it didn't make it any less fair. 

“fuck them.” she states. 

“i know, i’m just saying…” 

“who said it?” nobara asks. 

you pause, before pointing it out to her.

“she’s just jealous. you do know she’s been in interviews saying that the person she wants to meet the most is gojo, right?” 

you pause. 

“dude, everyone wants him. that’s not your fault. they might be slut shaming you now, but they would kill to be in your spot.” she responds. 

you pause, looking at the burn on the front of your shin. 

“if he doesn’t care what they say, why do you? if you see it through, all the shit they’re saying might not even matter if he’s actually worth your time. he’s happily ignoring all of it, for you, because he actually likes you. he wouldn’t be sitting there in the stands if he wasn’t.” she responds. 

“sitting in the stands?” you ask. 

nobara points toward the left, where you see satoru and three of his teammates sitting in the chairs, in the middle of the conversation. satoru gives you a wave now that you’ve looked over and you can’t help but walk over – noting the bright smile on his face as he starts walking over. 

you didn’t realize he’d be here this early. 

satoru leans over the railing, his hair dry for once as you look up at him. he reaches forward, fingers soft on your forehead, as he smiles. 

“hi rookie.” 

“what are you doing here?” you ask. 

“big gymnastics fan.” 

you give him an accusatory look. 

“did you watch me eat shit just now?” you ask. 

“any carpet burn?” 

“the trainer will wrap it when she comes in.” you state. 

he gives you a nod, reaching forward to cup the side of your face, before smiling. 

“don’t overthink it.” 

“i’m not.” 

satoru narrows his eyes at you. 

“give me a smile.” 

“satoru. don’t be patronizing.” 

he groans. you note that he gets more theatrical the closer you get to him. you find if funny. 

“god forbid, this pretty, sweet girl smiles at me. god forbid i would want to see that.” 

you roll your eyes. 

“oh wait! i’ve got something to take your mind off of it.” he adds. 

satoru gives you a smile, before leaning back on the railing, and unzipping the white windbreaker that he has on. you can’t help but immediately laugh, heart burning at the absolutely corny shirt that he’s wearing with your face on it. 

“oh my god.” 

“figured if they’re gonna talk, i might as well get all dressed up and give them something to look at, right?” 

“how did you even do that?” you ask. 

“maki knows a guy. had to show everyone i’m serious and rep the team.” he responds, gesturing over his shoulder. 

you shoot a non-committal glance over, shooting a smile to the girl – the girl with the green hair that you’ve been talking about ever since you’ve gotten here – before you widen your eyes and pull satoru down by his wrist. 

“you know the girl with the green hair?” 

“uh, yeah. she’s part of one of the volleyball teams. met her at the opening ceremony. she’s a lesbian before you say anything rude.” 

“idiot. i know she’s a lesbian. or well, i didn’t know that, i had a hunch. not that i assume things about people, i’m just saying that –” 

“you’re rambling.” he states. 

“maki is the girl that nobara eye fucks.” you whisper. 

you watch as satoru clocks what you’re saying, his eyes going past your shoulder to where nobara is sitting, before he turns around and gives maki a glance. 

“yeah, i’ll talk to her.” he states. 

you pause. 

“really?” 

“yeah, yeah. worry about it after, alright?” he responds. 

you can’t help but laugh, leaning forward as you press your hands to his cheeks, and close the distance between you two. satoru gives you another kiss on the cheek before you run off to share the news with nobara. 

--

the floor final is the very last and the way the last names work out, you’re the last person up to attend. nobara wobbles on her beam and utahime misses a few points for a bad landing – meaning that your score needs to be higher than it’s ever been to get it in good shape for the team. 

you all wait in silence, satoru’s hand over the railing in yours, his chin on the crown of your head, as you wait for the new score to be reflected on the screen. 

utahime challenged the floor score that they gave you. because if she counted her numbers right, your score should have been 0.3 points higher – meaning that your team would be in range to medal as first. 

the problem? challenging the score can get you more points. or dock them all together. you could easily go from a silver medal to nothing at all. utahime makes the executive decision to bet on it. 

satoru leans down, nose pressed against your hair as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. 

“she really challenged the score for you?” he asks. 

“we are a team after all.” you mumble. 

satoru nods, hands soft on your shoulder as he squeezes the tense spots. 

“how much longer?” he asks. 

satoru brings his hands down the railing, thumbs rubbing into the softness of your cheek as you watch the announcer walk up to the microphone, cardstock note in his hand as he reads off the note from the judges. 

“i can’t listen.” you state, placing your hands over your ears, the sound half muffled and mixed with the cheers in the crowd as they start jumping behind you, nearly shaking the floor you’re standing on as you look back at satoru, blue eyes wide. 

satoru leans forward, arms harsh as he hugs you hard, nearly panting in your ear as you pull back, knotting your hands behind his neck. 

“what?” 

“you won a fucking gold medal, dumbass. what do you mean what?” he breathes, hands shaking with anticipation as he leans forward, closing the distance between you. 

you can barely process the thought as he pulls back, tucking his face into your neck, and wrapping his arms around you as yuuji wraps the flag around your shoulders, the group of them jumping in the stands. 

“wait, i…” 

“go get your fucking medal. come back later, nobara’s waiting.” 

you can feel your legs shaking, warm tears in your eyes as nobara gestures for you to join her, hand extended out as you step off the platform. 

you won the medal.

you take three steps off before running straight back up, pressing your lips to satoru’s one more time, before joining nobara on the podium. and you can’t help but beam at satoru right across the way and note the way he has his hand pressed to his heart. 

--

satoru gojo wins five medals at the end of the week – all of which are gold – and notes that his secret to success is having a reinvigorated sense of drive in the sport. 

that teaching someone the basics reminds him of why he fell in love with it in the first place. 

you’re the only one who knows that he’s not talking about the swimming. 

--

an: please be nice im rusty

taglist: @invisible-mori @porridgesblog @k0z3me @sugu-love @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg @chilichopsticks @torureadz @dreamxiing @mamamamamarga

[princessbrunette]

⊹ ᜊ(ᜊ ´ ˘)੭ ♡ … DUMB & POETIC ♡

track eight of the short n’sweet series. pairing: dbf!johnb + reader. based loosely off the song dumb & poetic by sabrina carpenter. enjoy! ໒꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱

word travels fast when you’re hopelessly in love with your dads best and youngest friend.

rain was starting to spit down on the crown of your head as you marched your way up the dry grass to the chateau. a storm was headed your way, and john b was probably to give you a real earful at the fact you’d even walked here so late in the evening with a storm on the horizon but that didn’t matter. it seemed a feeble thing now, too focused on the tugging of your heart strings.

“old john b’s got himself a date.” your father had chuckled into his newspaper that morning and you froze at the sink, pouring milk into your coffee. your skin felt hot, eyes prickly.

“what?” you ask quietly, trying your hardest to sound unshaken by the news.

“the guys down at the garage stitched him up. i didn’t get involved, was too busy working but… yeah. finally getting himself out there. was wonderin’ when he might. times ticking for him.”

your milk pours over the rim of your now overflowing coffee mug and you curse, lurching to clean it up.

now you’re knocking at the older man’s door, shivering from the icy droplets that are tickling your hot skin. you feel feverish, wrong, all muddled up. john b was yours.

he’s frowning when he opens the door, and you don’t let him speak.

“is it true?” you yell over the wind, voice cracking and he pulls you inside by the arm.

“uhm, did you walk here in a storm? are you— what, have you lost your mind now?”

“is it true, john b?” you don’t lower your voice even though you’re inside now, infact your words are punctuated by a harsh shove at his chest. he stills, staring down at you solemnly and shamefully.

“i assume your…dad told you—”

“so this — us, it just means nothing to you?” you go in for another push, crying now and he catches your wrists, eyes softening sympathetically as he pulls you in.

“you know that’s not true. look, listen to me—”

“who is she?” you wail and he holds your wrists tighter.

“listen to me!” he raises his weathered brow, hands loosening around your wrists just enough to swipe his fingers gently in windscreen wipers on the skin. you stare up at him expectedly — fat tears even frozen on your cheeks and his shoulders drop slightly. how was he meant to compete? it wasn’t fair when you looked at him like that. “the guys at the garage set me up.” he explains calmly and you’re quick to cut him off.

“and you agreed! you could have just said—”

“i have to! okay i—” he takes a breath, ripping his fisherman cap off to run a hand through matted brown hair, streaks of silvery grey through the sides illuminated in the warm orangey light of the chateau that made your heart clench with fondness and familiarity. “its not right that i’m feeling this way for someone so much younger than me, and more importantly — it’s not right that you’re dating someone so much older! you should… i don’t know, be out there! experiencing the dating pool! going on dates with guys that are allowed to be seen with you! not… your dads friend.” he shakes his head, defeated.

“i don’t care about all that!” you step up to him, a glimmer of hope in your eyes.

“well i do!” he bellows back, and just like that it dies.

you crumple, heels of your hands coming to press into your eyes as you lower yourself to the floor. you mewl in devastation, salty tears burning into your retinas and he watches in heartbreak, heaving out a long sigh before lowering himself to the floor with you.

“its not fair! its not fair— just because shes older than me doesn’t mean — it doesn’t —”

“i know.” he mutters into your hairline, pressing a kiss there. you clutch his shirt like he’s the only thing keeping you tied down gravitationally to earth.

you get real worked up into hysterics so soon he’s calming you down the only way he knows how, straw-feeding you water as you sit in his bed wearing his clothes, still snivelling. he shuffles in beside you with a book, pulling your head to rest down on his shoulder and shushing you when you fight.

“you think y’know everything john b.” you croak, glaring at the dumb pretentious poetry book on his lap.

he clears his throat, flipping to a random page.

“though the night was made for loving, and the day returns too soon, yet we'll go no more a roving, by the light of the moon—” his husky voice begins to read, lulling you into that calm safe space that only he creates. there’s a lingering sadness in your chest when you drift off, knowing it could be the last time and between his words you’re sure you whisper a “dont go”. but you’re not sure whether or not you dreamt it.

you wake up at noon somehow. all that crying wore you out and it goes without saying with the situation you’re in, you didn’t have the greatest sleeping pattern. sticky eyes flutter from the alarm clock, to the absence of john b in his own bed beside you. you hope for the reassuring sound of coffee being stirred or the tv in the living room but the chateau is deathly quiet. once your eyes focus, you’re confronted with a note on the bed side table.

his familiar scrawl, it reads —

‘I’m sorry. I just have to see for myself.

— Yours, J.B ♡’

[nctnanajaemin]

"my brother's bestfriend" pairing:lee jeno x na!sister reader word count:1.5k chapter three MINORS DNI warnings: smut, cursing, use of pet names (princess), praise, blowjob, cum swallowing.

jaemin decided to have all the guys over to swim today. most of them are in the water and you're sitting on one of the lounge chairs watching them fight over some game they are playing.

"y/nnnnnn." haechan drags out.

"what do you want now, haechan?" you ask with a hint of annoyance in your voice.

they have been nonstop pestering you about getting in the water since they got in.

"get your ass in the water." mark says while swimming over so he's in front of you.

"i said in a little bit."

"you have five minutes, or we both are getting out and throwing you in." mark tells you as they swim back over to the guys.

jeno looks over from where he's sitting on the other side of the pool, his eyes trailing down your body and back up again.

you watch as he continues to check you out, completely oblivious to the fact that you caught him.

you unlock your phone and text him.

you lock your phone and put it back on the table, looking up to see mark and haechan pulling themselves up out of the water.

"why won't you get in the water?" haechan asks, walking over and standing beside your chair.

mark shakes his head and drops of water go everywhere, most of them landing on you.

"stop." you swat at him. "you're getting me wet."

johnny and yuta start laughing, making the rest of them start to laugh as well.

"thats not what i meant." you roll your eyes. "you're all immature."

mark and haechan look at each other and nod before the both of them pick you up and throw you into the pool. you resurface as the others jump in.

"how does the water feel?" mark smirks.

you push the hair out of your face. "you guys suck."

"aw, are you mad." haechan asks, swimming closer to you.

"come any closer and i'm drowning you."

haechan throws his hands up in the air as if he's surrendering. "oooh i'm so scared."

you swim backward, away from haechan, to put some distance between the two of you. as you move away from him, you end up backing into someone. you turn around and jeno is standing in front of you with a smirk plastered on his face.

"jeno's the shark!" mark yells, and everyone scatters to the other side of the pool.

you turn your attention from jeno and look at mark. "shark attack? what are we child-" you cut yourself off when you feel jeno grab your ankle and drag your body underwater.

"the look on your face was priceless." haechan says between laughs after you resurface again.

"he's lucky i didn't accidently kick him in the face.'' you cough out.

you all swim for a little while longer before getting out.

you choose to lay down where you were at previously and jeno moves to the chair beside you.

he looks at you for a moment before talking. "are you mad?"

"no. why would i be mad?" you ask, not bothering to open your eyes.

he messes with the towel in his lap. "because of what happened in the water."

"it's nothing that hasn't happened before." you tell him, finally opening your eyes to look over at him. "and since when do you care if you or the guys piss me off?"

he stops messing with the towel and rests his hand on his lap. "i don't care." he says quickly. "i was just asking because your in a mood now. well moodier than usual. you're always in a mood."

"so you don't care, but you're asking if i'm mad?"

"i just don't want you being bitchy over something that I can easily apologize for."

"i'm not being bitchy." you cross your arms and his eyes immediately look down at your boobs.

"sure you're not, when was the last time you didnt have attitude?"

"probably around the last time that you weren't an asshole."

he lets out a small laugh. "fair enough." he adjusts the way he's sitting in the chair so hes facing you more. "can i ask you something?"

"no."

"i was asking as a courtesy, im still going to ask you anyway" he takes a quick look around the backyard to make sure no one's paying attention to the two of you before looking back at you. "can you do me a favor.

"what kind of favor?" you ask skeptically.

"nothing bad." he shifts in his chair again and looks down, his ears slightly turning red. "i'm just having a little…. situation."

your eyes widen, knowing what he's referring to. "really?" you ask, a smirk appearing on your face.

he looks back up and sees the smirk on your face. "dont look at me like that. just say yes or no."

"go in. i'll follow in a couple of minutes."

he nods and gets up from the chair, heading inside the house.

once you think it's been enough time, you get up from the chair and head inside.

upon opening the door to your room, you find jeno sitting on the edge of your bed.

he has his phone in one hand and is attempting to get himself off with the other.

you shut and lock the door, causing him to look up.

"took you long enough." he tells you, tossing his phone onto the bed beside him.

you walk over and stand in front of him. "yeah, yeah. i'm sorry."

he grabs your hips and pulls you so you're standing in between his legs. his fingers gently trace your hips over the semi wet swimsuit. "i like seeing you in this. you have no idea how bad i've wanted to get you alone all afternoon."

the smirk from earlier returns to your face. "clearly, but how bad?"

"bad enough that i was ready to say forget that we were in front of everyone and pull you into the house."

"you don't have the balls to do that." you whisper, kneeling down in front of him.

you take his length in your hand and open your mouth, letting saliva drip out onto his cock before gently grazing your thumb over his tip.

you look up as he lets out a shaky breath, his eyes locking onto yours.

"you're teasing," he mutters. "don't tease."

you flick your tongue over the tip. "I thought you liked it when I teased."

jeno lets out a low groan, his hand moving to the back of your head. "not right now. we don't have a lot of time and i need you."

you swirl your tongue around his tip before moving down his length. his grip on your hair tightens as he watches you, his breathing growing heavier with each movement of your tongue.

you take him into your mouth and bob your head up and down on his shaft.

"shit." He curses, his hips starting to move in time with your rhythm. "you're so good at this."

you continue to work your mouth up and down his shaft, taking him deeper each time, your hand moving in sync to get what couldn't fit.

"fuck, princess."

you hum around him, the vibrations making him shudder.

you increase your pace, and his moans grow louder, his body trembling as he lets out another soft curse, bucking his hips as he fights to control himself.

"i'm so close", he warns, his voice strained.

you hollow your cheeks and take him as deep as you can, and with a final moan, his body tenses, and he releases into your mouth.

you pull back and swallow, keeping your eyes on him as pleasure washes over his face. he pulls you up, and you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

"that was amazing" his lips brush against your neck. "you're amazing."

"hm. glad i could help with your little…situation." you mock, laughing as he rolls his eyes. "you make yourself look somewhat presentable again. i'm going to go out so they don't get suspicious."

he nods and lightly pushes you off him so he can pull his shorts back up.

you leave him in your room and walk back downstairs, making a couple of drinks to take out so you have an excuse as to why you were in the house.

jisung looks up as you walk back over. "where'd you go? you were gone for like 15 minutes."

you hold up the cups. "i was making drinks."

"you made drinks for everyone?" jaemin asks. "since when do you ever do anything nice."

"i can never win with you guys, i swear." you mutter under your breath, setting the drinks down on the table.

chapter two | chapter four

----------

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@nosungluv

join the taglist here!

[moonlightndaydreams]

The Country Club // MDNI

student (adult aged) Minho x older fem reader (age gap not specified). CW under the cut.

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

🎾🎾🎾🎾

Minho has his sights on a woman he shouldn’t be looking at. Older, richer, out of his league. It’s alluring to him, wanting what he can’t have. Touching someone who doesn’t belong to him.

He’s seen you around the grounds of the country club where his dad works a number of times now, and he knows you’ve seen him too. Your eyes linger on him whenever he walks past you. Do you think about him in your bed at night? He wonders.

CW: unprotected p in v sex, in a public place, spanking, taunting, rough sex, reader gets grazes on her face, blood kink, Minho bites reader, creampie.

🎾🎾🎾🎾

He gets hard in his pants just thinking about you in your little one piece swimsuit he saw you in the other day, by the pool. He often finds himself masturbating to the image of slipping into the water while you’re sleeping on one of those floaties. He’d caress your leg, starting at your ankle and making his way up your inner thigh. You’d part your legs, pretending to be asleep, letting him have access to your warm cunt.

Or you’d slide off your floaty and tug him towards the side of the pool and pull his cock from his swimmer shorts, demanding he put it in you.

Would he ever get to feel you wrapped around his cock?

One afternoon he’s walking through the grounds and sees you standing by the hedge near the tennis courts, in your cute white tennis dress cursing at your phone.

“Someone shit you off?” Minho teases.

You look up angrily, like you are about to murder the person who dared speak to you. But your eyes turn curious when you realise who it is. The boy who pops a boner everytime he sees you.

“Your name’s Minho.” You say. It’s not a question.

“Yeah.” He says not breaking eye contact with you. He swallows hard. There’s no one around just you and him. Alone.

He sees you look down at his crotch. Amusement crosses your features when you notice the bulge in his white slacks.

“Follow me.” You command.

🎾🎾🎾🎾🎾

You’ve got him around the other side of the hedge, with your chest pressed into a brick wall and his cock buried deep inside your cunt. You’re both panting, desperate for release. Skin is slapping loudly. He’s pounding into you hard. Your teeny tiny lace panties torn and shoved into his pocket, a keepsake for when he’s alone later.

He grips your hips harder, digging into your flesh. You’ll have marks, and he wonders what your older husband will make of them, when he sees you naked. If he sees you naked.

“Fuck, your pussy’s so tight, doesn’t your husband take care of you? All closed up like a virgin?” He growls low in your ear. “Do you like having a younger guy, a boy, fuck you good like this, huh?” He thrust into you extra hard. “Fill you up over. And over.” He pushes himself all the way into you and then presses a little more. So deep.

You grind back against him showing him how fucking good he’s making you feel. “I don’t know, boy. I think you’re holding back. I think,” you pant, “you can fuck me better than this.”

Minho growls and tugs your head back by your hair. “Oh, you want me to really tear up your pussy, huh?”

He slides you down the wall so your ass pokes out further, and your back is curved just beautifully. “Just warning you. This might hurt, Noona.” He drapes your skirt over your back and slaps your ass cheek hard making you squeal. Again, his hand comes down. You didn’t know he could grip your hips any tighter than he is now, but he is. And then he truly slams into you.

The new angle has your eyes watering, crying even, and your hands flail around trying to find purchase on the wall in front of you. With every brutal thrust, you keep slipping, and your cheek scrapes against the rough bricks.

Minho feels like he’s lost control. He knows he is being rough. He knows it’s probably hurting you. But the sounds you’re making. They’re so guttural, raw, animalistic. He’s never heard a girl let go like this. They’d always been shy about sex noises. But here you are, out in the open and not giving a shit who might hear. It’s like you’re a wild woman who can’t be tamed. And fuck does he want to tame you.

He digs his teeth into his lip as he watches his cock emerge from your warmth, glistening in your arousal, and groans as he pushes it back inside. Over and over. Harder and harder.

His brow is sweaty, and you are struggling to keep your footing. But he’s so close to cumming that nothing is going to stop him. Minho grips a fistful of your hair and pulls you up so your back is against his chest and pushes you back into the wall again. “You gonna cum for me, Noona. Cum all over my cock?” He snakes a hand around to rub your swollen clit, making you tighten your grip on his cock.

Then he has the urge to do something he’s never done before. He attaches his teeth to your shoulder and bites down hard, drawing blood. A metallic taste fills his mouth. A scream escapes you, and you frantically fuck yourself back onto his cock and cumming hard.

Minho can’t hold on any longer, and cries out as he cums deep inside your pussy, grunting and growling as he fills you up.

You look an absolute mess when you stand up and smooth your dress down.

“Fuck.” Minho whistles under his breath. Your white dress is stained, your face has a graze on one cheek, and there’s a small trickle of blood on your shoulder where he’d bitten you. He knows you’re going to have bruised hips and cum leaking down your leg.

He really has fucked you up, and the satisfied grin on your face says you loved every second of it.

🎾🎾🎾🎾🎾

A/n: I’m thinking of making this a little series of these two and their little meetings. Let me know if you want more.

@channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @chansbabyg @kangnina

@fun-fanfics @weareapackofstrays @xxkissesforchanniexx @enjaken @itsseohannbin