#there's something about them fucking each other... biting each other hard enough to break skin... stabbing each other... drinking from

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader

From the request HERE

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: You two can't keep your hands off one another as you come home one night, but a slight problem has you in a pickle: your birth control has just run out and you are all out of condoms. Not to worry, Simon assures you that he will pull out. But as you ride him you begin to question if you really want him to. Will he stick to his promise or will he give in to your need?

Word Count: 4.9 k

Warnings:

Your back bounces into the front door as Simon pins you against it as he is physically unable to wait to get inside before he is on you. The walk from the car to the apartment has already been long enough, you can’t expect him to stay away any longer, especially not after the needy way his hands were on you just moments before. He almost made it till you just had to go and pull him into you by tugging on his belt loops; you should have known that’s all it takes to make his resolve break so that he is unable to hold back his need to devour every inch of you.

It had all started on your way home as it always does when he is out with you and an urge hits that he can’t indulge yet: his hand that was gripped tightly around the top of your inner thigh as he drove began moving up slowly until it reached the inseam of your jeans where he pressed up against it as if he was trying to get a feel of your warmth through the thick fabric. The longer his hand massaged you through your clothes, the worse the ache got and the more he had trouble keeping his gaze from trailing back onto you at every chance until he had to force himself to look back at the road, biting his lower lip to focus on something other than his need to put his mouth on any part of you he could get.  

He did try his hardest to get you both inside before his composure broke, but even as the car came to a stop he knew it was too late. There is only so much he can control, he is a trained professional after all, but this isn’t military business; when it comes to those moments when his desire for you has reached its peak, there is no holding back. 

You are the perfect kind of intoxication and once he has you in his veins there is nothing left but to indulge until he is satisfied.

His mouth dominates your own as his hands cling around your cheeks to keep you completely at his mercy so that he can take you as he likes. It’s not even been five minutes, but he is already panting heavily from the ferocity in the desperate and insatiable way he captures your lips in open-mouthed kisses and the sound of his yearning makes your heart skip. 

“Si,” you moan the shortened version of his name against his lips in between gasped breaths.  

Christ, the way it rolls off your tongue is an aphrodisiac to him and before he can think he is already rock hard and throbbing against your hip. You would think he hadn’t had you in months with the urgency in which he claims your mouth with his until your skin burns from the aggression; the immense intensity in that moment has your knees buckling.   

Your head is spinning with each passing minute as he grunts into your mouth, the feeling of your kiss too good to keep quiet about…but he needs more. Suddenly, his tender lips leave yours stinging as Simon nuzzles across your cheek, eyes closed and moving off of feel alone, and soon his hot breath is at the side of your head as his lips ghost near your jaw before they land. They leave burning kisses in their wake while they travel down towards your neck. 

“Fuck,” he exclaims with that husky tone into your skin, “I need ta feel ya, baby.”

Moving between the contours of your fused bodies his desperate hands locate the button on your jeans and with a bit of struggle, he undoes them. Both of those meaty paws are shoved inside the front before he even gets the zipper down. There’s a hiss on his tongue as his hands fill with all your soft, warm skin just inside your clothes. 

“Gotta get ya inside ‘fore I fuck ya right here ‘gainst the door,” he says in a deep, breathy whisper. 

The ache in his voice makes your skin prickle with anticipation of what’s to come as the vibration from his deep register makes your clit throb. His neediness is overwhelming, worming its way inside your head until you can’t think of anything else outside of the sensation of his touch along your curves, the yearning in his depraved kisses, and the way his words set your soul on fire with passion.   

“I’m sure the neighbors would love that,” you say, quickly followed by a high-pitched moan as he drags the sharp edge of his teeth over that rapidly pounding vein at the side of your neck.

You hold his face tighter against you, forcing him to suck at the spot, his heated, sticky breath moistening your skin as the pressure from his lips leave you in a daze. His calloused hands continue harshly pawing at your body as he situates his knee between your legs up against the door to steady himself and without thinking you take that as an invitation to grind against his thigh to relieve some of the ache that is making you lose your mind.

He can’t stop himself from following your lead and soon you are both greedily humping each other, desperately trying to get as much friction going as possible, not actually caring if anyone catches you two going at it. You can feel his mouth upturn into a smile against your neck. “They’d be so lucky to see me fuck a gorgeous thing like ya, sweetheart,” he growls into the skin.

What’s breathing again? You’ve lost the ability completely after that line. 

Fuck, Simon doesn’t want to take his hands off you, but you have got to get inside and quick or else his little joke might become a reality with the way you two keep grinding on one another. But if he wants to get these clothes off you, and fucking hell does he want to, he’s going to have to open the door.

Under duress, he removes one of his hands from within your pants and searches his pockets for his keys. The jingle of metal clinking together is heard as he pulls them out and flips through the set until his fingers find the one he needs. It takes him several tries to stab the key into the lock, relying strictly on sound and feeling alone to be sure he has it and finally that familiar click hits his ears over the sound of your combined heavy breathing. 

The front door ricochets off the wall behind it as Simon flings it open with a bit too much force before he staggers his way inside with you plastered to his body, his lips feverishly back to capturing yours in their embrace as you enter. He can't get in fast enough; he desperately needs to get you fucking naked and now. 

Grabbing the door with his hand, he slams it closed before making you both tumble to the floor and pinning your body between him and the living room carpet. “Can’t make it,” he groans in agony as if the bedroom is miles away. 

It’s not like your naked body hasn’t felt the fibers of the carpet dig into it before. 

Now that you are safely inside, his lust is unable to be controlled. Just the feeling of you under him has him panting into your open mouth like an animal in heat, barely able to kiss you as it feels so fucking good. He runs those coarse hands over your delicate curves through the opening he’s created in your pants and up under the bottom hem of your shirt over your stomach. 

His groans turn into a bassy whimper as you begin to explore his body as well, fingers running up under his shirt to caress the muscles along his torso up towards his chest, your arms taking his t-shirt with you as you go until it reaches his neck and he lets you pull it off over his head. The skin is pink with the heat from his arousal making his blood run hot like fire through his limbs. Moving up onto his knees he leans on his calves, his head falling back in ecstasy as you glide your touch through the hair that covers his chest and abdomen; just your touch is stimulating enough to have him ready to burst. 

He looks down at you with half-lidded eyes as your hand slips lower over those bulging muscles as they ripple, the bliss from your silky touch almost too much to handle. You catch his stare and lock it in your pining gaze as the tips of your fingers slip over his naval and down onto the clasp of his pants and a deep, guttural moan is dragged out of his throat as you skillfully undo it and shove your way inside.   

Your hand brushes against the bulbous tip of his cock and his whole body shudders. “F-fuck,” he gasps under his breath, his eyes fluttering shut and mouth hanging open as your hand wraps around it and begins to stroke up and down within the confines of his pants. It doesn’t take long and he is bucking, rolling his hips to fuck your hand as your fist tightens more around him. The constriction only makes the movement of his hips more feverish as he succumbs to the feeling of the friction. 

He lets you go on until he can feel the first twinges of pressure building inside and that’s when he knows he’s had enough; there is so much more he wants to do to you and if he comes now it’ll all be over too soon. Opening those brown eyes, now with their blown out pupils, he runs his tongue over his dry lips and looks down at you as he removes your hand from around his cock and tugs it out of his pants.

“Come ‘ere to me, pretty girl,” he groans as he drags your hips forward onto his knees so you have to wrap your legs on either side of his wide, bulky torso. “Need these fuckers off.” 

Those girthy fingers hook themselves into the waistband of your jeans, making sure to latch into the top of your panties as well, and with a hard tug he is wrenching them both down off your hips, continuing down the line of your legs. Your body is aching so bad for his touch that everywhere he makes contact against you feels like ecstasy and all you want is more. You pull your legs back to tuck them against your chest so he can rip your pants all the way off and toss them away. 

Your ears pick up the sound of Simon’s sharp inhale as he gets sight of that sweet thing between your thighs. One look is all it takes and the inside of his mouth begins to salivate as he leans over your body to place his raw lips to your abdomen just below your naval as your body squirms under his touch from each warm caress of his mouth. The short, bristly hair that covers his jaw pricks against that overly sensitive skin until your back arches off the ground and you start to whine as it is almost too much for you to take.

“Need ta make ya come,” Simon whispers his feral plea into your stomach. “Need ta hear it, need ta feel it…”

His thought trails off as his lips wander down lower to stop at the sparse hair covering the top of your nude pussy. He pauses for only a few seconds to take it all in; God, he would never get tired of seeing it. But as much as he admires the look of it, there is something he needs even more and he can feel his taste buds tingling across his tongue to get at it.

“Need ta taste it…” he says, frantic and desperate. 

Your brain is so strung out that you haven’t fully comprehended his words as you open your eyes and see Simon repositioning himself, sliding out from under you and moving onto his stomach in between the divide in your legs. With his fingertips gripping into each of your thighs, he pushes them apart and keeps them spread as he immediately dives face first into the gap he has made with a hunger that makes him wildly delirious. 

There’s something you need to remember to tell him, something important pertaining to this exact situation, but the minute his mouth is on those tender lower lips your ability to think is gone. His mouth pin heavy kisses to your petals before his wide tongue flattens against the curve of your pussy and pushes up tight until the pressure causes you to fidgeting your hips against his face. 

Back and forth Simon slips his tongue over you until he pushes through the threshold of your sex and drags it up the length, coming to rest up against that bundle of nerves towards the top. He can feel your heartbeat through the throbbing in your clit and his eyes roll back in his head as he loses himself inside the haze of his passion; if he could live between your legs, he would definitely call it home. 

You are already a little wet and he can taste your arousal in his mouth as he takes the tip of his tongue to roll it delicately over your clit and you squeeze your thighs together around his ears in response to the intense pleasure that one simple movement produces. Keep doing shit like that and he isn’t going to be able to contain himself. 

Simon tries to keep his tongue steady and slow, but the longer he stays buried in your pussy, lapping at you like he’s been starved of it, the harder it is to contain himself. He’s obsessed. Every desperate sound you make, every writhe of your body, makes him greedy for more; he is eager to do whatever it takes to turn you into a complete mess and that means only one thing- overstimulation.

Releasing one of your thighs, he moves his palm to rest under his chin and brings two of his bulky fingers to align them with your entrance. He keeps his tongue on your clit and thrusts the pad against it as he sinks his middle fingers up into you. Those dark eyes dart up over the line of your body to watch your back arch up high off the floor while you cry out in incoherent moans as you are suddenly stretched out from the size of his digits.  

His fingers fill up your pussy as deep, come hither strokes work on your G spot over and over in rhythm until he has your body dripping. The mixture of your juices and his spit from your clit dribbles down into his hand and collects around his chin. This is exactly what he is looking for: the more your wetness gathers on his face, the more feral he becomes until his sanity is gone and only a mindless creature hell bent on ruining you remains. 

No more calm caresses now; he needs this raw and dirty. He wants his face to be slathered in your cum.

Tilting his head to the side, he takes a deep breath. “Rock your hips inta me,” he grunts his hasty demand with his mouth still against you before plunging back in.

Planting your feet firmly onto the floor, you pick up your hips slightly and slowly begin to rut against his face as his fingers curl up inside of you and his tongue continues to tease your clit. The sensation is unlike anything else, riding his face and fingers at the same time. How is this man a master at using every single part of his body? 

Simon hums his praises into you for how good you are at following orders and you can feel the vibration from his lips; that adds something even more magnificent to the equation and soon there is a warmth gathering in the pit of your stomach that you recognize- you are close. 

Your core is clenching around his fingers something fierce, your swollen walls bearing down on him with each thrust of your hips as he laps up the mess you are making to keep it from being wasted on the carpet. As your leg muscles begin to shake near his ears, he knows that you are about to come and his already depleted breathing hitches as he waits to feel it.

“Sh-shit,” you whimper as your nails dig into the carpet. “Gonna come, Si.”

A few more moans and then you fall silent as all that pressure is right at the peak, so close you can almost taste it, and with a few more thrusts of his tongue and buck of your hips and your body contracts as your orgasm tears through you. 

Simon sneaks one gasping breath just as your thighs clamp down rigidly around his ears, blocking him in against you so that he can’t get free until you are finished. The entirety of your high you ride out with him licking, sucking, and fingering until you sink into the floor, breathing through the pleasure.

“That’s my girl,” he growls, breathing hard as his face emerges from you with a contented smile on his glistening lips. 

Pushing himself up, he moves back onto his knees in front of you before taking the back of his hand and wiping it across his lips to remove the coating leaking down his chin. “Ready for more?” he smiles.

All at once the thought comes flooding back into your mind through the clarity that getting off has given you, that thing you are supposed to tell him, as he slides the waistband of his jeans down over the curve of his ass and pulls his cock out. Goddamn he is hard, the tip swollen and throbbing with the beat of his heart as he moves in.

Quickly, you stagger up onto your elbows to look at him. “Wait,” you choke out as he slides back up close against you.

“Need a break?” he asks, slightly out of breath still.

You don’t want to stop, God, you want him in you so bad it hurts, but there’s a problem. “Ran outta birth control,” you stammer out. “Do we have any condoms?”

Even in your delirious state you already know the answer; you haven’t bought anything for a while as you had never had any trouble with your pills until now. Simon looks back at you and shakes his head, confirming your suspicions and you fall back down onto your back defeated.

“Don’t wanna stop,” you whine pathetically as you feel him move, thinking that you’ll have to stop, but Simon is quick to crush your fears.

"Listen,” he says as he leans over top of you, cupping your cheek to pull you into a quick kiss as he holds himself up with the other, “I'll be careful. Swear I'll fuckin' pull out."

His cock presses against you as it hangs freely out of his pants. Without thinking he slowly grinds the veiny shaft up against your pussy, his hardness stroking over your clit until your juices are dripping all over it. All that slick, all that warmth, and Simon is losing his goddamn mind, but he won’t put it in, not until you say.

You are already so drunk off the euphoria of your orgasm that there is no way you’re gonna say no to that, not when the need to keep this going for as long as possible is all you want. The more his cock slips between your petals the more you agree with his idea until the only thing left in your hazy mind is the need for him to be inside you- now. 

“Promise?” you ask.

“I swear,” he reassures. “Don’t wanna stop either. Wanna be inside ya too.”

“Okay,” you agree enthusiastically and he gives you one more heated kiss in confirmation. 

Slipping through you a few more times just to be sure he is good and coated, he pulls back and sets the tip right at your opening. “Jus’ breathe,” he groans, digging his fingers into your hips as he sinks the tip of his cock inside and with one fluid thrust he plunges in fully until his cock completely disappears inside.

The fucking stretch of him is sublime, the usual slight discomfort from it near nonexistent as your body is more than ready to take him in. “Yes, yes,” you whimper out as your mind is consumed with the feeling. 

There is no restraint left in Simon to keep him in check; the high he feels from being inside you is too much and he wastes no time in setting a punishing pace. Bulky arms move underneath you to tilt your hips upwards as his hips snap into you with ruthless force until he’s pounding into you so deep his vision blurs and he must resort to sounds to convey his thoughts. 

Each thrust is emphasized with a primal groan from him as both your bodies start to glisten with perspiration from the exertion of the brunt of his desire for you that makes him pound into your dripping hole with fervor. Minutes pass in this hazy ecstasy until he decides that he needs a change of position. As good as you look beneath him, you are a true fantasy when you are on top and he craves that right now. 

“Need ya ta ride me, baby,” he murmurs. “Can ya do that?” 

You nod quickly; as long as he keeps making your body feel this way, you’ll do whatever he wants.

Making sure you are secure in his arms, he pulls out of you only long enough so that he can roll you both over until you are now the one on top. Getting you situated he immediately thrusts back inside and you instantly plant your hands firmly onto his chest, using it as leverage. Pushing down against his chest you begin to bob up and down on your knees as best as you can over the bulk of his body to stick to the relentless pace that he had already set. 

Simon runs his hands up and down your bare thighs as he takes in the view of you perched on top of him: your pretty eyes glazed over, your hair a beautifully disheveled mess hanging down around your face, your tits bouncing in tandem with you beneath your shirt. You are utter perfection as you ride. Those needy hands begin to roam up higher and higher over your stomach, pushing your shirt up as he goes until he can reach your breasts so that he can get at them to play with the nipples to make you whine.

Fucking hell, every inch of you is like a dream. And it’s all his.

It isn’t long before your movements start to get sloppy as the euphoria of it all draws you closer to your second release. This is too much for anyone to handle: you being entirely ravaged by him until you are so desperately lost in the pleasure of it all that you are in a complete state of full body bliss. That familiar pressure at the base of your spine is already building again and as long as you keep this rhythm you will be coming in no time. 

Even as you are lost in it all, ready to finish again, an irrational need creeps into your mind that you have never had before. The thrill of the risk is mind-numbly good, but this new though amplifies all that by ten. What if he didn’t pull out?  

It’s crazy, you know, but something about it just sounds so right. The delicious thought consumes your mind, making your limbs tingle with excitement. Screw the consequences, you can figure it all out later. Why the idea popped in your head in the first place, you don’t know, but now that it is here, you can’t get rid of it. You need Simon to come in you.  

“Don’t… pull…out,” you stammer out shakily. 

Simon’s head pops up. Did he hear that right? No, he must be so far out of his mind that he is not able to comprehend your words right now. “What?” he asks.

Your legs lock around his sides as you continue to bounce in that steady rhythm with no sign of stopping. “Want you…to come… inside me. Please, Si. Need it.”

Oh, God. It’s like a switch that gets flicked on in his brain as you plead with him to fill you up and all at once that absolutely feral part of his brain that has been kept dormant all this time is awakened with a fury.

Fuck, it's all over now. 

There is no possible chance in hell that he isn’t going to give in to that. He's so high off the feeling of you riding him into oblivion that any consequences that may come do not even register. So what if you have an accident? He’s confident that he’d be just fine with that. Shit, he loves you to the moon and back, so it’s not much of a risk in the end if a product of your love just happens to come from this. Right now the risk is worth the reward.

“Fill… me up,” you continue to beg. “Please…almost there.”

His mind is already made up. "Christ,” he groans desperately, “can't say no to that, pretty girl. Want me ta fill ya, that's what your gonna fuckin' get."

His large hands lock tight around your hips to hold them down as he strikes his hips up into your pussy, taking control to slam up into you from below harder and harder. The clenching of his abdominal muscles from each thrust has the sweat dripping over the contours of his chest. You take every last delectable inch he gives you as the room fills with the wet sounds of your bodies slapping against each other. Your mind is all static now, so lost within the bliss of your union that you can’t stand it and he isn’t far behind.

“Don’t stop…Dont’ stop,” you whine, your body shaking as he slams into you over and over again. 

“Never,” he grunts, trying to keep together through the overwhelming pressure gathering deep within him that threatens to throw him over the edge at any moment; you have to come first, that’s his rule. 

That warmth is almost at its peak again, the pressure rising harshly at the base of your spine; just a little more and you’ll be there. You’re barely hanging on by a thread, excited to experience being stuffed full by the only man you ever want to claim you. Fuck, you want him to claim you so bad it hurts.

A few more seconds of his roughness as you are jostled atop him and that is it, like a hot flash of white light you squeal out in unsteady whimpers as your second orgasm tears straight through you with such force you nearly fall off him, but Simon keep you upright. 

Finally he can let himself go. He’s nearly there, just a bit more and he is going to fill you full. A few more ragged, desperate thrust and he is spilling inside of you. A loud groan rips through his chest as he releases all that warm liquid up into you, milking his cock until he has nothing more left as he keeps your hips pinned to his; you had wanted this and he is going to be sure you get everything you want. His hips continue slowly moving against yours as he works you both through your highs for the next couple of minutes until it subsides and he comes to a stop, completely spent. 

“I’ve got ya, I’ve got ya,” he murmurs softly as you fall forward onto him and he cradles you against his burning chest while you continue to whimper faintly as your body shakes with the force of your lingering orgasm. 

Never have you come so hard before and fuck, neither has he.

Simon clings to you, gently rubbing down your back until your breathing calms and your heart stops thudding so violently; only then does he carefully pull out of you and help you move to his side. With nothing to plug you up, you can feel a warm gush that runs down to your thigh, a sticky reminder of what just happened. Simon catches a glimpse of it and it makes his heart thud to see all his milky white cum dripping out of you; the ultimate claim to what is his.

Propping himself up onto his elbow, he lays a heavy arm over top of you and wraps it around your back to pull you tighter into him. “We might ‘ave a problem,” he chuckles as he kisses your heated cheek. 

“What’s that?” you ask exhaustedly.

“Think I just found my favorite thing to do with ya,” he whispers. “And from the way ya just came, I might have ta do it again.”

[boneblushed]

Labyrinth

Uh oh, I’m falling in love / Oh no, I’m falling in love again

synopsis you’re reunited with your ex-boyfriend, Rafe, at an Outer Banks wedding.

tags Rafe Cameron x fem!reader, exes to lovers, second chance romance, slowburn-ish, A LOT of angst, an equal amount of pining, an awful breakup but a wonderful reconciliation 💓

wc ~11k

“You look,” you murmur, squeezing Brooklyn’s shoulder gently, “perfect.”

She’s sitting in front of a round, gold-rimmed mirror, the windows on either side of her painting her skin a warm aureate. You stand in shadow behind her, the sunbeams unable to reach your pretty features. There’s a wistfulness to them that’s almost imperceptible.

Almost. If she weren’t your best friend, someone you’ve known since forever, she probably wouldn’t have noticed the way you were hiding from them. The smile on her face falters as she looks up at you through the mirror.

“Look,” she begins tentatively, frowning, “if this is too hard —”

“Do not,” you interrupt. You try for an encouraging smile; what you hope is an encouraging smile. “I’m totally fine, okay? I’m over it.”

A pause. Brooklyn’s reflection sends you a long, hard look. “No one would blame you if you weren’t.”

You know what that means, the insinuation behind her words: you were supposed to be the first one. It’s all anyone in the Figure Eight was saying when they first found out about your break-up: you’re meant for each other, though, we can’t imagine you not being a couple!

Well, neither could you, not that it really mattered. Six months on with half a heart and pulseless motive, you’ve come to realise that wretched pining comes at a costly price.

You can’t afford it anymore.

“I know,” you reply quietly.

The spaghetti strap of your cowl neck falls as you straighten, the periwinkle fabric shimmering forebodingly. An image of the Rafe you knew flashes in your mind, slipping it down to press a kiss on your skin. Your stomach drops.

“But I am,” you add, louder. As though you’re trying to convince yourself more than you are her. “I promise.”

Brooklyn stares at you for a long time before her gaze falls, acquiescing with a sigh. “I hate that you still don’t believe it.”

“Believe what?”

“That he could live a thousand lifetimes and never deserve you.”

You bite back another wince, the fresh sting of forgotten feelings pricking at your eyelids. “I do believe it,” you say quietly. “I do. That’s what makes all of this so fucking hard — that I know we’re never getting a second chance. That he chose to throw all of it away and I’m never going to be able to forgive him for it.”

“You shouldn’t have to, though!”

“We were together for half our lives, Brooke!” You turn away from the mirror, taking in a jagged breath. “We — his mom had promised me her ring before she died, for God’s sake. Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to walk away from what we had?”

A long pause. Brooke’s voice is gentle, but her words cut like a knife. “It’s not as though you had a choice, Y/N/N. He didn’t give you one.”

You look around at her, unshed tears making your pretty eyes shine. “What does it say about me that I’m no closer to accepting that than I was six months ago?”

“Babe.” A tear falls. Brooke’s features soften, and she pulls you into a tight hug, enough pressure to wring out the melancholy in your chest. “It says that you’re human.”

She rocks you for a moment before you’re forced to pull apart, a knock on the door breaking your reverie. “God,” you self-reproach, sending Brooklyn a watery smile. “I would find a way to make your day about me, wouldn’t I?”

“Maybe I should ditch Kelce,” Brooklyn replies faux-seriously, catching the stray tears wetting your lower lids. “We can elope or something.”

As though on queue, the Universe intervenes before she can go through with this idea. Perhaps it knows, having watched the pair of grow close throughout college, that there’s a part of her that really would call this all off if you asked her to.

“Sweetheart!” Comes Brooklyn’s father’s voice from behind the door, punctuated by the sharp rap of his knuckles. “It’s nearly time!”

The tension ebbs. Suddenly, everything about this wedding—the same one you’ve been helping her plan forever—becomes entirely too real. Your melancholia is a tide in this way, flowing forth and receding as its surroundings permit. Never fading away; ever-present. Though it may not be as unbearable now as it was when you first broke up, it lingers.

You’re afraid that it always will. You push down this fear like you’ve done every other.

Focus. Your eyes widen in anticipation, mirroring Brooklyn’s as they transform into nervous excitement.

“Come in!” Brooklyn calls anxiously, biting back a squeal. You’re grateful for the fact that you haven’t ruined her mood completely. “Oh my god. Oh my god!”

She stands up and turns around just as her father enters the room, his lined face shining with a wistful sense of happiness. As the atmosphere in the room shifts, she glances back at you, and your insides twist in cruel mocking. More repentant than jealous. I was supposed to be the first one.

You don’t let your expression falter. The first few chords of the processional float into the room through the ajar door, and you spring into action, smoothing out your dress and readjusting your bouquet of flowers.

“That’s my queue,” you say, squeezing her arm once more before slipping past her and her father.

In true Kook fashion, Brooklyn’s wedding ceremony is taking place on the Island Club green. Upon exiting the storage room you’ve transformed into a vanity, you find yourself in the entranceway that leads to the venue, the set-up just visible beyond its oak doors.

Benches of beige driftwood sit on either side of the aisle, twined with buttery white lilies and ivy-like viridescence. They face a brilliant floral wedding arch, where the officiant and Kelce stand talking in hushed whispers. And the sky above you is a vibrant, cloudless blue, golden sunlight fanning down upon the crowd, bathing them aureate.

In the beat that passes, you search for someone you shouldn’t.

The last time that you saw him, he was hunched over his father’s office desk. His eyes were bloodshot and his tired gaze dull; half-finished documents stared up at him in mocking, and a nagging ache was making home in his chest.

The week prior, you hadn’t seen much of each other. And it wasn’t as though he’d requested this space—he rarely did, rarely asked you for anything—you’d just taken it upon yourself to give it to him. Stay in control. If you proposed time apart before he did, maybe it would feel more deliberate; hurt less.

You were dead wrong.

“Look,” he sighs, this cruel, heavy sound that splices right through your chest, “I realise I’ve been neglecting our relationship a lot recently.”

“Yes,” you respond tentatively. “But you’ve been under a lot of pressure recently. I get it.”

“You shouldn’t have to.” He glances up at you through red-rimmed irises. “I… I don’t know how long it’ll be like this. With everything that’s happened… my dad dying, and me taking over the firm —”

“I’ve seen you through all of it,” you interrupt quietly, your voice cracking. “I’ve — no questions asked, I’ve done it. I get it, Rafe, you’ve got different priorities at the moment. But we’ve loved each other for so long now that I —”

“But that’s the thing,” he says then, swallowing hard, “I just don’t know if I do anymore. Not as much as I used to.”

The silence that follows feels as though it’s suffocating you. You haven’t said a word, and Rafe’s said plenty, but it’s you with the lungs that heave for loveless oxygen.

“Oh.”

Rafe’s Adam’s apple jumps again, and he breaks eye contact as unshed tears brim to the surface. “I’m sorry.”

It doesn’t make any sense.

“Maybe,” you try, grappling hard for a logical explanation, “maybe your grief’s fucking with your ability to feel anything.”

Rafe’s gaze lifts to your face again, teardrop tracks making your pretty cheeks shine. His heart aches, hard, and he finds it difficult to catch his breath. “But… I’ve dealt with it,” he says quietly. “I’ve had to.”

“How can you have?” You throw back, exasperated. “Rafe you — you haven’t had a moment to yourself since his funeral last month, you’ve holed yourself up in his office and acted like everything’s fucking okay!”

“Because it is!” He replies, his face hardening momentarily. “I’m — I’m fucking fine, alright? I just need to be alone right now.”

“Because you don’t love me anymore.”

Rafe winces. Your lower lip trembles. “Yeah. Because something’s missing… the — the fucking spark, or whatever… and right now, I can’t give you the sort of love you deserve.”

He was tired of hurting you through his abjection, he’d said. As if breaking things off wasn’t the most hurtful thing he ever did.

Thankfully, you aren’t able to spot him in the crowd; if you had, walking down the aisle would have been infinitely more difficult. Out of courtesy to you—and Brooke forcing his hand, of course—he hadn’t asked Rafe to be a groomsman either, so you were well safe from an untimely encounter at pre-wedding festivities. And from standing opposite him in front of the altar. You aren’t sure such close proximity in holy matrimony would be healthy for either of you.

It’s unfair on him though, you know it is. He has as much a right being best man as you do maid of honour — the four of you were thick as thieves once upon a time; in fact, it was you that’d introduced Kelce to Brooklyn.

It feels like so long ago when you think back on it now, being nineteen-years-old with a naïve heart and nothing to lose.

You and Rafe had seemed invincible then, high-school sweethearts that were somehow surviving college-borne distance. Forever, that’s the word that ended every drunk call or late night text; forever, and the promise of a proposal and beach-side villa.

“Shi—did you not see the sock on the door, Smith?” Rafe groans, his forehead dropping to your shoulder in defeat. He’s spent the past half hour getting you into a compromising position, his rough hands awry and his wet mouth on your soft skin. The amaranthine imprint of his kisses have made home on your neck. You’re straddling him with your arms wrapped around his shoulders, and he really doesn’t want to sacrifice any amount of closeness.

Kelce enters the room tentatively, his hand firmly pressed over his eyes. “Hard to miss. You two decent or what?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

You let out a peal of laughter as Rafe glowers at his roommate, his calloused palms dropping from your hips to your thighs. You push the fabric of your dress over his hands, but he kneads the flesh anyway, the skin on skin like spare oxygen.

Kelce peeks at you from between his fingers before pulling them away, an unimpressed look on his face. “C’mon, surely you’re done with her Cameron. I’ve given you guys the entire fucking day together.”

“Half an hour,” Rafe replies, his blue eyes narrowing.

“As if you need more than five minutes,” Kelce snorts, plopping down on the bed opposite Rafe’s.

“Oh fuck—” Rafe’s large hands circle your thighs and tighten, standing up and advancing toward Kelce with you in his arms, “—right off—”

“Rafe!” You gasp, suppressing another surprised laugh. “Put me down, you asshole.”

“No way, Y/N/N,” Kelce says then, raising his arms in preemptive surrender. “Your PDA’s the only reason he hasn’t given me a shiner yet.”

Rafe affirms this sentiment by pressing a chaste kiss to your temple, his eyes still narrowed as he glares at Kelce. “You’re lucky I love my girlfriend more than I do my fucking reputation.”

Kelce makes a face, keeling over and mock-gagging. “Yeah, yeah, you guys have been bethrothed since fucking pre-K, I get it. Now will you stop being so possessive and let me have a conversation with her?”

You look over your shoulder at him, untangling your arms from Rafe’s neck so he can let you down gently. When he does so, it’s with great reluctance, and he doesn’t hesitate to circle your chest so he can pull you back against him. His strong bicep is warm against your neck, solid pressure.

“What’s up, Kelcey?” You ask, surveying him with interest.

“Ghosted,” he says gloomily, falling back against his duvet, “again.”

Rafe glances down at you at the same time you look up at him, a sage, sympathetic emotion passing between you. In the weeks after your break-up, you’ll come to yearn for this emotion more than anything else — that feeling of being immune to inadequacy, of having found the love of your life so effortlessly.

“You’ve gotta stop coming on so hard, bro,” Rafe says, resting his chin on your forehead. “These sorority chicks are probably all looking for something casual.”

“He can’t help the fact that he’s a lover boy, Rafe,” you defend, frowning. “You’ve just gotta find a girl that wants what you want, Kelce.”

Kelce raises his head hopefully. “Know anyone like that, Y/N/N?”

“Well,” you pause, chewing your bottom lip thoughtfully, “I am thinking of inviting my roommate Brooklyn to the Bahamas over summer break —”

“To Rafe’s?” This piques Kelce’s interest. He props himself up onto his elbows, a hopeful grin transforming his features. “Sold.”

How times change.

Today, Kelce stands at the other end of the aisle, waiting for the same Brooklyn that was once your roommate, now his almost wife. He’s wearing an elegant black tuxedo with a lily tucked into the breast pocket, its buttery white petals shining in the sun. He looks so, unimaginably, happy. It should’ve been you and Rafe. Your heartstrings twinge.

“You’re not ready,” you murmur as you pass him on the altar, finding your place opposite his best man, Topper.

Kelce smiles at you, a little nervous, a little unshed. “Will I ever be?”

You shake your head, smiling in tandem.

The wedding procession is a brilliant display of love, and you find a way to make it about your lack thereof. Seconds blur, minutes melt into each other, and your poor mind strays to when things were far simpler. The Island Club was your date night spot, once upon a time. It’s where you’d envisioned you’d get proposed to; where you would get married one day, too. Just like this.

You’re happy for them, you swear it. It’s just a difficult emotion to maintain when the opposite comes so naturally.

Rafe doesn’t arrive until the reception itself.

He wants to believe that this is entirely accidental — he’s had a long day at the office, filled with several meetings with prospective clients. He can’t though, his wretched conscience won’t let him. He chose to go to work today, chose to schedule important meetings at the same time as Kelce’s nuptials.

He thinks he knows why this is, and isn’t sure whether he can handle the why in a satin slip and strappy heels. He wants to believe that he meant everything he said to you six months prior, but the dreadful ache in his chest crescendos in mocking every time he tries this.

He’s made a mistake. He won’t admit this if it killed him. But he knows, deep down, that something isn’t right about all of this.

If he really didn’t love you anymore, if that fucking spark was missing, there shouldn’t have been anything to move on from—the ship should have already departed. But he’s struggling, hard, and his thoughts juxtapose his actions. Despite telling you that he needs to be alone for the time being, you remain unmoored in his mind, rocking back and forth but never sinking.

He’s done his fair share of fucking up over the past few months. Got into something else too quickly, tried that no contact thing and failed miserably. There’s no going back after everything that’s happened. And yet…

“Hello?” He greets you like it’s a question; like greeting you isn’t second nature anymore. Your stomach turns.

When you respond, your voice comes out jagged, pained. “Look. I get that you’re doing this ‘no contact’ thing, or whatever, but Sarah told me something pretty fucked up and I think you owe me an explanation.” Your voice is far weaker.

Rafe winces, a familiar ache pulling through his chest. “If this is about Elle —”

“It’s been a month, Rafe. You may as well have cheated.”

…that fucking hug.

After you’d confronted him about shamelessly flirting with Sarah’s friend, Elle—in front of Sarah, no less, who told you the second it happened—he’d asked to meet up in person and explain himself.

You weren’t quite sure what to make of it all, which is probably why you’d foolishly agreed to hear him out. Ward had hired Elle as an intern before his death; she’d been around a while, long enough for an affair.

It shifted bile into your throat.

And when you’d met him, the exact opposite of what you’d hoped had happened. He’d had the gall to tell you that he thinks something’s there, that he feels that bullshit spark that he swore was missing in your relationship.

What were you meant to say?

But then he’d apologised, recognised it was too soon, begged to stay friends. Friends—like a platonic relationship is in any way gift receipt redeemable. And ironically, hearing him out wasn’t even your biggest mistake, it was that wretched hug goodbye that you’d permitted you get.

It was as though that hug held everything unsaid. Your figure had moulded against his quite perfectly, and why wouldn’t it? He’s the only romantic embrace you’d known since you were a teenager.

And when you’d finally pulled away, separated the pieces of your heart that were finally greeting his again, you hadn’t realised that he’d think about that hug for weeks gone by, just like you.

All the way up until Christmas, which occurred two months after your sudden break-up.

It was the last time you saw him under the pretence of amicability, when you came by Tannyhill to drop off presents and see his family. Mostly him. It felt pathetic, even then; for all you knew, Elle was on his mind and you were somewhere insignificant.

Rafe’s pretty sure he’s fucking doomed.

Your laugh reverberates through Tannyhill like a siren song, and he’s pretty sure he’ll never not recognise the sound of it. It’s as though every bone in his body vibrates in tune to it—so unabashed, so freeing. Far more painful now than it used to be.

You’ve become so many Taylor Swift songs and none of them end happy.

He follows your sweet timbre to the hallway before he can help himself. Once upon a time—God, it feels so long ago now—he’d have been the first person you’d have texted before dropping by the house. Instead, as he stands paralysed at the foot of the stairs, it’s Sarah who’s hugging you, who gets to hold you in her arms.

Luckily for him, your eyes are closed in the embrace, and he’s afforded a second to recalibrate after taking you in. He’s known that you’re beautiful like his first memory on Earth, but that doesn’t mean your proximity leaves him any less winded. You’re fresh-faced with limbs that have an untouchable quality to them; you aren’t his to mark anymore, no longer his to ruin.

He can’t remember the last time he kissed you. He wants to remember so fucking bad. You’re slipping through his calloused fingers and fragments of you are all he has.

“You didn’t have to get us anything!” Sarah exclaims, pulling away faux-disprovingly.

“Hey, don’t do that, of course I did.” Your arms fall back to your side, and you open your eyes in tandem. When they flit past Sarah’s face and find Rafe’s instead, it feels as though someone has tipped ice-cold water down your singlet. A pause. “You’re family.”

Sarah notes the change in your tone with a frown, turning to look over her shoulder. “Oh,” she says, her expression hardening. “Sorry, Y/N/N. I didn’t know he was home.”

You swallow. “It’s no big,” you reply, forcing yourself to look back at her. “We’re alright, really. But I should go, I have a few more presents to drop off.”

Sarah frowns harder. “You sure you don’t want to stay a bit? I know Rose’d love to see you, we’ve all really missed having you around —”

“I’m sure,” you interrupt, handing her the bag of presents you’ve wrapped. “I’ll send her a text, okay? And listen,” you pause, your expression softening a little, “I know this holiday season’s going to be hard without your dad, and I want you to know that I’m here for you, whenever you need me.”

Sarah’s eyes well with tears. “It’s going to be hard without you too, Y/N,” she murmurs. “You’re my sister.”

Your features sadden in tandem, and you give her shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “And I always will be. You know that.”

“You should come to Christmas, then,” she says hopefully.

“I —” you falter as your voice cracks, grimacing slightly, “— I’m sorry. I don’t think I can.”

When you turn around, something in Rafe’s chest cracks too. He’s still hanging on to that expression-softening catalyst from a moment prior, yearning hard for the feeling of being on the receiving end of your love.

“Why the fuck,” Sarah fumes, rounding on him once you’re out of earshot, “do you have to ruin everything you touch?”

Rafe doesn’t even have it in him to wince. “I don’t know,” he responds quietly, with an honesty that aches. “If I did, maybe I’d have found a way to fix it.”

Sarah takes pause. Slight disbelief transforms her features. “You have to still love her. How can’t you?”

“I don’t know, alright?” Rafe runs his hand through his hair slovenly. “I just — I’m not happy anymore. It’s not fucking there… I don’t know if it’ll ever come back.”

“What isn’t?”

“The… the spark.”

“Bullshit,” Sarah spits out, accusatory. “The ‘spark’ is fucking bullshit, Rafe. You’re telling me you’ve felt it the entire time you’ve known her? You’re telling me this doesn’t have anything to do with dad’s death?”

Rafe swallows thickly, discomfort coating his throat. “I don’t, alright? All I know is I can’t give her what she needs right now; I don’t know if I ever will.”

To this day, he doesn’t know about your detour that evening — how instead of driving home, you took a left to the look-out where you shared your first kiss. He doesn’t know that the waves crashing ashore bore witness to your heartbreak; that sunset orange painted your tear-streaked cheeks a gentler amber. Caressed them, subdued them, where he no longer could. He doesn’t know you agonised over how much his hair had grown in your absence, the subtle stubble on his jaw, the stark outline of his biceps.

The him that’s foreign to you, now; the him that’s Elle’s and not yours.

At twenty-four years old, Rafe Cameron doesn’t know fucking anything.

Of course, once he does eventually recognise that his ‘something there’ with Elle is a rebound, it’s too late to entertain returning to you with his tail between his legs.

He can’t. Not after everything he’s put you through in the past. So he allows regret to caulk his limbs and bitterness to coat his insides, and Rafe Cameron does what he does best — pushes it down and ignores it.

Which brings him here, a non-attendee to his best friend’s wedding and an hour late to his reception.

He sidles into the venue through a pair of double doors, and the first thing he notices is the dimmed sconces and muted fairy lights. It’s the first thing, because perplexingly, the crowd is hard to discern but you glow anyway. A spotlight illuminates the centre of the room where Brooklyn and Kelce share their first dance, but they don’t draw his gaze, your beautiful features do.

Of course you do, in your strappy cowl neck slip. There’s less periwinkle fabric than he’d anticipated, more exposed limbs, and Rafe feels like he’s run a fucking marathon as he takes you in. And your pretty eyes and glossy lips cascade into a bare neck; soft skin that’s forgotten his rough touch, his bruising kisses.

It’s momentary lust that his regret promptly squashes. He can’t think those thoughts about you anymore, even if they’re almost second nature. Even if he’s spent more tangible years of his life as your boyfriend than he has a fucking stranger.

That’s what you guys are meant to be right now: strangers. His stomach coils. His tired eyes search for the open bar on instinct.

Once he’s acquired a whiskey neat and a glass of champagne, he pulls through the crowd and makes toward your figure.

You aren’t as lucky as he is to mentally prepare for a reunion. When he holds out the shimmering flute and prompts your gaze toward him, there’s a split-second of slack-jawed diffidence before you find your common sense.

God, you wish he wasn’t so easy to stare at.

He’s wearing an expression that isn’t yours anymore, with his thick brows furrowed and lips slightly parted. Yearning, but he can’t be. His blue eyes make your heart leap. Your gaze lifts before it falls, taking in his damp hair, his larger than ever frame. Both feel unfamiliar; he’s shed the skin and aureate curls your fingers once traced. Same notes of patchouli on his neck, though you note the absence of the silver chain you once bought him for Christmas.

Does he still have it, somewhere, hidden in a shoebox under his bed? (His hand is so close to your chest, it feels like you’re dying.) Is it as painful for him to see you like this after months and months of no contact?

Can’t be. Shouldn’t be. The ache may linger, agonisingly, but you’re stronger now than you were when he first ended things.

“Oh,” is all you can muster, accepting the flute of champagne. When your fingers brush, you reprimand the jolt of static. Lust may be hard to shake, but you resolve to let logic prevail. “Thanks.”

Rafe feels it too, harder, more unbearable. “Don’t mention it.”

You break eye contact to look out into the crowd, though it’s a struggle finding anything to focus on. “When’d you arrive?”

“Five minutes ago,” he admits, staring at your side profile for a second longer than he probably should. He analyses the glittery stuff on your cheekbones—highlighter?—for traces of a familiar feeling. “Work shit.”

“Ah,” you reply, raising your eyebrows at him. “Some things never change, huh?”

Rafe winces. “Look, Y/N, I —”

“I’m kidding, Rafe, relax,” you interrupt, sending him a small smile. It makes his stomach turn. “It’s all going well, I hope?”

“It is, yeah,” he responds, smiling in tandem. “Ish. Still doing a fuck tonne of late nights and weekends.”

“Bummer.” It feels strange, making small talk in this way. Strange, though not particularly as awful as you’d predicted. “How’re Rose and your sisters?”

“Yeah, they’re good,” they miss you, “Sarah’s going to UCLA in the fall.”

You nod. “She told me.”

Something in Rafe’s chest drops. He turns to you, his piercing gaze making your skin burn. “I didn’t realise you guys kept in touch.”

“We’ve always been really close. You know that.”

Because of me. “Right.” His eyes fall to your throat as you take another pull of champagne, smooth and unblemished and painfully foreign. “I’m glad.”

You turn to him then, an unreadable expression on your face. “Me too.”

A beat. The pair of you stare at each as the surroundings buzz into static.

“Listen, Rafe, I —”

“Y/N, I’ve been —”

You falter first, scrunching up your face abashedly. “Sorry. You go.”

“I…” Rafe pauses, running his calloused palm through his hair, “I guess I just want to apologise. For everything.”

Your eyes widen, and you turn away from him abruptly. “Rafe, I don’t know if now is the best time to have this conversation.”

“Shit, I know. I know I’m about five months too late and don’t deserve to be heard out.”

“Well,” you pause, chewing on your bottom lip apprehensively. Your voice quietens. “Maybe not at a wedding.”

Or ever. You tip back the rest of your champagne just as the slow dance fades out, breaking away from him. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

Rafe fucking hopes so. He needs a clean slate if it’ll kill him. He nods reluctantly, watching you disappear into the crowd in front of him. The ache in his chest crescendos as the physical distance swallows you completely.

—

“We love you,” Brooklyn mouthes, blowing you a kiss through the open window. The limousine she’s in stretches forward with jet-black grandiosity, its ignition blaring alive as you catch it in mid-air.

When you blow one back, Kelce peeks over her shoulder and sends you a wink. The pair of them wave to the wedding-goers surrounding you before the vehicle pulls forward, leaving you in its dust. You watch them exit the Island Club gates, and a sense of bittersweet melancholia finds home in your chest.

That should’ve been you. You turn around as the crowd begins to disperse and find yourself face to face with Rafe once again.

“Oh,” you say, looking up at him in surprise. When your expression relaxes—in recognition—his chest pulls in tandem. “They’re sweet, huh?”

Us; that should’ve been us. Rafe nods, smiling wistfully. “Can you believe you’re the one that set them up?”

“At your holiday house,” you return, smiling in tandem. “This was a two-person wing man job.”

“Nah. You were the one that saw their potential.” A pause. “You’ve always been really good at that.”

Your brow furrows. “At setting people up?”

“At seeing their potential,” Rafe corrects. An unreadable emotion crosses his blue irises. “Even when they don’t deserve it.”

Your expression falters. You aren’t sure what to say to this, so you don’t say anything at all.

“Listen,” Rafe tries again, scratching the back of his neck, “d’you need a ride?”

“Well…”

You hesitate, looking over his shoulder for your parents. When you spot them, they’re in avid conversation with some family friends; they look extremely comfortable, like they’re going to be dawdling until God knows when.

You’re searching for justification even though he doesn’t deserve it. After all the pain he’s caused you, your wretched heart still yearns for more.

Fucking sadist.

“Actually, yeah,” you finish after a beat, bringing your gaze back to him. “That’d be great, thank you.”

His shoulders relax. “Yeah, of course. You have all your things?”

“Uh huh.”

“This way.”

You allow him to guide you to his pick-up trunk, pretend that you didn’t discern it right away. Besides, you were meant to have forgotten the location of his unofficial ‘official’ parking spot. So you follow him toward it, deny the familiarity of its number plate, and act like every dent and wretched scratch isn’t a piece of your heart.

“Shit—ow!” You curse, hurtling forward as you stall, again. “This is fucking impossible, Rafe. I quit.”

Rafe grins perplexedly, giving your shoulder a squeeze. “Baby,” he placates, “if Top can learn to drive manual, anyone can.”

You make a frustrated noise, crossing your arms over your chest. “Not me, clearly.”

Rafe lets out a laugh, unbuckling your seatbelt so he can pull you into his lap. “C’mere.”

When he does so—with entirely too much ease—he pinches your chin between his forefinger and thumb so he can guide your lips against his. It’s an unhurried kiss, a sure press of emotion, as though he’s rousing the embers that live within your ribcage.

He has this funny way of leaving you out of breath no matter how chaste the embrace. You break away reluctantly, raising your eyebrows at him. “So is this the reward system you used when you were teaching him to drive, hot-shot?”

Rafe makes a face, dipping his head to sponge a kiss to your neck. “Why? You jealous?”

“Never,” you sigh, running your fingers through his hair. “You wouldn’t dream of leaving me for someone else, Rafe Cameron. The Figure Eight wouldn’t forgive you if you did.”

“I wouldn’t forgive myself if I did.” Another teeth-scraping kiss. “I’d be crazy to let you go. I’ve been in love with you since we were freshman.”

He doesn’t open the passenger’s side door for you after unlocking his pick-up truck. That isn’t his place anymore.

He wants to, anyway. You want him to, badly. This revelation passes unsaid between the two of you as you climb into the seat yourself, unscathed by chivalry.

Once you’re buckled in, your gaze lifts to the new air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror. “Huh,” you say, flicking it absently, “you replaced it.”

He wants to say, you left me no choice. He wants to say, old spice smells like you. “Oh yeah,” he replies instead, clearing his throat. “Rose got me it.”

“It’s nice.”

“Thanks.”

He shifts into reverse and backs out of the park, and there’s a split second where he almost places his hand on your headrest. He can’t do that anymore. Too close; not close enough. You notice it too. An ache passes from his heart to yours.

“Are you going to take any time off over summer break?” You ask, keeping your gaze on the road ahead.

Rafe pulls out onto the main road before turning to you and responding, “I wasn’t planning on it, but I think I might need some.”

“I think you might need some too,” you agree, sending him a fleeting smile. “Bahamas?”

You don’t expect the tears in his eyes that follow. You straighten abruptly, your eyebrows pulling together. “Sorry, I didn’t mean —”

“No—shit, I just—” he falters as his voice cracks, clearing his throat again, “I don’t think I could go back there any time soon. Too many memories.”

Your expression softens. “Your dad, of course. I get it. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You have nothing to be sorry about.” He takes in a jagged breath. “Shit, I’m the one that should be apologising. For everything.”

“Rafe —”

“No, listen…”

He pauses as he turns left onto your street, pulling onto the side of the road as soon as he can. He’s still a good mile away from your house, but it feels an injustice to keep you waiting for an explanation. When he turns and angles his body toward you, there’s a brokenness on his face that makes your miserable heart falter.

“I’m… I’m so sorry for everything I put you through after I broke up with you. Even if that was what I needed at the time, even if it was the right decision, I shouldn’t have been so fucking heartless and I regret not reaching out to you more often.”

You swallow thickly. He takes your silence as encouragement to keep going.

“You deserved better than the way I treated you… you’ve always deserved better than me. I didn’t know how to deal with all of my grief and I pushed you away in the process. It was… fuck, it was so selfish of me, and I’m sorry. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t hate myself for it.”

He’s taken all of the oxygen in the car, and you find yourself struggling for air. You turn to him, every drunken rationalisation manifest. “Thank you,” you whisper, “for saying that.”

“And listen, the Elle thing —”

Too much. “Rafe,” you interrupt, swallowing again. “Stop. It’s fine. I accept your apology.”

Rafe frowns, the furrow in his brow painfully evident. “Yeah? Because… because I’d understand if you didn’t.”

“Yeah,” you affirm, turning away from him. “Besides, it’s ancient history. I forgave you a long time ago in my head.”

“You did?” Rafe’s asks, searching your features in earnest. “Why?”

The champagne you’ve consumed swirls uncomfortably in your stomach. “I had to,” you say quietly. “It was the only way I was going to be able to move on from the situation.”

Rafe’s stomach drops. “Which you have.”

“Which I have.”

The smokescreen between you smothers any semblance of hope you might’ve shared. He nods, turning on the ignition once again. “I hope that means you’re happy, Y/N.”

“It does,” you reply, “I am.”

“Good.” It doesn’t feel good at all. “Maybe this means we can be friends.”

You turn to him again, raising your eyebrows. “Friends?”

“Like we were before,” he affirms, putting the car into drive. His fingers brush the bare skin of your thigh near the gearshift. A very unfriend-like jolt of static shoots into your chest. “I… I don’t know. Sometimes I think I just miss my best friend.”

Your heart sighs. “Me too.”

“Friends then.”

“Yeah,” you reply, sending him a small smile. “Friends.”

—

You haven’t been to Shake Shack since you broke up with Rafe. You didn’t even realise you’d evaded it so long; perhaps it was a subconscious thing, too many painful memories to bear.

You remember when it first opened up in the Banks, this egalitarian refuge nestled between the Cut and Figure Eight.

Rafe Cameron remembers too, remembers bringing you here on your very first date. Roguish at fourteen with endless charm and a handsome face, he had far less creases etched onto his forehead then; far less familial expectations to deal with.

If only you knew he’s evaded it too. When he pulls into the carpark, the aforementioned date comes forth in fragments.

When memories lie dormant so long in one’s head, they tend to lose the stitches that hold them together. Nervousness, excitement, cherry coke and a lilac singlet. The strange feeling of forever before either of you could place it. He doesn’t remember any of your conversation, nor how long the date lasted, but he remembers the cloudless sky, the flutter of new love in his stomach.

The pair of you share a look before exiting his pick-up truck. A look that says: uh oh, and insinuates far more than that.

“So how’s work going, anyway?” Rafe asks, shoving his hands into his front pockets. He’s a beat behind you head toward the entrance, and you can feel your neck burn where his eyes remained trained on you.

“Yeah, alright, same old,” you say, sending him a fleeting smile over your shoulder. His blue irises are dappled golden in sunlight, and their brilliance unsteadies you, the eye-contact like a firestarter. You clear your throat. “Sam quit.”

Rafe’s eyes widen. “You’re kidding.”

“Not kidding,” you shake your head, “he ended things with Peyton and booked a Contiki in South East Asia.”

“Shiiiiiit,” Rafe wolf whistles, shaking his head in tandem. “Is he going through some kind of quarter life crisis?”

You shrug. “Who would let someone like Peyton go, huh?”

Rafe resists the urge to wince. He can think of one person in particular who threw away something far more special. He clears his throat significantly, regret like molasses coating the sides of his windpipe. “Yeah. How’s she doing with it all?”

“Oh you know Peyton, she’s the queen of acting unbothered,” you reply, sounding reproachful. “Even when she’s heartbroken, she refuses to tell me about it.”

Rafe frowns. “Fuck that.”

“Yeah?” You send him a wayward glance, raising your eyebrows knowingly. “Cause to me, it sounds like someone else I used to know.”

There’s a pause as he meets your gaze, a frightening wistfulness passing between you. It lingers.

“Right.” You’re at the entrance to Shake Shack now, and Rafe grapples for purchase on the one thing he can control—friends. He pulls open the door and beckons you forward, “So. Is today the day you branch out and order something new, Y/N?”

When you pass by him, a tendril-like brush of shoulder on chest, the buttery scent of your vanilla perfume lingers. A lot about you does, a lot more than he’d care to admit.

Rafe’s wretched heart cycles between the old and new you like it’s trying to make them both fit within its chambers.

“Don’t think I have a choice,” you reply, sending him a smile over your shoulder. “They’ve completely revamped their menu since the last time we were here.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows at you. “They have?” You checked?

“Uh huh,” you reply, nodding. “I was going to make a reservation here for our anniversary way back when.” You clear your throat. “When I went on their website to do so, I realised that their menu was totally different.”

You leave out the part where you’d stopped by soon after, asked—no, begged—the manager to serve you the originals when you came. You know, when old time’s sake was a sacred concept. When that sweet, lovesick version of you still existed.

“Oh shit,” Rafe says. Though it’s subtle, he catches the smidge of diffidence in your voice, like the ghost of relationship’s past rearing its ugly head. You checked, for him, and you’re so nonchalant about it. Like it may have mattered then, but right now it matters far less.

He feels an awful twinge in his chest. He adds, “That sucks.” He isn’t sure whether he’s referring to the change in menu or the change in your heart’s purpose.

“I know.”

“I was looking forward to ordering the usual.”

“Me too.” You shrug. “We’re just going to have to find a new usual, I guess.”

What you mean is, make new memories that’ll replace the old ones. What you mean is, erase the nostalgia being here brings.

Also, though you’d never willingly admit it, start anew.

Rafe nods, stepping forward and glancing up at the menu. Though it’s different to the one he remembers from his youth, the interior of the diner is comfortingly familiar — same ugly yellow track lights, same checkered linoleum underfoot. Same fingerprint-smudged counter and broken drinks machine, same uniform on the workers, same greasy smell permeating.

And the same booth you were partial to nestled in one corner, it’s retro cushion covers faded as ever.

The menu, and the girl beside him. The only two things that feel different.

“Hm.” You frown, deliberating over the menu. “I’m thinking the ‘classic’. You want to split some curly fries?”

Rafe raises his eyebrows, his blue eyes full of mirth. “So the one that’s exactly your old order, minus the pickles. Got it.”

“Yes,” you decide. “Except I’ll ask them to add pickles.”

“Of course you will.” Rafe grins. “I’ll get the same.”

You gasp, faux-scandalised. “Rafe Cameron eating pickles? Now I’ve seen everything.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows. “How d’you know I’m not just ordering it to pawn ‘em off to you?”

You balk. “I don’t, I guess.”

“And yes, to the curly fries,” he adds, quick to change the subject. The bashfulness on your features dissipates, but the tension in the room weighs ever-present.

You nod, sliding your wallet out of your back-pocket. “Should we just split the bill, then?”

“No way,” Rafe says, clasping your wrist to hold it in place. Your pulse feels funny. “I got it.”

“Rafe.” You frown, shaking your head. “Look, it really isn’t a big deal —”

It is to me. “Exactly,” he interrupts. “Which is why I got it.”

Maybe you should argue some more, insist on paying until he gives in. But you don’t. Between the pulse-jolting closeness and mocking sense of nostalgia, you aren’t sure you have it in you to retaliate.

Though in an act of rebellion, you avoid your usual booth. Once you’re seated at a new table and separated by your burgers, you re-enter this stupid friendship thing you’ve adopted. The one that boasts no-strings like the red one isn’t obvious.

“So,” you say, popping a curly fry in your mouth. “You remember Maya, right?”

Rafe makes a face. “That psycho roommate you had in senior year? Yeah, pretty hard to forget.”

“Well, she hit me up a month ago to let me know she’d be in the Banks to see her boyfriend.” At his audible gasp, you nod significantly. “I know. Asked if I wanted to catch up while she was here.”

Rafe wolf whistles in amusement. “No fucking way. After the Hell she put you through?”

“I fucking know,” you reply, grimacing in disdain.

Rafe raises his eyebrows, swallowing down a handful of curly fries. “Tell me you said no.”

You raise yours in tandem. “What do you think, casanova?”

“Y/N!” He groans, shaking his head. “Why do you put yourself through this shit?”

You frown, reaching for your soda and sipping stubbornly. Condensation rolls down your palm, the soft skin shining. “C’mon! It was useful, I swear. I got the intel on Maya and her mystery OBX man.”

Rafe leans forward in interest, taking a pull of his soda too. “Go on then.”

“God, I’ve been sitting on this information for ages,” you say, your pretty eyes full of excitement. Rafe’s heart leaps. “I wanted to tell you as soon as I found out, but we weren’t talking and you were avoiding me and I didn’t know whether I should break no contact.”

It deflates just as quickly, sinking into his stomach like deadweight. “I wasn’t… I don’t know, I thought it’d be best if I kept my distance.” He sighs, sitting back and raking his fingers through his hair. “Clearly that was a mistake. I haven’t been this relaxed in fucking ages.”

You smile small. “Yeah. This is nice.”

“Nice.”

“Anyway,” you clear your throat, this sticky, molasses-like something rising from your chest, “it’s Dylan. Like Dylan fucking Young that had a crush on me in freshman year.”

“Fuck off, seriously?” Rafe replies, mirth evident on his features. “Not kidding, think it’d be grounds for a restraining order if she ever found that out.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” You exclaim, raising your eyebrows significantly. “You promise to take this to your grave, Cameron?”

Rafe nods, faux-somber, extending his pinky toward you. “He won’t hear it from me, Y/L/N.”

When your fingers entwine, you wonder whether he feels it too. It’s a jolt of static that leaves your skin warm and your insides funny, and you wonder whether the effect it has on you is endearing or pathetic.

The latter, you conclude. The red string of fate disagrees.

“Good,” you say, retrieving your hand. “Oh, and,” you take a generous bite of your burger, “did you hear that Taylor’s moving to Texas?”

“I did, actually,” Rafe replies. “From Top, funnily enough.”

You frown. “He’s still pining, huh?”

“Unfortunately.” He pulls apart his burger to pick out the green pickles, placing them onto your plate before re-assembling. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. In the offensive, fluorescent lighting, they shine up at you in mocking. “Anyway, I should probably learn to get used to it. I’m moving into Kelce’s room now that he’s happily wed.”

Your jaw slackens in surprise. “You’re moving in with Topper?”

Rafe grins. “I know. Who would’ve thought, huh?”

“But,” you pause, popping another curly fry into your mouth, “why?”

“Needed to get out of Tannyhill, I guess.” He falters, swallowing down the bile-like rise of emotion from his chest. “Too many memories.”

Your expression softens. “That makes sense.”

“Besides, Sarah’s starting college soon, and Wheeze’s off at boarding school for the majority of the year anyway.” He shrugs. “And Rose… well, she’s at the Bahamas house more than she is in the OBX.”

“Too many memories,” you repeat, frowning sadly.

“Yeah. I guess.”

There’s silence then, the comfortable kind. An emotion passes between you that feels both familiar and new at the same time.

It matters less when you finally finish, what you speak about, whether you’ll meet again. All you know is, something feels different now, as though there’s embers that this reunion has reignited in your ribcage. Dormant though they had once been, you’d always hoped that the renewed hope would set them aflame.

The next day, you wake up to a text from Rafe.

thank you for yesterday. It was really nice.

You don’t have it in you to reply; Rafe doesn’t mind. He knows you feel the same way.

—

It’s a few weeks before you see him again, at a farewell party for Brooklyn and Kelce.

Prior to embarking on their honeymoon, they were shifting their lives to Chicago; laying down the foundations of stability so they could return to a clean slate.

It upsets you to no end. You’d always assumed that her marriage to Kelce would guarantee that she settles down in the Banks.

Rafe Cameron must remember this, the way he does everything else. He hands you a beer and clinks his own against it, beads of condensation sliding over his calloused hand.

“Huh,” he murmurs, shaking his head in faux-disappoint, “so much for staying here and ruling the Eight with an iron fist.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” You exclaim, taking a generous pull of beer. Rafe’s gaze falls to the bare column of your throat, and he temporarily loses his bearings. “Does loyalty mean absolutely nothing around here?”

Rafe grins appreciatively. “They’re bound to come back, you know.”

“And how can you be so sure?”

“Because,” Rafe pauses, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “we were all cursed by the hometown witch when we were babies.”

You let out a peal of laughter. “Is that why I came back here after college?”

It isn’t lost on you that Rafe is standing far closer to you than he should. His spicy, cedar-wood cologne presses over your figure in waves. He bows his head to eye level, still grinning his mirth, “It’s why we all did. It’s also why they aren’t going to last more than a year in Chicago, I’m calling it now.”

“Who isn’t going to last more than a year in Chicago?” Comes Brooklyn’s voice from behind him, pulling the pair of you from your reverie.

He breaks away and turns to find her standing behind him, her eyebrows raised accusatorially at your closeness.

You smile guiltily at her, raising your arms in surrender. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t deny it either!” Brooklyn reproaches, faux-scandalised. She sends Rafe a playful glare, reaching for your arm and pulling you away. “I’m rescuing her from your bad influence, Cameron.”

Rafe nods sagely, taking a sip of his beer. “I think that’s wise, Astor—” he balks, shaking his head, “—sorry, Smith. Shit, Brooklyn Smith, huh? Guess I can’t do that last name thing ‘round here anymore, can I?”

“Not with us,” she replies, turning the pair of you around. She sends you the ghost of a wink before adding, “Y/N’s fair game, though. You know she’d rather die than take a guy’s last name.”

Something in Rafe’s chest deflates. “Yeah?”

You frown at him over your shoulder, mildly bewildered. “You knew that, Cameron.”

Maybe I thought I was different. “True.” He raises his beer bottle in acknowledgement. “Besides, Y/L/N suits you too much.”

Not as much as Cameron would have, once upon a time. You nod approvingly, the twinge in your heart conveying the exact opposite. “Doesn’t it just?”

Brooklyn steers you to the kitchen under the pretence of grabbing a drink, her true intentions becoming obvious when Kelce pivots into earshot on his barstool.

“So?” She prods, rounding on you once you’ve halted. “What’s the deal?”

“Deal?” You echo, feigning confusion. “What deal?”

“Don’t do that,” she replies, narrowing her eyes accusatorially. “Are you guys seeing each other again?”

You swallow. Your gaze darts to a helpless-looking Kelce. “Why? Has he said something?”

“That’s the thing,” Kelce mutters, shaking his head thoughtfully. “He hasn’t. But he’s… different.”

You frown. “Different how?”

“I don’t know… chiller. Happier. Like he was before Ward passed away.”

“Of course he is,” Brooklyn snorts, not buying it for a second. “He’s finally being absolved of all his guilt!”

“Brooklyn…” you sigh.

“What? It’s true!” She asserts, crossing her arms across her chest. “He’s… listen, Y/N, whatever you think this is, you need to snap out of it. He’s proved time and time again that he doesn’t have the emotional capability to deal with his shit, and you’ve been made collateral too many times to forgive him this quick.”

“Quick?” Your chest feels on fire. Isn’t seven months of torture enough exoneration?

“C’mon baby, you’ve gotta cut him some slack,” Kelce assuages, gentle but firm. “He fucked up, sure, but he also lost his dad, remember?”

“Grieving or not, he shouldn’t have pushed her away.”

“Granted, but we’ll never know exactly how he was feeling —”

“We shouldn’t have to, you just don’t do that to someone you love —”

“I’m still here, you know,” you interrupt quietly, frowning. “That someone that Rafe doesn’t love.”

A pause. Its silence that’s distilled in the overhead lighting, the scene beneath it awash in dim regret.

Brooklyn’s features are softer when she breaks the silence. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I just… I worry about you.”

You know she does; it isn’t her fault. She’s the one that slept over for four weeks straight post break-up, forced food down your throat and wiped away all your tears.

“Don’t apologise, Brooke, I get it,” you say, sending her a small smile. “But I’m fine, I promise. This isn’t even… this feels different.”

“Different how?”

“Like… you know that saying: ‘You’ll never find the same person twice, not even in the same person’? That’s how this feels. We haven’t fallen back into old habits.”

Brooklyn regards this for a moment, surveying your features carefully. “But you’ve been hanging out?”

“Only once,” you reply honestly. “Sent a few texts back and forth, that’s all. If… if anything were to happen, it’d be like a new relationship, not like restarting the old one. You know?”

“I do.”

Kelce smiles. “That’s… shit, that makes sense.” There’s a wistfulness to his voice. “That’s why I couldn’t figure out what it reminds me of, this different him that’s chilled and happy.”

You furrow your brow. “Hm?”

“It’s freshman year him all over again,” he explains. “You know… when the two of you got close the first time ‘round.”

“Oh.” Your heart soars. “Square one, huh?”

Kelce shrugs, sharing a meaningful look with Brooklyn. “Square one I guess.”

You’re about to respond when Rafe’s figure pulls your gaze, his crossed arms and broad shoulders blocking the kitchen entrance. He’s wearing a handsome expression and his hair is perfectly unkempt, the heady scent of his cologne juxtaposing his lack of proximity.

Sometimes, life is unfair. Your ex-boyfriend, now new friend, eliciting such un-platonic thoughts is one of those instances.

And it isn’t as though you’ve given Rafe much of a break, his blue eyes caught on your figure like a moth to a flame. You aren’t wearing a dress he recognises, which is both a delightful and agonising revelation.

Delightful, because it reveals bare expanses of skin that make his wretched hands itch in longing. Agonising, because it’s a reminder of the seven long months that he’s had to spend grappling with your absence.

Having a smile as pretty as yours is extremely unfair, all things considered. And eyes. Soft skin. He needs to stop staring before he does something stupid.

“Perfect,” he announces brusquely, “are we hosting our intervention now?”

He looks at you expectantly. You raise your eyebrows. “You know,” he adds, “the one where we beg them to stay in the Banks?”

“Hey!” Brooklyn exclaims, her green eyes full of mirth. “What d’you mean stay in the Banks? Newsflash, I’m not even from here.”

“You’re not from Chicago either, Ast-Smithy,” he returns significantly, sending her a meaningful glance. “Besides, you married into a Figure Eight family. You are very officially one of us now.”

“Not for long!” Brooklyn sings, sending you a wink.

“C’mon, Smith,” Rafe tries, turning to Kelce and feigning disappointment. “What happened to our sacred pact?”

“We were eight, Cameron.”

“And already privy to the tragedy of small-town life,” Rafe sighs faux-dramatically, nodding in agreement. “I’m bitter, alright? I thought I’d be the first one to get out of here.”

He glances over at you fleetingly as he says this. We’d be the first ones, his heart corrects in vain.

“As if,” you scoff, raising your eyebrows. “Mr Cameron fucking Development leave this place before me? No chance.”

Rafe grins roguishly, his blue eyes shining with amusement. “You’re all talk, Y/L/N. We both know it.” He sends Kelce and Brooklyn a meaningful glance. “We all are.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re going to be here all fucking night if we keep arguing about this,” Brooklyn decides, patting Kelce’s thigh to prompt him to stand. “C’mon, baby, we should probably get back to mingling.”

“You know,” she adds, narrowing her eyes playfully. “‘Cause it’s the last time we’ll see some of these people.”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head bemusedly. Any retaliation on Rafe’s tongue fails at the timbre of it.

Once they’re out of sight, you turn to him, adopting a faux-somber look. “If we are truly doomed to a life in the Eight, will you promise me something?”

He’s still grappling with the fact that he’s a man starved of your beautiful laugh, now reborn. “Go on.”

“Should you find me yelling at Island Club employees about flower arrangements or charcuterie boards, shoot me.”

Rafe laughs, and it reverberates through your bones warmly. “And suffer alone? No way. I’ll meet you in the middle. Lobotomy?”

“No thoughts in my brain? So generous,” you tease. “Alright. It’s a deal.”

Rafe clinks his beer bottle against yours in confirmation, taking a generous pull of the bubbly liquid. “Can we trade promises?” He asks.

You take a sip in tandem, maintaining eye contact as you do so. There’s tension in the air, that familiar-new feeling manifest, and it’s no longer frightening, but rather a comforting embrace.

You marvel in it. Breaking free feels fruitless. “Yes.”

“If you make a plan to settle elsewhere, will you tell me?”

“Of course I will.” A pause. “Although, I think you’re right. I don’t think any of us are truly capable of leaving permanently.”

“If anyone is though, it’s you,” he says, so matter-of-factly, like he actually believes it. “I mean… you’re the only one who had the balls to go to a college out of state. The rest of us just accepted a cushy offer at UNC.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you dismiss. “I was back here so often I barely left.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows. “Only because you had a reason to come back.” You still do, if you’ll take me.

I still do, if you’ll take me. “True.” You frown, thinking on this for a moment. “Even so… I don’t know. Maybe it’s that hometown curse talking, but I wouldn’t want to raise my kids anywhere else in the States.”

Rafe’s gaze steadies, pulsing through you in waves. “I get that. We had a pretty sweet childhood, all things considered.”

You make a face. “Like, I don’t think I can deal with this iPad kid epidemic. Least we were sheltered from all that crap, you know?”

“Yeah,” Rafe replies, raising his eyebrows significantly. “Even if there were plenty of other things to jade us with.”

“Shit, I know,” you respond, laughing bemusedly. “See, only people from the Eight know how political beach clean ups can get.”

Rafe chuckles in tandem, taking another sip of his beer. “God, our lives are fucking ridiculous.”

You raise your bottle in agreement. A comfortable silence falls between you.

After pause, Rafe speaks up again. “You know,” he says quietly, an unnameable emotion flickering across his blue irises. “I don’t even think it’s everyone in the Eight.”

You balk. “Hm?”

“The whole, knowing each other thing,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “You’ve always understood me better than anyone else.”

Your traitorous heart leaps, and you force yourself to ignore it. Actions have always spoken louder than words, and you decide now’s as good a time as any to confront him about this.

It’s time to be brave, you decide. You say, “I find that hard to believe.”

“Why?”

“Elle.”

Rafe’s miserable heart falters, penitence like a lump in his throat. He’s been preparing for this accusation since your very first reunion, but it still doesn’t feel like enough; he’s a coward trembling at the frontlines, anyway.

“I’ve… we’ve… my therapist and I have talked about that situation at length.”

You eyes widen in surprise. “Your therapist?”

“I’ve been going to therapy, yeah,” Rafe replies, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “For a month or so now, every week without fail.”

It isn’t lost on you that Brooklyn and Kelce’s wedding was a month ago. The rift in your ribcage widens.

“Has it been helping?” You ask.

“A bit,” Rafe admits. “Mostly just to validate what I knew all along, I guess.” At your silence, he continues, “That… shit, that I’ve got this problem where I push people away when I need them the most. The Elle thing, there’s no fucking excuse for it, none, but it became pretty obvious after you confronted me that she was just a rebound.”

“A rebound,” you echo.

“A distraction, an escape… I don’t know.” He rakes his fingers through his hair slovenly. “All I know is, I didn’t care about her, so I didn’t have to push her away. She didn’t make me talk about my dad, my grief, anything, so she was easy enough company to have around when I felt like it.”

“Oh.” You swallow. “But I did.”

“But you did,” Rafe affirms, grimacing sheepishly. “Shit, all you fucking did was care about me and all I did was push you away.”

You try to be pragmatic. “Grief makes people do shitty things.”

“It doesn’t matter. You didn’t deserve it.”

“True.” A pause. Your gaze falls over Rafe’s face in paces, his haggard expression making you soften. “Listen. I’m glad you’re going to therapy, seriously. I know that’s a pretty big step for you to take.”

For you. “Thank you,” he replies quietly. “It… I just wish I’d listened to you the first time, you know? When you’d told me to go to therapy before I’d ended things.”

Your throat feels funny. “No use living in the past.”

“You’re right,” Rafe replies. A pause. The ghost of a smile flickers over his features. “What did I ever do to deserve your forgiveness?”

You smile in tandem, a little rueful. “Maybe you were a martyr in your past life, Cameron.”

“And you’re one in this one,” Rafe responds. “You know, after I lobotomise you over flower arrangements and charcuterie boards. Does that count as a full circle moment?”

You grin. “Not when you live on the Eight. Infinity sign, baby.”

It slips out before you can stop yourself, the ghost of pet-names past pushing Rafe’s pulse to fibrillation. Your eyes widen abashedly. “Should we rejoin the party?”

Rafe nods, “Probably,” and then, when you’re just out of earshot, “I’d do something stupid if we didn’t.”

—

Over the next few weeks, you begin to see more and more of one another.

A few texts back and forth become more than a few virtual trysts, and every spare moment you have is dedicated to being in each other’s presence.

And it isn’t as though you’re mending old love, this feels like something else altogether. Though old memories may flit through your brain on occasion, they are boundless and free — they don’t define this connection.

You’re starting anew. Rafe realises it too.

He still remembers how it felt to tell you he loved you the first time around, fourteen years old with a bashful smile and enough hope in his heart to ache. He still remembers what you were wearing the first time he drove you around; the first time you came to UNC to visit; the shade of lipgloss you worshipped from Sephora. And you remember it all too, the feeling of being in his pick-up, of being with this roguish, freshman boy that had so much charm your insides soared.

Going through it all again feels like receiving a new lease on life. How lucky are you to love a different person in the same man?

Currently, the pair of you are sprawled out on beach towels, velvet dusk revealing the bespangled sky stretching above you. Beside you, take-out boxes and sodas lie in the sand, discarded. Every now and then, his wrist brushes yours with a jolt of static.

You’re lying closer to each other than you should, his body heat pressing over you in paces. He’s pretty sure his clothes are going to smell like your soft-toned, vanilla perfume later, and he quietly delights in this.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says finally, breaking the silence.

You smile. “Shocker.”

He nudges your shoulder with his in faux-admonishment, turning his head toward you. It lingers; he’s closer. Your pulse feels boundless. “I’ve been thinking,” he repeats. “And I’ve realised something.”

You turn your head in tandem, his proximity making you balk. “What’s that, Cameron?”

“If we hadn’t broken up in the first place, I’d probably never have gone to therapy.”

A hush falls. “True.”

“And I’d never have worked through my emotional unavailability and all the problematic shit that comes with it.” He pauses, a heavy emotion making his blue eyes somber. “We’d have stayed together, but I’d never have become the man that you deserve.”

You swallow. “Is that what you are now?” You murmur, your voice unsure. “The man I deserve?”

“I don’t think so,” he answers quietly. “Don’t think I ever will be. But… but I’m working on it, properly this time. And getting to know you again, for real, has made me realise just how worth it this is.”

It’s too much. You make to turn away but Rafe’s hand stops you, gentle but firm on your face. His thumb swipes over your warm cheek in comforting circles, and you find yourself leaning into his touch inadvertently.

Uh oh, you’re falling in love. You sigh. “It feels inevitable, huh?”

“D’you believe in soulmates, Y/N?”

Your lashes flutter shut in response. Rafe inches closer still, his hand slipping down to your jaw, and when he kisses you, old embers create a new flame within your heart. It’s chaste, unsure, a second first kiss. And yet, though it’s soft, the press of his lips is a ravaging embrace.

“Do you, Rafe?” You return, opening your eyes tentatively.

His gaze is still trained on your pretty mouth, less iris than pupil as his yearning transcends everything else. He presses his thumb on your lower lip gently. “Only if it’s you.”

“I think I am,” you murmur.

Rafe smiles. Oh no, he’s falling in love again. “I think you are too.”

—

I thought the plane was going down / How’d you turn it right around?

[hisokaisdaddyz]

Sinz Kinky-June .ೃ࿐

☆Day two☆

❝"Breed me."❞ ✧ ೃ༄

Miguel Breeding kink + Degrading+ Biting & cheating.

☆Fem!Pov☆

❝ ❞ ✧ ೃ༄.ೃ࿐❝ ❞ ✧ ೃ༄.ೃ࿐❝ ❞ ✧ ೃ༄.

Breeding? It wasn't something Miguel thought of very often, perhaps he did think of fucking her until she was filled with his seed, once or twice, but it was merely a thought of possession, since Y/N was dating Peter instead of him, Which is why it stayed a meaningless thought, until Y/N brought it up, it shocked Miguel. He never knew how much of a freak Y/N was, however, Miguel wasn't complaining, it was another thing he loved about her. What added to his shock was when she added Degrading to the mix. "Filthy little slut." He couldn't help but mutter to himself. underneath that hard interior she had was a touch starved beast aching to get her claws into someone. Miguel was more than willing to be that person.*

"Y/N...." Miguel moaned, the second his dick settled within her, her walls clenching around him sending a jolt of pleasure down his spine. As she laid underneath him, he held her head down, keeping her pinned against bedding, her face buried into the bed, her ass arched, the sight was enough to make him bite back the urge to just completely ruin her. Instead he leaned down, parting his lips, his tongue darted out, to wet the area on her neck, causing her to tense, he pulled his hips backward, until the tip of his cock sat at her entrance, Miguel timed it, he bit down on her neck and slammed his hips forward, a scream ripped past her lips at the sensations of his cock filling her cunt, and his teeth breaking skin.

"Fuck." Miguel groaned, tasting the saltiness of her blood. Her hitch in breath was enough to spur him on. He growled, pulling out slightly before slamming back in, setting the pace for their carnal dance. The pain of being bitten, the sting of his teeth was all but gone, replaced by the sensations of fullness and pleasure. Miguel held her down, one hand gripping her hair, while the other gripped her hip.

With each thrust, Miguel let out a groan, "Mine, you're mine, and I'll fill you with my seed until there's no room left inside of you..." He punctuated each word with a hard thrust, his primal urges taking over, the heat between them amplified.

Their moans echoed off of the walls, the sound of his skin slapping against her, the stench of sex filling the air, fuck it was more than enough to make Miguel want more.

"Fuck.. it's been a while...No? I do believe you've been starved of what you really wanted...Y/N, Peter can't fuck you like I can." Miguel muttered in between moans, against her neck, low whimpers could be heard, coming from him with each thrust, a smile tugged at the corner of Miguel's lip, noticing Y/N shake her head, denying his words.

"If that's so, then why do you come crawling back to me, every chance you get? Cut the bullshit. Let's just face it now, you need me...Leave Peter, and come to me, I'll give you what you really deserve, you need me to fuck your pussy the way you like it."

"You wanted to be fucked, and now you're getting it. And I'm going to keep going until you forget that pathetic excuse for a boyfriend of yours ever existed."

His voice was low and gravelly, almost a growl, as he fucked her relentlessly, his cock pistoning in and out of her cunt, coated in a mixture of their bodily fluids. "By the time I'm done with you," he continued, his voice dripping with sinful promises "you'll never look at Peter the same way again. You'll remember who you belong to, Y/N"

His words were harsh but true, Y/N knew she'd be back on his doorstep, begging him to hold her. Her eyes struggled to stay open, Miguel flipped her onto her back, pushed her legs forward until her knees were touching her breast.

"Keep em' open, watch as I fuck you raw, Y/N, as I breed this pussy. Look at the way your pussy sucks me back in."

Miguel growled, his cock pounding her pussy. He was relentless in his pursuit to make her feel every inch of him. "I'm close, baby. I'm gonna fill you up," he said, his thrusts becoming more powerful, more determined.

There was a twisted sense of satisfaction in knowing that he owned her body, that she'd come crawling back to him. He reached down tapping her face, forcing her to open up her eyes.

"You alright there baby? Look at me, you're not talking much. You here?" He grabbed her cheeks holding her face still, when she muttered a few words he released her. "You're okay, baby, Still able to talk? Then I must not be working hard enough am I?" He teased, withdrawing his hips, forcing his cock back in, inhumane growls and grunts ripped past his lips.

"You feel so good baby, so good, taking this cock like the slut you are, hmm? Gonna' fuck you until you're full of my babies huh? Like the sound of that?"

{Cut short here, because this is from my bot, which is on Jan.Ai I just felt like sharing it here.}

https://janitorai.com/characters/2cc1ea29-d60b-4be2-9c79-fc2aa138bbe6_character-miguel-o-hara%E2%98%86

❝ ❞ ✧ ೃ༄.ೃ࿐❝ ❞ ✧ ೃ༄.ೃ࿐❝ ❞ ✧ ೃ༄.ೃ

Song recommendations- Earned it- The weeknd

[todorkihoe]

show me your teeth

pairing: gojo satoru x reader

content warnings: smut, biting/marking, unprotected sex

song: teeth by lady gaga

thinking about satoru who's got a thing for biting. he's got that wide, almost wolfish smile with a nice pair of pointed canines to top off his perfect pearly whites. you often find your gaze lingering on his mouth, just admiring and wondering.

satoru, for his part, is able to read you like a book and absolutely uses this skill to his advantage. the descent into madness is a slow one.

it starts on a regular weekend afternoon with the two of you in the kitchen, whipping up some sweet mixture and playfully flicking flour at each other. just enjoying each other’s company.

"here try this, 'toru," you hum, swiping up some of the chocolate cake batter on your finger and extending it toward him. he grasps your wrist and to your surprise, slides your whole finger into his mouth, tongue twisting and tasting. you gasp and try to remove your finger, but he keeps hold of your wrist and just barely digs his teeth into your skin.

when he finally releases you, satoru makes no effort to conceal the grin on his face, admiring the blush rising to yours.

"whoops, sorry." you both know he's not.

you huff, examining the indents his teeth left in your skin, trying to ignore the heat building inside of you.

the second incident happens a little later, when the two of you are wrestling each other on the couch. you think you've got satoru beat but then he flips you onto your back and pins both of your wrists in one hand.

before you can protest, his free hand is tickling at your ribs, causing to shriek and squeal while he laughs. he further shocks you by beginning to impishly nibble at your neck, adding to your torment.

however, you shock yourself by letting out an involuntary moan when his teeth reach that sensitive spot right under your ear. you both freeze and your face feels like it's on fire when you notice a distinct hardness pressing against your hip just moments later.

satoru half-coughs and half-chuckles to break the tension, letting you sit up to finish pretending to watch the movie on the TV. you feel his gaze burning into the side of your face for the rest of the film.

the nail in the coffin is when he’s got you pressed into the mattress, hips lazily pushing into you. you’re moaning and sighing so sweetly for satoru and the sounds draw his eyes down to your throat and he watches as each noise and movements makes the muscles contract. mouthwatering.

you toss your head back into the pillows and satoru can’t help but bury his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply and letting his tongue loll out to taste you. his teeth practically fucking itch and he rubs them against your sensitive skin, pleased with your lewd reaction, clamping down around his cock even tighter.

“f-fuck, sweetheart can I-” he begins, but you already know what he’s asking and enthusiastically nod, tilting your head even farther to bare your neck more. with shaky hands, satoru brushes the hair from your neck and grips your jaw to hold you in place and then he bites. 

and everything is all hot, burning agony. the initial sting fades into something even more pleasurable and your hands fly up from where they’re clutching the sheets to pull him in even closer.

his thrusts become rougher, erratic, and sloppy like he’s lost all control of himself. the thought of it alone makes you shiver and oddly enough, you find your own teeth aching, the sight of sweat beading on his neck all too enticing. without even thinking you lurch forward and sink your teeth in, the flavor of his skin bursting on your tongue.

you’re delighted at the strangled moan that leaves his mouth where he’s still connected to your neck, teeth digging in even harder, threatening to break skin. you think you might even want that as you get closer and closer to the delicious edge. 

when you pull back from his neck you can already see a deep, purple mark forming, sure to last for days. the thought of him parading around, letting everyone see just who he belongs to is almost too hot to bear.

your breaths sync up into something hot and gasping and satoru reaches down to messily brush over your clit once before you’re done for. you think you might scream when you finally cum but you’re not sure over the sound of your blood rushing in your ears. satoru is quick to follow, filling you up with one last slam of his hips before sagging against you and releasing your neck.

you spend the next few minutes unmoving and floating back down to reality and when you finally try to sit up, you wince at the dull, aching pain radiating from your neck.

“sorry, pretty girl,” he grins, tongue laving over the mark to soothe it. and once again, you both know he’s not sorry.

[twola]

Having Arthur tied to a chair and fucking him till he’s overstimulated and dizzy is something I’ve been thinking about lately >:)

The Fine Art of Knot Tying II

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link ➵ Previous | ➵ Next

One would think Arthur learned his lesson in the knot-tying venture - but to both of your delights, he has not.

“I still don’t get why you have to keep practicing on me.”

A soft giggle leaves your lips, teasing, cloyingly sweet. You tuck a random strand of your hair behind your ear as you stoop over him.

“Are you really complainin’ here?” Your hand lands upon his collarbone, and slowly inches under the cotton of his workshirt, brushing against warm skin.

Arthur grumbles back something unintelligible.

“ ‘sides… You wanna make sure I can do this right. Can’t have some bounty breakin’ free when I’m taking them in.” You whisper as you slide your hand further beneath his shirt, pressing against his sternum.

“Course not. But-” He trails off, momentarily distracted by the feeling of your hand on his chest, “Darlin’, I don’t think you need to tie me to a chair for that.”

You smile back at him, saccharine glimmering in your eyes, “Oh, I think I do.”

You pluck the hat off of his head and place it on your own before bringing both hands to his chest. The first button under his collar is undone by your deft fingers.

He crooks an eyebrow at you, his shoulder jutting forward, but he’s unable to move from the chair you have him tied to. His large arms are pulled behind his back, his wrists securely knotted together.

You pull your hands from his chest and he sucks in a breath of protest, quickly let out when your hands land in his lap.

Lucky, he said as the two of you stumbled upon this old cabin. By the looks of it, no one had been there in a while.

Just enough time for some practice, you had whispered.

Arthur’s traitorous cock roars to life as your hands slowly move up his thighs, and he has to bite his lip to stifle an embarrassing sound as you place one small hand on his swelling appendage and press against it.

With practiced hands, you expertly unlatch his suspenders from his pants and immediately work on unbuttoning his fly - his cock pressing upward as each of the three buttons are let loose. 

“ Christ”, he groans out as your hands dive into his trousers and pull at his union suit underneath. You shimmy his pants from his waist to his hips, him bucking upward to assist in the motion.

It’s only a moment before you’ve opened the crotch of his union suit and drawn out his hard cock and heavy testicles, tinged red with all of the blood rushing to his groin.

You smirk as he looks back up at you, panting as one of your little hands starts to stroke his long shaft, the other gently squeezing his balls.

A needy moan bursts from his lips before you dive in and smother him with your own, the hat balanced on your head falling to the floor as you press your tongue into the warm cavern of his mouth. 

It’s several moments like that, you looming over him, kissing hard as your hands work him in this chair. He pants desperately, needily into your mouth, bucking against your hands, until you pull away, a wet trail of saliva connecting your mouths for a moment before it breaks. 

You let go of his member and he nearly snarls there in that chair, the muscles of his chest bulging as his cock stands at attention, weeping from the red-purple tip.

“Get back o’er here,” he grits out, unable to be playful in such a state of need.

“One minute.” You breathe back at him.

“No, not one minute. Get o’er here.” Arthur practically growls, the old chair creaking underneath him as he struggles against the rope binding him.

“Hold your goddamn horses, Arthur.” You spit with a smile, starting to hike your skirts up, holding them up in one hand as you pull at your bloomers, sliding them down your thighs and they fall the rest of the way to your ankles.

He stares hungrily at the apex of your thighs, where glimpses of the dark thatch of hair that shrouds your cunt is visible to him as you step closer to him.

You straddle him, skirts in one hand, grasping the base of his cock with the other, and line yourself up. His gaze shoots up to your face as you start to sink down, welcoming his length into your body. You moan, high and flighty, as you ease yourself down, and his jaw hangs open with each inch of him that pierces you.

By the time the backs of your thighs rest in his lap, you’ve buried your face into the side of his neck, breathing heavily.

“You alrigh’?” Arthur whispers into your ear, hoarsely, obvious that he’s trying to keep control of himself.

“M-hm.” You moan, drawing back from his neck to find his gaze, pressing your forehead against his, “Just le-lemme get used to you.”

A blush settles over his cheeks as he drowns in his fondness for you. He lifts his chin to find your lips, pressing against them gently. You wind your arms sweetly around his neck, returning the kiss as you grow used to him between your thighs.

The kiss ends, however, when you dig the heel of your boots into the wooden floor and roll your hips back slowly, then return to sheathing him deep in your cunt. He groans, his jaw falling open as he begins to pant as you find a rhythm.

Your hands clamp on his shoulders as you clench your teeth, breathing out heavily as your rolling hips start to slam into his, riding him like you were trying to break a horse.

His eyes widen with each thrust, and he starts to meet you, his hips lifting to meet your downward motion, moans falling from his mouth unencumbered. 

“Christ, god, honey-” he gasps, his pupils blown wide as you ride him for everything he’s worth.

“Don’t come yet, cowboy,” you pant into his mouth, “I- I wanna ride you all night long.”

Arthur’s head rolls back as he groans, jutting his hips upward to shove his cock even deeper into your warmth.

“Yer- damnit, You’re gonna kill me, w-woman.” He can stutter between hoarse breaths. His eyes squeeze shut, and as you continue to roll your hips over him, he tries to think of anything to make him last longer. Pearson’s stew. Uncle’s union suit.

But nothing can tide the pull in his gut - watching you throw your hips into his, tied to this goddamn chair - he can’t. He just can’t hold on.

His eyes squeeze shut as he curses aloud, his hips buck upward uncontrollably as he feels that spasm in his groin quickly followed by the hot spatter of spend that he loosens into your cunt.

You moan, throwing your head back as you continue to thrust onto him, the warmth blooming in your hips sending you closer to your own edge. 

“S-stop, fuck-” Arthur whines, his voice nearly cracking as you keep impaling yourself on his still-hard cock. Between your slick and his cum, the wet sounds from the joining of your bodies would be mortifying if anyone could hear.

“Jus- ‘m almost there-” You cry out, your head falling backward as you slam your hips down, “Let me come please-”

Arthur groans loudly, unable to fight back, unable to wrench you off his overstimulated cock. He feels as if he’s already burst into flame, spent and satisfied, but with your channel still tightly pulsing and clutching around him, he feels like he could die.

You rock yourself against his pelvis, his cock as deep as you can take him, your clit pressed hard against his pubic bone. He drops his head to your shoulder as he pants, your eyes squeeze closed in concentration as you gyrate over him.

God, it’s so much. He can’t catch his breath, he’s goddamn dizzy, feeling nothing but you around his cock. Each motion of your hips over his is a fresh wave threatening to pull him under, god, he’s going to drown in you.

A stuttering groan escapes from behind his clenched teeth, unabashedly needy and you whine in response. One, two, three more slides of your hips before you shove yourself down on him all the way and come , clenching hard around him, a gush of slick from where you’re joined slide down his now empty testicles.

You pant tiredly, draping yourself over his chest as he breathes heavily through his nose, head tipped backward as he tries to pull at the knots keeping his arms bound behind his back.

“Jesus fuck, girl. I ain’t gonna be able to walk for a week.” He groans out, clenching his teeth to still be sheathed in your warmth, his cock finally starting to soften within you.

You give a tired chuckle as you tiredly push your hands against his shoulders, standing up over him. A gasp escapes your lips as his cock slides out, a rush of your combined essences trailing down your inner thighs. 

You step backward, stumbling slightly from your wobbly legs, and he tries in vain to escape your bindings, the chair creaking underneath him. Once you’re able to get your footing, you make your way around the chair and start to untie the knots around his wrists. After some finessing, the rope finally falls to the floor.

He rockets up out of the chair, rubbing at his wrists for a moment before turning toward you, as you stand to your full height again.

Before you can even react, he’s rounded the chair and pushed you several steps backward into the wall, pressing his large body into yours. His hand gravitates to your throat, tipping your head backward for you to look up at him.

His eyes are hungry. His hold on your throat borders on tight. Never mind that his pants are still undone and his cock hangs out of his union suit, pressed against your belly. Never mind that you feel his warm spend drip from your aching cunt to the floor beneath your skirts.

“Next time, little lady,” He near growls in your ear, “I have somethin’ more advanced to show ya.”

[taerple]

JOHN PRICE - MAKE UP S*X

— warning: in no way this is meant to sexualize anyone, this is all entertainment purposes only. thanks for reading.

- harsh language. breeding-kink(ish). eating-out. age-gap.

“I fucking missed you.” The older man breathed out, soft gaze fixated on me. He cupped my cheeks and stared into my eyes. God, I really missed him too. Not wanting to waste another second, he crashed his lips onto mines, so desperate, so needy, and so hungrily for something that wasn’t just senseless and meaningless sex— for love.

His lips sucked mine. Hands roaming and groping each other’s hot bodies while filthy noises spilled from our mouths. “Please..” He whimpered, “I need you— I need to have you.” He pulled away slightly, panting heavily. His dark siren eyes held me captive.

They begged— pleading, and oh I was fucking aching to have him, all for myself. “Then have me.” He immediately tore my clothes off like an animal, pinning me down on the soft mattress and leaving me only in my panties. He started to trail wet kisses down from my jaw to my neck to my breasts, on every bump and mole on my skin. Just that was enough to send shivers through every nerve inside me, and I savored every moment.

He started biting and painting marks on my skin. I locked eyes with him, before his head stopped right in front of my soaked core. This is fucking killing me. His fingers hooked around the hem of my panties as he took them off. I felt exposed to him but this unidentifiable excitement flowed through my veins. He kept teasing his tongue around my inner thighs and not where I needed it the most.

But he read me like an open book. “Patience, love.” He slightly mumbled, not breaking the eye contact for even a second. His mouth finally latched onto my wet cunt and began slurping my juices and eating me out like I was his last meal. “Fuck— slow down!” I muttered out. If pleasure was a way to die, lord take me away and never bring me back.

His tongue relentlessly fucked me. A slow rhythm of thrusts and sucks followed by a hard, fast beat of bites and licks and slurps. My breath hitched in my throat.

His fingers moved faster against my folds, and I knew that my high was coming. But just as I was about to squirt my juices, he quickly pulled his fingers out. “Damn you, John.” I seethed.

“Patience, love.” He said as he lowered his weight, unbuckling his belt before pulling down his pants. “D’you want this?” He slightly panted out. Of course I did, why else would I be writhing under his touch?

Pulling down his boxers, revealing his alarmingly cock. Holy fuck, does this man have no conscience? That’s not gonna fit. At least that’s what I thought.

He smirked, knowing exactly what was going through my mind, as well as I do. The bastard knew me better than anyone. He slapped his cockhead against my cunt a couple of times before pushing it in slowly. I could tell he was resisting himself. And then I felt it— a deep penetration followed by a sharp pinch, causing pain to erupt across my lower abdomen and spread like wildfire throughout my entire body.

A moan left my lips involuntarily. “See, isn’t this better, huh?” I tried to respond when suddenly his hips jerked against me, slamming into my center, his teeth biting the tender skin of my neck. He lets out a small laugh looking at my fucking state.

But I wanted him to. His hips kept battering against my hip. I felt every inch of him inside me. “Oh fuck, you feel so damn good.” He moaned and started to thrust wildly against my inner walls. My whole body convulsed. The pleasure that coursed through my veins felt euphoric— addictive— but also unbearable. So damn good… it was almost too much to handle.

“You’re gonna cum, baby.” His grip tightened around the sides of my waist. His palm pressed on my abdomen making it difficult to hold it in. And I came, hard. He didn’t stop though. He continued pounding me, continuing to slam into me.

I couldn’t speak. The pleasure was too much but felt so damn good.

“You’re taking me so well, love. Just a lil’ longer, yeah?” He spoke in between heavy breaths as he pounded into me. His breathing grew harder, faster. I think he was about to cum too. He cursed before he splurted his seeds inside, painting my walls white and completely filling it to the brim. I could feel the warm liquid ooze out, pooling on the mattress.

The bed was a mess. He started laughing, which made me laugh too. “Y’know I’m not done with you, right?” He said and my smile slowly faded away.

Shit.

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 64

Part 1 Part 63

“If someone doesn’t tell me what the hell is going on, I’m going to slap you again,” Carol says. Eddie sees her raise her hand threateningly in his periphery. No one pays her any mind. 

Eddie’s ass is going numb from where Steve’s still sitting on him, but he’d rather die than make him move. Steve’s hands still have a tremor running through them. He can feel them trembling against his back.

Will comes back over, dropping down beside him on his knees. He reaches out, hand hovering over Steve’s arm before dropping it without touching. Jonathan sits down beside him, furrowing his brow at the three of them.

“What did happen?” Jonathan asks, meeting Eddie’s eyes.

Eddie doesn’t respond, can’t when he doesn’t get it either. Will takes up the reins. “It was like we were back there again.” By the way Jonathan sucks in a ragged breath, no one needs to clarify where ‘there’ is. 

Silence descends again, the sounds of bodies shuffling around behind Eddie the only thing to break it up. 

“It happened when we all touched,” Will says. He meets Eddie’s eyes over Steve’s head, looking devastated. “Should we avoid each other?”

Something sharp and angry pulls at his sternum. He hugs Steve to himself tighter. Steve squeezes back once, hard and quick before pulling back, sliding awkwardly out of Eddie’s lap and sitting down close enough that their knees overlap. 

His eyes are dry, face devoid of anything at all as he says, “it happens to me all the time.”

Eddie reaches out, clasping Steve’s hand, unwilling to break contact with him at all. Will hesitates, hand reaching out and hovering over Steve’s arm again. He breathes in sharply, just once before putting his hand on Steve’s wrist. When nothing happens, he lets out a sharp breath, shoulders slumping as he closes his eyes with relief. 

“Steve was already wigging out when we got here,” Jonathan says. “Maybe he’s already got to be there for it to work?”

Steve shakes off both of their holds, shuffling back away from them. “Let’s not test that out.”

Eddie, unwilling to let this stand, reaches back and graspsgrasp Steve’s ankle. Skin against skin. Steve kicks out, gently tapping his toe against Eddie’s knee, but otherwise doesn’t try to pull away. 

“You’re not supposed to keep secrets from the Party!” Mike shouts.

Eddie turns, startled, having forgotten the other kids’’s presences entirely. “Does this seem like the time, mini-Wheeler?” Eddie demands, making significant eyes toward where Perkins is still glowering. 

“Like you’re one to talk,” he mutters, which, fair. They had all been blabbing right in front of her literally thirty seconds ago.

“Hello?” Carol demands. “What the fuck are you guys talking about?

Eddie groans, looking over at Perkins to see her standing, hands on hips, glaring down at them. Wheeler beats him to any retort.

“You’re not involved,” she says, over-enunciating the way only someone who is very drunk and pretending not to be does. Eddie’s extremely glad, suddenly, that he’d toked instead of imbibing. The smokes already trickled out of him almost entirely. 

While Perkins scoffs, a small girl Eddie hadn’t noticed dawdling by the door speaks up, “involved in what?” she asks, glaring around the room before focusing her laser-sharp gaze on Eddie. “What the hell are you people on?”

Eddie thinks it’s pretty obvious that Wheeler’s on a liquid depressant, and the rest of them are unfortunately stone-cold sober, even as the smell of weed still clings to a few of their clothes. 

Lucas slings an arm around her laughing awkwardly. She shrugs him off immediately, crossing her arms to scowl over at him instead. Eddie lets his breath out. God, that girl’s scary. Eddie’s just waiting for her to bite Lucas’s arm off, like a wolf stuck in a trap. 

“It’s like I said!” Lucas says, smiling with all of his teeth. It looks awkward as hell. “They’re just bonded over being, uh, lost in the woods together?”

Somehow, the girl’s scowl gets even deeper. “And that’s why they’re all acting like when they touched they went somewhere else?” she asks incredulously, before pointing at Steve’s face. “And why that one was, like, catatonic?”

“It’s a metaphor?” Lucas tries, still smiling even as the edges strain. “For trauma?”

“Who’s the random girl?” Steve asks, squinting at her like he’s trying to remember something Eddie’s pretty sure none of them knew in the first place.

As the girl flips him off, Dustin says, “this is Max!” smiling dopily over at him. Well, shit – baby’s first crush, and all that. 

“We need to call Mom,” Jonathan says, standing and pushing his way past dawdling bodies to leave the bedroom.

“But, I thought the lab–” Will starts.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jonathan says, not turning around. He walks through the open door and out into the dark hallway, calling out. “This is too big”

Eddie looks over to Steve, sees him already looking back. “Uncle Wayne’s going to freak out,” Eddie says, smiling sadly and squeezing his ankle. “Because this really doesn’t seem like shellshock to me.”

Steve rolls his eyes, looking wan and tired in the fluorescence of his bedroom light. “Fucking Upside-Down.” He doesn’t say it like it’s news because, yeah, they’ve suspected the whole time. But the confirmation still stings. “We should call him, too.”

Eddie sighs, squeezes ankle once before letting go and standing. The momentary separation stings. He reaches out his hand, waiting for Steve to clasp it before pulling him upright and refusing to let go. 

The next few minutes pass in a buzz of phone calls and arguing. Once Jonathan’s done with the Harrington phone, Eddie takes his turn calling Wayne at the plant, tiptoeing around any explanations. Who knows who’s tapped into the phone lines? Guilt curdles at the lost money when Wayne says he’ll be by soon. Steve sits in the middle of the raised voices, staring at Eddie like if he takes his eyes off him, he’ll disappear into nothing. Eddie gets the sentiment. 

He settles beside Steve on the couch, linking their pinkies atop Steve’s jiggling knee. Jonathan hands over a couple glasses of water without a word before joining the shouting match at Wheeler’s side. For a girl that had gone three sheets to the wind hours ago, she’s pretty articulate, even if Barb’s hold on her elbow might be the only thing holding her up. 

Carol, on the other hand, is just mean. Slinging names around like she never got out of that phase in kindergarten. Before it can get anywhere real, the door bursts open without even a knock. It’s not Mama Byers or Uncle Wayne who come through first, though. It’s Hopper.

He looks ready to fight, gun palmed in his hand, finger on the trigger. Mama Byers shuffles in behind him, peeking over his shoulder. It makes Eddie wonder what Jonathan said in his own phone call.

Hopper looks around, his usual resting cop face on full display as he glares from face to face to face before holstering his gun with a sigh. “Someone want to tell me what the hell’s going on?”

When Steve makes to get up, Eddie pulls him back down, but the damage is already done. Hopper’s glare turns toward the movement, settling on Steve’s fidgeting form. 

“Harrington?” Hopper demands.

In Steve’s defense, he holds up admirably under the pressure of a stand-off epic enough to belong in one of Wayne’s favorite Westerns. But, Eddie knows it’s over when his eyes start darting around, looking for an escape. 

“It’s uh, you-know-what related, Chief,” Eddie says, drawing away from Steve, who immediately slumps into the couch, like he’s trying to disappear between the cushions. 

“So?” Hopper demands, crossing his arms menacingly. Fucking cops, man.

“Read the room, dude,” Eddie says, gesturing around all the warm bodies enjoying the show. “Not everyone here’s been read in.”

Hopper looks around, frown deepening. Not that Eddie gives a shit now that it’s not directed at himself. “You,” he says, pointing at Perkins, “And you,” this time singling out that Max girl, before pointing at the door. “Get out.”

Perkins scoffs, crossing her arms petulantly. “How about no, and someone tells me what the fuck is going on?”

Never one to back down, Hopper replies, “either you get out or I bring you down to the station and charge you with obstruction of justice” When she doesn’t immediately back down, he continues, “how would your mother feel about that, kid?”

Max scoffs, storming past all of them with hunched shoulders. “Whatever,” she says, “my stepbrother will kill me if I’m not home soon, anyway.” She storms out the door, slamming it behind her.

Perkins lasts a few seconds more before shrieking in wordless rage, walking over to Barb and digging her hand in the pocket of the other girl’s jeans. Barb cries, “hey!” clearly startled, but before she can do anything, Perkins fishes out Eddie’s keys and storms out the door behind Max, calling, “wait up! I’ll give you a ride.”

Eddie stares at the open doorway for a minute, shocked. “Did she just steal my van?” 

In the usual perfect timing of Munson men everywhere, Uncle Wayne choses that moment to walk through the open front door, asking, “is that Perkins girl stealing your van, Eddie?” just as the sound of his engine rattling to life and screeching out of the driveway fills the room. 

Eddie stands, outraged, pointing at the still-open front door, glaring at Hopper. “What are you waiting for, Chief?” he asks, still pointing emphatically as Steve snickers behind him. “Do your job. Arrest her!”

Hopper rolls his eyes. Wayne shuts the front door on that opportunity, cutting off the sound of tires screeching down the street. Damn. Rich people insulation rocks. 

“Shut up, Munson.”

“How about someone tell us what’s going on?” Mama Byers demands, crossing her arms and looking around the room like she’s taking a head count. 

It comes spilling out between them. First, the events of the night; the ways Steve slipped into that place, and the way when they all touched skin-to-skin, they’d all been back there. Mama Byers grabs Will’s shoulders, taking two big steps back from the couch where Steve and Eddie sit. Eddie can’t blame her.

Then, further back: the way Steve’s been slipping back there on his own more and more. Uncle Wayne looks especially grim at that, probably thinking back to that first time they’d seen it. The way he’d called it shellshock and moved along. 

Then, further back still to the fishhook connecting them all together. The children as a unit look especially irked by this. Mike even stamps his foot with his ire, reiterating over and over that, “the Party doesn’t keep secrets from each other,” while Will looks more and more cowed. 

That’s when Jonathan’s involvement gets dragged into the light of day. It goes over like a lead balloon for the uninformed of the Byers faction. 

“How could you not tell me, Jonathan?” Mama Byers demands, hands on her hips. Jonathan shrinks into himself, turtling his neck like that’ll save her from the ruthless berating of a Mom scorned. “I thought we went over this last time!” She smacks him once on the arm with the back of her hand. Not hard, just to emphasize her point. Jonathan still jerks. 

Mama Byers sighs, bringing her arms around Jonathan, suddenly looking small with her arms around her son’s shoulders. “We’re in this together,” she says, squeezing him around the waist before pulling back to look back up at him. “Okay?”

Jonathan nods, jaw clenched.

“What do we do now?” Will asks, looking up at her like she has all the answers in the universe.

She swipes the fringe out of his eyes, lips pursed. It’s not her that answers. 

“Sleep on it,” Uncle Wayne says, sitting down beside Steve close enough that their shoulder’s brush.

“I’m not leaving,” Will says, taking a few steps away from his Mom toward the couch before she snags him and pulls him back. He sighs. “Mom.”

Jonathan grabs her hand, peeling it gently off Will. “They already touched again and nothing happened, Mom.” She clutches him tighter, before finally loosening her hold.

Will squeezes between him and Steve on the couch like he’s proving a point. In solidarity, Eddie wraps his arm around his shoulders, settling his hand along Steve’s neck and squeezing the tight muscles he finds there. 

Mama Byers sighs. 

“If he’s staying, so am I,” Dustin demands, already marching out of the room and into the kitchen without asking anyone else’s opinion. Mike and Lucas follow. 

Hopper squeezes his nose like he’s staving off a headache as they all listen to the procession of children call their parents about a sleepover that’s only partially fabricated. He looks up, meeting Mama Byers’ eyes. “I’ve got to get home,” he says, quietly, not looking at anyone else in the room. “Call me in the morning?”

Eddie looks away. It feels intimate, the way they look at each other; the way their words seem like they’re only for each other. Mama Byers walks him to the door, murmuring too quietly to be audible before shutting it and locking it for good measure. As if all the monsters aren’t locked in here with them.

The older teens lead the procession up to Steve’s abandoned room, loudly digging through his closet for enough pajamas for everyone to sleep comfortably.  Eddie looks over to where Steve still sits by his side to see his opinion on this breach of privacy to find Steve smiling fondly up the stairs like the freak he is. 

They don’t get up until everyone comes tromping down the stairs, all the kids and Nancy dwarfed in Steve’s old gym wear. Barb, wearing a much more traditional looking pair of plaid pajama pants that seem disturbingly similar to Steve’s bedroom wallpaper, tosses more clothes at Steve and Eddie before conscientiously dropping more piles into Wayne and Mama Byers laps as well.

“Come on, big boy,” he says, patting Steve’s thigh before standing. “Let’s go change.”

They move around each other familiarly – too used to each other’s bodies with a year in close proximity to care much about changing in the close quarters of the downstairs bathroom.

When they return, Wayne’s lounging back in the fancy Lay-Z Boy in the Harriirngton’s living room, clearly deciding his own jeans and work shirt will work perfectly fine for the night. Similarly, Mama Byers is seated on the couch in her street clothes, watching the kids fight about blanket and pillow placements in the veritable nest they’re creating on the living room floor. There’s a spot at the center, carved out by Will’s side.

Eddie pulls Steve by the wrist, pushing him down into the very middle of the musty blanket pile before climbing in beside him as the rest of them climb in around them, grumbling at accidental elbows and stolen blankets.

Steve’s sitting up and smiling around, eyes glistening just a little in the low light of the only lamp Mama Byers hasn’t clicked off.

Had this house ever been filled with people Steve actually loved? Eddie pushes Steve down to lie flat, curling around him to keep him in place. It doesn’t matter, there’s almost a dozen warm bodies swadling him now. Eddie only hopes it’ll be enough to keep the monsters out. 

Eddie squeezes tight, hoping against hope that it’ll be enough to keep Steve tethered to the right world. Here, in Eddie’s arms. Where he belongs. 

Part 65

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect

[chemerr2]

i’m not sure if you’re taking requests but…. if you are comfy with it, could you please supply the thirsty jeff sluts with a smut? :,)

plot could be something where y/n and jeff don’t get along at all and constantly fight but one night they just say fuck it and give in to each other and😏😏😏 but like hateful maybe.. but still passionate🤭

hi sorry anon i’ve been MIA lol but i haven’t given up writing tho.

a/n: i like this request and hateful sex with jeff is indefinitely sexy 🙈

warnings: rough sex like..very rough sex, degrading, reader cries, cumshot and a bunch of swearing.

god you hated the way his eyes pierced into the back of your head after you walk pass him or how he purposely tried to trip you up but you caught yourself in time before falling face first on the hard dirty floor. He picks with everyone, but you’re his favorite victim to terrorize when you try to enjoy your evening;minding your business.

It wasn’t too long before you got fed up and started to yell at him for how he treats you: the rude and offhandedly comments he makes about you for literally just existing. But you expressing your discomfort didn’t cause any realization to what he was doing..it just went one ear out the other. He’d continue to fuck with you all day by saying mean things, taking or moving your things around and doing something reall petty. It’s only fair that you start to mirror his actions and attitude, right? when you did: oh boy jeff was far from pissed, he wanted to paint his bedroom wall red with your brains after you start doing the same shit he does to you; to him.

you push him around, nudge him, make fun of him, purposely take the last of everything so he sits there like a angry pup watching you eat the last of his food. How you break his things and call him names 10x hurtful than the ones he’s called you beforehand. He HATED this treatment, he hated the way his own medicine tasted so he decided to spit it out by busting into your room: head full of shit to do and say to you.

as your sitting on your bed doing nothing, he barges in your room, looking down at you. “what the fuck? get out my room.” you say annoyed, beyond pissed he had the audacity to even touch your doorknob. “you’re stinking up my laundry” you chuckle to yourself but when he slams your bedroom door you look over at him and he’s still peering down at you. No matter how pale and damaged his skin is: in the face you can see him turn red out of anger and the way his brows are practically connected from being furrowed. Now you’re beyond nervous and angry, because: One. what are his intentions? Two. You don’t want him in your room!! but jeff doesn’t know what a no is anyways, he rejects the rejection. Looking back at him— he starts to speak— and to no avail, straight bullshit comes out his dirty trap “i’m tired of you talking to me crazy and saying the fucked up ass shit” he inches closer “sometimes you just need to shut the fuck up, y/n” he got close to where his abdomen was touching yours from the way his posture is horribly constructed but he was still close enough for you to feel his hot breath washing over your mixed face of emotions.

in a whiff: he grabs your backside, squeezing your fat, spongy ass in his large, coarse hands; dirty nails digging deep into your skin. — pulling you close to him. You can’t lie to yourself anymore.. you had to admit: his deep and raspy voice turned you on. Especially when he yelled at you and laughed in your face. His voice was alluring in a way; definitely when he hurt your feelings. So you didn’t fight back when he slipped one of his hands underneath your shirt. With no bra on: he began fondling your tits and rubbing over your nipples with his thumb. No words were said as he began helping himself to your body: licking your tits, sucking them, biting your nipples, pinching them, slapping your tits around, grabbing your ass cheeks and spreading them while your still in your pajama pants. Finally, he’s done playing around! your shirt is barely off all the way; only being partially off to get a view of your tits. your chest is wet with his spit and you swear your pussy juice is sliding down your leg from how wet you are.

you lay yourself down on the bed, being submissive. Jeff unbuckles his belt: letting his pants hit the floor on its on and you were stunned at his..length. For someone who talks a lot of shit like jeff— you weren’t expecting him to carry a vast pack of dick around in those horrid skinny jeans he wears. He looks at you through his lengthy black locks before aggressively stripping your pajama pants off your body. He sees your full, meaty pussy soaping and slobbering for his dick. “no bra..no panties, you really are fucking nasty.” his words meant nothing before so why are they making you horny now? positioning himself between your legs, he began slapping his tip between the wet substance that covered your pussy. He wanted to tease you..knowing you were loving this and needing it— needing his cock in your tight pussy so it can hug him and grip his brick hard cock. Jeff relentlessly teased you by slowly slipping his tip in and out your pussy, barely putting an inch of his cock inside your. Seeing how impatient and annoyed you were getting by the expressions on your face nd the look your giving him, made his cock throb and his balls wiggle with excitement. He bent down to your ear and grabbed both your wrist with his hands “you really want this dick then you better beg for it.” jeff gruffly whispered before kissing your neck with his tongue— putting himself back upright while looking down at your body, exposed and just for him. You were stubborn, especially when it came to demands but you couldn’t help yourself when he dragged his cock along your clit and used his thumb to rub harsh circles on it.

“please..” your moan dragged your word out like saliva. “please what?” jeff bantered with you while you were in a submissive state. “fuck me, please” jeff laughs at your eagerness before he rammed his dock deep into your pit. You cry out loud as the stretch of his cock was greater than your last— dick was fat and an inch bigger than average. 20 minutes hadn’t pass and he’s already kissing your cervix with his red tip. Your wailing moans and cries— he was reaching far back into your pussy, touching depths of it you never knew would be there. In desperate attempts: you try and push him off you,, hands on his abdomen as he’s drilling you in like a nail. “FUCK! jeff” your cunt was so tightly packed with his girth that it felt like he got stuck at times “you givin up? s’too much for ya? hm?” he said through clenched teeth.

“i hate you..bastard” you moaned out trying to keep what little of morality you have left inside you. Grabbing on his hair and pulling him close as he fucks you into the mattress with each thrust resulting in you hitting your head against the hard wall. His dick ramming into you and slipping out became a routine in the last 30 minutes before he grabbed your throat and started mate fucking you against your bedroom wall and on your bed; foreheads against one another and he’s looking into your eyes but you can’t see nothing but hate and lust. A sadistic smile on his face as he pulls his cock and cums all over your belly and pussy— leaving it gasping and clenching for air. Pulling back he let’s go of your neck and stays on the edge of the bed catching his breath..mumbling something before putting his pants on and leaving out your room.

[jyoongim]

Prompt # 4: Spicy Actions

sender spanks receiver hard enough to leave a mark

sender let's receiver orgasm after edging them for a long time

sender gets on their knees and lets receiver slide their thumb into their mouth

sender pulls receiver's head back and calls them a 'good boy/girl/

sender tells receiver to sit on their face

sender tells receiver they're not wearing any underwear

sender kisses the back of receiver's neck

sender whispers in receiver's ear they want to get out of there

sender grabs receiver's neck/ throat

sender pulls receiver on their lap

sender touches receiver under the table at a nice restaurant

sender trails fingertips up receiver’s bare thigh

sender breathes on/licks the shell of receiver’s ear

sender ghosts fingertips along receiver’s skin, eliciting goosebumps

sender leaves a love bite on receiver’s shoulder

sender pulls receiver into bathroom stall/dressing room/closet for a moment of passion

sender rips off an article of receiver’s clothing

sender delicately removes an article of receiver’s clothing

sender draws invisible shapes/words on receiver’s flesh with their fingertip or tongue

sender teases receiver until receiver breaks and tries to take what they want from sender

“That’s it, fuck, that’s a good girl/boy.”

“You’re mine.”

“Is this ok?” As they stare up at you from in between your legs. (Consent is so fucking hot and important)

“Do that again- Shit, just like that, right there.”

Ghosting their lips against yours before pulling back with a smug smirk, making you chase them desperately.

Dragging one of their nails down the side of your neck and then middle of your chest.

“Please mark me, I want everyone to know   I’m yours.”

“Spread your legs baby, that’s it… Wider.”

When they murmur pure filth into your ear while they’re touching you.

Fucking someone so good that they struggle to kiss you back.

Hands desperately clutching at one another, gasping into each other’s mouths as if you were starved of one another.

“On your knees.” While their fingers thread through your hair, guiding you onto the floor.

Smirking into a kiss/against your skin when you whimper at their touch.

“My little slut to ruin.”

Interlocking your fingers above your head while making out passionately.

Pulling them closer by the collar of their shirt or their belt.

“I’m yours. Only yours.”

“You’re in no position to tease baby, remember that.”

Soft, lazy kisses and innocent touches that turn bolder and more sinful as you just can’t resist each other.

“This is wrong.” “So wrong.” While continuing to pull at each others clothes, mind fogged with nothing but lust and arousal.

“Don’t you want to play with me?” 

“Look at me. I want you to watch you come on my fingers/cock/strap.” 

Watching in awe as your partner slides their finger into their mouth with your cum on it. 

“Yeah?” They say with a hint of teasing to their tone, “And what if I do this?” They say, changing their rhythm slightly and hitting your weak spot.

Toying with a piece of clothing, whether that be the collar of your shirt, slowly undoing your belt, sliding a finger under the waistband of your underwear before letting it snap back against your skin.(The last one ahhhh) 

Kissing down every inch of your body they possibly can, showing you how much they love you. 

^ Have them murmuring against your skin how beautiful/handsome you are 

“Tell me to stop and we stop. I don’t care what’s happening. All I care about is you.��� 

Sighing softly at the shell of your ear so you can hear how much you affect them. 

“Behave, I wouldn’t want to have to punish you now.” 

 “Can’t you handle it, baby?” “I can-fuck, I can handle it.” 

“If you want something, you have to use your words.” 

 “Count them for me.” 

 Scraping their teeth over your neck to have a shiver of arousal run down your spine. 

“I bet they can’t fuck you like I can.”  

 Wrapping their fingers around your wrist and guiding you to where they desperately need you. 

“Remember who’s in charge here baby, I’d choose your next words carefully.” 

 “Act like a brat and I’ll treat you like a brat.” 

“I’m sorry, what was that? I couldn’t hear you over all the noise you were making.” (Someone write an enemies with benefits to this I beg) 

 “Don’t be shy baby, I love the way you moan my name.”

[j00stkl31n]

making joost fail no nut november during your first november together!!!!

Yesssssss!!!!!

He’d jokingly say he’s partaking in nnn so you decide to make this fucker fail haaaaaard X3

Just failing November 1st lmaooooooooo

It’d be like a week before November so you order some really fucking cute lingerie.

Having Joost leave your air bnb to go get some groceries or something.

Taking that time to get all dressed up for him, then covering your sexy lingerie with a boring ass robe so Joost doesn’t suspect anything when he gets back.

Him coming back with a few bags of things and you just greet him by opening your robe the second the doors shut.

Him dropping the bags to just run up and grab you bridal style and run with you to the bedroom.

Tossing you on the bed no fucks given, then quickly taking off all his clothes.

Immediately teasing him about failing no nut November on the first day of the month.

He shuts you up with a hard kiss and growls into your mouth as he kisses you.

He’d go to try and rip your panties off, you hear the elastic begin to rip a bit.

“DO NOT! These were expensive! Unless you’re planning on buying the whole outfit for me don’t fucking ruin it!

J-“Good thing I have the funds to buy you this set and more for you then huh?”

You let out a huff as he tears through the panties and throws them to the floor.

He laughs and crawls on top of you, grabbing your wrists on his way up, then pinning them above your head with a single hand.

He takes his other hand and caresses one of your tits over the lingerie. Trailing kisses from your neck down to your other breast.

Biting and marking any clear skin he can, making your tits look even hotter in this new bralette.

As he’s marking your chest he takes the hand that was palming your tit and trails it gently down your stomach, making you twitch from it tickling as he does so.

His hand reaches hips, then lower, then he takes his middle finger and places it at the wettest deepest part of your cunt and raised his finger up towards your clit. Just feeling how wet you’ve made yourself waiting to show your outfit off.

J-“Je hebt al een behoorlijke puinhoop van jezelf gemaakt, nietwaar liefje? Wachten tot ik je zie in dit sexy outfitje” //You’ve made quite a mess of yourself already haven’t you love? Waiting for me to see you in this sexy little outfit//

You’ve become quite familiar with the dirty words he likes to say to you in Dutch, so you understand him almost perfectly. You’ve also picked up on some words for yourself.

“Zo nat, alleen voor jou mijn liefde” //So wet, just for you my love//

He raises his eyebrows in surprise.

He was going to fuck you with his hand to make sure you were fully ready for his cock but, he can’t wait after that comment.

He takes his now mildly wet hand and jacks his dick off a bit as he lines himself up with your cunt.

He then pushes himself into you as quickly as your body will allow him to. Making you both moan so fucking loudly. His grip on your wrists tightening making you moan louder.

He’s making sure to keep himself up above you enough so he can see your pretty lingerie.

He’s fucking you as hard and as fast as he physically can. He’s moaning like a whore but so are you.

You’ve been begging to have your hands freed but with every beg he just laughs harder and harder and somehow fucking you harder with each laugh.

When his thrusting becomes off rhythm he finally breaks his hold on your wrists. He’s got to put his body as close to yours as he can. Doing fast and sporadic thrusts into you.

You wrap your hands around his shoulders and sink your nails in hard earning a small whine out of Joost.

You buck your hips into his thrusts desperately as you both cum.

He praises you so fucking much as he cums inside of you. Thanking you so much for wearing this, buying it, and wanting to show it off to him. Then just almost sobbing “I love you” over and over into your neck as he finishes.

You’re nodding and responding with “I love you too” as you also finish.

Joost takes a second to breathe, then pulls himself out of you, and gets off the bed to find his phone.

He takes so many photos of you from so many angles as quick as he can so he can return to being with you.

Once he’s done he lays down next to you with a wide ass grin so happy with himself.

You turn onto your side and lay your head on his chest. Laughing once you’ve rested your head.

“You faaaaaaaaaiiiiled so fucking badly dude holy shit!”

He just takes his hand and covers your mouth to silence you. Chuckling as he does so.

J-“I’m starting the challenge tomorrow instead.”

You roll your eyes and lick his palm hoping he’ll take his hand away.

He doesn’t.

You give him a glare and he removes his hand and laughs at you.

//please tell me if my translations are off 🙏🙏//

[starrystevie]

18+ | modern ronance / cw: public sex | crossposted from twitter

robin has her nipples pierced. she has her nipples pierced and doesn’t wear a bra and always has on a too tight or too sheer or too short top making them obvious to those who know what to look for.

nancy knows what to look for and it drives her crazy.

they aren’t dating, they aren’t fucking but they’re dancing around being something with flirty grins and touches that could almost be considered lingering if they didn’t pull away so quickly. robin looks down at nancy with hooded eyes and she looks back with mischief in her own, promises of that something behind each of their gazes.

but every time she wears one of those goddamn shirts, nipple rings protruding enough to see the outline, to see when she’s changed from a bar bell to a ring, nancy is one know-it-all smirk away from letting robin know how she feels.

she wants to get her hands on them. wants to feel the metal under her palms. wants to rip off a too tight too sheer too short top and get her mouth on them. wants to have robin in her lap, riding her thigh so she can lick the ring into her mouth and tug on it with her teeth.

and nancy is anything but stupid. she knows that robin knows, knows that she wears those fucking shirts on purpose to see nancy barely holding herself together. she’ll make sure to stretch her arms up so the shirts go taut and tight when she knows she has nancy’s eyes on her. she’ll lean forward when she’s wearing a loose button up, enough to have so much skin on display that it has to be intentional. she’ll scratch lazily at her tit and get her nipple hard so that everything is obvious through the fabric knowing it will make nancy lose her mind.

and it does. every single goddamn time. nancy always has to go home and fuck her self on her fingers as she thinks about robin’s tits, about leaving bites and bruises on them until the rings stand out even more against her marred skin, coming hard and fast at the thought.

eventually she knows she has to do something about it. she knows she needs to tell robin that she’s not only in love with her but also in love with her perfect, perky tits and needs to see if she can fit one in her mouth, needs to flick at her nipples until she comes.

turns out, she doesn’t have to wait much longer. steve and eddie pull them out to their favorite club one night for their two month anniversary like it’s an actual day to celebrate and the girls, of course, go along. the guys are grinding against each other in the corner and robin buys nancy her usual vodka soda while she gets her own jack and coke. her shirt tonight is sinful, sheer enough that somehow the metal shines through when the club lights hit just right, loose enough to push a hand under without rucking up the fabric.

they go to the dance floor without question because that’s what they always do, robin holding nancy’s hand as she pulls her along under some guise of not wanting to lose her in the crowd even though they both know that’s not the only reason.

it doesn’t take long until they’re pressed together, nancy’s back to robin’s front. it’s what they always do but tonight it feels charged with something else. robin’s hand is on the side of nancy’s hip, loose enough to break from but tight enough to know she wants her to stay. not that nancy would want to break away from her anyway.

she’s feeling a little wild, a little daring, and maybe it’s the vodka or the way that robin’s piercings are obvious against her back. she snakes a hand up to wrap her arm around the back of robin’s neck, pulling her closer. she can feel her hot breath puffing against her skin as she leans down, following the pressure from nancy's hand.

the fingers on her hip flex and tighten, pushing them together the tiniest bit more and she can feel when robin drops her head to rest in the crook of her neck. her breath is even hotter now, closer to her bare skin than she was before, dampening her already sweat soaked skin.

nancy tangles her fingers into robin’s hair, coaxing her down to hint that she can put her lips on her skin if she wants. she can taste her if she wants. it doesn’t take long until nancy jumps when a kiss is pressed featherlight under her ear. her fingers tug on the hair between them and it’s like a green light moving all systems to go.

there’s a tongue flicking out to finally taste nancy’s skin and she pushes her hips back to grind harder against robin. there’s a hand traveling from her hip a bit closer to where she actually wants it, pressing teasingly into the lowest part of her belly, lust rushing behind her behind her bellybutton at the sensation.

nancy drops her hand from her head so she can place it on top of robin’s, pushing her fingers down so the pressure increases. she gasps at the feeling and can feel robin do something of the same, teeth scraping against her skin followed by her tongue like she's trying to sooth it. in the back of her mind, she's hoping robin will do it again.

she’s glad they know each other so well since they won’t be able to hear each other over the music. as robin’s hand goes to move lower, nancy spins in her grasp, desperate for something else. now they’re face to face, robin’s eyes hooded and dark in the low light, trained on nancy's lips, her own lips spit slick from her ministrations on her neck.

her leg slips between nancy’s as her hand comes to rest on the center her ass, pulling them close. it doesn’t take long until nancy’s pushing up on her toes as robin bends down so they can finally kiss each other for the first time. she isn’t surprised when a tongue flicks out against her lips, isn't surprised when hers comes out to meet it either.

making out with robin on the dance floor is great, heavenly, everything she could want. well, almost everything that is. her hand slides onto robin’s side just under her loose shirt. her skin is warm against nancy’s fingers, under her palm, soft in a way that makes her want to get her mouth on it.

robin surges forward and presses harder on her ass like she knows what nancy wants. needs what nancy wants. her shirt is loose enough that nancy's hand finds her tit easily. it fits perfectly in her palm just like she knew it would, heavy in that wonderful way that makes her mind go blank with desire. with their legs entwined, they both roll their hips in an obvious way to get pressure where they need it, mouths opening on moans that get drowned out by the booming bass.

robin pulls back from their kiss and keeps nancy’s bottom lip bitten between her teeth, tugging gently like a hint of what she really wants. when nancy’s finger slip up to pinch her nipple, she lets go of her lip with a hiss and thrust of her hips.

“you gotta thing for tits, wheeler? that’s so fucking hot,” robin mutters against her ear as she brings her hand around from her ass to her front.

her hand slips easily under nancy’s skirt, palm flat against her wet panties to give her something more to grind on. nancy can feel her eyes roll back and she tugs harshly on robin’s nipple causing them both to groan.

"no, i have a thing for your tits. drive me crazy with those things..."

their hands are clever and fit where they need to be and soon enough they’re both rolling their hips and breathing into each other’s mouths as they come.

nancy keeps her hand on robin’s tit, tugging and pinching to keep her squirming in her grasp, rocking her hips needily against robin's hand as she rides out her orgasm. robin gets back at her by slipping 2 fingers into her soaked through panties, sliding into nancy’s wet cunt easily and swallowing the groan she gets in return.

“we need to go,” nancy says as she stretches up to get her mouth to robin’s ear, pussy clenching around the fingers robin is slowly pumping in her. “i need you naked and on my bed immediately.”

when they get back to nancy’s, she gets to see what metal feels like against her tongue. and if she finds a surprise piercing lower down, she’ll taste that one too.

[seokka0o]

박원빈 - Park Wonbin 🐉contain:Smut;unprotected sex; nipple play // remembering that English is not my first language, so it may have some grammatical errors

Your temper was very difficult to manage at times, a little unstable when dealing with certain frustrations and in fact you understand that it's not something you can handle alone, stressful days tend to be longer, the ones that make you drag yourself around alone waiting for it to end. Not luckily, you have your boyfriend, Wonbin is never the type to question you too much, especially if he sees you cross the door of his apartment sulking, with your head down, not making light of it, but he knows that at some point it will pass, you would come to him anyway, so he will intend to watch television, because if you wanted to talk, you would have done so as soon as you got home.

But in return, he'll make sure you forget about your problem by fucking you like crazy.

His fingers were soft, against your flesh, massaging gently, making everything inside you compress, Wonbin would break your legs quite easily, but given your condition it was justifiable. He entered, over your body and then he slipped inside without prey, smiling as he noticed the expressions lost in your pleasure, he had bright eyes, like two billiard balls. The hands that used to twist the skin of your thighs going up inside the T-shirt -which, by the way, was his - that you were wearing, reaching your chest, to massage so shamelessly running his thumb over your nipples, making them bristle just to get a twinge in his own dick by the feel of the hard nipple scraping across his long fingers.

"I'll take care of your frustrations, don't worry" his intention is not to be proper, kind, Wonbin would like to secure some approvals before he becomes who he really is and you'd like to say that you didn't happen to feel the first violent twinge . Wonbin just started to give a good acceleration, with the intention of making you forget any frustrations at any cost, your moans came out involuntary, even though he had no intention of keeping them repressed from the beginning, your back bending with the intense waves and contractions, you didn't know how he managed to keep the thrusts going for so long, from making you gasp and biting your own lip to the air that was starting to leave your lungs "there you go, putting everything else aside to focus on how good my dick does you "

He proved it as always, lowering his own change, slowing down so he could kiss your jaw, making fun while listening to you whimper weakly "want to come for me, honey? Are you desperate for this already?" he asks still depositing some seals by your neck , going up to your face, his hands still under your t-shirt playing with your nipples, but without moving his hips, letting you move yours almost desperately. His lips touching yours is affectionate, delicate seals, pressed subtly, to make a caress, sometimes wonbin sucks your bottom lips with his , smiling as soon as you exchange some eye contact "are you desperate enough?" He's a sadist, definitely, and you might agree that he is.

"please, I really need to come, wonbin" so there's his answer, serving as fuel for all that fire that seemed endless, wonbin pulled his body away from yours and then he went back to fuck you at the same frequency as before. Sliding inside you, muttering every time you moaned his name, each time louder than the other "f-fuck, I'm almost Bin, please continue"

You shouldn't use nicknames like that, wonbin's skin crawling was the sign of his evil in teasing him, because right after he let out a breathless groan, feeling that he could also be close to him. Hands now going down to your hips he used absolute support, to take you to the sky as fast as he could, your flesh losing and your eyes rolling until you finally reached your limit, letting your whole body give in to then soon feeling your entire insides fill with wonbin's liquids and then it falls onto your lap, completely exhausted.

[xhfics]

One night stand ~ Jiseok (Gaon)

Pairing: Jiseok x Reader

Genre: smut

Note: drinking/drunk characters, over the clothes touching yourself in a public space, bathroom sex with some mirror sex(?), protected sex, crying from pleasure, little bit of spit play, dirty talk, slight degradation (f receiving, being called a slut), fingering (f receiving), overstimulation. I think that's it?

Requested by @xhdream

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

His cheeks are red, his eyes fixated on you as he takes off his jacket and casually throws it on the chair next to him.

Plump lips with a smirk lingering on them, and he catches his bottom lip with his teeth as he sees you swig your drink.

You’ve been eyeing him every now and then when you found out he was at this wedding party too. He’s your friend’s boyfriend's friend, or something. But you didn't know he’d be here tonight.

The two of you haven't spoken a word to each other all night, just exchanging glances here and there.

He looks hot. His bleached blonde hair with the roots showing compliments his skin tone, the nice suit he's wearing shows off his body just the way you like it.

He keeps his gaze on you as he slowly rolls up the sleeves of his blouse. You shift in your seat when you notice the prominent veins on his forearms. You’d be lying if you said it didn't turn you on.

You’ve blocked out the chatter of the party guests and you're conveniently sitting at the back of the room. And he is too, just two tables further.

You lean your arms on the table, giving him a good view of your chest.

He ever so slightly parts his lips when he notices you're definitely not wearing a bra under your skin tight dress.

He smiles at you, his ears getting red too. And you see his hand disappear under the table. The other tightly grips the bottle of beer he just finished.

You eye his motions, the subtle movements of his hand. You think about what he's doing; probably rubbing himself over his dress pants. At least, you hope that's what he's doing.

He bites his lips, his gaze still focused on you. Or rather, your boobs.

Pressing your arms a little closer together, you quickly check around the room. It's dark enough, the guests are drunk enough. You brush your fingers over the thin fabric of your dress, caressing your hard nipple. You don't break eye contact with him.

Jiseok throws his head back for a split second, then grips the beer bottle tightly and slams his other hand on the table.

He gets up, still looking at you. His gaze is lustful and slightly annoyed.

Even though his pants are black, you still see the obvious boner he has and you smirk at him.

He walks by you and hisses; “bathroom on the first floor. Now.”

Grabbing your purse, you chuckle to yourself and follow him to the first floor. Jiseok opens the door to the luxurious private bathroom this place has. Lucky you.

The bathroom is spacious and dimly lit. A big mirror hangs over the sink, and the whole room smells like patchouli. It's pleasant.

The moment you walk in, Jiseok slams the door shut and locks it. He grabs your purse and throws it on the sink.

“Did you really have to do that?” He asks, his face close to you and his hands grip your ass tightly.

You yelp in surprise, then scoff at his pressing tone. “I have no idea what you're talking about, Jiseok.”

You give extra attention to saying his name, letting it roll off your tongue sensually.

“Touching your tits like that, for everyone to notice.” He says by your ear, then pressing a quick kiss behind it. “If you're gonna behave like a slut, I’ll have to fuck you like one.”

Sliding your hand to the front of his dress pants, you apply pressure on his rock hard dick. “If you're gonna last long enough to fuck me.”

Jiseok grabs your face and kisses you, hard and hungry. His eyes are dark, his tongue is taking control of yours. He presses your ass against the sink and slides one hand under your dress.

“Useless little thing.” He mumbles against your lips as he rips off your panties. “The fact you even bothered to put them on, they barely cover anything.”

“Y-you owe me new ones.” You whimper as he slides his fingers down your wet folds.

Your dress has hiked up and gives Jiseok a good view of his fingers in your cunt. He visibly enjoys it.

As you roll your head back and arch your back in pleasure, your chest is inviting Jiseok to play with it. His other hand pushes down one of the straps of your cocktail dress and he immediately starts kissing and nipping on the exposed breast.

The mix of his fingers pumping into you and his tongue licking your nipple, almost sends you to your high already. But you keep it to yourself, you don't want to give him the satisfaction of having this effect on you.

“Don't think I don't feel you clenching around my fingers, sweetheart.” He says, after just sucking a mark on your breast. “So sensitive for me, gonna have a lot of fun with that. With you.”

He leans back to take a good look at you while he licks off your juices from his fingers. Your lipstick is a mess, he’s kissed most of it off. Your hair is fairly neat, but he knows that won't be for long.

His favorite sight is your pussy, still dripping wet thanks to him.

You make an effort to undo his belt, but he pats away your hands.

“No sweetheart, I’m gonna ruin you.” He says. “Not the other way around.”

He still undoes his belt and takes off his pants and boxers. He grabs your hand and allows you to touch him, briefly.

You swallow at the sight of his dick; hard and veiny, ready to fuck you.

“Jiseok…” you say softly, your tough act from before is almost gone. You gently stroke his dick a few times, pumping it well while looking at him with pleading eyes.

“What is it, doll?” He asks, giving you a messy kiss on your messy lips.

“Use me however you want.” You say, reaching for your purse. You pull out a condom and press it into Jiseok's hand.

He looks at it, then back at you. He takes your chin in between his thumb and pointer finger. “You dirty girl. You’ve been wanting this, expecting this even? With me, or another guy?”

You keep quiet.

“You know what.” He says, ripping open the packaging and rolling the condom on his length. “I don't even care. You're mine now.”

He puts his hand on the back of your neck and pulls you into another kiss.

You press your whole body against his, needing his touch so badly. You let out a moan into his mouth as he inserts just his tip.

His hands are now on your ass again, groping the flesh and keeping you still. He lifts you on top of the sink and pushes into you fully, letting out the hardest and most satisfying groan you've ever heard.

“Oh fuck, Jiseok.” You whimper, your cunt getting sensitive again from the friction. “You feel so fucking good.”

“Look at me.” He says while panting. Taking another good look at you, messy and turned on. Half your dress is off your body, and the dim bathroom light is covering your body beautifully.

You try to keep your gaze at him as he fucks into you. His eyes are filled with pleasure and lust, like they have been all night.

The look in his eyes, along with the steady rhythm he is fucking you at, are making it hard for you not to cum a second time.

He notices, obviously, and pulls out of you. “Did I say you could cum?”

“N-no.” You answer, sighing and panting, clenching around nothing.

Jiseok grabs your waist and turns you around. “If you wanna cum so badly, I’ll make sure you're gonna be crying from it.”

You lock eyes with yourself in the mirror; you see Jiseok behind you and he gives you a quick wink before thrusting into you again.

Your breath gets caught in your throat, the front of your thighs push against the edge of the sink every time Jiseok slams back into you.

Biting your lower lip to keep in the noises you want to make, you see Jiseok looking down at your ass.

“I just absolutely love seeing your pussy get filled up by me.” He grunts, kneading your ass cheeks. He spits down on his cock as it easily slides in and out of you. “You're taking me so well, like a proper slut.”

You let out a mix of a moan and whine as you cum again when hearing him say that.

Your pleading eyes look at him via the mirror, and you see him smirk at you.

“That's right.” He says. “You're gonna cum over and over again on my cock, aren't you?”

“Y-yeah…” you manage to say, your eyes starting to fill with tears as you continue to cum.

Jiseok grabs a fistful of your hair, gently but firmly tugging it as he quickens his pace.

You desperately hold onto the sink, shutting your eyes as you continue to cum. A few tears roll down your cheeks, ruining your eye makeup.

You feel Jiseok’s hand slide to your clit and and and you know you're not gonna be able to stand properly anymore if you cum another time.

“Come on baby, one more time.” Jiseok says, playing with your clit and kissing down your back as he slowly thrusts into you a few more times.

His breathy and shaky voice lets you know he’s close too. You’ve absolutely soaked his dick with your cum, and it's doing something to him.

He sees your ruined makeup and teary eyes, and lets out a soft moan as he spills into the condom while you clench around him for the last time.

Jiseok rests his forehead on your shoulder blade and then slowly pulls out of you. He keeps his arm around your waist, steady and safe.

He quickly discards the condom, puts his pants back on and hands you some paper towels to clean yourself up.

His thumb brushes over the wet eye makeup that’s run out under your eyes.

You see that his lips are plump and red from kissing you, a little bit of your lipstick can be found on them.

Jiseok grabs your ripped panties and stuffs them in his pocket. “I'm keeping these.”

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Sinfully Delicious - An EZ Reyes/Reader Smut Short.

I was feeling a certain way about EZ all day, so now you can, too! Especially since people say there isn't enough in the way of stories about him out there, yet he remains one of my least reacted with smut subjects?! Anyway, hot filth below, so go enjoy!

Words - 836

Warnings - Smut below the cut, minors DNI!

EZ Reyes. He’s the only man who has ever had such a profound effect upon you, that just looking at him ignites your arousal. You can feel your cunt fluttering with the longing for him, to feel him, your skin craving the heat of his against it.

When you find yourself falling into fantasies, your body responds, just the very thought of him inside you making you wet, your inner walls aching, needing to feel his cock pushing into you deep.  

When you finally get him, you almost don’t know how to react, though. With your fantasy right there before you, kisses of scorching heat landing upon your mouth and his hand gliding up your bare leg, your brain goes to static completely.  

“Fuck,” he grunts, reaching the drenched fabric of your underwear. “You’re absolutely soaking.” His words are delivered on a hungry grunt, gently biting your lower lip with a groan, his fingertips fighting past the sodden garment to stroke your folds. “God, that feels so good and It’s only my fingers."

His touch glides over your clit, and you buck into his hand, gasping, EZ smiling against your lips. “That feel nice, beautiful? Yeah, is that how you want me to touch you, play with this pretty little clit until you come hard for me, hmm? Or do you need something inside of you?” His words have you mindless, only capable of using sounds, and he knows it, knows he’s winding you tightly. “Maybe I should give you both, huh?”  

Pushing you back against the counter he has you sitting upon, he pulls off your undies, lowering his head to your heat, his fingers pushing inside you as his tongue begins to lay licks over your aching bud, his breaths hot and sharp against you. “God, you taste amazing. So fucking sweet.”  

It burns golden through you, each lick firming, his fingers rooting deep as your cunt streams over them, his lips wrapping to suck upon you.  

“Oh, please don’t stop! Fuck, that feels so good!”  

He looks up at you, eyes gleaming. “Finally found your voice, huh? That’s good, cuz’ I’m all set to hear you wail pretty for me, beautiful.” When he sucks on you again, you do, your voice breaking on a cry, the lewd sounds of him feasting on your clit filling the air, peppered by his grunts. The squelch of his fingers pounding into your pussy overtakes the other noises, the erotic orchestra loudening, your nails dug into his thick shoulders as you mewl, your hips shaking violently.

He’s better than you ever could have dreamed of. 

“Fuck, I'm so fucking hard, baby. Let me give you my dick, right now. I gotta be in you,” he pants, the desire in his eyes meeting yours as you pull your dress and bra off, EZ shedding the rest of his clothes. A cock of impressive size bobs free of his jeans, the bunched fabric kicked from his ankles along with his white boxers.  

“Yeah,” you gasp, reaching for him, steering him to your streaming opening. “I need to have you in me just as badly.” He pushes, and with one fluid thrust, he’s filling you, your cry muted by his mouth, his hands grasping your thighs as you draw your knees up, that hot, veiny hardness inching into you deeper. His eyes fall down, your gaze following, watching at how the liquid silk of your cunt bathes his cock, glossing the dark skin, glinting over each ridge before it vanishes within you again.  

“Like how that big dick feels all up in you deep, querida? Fuck, you feel so good.” Once again, he has you rendered mindless, his mouth claiming yours in kisses gilded in honey and embers, his rhythm exquisite, giving you exactly what you need.

He drags your walls slow and hard, sparks scraping, the fill of him mind-melting as you clutch at his muscles, the chiselled bulk of him hotter than you could ever imagine.  

Adding speed, he meets your need with keen thrusts, filling you wholly, glimmers shooting through you as his hips rut you with force, mouth moving to kiss a constellation over your neck. He hits you at every angle and depth, so deep you feel as if galaxies are collapsing and igniting again within you, pleasure bursting over your nerves as you cry out ferally.  

“Come on, baby,” he pants, tongue swirling with yours, his nails digging into your flesh. “Let me feel this pretty little cunt come around me. Yeah, that’s it. Come all over my dick.”  

He fucks you in brutal frenzy, his trailer beginning to shake with the force of it, your nails clawing at his back as frost chills your blood, only for the flames of your undoing to melt it as your orgasm races through you. He twitches, teeth clamping onto your neck, spilling hot and deep within your fluttering walls, his groan all smoke and grit.  

How sinfully delicious it is, when fantasy lives up to reality.  

[radiant-reid]

my sweet darling, how are you?? i hope you’re having a nice weekend so far! can i pls request a spencer piece where maybe they haven’t been intimate for a while (because they’re busy & life be life-ing, ORRR bonus: underlying angsty reasons👀) & one night they come home late after a case & spence needs to remind her of how good he can make her feel;))) & make is smutty pls & thank you if ya don’t mind, i woke up horny today ahahah

take care hun🫶🏻

thank you for this request !

Working at the BAU takes everything out of you. You wouldn't have it any other way, but it's difficult some days. Finishing a case is usually alleviating, knowing you've brought families closure and stopped a killer from killing. This time, it doesn't feel like that.

It might be that getting home doesn't feel warm like usual. It's cold, and you're sure the weird distance between you and Spencer is why. You've been out of sync with him before, but never as bad as lately. There's no anger or arguments, you just feel far away from him.

"I'm going to shower." You tell him, keeping your gaze fixed on the floor.

"Want something to eat?" He asks, tapping his fingers on the bench.

You shake your head, still not looking up at him. "No." You answer. "Thank you."

You turn back to look at him, watching as he takes books out of his satchel and puts them back on the bookshelf for a moment. You should just walk over there and kiss him, end whatever's going on. What you don't see are the gears turning in his head as he thinks about what to say.

You turn the water on, stripping as you wait for it to warm up. The warm water cascading over you is heavenly, soothing your tired muscles. You're so relaxed you don't notice Spencer opening the bathroom door and undressing.

When he steps into the shower, you gasp in surprise. "What are you-"

He places his hand over your mouth, stopping you from talking. "I love you. You need to know that." The passion pours off him, and his sudden declaration is full of his usual affection.

It makes your heart flutter in your chest. "I do know that." You say when he takes his hand away. "And I love you."

He kisses you as passionately as he spoke, cupping your cheeks and smashing his lips onto yours. It's everything you've been craving after two weeks of pecks.

You press your palms against his chest, fingers gliding over his skin. He backs you up against the steamed glass, and his lips break from yours to kiss down your neck.

Your head falls back, giving him more access to your soft skin as your fingers tangle in his hair. "Fuck, Spence." You moan.

His hand moves to your waist, keeping your hips tight against his where you can feel how hard he is. "Wanna do this here?" He offers, breath hot against your neck.

You nod quickly. "Need you right now." You confirm.

He groans at your answer, quickly picking you up and holding you against the glass. You squirm in his grip, trying to get yourself lined up with his cock.

The synced moans as you slide onto his cock confirm you're both experiencing the same divine feeling. "How'd you feel more amazing each time?" He chokes out.

"It always feels-fuck- amazing when it's us." You remind him, biting down on his shoulder. It drives him crazy, and it's enough to have him moving you to an angle where he can thrust into you, his hips grinding against yours.

His thrusts are sloppy, and the position is awkward as he tries to not slip over but you don't care. Not when it feels so good and you feel close to him again. His hands touch your skin just about everywhere, needing to feel you, and you keep your arms wrapped around his shoulder to stabilize yourself while your fingers tug on his curls and leave scratch marks on his back.

It doesn't take long, it's been so much longer than usual and you're both so desperate that you cum around him seconds before he cums in you, both repeating your love for each other again and again.

He holds you there for another moment while you both come down from your highs before delicately letting you down. "Hi." He says, pushing your wet hair away from your face and brushing his nose against yours.

"Hey." You say, smiling softly at him.

"To bed?" He offers.

You nod sleepily. "I want all-night cuddles as well."

Spencer chuckles softly, kissing your forehead. "What you want, you shall have."

[joshym]

No Hands: Part 2

Pairings: Josh Kiszka x f!Reader

Summary: You had your turn, now it's his.

Word Count: 3k+

Read part one.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY mentions of poor body image, light bondage, use of mouth gag, fingering, oral (f!rec), unprotected p in v sex, a little degradation, some slight edging, overstimulation, slight choking, squirting, lots of dirty talk, some fluff, Joshs white satin scarf (please let me know if I missed anything, lol)

a/n: the first part of this little story had me in chokehold (pun intended) & I knew I had to continue it.

so, with that said,

ENJOY.

“Put this on. You have five minutes. I’ll be right back.”

He dug down deep in your closet to find it. The thing that makes him lose all sensibility, that brings out the feral animal in him that fucks you until you’re near tears.

The dress. 

The one that gets you in trouble. The good kind.

He’s home on a quick break from tour, and every night has been full of passion and desire for one another. 

He leaves again tomorrow morning, so you know he’s got something quite special planned for you on this last night together at home.

You quickly put it on as soon as he leaves the room, looking at yourself in the mirror. Your body has always made you a little insecure, but the way this dress fits you…it’s no wonder Josh can’t keep composure. The most beautiful parts of your body are accentuated, and you especially love the fact that the hem barely hits your upper thighs. 

Josh has never been shy of expressing his undying love for you, for your body. He practically worships you, kissing the ground on which you walk after each step you take. He makes you feel like a divine being among mortals. The attention he gives to your body, and the extra attention he gives to the things you don’t love about it…how you could ever doubt your beauty is beyond his way of thinking.

You sit on the edge of the bed as you await your lover, thinking about the way he looked today against the sun. 

He’d spent all day outside putting together your new backyard furniture and as you brought him drinks, you couldn’t help but admire him. How his honey skin was glowing in the rays, how the peach fuzz on his chest sparkled as sweat droplets glistened and caught the light, and how each goosebump beautifully decorated his skin when he poured water on his head to cool off. 

God, he’s beautiful. Fucking immaculate. And he’s yours. 

You hear his feet padding up the stairs. Your heart begins racing as you know you’re in for it due to his special choice of wardrobe for you.

As he makes his way through the door frame, you stand up to put yourself on display for him in his favorite dress of yours.

He stands there for a moment, drinking you in. 

His hands hold a beautiful white, silken scarf. 

Your heart skips a beat as you’re flooded with a memory. 

“Maybe next time, you’re the one that can’t use your hands. Maybe we tie them behind your back. How does that sound, hm?”

“Fuck, sweetheart. A sight for sore eyes, you are. Spin around for me, baby. Let me get a good look at you.”

You slowly turn your body, lifting your dress slightly so your ass cheeks just barely peek out the bottom.

“That’s my good girl. Always love to give me a little show, yeah? Perfect. Fucking perfect.” he says as he walks up to you.

He cups your face with one hand while the other drags the scarf along your thighs. 

“Look what I have for you. A pretty scarf for my pretty girl who is such a slut for me and my hands.”

He takes your bottom lip between his teeth, biting almost hard enough to draw blood as he swallows your every moan.

“Remember your little game?” 

“Yes, Joshy..” you say, your voice soft with lust and need.

“Remember what I promised you?”

“Yes, baby.”

“And what was my promise?”

He grabs your jaw, turning your face up to meet his.

“That you’re going to tie my hands behind my back, so I can’t use them.”

“That’s right, my darling.” 

His hand moves from your jaw to the pulse point of your neck, squeezing it deliciously before he lifts you up and puts you on the bed.

He stands there looking at you all laid out for him, marveling at you while he bites his bottom lip. His eyes are heavy, so full of desire for you that your heart swells as you feel like the most beautiful creature in his presence. 

You spread your legs just a little, but enough to reveal that you opted out of anything underneath the dress. 

“No panties, huh?” he says through the grin adorning his luscious lips. “My dirty, sluty girl.”

“I’m not sluty.” 

“Yes, yes you are, darling. A slut for me.”

You can’t even deny him, and your cheeks flush at his words.

You are a slut for him. His slut. You’d do anything he’d ask you, and he knows it.

He puts the silk scarf around his neck before slowly crawling up your body. He attaches his plush lips your chest, licking up to your collar bone that he grazes with his teeth. 

“You’ll let me know if it’s too much, okay?” he says softly against your ear.

You’re too caught up in the way he feels to be able to respond, so you simply nod your head to let him know you understand.

He removes the scarf from around his neck, dragging it across your lips, down your chest, descending further to embrace every curve of your body. The soft satin like honey gliding across your warm skin as it melts into you with its gentle touch.

He dips it slowly between your legs, pulling on it ever so slightly as it skates across your drenched core.

Your body weakens with each pull of the scarf, becoming encompassed with red hot desire as the fabric lightly tugs on your throbbing clit.

He sits up on his knees between your legs.

"Hands."

You obey, putting your arms in front of you, fingers intertwined together.

He kisses each wrist as he begins tying the scarf around them. Dark eyes full of lust and need locked with yours.

One knot, two knots...

He pulls on it, ensuring it’s tight enough.

“Feel okay, darling?” 

“It’s perfect.” 

Your voice is noticeably shaky. This is new territory for you, but the thought of being inhibited this way, giving him all the control while you haven’t the use of your hands…it’s elating.

He places sweet kisses down your arms, moving to your hips as he plays with the floral fabric hugging you.

“Fuck…I will never get enough of this little ensemble on you…” 

He begins bunching the fabric up your hips, knuckles white from the grip he has.

“...and I’ll never get tired of fucking you in it.”

His head dips down as you feel his breath against your wetness, causing you to buck your hips into his face to chase any sort of contact. 

He places his hand on your hip to hold you still.

“Patience, my dear. I’ll give you what you want.”

You reach your tied hands down to grip his hair, when he suddenly lifts away from you.

“Well, this simply won’t do.”

He unties your wrists.

“These need to be behind you. Don’t want them getting in the way, now do we?”

You lift up, moving your arms behind and allowing him to secure them before you lay back down.

With your hands now behind you, being held down by your own weight on your back, you truly are helpless against his will.

He returns to his position between your legs, kissing your thighs as you squirm under him. 

Out of instinct, you attempt to move your arms, realizing you can’t.

He feels you tense up. “Hm, seem to have found yourself in a little predicament, darling?”

Something about losing the ability to use your hands, how it nearly leaves you fully to his whim. He can do whatever he wants to you, and you’re going to fucking let him.

He looks up at you with hungry eyes. He wants it as bad as you do, but he’s loving taunting you, feeling your body trembling beneath him, making you desperate for him.

He giggles at your state, lips just out of reach from where you crave them the most.

“You want it? Want me to taste you?”

“Please, Josh…I want it so bad.”

“Hm, I’m not convinced. Need you to be a little more detailed.” he says as he licks along your inner thigh.

He wants you to beg. And you’ll do whatever it takes. Your need for him grows by the second.

“Please taste me, baby. I’m so fucking ready for you…please, I need you so bad. Need to feel your tongue on me. Need you to suck me, eat me, anything baby please, I can’t handle it.”

“Ah, there she is. That sweet voice begging for me to do such filthy things.”

He nudges your clit with his nose before fucking into you with his tongue, lapping inside of you, keeping his nose pressed against your clit as it follows the movements of his tongue.

His strong hands have a tight hold on your hips to keep you still. He feels you continue to tense under him, knowing how badly you want to move. He groans into you and the vibrations of his voice add another layer of intensity and hurl you closer and closer to your sweet release.

“Josh, Josh oh my god…fuck it feels so fucking good I’m-I’m so close Josh FUCK…”

He smiles against your swollen pussy as his tongue is buried inside of you.

Your stomach is tightening, your skin on fire and drenched with sweat. You’re suddenly very much aware of the fact that you can’t use your hands and it’s near torture to not be able to pull his hair and force his face even harder into you. 

His lips close around your clit, sucking it into his mouth, forcing the knot in your belly to break instantly. You scream incoherencies, your body almost entirely numb. 

“There you go, darling, there you go.”

He works you through it perfectly, bringing you back to earth with gentle kisses to your throbbing clit.

He lifts his head up. His lips swollen and pink, glistening wet from you.

“Goddamn, y/n…” he moves to kiss you, sticking his tongue deep in your mouth to give you a taste of yourself. “...you are fucking delectable, aren’t you? I could stay between those pretty legs all fucking day, make you cum just like that over and over again.”

You whimper in his mouth as he swallows every sound you make.

“Josh, please…I want to touch you…”

“Awh, my sweet girl can’t play her own game, can she?”

You want to run your hands all over him. His skin that’s sticky with perspiration, his muscles that tense under your fingers, you need to feel him. 

The corner of his mouth curls up in his tantalizing smile that sends a pool of wetness flooding to your core. “I got this pretty scarf just for you, darling. It’d be such a shame to not use it somewhere.”

You bite your lip hard in anticipation of whatever his sinister mind is brewing. 

“Should we shove it in your gorgeous mouth?”

Fuck. The thought alone has you tightly clamping your thighs together in need of any sort of friction.

“Oh. You liked that, didn’t you?” 

He gently lifts you up, brushing your messy hair down with his fingers before carefully untying your binds.

“Joshy…” 

“Yes, darling?”

Your freed hands instantly latch onto his body. Feeling all over his toned frame, pulling him closer to lick up his stomach to his gorgeous pecs, kissing his hardened nipple. He throws his head back as a beautiful moan sounds from his throat. 

“I want you to gag me with it, Josh.” You flick his nipple with your tongue before sitting up on your knees, looking him in his lust laden eyes. “I want you to fuck me with it shoved down my throat.” 

He grips your hips hard, pulling your body against his. “You dirty, sluty little girl. Your wish is my command, my queen.”

He kisses you deeply, then brings the scarf up to your mouth. “Open, my darling.”

You open your mouth, tongue laid out flat as he slowly shoves the silk all the way inside. You feel the material slide closer and closer to the back of your throat, triggering your gag reflex as he fits the rest of it inside. 

“That feel okay, my love?” 

Having lost yet another ability, this time the one to speak, you simply nod.

“You’re so filthy, my pretty girl.” He shoves his hand between your legs, fingers dipping inside of you and bringing them to your swollen clit. “Your sweet cunt all soaked from having a gag in your mouth, yeah? God, I fucking love you.” 

He turns you around, keeping you up on your knees as you face away from him. His hands reach around, pulling your dress up to your lower belly, fingers gripping your hips as he pulls your ass against him.

“Ready for my cock, darling?” 

You nod and whine around the balled up scarf. He pulls his shorts down, his hard dick nudging your lower back. You can feel the precum against you and you’re wishing you could wrap your lips around his head to gather it up.

He wraps his hand around your throat as his dick teases your desperate pussy. You want, no, you need him inside. You need to feel the burning stretch of him so badly. You grind your dripping cunt against him, trying anything to force him inside. 

You hear him ‘tsk’ in your ear. “I love your needy little cunt.” 

He toys with you a bit longer before finally shoving himself all the way inside in one hard thrust. 

You’re nearly screaming against the satin filling your mouth. The sting of his cock is a welcome pain as you finally feel full of him.

He starts slow, pumping himself at an excruciating pace to hear the lewd, wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of you. “Listen to that, baby. Your sweet, wet cunt singing for my cock. The most beautiful sound.”

He sends a rather harsh thrust into you that nearly causes you to double over. 

He fucks into you harder, his hand still firm on your throat as his fingers of the other dig in to your hip. 

You want to scream his name. You want to tell him how fucking good he feels. But all you can do is whimper, scream and sob. And that you do.

He changes his pace as he swivels his hips, his cock pressed up against your sweet spot.

“You’re close, darling. This sweet pussy is getting so tight around me. You’re gonna make a mess, aren’t you?”

He knows you can’t talk, and he knows how bad you want to. Muffled moans are all you can muster as you're once again on the verge of release. 

“Come on, darling. Need to feel you cum pretty for me. All over my cock, sweet baby.”

He moves his hand from your throat, tracing down your body until the pads of his fingers find your clit. He flicks the hardened nub with his index finger, sending you crashing head first into your peak. 

Your body spasms. Your every extremity tingling. His name is the only word coming to the forefront of your mind, and you want to scream it from the top of your lungs.

He continues to relentlessly fuck you, chasing his own release. 

He reaches up to pull the scarf from your mouth. “Talk to me baby, let me hear that beautiful voice.”

“FUCK Josh! Josh oh my FUCK!” is all you can manage as you’re nearing overstimulation, but unable to care as your body is close to driving over the edge yet again.

“You’re gonna cum again, aren’t you? Sweet cunts been so spoiled today, hasn’t she?”

His voice is strained and breathy, telling you he’s nearing his end as his thrusts become sloppy. 

“Give it to me, baby. Fuck I need it so bad, y/n.”

The dam within you breaks, dousing his cock, your thighs, the bed sheets beneath you. 

He grabs hold of the strap of your dress, ripping it as he pounds himself into you.

“Holy fuck, y/n!” 

He thrusts into you a few more times before shooting his warm cum inside you, coating you deliciously.

You’re both breathless, exhausted in your fucked out states.

He pulls out of you slowly. You feel your wet release mixed with his instantly dripping down your thighs.

He gently lays you down on your back as he kisses you back to life.

“Oh my god, y/n.” he says with his lips against your chest. “You are so fucking magnificent. I can’t…I can’t believe how fucking glorious you are, my sweet baby.” 

You’re too worn to speak, so you simply smile and run your fingers through his sweaty hair. 

He lifts up to take hold of the scarf, bringing it down to clean the mess you both have made off of you. You wince a little at the contact, and he continues with a careful hand. 

He sets it next to you on the bed before laying down and pulling you on top of him as he continuously kisses your head, holding the torn strap of your dress in his hand.

You snicker in his chest, to which he hums in question.

“I think you may have actually broken me this time. Well, the dress, at least.”

He laughs while investigating the frayed fabric between his fingers.

“I don’t need this ratty, old thing. You’re fucking perfect. My beautiful, wonderful girl.”

The warmth of his arms pulls you into a deep sleep and he soon follows in suit.

You awake the next morning to him shuffling around the house. The band has their next performance tomorrow night and he has a flight to catch this morning. To no surprise, he’s running late.

“Can I help you with anything, Josh?” you say with sleep still laced on your voice. 

He finishes getting dressed, quickly making his way over to you to kiss you goodbye. You’re excited because you’ll be able to come to this show, but you’ll have to take a later flight as you have to get a few things sorted out at work first.

“No, I think I’ve got everything.” 

He packs the last few items in his suitcase, and just before he shuts it, he grabs the bunched up scarf sitting next to you on the bed and shoves it inside his luggage. 

“And just what do you think you’re doing with that?”

“This is coming with me. Who knows, I may even wear it on stage. Use it for good luck.” he says with a wink.

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