#a beer bud series

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

Summary: After moving to Hawkins to take care of your ailing grandma, you end up spending a wild night with Corroded Coffin's lead singer, Eddie Munson. When you uncover his true intentions, you have no desire to ever see him again, but fate--and his son, Harris--has other plans.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), fingering (f! receiving), oral (m!receiving), slowburn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, Eddie is 30, Reader is 28, no use of y/n

WC: 7.5k

Chapter 1/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple Divider credit to @saradika

Late August, 1996. 

July had come and gone so quickly, and you could sense it in the muggy air as the daylight dwindled away on the horizon of an orange colored sky. Your heels click along the parking lot pavement as you make your way into the dingy bar. Everyone told you that your twenties would be full of surprises, but no one warned you that those twists and turns would land you in Hawkins, Indiana. 

The neon sign reads The Hideout; well, really, it reads Th H deo t, and the “o” is starting to flicker. You’re not the only one who notices the building’s crumbling exterior. 

“Huh,” Jess says, crossing her arms over her chest. “This place seemed a lot cooler when I was in high school.” Still, she pushes open the door, where you’re immediately hit with the stench of cigarettes and beer. The floor is sticky with what you can only hope is spilled liquor, and you take a seat on a rickety barstool. 

“How did you even hear about this place?” you ask your new friend, tugging your dress so it covers a bit more of your thighs. You had one night out to yourself, and Jess was insistent on you making the most of it. 

“Used to come here all the time when I was, like, sixteen?” She wrinkles her nose. “They’re dirt cheap and they never card, so my friends and I used to get super wasted. Thought we were hot shit.” She flags down the bartender with a wave and a smile. “Anyway, you can’t live in Hawkins and not come to the Hideout at least once. It’s a tradition.”

The bartender, a woman who looks to be in her mid-forties, leans on the counter. “What can I get you ladies?” she asks. Her voice is raspy from what sounds like decades of chain smoking. 

You’re about to order a Bud Light, but Jess cuts you off. “We’ll each have a Hideout Special,” she says confidently. “Make hers a double.”

“Jesus Christ, are you trying to kill me? And what the hell is a Hideout Special?”

She waves off your concern. “Honestly, I have no idea. But it’ll get you buzzed fast.”

You reluctantly agree, sipping on something that tastes vaguely like a mixture of rum and vodka, with the pungency of rubbing alcohol. “That’s awful,” you grimace, and Jess just laughs.

“Yeah, they’re pretty rough going down. But you only have one night to yourself, and you’re gonna make the most of it.” She links her arm through yours, using her free hand to tilt the drink back up to your lips. “Now, drink up. The band’s gonna start playing soon, and you’ll need all the liquor you can get. Trust me.”

Corroded Coffin, the band in question, is warming up in the back room. Tuesday nights   has been their slot since high school, and if their lead singer and guitarist has his way, it’ll be their slot until they’re too old to play. He’s tuning his ax, tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration, only looking up when he hears a faint “oh, shit,” come from his bandmate.

“Y’good?” Eddie asks, strumming gently to play a perfect A-chord.

“Yeah,” Jeff says, holding up a small black box. “Forgot I had this in my pocket; almost dropped it when I took off my jacket.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “That’s what you get for wearing leather in fuckin’ August, dude.” He squints at the object in Jeff’s hand. “What is that, anyway?”

“A ring,” Jeff proudly announces. “I’m gonna ask Viv to marry me.” The big, goofy grin on his face makes Eddie’s stomach churn. He looks at Gareth and Danny, expecting similar disgusted reactions from them, but they’re both smiling, too. 

“Way to go, man!” Danny says, and Gareth claps Jeff on the back. “Our little Jeff is growing up.”

“Oh, fuck off, man,” Jeff says, but he’s laughing as he accepts the congratulations. He glances expectantly at Eddie, waiting for him to chime in. 

“You two’ve been together for a million years,” Gareth jokes, twirling a drumstick in his free hand. “What made you decide to take the plunge?”

Jeff’s eyes dart around the room. “Okay, I wasn’t supposed to say anything,” he starts, voice hushed, “but Viv’s pregnant!”

“Holy shit!” Danny sputters. “Dude, you’re gonna be a dad!”

“Yeah,” Jeff agrees incredulously. “Fuckin’ wild, isn’t it?” His gaze falls to Eddie. “Does the seasoned professional have any words of wisdom?”

An uncharacteristic silence fills the room. Eddie can feel their eyes burning a hole into his head. He knows what he should say, what Jeff wants to hear, but he can’t bring himself to feign happiness. “You don’t have to marry someone just because you knocked her up.” It comes out with a snarl, meaner than he’d intended. 

“Crazy thought, but have you considered that I actually want to marry her?” Jeff shoots back, crossing his arms over his chest. “We’re not all content being miserable hermits like you are.”

“Whoa, break it up,” Gareth tries, stepping between the two guitarists, but the conversation’s already too heated. 

“I’m not miserable, and I’m not a hermit,” Eddie counters. “I’m just not about to limit myself when there’s plenty of pussy in the sea.”

Jeff rolls his eyes. “Whatever, dude. Thanks for the well wishes.” Eddie can’t help but notice the flash of hurt in his eyes as he walks away. A small part of him feels bad, but he can’t shake the anxiety that unexpected change seems to bring.  

“So, what does this mean for Corroded Coffin?” he asks. “Should we consider this our farewell show?” He tries to ignore the irritated glares he’s getting from Gareth and Danny. It’s like the words fall from his mouth before his brain can process the damage they can do. 

“Obviously, once the baby comes, I’ll have to take a step back,” Jeff shrugs. “And I’m gonna try to work some overtime before it’s born. Save some extra money, y’know.” 

The room had been zapped of joy, and Eddie feeds off of the sullen atmosphere. “Nice commitment to the band,” he sneers. “Glad to see how easily your priorities change.”

“Yeah, man, you should try it sometime,” Jeff snaps. His fists clench, and he looks angry enough to throw a punch. “Maybe you’ll stop acting like an overgrown teenager.” 

Eddie’s about to fight back, jaw locked in place and eyes seeing red, but he’s temporarily grounded by the sound of the manager’s tired voice echoing from the ancient sound system.  

“Put your hands together for Corroded Coffin!” A smattering of applause signals their cue to enter. Eddie tries to shake off the conflict; it can be resolved after they play. The show must go on, or whatever it was that his high school drama teacher always said. 

A balding man with a gruff voice introduces the band as Corroded Coffin. Jess’s eyes go wide; she’s already a few Hideout Specials deep and definitely feeling it.

“Oh, shit!” she laughs with a hiccup. “That’s my sister’s boyfriend’s band!” She motions to the bartender to pour her another drink, but you shake your head and just mouth water. The bartender gives you a knowing nod, probably grateful that she won’t have to be the one dealing with Jess tonight.

“Yeah, that’s Jeff!” Jess continues, pointing at a tall guitarist with tight curls. “He’s the one who knocked up Viv!” She cackles like she just made the most hilarious joke. “I totally forgot they were playing tonight.” She frantically waves at him, and he gives a small head nod in acknowledgment.

Your eyes are drawn to someone else: the lanky, ring-clad man who takes center stage. He grips the mic with black polished nails, smirking out into the crowd as he yells, “Hawkins, how’re we doin’ tonight?” The loudest cheers come from Jess, and you join in, letting out an obnoxious “woooooo!” in response.

The noise draws his attention, and you watch as his smirk shifts to something needier, hungrier, even. His big brown eyes land on you and Jess, leaving you momentarily breathless. He’s absolutely gorgeous, light stubble on his cheeks and above his plush lips. He’s wearing a white V-neck that shows off a dusting of chest hair. His torn black jeans hang low on his hips, accentuated with a studded belt. A gleaming pair of silver handcuffs are clipped to one of the loops.

“All right!” he calls back. “Well, this first one goes out to the pretty girl in the blue dress at the bar. Wait for me after the show, Sweetheart.” He counts out to four, and they launch into a cover of Def Leppard’s Pour Some Sugar on Me.

It doesn’t even register until Jess nudges you, more forcefully than necessary, and says, “Hey, you’re wearing a blue dress!”

Oh. 

Oh. 

“Who…who is he?” you ask, feeling a warmth spread through your core that you’re sure isn’t from the alcohol. 

“That,” Jess says, leaning on you for balance, “is Eddie Munson. Total freak back in high school, but now he’s just got a reputation for being a freak in the sheets.” She throws you a clumsy wink and adds, “looks like you’ll get to find out for yourself tonight.”

“I’m not really a one-night stand kind of person,” you counter, internally cringing at the memories of your feeble attempts at hooking up, all of which inevitably ended with you pining after them pathetically. 

Jess rolls her eyes. “Come on,” she whines, taking note of the way you and Eddie can’t seem to tear your gazes from each other. “Your dad leaves tomorrow, and then you’ll be spending your nights taking care of your grandma. You gotta live a little!”

Plopping back down onto the barstool, you consider her sentiment. It’s true; once your dad goes back home, you’ll be the one helping out in the evenings. And the new school year starts next week, leaving you with little time for yourself. 

Your whole life has been spent helping others. You became a teacher to shape young minds and provide them with a safe place to learn and express themselves. You moved to a tiny town in the middle of Indiana to look after your grandma. Even now, you’re babysitting Jess and ensuring she doesn’t dehydrate instead of letting loose and ordering another drink. 

“Fine, but only if he brings it up,” you concede. “I’m not gonna be the one to make the first move.”

The band moves on to their next song; it’s either an original or one you’re not familiar with, but you find yourself dancing to the beat. Jess joins you, writhing her body in some kind of drunken jig that has you cackling. You’re having such a great time that you don’t even notice Eddie tripping over a few chords as he watches you sway your hips back and forth. 

Corroded Coffin plays for another forty minutes. You recognize some Metallica and Black Sabbath songs, headbanging along until you’re dizzy. The bartender slides you another drink—on the house, she insists—and you sip it eagerly, trying to quell your nerves. Eddie shouts out, “thank you, Hawkins!” and disappears backstage with the rest of the band. 

You can’t ignore the dejected pain in your heart, but you muster up a smile and turn to Jess. “Ready to get out of here?”

She shakes her head, putting her palm on the bar to steady herself. “You still have to wait for Eddie,” she teases. “You promised.”

You cock your eyebrow in amusement. “First of all, Drunky McWasted, I didn’t promise anything,” you say, “and second, show’s over and, uh, he’s not here.” You swivel around for emphasis. 

“Give him a fucking second, would ya?” The comment doesn’t come from your friend, and you turn around to see Eddie standing behind you. He’s got a towel around the back of his neck, mopping up the sweat from his performance. His hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, and you can see the remnants of kohl eyeliner smudged around his lash line. “Had to clean myself up a little bit, damn.” He smiles, and you feel like you’re going to melt. 

Jess interrupts, pushing you closer to him. “Eddie, this is my neighbor.” When you still don’t say anything, too awestruck to introduce yourself, she tells him your name. 

Eddie nods, letting his fingers graze yours. “What’d you think of the set?” He grins at the bartender, who gives a small head bob and hands him a whiskey, neat. 

“It was good,” you manage, finally finding your voice. “I especially liked the song you dedicated to the pretty girl in the blue dress.” There. You flirted. The rest is up to him.

“Yeah?” He rests his forearm on the bar and leans over to take his glass. “Was kinda hopin’ you would. Soon as I saw you, I knew I had to shoot my shot.” His eyes flit over the low-cut neckline of your dress before he drags his gaze back to your eyes. “You new to Hawkins?”

“Mhm,” you say, watching as he fumbles with a pack of Newports. “I moved here to take care of my grandma.” Good going. Nothing turns a guy on like talking about your elderly relatives.

But Eddie’s unfazed. “Hot and nice? A lethal combo, if I do say so myself.”

“What about you?” you blurt out. “I mean, have you always lived in Hawkins?”

He shrugs. “Been back and forth. Came here when I was nine, left when I was twenty-two, then came back about four years ago.”

“What brought you back? Missed all the excitement?” You laugh and he gives a small smile, but an emotion you can’t pinpoint crosses over his face.

“Somethin’ like that,” Eddie mutters, popping a cigarette between his lips. “Wanna go outside an’ have a smoke with me?”

“I’d love to,” you say with an apologetic tone, “but I really don’t wanna leave her alone.” You motion to your friend, who is currently trying to convince the bartender to let her have another drink. But as soon as she hears you using her as an excuse, she waves you off.

“Go,” she insists. “I’ll be fine. ‘M gonna have Jeff take me back home.” She stands on her tiptoes, nearly falling over, flailing both her arms wildly when she spots Jeff in the crowd and shouting, “Jeffy! Jeffy, can you drive me home so these two can have sex?”

You feel your face heat up at her words as Eddie shakes his head incredulously, lips twisting into a cocky grin. The last thing Jeff wants to do after Eddie’s earlier tantrum is help him get laid, but he knows there will be hell to pay if he doesn’t watch after his inebriated sister-in-law-to-be.

“Yeah, sure,” he grumbles, carefully looping his arm around her waist and helps her to his car. He appears to deliberately avoid making eye contact with Eddie, though you don’t know why. The two of them seemed to be getting along just fine on stage. The rest of the band leaves with them, carrying various instruments. No one even acknowledges Eddie’s presence. 

“Uh, everything okay?” You can’t not pretend you didn’t notice; the tension is far too obvious.

Eddie brushes it off with another shrug. “Guys all got sticks up their asses, I dunno.” He pulls a black Bic lighter from his back pocket and motions towards the door, signaling your cue to walk out with him and drop the conversation.

Chirping crickets and a rowdy group of drunks shouting obscenities at each other punctuates the otherwise quiet atmosphere. Eddie looks at you expectantly, holding out his lighter, and you realize that he’s waiting for you to take out your own pack of cigarettes. A pack of cigarettes that you do not have.

“Oh, I, um, I don’t smoke,” you stammer, biting your tongue in irritation towards your own awkwardness. “I mean, I’ll smoke, like, socially, but I don’t carry cigarettes on me. Sorry.”

“Wanna bum one?” You pluck one from the pack and lean in as he lights it for you. The crisp inhale of tobacco lingers in your lungs for a moment before you breathe out, grateful that you didn’t cough like a middle schooler stealing cigs from her mom’s stash. You take another drag, watching as he does the same. You’d thought that there would be some level of conversation, but Eddie seems perfectly content smoking in silence.

“So,” you finally say, “how long have you been playing guitar?”

He chuckles and pushes his hand through his hair, stopping where it’s gathered into a hair tie. The perspiration on his forehead is starting to dry, but his bangs still stick to it. “Shit, gotta be twenty years now. Damn, I’m fuckin’ old.”

“How old are you?” It comes out more accusing than inquisitive, and you sharply inhale more nicotine to shut yourself up.

“Turned thirty last month.”

“Oh, that’s not old,” you reassure him. “I’m twenty-eight, so…not far behind.” 

He doesn’t say anything in response to this. Maybe you’d misread his intentions. Or maybe he’d lost interest after just a few moments alone with you. The pretty girl in the blue dress quickly becomes the lame girl in the blue dress, and you both return home unsatisfied.

You try again, this time saying something that warrants a response. “I just moved here last week, if you have any recommendations of places to go. Restaurants or something?”

Eddie shakes his head. “Nah, ‘s pretty boring around here.” 

End of conversation.

“Well, I should probably get home,” you say, shifting your weight onto your other foot and stubbing out your cigarette in the nearby ashtray. There’s no sense in wasting anymore time, and the nighttime chill is biting at your bare legs. 

“Wait, what?” Eddie practically does a double-take. “I thought…didn’t Viv’s sister say something about…”

Or maybe you’d read the situation correctly after all.

“You still want to?” 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I?” He ashes his own cigarette, and the smirk returns to his face. “Your place or mine?”

Considering the fact that your place is currently housing an eighty-year-old woman with declining cognition, and your father, you quickly jump at the offer to go to his home. 

You walk with him to his car, a beat-up blue sedan. He opens the passenger door, and you thank him with a tight smile, still not sure what to expect. Maybe he’s just not into small talk, but he seems awfully closed off for a man who’s trying to get laid.

A tangle of tree-shaped air fresheners hang from the rearview mirror; they sway slightly as the two of you plop in your seats. Instinctively, you look behind you as he turns the key in the ignition. Nestled into the far left side of the backseat is a carseat. Cheerio crumbs are wedged in the crevices, and an empty sippy cup leans up against it.

“Is that a carseat?” It’s a dumb question; of course it’s a carseat, but you can’t bring yourself to be more blunt and ask if he has a kid. I mean, the guy couldn’t even tell you a single restaurant to go to.

“Oh. Yeah.” Eddie reaches around, placing a ringed hand on the back of your headrest as he backs out of the spot. He doesn’t elaborate on the matter, just speeds out of the parking lot, so you don’t push it.

The words, I love kids; I’m actually a preschool teacher, linger on your lips, but you bite them back. This is supposed to be casual, a one-night stand; you’re not trying to be anyone’s stepmother.

Eddie flicks on the radio to a metal station–of course–and you sit back and try to enjoy the ride. You can faintly hear him humming along to the music. The fingers on his left hand drum on the steering wheel, while his right hand finds its way to your upper thigh. Fuck, it feels good. He gently squeezes, and the sensation of his cold metal rings combined with his hungry touch makes you involuntarily press your legs together.

“Just wait, Sweetheart,” he laughs. “There’s more where that came from.” It’s probably the most he’s said to you all night, and you consider it a small win. You lean in and gently nip at his earlobe, grinning as he shivers at the contact.

“There’s more where that came from,” you echo, shifting back in your seat. Eddie looks at you, brows raised and forehead creased in amusement, but–big surprise–says nothing. He pulls into an apartment complex parking lot, swinging into the nearest available spot, and kills the engine. Without the music or the steady hum of the ignition, you’re suddenly plunged into complete silence. Are you really doing this? Going to a stranger’s apartment to have sex with him? What if he’s some sort of serial killer? But Jess knows him–sort of–and vouched for him, so he can’t be all bad, right? Although, Ted Bundy had friends, too…

Eddie clearing his throat disrupts your inner monologue, and you glance up at him shyly. “Sorry,” you mutter, though you’re not quite sure what you’re apologizing for.

“No biggie,” he says, like he’s used to women just spacing out in his car before they fuck him. “Um, y’ready to go inside?”

You nod, opening your door and carefully stepping out onto the uneven pavement. You wobble a little in your high heels, but you feel a hand on your lower back, steadying you. “Lemme help you,” he mumbles, lacing his fingers through yours and guiding you to the front door of the building. 

The two of you only make it to the stairwell between the first and second floors before he’s pouncing on you, your back against the cold concrete walls. His hands start on your waist, traveling upwards and lightly grazing your breasts before he’s cupping your face. His kisses are hungry, but not sloppy; when his tongue breaches your lips, you let him in without a second thought. He places his knee between your legs, just barely nudging it against your lace thong. “Fuck,” he hisses, pulling away from you and running his tongue over his teeth, “I need you, pretty girl.” 

You pout, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him deeply. “Can’t get naked until we’re in your apartment.” You pause before whispering in his ear, “and if you thought this dress looked good on me, wait till you see it on your floor.”

Eddie’s eyes widen. “‘S just another flight of stairs after this, yeah?” He doesn’t wait for a response, just takes your hand again and leads you to apartment 3C. There are a few Hot Wheels cars scattered on the ground, but he kicks them under the couch without further explanation. He sits down, adjusts his body on the soft beige cushion, and pats his lap. “Your throne,” he says cheekily, exposing tiny dimples on either side of his lips.

Wordlessly, you climb on top of him. Your dress bunches up as you straddle his waist, though that won’t be a problem much longer. You greedily grind your clothed pussy over the rough denim of his fly, sucking on his neck as his strong hands clasp the back of your thighs and pull you closer.

“Needy thing, hmm?” Eddie smirks, chuckling when you feign offense. “Where’re you going? ‘M just teasing you.” He sits up a bit, tugging one dress strap down and kissing the flesh between your neck and shoulder. “Maybe I read it wrong, but…y’look like a girl who likes to be teased,” he says, voice muffled by your skin. 

“N-No, I do. Like it,” you stammer, fumbling with the frayed hem of his shirt and lifting it over his head. You run your hands over the expanse of pale skin, admiring his tattoos. There’s one of a red guitar pick right above his left pec; without thinking, you kiss it gingerly. He lets out a quiet moan, unzipping your dress and helping you shimmy out of it. You’re not wearing a bra, and he nearly chokes on his own tongue when he sees you on display for him.

“Christ, baby,” he groans, “got the most perfect fuckin’ tits I’ve ever seen.” He kisses them and runs his thumbs over your pert nipples before briefly sucking on them. The nickname baby isn’t lost on you, but you try not to read into it. 

Still, there’s a sense of satisfaction at the way he’s crumbling literally beneath you, though you can’t help but snarkily say, “bet you say that to all the girls you bring back here.”

Eddie throws his head back and laughs, sending vibrations through your core. “Only the ones with perfect tits.”

You hate yourself for wondering how many perfect-breasted women there have been.

“Bedroom?” It’s all you can manage, already breathless from dry humping like a goddamn teenager on prom night.

Eddie hesitates before shaking his head, a curl falling loose from the hair tie. “Let’s just, uh, stay out here. Room’s kinda a mess.” The unsure expression on his face hints at another reason, but he quickly distracts you by pushing your panties to the side, slipping his middle finger into your aching cunt. “Holy shit. S’fucking wet already. I knew you were needy.”

“Y-Yes. Need you. Need more.” You’re already stretched out by one finger, but you’re dying to know how a second one feels. The more of him inside you, the better. He obliges, fucking you with his pointer and middle fingers while his thumb makes tiny, hurried circles against your clit. “That’s it, right…right there. Don’t stop; please don’t stop!” He brings you to your orgasm, smirking as you finish all over his fingers. 

Your rocking slows, and you reluctantly pull yourself off of him and sink to your knees. He’s unbuckling his belt as fast as he can, and you can’t help but notice the wet spot on his jeans right where you were grinding on his thigh.

Eddie’s pants and plaid boxers are around his ankles in a heartbeat. His hard cock rests against his stomach; a pearly bead of pre-cum leaks from the tip. “Let’s see what that cute little mouth can do, Sweetheart,” he muses, leaning back into the couch with his hands behind his head.

You bite your lower lip. “First I gotta clean you off, yeah?” you ask before licking the tip, tasting him. His length twitches at that minimal contact, which makes you giggle. “Just relax. Let me take care of you.” There’s no protesting, so you grasp the base of his shaft with one hand and cup his balls with the other. You suck on the head, circling it with your tongue, before taking as much of the rest of his cock as you can fit into your mouth. 

“Mmm, baby, yes,” he growls, inhaling sharply when you gently tug on his balls. “Thas’ a good girl. Play with my fuckin’ balls, just like that.” He bucks up his hips, bringing his cock even further down your throat. “Gag on it, baby. Gag on my big fuckin’ cock.”

He’s not wrong; at least, it’s the biggest of any guy you’ve ever been with. Hollowing out your cheeks, you increase your pace, letting your nose brush against his patch of dark curls. Saliva drips down your chin; you swipe at it clumsily and keep your focus on him. 

“Shitshitshitshitshit–FUCK!” Before you can even process what’s happening, Eddie pulls out of you. Thick, hot ropes of cum trickle down his right hand, and he buries his face in his left. You reach for a tissue and hand it to him, and he angrily wipes off his spend. 

“Gimme fifteen minutes, and I’ll be good to go,” he says, tossing the used tissue in a nearby wastebasket. He finds the remote tucked behind a couch cushion and clicks on the TV. An episode of Seinfeld comes on. “You’ll do,” he mutters, plopping down next to you and poorly stifling a yawn.

“Sleepy?” you tease, wrapping your naked chest in an itchy wool blanket and curling up. He doesn’t put his arm around you, or make any attempt to cuddle, so neither do you.

“Nah, ‘m fine.” But nearly five minutes later, while Jerry and Elaine argue about God-knows-what, you can hear Eddie softly snoring next to you.

“Eddie,” you whisper. No response, so you try a little louder. “Eddie!”

“Huh? What?”

“I can, uh, I can go now. I’ll call a cab. Just need your address.” You start to get up and head for the phone hanging on the wall, but he puts an arm out to stop you.

“‘S’okay. Stay for a bit, baby.”

Stay for a bit, baby.

It almost feels like you’re taking advantage of him; his curt conversations and closed-off demeanor earlier in the night indicated that he was not looking for someone to sleep over. But now he’s asking you to stick around, resting his head on your shoulder and letting one tattooed arm drape over your waist. You let him stay there, trying your best not to wake him, but you’re forced to reach over him to grab the remote when an infomercial starts blaring.

“C’mere,” he mumbles, half-asleep as he lays down and scoots himself as far back as he can. You follow his lead, pressing your back against his bare chest. Your eyelids flutter shut, and you find yourself drifting off while wrapped in the warm embrace of this handsome stranger.

RRRRIIIINNGGG! RRRRIIIINNGGG!

You’re startled awake by a loud, unfamiliar noise that doesn’t sound like your alarm clock. 

RRRRIIIINNGGG! RRRRIIIINNGGG!

Eddie jolts up, almost knocking you off the couch. “Shit, didn’t think you were still…” He turns towards the ringing sound, still confused. “What time is it?!” His eyes widen as he gets a look at the clock, which reads 7:19. “Shit, shit, shit! Son of a bitch!” 

He practically flies off of the couch, sprinting to the phone and bringing the receiver to his ear. “Wayne? Yeah, I’m sorry…overslept. I can be there in ten…no, you don’t have to do that, I’ll just…okay, okay, fine. See you soon.” He hangs up with a clank, turning back to you. 

You’re just sitting on the sofa, still wearing nothing but your underwear and the blanket. “Everything…um, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, but he lets out an overwhelmed sigh. “Let me help you find your dress.” He doesn’t say it aloud, but the real meaning behind his words seeps through: you should leave.

You nod, feeling the all-too recognizable lump in your throat. It happens any time these shared intimate moments come to an end; the realization of just how temporary you are in someone’s life is a punch to the stomach.

You find the bunched blue garment behind the couch and slide it over your head. The fabric feels stale and cold against your skin, like it doesn’t belong to you. Eddie’s only wearing his boxers, and you catch yourself staring at the collection of tattoos that trail down his arms and torso.

“Like what you see?” He laughs when you duck your head, scratching at the stubble on his cheeks as he walks towards you. “C’mon, don’t be shy. Not after that little show you put on for me last night.” He leans down, tilting your chin up to him and kissing you softly. “Before you go, leave your number, yeah?”

That makes you roll your eyes. “Oh, please,” you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest.

“What?”

“Don’t ask for my number if you’re not gonna call,” you say. You sling your bag over your shoulder as you walk to the door. “We don’t have to do the whole song-and-dance. We can just, y’know, leave this as a one-night stand.”

Eddie chuckles incredulously. “You wound me, Sweetheart,” he says. “‘Course I’m gonna call you. How could I not wanna see a girl as beautiful as you again? ‘Sides,” he adds slyly, “We didn’t even get to the best part.”

Begrudgingly, you write your number on a nearby notepad. The phrase don’t get my hopes up for nothing sits on the tip of your tongue, but you bite it back.

You’re halfway down the stairwell when you remember that you never called a cab. There’s no way in hell that you’re going to clamber back up to the third floor and ask Eddie to use his phone–and get his address–so you continue down to the lobby payphone and dial Jess’s number.

“H-Hello?” a man’s sleepy voice picks up on the third ring.

“Uh, Jess?” It’s clearly not your neighbor, but you have no idea what else to ask. Did she find some skeezy guy to bring home from the Hideout last night? 

“Nah, it’s Jeff. Who’s this?” When you say your name, he hums in acknowledgment. “Oh, yeah. From the bar, right?”

“Yeah…is Jess there?”

He yawns into the receiver. “Last I checked, she was asleep. Finally. She spent half of last night puking her guts up. Everything okay?”

“Mhm. I was just wondering if she could pick me up from…um, from Eddie’s.” You cringe at your admission; the last thing you want is for Eddie’s bandmates to think that you’re some kind of pathetic groupie.

But Jeff seems unfazed. “I’ll be right there.” Before you can protest, he hangs up. 

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the glass-door reflection. Your hair is a mess, and there’s smudged makeup around your eyes and lips, like a billboard for the walk of shame.

Jeff pulls up a few minutes later, and you bashfully climb into the passenger seat. “Thanks,” you mumble, trying not to let your humiliation show through.

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs as he pulls onto the main road, “it’s a special occasion.” When you pinch your eyebrows together in confusion, he laughs. “Ed never lets a girl stay over. Not sure what you did–don’t wanna know, to be honest–but you must’ve made quite the impression.”

“Didn’t mean to,” you say quietly. “We both fell asleep after…yeah. We only woke up when we did because some guy named Wayne called.”

Jeff nods knowingly. “That’s his uncle. He watches his son on Tuesdays when we have our gigs.” 

His…son?

Jeff must notice the stunned expression on your face, and his cheeks flush pink. “Shit, he didn’t tell you about Harris?”

“We didn’t do much talking,” you reply wryly. “I’ll have to ask him about that when he calls.”

“Christ,” Jeff shakes his head. “Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but he’s not gonna call. Never does. Calls it the ‘Cat-and-Mouse.’”

“The what?” Your throat goes bone-dry. You should’ve trusted your intuition, denied giving him your number, left it as a one-time thing.

“He brings a girl back to his place, has sex with her and asks for her number, but doesn’t call. When she shows up to the bar the next week, all insecure and wondering if he’s still interested, he acts like he’s been so busy, apologizes profusely, and strings her along until she catches on. Then it’s onto the next one.”

You feel like your heart’s been ripped out of your chest. Bile burns at the back of your esophagus, and you have to blink back tears. How could you be so stupid, so naive? Didn’t you know by now that guys like Eddie Munson are only after one thing?

The two of you sit in silence until he pulls up to your building. “Thanks,” you say finally, “for the ride and for the warning.” Jeff just nods, watching to make sure you get inside before driving off. As soon as he’s safely down the road, you burst into tears. Angry at Eddie, but mostly angry at yourself.

Eddie watches from his window as you get into a car–Jeff’s car–and leave. Great, he thinks, I’m sure I’ll get my ass handed to me at our next practice for fucking around with his sister-in-law’s friend. If we even still have a band, anyway.

Throwing on a pair of dark gray sweatpants and an undershirt, he makes his way downstairs just as Wayne and Harris arrive. His son is leaping out of his carseat to get to him.

“Daddy!” Harris flashes a gigantic smile. His dark brown curls are a tangled mess atop his head. Eddie unbuckles him and wraps him in a giant hug. He’s losing the chubbiness of his baby fat, but he’s still sweet and cuddly.

“Har-Bear!” Eddie laughs. “Did you say goodbye to Grampa Wayne?” Harris encircles Eddie’s waist with his legs, reaching out his arms to give Wayne a hug through the window.

“Sorry again,” Eddie says sheepishly. “Fell asleep and forgot to set the alarm.”

“Got a job yet? A real one?” Wayne asks stoically, ignoring his nephew’s apology.

A storm cloud washes over Eddie’s face. “I’ve told you a million times: nothing’s going to pay the bills as well as working for Rick.”

Wayne rolls his eyes. “Get a job,” he says pointedly, pressing a kiss to Harris’s cheek before lowering his voice and growling at Eddie, “and wipe the damn lipstick off your neck, for Chrissake.”

Jeff’s right: Eddie never calls. The home health aid that takes care of your grandma during the day informs you at the end of each shift that week that no one named Eddie called for you. And while you can’t say you’re shocked, it doesn’t do much to quell the hurt.

You spend as much time as you can preparing your classroom for the new school year. By the time you’re finished, the room is decorated to look like a jungle. Stuffed animals of lions, monkeys, and different birds line the shelf tops, which are packed with various books and art supplies. Your walls are decorated with different posters, all of which encourage kids to be their best. 

The hustle and bustle of the first day of school helps keep your mind off of your personal life. With a thermos full of hot coffee, you happily introduce yourself to your teaching assistant, Will. He’s a sweet guy, a few years younger than you, and he’s practically bursting with games to teach the kids.

“Before I forget,” he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper, “I picked up our roster from the office on my way in. Looks like we have ten kids this year.”

“You’re the best,” you tell him gratefully, and he starts putting tiny chairs around tiny tables.

Being new to town, you don’t expect to recognize any of the names on the list. There’s an Abigail Carver, a Joshua Harrington…

And a Harris Munson.

“No fucking way,” you muse, apparently a bit louder than you’d intended, because Will’s head snaps up and he swivels in your direction. “Sorry.”

The sounds of bubbly giggles and excited chatter filing into the hallway grab your attention. One by one, parents start dropping off their kids, kissing them goodbye. There are tears–some from students, some from parents–and you’re quick to reassure everyone that school will be so much fun.

You’re just grabbing the sign-in sheet for Mr. Carver to fill out when you feel a small thump against your legs. When you look down, you see a curly-haired boy staring up at you with wide, brown eyes. 

“This is my classroom!” he says matter-of-factly, pointing to the number 3 on the door. “My name’s Harris. Like the guy from Iron Maiden!” He jumps up and down as he speaks. “Are you my teacher?”

“I am.” You smile and introduce yourself, peering towards the door. “Harris? Did a grown-up drop you off?” And please tell me his name is Wayne, you silently plead. 

“Oh, yeah! My dad has my backpack!” He starts running back to the hallway, only to crash right into Eddie. 

“Little dude, you can’t be running off like—” Eddie stops mid-sentence when his eyes land on you. “Oh, shit.”

You set your jaw, willing yourself to stay strong. He’s on your turf now. 

“Mr. Munson, you need to watch your language,” you warn crossly. 

“Yeah, sorry,” he mutters, handing Harris’s backpack to him. “I packed him a snack, um, and a juice box.”

“Okay,” you nod, crouching down to Harris’s eye level and injecting enthusiasm into your voice. “Can you find your cubby? It’s the one with your name on it!”

The little boy bounds over to his assigned spot, hanging his bag on the hook before running over to play with blocks. 

Forced to interact with Eddie, you press up on your knees and say, “Pick-up is at two.”

“Can I say goodbye to my kid before you kick me out? Jeez,” he grunts, calling out to Harris with his arms wide open. Harris hugs him, half-heartedly promising to be on his best behavior before starting to race back to the toys. 

“We walk in the classroom,” you tell him sweetly. “That way, people don’t hurt each other!” You make a point to look over at Eddie when you say the last part, though his gaze is trained on the classroom posters. Harris, innocent and oblivious, walks hurriedly towards the group of kids playing with blocks. 

“Didn’t know you were my kid’s teacher,” Eddie remarks, pressing his tongue into his cheek. 

You shrug. “Maybe I would’ve told you if you called me.”

Shooting you the wide eyes that he passed down to his son, Eddie lets his lower lip jut out in a little pout. “I’m so sorry; life’s just been, like, crazy lately—”

“Exactly what Jeff said you’d pull,” you bite back. “Two PM, Mr. Munson.” You walk towards your students to begin circle time, leaving Eddie dumbfounded. 

After a long day of wrangling ten four-year-olds, you’re ready to go home and take a nap. The kids are gathered around the table, molding Play-Doh and giggling amongst themselves. By 2:10, everyone’s been picked up. Except for Harris.

“Typical,” you mutter, kneeling next to the boy and smiling sweetly. “Whatcha making, Harris?”

He holds up a lump of the yellow clay. “A dinosaur, see? Roar!” You fake being scared, and he laughs. “Don’t worry; it’s just pretend!”

“Oh, phew!” You wipe imaginary sweat off of your brow. “I was afraid that he was gonna eat me!”

Harris reaches over to where one of the other students had been sitting and plucks a handful of blue Play-Doh off of the table. “Wanna play with me?” He’s looking at you adoringly, and you can’t possibly turn him down.

Just as you’re about to join him, Eddie runs into the room. “Hey, buddy! Sorry I’m late. Got, uh, caught up with something.” 

Harris just shrugs, unaffected by his dad’s tardiness. “S’okay. Look!” He holds up the dinosaur proudly, giving another ferocious roar.

“That’s awesome! And super scary.” Eddie ruffles Harris’s curly hair before looking at you. “Can we talk for a sec? Out there?” he asks, gesturing to the hallway.

You huff out a sigh. “Fine,” you concede, and Will slips into the chair next to Harris. 

Eddie closes the door behind him. “Listen,” he begins, twisting his rings around his fingers, ”about the other night…” He trails off, and for a split second, you think he might offer a genuine apology. “I just don’t want this to affect how you treat Harris.”

You bark out an incredulous laugh. “You really think I treat my students any differently based on whether or not I like their parents?” Crossing your arms, you turn back towards the door, throwing out a pointed, “I think it’s best if you leave now.”

Eddie’s voice draws you back into the conversation. “I’ve never had this problem before,” he snorts. 

“Excuse me?”

“Most girls love the thrill of the chase. The will-he, won’t-he. Haven’t struck out yet,” he retorts, a smug grin spreading on his face. 

You roll your eyes. “Well, I’m honored to be the first. I don’t know what girls are into your pathetic games, but I’m certainly not one of them. So, please, just go before you say something else ridiculously stupid.”

Eddie bristles at that, standing a bit straighter and clenching his jaw. “Yeah, whatever,” he mutters, twisting the doorknob and punctuating his frustration with, “Frigid bitch.”

He’s just trying to get under your skin, and you refuse to let him get the best of you. You plaster on a well-practiced fake smile. “If you don’t think that this classroom is a good fit for Harris, you can request a transfer with the office.”

“Sounds like a plan, Sweetheart,” he snaps, yanking the door open so aggressively that it smacks into the wall. “We’ll be out of your hair by tomorrow.”

“Can’t come soon enough.”

Taglist: @littlepotatobeansworld @kelsiegrin @lma1986 @munsonology @stuckontheceiling @avobabe87 @eddapwinchester @peachysink @definitelynotecho @browneyes8288 @jeremyspoke-inclasstoday @breezybeesposts @tlclick73 @wednesdaymunson @feltonswifesworld87 @take-everything-you-can @bebe07011 @krahk

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[p4p1l0nn]

triple lee; naughtier the better.

── part one. two. three. mlist. wc: 9.1k

pairing: plug!haechan x plug!mark x stoner!reader x stoner!jeno

content warning: 18+ unprotected sex, humping, thigh riding, masturbation, explicit smut, etc, mdni.

a/n: introducing the first part of the triple lee series! starting off slow, but trust me, it gets better. happy reading ♡

like any other friday night, the air in the dimly lit room was thick with anticipation and the pungent smell of marijuana. you stood amidst a throng of people, their laughter mingling with the pulsating beat of the music.

neon lights danced across the walls, casting ever changing shadows that seemed to mirror the shifting moods of the partygoers.

your senses were alive with the sensory overload of the party — the taste of the cheap beer on their lips, the rhythmic vibrations coursing through their body, the kaleidoscope of colors swirling before their eyes — a flashback revealed how it all began.

earlier that day, you had been lounging on your couch, enjoying a rare moment of peace, when your phone buzzed with a text message from haechan.

“party at my place tonight. you better be there or else,” the message read, accompanied by a string of emoji depicting various threats, including a clown face and a pile of poo.

rolling your eyes, you fired back a response. “thanks, but i think i'll pass tonight.”

haechan's reply came swiftly, filled with exaggerated indignation. “absolutely not. you're coming, and that's final. besides, we haven't seen you in ages. it'll be fun, i promise!”

just as you were about to protest further, another message from haechan popped up on your phone. “oh, and by the way, mark’s gonna be there too, with his new stash, sure you don't want to come?” he added with a winking emoji, knowing full well that you had a soft spot for quality cannabis.

grumbling to yourself, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of curiosity at the prospect of trying out some new strains. with a resigned sigh, you typed out a reluctant response. "fine, fine. i'll be there. but you owe me big time for this."

knowing full well that haechan's version of "fun" often involved copious amounts of alcohol and questionable decision-making.

and here you are, finding yourself swept up in the chaos of the party, surrounded by friends and strangers alike. you can't help but shake your head at the absurdity of it all. if only haechan hadn't resorted to such drastic measures to ensure your attendance. but then again, where's the fun in a quiet night at home?

cursing under your breath, "that shithead," you're suddenly interrupted when someone taps on the right side of your shoulder, earning your attention. turning to see who it is, you're met with the mischievous grin of your friend, mark, who's known as one of the infamous plugs in town. “well, well, well, look who decided to grace us with her presence,” he teases, a playful twinkle in his eye.

you roll your eyes at his comment, but can't help but smile at his familiar antics. "yeah, yeah, laugh it up," you retort, playfully nudging him with your elbow. "what's up, mark? selling your goods at the party now?" you ask with a smirk, knowing full well his reputation as the go-to guy for quality cannabis.

mark chuckles, reaching into his pocket to produce a small pouch filled with an assortment of colorful buds. "you know it," he replies with a wink, "got something special for you tonight. it's a new hybrid strain called 'purple haze dream.' trust me, you're gonna love it." intrigued, you lean in closer to get a whiff of the aroma, already feeling a sense of anticipation building within you.

"purple haze dream," mark begins, his voice taking on a more serious tone as he delves into the details. "it's a hybrid strain, a cross between purple haze and dream queen. the aroma is something else - hints of sweet berries and citrus with a subtle earthy undertone. when you take that first hit, you'll notice how smooth it is, no harshness at all."

you nod, listening intently as mark continues. "as for the effects, it's a balanced hybrid, so you'll get the best of both worlds. the purple haze brings a euphoric, uplifting high that'll have you feeling creative and energized, while the dream queen adds a calming, relaxing touch that'll melt away any stress or tension."

you can practically taste the flavors and feel the effects just from mark's description alone. "sounds amazing," you reply, a hint of excitement creeping into your voice. "can't wait to try it out."

mark grins, clearly pleased with your enthusiasm. "you're gonna love it, dude, trust me. just let me know if you need anything else."

"thanks, mark. really appreciate it," you say, genuinely grateful for his assistance. "i've been meaning to catch up with you anyway. it's been a while since i've restocked."

mark nods, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "yeah, it has been months, hasn't it?" he replies, a hint of curiosity in his voice. "you used to be one of my most loyal customers. what happened?"

you pause, taken aback by the question. "oh, you know, life gets busy," you respond with a shrug, trying to play it off casually. "i've just been trying to cut back a bit, you know?"

but the truth is, it's not just about cutting back on cannabis consumption. it's about the struggle to make ends meet after your three roommates moved out to live with their partners.

living alone for the first time in years, you're faced with the daunting task of shouldering the rent and bills all on your own. gone are the days when splitting expenses with your roommates made everything easy. now, every dollar counts, and you find yourself scrimping and saving wherever you can. you even took up odd jobs like dog-walking and freelance writing to make ends meet, but it's still not enough.

you shake off the weight of your worries as mark's next words draw you back to the present. "cutting back, huh? or maybe you've found a new plug?" he teases, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

you can't help but laugh at his suggestion. "oh, please," you retort, shaking your head in amusement. "as if anyone could ever replace you, mark."

mark chuckles, seemingly satisfied with your response. "that's what i like to hear," he replies, his tone lightening once more. "but hey, no hard feelings. just know that i've always got the good stuff whenever you need it."

you nod, a faint grin playing on your lips. "sounds good. i'll keep that in mind. might have to restock sooner than i thought." you pauses, considering your next words carefully. "by the way, if you ever come across any new strains or anything interesting, let me know. always up for trying something different."

mark lets out a hearty laugh, his grin widening. "always on the lookout for something special for my girl," he says with a playful wink.

"smoke break?" mark suggests with a nod towards the balcony, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

you chuckle to yourself, muttering, "man will always be man," before nodding in agreement. "sounds good," you reply, feeling a sudden urge to break away from the crowd and enjoy a moment of solitude.

as you make your way to the balcony, you can't help but feel a sense of relief wash over you. the chaos of the party fades into the background as you step outside into the cool night air, the sounds of laughter and music muffled by the distance. leaning against the railing, you take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the world lift from your shoulders.

reaching into your pocket, you retrieve the pouch of "purple haze dream" that mark gave you earlier. with trembling fingers, you carefully roll a joint, savoring the ritualistic process as you grind the buds and wrap them in paper.

it's been too long since you've indulged in such a simple pleasure, and you find yourself growing increasingly excited at the prospect of experiencing the effects of the strain firsthand.

chugging down the last of your drink, you flick your cigarette butt off the balcony and light up the joint, taking a long, slow drag. the smoke fills your lungs, sending a wave of relaxation coursing through your body. closing your eyes, you let out a contented sigh, feeling the tension melt away with each exhale.

the flavors dance across your palate, exactly as mark had described earlier - each puff of the joint a symphony of sensations. the sweet berries and citrus notes burst forth, tantalizing your taste buds with their vibrant intensity, while the subtle earthy undertone adds a depth and richness that lingers on your tongue. it's a truly exquisite blend, unlike anything you've ever tasted before, and you find yourself marveling at the complexity of flavors with each inhale.

as the smoke swirls around you, you feel yourself being transported to another world, a realm of pure bliss and euphoria. your senses are heightened, every sound, every color, every sensation amplified to almost overwhelming levels. it's as if you're floating on a cloud, weightless and free, with nothing but the warm embrace of the night air to anchor you to reality.

but even as you revel in the intoxicating effects of the cannabis, a part of you wonders if it's just the smoke itself that's making you feel so high, or if it's the combination of the drinks you've been consuming for hours now. either way, you couldn't care less. in this moment, lost in the haze of smoke, you feel alive in a way you haven't in ages.

with a contented sigh, you take another drag from the joint, letting the smoke fill your lungs and wash over you in waves of pure euphoria.

"well, that was hot," mark remarks from beside you, his voice cutting through the silence of the night.

you open your eyes to see mark smirking at you, his eyes twinkling with amusement. chuckling, you pass the joint to him. "you wish," you retort playfully, enjoying the easy banter between you.

mark takes a drag from the joint, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the night air. "hey, a guy can dream, can't he?" he replies with a grin.

you laugh, shaking your head at his antics. "dream on, mark," you tease.

before mark can reply, his phone suddenly rings, and he pauses mid-sentence, locking eyes with you as he reaches into his pocket to answer the call.

"yo, what's good?" mark says into the phone, his tone shifting to a more business-like demeanor. as he listens to the voice on the other end, his expression grows more serious, his brows furrowing in concentration.

studying him intently, you realize just now how good looking mark is. his chiseled jawline, piercing eyes, and confident demeanor make him stand out in any crowd. you understand why he's the infamous plug in town - with a face like that, a body like that, it's no wonder he's so well known and respected.

or maybe it's the effect of the smoke or the drink or whatever it was. trying to rationalize the sudden intensity of your attraction towards mark. but damn, he's breathtakingly beautiful and hot. sexy, if you may add.

as your thoughts wander, you can't help but imagine what it would be like to be with him intimately. you picture his strong arms wrapped around you, his lips trailing kisses along your neck as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear. the mere thought sends shivers down your spine, igniting a fire deep within you.

you wonder how it would feel to be pressed against him, skin against skin, feeling the heat of his body mingling with yours. you imagine his hands exploring every inch of your body, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you with each touch.

and then, your mind drifts to more dangerous thoughts - how skilled he must be in bed, how he knows just the right buttons to push to drive you wild with desire. you can almost hear his voice, husky with passion, as he whispers promises of pleasure and ecstasy.

shaking your head to clear away the daring images, you take another drag from the joint, hoping to banish the fantasies that threaten to consume you. but deep down, you know that the allure of mark's undeniable charm and charisma will linger long after the smoke dissipates, leaving you craving more of his intoxicating presence.

"yeah, i’m a bit strapped for your regular at the moment,” mark admitted, his tone casual. “but hey, i can hook you up with someone else– you really need it, huh?” he added, chuckling lightly. “alright, meet me at the usual in fifteen.”

turning his attention back to you, mark offers an apologetic smile. "sorry about that," he says, his tone sincere. “got a customer who’s eager to meet up. can’t leave them hanging, you know how it is,” he glanced at his phone, typing out a quick message to confirm the meet up. “would you like to come along? figured it might be a nice change of scenery.”

you nod in agreement, feeling grateful for the opportunity to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the party. "yeah, that sounds like a plan," you reply, mustering up a smile of your own. "i could use some fresh air."

the drive wasn't long, taking about fifteen to twenty minutes to reach the destination. you find yourselves in a quiet neighborhood, the streets dimly lit by the occasional streetlamp. the houses are close together, with narrow alleys snaking between them. it's the kind of place where you can imagine secrets lurking in every shadow.

as he pull up to the curb, you notice a figure standing on the sidewalk, dressed in a hoodie and a cap pulled low over their face. despite the dim light, you can see mark's face light up with recognition as he eagerly greets the man, extending his arms for a bro hug.

it's fascinating to see another side of mark, one that exists outside of the party scene and the role of the infamous plug in town.

just as mark points in your direction, signaling for his friend to see you, your phone buzzes with a notification. pulling it out of your pocket, you see a drunken text from haechan, filled with typos and nonsensical ramblings.

"heyy y/n! m missing u at the partyy :( wen r u coming back? we need more of ur dance moves lololol," the message reads, accompanied by a string of laughing emojis.

rolling your eyes at haechan's antics, you quickly type out a reply before slipping your phone back into your pocket.

just as you're about to look back to where mark was, both he and the mysterious figure have vanished into the shadows. you're about to shrug it off when suddenly, the door to the driver's seat bursts open, startling you.

you let out a yelp of surprise, instinctively jerking away from the sudden intrusion. heart racing, you turn to see mark slipping into the seat beside you, a mischievous grin on his face.

"mark, what the hell?" you exclaim.

mark chuckles, his laughter filling the car. "should've seen the look on your face," he says, wiping away a tear of laughter from his eye. "priceless."

you can't help but join in his laughter, feeling a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

as you catch your breath, mark reaches over and pats you on the shoulder reassuringly. "sorry about that, dude," he says, his tone genuine. "just couldn't resist messing with you a little."

you shake your head, unable to suppress a smile. "yeah, yeah, very funny," you reply, playfully rolling your eyes at him. "just don't make a habit of it, okay?"

mark chuckles at your response, the mischievous glint still dancing in his eyes. "no promises," he teases, winking at you before pulling away from the curb.

the feeling of fuzziness settling over you, a lingering effect of the smoke and drinks from earlier. despite the cool night air streaming through the open window, you can't seem to shake the foggy sensation clouding your thoughts.

"actually, mark, do you mind if we skip the rest of the night?" you ask, your voice tinged with exhaustion. "i'm feeling a bit fuzzy, and i think i just want to head back home."

mark nods understandingly, his expression softening with concern. "of course, i got you, dude," he replies, his tone gentle.

as you finally pull up to your apartment building, you thank mark for his kindness before stepping out into the cool night air. however, just as you're about to close the door, a sudden thought strikes you.

"hey, mark," you call out, leaning back into the car. "before i forget, how much did you say the goods were?"

mark grins, reaching into his pocket to pull out a small notebook. "ah, right," he replies, flipping through the pages. "for you, i can do a special deal. how about fifty for an eighth?"

you nod, impressed by the offer. "that sounds pretty reasonable," you reply, "and how soon could you have it ready for me?"

"i can have it ready for you by tomorrow afternoon," he assures you, "freshly harvested and ready to go."

you smile, feeling a surge of excitement at the prospect of stocking up on such a high-quality strain. "sounds perfect," you say, reaching into your pocket to retrieve your wallet. "consider it a done deal."

the next day starts off hectic as you wake up to find a letter slipped under your door. your heart sinks as you read the words written on the paper. it's a notice from the landlord, reminding you of your pending rent and warning of potential consequences if it's not paid soon.

feeling a wave of stress wash over you, you sit down on the edge of your bed, clutching the letter in your hands. how could you have let things get this bad? with your mind racing with worries about eviction and financial struggles, you realize that you need to find a solution - and fast.

just as you're about to spiral further into despair, your phone rings, interrupting your thoughts. it's haechan, calling you just in time, as if he were a heaven-sent messenger.

"babe," haechan exclaims cheerfully. "listen, i was just thinking, do you happen to have enough room for three grown men?"

you can't help but laugh at the coincidence of his question. "actually, haechan, funny you should ask," you reply, your voice tinged with relief. "i could use some roommates right about now. things have been a bit tight lately."

haechan's excitement is palpable through the phone. "bingo! i've got the perfect roommates in mind," he says eagerly. "i'll send them over to check out the place later today if that's alright with you."

you nod, feeling grateful for haechan's timely intervention. "sounds good to me," you say, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. "thanks, bud. i owe you one."

"yeah, you do, because i'm part of that three grown men," haechan replies, his voice full of mischief. "see you later!"

time ticks by quickly as you go about your day, running errands and tidying up your apartment in anticipation of your new roommates' arrival. you're lost in a whirlwind of activity, barely noticing the hours slipping away until you're jolted out of your thoughts by the sound of the doorbell ringing.

with a quick glance at the clock, you realize that it's already later than you expected. hastily wiping your hands on a dish towel, you rush to answer the door.

as you swing the door open, you're taken aback by the sight of the first person standing on your doorstep. he gives off a slightly cold aura, his sharp features accentuated by the dim light filtering through the doorway. his veiny arms are visible under the sleeves of his shirt, adding to the intimidating presence he exudes.

"uh, hi there," you greet cautiously, unsure of what to make of this unexpected visitor.

the man's lips curl into a faint smile, "hey," he replies in a low, husky voice. "i'm here about the room."

you nod, trying to ignore the unease creeping up your spine. "right, come on in," you say, stepping aside to let him enter.

as he steps into the apartment, you can't help but study him discreetly, taking note of his piercing gaze and the way he carries himself with a certain confidence. there's something mysterious about him, something that makes you curious yet wary at the same time.

"make yourself at home," you offer, gesturing towards the living room. "i'll go get you something to drink."

as you retreat to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water, your mind is still occupied with thoughts of the man who now occupies your living room. what caught your attention the most was his stance - it looked oddly familiar, yet you couldn't quite put your finger on it.

you pause in the kitchen, leaning against the countertop as you try to recall where you might have seen someone with such a commanding presence before. was it at a party? a chance encounter on the street? you're not sure, but there's something about him that tugs at the edges of your memory, begging to be remembered.

returning to the living room with a glass of water in hand, you cast a curious glance at the man who now sits on the couch, his cap still covering half of his face. you can't help but feel a sense of frustration at not being able to see his features clearly - it's like trying to solve a puzzle with half of the pieces missing.

"here you go," you say, offering him the glass of water with a polite smile. "sorry, i don't have any coffee made yet."

he accepts the water with a nod of thanks, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. there's something intense about his stare, something that sends a shiver down your spine.

"thanks," he replies, his voice low and gravelly. "no worries about the coffee."

as you watch him take a sip of water, you can't shake the feeling of unease that settles over you. internally, you curse haechan for not providing more details about the man who were supposed to rent the room. if only he had been more specific, you might have been better prepared for the strange encounter unfolding before you.

feeling the awkward tension thickening the air, you try to break the silence with some small talk, hoping to ease the discomfort of the situation. but before you can utter another word, he beats you to it with a blunt question.

"how much is the rent?" he asks, his tone plain and rude.

taken aback by his abruptness, you falter for a moment before composing yourself. "uh, well, it's $300 a month for each room," you reply, trying to keep your tone even despite the growing sense of irritation.

the man nods, as if considering the information, before setting the glass of water down on the coffee table with a thud. "alright then," he says curtly, his gaze flickering towards the door. "i'll take it."

you can't help but feel a surge of annoyance at his dismissive attitude, but you suppress it as best as you can. after all, you need the rent money, and beggars can't be choosers.

"great," you say, forcing a smile. "i'll get you the paperwork to sign."

as you retreat to your room to fetch the rental agreement, another doorbell rings, jolting you out of your thoughts. with a sigh, you swerve to the door, but before you can reach it, again, the man beats you to it, opening the door as if he owns the place. technically, he does now, but his sudden display of ownership still catches you off guard.

to your surprise, he seems positively excited as he greets the guest at the door, his demeanor a stark contrast to his earlier dismissive attitude. confused by his sudden change in behavior, you hurry over to the door to see who it is.

as you approach, you're greeted by the sight of mark standing in the doorway, a wide grin on his face. "yo, dude! you didn't tell me our roommate is gonna be jeno? this is sick!" he exclaims, his excitement palpable.

confused by his words, you furrow your brow and ask, "our?"

mark's grin widens as he steps further into the apartment. "yeah, our," he replies, clapping you on the shoulder. "i'm also renting the room. i'll explain later, but for now, let's just say it's gonna be lit."

you blink in surprise, processing the sudden revelation. so mark was also going to be your roommate. you can't help but wonder what other surprises the day has in store for you.

"have you two already introduced yourselves?" mark asks, glancing between you and the jeno guy who now stands in the living room.

still feeling a bit stunned by the revelation of mark's own rental arrangement, you shake your head slightly, silently admitting that you haven't exchanged names yet.

mark clears his throat, breaking the silence. "alright, enough with the awkwardness," he says with a grin. "y/n, meet jeno. jeno, meet y/n. you two are gonna be roommates from now on."

you exchange brief nods of acknowledgment, the tension in the air dissipating as mark's straightforward introduction breaks the ice. with the formalities out of the way, you can't help but feel a sense of relief knowing that you'll be sharing your living space with familiar faces.

mark then adds with a chuckle, "oh, and by the way, y/n, jeno here is the guy you and i met last night."

the realization hits you like a ton of bricks, and everything suddenly falls into place. jeno, the mysterious man from last night, the one who needed a restock — now he stands before you, not as a stranger, but as your new roommate.

you can't help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation, "well, isn't this a small world," you remark, a wry smile playing on your lips.

just as you and jeno share a glance at each other, the sound of raucous laughter and loud footsteps echoes through the hallway. before you can even process what's happening, the door bursts open, and in stumbles haechan, looking more disheveled than you've ever seen him.

"yooo, what's up, party people!" haechan shouts, his words slurring together as he teeters on the edge of drunkenness. "hope i'm not too late for the shindig!"

you can't help but raise an eyebrow at him. "haechan, it's barely noon. are you sure it's time for you to be drunk?" you quip.

haechan stumbles forward, his balance faltering, and you quickly reach out to steady him before he falls flat on his face. "whoa there," you say, managing to catch him just in time. "looks like you've had one too many already."

haechan grins sheepishly, his cheeks flushed with alcohol. "eh, you know me," he says with a careless shrug. "just trying to make the most of the day, you know?"

you shake your head, flicking haechan's forehead lightly before giving him a warning glance. "well, just try not to break anything," you reply, guiding him over to the couch where he flops down with a contented sigh.

"looks like we've got ourselves some deals to discuss," you say to the three men, your tone playful but firm. "i'll bring in the paper for you to sign and give the landlord a call to make it official."

you can't help but shake your head at the chaos that's sure to ensue with three men living under one roof. the thought of navigating their varying personalities, habits, and quirks fills you with excitement. but deep down, you know that life with mark, jeno, and haechan by your side will never be boring.

with jeno's mysterious aura, mark's laid-back charm, and haechan's unpredictable antics, you can already envision the countless adventures and misadventures that await you in your new living arrangement. from impromptu parties to late-night conversations and everything in between, it's bound to be a wild ride.

but amidst the chaos, there's a silver lining — having two seasoned plugs under one roof means that restocking your supply will be easier than ever. gone are the days of waiting anxiously for your dealer to respond or trekking across town to meet them in some shady alley. now, with mark, jeno, and haechan just a few steps away, you can refill your stash with ease, knowing that your cravings will always be satisfied.

months pass, and life in the apartment with the triple lee becomes a routine. but as familiarity settles in, so does an undeniable tension that simmers beneath the surface.

whenever you light up a joint, it seems like there's always at least one of them eager to join you. the air becomes thick with smoke, swirling around you in lazy tendrils as you pass the joint between your lips. and as you inhale deeply, you can't help but notice the way their eyes linger on you, their gazes burning with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine.

at first, you brush off the lingering stares as mere curiosity, but as time goes on, you begin to feel something more. it starts with fleeting glances and subtle touches — a hand brushing against yours as you pass the joint, a lingering gaze that lingers a little too long. the tension between you and your roommates — mark, jeno, and haechan — reaches a fever pitch.

and before you know it, you find yourself drawn to them in ways you never imagined possible. that leave you breathless.

mark, with his devilish grin, fuels your fantasies with thoughts of rough, passionate encounters. you imagine him pinning you against the wall, his hands roaming your body as he whispers dirty promises in your ear. with each passing day, the desire to feel his touch grows stronger, igniting a fire within you that threatens to consume you whole.

jeno, with his quiet intensity and smoldering gaze, awakens a primal hunger deep within you. you picture him taking control, his touch gentle yet commanding as he explores every inch of your body with a reverence that leaves you trembling with need. in your fantasies, he's the epitome of restraint, unleashing a torrent of pent-up desire that leaves you begging for more.

and then there's haechan, with his playful charm and infectious laughter, who ignites a wild, untamed passion within you. you envision him pushing you to your limits, his touch leaving trails of fire in its wake as he leads you on a journey of ecstasy and abandon. with him, it's all about letting go of inhibitions and surrendering to the raw, primal pleasure that courses through your veins.

how could you resist envisioning them naked when you're so used to seeing them walking around half naked, their toned bodies on display for all to see? it's a constant temptation, one that grows stronger with each passing day.

one evening, as you make your way to the bathroom, you're startled to find mark already inside, his shirt discarded on the floor as he stands before the mirror, shirtless and unapologetically confident. "oh, sorry," he says, flashing you a charming grin as he moves to step aside.

but instead of retreating, you find yourself frozen in place, unable to tear your gaze away from his chiseled physique. the sight of him, all lean muscle and taut skin, sends a jolt of desire coursing through you.

with a playful smirk, mark steps closer, his gaze smoldering. "you sure you're okay, love?" he asks, his voice low and husky as he reaches out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "you seem a little . . . distracted."

his touch sends shivers down your spine, igniting a primal hunger within you that demands to be satisfied. without thinking, you lean into his touch, your body craving the warmth of his skin against yours.

"i . . . i'm fine," you stammer out, your voice barely above a whisper as you struggle to maintain control. but deep down, you know that you're anything but fine. in fact, you're on the verge of losing yourself completely to the overwhelming desire that consumes you.

mark's teasing grin only widens, his eyes darkening with desire as he moves closer, closing the distance between you until you can feel the heat radiating from his body.

"are you sure about that?" he murmurs, as he trails his fingers lightly along the curve of your jaw, sending electric sparks dancing across your skin. "because you seem awfully tense, y/n. maybe i can help you relax."

his words send a shiver of anticipation coursing through you, your breath catching in your throat as you feel his warm breath ghosting over your lips. with each movement, he inches closer, his proximity setting your senses ablaze with longing.

you can feel the heat of his body pressing against yours. and as his lips hover just inches from yours, you find yourself powerless to resist the magnetic pull of temptation.

"mark . . ." you whispered, your voice barely a breathless sigh as you lean in closer, your lips dangerously close to his.

just when you think he's about to close the distance between you, brings his free hand to your back while his lips still hover close to fetch the hairdryer.

"got it," mark says with a mischievous smile, his eyes dancing with amusement as he breaks the spell, stepping away from you. "you can have the bathroom, love. i'm done anyways."

he winks at you before disappearing into his room, leaving you cursing him under your breath as you're left standing there, your senses reeling from the dizzying whirlwind of desire that he's left in his wake, his teasing leaving you feeling flushed and unexpectedly horny.

"fuck you, mark lee,"

all you can do is help yourself, your mind consumed with thoughts of them as you seek relief through self-pleasure.

despite your best efforts, the ache of desire persists, lingering in the depths of your being like an insatiable hunger that cannot be satisfied. even as your fingers work tirelessly to bring you to the brink of release, you find yourself yearning for something more, something deeper — a connection that transcends the physical act of pleasure.

but still, you press on, knowing that even if your touch alone isn't enough to fulfill your needs entirely, it's a temporary reprieve from the relentless onslaught of desire. and in this moment of desperation, you'll take whatever relief you can get, no matter how fleeting or inadequate it may seem. for now, it's enough to quell the raging fire of horniness that burns within you, if only for a fleeting moment.

shaken from your reverie, you blink rapidly, the harsh fluorescent lights of the grocery store aisle glaring down at you. reality comes crashing back in waves, and you realize with a start that you've been standing in the same spot for who knows how long, lost in the depths of your own thoughts.

embarrassment floods through you as you glance around, hoping that no one noticed your momentary lapse in awareness. hastily, you grab the item you came for and make your way to the checkout counter, eager to escape the prying eyes of the other shoppers.

as you wait in line, you can't shake the lingering feeling of arousal that still pulses beneath your skin, a reminder of the fantasies that had consumed your mind just moments before. with a shake of your head, you push the thoughts aside, determined to focus on the task at hand.

finally, you pay for your items and make your way out of the store, the warm afternoon air washing over you like a welcome reprieve. with each step, you feel the weight of the day slowly lifting from your shoulders, replaced by a sense of calm and clarity.

as you head back home, you make a silent vow to keep your needs in check, knowing that indulging in them would only lead to more trouble than it's worth.

reaching into your bag, you fumble for your keys, the weight of the metal reassuring in your hand as you approach the door to your shared apartment. with a twist of the lock, you step inside, greeted by the familiar sights and sounds of home.

until, the faint sound of a groan catches your attention, a low, throaty sound that sends a shiver down your spine. you freeze, your heart pounding in your chest as you strain to identify the source of the noise.

your mind races with possibilities, each one more harder than the last. could it be one of your roommates, lost in the throes of passion with a lover? or perhaps it's just the creaking of the old floorboards, a trick of the imagination brought on by the late afternoon and the dim lighting.

but even as you entertain the possibility of your roommates enjoying their intimate session behind your back, a nagging doubt gnaws at the edges of your mind. after all, as far as you know, none of them have ever brought girls back to the apartment without letting you know beforehand.

could they be sneaking around behind your back? the thought stirs a mix of anger and hurt or maybe even . . . jealous?

although it's none of your business, a sudden surge of protectiveness washes over you, urging you to intervene. you're not sure why this sudden urge to meddle has taken hold of you. could it be jealousy, bubbling up from deep within? or perhaps it's just a sense of duty to your roommates, wanting to ensure everything is okay.

whatever the reason, you can't ignore the pull to investigate further.

following the sound, you made your way towards the living room, curiosity driving you forward. and as you stepped into the room, your eyes were met with a scene that both shocked and aroused you.

seated on the couch was a guy with pale skin, his toned body visible as his t-shirt lay on the floor. his sweatpants were pulled down, and he was stroking himself. he had his head tilted back, letting out small moans of pleasure.

as you blinked in disbelief, you realized it was lee jeno, your roommate, caught in this intimate moment. his movements were slow as he continued to stroke himself, his breath coming in shallow pants. veins stood out on his neck, pulsing with desire, while his flushed cheeks betrayed the intensity of his arousal.

the same guy who had been rude and distant, you couldn't help but feel a surge of conflicting emotions. memories flooded back of the time you bumped into him after his shower, his damp hair tousled and his skin glistening with droplets of water. you had been unable to tear your eyes away from his toned body, and he had caught you staring, teasing you in his straightforward manner, a smirk playing on his lips.

"like what you see, princess?" he had remarked, his tone laced with amusement as he arched an eyebrow at you. the teasing glint in his eyes had only fueled your embarrassment, leaving you flustered and at a loss for words.

another memory flooded your mind, sending a jolt of heat through your body. you remembered vividly how jeno had "accidentally" pressed his erection against your backside while you were cooking.

his excuse had been flimsy at best — something about trying to reach for a plate while you were in his way. but you knew better.

you felt it — his hardness pressing against you right where you craved to be filled the most. the only thing that stood between you and him was the thin barrier of fabric, but even that couldn't hide the unmistakable bulge.

instead of anger, you felt a surge of desire coursing through you, driving you to the brink of madness. it left you wondering just how big he actually was, considering the brief but intense contact you had felt.

and now, the opportunity is right in front of you, and you're not about to let it slip away again. but then again, you've never been particularly close with jeno, and the thought of making a move feels daunting.

yet, the neediness coursing through your veins outweighs any reservations you might have. your heart pounds erratically in your chest, and a sticky heat begins to pool between your legs.

jeno's gaze meets yours without a hint of shame, and a smirk tugs at the corners of his lips as he tilts his head back, letting out a low, guttural moan. "enjoying the show, princess?" he asks, his voice laced with a teasing edge as he continues to circle the flushed tip of his cock.

his voice drops to a husky whisper as he moans your name, sending a shiver down your spine and igniting a fire in the pit of your stomach.

realization hits you like a truck as you hear him moan your name. your name, uttered from his lips in a voice thick with desire, sends a surge of heat through your body, leaving you breathless and dizzy with need.

as you stand there, unable to feel your legs as they wobble beneath you, you realize just how fucking hot the scene is.

shakily, you call out jeno's name, your voice barely above a whisper as you're overcome with desire. in response, jeno moans your name again, the sound sending a shiver down your spine as he praises you, his words fueling the fire burning inside you. your mind becomes hazy as you stand there, torn between making a move or waiting for his instructions, unsure of what to do next.

"c'mere princess," he whispers, his voice sending shivers down your spine. "be a good girl and help me out."

with a shaky breath, you step closer to jeno. his words send a jolt of electricity through you, and you find yourself drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

as you stand before him, you let him guide your hand to his hardened cock, feeling the heat and hardness of it under your touch. you can't help but feel a surge of excitement coursing through you.

you kneel in front of him, you take a moment to admire his cock, thick and veiny, pulsing with need. with a boldness you didn't know you possessed, you wrap your hand around him, feeling him throb with anticipation.

you're not sure why you suddenly feel so bold. maybe it's because you've spent the whole week teasing yourself, unable to find satisfaction with just your fingers or your toy. and it doesn't help hearing haechan on the other side of the thin wall, making you even more desperate for release.

"you like watching me jerk off," he murmurs, his voice husky with desire.

"i did," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper as you lean in closer. with a slow, teasing motion, you begin to stroke him, relishing in the way he responds to your touch.

despite the pleasure your touch brings him, jeno is not known for his patience. he craves more, yearning for the feel of your lips, your skin against his.

with a swift motion, he stands up, pulling you to your feet and pushing you back onto the couch. as he hovers over you, his eyes lock onto yours, a mischievous glint dancing in them.

"you know, princess," he says, his voice low and teasing, "i'm not one to wait around. and right now, all i want is you."

your response is equally teasing as you whisper back, "then what are you waiting for?" the words seem to ignite a fire within him, making him even harder as he leans in closer, his breath hot against your skin.

"should i kiss you?" he murmured, his lips hovering near yours, a mischievous grin playing on them. you nodded eagerly, craving his kiss after his teasing.

with a smirk, he leaned in, and your lips met, fitting together seamlessly, eliciting a soft whimper from you. the kiss quickly intensified, leaving you gasping for air.

he trailed kisses along your neck, diverting your attention as he positioned his leg between yours. pressing his firm thigh against your warmth, he felt the dampness through his pants. a soft groan escaped his lips as you instinctively moved your hips against him.

you started grinding against him without needing any prompting, the rush of pleasure making you moan softly. his lips kept moving on your neck, leaving small marks that would turn into bruises later.

your wetness soaked through jeno's sweats, making them cling to him, but he didn't mind as he pressed harder against you. he pulled his lips away from your skin to watch you ride his thigh desperately. your movements, the way your chest rose and fell with every moan, the way you tugged on your nipples through your shirt, made him moan in response.

"my naughty little princess," jeno growled, his eyes locked onto you as you moved against him. you whimpered, the friction between your wetness and his sweats driving you wild. pleasure surged through you, sending shivers down your spine and leaving your skin slick with sweat.

jeno bit his lip, watching you grind against his thigh with desperation. he was consumed by the desire to make you cum so hard you couldn't even think straight.

your distant, lust-filled gaze drove him wild. all he wanted was to push you over the edge, to hear you scream his name in ecstasy.

"i want you to cum all over my thigh, baby. be a good girl for me," he whispered.

you gripped onto the man above you, your nails digging into his arms. he winced but didn't pull away. as you started to slow down, overwhelmed by the intensity, he took control, gripping your hips tightly and urging you to keep going.

you screamed his name, throwing your head back as your body tightened. then, you were falling over the edge. your body shook with the intensity of your orgasm, leaving you unable to make a sound as waves of pleasure washed over you.

"come on, princess, let it out," jeno whispered, his voice deep and close to your ear. "fuck- that's it, good girl . . ."

as you started to calm down, your vision clearing, jeno's hands traced along your body, murmuring sweet words to ease you. he kissed you deeply, pulling you back from your daze. you gripped his hair, eliciting a moan from him.

you lay beneath jeno, spent and limp, while he smirked down at you, enjoying your disheveled look. despite his arousal evident, as hard as a rock, he focused on you with a commanding gaze.

"what's on your mind, princess?" he demanded, his voice firm.

"now," you stuttered, pulling your shirt off and revealing your bare breasts. "put that dick in this cunt."

"shit, just hearing that could've made me cum," jeno muttered, pushing his sweats down to his knees and kicking them off the couch. “been waiting for this for so long.”

he gripped your thighs firmly, parting them to reveal your still throbbing core. taking hold of his erection, he trailed the tip along your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal. in that moment, you were struck by the sheer size of his cock; long, thick, and oozing with precum that made your mouth water.

but then, a sudden panic washed over you as you remembered the presence of your other two roommates. you whispered urgently to jeno, reminding him of the others.

jeno's reply came in a low voice. "fuck them, princess," he said, his eyes smoldering with intensity. "let them hear how good i make you feel."

he guides the tip of his cock to your entrance, feeling how wet and ready you were for him. unable to resist, he pushes his way inside you. the sensation is intense, unlike anything you've ever felt before — a mix of pleasure and slight pain that has your eyes rolling back in ecstasy.

"fuck fuck fuck," he groaned as he went all the way in. you've never felt anyone so deep inside you before, and your thighs start shaking. "you're so tight," he moans.

he pulled back until only the tip was inside you, feeling your walls tightening around him. with a groan, he thrust back in firmly, causing the couch to creak and both of you to moan loudly. your nails might have been leaving red marks on his back, but it only seemed to drive him to go harder.

"i'm gonna cum, shit," he said, his voice sounding strained.

"already?" you teased, earning a glare and a hard thrust from him. "thanks to you, i've been on edge for hours," he growled, biting your shoulder lightly and chuckling at your whimper.

"didn't you already—"

"no," he growled, thrusting deep and holding still, keeping you filled and squirming around him. "i waited for you to come back from shopping to catch me."

"well, shit," you mumbled, moving your hips against him, a hand trying to find your clit. but jeno grabbed your wrist, stopping you, a wicked grin on his face.

"uh-uh" he said firmly, holding your arm above your head. "you're going to cum from my cock alone or not at all, princess."

you whimpered, your eyes pleading as he ground deeper into you, hitting your sweet spot. "please, just let me cum."

"such a good girl, begging like that," he murmured, his lips moist as he licked them, but he kept your arm pinned. he slowed his pace slightly, still thrusting hard but not as fast, prolonging the torture for both of you.

you could feel an orgasm building up inside you, the tension in your stomach almost unbearable. unlike before, you weren't sure if you could cum from just his cock alone. it was a new feeling, one that left you both anxious and excited, wondering if you could reach that peak solely from his touch.

usually, you had to take care of yourself during or after. but seeing how determined jeno was, you felt a flicker of hope ignite within you. you trusted him to take you to heights you hadn't reached before, to give you the stars and beyond.

"don't worry, princess," jeno reassured, releasing your arm and gently cupping your breast. "i'll make sure you reach it."

with his promise, he increased his speed, hitting just the right spot that made you cry out in pleasure and arch your back. unexpectedly, he pushed down on your stomach, triggering an immediate orgasm that was unlike anything you'd ever felt before.

"fuck, princess, you're doing great," jeno praised, maintaining the pressure and speed. "i can feel myself deep inside you," his words were dirty, fueling your orgasm even more.

your eyes rolled back, spots dancing before them, and your head spun. you felt like you might pass out from the intensity, your orgasm overwhelming you as his thrusts continued unabated.

his voice echoed in your ears, but you couldn't make out the words; all you knew was the pleasure was overwhelming, and everything felt soaked.

you felt a cool cloth wiping away the mess, and when you opened your eyes, you saw a small smile on his face as he cleaned your thighs.

he's smiling, you thought. you can't help but think how beautiful it is. it's a rare sight, a genuine expression that illuminates his features with warmth and kindness. his crescent eyes sparkle with a softness that tugs at your heartstrings, and for a moment, you find yourself mesmerized by the sight.

you wish this moment could last forever, etching his smile into your memory as a reminder of the gentle side he rarely shows.

but reality soon sets in, reminding you of the undeniable barrier that exists between the two of you.

despite the fleeting intimacy you shared, you both know deep down that you're nothing more than that — a temporary escape, a means to fulfill each other's physical needs.

"let's take a quick nap," he said, lending you a hand as you struggled to sit up, feeling like your back had turned to jelly. "sucks to be them."

“who?” you ask, feeling a pang of unease creeping into your voice.

"nothing, just . . . " jeno replied with a casual shrug, avoiding your gaze as he busied himself with straightening the cushions.

you frowned, sensing there was more to his comment than he was letting on. "what do you mean by that?"

before you could dwell on it further, jeno's gaze softened, and he reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "we should probably clean up," he said, his voice slightly hoarse as he glanced around the room, avoiding your eyes.

you chuckled weakly, feeling embarrassed. "yeah, wouldn't want to give them a show," you said, attempting to lighten the mood as you glanced at the closed door, wondering if anyone else was lurking around.

"hey, y/n . . ." jeno's voice was soft, almost a whisper, and you turned to him, waiting for him to speak. when he hesitated, you prompted him, "what is it, jeno?"

"i don't want you to think i’m taking advantage of you," jeno stated plainly. “trust me, that’s the last thing on my mind.”

true, it was quite unexpected for the two of you to fuck. you both hadn't really planned on it, but things just escalated quickly. maybe it was the adrenaline, the thrill of doing something risky, or maybe it was just the heat of the moment that led to it.

“it's okay, jeno,” you replied gently, sensing his hesitation. "we all have our needs, and sometimes, certain situations arise to fulfill them." pausing for a moment, you continued, "you were about to say something?"

"i mean," he started, his tone earnest, "i want us to . . . you know, do this again. and not just for sex, but . . . i want to get to know you better."

as you listened to jeno's unexpected confession, memories of your interactions with him flooded your mind. unlike mark and haechan, who were always easy to talk to and had been your friends for years, your relationship with jeno had always been distant.

you recalled the times when you crossed paths in the apartment, exchanging little more than nods or brief greetings. even when you smoked out on the balcony, jeno's presence was accompanied by an air of indifference.

he would join you, wordlessly asking for a lighter and rolling his own cigarette. sometimes he'd linger, but more often than not, he'd disappear without a word, leaving you alone.

around you, jeno remained aloof and reserved, rarely showing any warmth or interest in engaging with you beyond what was necessary. his demeanor was cool and distant, his words carefully measured, as if he was always keeping you at arm's length.

it was as if you were both skipping crucial steps in the process of getting to know each other, rushing into something that felt both exhilarating and unsettling.

now, amidst the aftermath, you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of awkwardness creeping in.

with a soft sigh, you finally broke the tension. “i’ll see you around, jeno.”

stay tuned for more chapters coming soon!

— a.

#nct smut #nct imagines #nct fluff #stoner!nct #nct dream smut #nct scenarios #nct dream #nct 127 #nct hard hours #lee jeno smut #jeno smut #haechan smut #nct 127 smut #mark smut #mark lee smut

[macfrog]

greetings from austin, tx cowboy like me chapter one

alright hwfg. first part of a dbf!joel series i'm gonna be working on. i hope you guys enjoy 🤍 please feel free to send in any requests or ideas, i'm constantly writing this so would love to know your thoughts!!!! love u all thank u sm for being the best

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: you return to austin after graduating to find everything as it always was. well, most things...

warnings: age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), little bit of alcohol consumption, and lotsa flirtin and allusions to...something more

word count: 2.3k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

The doorbell rings and your dad jumps up. “Ain’t got no cash ready. Be right back.” He jogs off past you down the hall, but your eyes remain locked on Joel, who notices you once your dad’s gone. Or so you think. “Rude to stare, darlin’,” he tsks, bringing his beer to his lips. “Wasn’t starin’.” “No?”

Summer. Texan summer. One of the few things drawing you back halfway across the country to your hometown: bright, sunny, so hot the car bonnets burn your fingertips. It had become a running joke between you and your dad: he’d send a picture of Austin’s scorching sunshine, and you’d reply a picture of New York’s grey skies.

You were ready to come back home.

That is, until your flight landed onto saturated wet tarmac, during the rainiest month of the year. It hasn’t let up in the five days since.

You stumble off the bus into a torrential downpour and throw your hood back up, but it’s no use. By the time you arrive at work, your clothes are soaked through, your hair is plastered to your shoulders, and your mood is worse than ever.

Sal hands you a towel from the back when you walk into the office, but not before giving a hearty laugh from his desk.

“You oughta be gettin’ yourself a car, anyway, lady. Now that you’re back home.”

You give him as sincere a smile as your cheeks will allow. He’s your boss, sure, but he’s also a buddy of your dad’s. Gave you a part-time job for some extra cash when you were still at school, and has taken you back on now you’ve graduated. It’s in your best interests to keep him sweet.

The hardware store is the same as it always was. A little dim, a little dusty; same old tools and same old customers, but homely. You get to work unpacking this morning’s delivery, hauling boxes off of the trolley and filling the shelves. The day passes quickly enough, and you’re folding up empty cardboard boxes to waste the last half hour of your shift when a voice hums from behind you.

“Well, hello, darlin’.”

You stand up straight and spin around to find Joel Miller before you, trademark flannel and subtle-but-still-there smile on.

“Hey, stranger,” you reply, smiling back, before he opens his arms and pulls you in for a bear hug.

Joel Miller. Same as always: tall, rugged, handsome, dark hair and beard singed with grey, warm and sweet-smelling, grumbling, mumbling Joel. His chin rests on top of your head for a second before you pull away, and he looks you up and down.

“Been meaning to come over to see you since you got back, your dad said you were pretty busy unpackin’. Thought I’d give you a few days. Everything alright?”

“All good,” you reply with a nod. “I accumulated a lot of crap in New York.”

He smirks, shoulders jerking a little with a laugh. “Didn’t realise you’d gotten your job back in here,” he looks around, “you likin’ it?”

You shrug. “It’s money. And I know how things are run. Sal’s a good guy.”

Joel nods. “When do you get off?”

You glance down at your watch. “Five minutes.”

“You want a ride home?”

You take a deep breath and breathe out a, “Yes, please,” with a sigh. It’s been a long, damp day.

“I’ll just go grab these,” he holds up two boxes of nails, “meet you outside when you’re done, kid.”

He brushes past your shoulder heavily as he passes, something he always used to do when you were younger. You snort when he mutters, “My bad.”

Joel Miller and your dad have been best buds since, like, the eighties. Your dad has a few years on Joel, but they’re as close as can be. Grew up on the same street, saw each other through girlfriends, marriage, children, divorce. Never one without the other, all that.

Joel’s daughter, Sarah – four years your junior – is a freshman out west, somewhere in California. Another of the reasons you thought it was time to come home: your dad and Joel must feel pretty lonely having both of you gone.

When you’ve grabbed your hoodie and bag and made your way back out front, Joel’s being served by Anna, a girl you went to school with. She stayed here in Austin, has some side hustle selling makeup and perfume. She flutters her eyelashes at Joel as she rings him up. You cringe as you find place at his side.

“Ready?” he murmurs, looking down at you.

You nod.

“How’s things, anyways, Mr. Miller?” Anna asks, even as he’s turning to leave.

“Uh, good, thanks. Good luck with the…makeup.” Then he gives a low grunt and makes for the door.

“Not much of a talker,” you mutter to Anna, and flatten your lips against one another in the form of a goodbye.

Joel’s sat out front in his truck, looking down the receipt.

“Girl charged me for three boxes. If she wasn’t talkin’ so damn much about her perfumes…”

You pull your seatbelt over your shoulder. “Why don’t you go back in there and get your money back?”

“What, and subject myself to her battin’ eyelashes again? Almost blew me off my feet.”

Your head falls back against the headrest with laughter. “You know, you were the first thing she asked me about on my first shift back.”

“I bet I was, baby,” he replies, switching the ignition on and reaching an arm behind your seat as he reverses back.

You spend most of the drive home catching up, telling him about New York and listening to what antics he and your dad have gotten up to since your last visit home. It’s easy talking to Joel, easier than with your dad. He hums and grunts, lets you ramble, tells you what he thinks, then the pair of you fall back into comfortable silence until the next conversation sparks. No judgement, no lectures. Just Joel.

When you pull up in your drive, Joel casts you a meaningful look and says, “He’s really missed you, y’know. We both have.”

“You both have?”

“Sure. Gets quiet ‘round here at times. And with Sarah gone…It’ll be real nice to have you back again.”

“I’ll keep you on your toes, Miller.”

“Holdin’ you to it.”

“Joel? Hey, buddy.” Your dad’s voice breaks apart your conversation and you both turn to see him approaching from the garage. “Hi, kiddo.”

“Hey. Joel came in to get some stuff, gave me a ride home.” You hop out of the truck, and Joel wanders round to meet you.

“Well, thanks, man. You say thank you?” he asks.

You glance awkwardly at Joel, muttering a thank you like some little kid. He shakes his head softly in return, giving you a look that your dad misses, but you understand.

“C’mon inside, I was just tidying up. Stayin’ for dinner, Joel? I bet this girl’s been chewing your ear off about NYC…” Your dad’s voice fades away as he wanders back into the garage, and you and Joel begin to follow.

“Ain’t no need to thank me,” he whispers, leaning into your space.

You nod appreciatively. “My presence is thanks enough, I know.”

He nudges you toward the house.

Your dad orders in pizza and you set the table while he and Joel sit to discuss a potential new client. Joel sits at the edge of the table, turned outward to face the sliding doors, elbow hooked over the back of his chair. As you maneuver around them, placing mats down, you can’t help but note how fucking good he looks.

Tousled hair, unshaven beard. A broadness that even his own shirt can barely hold in; from where you’re standing, you can see where his neck meets his toned shoulders, skin tanned from the sun and the tiniest burst of chest hair over his collar…

The doorbell rings and your dad jumps up. “Ain’t got no cash ready. Be right back.”

He jogs off past you down the hall, but your eyes remain locked on Joel, who notices you once your dad’s gone. Or so you think.

“Rude to stare, darlin’,” he tsks, bringing his beer to his lips.

“Wasn’t starin’.”

“No?”

“Uh-uh. You got a stain on your shirt.”

His brows furrow and his head instantly snaps down to his chest. “Where?”

You snort, wandering over to put his plate on the mat. “My bad,” you whisper, leaning over, “must’ve been the light.”

Joel’s breath wavers only for a second, before your dad re-enters the room and he’s forced to compose himself.

“Alright, let’s see…Pepperoni, bleh, keep that one on that side of the table, please, and plain cheese over here.”

“See you haven’t improved Dad’s taste in pizza,” you say to Joel as you pull your chair out beside his and sit down, cross-legged.

“He – he’s immune to change,” he replies, then, only once he’s regained composure, adds, “or improvement of any kind.”

“Hey,” your dad protests, lifting a slice. “Cool it on the insults, here. You’ve been back six days,” he points a greasy finger at you, then steers it in Joel’s direction, “and you’re the one who turned down Lois last month. Talk about improvement, she could turn your life around, son.”

“Who the hell is Lois?” you ask, mouthful of pizza, aiming for chill, but coming across overly interested.

Joel shakes his head, only looking at you briefly from the corners of his eyes. “Receptionist at Clark’s Plant Hire. And I didn’t turn her down.”

“She asked you out?” Your knee brushes against his waist. He feels it; you know from the way his body tenses.

“She…said she’d like to go for a drink, sometime. I said yeah, maybe…some time.”

“Ouch. Poor Lois.”

He turns to face you now. “Don’t give me the same spiel your dad did, alright? I can decide for myself when I’m ready to be…datin’.”

“Wouldn’t he be nice with a receptionist from a plant hire on his arm?” Your dad fades into the background as you and Joel back-and-forth.

“If you don’t think you turned her down, why say you’re not ready to be dating?”

“Ha! See, my little girl,” Dad waves his slice of pizza around, “she got a degree, Joel. She’s smarter ‘n us. She’s got you on that one.”

“What is your degree in, again? Law?” Joel speaks through his teeth.

You beam back, happy to have riled him. “Film.”

“Film. My mistake. Must’ve felt like I was bein’ interrogated or som’.”

You decide to pull it back then. Enough discussing Joel’s love life – it doesn’t interest you much, not for the right reasons, anyway. The conversation shifts naturally to your degree, your graduation, and the year you spent living in the city afterward.

When most of the pizza is gone, the three of you sit idly chatting; the last Rangers game, the neighborhood barbecue coming up, the weather. Right as your dad voices concern about a job he has next week, his cell starts to ring in the living room.

As hasty and tactless as ever, he jumps up and almost knocks his chair flying. You and Joel laugh quietly as he bounds off in search for his phone.

You turn back to Joel, who’s playing with the label of his beer bottle.

“Hey.” You nudge him with your knee. He grunts in response. “Hey,” you say, clearer, this time pulling your legs up and over onto his lap. “Didn’t mean what I said about that Lois lady. I’m sure you had your reasons, and it’s none of my business. Or my dad’s.”

He stifles a laugh, sucking a breath in until his chest meets his chin. Then he lifts his head to look over to you. “Sorry I snapped. Wasn’t all serious, but I don’t want you thinkin’ I’m mad with you.”

“You can be, if you want.” You lean forward. “Just not for long, okay? It’d be a long summer with just my dad to hang with if Sarah’s gone and you ain’t talking to me.”

This time he laughs. For real. You mirror his swollen cheeks, glad to see you’ve amused him. He puts the bottle on the table and his hands fall to your ankles, where he gently rubs with his thumbs.

“When does she get home?” you ask him.

“Couple weeks. Still got finals and all that to worry about.”

You nod knowingly, muttering, “Rough.”

He gently lifts your legs from his lap and stands, towering over you, your chin inches away from his belt buckle as you look up at him. He doesn’t move, just brings a hand down to cup your jaw and tilt your head back ever so slightly with his thumb under your chin.

You can feel your pulse in your throat. You know Joel can, too. You clench between your legs, an ache forming there, and the only thought behind your eyes is him remedying it.

You bring your hands up to settle behind his thighs, trying desperately to send him a message through your doe eyes. Something in the way the corners of his mouth rise almost imperceptibly tells you he hears you loud and clear.

Your dad bursts back into the room like a bat out of hell, and the two of you spring apart.

“Supplier had some trouble with directions,” he mutters, tossing his cell onto the counter.

Joel grumbles in response, then, like nothing at all out of the ordinary just happened, begins gathering the bottles and gestures to you to grab the pizza boxes. You follow him over to the sink where you set the boxes down and he runs the bottles under the faucet, filling them up and pouring the dregs of beer down the drain.

Your dad’s busy clearing the placemats from the table, babbling to himself about work, when you feel Joel’s shoulder lean into yours.

“Trouble,” he murmurs.

You tilt your head and furrow your brows in response.

“You,” he breathes, “are nothin’ but trouble.”

You smile back at him gleefully.

Trouble, indeed.

#joel miller #joel miller fic #dbf! joel miller #dbf!joel #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #dbf!joel miller #joel tlou #pedro pascal #joel miller pedro pascal #cowboy like me

[pedge-page]

Happy Hour

Part 1 to the Sharing is Caring series

Frankie Morales x F!reader free-use with the triple frontier boys

Summary: Frankie loves using and abusing his free-use pass with you. He’s got no problem introducing it to the rest of the guys.

Warnings: Exhibitionism, Voyuerism, Cucking, free use, unprotected sex, male masturbation, oral m-receiving, assisted masturbation, using beer bottles as dildos, indirect pussy eating (?), slight breeding kink, language

18+ ONLY

- - - -

Frankie invited the boys over for the summer kickoff Barbecue in your backyard. You spent all day preparing snacks and side dishes, setting up yard games and helping clean the pool, all the while getting praises by Frankie who found every opportunity to wrap you up in his arms and kiss you all over. 

"You get enough beer for tonight?" He asks, nuzzling his nose against your neck, pressing kisses over your shoulder. 

"Yup. I almost cleared out the shelf. You boys gonna have a good time, I’ll take care of everything else.” You lay your hand over top his which were caressing your lower tummy affectionately. 

With how busy things had been getting recently, you wanted Frankie to get together with his friends again. He had thrown you such a wonderful girls night-in when you had your girl friends over last month, so making sure he and his buds were well taken care of tonight was your top priority. 

“I think you'll have some fun too." 

Frankie continues to nip at your exposed skin, his hand drafting up to the exposure of your off-shoulder frilly blouse, tugging it down with one finger. "Frankie, stop, I'm still cooking."

He ignores you, slipping his hand inside the elastic band and palming your breast, his hips pinning yours to the counter as he rubbed his hard-on against your ass. "Gonna do everything I ask of you tonight, aren't you?" His breathes huskily into your ear. 

You remained tight lipped, unsure of what he had planned tonight, but having some ideas as to the sexual acts he'll want to get away with. You felt heat pool in your lower stomach at the idea of fucking in the powder room while the boys were outside, or having him finger you under the table while they ate. He's been pushing his free-use license further and further, making you simultaneously nervous and excited at how far he intends to use you for his pleasure.

"They'll...be here... any minute..." you whine, your body caving in to his touches as you breathe heavier. You feel his fat fingers dip below your naval, through the lining of your skirt and down your panties, fingering your clit softly to work your arousal.

"Nothing they haven't seen before, baby mamma," he groans. He removed his hand from between your thighs, bringing its stickiness up to dance on your lips. Your mouth happily parts at the intrusion and suck your arousal from his digits. He lifts your skirt above your hips, splaying your panty-clad ass on display, his lips never leaving your neck or cheek.

"Not a baby mamma yet, that's your job to make happen remember?" You smile, turning your head to lock your lips together. You feel a tap on your thigh and lift your leg to aid in his removal of your panties. He stuffs them into the back pocket of his jeans.

"I'm keeping these, need you nice and wet for us tonight."

The doorbell rings, and Frankie backs away from you abruptly, leaving you wide eyed, back now cold. The faint breeze from the open window whistling under your skirt and between your damp, exposed pussy. "Us?"

- - - - 

Frankie greets each of the guys with a long awaited hug as they enter your home together. You tried to act like you're not dripping between your thighs as you kiss and cautiously hug each of them. It was Benny who scooped you up in his arms and twirled you around, your skirt lifting enough to show the lower half of your bare ass. 

Santi bit his lip at the sight. “Keeping Fish good company I hope?” He asks as Benny set you down with a fat kiss to your cheek. 

You hastily bring your skirt lower, tugging it down. “It’s been pretty smooth sailing since the wedding, hasn’t it?” 

Frankie's hand skims the back of your rear, hand lifting your skirt back up over the side of your thigh, pulling you in to him like a little prize, fully well knowing everyone got a good look at you. “It’s been more than great,” he says. You could help but blush at the way he beamed at you with adoration. "Beer anyone?"

They pile into the backyard, sorting through the cooler of assorted bottles and cans while you sift through the kitchen drawers for an opener. You could overhear indistinguishable chatter from the group, their occasional glances back towards you in the house. 

"Found it!" You call out, skipping out to the yard. "Let me," you offer, grabbing each beer from their hand and popping off the lid. 

"Sweet of you, baby, thank you." Frankie kisses the side of your head. Then his voice changes an octave lower, whispering lowly into your ear: "Go sit on the chair right there and put your heels on the seat."

You shiver, pulling away to stare back at him incredulously. His face told you he wasn't playing, that this was the first of many things he'd be asking of you tonight. You gulp and did as he said, settling uncomfortably in the plastic lawn chair and bringing your knees up to your chest, desperate to keep your ankles together and closed so everyone couldn't see right your bare pussy behind your ankles.

Frankie leans next to you, bottle in hand. "Don't be shy. Spread 'em."

Your face felt hot red as Benny, Will, Santi and Frankie eyes bore down on your anxious figure. You muster up your courage and boldly spread your legs wide, skirt falling from your thighs entirely to your hip, glittering cunt now open wide for the entire backyard. 

Benny whistles lowly. "Never gonna get tired of that pretty view. Damn. Lucky bastard.”

Frankie grimaces proudly, his hand cupping your jaw affectionately like a pet. "Keep 'em spread for us, okay babygirl?"

You nod, clit twitching at his praise, not even noticing when he hitches the rim of his bottle at your entrance. Your brows furrow, never breaking eye contact with his beautiful brown eyes as he pushed the bottles neck into your pussy, your arousal making it easy for the object to slide right through.

"Holy fuck," Will coughs, watching the way you cunt greedily swallows the tip with ease. 

Frankie thrusts it in a bit, making you stutter your breaths with the increased fullness pressing inside, hands fisting the chair's armrests. He was coating the bottle and its contents inside with your juices, fucking you like it was a toy. He notices the resistance when your walls squeezed around its neck, smirking to himself, knowing you were comfortable and enjoying this with him.

Too soon, he slips it out of you, your hips slightly canter forward to chase the object that was just buried inside you. You felt empty, needy, denied. 

Frankie smirks at your helpless state ad he brought the beer to his lips and titled back, chugging the new flavor of alcohol. "Tastes better like that," he says, licking his lips clean of your taste. 

----

Frankie watches as you eagerly spread your legs further, leaning back in your chair with confidence so that your cunt hangs out in the open off the edge as each of the guys line up to coat their drinks in your pussy. The way your breath quickens, with each intrusion, how you lick your lips and look down at the sight of it disappearing into you, the mix of gentleness and roughness that came with each boy’s individuality—it drove him crazy how much you let him do this. 

Santi rubs your cheek soothingly, very passionately fucking his bottle into you while never breaking your eye contact. You giggle along with him, rocking your hips with his steady thrusts until he pulls out and takes a long sip. 

Will is far more gentle, rubbing the inside of your thigh with the pad of his thumb. He nudges your pearly clit with the rip, only swirling the top at the most shallow base of your walls. He likes the way you whine, wanting more, but his hand on your thigh is quick to keep you in your place. He slips the edge of the bottle along your folds to gather your dripping juices before retreat, giving you a little wink.

Benny dropsy to his knees, excited to have you so open for him.

“Be nice, Ben. That’s my wife you got there,” Frankie warns.

Benny rolls his eyes, pouting as his visible excitement tones down. You cup his face, knowing Frankie’s threat is a load of BS. “Don’t worry, Benny, you have your taste the way you like it.” You spread your legs even further, ankles now dangling over the arm rest, the cool breeze of the backyard swooshing through your folds. 

Benny pushes his beer in as far as he can, making you gasp. You grab his shoulder to steady yourself as you rock your hips back and forth, letting his hands remain where it is while you fucked your exposed pussy on the neck of the bottle. He rams further inside, the body of the bottle beginning to stretch your cunt.

Benny’s eyes were wide, unsure if he wanted to watch your facial expressions or the scene between your legs. After a few more playful dips, he pulls out, immediately mouthing around the bottle and suckling every drop of your juices around the neck, with little interest of the actual liquid in the bottle. 

The boys spend the evening standing around the grill, all taking turns to use you like a glorified bottle opener. Frankie keeps your panties tucked in the back of his pockets the entire time. He occasionally checks in on your reactions, making sure you’re still laughing and accepting their actions.

They came back after each sip, some taking extra care to fuck you with the bottle, hoping to get you to cum, other times just to get a fresh coating. Frankie watches your expressions each time, the way your jaw hangs open slightly, biting your tongue, quiet moans making their way to his ears. And each time, he forces the boys to stop, leaving your clenching around nothing, frustrated but wet beyond belief. He wanted you dripping, needy all night so they could get the most out of your gushing cunt. 

At one point, you had to get up to serve their food, making them all sit around the rounded patio table and dishing their plates one at a time. Frankie helps place the portions on each plate as you take it to the table before sitting down himself. His hand runs up along your smooth thigh, skirt lifting with his wrist as he inches high and higher, before squeezing your ass possessively, looking up at you. You pinch his nose and move around the table, making sure all the guys have filled drinks.

You didn’t have your own “seat” at the table, instead going around to each of the guy’s laps and eating bits off their plate. While they ate with one hand, the other held a bottle, thrusting in and out of your spread thighs over their leg. 

You currently had your arm draped over Will’s shoulder, spread open  next to the table as he bounced you in his lap, his bottle nudging the sweet spot inside you. He split his attention evenly between Frankie and you. 

The copious amount of alcohol in everyone’s system, including Frankie’s, made the rules of your use a little more lax. That—and they were all so pussy drunk off your juices mingling on their tongues, they couldn’t keep their hands off you.

You kissed along Will’s cheek, nipping his jawline and tracing patterns on his throat with your tongue as he fucked you on his beer. His languid thrusts making you feel hazy. The man had an exceptional talent at knowing the exact pace and pristine jolts to hold you on edge forever. He gave you soft smiles with sincere eye contact that made you flutter. “You’re so pretty like this,” he whispers in your ear. 

Santi was a little cheekier, eagerly pulling you down on his lap. He taps the inside of your thigh, urging you to spread fast so he could get his drink between your legs. “This cunt is still so tight, hermosa. Frankie Papi not taking care of you enough?” he asks brow raising with a challenge towards Fish. Before you can deny him, he blows hot breath against your ear before biting the lobe, making you squeal quietly as he quickly thrusts his 11th bottle of the night into your waiting heat. He continues to dot his lips against your skin, nipping your collar bone. You can see Frankie’s eyes narrow on you two but he doesn’t say anything, letting his conversation with Will continue. His aligns his head perfectly over your top, peering down at your tits. He groans softly at the little jiggles of your supply mounds with each little thrust in to you.

You look over to Benny, who’s got no care to Will and Frankie’s convo and is instead anxiously bouncing his leg, dying to get you on him for his turn.

“Oop, I gotta take care of the baby boy,” you say quietly into Santi’s ear. He pouts briefly, rubs your clit with his thumb under the table so no one else can see. You bite your lips, wide eyed but aroused. He eventually lets you up.

Benny grabs your waist with strong hands and lifts you on to his muscular thigh. 

“Eager?” You tease. You rub your hand over his strong abs and chest, grabbing his beef for him and putting right along your folds, waiting patiently for him to take charge. He doesn’t. “Want you to do it for me,” he says, smirking. You kiss his cheek and notch the beer into your cunt, moaning wantonly right in his ear. He shivers with arousal, bouncing the knee you’re perched on, the bottle neck slipping deeper inside you. His hand gropes your ass cheek, keeping you upright on him while his other arm feeds himself potato salad. he makes a poor attempt to shovel it in his mouth, dropping bits of it along your chest and down your tits.

“Making a mess on my girl, Benny,” Frankie chuckles.

Benny shrugs. Conveniently left with no more free hands, he dips his mouth down to your chest and licks a long stripe along the skin, slurping up the remnants of sticky food on you. You tilt back and laugh drunkly, fisting the bottle and shoving deep inside your cunt, panting breathlessly as your other hand messily rubs his blonde curls like a dog.

You suddenly glance back at Frankie, who is shaking his head at you in disapproval. Not from one of his buds eating food off your tit, but from your less than sneaky trial of trying to finally make yourself cum on the bottle. You pout, draw the neck out of your messy cunt, feeling your little nub twitch with remote. You’re making a big show of innocent eyes at your husband who’s been simultaneously ensuring you are both taken care of and neglected all night.

Frankie raises his hand and curls his finger at you in a come hither motion. You slide off of Benny’s lap guiltily, striding over to him in the sexiest walk you could muster. Chatter had died down as all eyes rested on you standing over Frankie.  

He stares up at you, rolling your skirt over your ass so everyone could see. He presses a soft kiss to your throbbing clit, tasting a mixture of your sweet juices and the different brands and flavors of beer that have been inside you all night. You whine, trying not to flinch too hard at how desperate you need him to make you cum.

He pats your ass assertively. “You been good tonight so far.”

The power he possesses over you was something to behold: despite standing over him, and looking down upon him, his voice and eyes carried such a dominant force against you that it was clear to everyone else how much you not only submit to him, but how much you like doing so.

“Everyone else getting taken care of real good except me. That doesn’t seem right, does it, Querida?”

You shake your head. You knew the drill, knew the devious look in his eyes. His darkened expression points down to the ground only once. 

Without missing a beat, you sink down to your knees on the grass, delicate hands immediately rubbings along his sturdy thighs in his khakis until you came upon the bulge in his pants. You rub your palm over, pressing your face to it, feeling the scratchiness of the material roll against your cheek. You give it a chaste kiss before unbuckling his belt and pulling the zipper down, freeing his erect cock. 

When you finally push his tip past your tight lips, Frankie sighs relief before starting up the group’s conversation again. The boys shifted in their seats with their evident respective bulges pressing uncomfortably between their legs. They tried to respond respectfully to Fish, occasionally darting glances at you between his legs, working his length in and out of your skilled mouth. The little sucking noises from you interrupted his speech but he made no show of acknowledging you while you sucked his fat cock deep into your throat.

You could hear little coughs and grunts from the others, none of which sounded perturbed. They were all entranced by you, your obedience, submission to Frankie. Santi “dropped” his fork below the table, hunching over to get a good look at you with his mouth agape at the sight: resting back on your haunches, your glistening pussy dripping into the grass as you bobbed your head, hands resting on his knees to keep you from taking it all and choking on it.

He licks his lips and sits up, worried he took too long. Frankie catches his eye and mouths Does she look good? 

Santi nods energetically. 

Fish smirks, taking the opportunity to push the back of your head further onto his cock, making you gag loudly in surprise. Benny and Will’s voices go quiet as Frankie starts slowly forcing his cock deeper in your mouth, making you more verbal in your choking. When he releases the pressure, you pull up so that just the tip is suctioned between your lips, moaning obscenely. Your eyes are closed in bliss, taking him back down and returning your rhythmic bobbing. 

After a few minutes, Frankie’s breaths are coming out short. He’s having a hard time paying attention to what the guys were saying. Just between the two of you, he gently caresses your jaw, letting his cock fall out of your mouth. You stare up at him, slightly teary eyed but full of lust and obsession. “My perfect little whore of a wife,” he mumbles affectionately. “Get up here and make me proud.”

You giddily climb to your feet and throw one leg over his strong thighs, sighing loudly as you straddling him. The texture of his pants feels heavenly against your neglected clit, rubbings your slick folds along his thighs with an arched back, ass peaking out for the boys to once again get a nice show.

Frankie taps your ass again, making you sit upright. He positions the swollen red tip of his member at your wet entrance. You sink down, taking his cock entirely in one motion. The hot, fat pressure of his cock stretching you fuller, deeper than any of the beer bottles could ever reach immediately has your eyes rolling, moaning out loud like a fucking whore as your body shakes, squeezing his dick tightly while your first powerful orgasm of the night washes over you. 

He holds you tight as you spasm through it. “Oh shit—she just came,” Frankie laughs.

“Oh fuck. Didn’t even have to fuck that delicious cunt.”

“That’s hot, Fish. She was so desperate for it.”

“Fuck I’m jealous. I want me a wife like that.”

You continue to gently hump him, their praises falling deaf to your ear. His large, strong body felt good to relax in, putting your weight on top of him with no care as you chase your pleasure Hips swaying of their own accord as you whimper through the aftershocks, arms thrown wrapped over his shoulders.

He strokes your back soothingly. He wants you to settle from your much needed orgasm first. Frankie sits back a little bit, letting you lean forward. The guys are practically standing over the table, desperate to see the space where their friend’s well endowed cock is joined to his wife’s tight and pretty cunt.

He has the audacity to ask the guys if they’d seen the game this past Sunday, resuming their conversation as you continue to pickup pace. You roll your hips along his length, the delicious drag of his cock sliding in and out of you leaving you dumb on him, face pressed tight against his collar while he talks casually over your shoulder. 

When Frankie starts to clench the meat of your hips and pull you down on his length a little harder, neither he nor anyone else at the table cares to talk anymore. He makes sure to fist your skirt over your waist as he drills his meaty girth up into you. They all stare, unblinking, at some point all having whipped their stiff cocks out and stroking furiously.

Frankie gets lost in your tight heat. You couldn’t care about the fact that the boys were jerking off to you and their best friend fucking—your focus was entirely on making your husband spill his sperm deep inside you. 

The squelching sound of your pussy slapping down and your breathy moans can only be heard in your private backyard among your closets guests. He can feel the dampness seeping into his pants, darkening the fabric with each splatsplatsplat of your ass slamming down on his thighs.

“Did I tell ya’ll? We’re trying to get pregnant,” Frankie boasts proudly. He doesn’t stop the way his hips canter up overly excited to share that detail, hitting that spongy spot he had been purposely avoiding all night. A surprised yell escapes your lips, tightening around him in a vice grip. Soon after, you’re both cumming together, releasing long drawn out satisfied groans into each other’s open mouths as your sweet pussy milks him, the pulses of his member filling your womb with his milky seed.

The rest of the boys cum hardly a second later, pumping their veiny cocks furiously at the sight of Frankie’s pearly spend dripping from where the two of you are still connected. Through gritted teeth, they wring out the last dribbles of their cum before everyone is sitting back, panting hard, softened and relieved dicks resting against their full bellies.  

 - - - - 

Notes: I just wanna say don’t fuck yourself with objects that aren’t specifically designed for sex, especially foods or alcohol, because you know… infections. That should be a given. 

-

Permanent Taglist:

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse

Please let me know if you would like to be added (or removed) from permanent taglist--which applies to any fic that I put more than 2 ounces of thought into.

#pedro pascal smut #frankie morales smut #triple frontier smut #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie catfish morales #frankie x reader #frankie morales #catfish morales smut #frankie catfish morlaes smut #catfish morales x reader #catfish morales #santiago x reader #benny miller x reader #benny miller smut #santiago garcia smut #will miller smut #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier x reader

[stinkfacestories]

The day you found out you had won Jason Kelces Beard Challenge was the best day of your life. The challenge was simple: put together a snap or tiktok video of how to get a beard as good as Jason and the top winner would win a day with Jason. Your video was a long shot: you made a tiktok showing how if you mixed essence of dwarf, with a bit of neanderthal, and just a splash of viking inside Abraham Lincoln's hat and applied it to your face, you'd look as good as Jason. It did t get very many views but Jason loved it. The next thing you knew you were in Philadelphia meeting the man himself at the airport.

The tour of Philadelphia through Jason Kelces eyes was a lot of stops at places he loved to eat. Steak sandwich, sausage, pizza, ice cream. The man just loved to eat. As the day dragged on just as Afternoon turned to evening he took you to Lincoln Field, his home turf. There was no game and the place was locked down, but that was nothing a few signed balls couldn't handle.

He took you to the locker room, the place where he told you he feels most free to be himself. You both sat down on the bench in front of his locker. He took out a case of bud light and cracked one open. The man drank so much bud lite you swore he was sponsored by them.

He told you to be quiet. To just listen to the sound of the room. To drink it in and become one with the soul of real American football.

The only thing you heard was the bench breaking as Kelce leaned forward and let out a fart with a satisfied grunt.

"Oh, sorry," he said, not sounding very sorry.

"Really? " you said. You looked at him, almost appalled that he would do that with you right next to him.

Jason turned and gave you a wink. "Dont tell me you don't find farts funny. Your a guy. All guys love farts." 

You rolled your eyes. "Not really."

"What about this one," he said and let loose a loud bassy fart.

"God stop it, it's so gross," you said as you slid away, but suddenly found yourself pressed against the wall of the locker room. "Seriously dude. What the fuck?"

"C'mon," Jason said as he moved over towards you. “I warned you. Remember when I ate that large sausage with pickled garlic ave said ‘were in trouble later’? What do you think I meant.” and placed a hand on your chest, giving you a bit of a push. "Don't be a prude."

You were caught between a wall, and a wall of beef holding you in place. "Seriously, stop it".

"Can't stop. Won't stop," he said still pressing you in the wall. His eyes were the kind of dull that only cheap low quality beer can make the."You know I bet you never had an older brother. Between me, my dad and Travis we learned to appreciate farts. My dad told me that the best cure is exposure. So to get you up to speed I think I need to gas you more"

He  pressed into you and lifted up his keg and let loose with a fart so powerful it echied through the empty locker room.. You struggled to get away from the horrible stench, but couldn't escape.

"No, don't do this," you said as it overwhelmed you.

He turned around and pressed his huge soft center lineman ass in your face, the soft fabric of his shorts spreading across your face like warm dough. It was too much, and you were powerless to stop it. His asshole flexed and relaxed as it sent out a long drawn out series of wet sounding farts. You gagged as the air around you filled with the horrid odor.

"Fuck that was a good one," he said, not budging an inch. “Three point stance just rips these farts out of me.”

"I think I'm going to puke," you said, trying not to vomit.

"If your gonna puke, aim that way, I like these shorts." he said pointing. "Do you think it's funny yet?"

"No!" You coughed.

"Alright you asked for it" he presses his ass harder, wedging your nose on his cheeks. He let loose with a rapid fire volley of farts that left you breathless and coughing. He backed away, chuckling at you.

"God, fuck, that's rank!" You coughed. You tried to breathe fresh air but the locker room had been total polluted by Kelces ass.

"Come on. You don't have to love them, but you gotta at least admit they are funny and manly now. How can you like football and not think farts are funny." he let you stew and come up with an answer.

"Fuck...no," you say.

He shrugged. "Ok. Your loss," he said and pressed his ass in your face again.

"No! Please. God. No. Fuck!"

"What's it going to take? Do I need to pull my shorts down and give you a bare ass stinkface?" He said, pressing even harder.

"No! No more. Fine. They're fucking funny," you cried.

"What?" He said. "I couldn't hear you"

"They're funny!"

"Now are you just saying that to make me stop?"

"No, I mean it. They are funny and they are manly."

"Well, if it's funny you won't have a problem asking me to do it a few more times so you can properly laugh. Right?"

"Uh...fine. Sure. Just, please, no more, I can't take it."

He turned and farted once. "Laugh. Laugh hard and long and deep." He was getting frustrated that you weren't laughing. "Seriously come on guy. This is just as bad for me as it is for you. It's hard to hold this position and if I keep farting I'm going to have to take a dump soon"

"Oh god no!"

"Laugh dammit!" He yelled.

"No, no, I can't."

"Fine then," he said. He pulled you down and set you face up on the bench. He loomed over you. "Ok big fucking guns time" he pulled down his shorts and hovered his raw hairy bear ass over your face.

"Oh shit, dude please don't!" His as was a beast. This close you could make out the rough skin. His ass had taken a pounding over the years and looked like a hefty bag overfilled with cottage cheese. The hair on his crack was dense and black. 

"Do you think this is funny?"

"Yes, yes, fuck, yes!" You were sobbing, your body convulsing.

“Good. Then you'll find this hilarious.” he sat down. He sat down hard. He rocked back and forth, the wiry hair of his ass crack scouring your face. He dug deep like he has an itch he was trying to scratch.

"Laugh. C'mon. Laugh, laugh like a big boy." He said, simultaneously belching and farting.

"Ahahaha!" You started crying and laughing.

"Oh fuck. What a fucking cry baby. Laughing at farts is supposed to be funny. Not sad."

"I'm sorry," you sobbed.

"Just...fucking stop," he said, standing and pulling up his shorts as he got off you. "Baby can't handle a grown man's ass. Jesus fuck"

He sat down next to you. You were still shaking a little, tears coming from your eyes. "I'm sorry," you said.

"It's fine, it's not the first time I've gassed someone like that," he said. "your not the only one who cried either "

You sniffed, still wiping tears away. "It was just so...overwhelming. The smell, and the sound, and the pressure..."

"It was a lot. It was," he said.

He drained his bud light and crushed the can. "Ok second chance to get it right." He leaves forward and farted, then looked to you to see your reaction.

You laughed. A genuine laugh. "Fuck, dude."

He smiled and farted again. You kept laughing. "It's funny, isn't it?"

"Yeah. It is," you said, laughing some more.

"Now you" he said 

You panicked. You didn't have to fart. You were to nervous.

"What the hell. Do it"

"I don't know if I can," you said.

"Come on. Do it. Do it" he chanted.

"I can't."

"You trying to make me mad? You're a guy. You should always be ready to let rip"

"But I'm not drunk like you are. And I'm not a fucking monster with an ass like yours."

"Fine, then, let's fix that." He reached down and ripped a huge one. He reached for his phone and placed a call "Trav. Yeah we got an emergency. Yeah get that chili defrosted and get some real cheap beer. Ooooh and some gas station food. Yeah he's a wimp. Didn't laugh. No he did. Fuck no she can't come to.  Alright. Love you. No homo" he hung up the phone.

"Your brother's coming over?"

"Yup. And he's gonna be pissed if you don't laugh when he cuts one. He loves farts. And he's got an ass that could kill a guy."

"Wait..."

"We're going to our man cave. It's a cabin in the woods. Just guys. Strict no pants policy. You better hope Trav remembered his boxers. You are gonna learn to love being a man like us and become the third Kelce brother, or you ain't leaving that shack."

"What's it going to be like," you said, afraid, but also excited.

"Oh, you're gonna hate every minute, and you're gonna love every minute."

"Fuck. I'm going to get wrecked, aren't I?"

"Oh definitely. We will probably fuck up your head so much. You're going to end up with a fetish for this."

You laughed.

All you could do was laugh.

#stinkface #farting #face farting #face sittting #gassy hunks #jason kelce #stinkface stories

[saltofmercury]

Hi, saw your requests are open again :D :D can you pls do one of Soap? Anything will do, just that I need more Soap in my life. Thanks!

It had been a moment of arrogance.

Sitting on the couch, you had been asking Johnny a series of questions. A night after he had just got home, you two had been laying down, talking, catching up.

You don’t remember how it happened but one topic had gone far— pornography.

You’d seen the way that Johnny blushed talking about the subject. You asked him about what videos he’s watched.

“Do you think about how unrealistic it is when they just jump to sex?”

“Uh.. yeah I guess so.” He had rubbed his mohawk back and rubbed his face down clearly flustered.

This wasn’t something he wanted to talk about. Sure he was an open book but he preferred to show you.

“I could take you easily… No foreplay.”

He paused, licking his lips. He stared at you, watching how cocky you were talking about taking him. Picturing how you caved underneath him, telling him —begging him—to slow down or go slower. The way your breasts bunched, one arm pushing his chest, as the other stimulated yourself.

“I don’t know pet,” He cleared his throat, trying to stay grounded.

“I think I could take you. You’re not that big.” Your eyebrows raised.

His eyes shifted towards you, he brought the beer to his lips, then back down again.

“You think so?” He said calmly. It was cute trying to get under his skin.

He remembers the dirty talk you whisper in his ear about how big he is.

“I think so.” You crawl towards him, placing your hand over his cock. You rub him through his briefs.

It’s just enough to get him riled up.

Instantly, his hands rip the clothes off your body. He’s placing sloppy kisses all over your chest, collarbones, and shoulders.

He places one of your nipples in his mouth sucking hard.

The words haunt him in the back of his mind.

“Not so big.”

He finds your lips, slipping his tongue into your mouth, as his hands trail up your breasts and around your neck. They tense around it, squeezing softly.

“Go on then, show me how well you take me.”

His hand trails down your body, in between your legs, slipping your underwear to the side. He slides down his briefs, his cock springs up.

His hand trails from your neck to your hair grabbing it into a ponytail– wanting to see all of your face. The other hand squeezes your thigh. His cock is right on your stomach, it’s hard, it’s leaking a bit from the top.

You groan, it’s like he’s mocking you.

You proceed to sit on top of it. There’s a small pain as the tip settles in.

“There ya go, pet, go on.” He says egging you on.

Your eyes flash down at him, your eyebrows furrow together.

He sits up from the position he’s in, leaning in towards your ear.

“Come on pet, I want to see you take all of me.”

He places small kisses on your neck, trailing down to your shoulder.

“You’ve only got the tip in, be a good girl and sit on all of it.” he whispers.

His accent has slipped into honey, swirling around in your brain. You try to push down more, but you’re not ready yet. His eyes roam your face, seeing how difficult it is.

He cups your face with both hands.

His pride is still hurt from how arrogant you were just a couple minutes ago.

“Go on love, take it all. Thought you could take this big cock.”

It’s at this point that you whimper out—

“I can’t. I can’t do it.”

It’s enough for him to grab you by the hips, and lay you down.

He’s settled himself in between your legs, licking his lips, then licking yours. His tongue curls up your slit, he moans in pleasure.

“God… I fucking love your cunt.”

He proceeds to swirl his tongue around you. He’s licking and sucking every part of you. You hold onto the edge of the couch, watching his nose come up for air, but his tongue remains on your bud.

He’s made eye contact with you, intimidating you.

You bite your bottom lip.

He’s got your clit in his mouth now, sucking it gently. Sending small waves through you.

“Did you think I would let my girl try and get me off before she has?”

He’s back to sucking it gently, letting two fingers slip into you.

“Don’t think I could ever do that.. Could I pet?”

A small smirk appears on his face.

“What was it you were sayin about takin’ all of me?”

He’s watching how you bite down a little harder on your lip. Your grasp on the couch is tighter now. A moan escapes your mouth.

“There’s my girl, look how wet you are.”

You can feel how much of your slick has traced down your thighs, how Johnny’s hand is shiny and wet.

He continues to eat you out, having you cum right in his mouth.

“Fuck… fuck Johnny—“

A wave of bliss rolls through you, but it’s short lived, sitting you up, guiding you onto him.

“Think it’ll be easier now..” he mumbles

In such a swift moment, he’s picked you up and settled you on top of him.

You slide in easily, there’s no pain this time, it’s just pleasurable, it’s ecstasy.

“Ride me pet, go on. Show daddy what you can take.”

His hands are on your hips, rocking you back and forth. It’s a lot to take in. He’s teasing you verbally and physically.

“Love how you take me pet.”

“That’s it… show daddy how you can take his big cock.”

You moan and whimper. It felt so much easier now that he had taken over.

He moves your hips back and forth, your small hands spread across his chest.

He loves watching you bite your lips, as your mouth carefully forms into a small “O” puckering out. Eyes rolled back.

It’s everything to him. Everything that he does to make you this way.

“You about ready? I’m about to cum inside ya”

His eyebrows furrowed and his eyes snapped shut as his last statement left his mouth.

“Jesus fuckin Christ …” his eyes roll back, as all of him pumps into you.

You pause for a moment, then still rock into him. Blue eyes pop open, he falls back onto the couch, laughing playfully.

“Ho-ly shit pet.” He’s still pretty sensitive inside you.

He grabs you and lifts you off of him. Laying back, watching all of it come out of you.

He puts his fingers in,

“Got to save that— don’t want any of that spilling out.”

As he steps away to grab a towel, he mentions it subtlety.

“So babe, what was it you were saying about taking all of me?”

#call of duty #john soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #soap mactavish #soap call of duty #soap mctavish #soap x fem reader #soap x you #soap x reader #soap x y/n #john soap mctavish x you #soap smut

[writefightandflightclub]

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter Two (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but can you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running? 

Series genre: a LOT of tasty angst, tasty smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see series warnings, here. Please note this series is 18+ / NSFW / MDNI. Minors or ageless blocks interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. Posting schedule and series masterlist are here. 

Author’s note: Thank you SO much for the response to Chapter One! And if you're still with it, I hope you enjoy chapter 2! It has been a LOOONNNNGGG time coming! 😆 This one is slightly shorter, with a bit of exposition to bridge between the OG instalment and the meat of our newly embarked upon continuation! The next chapters are where things really kick-off, but I do hope you enjoy this stoking of some tension, and, of course, finally seeing Santiago again - for the first time since the jarring conclusion to chapter one!!!!!! 

Word count: 4.8k for this part 

“It’s okay,” Frankie rumbles, looking at you levelly. “You can ask me about him.” 

You sigh, squirming in place - on the rear porch steps of your sister’s home - as your game is finally unmasked. Your pretense dashed. 

The hubbub of the lazy, Sunday BBQ is nothing but background to you now as Frankie zones in on your true wants, rendering you as an observer - rather than a participant - in the annual gathering you usually draw an abundance of joy from. 

Not so today, despite your best efforts at going through the motions. At pretending like everything is fine. 

Up to now, chatting idly with your bud in this safe little bubble, you’ve cycled through a gazillion conversation starters; each to emphasise just how interested you are in Frankie, and Whatever He Has Going On. Clearly though, you have failed to convince. Your friend simply knows you too well. Knows your weaknesses. 

Your one true weakness. Santiago “Pope” Garcia. 

You look at kind-eyed Frankie apologetically from beneath your lashes, sorry that your flimsy chat has failed to mask your disinterest in... um, whatever it was he was saying. 

“Shit, I’m sorry, Cat.” Then, so help you, you ask the question you’ve actually been burning to ask all day. “How’s he doing, Frankie? Really?” 

Confirming the shift in tone, Frankie sets his plate of food aside and nestles his bottle of beer on the corner of the lowest porch step. Now you’re having a conversation. The pilot tents his fingers together in his lap, giving your question the full merit it deserves. “Pope?” 

Who else? 

“He’s… fine,” Frankie nods, studying your face as he says the words. Noticing -no doubt- the way you chew on your lip as your gaze wanders, fixing on the man in question. As you watch him mingle comfortably, effortlessly, amongst the throng of people on the lawn. Making connections, as per usual. 

Your stomach drops. An unease jostles in the pit of you. The niggle of regret. 

You shouldn’t have invited the guys here today. Shouldn’t have agreed to have them be present at your family gathering. Shouldn’t have agreed to follow-up it up with a squad weekend at the beach house - no matter that it’s tradition. But, then again, who were you to disrupt the usual way of things? And, more so, who were you to pretend that you didn’t want to see him again? After all this time? 

In truth, you had wanted nothing else but to see him again. That is, until you had laid eyes on him, and then, very quickly, you had pivoted. Wanted nothing more than to keep your distance. 

Why? 

Because by all accounts it’s true. 

Santiago is fine. 

Santiago certainly looks fine. He looks fine in all senses of the fucking word. He looks as though he’s thriving, in fact. 

Your face falls at the implication: that he’s thriving without you. 

With effort, you hum, schooling your expression into something neutral; however, Frankie’s already on to you. “Is that what you wanted to hear, chiquita?”

You turn your head towards your friend and exhale a small, pitiful laugh. Pondering Frankie’s question, you set your own plate and beer down too – a signal that shit’s getting real. 

Is it? 

Is that what you wanted to hear? 

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I wanted to hear, Cat.” With a dejected sigh, you lean your head on Frankie’s shoulder, hooking your arm into the crook of his elbow. “Does that make me cruel? If I don’t wanna hear that he’s happy?” 

Your buddy doesn’t answer rightaway, but he does rest a reassuring hand on your thigh in response, his plush bottom-lip protruding as he pouts – apparently mulling over whether or not to throw you a bone. “Okay. Look,” he begins  - always a soft-touch for you - and you instantly perk-up just a little. “He had a rough spell when you left and-” Frankie huffs out air, shaking his head as though he might have gone too far in divulging already “-fuck, actually, you don’t wanna know.” 

You head snaps up from Frankie’s shoulder as it begins to shake with mirth, your curiosity piqued. 

“What?” you probe, as Frankie turns his head to look at you, a smile cracking his sharp features. Apparently, Frankie has a small part of him which is cruel too. “We stumbled upon his heartbreak playlist. And it was not pretty.” 

“Come on now,” you protest, a little too defensively, your mouth suddenly dry.  “I hardly broke the fucker’s heart.” 

Frankie pumps his eyebrows. Shrugs his shoulders. Then, his bark-brown eyes mist over, just a little. “More likely than you think, chiquita.” 

With that, your eyes flick right back to Santiago’s figure on the other side of the yard, as if trying to reconcile Frankie’s assertion with the reality you see before you. After all, Santiago “Pope” Garcia looks fine. In all senses of the word. 

Right this second, for example, he’s engaged in a highly tactical water fight with your kid nephews. About to enter the killbox any moment, you wager, given that 5 and 7-year-olds don’t seem bound by those pesky rules of engagement. His cargo shorts are – naturally - far too tight, and he’s wearing his crisp blue shirt as though he forgot what buttons did half-way through getting dressed, the fabric split in a deep, plunging “V” across his tan chest. 

Despite all that, however, the thing which captures your attention most, is the beaming, wide-open grin he has painted on his face. 

He looks... 

...Happy.  

Genuinely happy. The bastard. 

This is the first time he’s seen you since he stormed out of your apartment all those months ago. The first chance he’s had to make things right - and he hasn’t spoken a word to you all day. Despite being in your family’s yard. Eating your sister’s food. Playing with your goddamn nephews. You broke his heart, apparently. So Frankie tells you. And yet this fucker dares to looks happy. 

So… Is that what you wanted? 

For him to be happy? 

Without you? 

Or… is a small part of you cruel? 

You’re not sure about the answer to that question, but you do know that your eyes turn mildly devilish as they flick back towards your buddy, your voice hushed and downright conspiratorial. All of a sudden, you’re not concerned with being the bigger person. 

You decide you’ll willingly catch that bone Frankie is throwing. “Tell me more about this playlist, Francisco.” 

You need this, you justify internally. You need something. Some sign that Santiago is hurting too. 

You’ve needed this for months, in fact; but, goddamn - you especially need this before you and the squad spends a whole weekend together up at the beach house. 

You need it badly.

Why? 

Because you’re not fine. 

Not fine at all. 

Not fine without him. 

This is your family's yard, and it’s your family’s  party, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him since he stormed out of your apartment all those months ago… and you’re emphatically not happy about it. Have found that, despite what you had hoped for, your reunion hasn’t solved a damn thing. Hasn’t eased the knot in your chest. Hasn’t allowed you to feel any sense of resolution.

“Fuck.” Your eyes brim over with the realisation, wet and glassy, and a tight lump balls in your throat. 

“Come on,” Frankie mutters - softly but urgently - as your eyes begin to swim with emotion. He nods up towards the interior of the house, and you are endlessly grateful when, with minimal spectacle, your buddy bundles you inside, his arm slung casually around your shoulder for comfort. 

You’re not the retreating type. At all. You have always been comfortable running headlong into things that scare you. Even so, it is a marked relief when you do slink inside. A relief that you were able to save face. Keep your pain hidden. But, most of all, it is a relief that you no longer need to suffer Santiago’s abject joy. 

It is a relief in the same way it is to retreat from the blazing sun, and you immediately find sanctuary in the cool, shaded interior of the house. 

Still, given the tumult of emotions inspired by his general proximity today, you are less and less sure that you can handle this trip. 

The only thing pushing you to go through with it, in fact, is the knowledge that there’s one thing harder than being close to Santiago… and that’s being apart from him. 

Perhaps Frankie’s wrong. Perhaps you didn’t break Santiago’s heart when you left. But, one thing’s for sure. Leaving him had certainly broken yours.

Truth be told, even after all this time, you’ve barely begun to put yourself back together. 

You���re in pieces; which - to be fair - is always how Santiago liked to see you, isn’t it? 

A friend. A soldier. A lover.  

That’s the only way you can stand to view him now. In mere fragments. In the shrapnel of stolen glances; because trying to see him all at once? That’s like trying to stare directly at the sun. 

He is too bright for you and it burns. Even with all this distance. 

***

You’re surrounded by laughter and chatter, yet you feel an unease. An unrest in the pit of you. 

Will’s ballcap is tugged down over your eyes under the guise of staying warm - a flimsy excuse, considering the raging fire pit in the centre of you all, acting as the warm sun to your orbits of beer, passed amiably around from hand to hand via the cooler at Will’s side. 

Naturally, the conversation has veered sharply towards the crude - it reliably does when you are and the boys are all together. 

“For real, Pope. Since we’re, uh, sharing,” Tom interjects, already looking far too pleased with himself. “Do you ever play up the knee thing to… encourage women to go on top?” Tom’s question earns shocked titters from Will and Frankie and, despite yourself, a softly exhaled laugh from you. 

“Why are you so obsessed with me?” Santiago asks Tom with an assured grin, and, upon being subject to the group’s attention, he leans forward in his camp chair. He drains the dregs of his beer and tosses the emptied bottle into the gathering pile in the sand, the label already peeled off by his nimble fingers.

Tom presses him for an answer, and you see Santiago’s pearly flash of teeth glinting in the firelight. “Play it up, buddy?” Santiago emits a deep, throaty chuckle which bobs in his corded neck. The sound is echoed by the other boys too, the threshold for laughter pleasantly lowered by the alcohol. 

Their movements are growing increasingly pack-like - a little less measured and a little more instinctual. Less individual and more unified. Moving as a team even as they sit still, with their spread legs and dropped shoulders and dipped chins. Alert eyes glinting in the dark with each lick of flame. Their energy would intimidate you, you think, if you didn’t know them. If you didn’t feel safer here than anywhere else in the world.

Still wearing that grin, Santiago scoops his hand over his stubble, his finger and thumb tracing around his mouth. “It’s practically a pick-up strategy.” His voice is warm sand and it scrapes you. Leaves a mark. 

Frankie titters off to Santiago’s side - a chaotic, beer-addled laugh. To his other side, Will grins too, his laughter striking a robust and deep note, even whilst shaking his head as though he’s somehow above it all. Together, their sounds form a cacophony you can feel deep in your chest - like the rumble of bass from a speaker, or the subdued roar of the ocean. 

If they are a pack, you - for once - are at odds. You feel it now more than ever, and it jars you. You are hyper-conscious that no display of mirth falls from you; and, in fact, the corners of your mouth turn down. 

Instead, you dwell on this roar - this rumble and hum under your skin. If you feel like the tide, like you are being swept up, Santiago is your shore. Everything about him draws you in, and you feel you could wash him away with the force of your need for him. 

Regardless of that, you continue to do precisely what you’ve been doing all night. You try to bury everything. To subdue your feelings. To calm this frenzy deep in the pit of you. In this moment, thinking about Santiago pursuing people other than you - listening to the damn stories - you take that urge quite literally, digging your bare toes deeply and intently into the sand as though you could disappear wholly into it. 

But; even that reminds you. 

Everything reminds you. 

Santiago. 

You’ve thought of nothing else all night. 

How could you? 

And, you feel the lack of him. 

The roughness of the sand against your smooth skin is a poor substitute for the rasp of his stubble. For the grit of his voice against your throat. The warmth of the curling, licking flame is a poor substitute for his body heat. His curling tongue. His fingers. The way you bury your feelings has nothing on how he buried himself in you. 

You fall into memories, tacky and hot, tumbling, and yet Will’s voice rips you abruptly back to the present. 

“How in the hell do you spin that one, man?” he asks Santiago with a genuine curiosity, his ice blue eyes dancing with amusement.  

Santiago risks a sheepish glance at you then, as though sensitive that his prowess with women might offend you in some way; but your eyes simply glance off of his like a flung spark from the fire pit, desperate to turn towards the dark and rid yourself of any heat which he may ignite. Desperate not to linger on the way the shadows and the light pool across the harsh planes of his face. The way his dark eyes are flickering and alive, and entirely capable of burning. 

And so, Santiago continues, relishing his moment. “Come on. It’s easy,” he breezes. He clears his throat, fully readying to inhabit his role. He shuffles in his chair and changes his demeanour, his body language, his voice. Shifting and contorting himself until he is layered with seduction. His frame even grows bigger, bolder, his legs spread. Chin raised and eyes hooded with a slow, sultry blink of those long lashes. 

Even this performance of heat hurts you; burns. Burns brightly enough that you have to look away from him before your skin is singed by it. “Hermosa,” he rasps, voice pleasantly scuffed by beer and smoke, the sound so rough and gritty you swear you can feel it scrape your skin. Your core clenches around the full, deep, dark tones of him, as though they alone could fill you.

The fire throws out careless sparks like cracked whips, and, like them, you cling to a dying heat. This vestige of the way he spoke to you in the dead, dark night at one time, your bodies all salt-slick skin. “You’re right,” he purrs, and you see that his body has shifted - angled towards Tom. 

You feel embarrassed. You feel alight, as though somehow, they could all find you out in this moment. Could sense the wet slick pooling between your legs. Smell it somehow. Like all of a sudden their eyes will converge on you and they will know - hear the flutter of your pulse in your throat. Sense the throb building in your core. Feel you barrelling from dull ache to desperation. 

“About what?” Tom asks, playing along as Santiago sneaks a hand up his thigh. 

Santiago’s smile is lopsided. Charming, but full of challenge. “Thinking that I’m a bad idea.” He’s hamming it up, for sure, but the syrup and grit in his voice is taking you right back there all the same. Right back to between those sheets, and a disobedient heat snakes down your back. 

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” 

“Well,” Santiago offers with faux regret, voice husky, and you can’t help but lift your eyes back to him. Can’t possibly look anywhere else now. Can’t help but observe the smirk twitching his appealing mouth and the way his thick brow arcs up. “‘Cause my knees are shot from years in the military, so I’m afraid you’ll have to get on top and ride me senseless.” 

God in heaven.  

Looking at him was a mistake, even like this. Even as he feigns seducing Tom, of all people. There’s just something about the rough edge layered into his voice right now. Something about the firelight painting his sharply-angled face with shadow. The flickers causing his smouldering eyes to glint with an echo of that formidable, latent heat. 

You feel this vestige of warmth in you ignite. Feel it begin to blaze and catch. You feel memories of him, his skin, his touch, amassing grain by grain. Ever so suddenly you are the shore now. Parched. A hot, baking expanse seeking its relieving tide. 

God, you want him. 

You feel your core shiver around the memory of him slipped into you, deep and dirty, teeth on your throat, and it’s almost too much to take. 

You need him, even though you’re still so damn angry with him. 

Or… no. No, that’s not it. Yes - you want him because of it. 

You need to fuck the residual anger from beneath your skin, for it has festered there for months now. Months, and you need it to move. Need it to give. Need it slaked and sated and gone. 

It’s not a healthy desire, you think, and you feel a little shame at that. You are grateful then - as Santiago effortlessly drags you back into the inescapable pit of him - that the boys’ laughter tears you abruptly from this impossible yearning. Gives you a lifeline. Reminds you where you are. How far you’ve come. 

You got out. And that meant leaving him behind too, didn’t it? 

“You’re such a fucking dog, man,” Will snickers. 

The chair over, Frankie’s shoulders are shaking with laughter too, his head tipped up to the sky and his eyes disappeared with it. You wish that you could laugh like that. That you could feel light, but instead you feel heavy and sick. 

“That works?” Tom asks incredulously, and you take another hasty swig of your beer, the froth hissing against your lips and a hoppy taste flooding your tongue. You briefly wish it was something stronger.

“Don’t go getting ideas, Tom,” Santiago says smugly, slapping his buddy emphatically on the thigh. “Works when I do it.” 

Oh, you bet it does. You bet it works. 

Tom throws Santiago a stink-eye then, before sitting slightly taller in his chair, his face contorting in a clear attempt to smoulder. “My knees are shot from years in the military...” Tom echoes, trying to inject a similar level of grit into his voice... and, the contrast? The failure? It is… an instant relief. 

Tom’s attempt is laughable, in fact. And so, when your favourite pilot’s dense, throaty chuckle sounds out to your side once more – this time, you can’t help but crack a smile too. Indeed, the laughter which spills out of you is a welcome vent, and so you reach for it wholeheartedly. 

There is an eruption of good-natured, teasing banter from the boys now - and Tom looks miffed that his attempt to tease Santiago has almost entirely backfired. Then, grasping for this welcome escape route a tad too eagerly, perhaps, you submit your own dig. “You might wanna run that script again. Give us a little less of that insurance infomercial vibe next time, buddy.” 

Frankie can barely breathe from laughing now, his hand coming to clutch his belly, and it’s pleasantly infectious. The atmosphere is safe and cocooning and familiar, and for the first time tonight you almost forget. You almost forget the thing that you haven’t been able to forget for months. That Santi isn’t touching you, and that, God; you need him to. 

But then, your relief is snatched from you all too suddenly. “Well sure,” Tom aims, his shot primed to land. “You would know how it goes, right? First hand? Did Pope use that line on you too, right before he and that guy from the bar practically double-dipped you?” 

The group fucking brace. 

You can feel it. 

It’s the exact same energy as when you’ve all grabbed for purchase in the helo or the humvee, right before a collision. The world seeming to flow in slow motion, your stomach being tossed up in the air and rolling as you lurch and sink.  

Most of the time, sure. You pride yourself for being able to take the boys’ banter on the chin. For having a thick skin. For being able to muster a scathing comeback, rolling off your tongue without a thought. 

But this? This has you beat for a second. This has a sinkhole opening up in your middle.

You meet Will’s eyes for a split second in desperation, but he looks at you helplessly, and you know. You know you need to say something. You know you need to, before they witness -before he witnesses- you falling apart. Before you let your silence reveal that you’re not over Santiago. That this hang isn’t ‘just like old times’. Not like ‘before’. That maybe, it can never be how it was again. 

Finally, something comes to you, and you grab for it; once again, a little too eagerly. “At least I got some, Tom. I doubt you could even seal the deal these days.” You push the words out and hope they sound light, even as you feel a tremor in your body. In your throat. Even as you feel Santiago’s eyes on you without looking. Can imagine them, dark and knowing, and worst of all… apologetic. Maybe even pitying. “Oh hey! Just like your ‘career’ in real estate!”

“Ohhhhh shiiittt,” is the prevailing sentiment from the group, hands flung up into the air as Tom realises he’s just been owned by your spectacular throwdown. 

Good, you think. Good. You’re glad the asshole’s getting his comeuppance but, even so, your petty victory does little to fill the hole in your chest, your heart still hammering and your fingers still trembling subtly against the cool, wet neck of your beer. 

To your surprise though, Tom doesn’t even bite back. Not this time, and that makes you feel even more annoyed, somehow. It makes you feel as though your anger is misdirected. As though Tom’s not the asshole here. As though he’s not the dude you’re fuming at after all. 

Still, your comment served its purpose well enough, you think, as steady, safe banter erupts again. You are pleased that you avoided the full impact of this collision, brakes slammed on as you still teeter on the cliff edge; but your heart feels bruised and rattled in the roll cage of your chest all the same. 

Mainly though, you are pleased that you are no longer the focus of everyone’s attention. However, your skin warms when you notice one man’s eyes remain on you, his gaze fixated and hooded and intense, and a shiver of heat dips down each notch of your spine. 

You look away. You tug Will’s cap a little further down over your eyes and you wait. You wait for the topic to shift so that you can excuse yourself without the cause being quite so obvious. You wait, until you can’t take the heat from this fire a second longer. Then, and only then, you make your excuses and dip out, retreating into the empty, quiet shell of the house. 

You pad into the kitchen, the cool interior immediately relieving against your hot skin, gooseflesh snaking down your arms and making your hairs stand on end. The dim light is certainly a respite from the searing brightness of the fire and the sting of the smoke in your eyes. But most of all, of course, it is relief from him. 

Santiago. 

It’s rough. Rougher than you expected. You simply can’t take this distance from him. You’d thought, before, that the miles between you - between here and Colombia - had been hard to reckon with. But this distance? The vanishingly small distance where he’s right here yet has never felt further out of your reach? That’s a thousand times harder. This petty distance – this rupture, this wound – hurts far more, because it feels far harder to heal. Far more festering than a clean break, and seeing him has already torn out every self-applied suture. 

You don’t like that things seem to have been irrevocably changed. You don’t like that your two bodies - which used to be so in sync - are now so awkward around one another. Purposefully aloof, rather than tactile. Remaining so separate, rather than together. 

It has been slowly amassing all day, the weight of this pain. Of this lack. And now, after feeling the absence of his touch so intensely - of that blessed togetherness- ironically, you finally need a moment alone. 

You cross the room and fold yourself over the kitchen counter, hinging at the hips. You rest your head in your hands, laying your forearms flat along the cool, marbled surface. 

For a brief moment, it is even a relief. You breathe deeply. Put him out of your head. But, after only one moment more you find yourself missing the pain. You’ve become fond of it, in a way. You haven’t been able to let go because, in truth, you’ve wanted to feel the continued burn of this loss - like a scar.

It is the only proof you have left that he touched you at all. 

That you came close to having something with him. Within touching distance of it. 

But now… 

You sigh deeply. You hate this torment. You hate not knowing how to be around him. The way the familiar is recast as unfamiliar. Your certainty now uncertainty. Your home now a hotel. 

You’ve spent the whole day so far keeping your distance. Talking only to the group, always some buffer of Tom or Will or Frankie in between you. Always leaving one seat between your bodies. Avoiding prolonged eye contact. Going out of your way to make sure the two of you were never left alone.

Being left alone with him is the last thing you want; and the first, of course. 

And, as if on cue, a low whistle sounds from behind you. You know the sound without looking, and your body stiffens. “An ocean view and now this?” Santiago jokes cautiously as he approaches behind you, clearly faced with a perfect view of your ass as you fold over the counter. “Pretty sweet deal. You should get Tom in on this real estate action. He might actually sell something.” 

Despite everything, all of it, you can’t help but laugh at that. You appreciate the dig at Tom a hell of a lot more than you should, actually. 

“Listen. Are you… alright?” Santiago asks next, much more softly. You hate the way his voice prickles the hairs on the back of your neck; but also, you don’t hate it at all, of course. 

You inhale and stand, pushing your torso up from the counter. You look up to the top of the cabinets, not blinking until the would-be tears have dried, and only then do you turn towards him. 

Santiago. 

Only then do you face your sun, praying that you will not be singed.  

All day, you have had a buffer in between the two of you. Clouds, to dim his brightness. But now, it is just you and him, alone in the kitchen of the beach house. 

This bland domesticity sure is a far cry from the field, yes. From your original shared domain. But, it also serves as an all too painful reminder of the last time you saw him. Of the last time his lips moved against yours. Of the last time, in that kitchen, that he’d had you. Taken you, bunched up naked against the fridge as he filled your slick heat with his fingers. As he kissed you and tongued you and claimed you back, as if he ever intended to keep you. 

It is a reminder of the time he had told you he loved you, and with finality, you had both realised that it still might not be enough.

You turn towards him, finally, and you brace. 

Brace like you’re about to collide. 

Like there will be an impact when your eyes meet.

Your brace like you’re expecting hot tempers, hot feelings, hot words. Wounds splitting and salt being rubbed in. 

Still, that’s not at all what you get. 

Instead, Santiago’s eyes are as wet as your own. All of his boldness and bluster is gone, and he’s standing on the very perimeter of the room as though he is the one who dares to venture no further. As though you might burn him if he gets too close. 

“I missed you,” he rasps, and despite the softness and the sincerity of the words, they feel like a rough struck match against your skin. 

You try desperately. Try desperately to fling this offered spark away before it catches, but it is futile. 

He missed you, and his admission already has you blazing for him. 

He’s standing mere feet from you.

And, despite everything, all you can think about is closing this oh so petty distance. 

#santiago pope garcia x reader #triple frontier #oscar isaac #ride or die series #santiago pope garcia

[takes1]

poly tamaki/reader/mirio airbnb trip (p.?)

so i got a partner, work and school picked up, and abandoned public writing for a while (2ish years) lmao. no excuses, life happens, I'm sorry for anyone that requested things while i was gone. this started as a passion but turned a little sour after a while. so I'm just posting what i want i think? and i hope people like that enough. i really wanted to post something and break my streak though! i will never not love poly tamaki/mirio so here's a little nugget of a series i want to start

warnings. suggestive, alcohol mentioned, 'teaser' trailer of sorts

details. 267 words. fem!reader, jealous!mirio, secret relationship, best friends to lovers, slowburn? eventual smut

🤍 new series. part ? of airbnb prompt -> description. during a boozy and debaucherous winter airbnb trip with the senior class, feelings amongst friends are revealed and acted upon

more links. my ao3 / my other writings here

"You know where (Y/n) is? She was supposed to..." He peered around Tamaki's shoulder, eyes scanning over some clothes on the dark floor, "--Grab some beers."

Tamaki filled up a little more space in the doorway, leaning in an unnatural manner. His mind was scattered and he stumbled over many phrases. Mirio's heart pounded up to his ears.

"What?" He asked, sizing him up and tilting his head. He, too, leaned on the doorway, unafraid of getting close.

Tamaki spoke up, but remained unable to lie very well, "She's- yeah, she said she was gonna get them a while ago," He shook his head and was done babbling, eyes cast to the hardwood floors.

Mirio tilted his head down more, inches from his warm, partially sticky face.

They were speaking very quietly, but the tension was so thick you could cut the air with a knife.

"Yeah?" He tested, lifting his tone.

"Yeahh," Tamaki sighed with a small, sheepish glance forward.

"Yeah." Mirio sighed back, hand sliding off the door.

For a moment, he lingered, ears reddened with embarrassment and insecurity, and Tamaki's breath stilled for fear he would throw a punch, or a shove. But he knew where his jealousy had gotten him before, how pointless an argument would be, especially if his suspicions were somehow false.

"Okay, bud," He walked away with another disapproving glance, but Tamaki was so busy looking at his feet that he didn't see it.

Mirio didn't even try looking around after that. He went straight to the fridge, picked up 7 beers (5 for everyone else, 2 for himself), and joined the commotion outside once more.

#tamaki amajiki #my hero academia #bnha tamaki #tamaki x reader #tamaki amajiki x reader #mha tamaki #mirio togata #mirio x reader #mirio togata x reader #tamaki x mirio #tamaki x reader fluff #bnha mirio #mirio x y/n #boku no hero academia #tamaki x reader x mirio #mirio x reader x tamaki #poly tamaki #poly mirio #poly reader #takesone #mirio angst #tamaki angst #jealous mirio #tamaki x reader angst #mirio x reader angst

[peachesofteal]

I know you said later this week for heartbeat buuuuuuut a chance you could please post a sneak peek?

Since you asked so nicely. It's probably going to be next week at this point. This is mostly unedited and mostly just filth. It’s a flashback.

Simon Riley/female reader - from: Sassy Series, after Heartbeat / Chapter 2 Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI. E for explicit, Jealousy, men saying gross things about you, brief mention of violence, thigh riding and Simon talks you through it, explicit sex, Simon having deep feelings while he's buried in you.

“I mean, did you get a good look at her?”

“Shit. I’d bury my face in that ass. EOD is air force, right? Think she’s got a landing strip?”

“Dunno but I’d be coming in for a landing all the time if she was on my squad.” The table of privates laugh to each other, and Simon’s fingers curl around the bottom of the beer bottle in front of him. He briefly considers, for a moment, if Price would dismiss him if he broke it over one of their heads and then used the shards to slit the rest of their throats. Bleed ‘em out right there on the table. 

He shifts on the stool. Johnny gives him a skeptical look. One of them, says something else. Sounds a little like ‘tight’ and ‘pussy’ strung together. Another one snickers. 

He’s on his feet behind them before anyone can blink. The low drone of rage pressurizes inside his skull. 

“Want to share what’s so funny, private?” The table falls silent immediately, all of them staring up at him, dumbfounded.

“N-nothing’s funny, sir.”

“Ya sure about that?” Johnny chimes in before Simon can say anything. 

“The bomb tech, we were just… appreciating her. Saying how nice it must be nice, having something to look at.” Simon can feel the heat of Johnny’s gaze on the nape of his neck.

“The bomb tech outranks you, private. You will address her as Sergeant.”

“Y- yes, sir.”

When he gets back to the base and little house the 141 is crammed into, you’re already asleep in your room. Sprawled across the shitty thin mattress, your shirt rucked up around your stomach, little boyshorts riding the curve of your hips. The scar from Belize is still shiny across your ribs, peachy and puckered. The sight of you safe and sleeping soothes the raw buzzing of anger in the back of his head. His girl. His. 

He’s already got his hands all over you by the time he gets his boots off, and you shift a little when he presses his face into the top of your ass. 

“Simon?” you mumble. “Y’okay?” Simon, Simon, Simon. It’s always Simon with you now. You’re constantly stripping him bare with it, and he doesn’t even know your name.

He teases a hand across your skin, over the scar and up under the peak of your breast to your nipple, where he rolls the already hardening bud between his fingers. You shudder with a moan, shoulders twisting to turn yourself on your back, but he stops you. His teeth find the swell of your ass, and he sinks them deep. You squeak. 

“Can you hold still?” He says, your body answering for you with a shiver. The bite woke you sharply, and you watch him out of the corner of your eye. 

He pulls the underwear down your legs until they disappear, and then sinks his fingers into your cheeks. The glisten of your cunt shimmers, already wet, already waiting for him. 

“Scoot back, sweet girl. Up on your knees.” You do as he says, shimmying down until you’re pressing against his thigh, clit ghosting against the fabric of his jeans, just barely. Your hips are shifting, slowly, and he knows you’re trying to get just a little bit more friction. He leans over you, gloved hand in your hair. “Now be good for me and rub your desperate little clit on my leg until you come.” You shake your head no and he rears back, pulling off his shirt and gloves, leaving the mask and his jeans the only thing on his body. He slaps you across your ass, just hard enough to watch the skin pink under his hand, and you jolt with a moan, cunt pushing back against his leg. “Do you want me to give you my cock, Sass?” you nod frantically. “Then ride my thigh until you’re coming on it.” The curve of a smile, a smirk, pushes at your cheek, and you start to move your hips, slowly at first, and then fevered, chasing your high while he watches. “That’s my girl, just like that.” 

You start to jerk erratically, your face screwing up into the little pout and he knows you’re close. “You going to come Sass?” You mewl pathetically, mouth making desperate sounds and he watches you rub yourself all over him. “Sweet girl. That’s it, just a little more. There you go.” Your gasps reach a fever pitch, and he groans. “Ride it out, good girl. Come all over me.” His jeans are smeared with you, but he praises you, telling you how good you were, how much he likes that you made a mess on him. Once you come down from it, he strips and presses himself along your back, rucking the balaclava up to his nose to pull the skin beneath your ear between his teeth. He wants to mark you, hard. Leave an impression of himself on your body, brand you down to your bones. Tomorrow, when those fuckwit privates line up for brief, he wants them to know. 

He sinks into you as deep as he can, little noises coming from your mouth as he splits you open on his cock, your cunt so tight it feels like it’s choking him.

“Si-Simon.” It’s his name, again. You’re flaying him alive with it. When you say it, it feels like he’s not wearing the mask, it feels like he is Simon, and not Ghost. He’s becoming addicted to it, consumed by it. It makes his head foggy, makes him do things that he’s never done, like approach a table of infantry and scare them out of running their mouths, or mark you like you belong to him. You cloud his judgement. You make him want things, things he doesn’t deserve, things he could never have. You make him soft, and desperate, and when you turn and look over your shoulder as he slams himself to the hilt, your gaze burns into him like you’re seeing him. Like you know. 

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #sassy series #peaches writes #simon riley #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #cod mw22 fanfiction #cod fanfic #peaches asks

[bullet-prooflove]

Traditions - Angel Reyes x Reader

Part of @storiesofsvu Holiday Bingo! The square was Decorations!

Tagging: @witches-unruly-heart @keyweegirlie @trhett21 @annetje @infinity-mars @danzer8705 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @thatonesexycancerian @weiwei0210 @anime-weeb-4-life @multifandomloversworld @harperdoodle @cheyrenee @fanfic-n-tabulous @deliriousfangirl61 @daydreaming-belle @est1887 @thanossexual @creativitybeware @librarian1002 @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @spookyboogyuniverse @spaghettificationandpretzels @joyfulfxckery @nu1freakshow @thebaileybugle @legally-a-bastard @bonsaijoons @justreblogginfics '@crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @withakindheartx @storiesofsvu

Following on from the Taken!Series

It’s the first time since Marisol’s death that Felipe’s house is being decorated for Christmas. Angel, EZ and Felipe don’t usually celebrate the season, instead they have a couple of beers, watch a few movies and let the day pass them by. You’re not much different. You’ve been on your own since your Nana died, you used to spend the day in the fields with your music on, collecting buds or in the apothecary making the balm that soothes away all of those aches and pains. Now there’s a child in the mix things are different. Angel’s decided to go all out and that apparently includes buying the largest Christmas tree known to man.

“She’s four months old.” You remind Angel as him and EZ wrestle with getting the tree through the front door. “I don’t think she minds how big the tree is.”

“I tried to tell him.” EZ tells you as he guides the trunk into the stand and begins to twist the pins that hold it in place. “But he was adamant, it had to be this one. I think Valeria’s first Christmas is making him a little nuts.”

“Then I guess we’re doing this thing.” You say, your palm brushing over Valeria’s fine dark hair as she snuggles even deeper into your chest.

“You are doing this thing.” EZ corrects you, kissing his niece on the top of the head. “I have hampers to deliver, you get to deal with all of his madness.”

“Traitor.” You accuse as you walk him to the door.

EZ gives you that shit-eating grin of his as you shoot him the middle finger. You watch him climb on his bike, raising Valeria’s hand to wave goodbye before you close the door behind him. When you turn to face the tree, it feels like it’s even bigger than it was two minutes ago. You can hear Angel in the other room, rooting through the box of decorations that he’d brought down from the attic.

“OK kid, your dad’s gone a little crazy but we’re gonna lean it into it ok?” You say to Valeria as her tiny fist grips the fabric of your shirt. “We’re just gonna lean right into it.”

***

Valeria is asleep by the time you’ve finished decorating the living room. The tree glows from the corner of the room, bathing it in a warm light as the two of you sit on the floor alongside Valeria’s bassinet. The scent of pine floods your nostrils, the sound of Bing Crosby’s Christmas album playing on the decade’s old stereo. You’re both drinking hot chocolate, not the instant kind. One made from traditional cocoa, something Angel had picked up along with the whipped cream and marshmallows.

It's perfect, this moment. Your little family taking a breath and enjoying the holidays. It’s been a hell of a year with everything that happened with Skye and then your recovery but you’re here celebrating the holiday season with your lover and daughter.

“You know, I thought you’d gone a little insane with all of this but now I get it.” You say as you survey the room, the tiny family heirlooms on the mantlepiece, the fairy lights intermingled with the wreath. “It’s beautiful.”

“You thought I’d lost my mind, didn’t you?” Angel teases as his lips brush over your temple.

“A little.” You admit, taking a sip of your hot chocolate. “But I get it. You want the perfect Christmas for our little girl, something like the ones you remember from your childhood.”

“My mom used to make it so special.” Angel tells you as his gaze comes to rest on the tiny handmade ornaments he’d made with his mom once upon a time. “Even when we were grown, we’d still come over, help her decorate. I want traditions like that with Valeria, with you...”

His hand comes to rest upon your stomach, his thumb smoothing over the place where his son resides. He knows it’s a boy, he can feel it in his bones. “Our new baby.”

“You haven’t told anyone right?” You murmur, your palm coming to rest upon his. “It’s still too early.”

“No Mi Reina I haven’t.” He says, tipping your chin up so you can meet his gaze. There’s such love in those eyes, such tenderness, such adoration. His lips brush over yours and it’s the sweetest kiss, so soft, so meaningful. His thumb ghosts along the line of your jaw and he smiles just a little as you moan into his mouth. “Isn't that what got us here in the first place?”

He draws away as Valeria mumbles grumbles in her sleep, his gaze slipping to his daughter.

“I can’t believe how blessed I am.” He tells you, his warm fingers splaying over your abdomen. “You, Valeria and little peanut are the best gifts I could have asked for.”

“It’s going to be a great Christmas.” You say entwining your fingers with his. “The best one yet.”

Love Angel? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#storiesofsvuholidaybingo2023 #angel reyes #angel reyes x reader #angel reyes x you #mayans mc fanfiction #mayans mc fic #mayans mc

[kelcemesoftly]

Heartbreak Series: Part 2 [[Lips of an Angel]] Song Imagine

Series: Heartbreak series, Part 2

Summary: Part two of the Heartbreak Series! This one is based off the song of Lips of an Angel by Hinder.

Words: 2041

Triggers: swearing is the only one :)

Might make this into a little series, but we will seeee. Let me know if y'all want another one to this series! I hope it comes across as angsty <3 As always, would love your thoughts!

Honey, why you calling me so late?

It's kinda hard to talk right now

Honey, why you crying, is everything okay?

I gotta whisper 'cause I can't be too loud

Travis had been doing his best to move on since his breakup with Y/N, reverting back to his old ways which consisted of going to clubs nightly, drinking until he was void of any feelings, and meaningless hookups. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to attempt another relationship ever again, simply because this breakup was so rough on him. Y/N was his best friend, the person he told all his secrets, and the one he knew he could always count on to support and encourage him after a rough game. The house was empty without you, the lack of pictures and decor on the wall a painful, brutal reminder that you were no longer there. 

It had been nine months since the breakup, and it was now the heart of football season. This meant that he wasn’t able to go out nearly as much due to early morning practices and late night meetings. While he didn’t want another relationship, couldn’t picture his future with anyone other than Y/N, he missed the companionship and normalcy of having someone to share his life with, someone to come home to after a long day at practice or after a shitty end to a game. That’s precisely why he was now dating Hailey, one of his previous hookups. The two had discovered that they had several things in common; both were extroverts, loved to party, and had an amazing family support system. He wouldn’t say that he loved her, and even if he did, it wasn’t the same way that he loved and cared for Y/N. He had never publicly shared that he was in a new relationship, but Hailey had shared several Instagram stories of her at the games and with him. For all intents and purposes, the public was well aware that Travis had moved on with a new girl. 

Travis and Hailey had gotten back to his house about an hour ago, having gone out with the team after their Sunday Night football win. This was a usual occurrence for him, but it didn’t feel right. It hadn’t felt right all season because Y/N wasn’t by his side. It was almost as if a stranger was accompanying him to these events, to these places, even though Hailey was his new girlfriend.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he cracked open a Bud Light, chugging half of the pounder in less than five seconds. Hailey had slipped away to his bedroom to decompress from the late night, but he wasn’t ready to go to bed quite yet. Plopping down on the couch, he flipped on the television while gripping the beer tightly in his large palm. Travis felt his cellphone vibrate in his pocket, his brows furrowed in confusion. It wasn’t like his teammates to text him at this hour, even the younger ones that could easily keep up with him at the club. It certainly wouldn’t be Jason or his parents reaching out to him, unless there was an emergency. The mere thought of something happening to one of his loved ones had his heart racing, hand darting into his pocket as he fished out his phone. 

Travis’ breath hitched when he saw Y/N’s appear on the screen. He hadn’t heard from you since you collected the rest of your things from their, or his, house. It didn’t take more than a second for him to open the message, relief spreading through his veins when he saw that you were just checking in on how he was doing. It was still strange for you to be asking him about that, but at least he knew that nothing was wrong with you, at least not physically. Travis was well aware that responding to you could send him down a rabbit hole that might be difficult to get out of, but quite frankly, he didn’t give a fuck in his drunken state. Truth be told, he wouldn’t have cared even if he was sober. His fingers typed out a response before he could comprehend what he was saying. His eyes stared at the screen, waiting to see if Y/N would respond to him. When he didn’t see the three dots appearing below his message to indicate you were typing, he assumed that you had sent the message to him by mistake. Downing the rest of his beer, he tossed the empty can onto the coffee table. He was just about to stand up and grab himself another drink, but he froze in place when he heard the familiar Facetime ringtone emitting from his phone. 

Answering your Facetime call would be a bad idea, a horrible idea, in fact, but he couldn’t not answer you. Not after he had spent every day since the breakup wondering how you were doing. His heart had been yearning for you, but he didn’t have the courage to reach out.  You were the one who had broken up with him, afterall.

After the third ring, the athlete came to his senses and answered the call, not wanting Hailey to hear it and question him about who was calling him at this time at night. Seeing Y/N again took his breath away, cheeks heating up as he saw your form on the other end. Travis would recognize you any time, any day, but your figure looked completely different than it had the last time he saw you. Your eyes weren’t sparkling. Your face was sunken in, looking void of all emotion. Your arms were thinner, clothes baggier. It took him no time at all to recognize all of this, and if his heart wasn’t already sinking to his stomach, it definitely was now.

“Y/N, what’s going on? You okay?” he whispered, his icy blue hues darting across the phone screen. You didn’t respond right away, and he thought that you might had not heard him. Before he was able to repeat his question, you piped up, your voice sounding meek and cracking by the end of your sentence. “Trav… I miss you.”

Well, my girl's in the next room

Sometimes I wish she was you

I guess we never really moved on

Travis’ jaw dropped when you said that you missed him. It had been something that he had been aching to hear since the breakup. But now… now he was in a relationship, and based on what his teammates had told him, so were you. If that were true, then why the fuck were you saying this to him right now? He’d been broken enough when you ended things with him, he didn’t need anymore salt being poured into his wounds. Any and all words left his mind, as if he was unable to form a cohesive thought. Swallowing thickly, he sat up with his elbows resting against his thighs, chest rising and falling with each breath he took. “Y/N… you’re drunk,” he said gently with a shake of his head. It was evident to him that you had more than a few drinks in your system. But, with that being said, Travis thought that you were being truthful with your words. There wasn’t one time since he met you that you’d lied to him. He was lost in his thoughts that he almost missed your next words.

“Drunk or sober, I’d be saying the same thing. I miss you,” you whimpered, tears springing to your eyes. You did your best to blink away the tears, but it was futile. As soon as he gave you that puppy dog look, you were a goner. Tears furiously fell down your cheeks as you bent your knees and brought them up to your chest. Your face buried into your legs, small whimpers being heard through the other end of the phone.

Travis’ heart was breaking as he watched you fall apart on the other side of the phone, wishing more than anything that he could hop through it and pull you into his muscular arms to comfort you. Seeing you cry was one of the most painful things for him to watch because all he wanted to do was take your sadness and suffering away. The drinks that he had consumed over the night, along with the Bud Light that he had just downed, were clearly catching up to him. Without a second thought, he reciprocated your words. “I miss you, too, baby.” 

It's really good to hear your voice saying my name

It sounds so sweet

Coming from the lips of an angel

Hearing those words, it makes me weak

And I never wanna say goodbye

But, girl, you make it hard to be faithful

With the lips of an angel

You lifted your head from its position on your legs, eyes peering back into the screen of your iPhone. The last thing you’d expected was for Travis to say that he missed you, too, that he felt the same way that you did. You blinked several times in an attempt to process if he’d actually said that or if your mind was playing tricks on you. Your eyelids squinted as you swallowed the lump in your throat. Your free hand came up to cover your face, not wanting your ex to see you having a complete breakdown. 

“Baby, don’t do that. Don’t hide away, you can look at me,” Trav encouraged, his voice even and collected. The one thing that you could always count on with him was that he’d be able to ground you, keep you calm, keep you rational in situations. And the damn pet name that he always used for you was your weakness, and he knew that. It was infuriating yet sweet at the same time. Slowly, you dropped your hand from your face, moving it to rest under your ass. When your eyes met his, you swore that your heart stopped beating. Even though he appeared dejected, Travis still looked as beautiful as ever. It was like a knife piercing your heart because you had let the perfect man escape from your life over a petty argument. And you beat yourself up about it every single day.

“I’m so, so sorry, Trav. I… I don’t know what I was thinking, why I did it. Why didn’t you stop me?” you questioned brokenly, digging her nails into the skin through your skimpy pajama bottoms. You knew that wasn’t a fair question at all because he did try and stop you. He pleaded with you as you packed your suitcases, begged you not to go as you threw your things into your car, followed you down the driveway, and called you as you drove away, promising you that the two of you could work this out. But, you were so angry in that moment that you didn’t want to listen. 

“I should’ve tried harder, Y/N. There’s no doubt about that,” Travis agreed, gripping the phone between both of his hands. Your face sank at his admittance. If he had come after you, you might not be so miserable right now, you both might not be so miserable. 

Travis knew that he was treading a dangerous line right now. He shouldn’t be calling you baby, he shouldn’t be admitting to his wrongdoing. Frankly, he shouldn’t be talking to you right now with Hailey in the next room. Still, he couldn’t pull himself away from you. Even though you weren’t physically in the same room, it’s like a magnet was pulling him to you. 

“What does this mean? Where do we go from here?” You questioned, well aware that both of you were in a new relationship. If Travis had asked you to leave your new boyfriend and come back to you, you’d do it in an instant. You didn’t think that would happen, though, because he was respectful and wouldn’t intentionally hurt the new woman that he was dating. 

As if you didn’t think he could break your heart any more, he did. “We’re both in new relationships, Y/N. There’s no us anymore."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @kelcemenow

#travis kelce #travis kelce imagine #travis kelce fanfic #travis kelce fic #part threeeee? who knows

[endless-summer-soldier]

dr. feelgood - chapter six

pairing: Surgeon!Bucky x SurgicalIntern!Reader

summary: Y/N has a one night stand with a handsome stranger the night before starting her new job as a surgical intern. Little does she know, the handsome stranger also happens to be her new boss

warnings: must be 18+, drinking, some surgery descriptions, smut, self-pleasure, praise kink, very minor character death, unprotected sex, rough sex

Word count: 1.8k

series playlist: here

taglist: @sebsgirl71479 @ozwriterchick @notmeddy @drewsuncrustables @lokidokieokie @hextech-bros @nats-whore @m4nulup1n @arcanebabe @tanyaspartak @jackiehollanderr @princezzjasmine @fallenlilangel99 @pono-pura-vida @mavrellover91 @milanaasblog @helluvapimp @almosttoopizza @esposadomd @charmedbysarge @theroyalmanatee @zannemes​​(message me to be added!)

series masterlist

Bucky walked into Pym’s and approached the table near the dartboard where his two best friends were currently sitting.

“Now that's what I call a good day’s work,” Bucky smiled.

Steve slid a bottle of Yuengling over to him and Bucky took a long swig, savoring the crisp malty flavor that caressed his taste buds. The three of them recounted the highs and lows of the day as if it was a drunken night out, smiling at their success. 

As soon as Y/N walked in, Bucky’s participation in the conversation ended due to his current distraction. He hoped that she might show up. It took her a few steps past the door to lock eyes with him. She gave a shy smile and waved, but continued on to the bar. It was only then that he realized Steve and Sam had seen the whole interaction.

“It’s a little inappropriate to think about sex during surgery, don’t you think?” Sam said, clearly directing the question toward Bucky.

Bucky shook his head, returning to reality, “What are you talking about?”

“Buck, you were making bedroom eyes at her all day,” Steve added.

“I was not!”

“I mean, she was making them too. So they must’ve hooked up already,” Sam mused.

“We-”

“She called you Buck,” Steve added.

“Only your closest friends and your girlfriends call you Bucky. Everyone else at the hospital calls you Barnes”

Bucky sighed, knowing he’d been caught.

“Tell us what happened,” Steve asked, settling in to hear him out.

Bucky looked toward his two friends and knew he couldn’t get out of this. He sighed, “She’s the mystery girl.”

Sam’s jaw dropped and Steve looked at Bucky in disbelief, “The mystery girl?”

After he spent the night with Y/N, he told Sam and Steve about the amazing girl he had met at the bar. What he did not mention was the interaction he had with Y/N later that day when he ran into her at the hospital.

“When I told you guys about her, I genuinely didn’t know who she was. And then I saw her at the hospital and realized she was an intern. I’ve been trying to figure out my next move ever since.”

“So you haven’t hooked up since then?” Steve asked.

“Wellllll…she did pull me into an on call room.”

“That little minx!” Sam chuckled, peeking towards Y/N. 

“But she was very clear that she doesn't want it to happen again.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Steve chimed in. “She was undressing you with her eyes all day.”

“Which is why I don’t know what to do.”

“You know what to do, go talk to her,” Sam replied, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“And say what?”

Both Sam and Steve looked at him incredulously. 

“Since when do you need help talking to women?” Steve commented.

“Y/L/N must really be something else. I’ve never seen you like this,” Sam added.

“This is not helping.”

“Just go talk to her!” Steve said, giving him a gentle shove toward the bar. One of the other interns had just left and there was a free seat open next to Y/N. Bucky chugged the rest of his beer before approaching the empty seat.

“Is it a tequila night or a whiskey night?” he asked her, hovering over her shoulder.

“Definitely tequila.”

Bucky flagged down Scott and ordered them two tequilas. He placed the shot glasses garnished with limes in front of them, along with a salt shaker to complete the routine.

Bucky took Y/N’s hand and gently licked a spot on the back of her hand between her thumb and index finger. She raised her eyebrows and looked at him with a shocked expression. He returned her gaze with a smirk and carefully poured the salt onto her hand.

“That,” she said, looking from her hand back up toward him, “was not appropriate.” Although she was scolding him, the look in her eye was playful.

“How about you do me and we’ll call it even?” He presented his hand toward her. She held his stare for a moment before giving in and slowly licking the back of his hand. Then she picked up the shaker and poured salt onto his hand.

“Are you guys going to take these shots or just make eyes at each other all night?” Scott called, with his boyish grin. 

“Easy there Scott, you’ve got some very loyal customers here,” Bucky retorted. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…” he waved them off, attending to another patron.

Bucky pulled the lime off the rim of his glass with his salted hand, then picked up the shot glass with his free hand and Y/N did the same. 

“To good days?” Bucky proposed, holding up his glass.

Y/N nodded, “To good days.” She tapped her glass to his and they both licked the salt, took the shot, and bit into the lime wedges.

“Ugh, I hate tequila,” Bucky said, placing what was left of the lime wedge into the shot glass.

“What!?” she turned toward him. “Why did you order it then?”

“Because I know you love it.” He took the seat next to her and ordered them a couple of beers to wash the flavor of agave from their tongues.

“I have to commend you on saving the day today,” he said.

“I was just doing my job,” she replied.

“Yes, but you outsmarted four attendings.”

She blushed, “I’m sure you would’ve caught it. You knew there was something missing.”

“You were also amazing with the patient. I don’t think anyone else could’ve kept him calm.”

“He was hardly calm,” she retorted.

“Will you just let me give you a compliment?”

She took a long swig of her beer, “That is a slippery slope.”

“Accepting a compliment?”

“Accepting a compliment…from you.”

“And why is that so bad?”

“Because it’ll make me like you more,” she admitted.

“Ahh…that explains it. I don’t know how to tell you this but you are going to fall in love with me eventually.”

She smiled at him as she rolled her eyes, “Maybe in your dreams.” 

“Oh, that’s already happened in my dreams. Along with some other fun activities.” He delivered the second sentence with a sultry air.

Although she wouldn’t admit it, her heart was racing at the thought of a repeat session with Bucky. It was a bad idea and it was something that should not happen again, but her eyes kept falling to his mouth and imagining his wet lips caressing her everywhere.

She distracted herself by flagging down Scott to order another shot of tequila, attempting to use alcohol to numb her feelings. She was surprised to see two shot glasses placed in front of them and Bucky reached for the second shot glass.

This was going to be an interesting night.

I had lost count of the amount of tequila that had been consumed, but I was surprised to find the bar completely empty except for Bucky and I. Scott announced last call but we decided against a final night cap, having consumed plenty already. 

After the second tequila shot, the conversation flowed easily between Bucky and I. It wasn’t just the usual flirty banter either. We talked more about our interests, had a friendly debate about our differing opinions, and we slowly grew closer and closer until I was regularly leaning on his shoulder and placing my hand on his leg.

It wasn’t until I wobbled up from the barstool that I realized how drunk I really was. Bucky steadied me and wrapped an arm around my shoulder saying, “Come on, let’s get you home.”

He pulled out his phone to call an Uber and I instinctively did the same until he questioned what I was doing. When I replied I was calling an Uber he stopped me and said he would take care of it.

“Bucky, it’s fine. I can get myself home.”

“Let me do this, I just want to make sure you get home safe.”

“Okay,” I said, not one to argue with his pleading eyes. A Nissan Altima pulled up almost instantly and Bucky opened the door for me before entering from the other side. It was a short ride to my house and we sat in comfortable silence. But I couldn’t help noticing the proximity of his hand near mine on the middle seat. It became a game to me. I’d slide my hand toward his, a fraction of an inch at a time. Finally the edge of my pinky gently rubbed up against his finger tips. He didn’t miss a beat. He placed his large hand directly on top of mine, interlacing his fingers so that he was gently gripping my palm. 

I felt like a teenager again. The butterflies dancing around my stomach threatened to spread a smile on my face. All because a boy I liked started holding my hand. Sometimes life really seemed so simple.

As we pulled up to my place, I expected Bucky to remain in the car. But instead he asked the driver to wait for one moment and he walked me to my door. We walked in silence but the tension between us was palpable. And I was drunk enough to know what my next move would be.

“Would you like to come in for a night cap?” I asked him.

He let out a sigh and I could read the divide on his face.

“I would like nothing more than that. However, we’ve both been drinking and you’ve made it very clear that you’d prefer things remain professional between us.”

I was kicking myself for pushing him away before because now the only thing I wanted was to bring him as close to me as possible. I was wracking my brain for what I could say that might convince him to stay, but I was too late. 

“Now go inside, drink a big glass of water, and get to bed,” he added, slowly backing up towards the Uber.

I watched him walk backwards to the car, maintaining eye contact with me. I had to come up with something soon, there were only a few steps left of his journey. 

He reached the Nissan and opened the back door. The minute he turned to climb in, I found my voice.

“Bucky, wait…”

He turned back toward me, those intense blue eyes piercing right through my soul.

“Please stay with me. I don’t want to be alone.”

He turned back toward the Uber driver and exchanged a few words before shutting the door. Then the car drove off, leaving Bucky standing in front of me with that signature smirk on his face.

He gently shook his head and said, “I’m never going to be able to say no to you, am I?”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes doctor au

[twilghtkoo]

can you please do 9 on the prompt list with jealous haechan 🥺

love foolish

pairings. haechan x (f) reader

genre. fluff, angst if u squint

warnings. mentions of alcohol and cigarettes

prompts: #9 “hug me back please”

prompt list | series masterlist | taglist

-

if this wasn’t a reason to add to his very short, but justifiable list of reasons ‘why i like to stay home’, then he doesn’t know what anything anymore. his beer is getting warm and all the condensation from his glass has formed a puddle of water on the table. if you were right here next to him, you’d tell him to clean it up and use a napkin. but some wanna be “underground” rapper has your attention. he air quotes ‘underground’ because that’s what the guy self-proclaimed himself as. and you smiled when he said it! 

you’ve noticed haechan scoffing behind you as you kindly make a pity conversation to the guy who won’t leave you alone. he smells like cigarettes and you swear if he stands in front of you any longer you might bash your head against the bar counter. yes, you’ve noticed haechan acting bratty. but he knows you’re too kind of a human-being to tell the stranger to fuck off. and with his position and the setting he’s in, he can’t tell the guy, so he’s sulking while sipping on his room temperature beer. 

the guy finally leaves after he hands you a folded piece of paper that he had taken out from his jacket pocket, a flyer with information about a performance you heard him say. your lips firmly closed in a tight lipped smile, watching him leave and disappear into the crowd so he can’t see you toss the paper on the counter for someone else to take care of it. 

“finally,” haechan groans, leaning off the counter to take a step towards you and engulf you in a hug. your arms stay at your side. 

“why are you being a brat?” 

“who?” 

lightly pushing him off, “you!” you exclaim, pointing your finger at him. and it almost stings him inside when you push him away.

rolling his eyes, “i’m not being a brat.” he grumbles. 

now you’re the one rolling your eyes. “yeah, okay.” you let it go. sitting yourself on the bar stool and taking away haechan’s glass to take a sip, but you grimace at the taste of the warm beer, face scrunching up in disgust. you quickly ordering yourself a drink. 

you feel haechan stand closer behind you, his hand finding a place on your waist, his front pressed against your back.

the bartender placed your drink in front of you and you politely thank them. bringing the straw to your lips as the fruity drink satisfies your taste buds. as if you weren’t lowkey annoyed with your boyfriend, you still raise the cup to his lips as he takes a sip from the straw. your boyfriend’s outrageously expensive cologne is a pleasant and warm scent to your nose. the one he always wears when you both go out because he knows you love the fragrance on him.

haechan hums in approval at the drink. his hand that was on your waist travels down to your exposed thigh from your short mini black skirt that accentuates your waist and makes your ass look good. traveling back up and past your waist as his hands stay put on your bare rib cage from the cutout of your matching black top. you looked beautifully sexy tonight. no wonder that sorry looking wannabe rapper had came up to you earlier. but you’re his woman. you’re his girl.

and he wants to go home with you and fucking take this sultry outfit off of you with his teeth.

his sinful hands are now harmlessly wrapping them around your waist in a back hug. burying his face in the curve of your neck, peppering small kisses on your skin, breathing in your scent.

“hug me back please.” he softly whimpers.

he feels your shoulders rise and fall when you sigh, reaching behind you to grab onto his shirt to pull him in front of you between your legs.

you never want to invalidate haechan’s feelings. understanding where he’s coming from and why he’s acting the way he is.

you silently wrap your arms around him, wanting to drown in his scent as you cling onto the fabric of his shirt. your face pressed up against his chest.

“i was internally begging for that guy to leave you know.” you tell him, as each second grows in your arms he softly melts into your touch.

his body shakes in your arms from him laughing, and you swear in this moment, where you are right now in his arms, felt like your oasis.

“i know, i was being a brat.” he admits, kissing your temple.

you tilt your head back to look up at him. “it’s okay, don’t stress yourself out with this kind of stuff baby boy. you’re taking me home.” you flirt, wiggling your brows and grinning widely before he smashes his lips against yours.

-

taglist @n0hyuck @matchahyuck @neosdaisy send an ask or message to be removed! or fill out the google form to be added :D

#yeow6n #love foolish: ldh #last post for the day 😭 will post tmr!! #haechan fluff #lee donghyuck #haechan #nct fluff #nct dream #haechan imagines #haechan drabbles #haechan series #nct series #haechan fic #nct fic #nct suggestive #haechan suggestive #boyfriend!haechan #haechan oneshot #haechan drabble series #nct drabble series #lee donghyuck x yn #lee donghyuck fluff #lee donghyuck smut #lee donghyuck suggestive #lee haechan #nct haechan

[lifewithdavefarts]

(18+ CONTENT) A series of kinky fart stories about two best buds in their late 20s/early 30s: Tim, a gay guy with a fart fetish, and Dave, his gassy, straight best bud (and, eventually, roommate).

Due to Tumblr pages not working properly, I'm going to use (as long as the website lets me) this post as the episode list, a hopefully useful way to "quick access" the entire series.

Including the very first episode, there are currently 30 available stories and the list below is going to be updated whenever new ones are being written/coming soon.

Thanks everyone and have (kinky) fun!

0. Dave, My Best Friend

1. FartsApp

2. Emergency Shower

3. Fart Race

4. Post Gym Gas

5. Drunken Fart Contest

6. Fart Bet, Easy Bucks

7. The Noisy Roommate

8. Lather, Rinse, Inhale!

9. Trapped In The Closet

10. The Elevator

11. VoiceFarting

12. Audio Mixing

13. When She Finally Leaves

14. Lights, Camera, Farts!

15. OnlyFarts

16. Just a Beer

17. Fart Pillow

18. Double T

19. Quick Session 🔊

20. Camping (T)Rip

21. No Fart Run

22. Road Rip 🔊

23. Smells Like Sheet

24. Windy Mountain

25. Endurance Test

26. Critical Stink

27. Spicy Gas

28. Ass Kisser, Ass Sniffer

29. Ripped Ripper

30. ???

#eproctophilia #davefarts #fart kink #fart story

[obaex]

the one that chases you (two) - rafe cameron/jj maybank

summary: you adjust to life back on figure 8 and realize how much you missed it and how much someone there missed you

word count: 2k

series masterlist

You slept fitfully, tossing and turning and weren't surprised when you found yourself lying in your bed watching the sun rise through bloodshot eyes. What was the first stage of grief? Denial? You were well passed that. There was no denying that JJ Maybank had no interest in holding down a relationship with you long term and was probably already circling in on his next hookup. The thought made you nauseous.

No, you were pretty sure you had successfully crossed into the next stage, anger. You regretted every moment that you spent wasted on him, pining over him. The things you had done with him, the way you had let him have your body after going on two 'dates' which consisted of hanging out at The Wreck with all of his friends. You were furious with him and with yourself. How could you be so naïve? How could you let him fool you like that?

Your anger pushed you out of bed as you began opening the drawers of your dresser, pulling out his t-shirts, hats, bandanas, and pictures of the two of you together, throwing them in a carboard box in the corner of your room, eager to erase his memory. That did little to quell that storm raging in your body; you looked down to see your hands shaking. You needed to blow off some steam. Your eyes landed on your nike running shoes. You used to run all the time, but had blown it off to hang out on the cut, indulging in weed, beer and whatever fried food Kie could scrounge up from The Wreck to share. You changed quickly, pulling on your sneakers and grabbing your airpods before thinking about it further.

You stretched half-heartedly in your driveway, pulling up your favorite playlist and then you let your feet carry you down your normal path, pounding the pavement, sending shockwaves up your calves and quads, arms pumping at your side. You were sprinting before long, trying to release the anger and frantic energy inside of you, craving the tightness in your legs and the burning in your lungs. No way you were going to make it more than a mile at this speed, but you didn't care. The pain felt good, both punishing and rewarding. Around the one mile mark, you had to stop, keening over, hands on your knees to catch your breath. You were sorely out of shape and you were sure your diet of bud light and fruit rollups over the last month wasn't helping anything.

You were bent over, taking heaving inhales and exhales when another figure ran by you at a lightning pace. You looked up quickly enough to see Rafe Cameron on a run of his own in a cutoff tank top, athletic shorts and his own pair of airpods. He acknowledged you with a brief wave and a smile as he rounded the block ahead of you. You didn't even have time to wave back as you struggled to catch your breath, your mind suddenly racing with the memories of the two of you running together almost every morning, matching each other's pace, taunting one another, racing each other. That had stopped when you started hanging out on the cut. JJ had made it clear that Rafe wasn't someone he wanted you spending time with.

Part of you wanted to run and catch up with Rafe, to explain what had happened, to apologize. But at the same time, he had just run right by you, he didn't seem phased. Not to mention, your legs were shot and there was no way you were catching up to him now. You turned around and walk-jogged back to your house.

When you got home you made yourself a protein shake, your body eagerly soaking up the first healthy nutrients you had fed it in months. You slid into the shower, letting the hot water soak your skin and indulging in the expensive beauty products that had been untouched for weeks, since you had nearly lived at the chateau where the boys only had three-in-one shampoo, conditioner and body wash. Which, upon further review, was extremely sus.

You spent the day at the beach with Sarah, soaking in the heat of the early summer sun. You could tell she was torn, wanting to spend time with you, while also wanting to spend time with John B and his friends. You had no desire to go back to the chateau, but you didn't want to make your situation her problem so that night she went to hang out with them without you, bringing the box of JJ's stuff with her as you stayed home alone. And honestly, the solitude wasn't the worst thing in the world. You made yourself dinner with the fresh ingredients your parents kept at home; you had been chugging water all day following your run and you had the first tanlines of the season. You felt good. It was like the haze was parting on the last six months of your life and you were finally getting back to who you were.

The next morning as you laced up your sneakers for your run, you could feel how sore your legs were. This was going to be brutal. You stretched out as best you could and then began to jog, trying to maintain a more reasonable pace than yesterday. You had slowly found your rhythm, your legs and lungs screaming in protest as you passed the one-mile mark and pushed forward.

"Y/L/N!" you heard someone shout, turning to see Rafe running up to you. He slowed his pace to match yours as you paused your music.

"Cameron" you acknowledged

"It's been a while" he said, a statement that hung in the air like a question: Where have you been? Why did you leave?

"Aw, Cameron, you missed me!" you teased

"Missed the look on your face every time I outran you"

"Nice try" you said, reaching out and shoving him with one arm as you both laughed. You continued in silence for a while, your breathing clearly more labored than his.

"You don't have to slow down to keep pace with me" you conceded.

"Eh, it's technically my rest day, I can afford to go easy" he said.

You glanced up at him, catching him smiling at you before returning focus to his run.

So began a daily routine, up early for runs with Rafe in the morning, days spent soaking in the sun and enjoying life back on Figure 8. You noticed the physical effect this was having on you: your morning runs and healthier diet had you leaner, days spent in the sun chugging water instead of napping all day and drinking beer had given you a deep tan and cleared your skin.

When you were hanging with the pogues it felt like a constant bash-fest for everything on this side of the island. Sure, Figure 8 had it's issues and assholes, but if you were honest you missed the comforts of this life, your plump mattress, the fully stocked refrigerator, air conditioning and showers that always ran hot. What surprised you most of all was how much you had missed Rafe. You had always been good friends; you felt like you knew a side of him that he didn't share with other people. You had relished that. But you had dropped it all the minute JJ said he didn't like Rafe and didn't want you hanging out with him. You didn't even question it, not wanting to strain your new relationship. You let Rafe's text messages and phone calls go unanswered until they slowed and stopped as he was resigned to your silence.

All of this was playing on an endless loop in your head on your run the following morning when Rafe interrupted you, taking in the scowl on your face, "I can hear the gears turning in your head from here, what's on your mind?"

You slowed your pace to a stop, putting a hand on his arm to slow him down with you. "Rafe, I owe you an apology. I am so sorry for how I acted. I can't believe I just ignored you like that" you said, running the back of your hand over your sweaty brow. "It's no excuse at all, I'm my own person, but JJ just had this hold on me. He had a way of eclipsing every part of my life and he didn't want me hanging out with you anymore. He made me promise."

"He what?" Rafe's tone surprised you

"You know how it is. Kooks hate the Pogues, Pogues hate the Kooks and you are the poster child for this side of the island. He said we couldn't be together if I was friends with 'King Kook'. I-I didn't know what to do, but I chose him over you. And I regret it. Seriously, I'm sorry."

Rafe was pacing back and forth with his hands on his head. A look of confusion, frustration, sadness and latent anger on his face. You could see a tic in his jaw as he worked it back and forth, thinking about how to respond.

"Please say something" you said, your mind whirling. You didn't have JJ anymore, you were constantly having to share your best friend, you didn't want to lose Rafe too. As your adrenaline began to crash from your run and the feeling of anxiety over the abandonment you'd felt over the last few weeks caught up to you, you felt your eyes begin to water and you began to take deep breaths to prevent the tears from spilling over.

Rafe clocked the shift in your breathing and when he looked at you and saw tears in your eyes, it felt like a vice on his heart.

"Hey, hey" he said, "none of that, come here" as he wrapped you in his arms in a strong hug. Your skin stuck together, slick from the sweat of your run. The feeling of your warm body against his slowed his heartbeat. The feeling of his arms around you slowed yours.

"Are you mad at me?” you asked, your voice muffled against his chest

"Honesty? I was, for a long time. I just didn't understand what I did wrong."

"You didn't do anything wrong!"

"Yeah, I know that now. If I would have known then that Maybank was behind all of this I would have caved his face in."

"Rafe!"

"Still might"

"Rafe!" you said, louder this time, pulling yourself from his arms to shove him away playfully.

"Can you blame me?" he said, his tone uncharacteristically serious. "We went from spending nearly every day together to complete silence overnight. I-I wasn't ok Y/N."

"I had no idea, Rafe. Sarah didn't say anything."

"Sarah didn't know, no one did. You know I don't let a lot of people in, least of all my sister. I don't deal well with people leaving like that, you know with my mom and everything..." he trailed off and started pacing again, chewing his thumb nervously, avoiding eye contact with you.

You couldn't believe you had been so selfish. You had never stopped to consider how your absence would affect him. Your heart squeezed as you watched him before putting your arms around him again. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

He slowly put his arms around you, sinking into your hold. "You promise?"

"I promise."

JJ was sitting up in bed, head pounding with the beginning of the day's hangover as he glanced at the naked girl beside him before reaching for his phone. He tapped through the insta stories from the night before before landing on one that grabbed his attention.

He whipped his phone across the room in anger and it bounced against the cardboard box of his belongings in the corner.

part three series masterlist

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