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Wolf Keum needed to chill the fuck out. You don’t know why he was wound up so tightly that all it would take was a look from someone else, and he’d snap. You weren’t friends with him by any means, nor were you all that interested in the guy. You kept to yourself, and he did his own thing. He left you alone as long as you minded your business.
The first time you suggested it, you meant it completely as a joke. He was as high strung as ever, all worked up, hissing and cursing like a wet cat, wounds deep and fresh from another fight the night before. You both just lived in the same dorms, attending the same university. You weren’t even sure why he was there to be honest, as he seemed way more interested in acting like a thug than a student. The amount of times he stumbled through the dorms piss drunk, dripping blood from his knuckles, and grinning like a mad man was more than you could count on both hands.
It was one of those times, his eyes bloodshot with rage, and he was stomping out an asshole from the physical education department who had the habit of spiking drinks. You had no sympathy for the guy. At least, Wolf only went after people who usually deserved it. If you respected him and his rules, you were perfectly safe to be near him. The moment you crossed one of his many boundaries, or you pissed him off, it was game over.
He spat on the asshole who was sniveling in a ball, and you called out, “Take a chill pill, Wolfy, before you give yourself a heart attack.”
“Piss off,” he snarled in response.
You hummed, not meeting his eyes, “Just friendly advice. If you want a way to cool off, let me know. I got something to help take the edge off.”
He gave you a weird look, like he was actually considering it, giving you a flash of teeth in an expression you thought was supposed to be a smile. He snickers, “Yeah, I’ll hit you up when I feel like it.”
You didn’t think he meant it, but when he showed up, pounding on your door at three in the morning, you were too sleep-addled to think too hard. You let him in, not minding that you were nothing except your oversized sleep shirt. Wolf was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a creep. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was only sexually attracted to violence because rumor has it Wolf hadn’t had a single guest over to his dorm room, nor had he been over to anyone else’s.
Something in him is stiff and tense. His movements are stilted, and you realize he reeks of cigarette smoke and blood. He’s got a few bruises on his face, but he’s otherwise unharmed. The dim lighting of just the lamp you popped on was painting the planes of his face rather generously, and you could see the allure other girls’ talked about. Wolf was living adrenaline, and it would be delicious to hold it for a while. See if he could set you on fire, like an IV drip of caffeine, have you as wound up as the Energizer Bunny.
“I want to try.”
You raised an eyebrow. You couldn’t believe he was actually down to try, but whatever floats his boat. You hum, “Did you have anything to drink tonight?”
“No.”
“Good, don’t want you crossed for your first try.”
You grind and pack the bowl, figuring smoking was always the best bet. You had some edibles too, but those were a different monster. Pens were alright, but you preferred the classics. You demonstrated how you did it to him, and he studied you behind those nerdy ass glasses. You showed him where to place his thumb when he inhaled.
“It’s not like cigarettes. Don’t blow it out immediately, hold it.”
He tried, eyes watering with the massive hit he took. You laughed when he coughed it out immediately, not even giving it a chance to settle.
“Come on, gotta do better than that, Wolfy. Don’t take in so much. I don’t need you greening out.”
You showed it to him, and after he managed to hold down a few small hits, you called it quits. You directed him to sit in your bed, wrapping him up in your blankets as you settled into your own comfortable position.
“I’m going to play some music. Let me know if it freaks you out.”
You scroll through your playlists, finding the one you usually used. Wolf was the most relaxed you had ever seen, though you could see that he was still so stiff you could shove coal up his ass and come out with diamonds. He probably just wasn’t any good at getting high.
You shared a quiet two hours, getting up at some point to grab some chips to snack on. Wolf was just sitting, head tilted up to look at the glow-in-the dark stars you pressed on your ceiling. When he was done with the faint high you gave him, he quietly left, not even thanking you for sharing your weed. Bastard.
The next time he showed up, he was walking with a limp. He tells you he had gotten into a bar fight, and he needed something to take the edge off before he killed someone. You figured with it being just the both of you in the dorm room, you were his nearest option for murder.
“Let’s try something else. You struggle with the bowl, so let’s try shotgunning.”
Wolf tilted his head like a dog. How fitting. You waved your hand, ushering him over to your bed. You threw a blanket over his shoulders, starting your playlist before you went about packing your bowl again.
You quietly talked him through what you were going to do. “I’ll inhale and blow it, all you have you to do is bring it in. Pretend you’re swallowing, then breathe out. Make sure to hold in for a few seconds, or you’ll never get it.”
Wolf was less than impressed when you climbed on his lap, but his hands landed on your waist despite his frown. You took a hit, cupping Wolf’s jaw. Both your lips were parted, as he inhaled when you exhaled. He shut his mouth, a little smoke escaping from his nose before he blew it out again. You could see immediately that it was a better method for him. You only shared a few hits with him, worried it’ll be too much. When you were done, you climbed off his lap, and the both of you relaxed as the high set in only a few minutes later.
Wolf looked dopey, eyes relaxed, the wrinkles of his permanent scowl softening, and you could see the gray of his gaze contrasted nicely against the redness of his sclera. His voice was soft, gentle, when he asked, “Can I keep doing this?”
“Sure, but gotta pay your way. Free trial is over.”
Wolf nodded slowly. You used an Indica strain, enjoying the relaxation and drowsiness it gave you. He seemed to be enjoying the effects too. About an hour in, his voice cracked when he asked, “Can I lay down?”
“Yeah, buddy. Whatever makes you the most comfortable. Let me know if you’re getting paranoid or need some weight on you.”
Wolf was burrowing into your bed after that, his feet outstretched into your lap from where you sat on the other side of your bed. He mumbles, “Feels good.”
He drifts off, and you pull out some more snacks to munch on, not really sure what else to do.
It becomes a regular thing, Wolf showing up at least once a week to smoke with you. He pays either with wads of cash that were too much, or he brings you meals and snacks that you’d never splurge on yourself. It’s a pretty solid schedule.
He’s gotten into less fights recently, and he seems pretty content just to get high with you, snuggle into your bedding, and pass out. He’s also gotten a little touchier when it comes to shotgunning. He’s all too eager to drag you into his lap, run his hands across your waist, and splay a massive hand across your back. He moves in too close when he’s inhaling, his lips brushing against yours.
You don’t mind it. He’s an attractive guy. If he wants to put the moves on you, well, you certainly won’t complain.
It’s a little bit past three months in your arrangement, when he tries something new. His tolerance has gotten higher, and your sessions run longer. He asks quietly, holding you from escaping his lap, “Can I kiss you?”
You nod your permission, and it’s a slow, lazy, messy kiss. He’s enjoying every drag of his tongue across yours, taking his time to slip his hands up the back of your shirt. You can taste the faintest hint of weed from your shared smoke.
He breaks your kiss, a thin string of saliva connecting you. He asks again, “Can I touch you?”
“Please,” you say, enjoying how the warmth of his hands feels against the sensitive skin of your back and stomach.
He’s back to kissing you, swallowing you whole as the mutual high sets in, making it feel a hundred times better. His touch feels like electricity when he barely manages to fumble off your bra, fingertips hesitantly brushing underneath your breasts. He seems shy about it, slowly encroaching further and further up into he’s rolling a nipple beneath a finger. Your moans are muffled by his kiss, refusing to let you break away to breathe or encourage his actions. He thrusts his hips into you, and from your position straddling his lap, you can feel how hard he is. You grind down lazily, and he groans. It’s a deep, hoarse sound, and it only adds more fuel to the fire, encouraging you to keep it up, until you’re both panting messes.
His hands drop to grip your waist, holding you down with a strength that excites you. It doesn’t take too much longer when he buries his face into your shoulder, mouthing hickies into your neck when he finishes with the softest little moan.
You’re both sweating from the strain when you roll off him, not completely satisfied. He’s not a selfish lover though, and when he’s managed to pull himself back together, he requests permission to help you reach his level. His hand slips into your underwear. You’ve continued to wear just large shirts that hang to just above your knees around him. You can tell he’s inexperienced as he fumbles to find the right spot, pressure, and motion, but your breathy instructions help him along.
When he’s done, and you’ve shattered under his touch, he pops his fingers into his mouth and licks them clean. He stands up, offering you a satisfied smile with his tousled hair. He plants an innocent, closed-mouth kiss on your lips before he leaves you.
Wolf likes his consistency. He still comes over, gets high with you, and your make out sessions keep leading to you both cumming from dry humping. It’s pretty great, if you’re being honest. He’s always careful to ask your consent, even high as a kite. You don’t see each other outside of it, but it doesn’t matter to you. He’s not your boyfriend. He’s just the scary guy on campus who you get high with once a week.
He asks before he can get too carried away grinding up against you. His voice is hesitant, but he’s clearly determined, pulling off his glasses to set them aside.
“Can I eat you out?”
Holy fuck. That’s not just something guys offer to do out of nowhere. You haven’t even given him head before, so he’s not returning the favor. You’re a little too eager, as you lay on your back. You can see he’s watching you for your reactions, your legs tossed over his shoulders, a hand buried in his soft hair.
He applies the lessons he’s learned from getting you off, keeping the same tricks of pressure and motions. He doesn't seem to care about the taste or the mess, diving in right away. He has your eyes rolling back, pressing him further in with your hold on his hair in an impressively short time for his first attempt at it. He wipes at his wet cheeks with the back of his hand, coming up to kiss you again. He tastes like you.
“Your turn,” you offer, but you notice the flush on his cheeks, and the small shake of his head.
He rises to his feet, and you realize why he doesn’t need to take your offer. It seems Wolf thoroughly enjoyed the experience too.
It’s been going on for almost six months now. It’s pretty much the perfect friends-with-benefits situation except you weren’t friends with Wolf. He just shows up, gets high, gets you both off, and then depending on his mood, he either hangs around to loosely cuddle with you or he returns to his own dorm. He makes no real move to get to know you besides getting to know how best to touch you. You’ve only given him head once, and while he thoroughly enjoyed the experience, he seems to prefer to get off by himself, usually through grinding against you or by palming himself through his pants as he eats you out.
You’re not committed to him though. You’re not his girlfriend. Which is why you agree to going on a date with a guy from one of your general classes. He’s cute, soft-spoken, a little on the nerdy side. He’s pretty much the polar opposite of Wolf. You pay for your own coffee when you meet up on your date, which is a little stingy, but you get it, and then he starts spouting off about his ideal woman knowing her place and being the perfect wife.
At that point, you’re just looking for a way out. Luckily, it comes with a furious Wolf Keum. He comes stomping up to your table, looking like he’d like to put the nerd's face through the glass window you’re sitting by.
“Wolf! I totally forgot about our project. I’m really sorry, but I have to go.”
You stand up quickly, collecting your things. Unfortunately, Wolf doesn’t really budge. He stands directly in the way of you getting up to leave. It’s a little awkward, trying to balance between a massive wall of rage-driven muscle, and the wooden booth you had attempted to slide out of.
“Of course, you’re fucking some Chad. All women are the same,” your date hisses out, hatred and condescension dripping from his voice.
“His name is Wolf, not Chad? Speaking of, Wolf, move.”
You try to shove at Wolf’s shoulder, but it’s like pushing against a brick wall. If he doesn’t want to move, you’re not going to get anywhere. You’d have better luck crawling over the booth or under the table to get around him, which is too embarrassing to do in a busy coffee shop that’s already staring at Wolf silently glaring at your date.
The nerd shoves his glasses up his nose, huffing, “Don’t come running back to me when he knocks you up, abuses you, and leaves you for a hotter, younger woman in a few years.”
Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. The guy had seemed so normal when he asked you out, but he’s clearly spent too much time online and on weird websites.
“The fuck did you just say?” Wolf asks slowly, and the nerd freezes, seeming to remember exactly who he was insulting when he roped Wolf into his complaints about you.
You’d rather not be an accomplice to murder, so you urge again, “Dude, let’s go. I’m done here.”
“Slut.”
That’s it for the nerd. You think Wolf is about to catch an assault charge, but his lips just curl up in amusement.
Wolf grabs you by the chin, leaning down and planting a filthy kiss on you. It was definitely not safe for public viewing, all sharp teeth and sharper smiles. He’s looking at your date as he did it, and you can feel his smile only grow wider when he pulls away after a moment.
“The next time I see you, you’re dead,” he warns before sliding his hand down to your wrist. He sets a furious pace, others scattering out of his way as he hauls you across the campus. You smile awkwardly in an attempt to reassure passerbyers.
He brings you to his dorm room, ignoring your questions about what’s going on. He locks the door behind him after he shoves you inside, and you’re beginning to think he’s about to murder you. He snarls, “Why the fuck are you seeing other people?”
“Uh?”
It feels like he’s hunting you, slowly advancing on you until your back hits a wall and you have nowhere else to run. He’s looming over you, expression cold and pinched. He slid off his glasses, setting them aside.
“Am I not doing enough? Have I not made sure you’re taken care of?”
“Well, no, but…”
“So, why the fuck are you going out with some loser like that?”
He grabs you by the hair at the nape of your neck, tugging your head back, forcing you to look at him. He’s not pulling all that hard, as long as you go with his whims.
“If it’s because we haven’t fucked yet, I can fix that right now.”
“Slow down,” you beg, still trying to catch up. Was he trying to imply you were together?
“No,” he hums, giving you an almost feral smile.
He gets closer and closer, until your faces are inches apart, and you’re itching to lean up and close the gap. It’s not like you’re unfamiliar with Wolf. You’ve been casually hooking up, just without the actual sex for months.
“Tell me to stop, or I’m gonna fuck you so hard you can’t even think about anyone else but me.”
You don’t tell him to stop. You just help him strip off his shirt, so you can run your hands across his immaculate shoulders, dense with built muscles, down his strong arms that you’re certain could crush you if he felt like it. He particularly enjoys it when your nails scratch down the length of his stomach, lean and muscular.
After that, you can’t really keep up with his actions. He’s all over you, armed with tongue and teeth, licking, biting, and sucking hickies across your throat in a necklace you’d have to hide with high collared shirts for the next week. He strips you of your shirt and bra, hands hot against your bare skin as he explores every inch of you. You’re not new lovers. This is entirely because he’s fascinated with marking you in every spot that catches his attention, just above your navel, under the soft skin of your breasts, on top of your heart.
He drops his pants, and you lift your hips to help him pull down yours, trying to keep you both even in terms of clothing amount. You’re not shy, he’s seen it all before. He slots his thigh between your legs, providing pleasant friction, as he returns back up to kiss you in a mess of saliva, he pulls away to shove his fingers in your mouth, watching with a smug look on his face as you coat the intrusion with your shared spit, teeth catching on his skin to remind him that you can choose to bite back.
He shoves aside your underwear, slipping a finger into you. He knows how you work, opening you up to slide in a second finger, hitting just the right spot to have your fingernails digging into his broad shoulders, head tossing back to pant a bit.
He pulls out before you can finish, despite your whine. He licks off the mess before asking, “Can I fuck you now?”
You’re eager to nod your consent, but he doesn’t move until you voice it. His hands burn against your thighs, and the wall is rough against your naked spine as he picks you up. He slides into you slowly, with a groan that has you nearly cumming from how hedonistic it was. His movements are slow, teasing, testing out the best way to fuck you deeper. He hits the spot by chance that has you moaning in his ear from where you’re hanging onto him, arms wrapped around his neck, face pressed against his neck, and it’s like you’ve lit a fire in him.
You bite his shoulder to muffle yourself, and it seems you’ve discovered a new kink for him because he slams up into you so hard you see stars. You both don’t last long, too worked up from the build-up, months of just playing around, just touching and licking, but never really fucking.
He finishes right after you do, your eyes squeezing shut, panting as you try and work through the waves of pleasure that have you going a little numb, while he just says your name in a hoarse voice. He drops you on the bed, and you can see a bruise in the shape of your bite mark on his shoulder, and his back has a few bloody nail prints from where you held onto for dear life.
You pull on his discarded shirt that he flung on his bed, burrowing under the covers to pass out because you’re honestly exhausted and don’t think you could walk. He climbs in after you. You’re a little hesitant, not really sure where you stand until he drags you into him, resting your head on his chest where you can feel the race of his heartbeat thudding against your cheek.
After a little blissed out nap, he drags you to his shower, where he gets on his knees, and you pray your feet don’t slip. You’ve got bitemarks everywhere, and bruises on your hips from where he held you as he fucked you against a wall earlier. When he's made you a trembling mess, he turns you around, bends you over, leaving you to claw at the shower tile as he fucks you from behind. You're overly sensitive, but you don't want him to stop, too entranced by the way he says your name.
He’s got stamina, ready to go for another round in the bed, where he’s got you nearly folded in half, swallowing your moans of his name with an open-mouth kiss. You think you’re going to shatter to pieces as his hands burn across your thighs, up your hips, against your waist, over your breasts, and back down to force you to finish before him, rubbing a familiar pattern, knowing all too well how to get you to fall apart, his own hips stuttering from his rhythm to follow after you shortly.
You need more than a nap. You’re going to be so sore tomorrow, and you’ll definitely be bruised. He hums, and you can feel the vibration in his chest against your back from where you’ve curled up against him, exhausted. You're not even sure how you survived; he was insatiable.
He sounds proud when he reminds you, “I can take care of you, so no need to see those other fuckers.”
“Fucking isn’t the same as dating, Wolfy.”
“I can do that too.”
“What if I’m not interested?”
“I’m better than the asshole you were with today.”
“You know dating is more than smoking weed and fucking, right?”
“I bring you dinner all the time.”
He might have a point there, but the dinner was usually just something you ate when you got the munchies. You ask because if you’re going to give this a shot, you need to know if he’s genuinely interested in you, or if he’s just not the type to share his current bed partner. “You want to get to know me, and not just show up in the middle of the night after a bar fight to fuck, right?”
“Ideally, both.”
Well, at least he’s honest. You rub your eyes, too tired to continue this very strange conversation where the campus’s resident psychopath is attempting to convince you to date him. “Alright, cool, fine, sounds good.”
Awkwardly enough, it’s the longest you’ve both spoken sober, and it was just debating if dating was possible between you. You know more about how he breathes, how he sleeps, and how he fucks than you actually know about him, stuck in the weird place of knowing someone physically without knowing a damn thing about them emotionally or mentally. His every touch feels like sparks against your skin, and your mouth goes dry when you think about how he looked fucking you, smug smile, prideful gaze, like he was entitled to every inch of you, scruffy hair even messier than usual, his skin tasting like sweat from the effort he put in to making you see stars.
In the morning, you rise before him. He’s curled around you, and you can feel he’s hard against you. You wiggle your hips experimentally, and he grinds right back, chasing the source of pleasure. It gives you an evil idea, and you roll, an arduous task with his heavy arm slung over you. You stare at his sleeping face. He’s pretty, when he’s not scowling, dark lashes framing an intense gaze, a strong jawline, a pointed nose, and a mouth capable of obscenities. His skin is pale, but small scars across his browline reveal his past as a fighter. You’ve seen him bleed from the temple a few times after another fight that got him kicked out of a bar. He wore designer brands, and his ability to keep getting back into places he was supposedly kicked out of the previous week told you he had money. You don't think he'd be a bad boyfriend, certainly wasn't a bad lay. His build was freaking fantastic, made of a bulky upper body, clearly capable of picking you up, based off of yesterday’s experience, you’d bet it could be a regular thing for him too. He seemed to enjoy it hard and fast, and in complete control of you. Your hips and legs ached, but that didn’t stop you from teasing him awake, kitten nips to his throat and butterfly kisses to his face.
Once he was up, you asked, “Down to go again?”
He chuckled, voice still raspy with his drowsiness. “Think you can handle it?”
You shoved his shoulder, forcing him to lay on his back. He lifted his hips at your insistence, pulling down the boxers he must’ve pulled on when you were passed out. You lick your palm, running it up his erect length. He’s propping himself up on his elbows, content to lean back and watch you work. You pull off your underwear, tossing them aside before you slowly sit down on him. It’s a new sensation, and you take your time. The sheets crumple under his palms, and you realize he’s holding himself back. That simply won’t do.
Once he’s completely sheathed inside you, and your hips are flush, you experimentally rise and drop your hips, slowly, savoring the small burn as he stretches you out, and the drag of him as you shift to find the proper angle to get him even deeper. You’re keeping eye contact. His dark gray eyes are enough to make you feel like you’re burning up from the inside, even without considering the fact you’re literally riding his dick. You have your hands on his broad chest, supporting yourself. His pale throat, marred with tiny bruises thanks to your handiwork looks tempting.
You slide your palm up, silently questioning if it was okay to do so when your fingers can feel the jump of his pulse on his carotid artery. His breath hitches, and his voice breaks when he agrees with a soft, “Please.”
“Two taps on my wrist if it’s too much, sweetheart.”
His hips jolt, breaking your slow and rhythmic teasing when he slams upwards into you. He contains himself for a moment, but then your hand squeezes against the blood vessels, cutting off his oxygen without pressing his windpipe, and it’s all over for you both.
He thrusts up into you, and you find a pattern to meet him halfway. You’re careful to let off your hold on him periodically, not wanting to push it too far. His hands moved to your hips to hold you still as he fucks you so hard it’s almost jarring. You’re not even sure if you’ll be able to walk after this.
He cums first, whining when he’s too sensitive for you to keep riding him. You’re close, but not quite there. Ever the good boy, Wolf encourages you to put a knee on either side of his head, hands holding your weight down as he puts his tongue to good use. You would think he’d be grossed out, eating you out when he literally just came inside you, but you know from experience that he’s not shy at all when it comes to bodily fluids. He was a virgin when you started hooking up, and you’ve been careful before him. As long as you were on the pill, it didn’t matter if he came inside, and he seemed to enjoy that idea very much when you previously discussed it.
It doesn’t take him too long to have your eyes rolling back, hands clasping at the headboard of his bed for some sort of anchor to keep yourself present and not fully suffocating Wolf between your thighs. When you’re finished, you pull off him, a panting mess from the burn in your hips. It was a workout you’d gladly do any day.
You make him go get you both food, and you start your first date with breakfast in bed.