Warning: car sex, underage drinking in america (maybe south korea too, but idk), age gap
«Waking up with a hangover» could now be crossed off from your bucket list. In hindsight and considering the pain, you wondered why you’d ever written it on that list to begin with. You balled a hand over your tummy, and realised everything you’d ever been told about hangovers — from Hollywood, dramas, books — was dead wrong.
First off, your head wasn’t throbbing like no tomorrow. If anything, it felt icy and empty, as if the alcohol had burned it to a wasteland. When you turned it, your sight was delayed, making you dizzy and unsteady.
Second, your limbs cracked and groaned numbly, resistant to your desire to get breakfast. Your friends informed you that the cause was a deposit of acid in your muscles, and the fact that ethanol melted the fat tissue surrounding your nerves. That didn’t reassure you.
Third and worst, your entire digestive system had gone haywire. Your mouth tasted the bitter wine hours later. Your throat was scalded. Your stomach, heavy as if you’d swallowed a bowling ball whole, churned at every movement, threatening to puke out last night’s meal. Your liver waged war against alcohol for the first time in its existence, struggling to purify your bloodstream.
And you looked like a mess someone picked up from a dumpster and threw into a t-shirt five sizes too big.
With a groan, you slipped on a simple dress — too lazy to bother with a colour-coded, acceptable outfit — and poured milk in chocolate cereal. You didn’t even get why it seemed so imperative to drink on your eighteenth birthday. Rosé had insisted you gulp down a bottle of wine — guess what kind — and now you regretted befriending her.
The fur ball of a stray cat you let dwell in your home rubbed over your ankles, clamouring for water and not-so-nutritional nuggets in his dual bowl with strident meows. You haphazardly reached under the table to pet its head, your ethanol-dizzy hand flattening its ears out of shape. It dinned in offense and turned its shunning high-raised tail to you.
You sighed and combed a hand through your hair, catching yourself almost apologising to the cat. Not that you were its true owner, but you still felt a sort of responsibility towards it and fed it some left-over smoked salmon.
Discarding the dirty bowl in the broken sink that hadn’t given limpid water in days, you hauled your book-crammed rucksack over a shoulder and reminded yourself to lock the door on your way out. Drunk you had left it gaping, but hangover you cursed her out and did a proper job of shutting away thieves. You tripped and stumbled down the curving stairs of your apartment building more than you walked, because the lift was stuck on floor three and whoever was in charge of fixing lifts hadn’t shown up yet.
Half-way to the auditorium of a classroom you learned in every day, Rosé slung her arm in the angle of yours with the strength of a wrestler, pulling your hand out of your pocket and redirecting you towards a bus station where late teens waited.
“Last year of college, Y/N, we got medical checkup. Don’t tell me you forgot.”
She eyed you with the infuriating inclination of her lopsided smirk and raised brow that screamed she knew how or why you’d forgotten. You shoved her away, groaning your quarry.
“You got me drunk, idiot. It’s your fault and I’m blaming you.”
“Bluh bluh, let’s go before they leave us behind.”
Rosé’s fingers tugged at your sleeve as she ran ahead, the pull lingering after she’d let go to remind you to follow her. Your steps weren’t exactly ecstatic as the teachers led you to the bus, then out of, then in a room where you were to wait for the doctors to call for you. With a name at the end of the alphabetical list and a constant need for vaccines, you stayed seated until everyone was gone, last in the white hyper-sanitised nothing-scented hospital wing you knew by heart now.
You waved Rosé goodbye when she skipped out of the examination room with a grin and an «everything good» hand gesture. Nearly an hour later, you were called in.
You respected the procedure to a T, removing all clothes but your underwear before stepping into the doctor’s office. He smiled at you and motioned to a chair in front of his paraphernalia-hidden desk, but you couldn’t help the light gasp at the recognition of the prior year’s assistant jotting down notes who had become a full-blown doctor. Seing his evolution nearly brought a softer tone to your face. But your hangover acted up in a queasy gnaw and you rushed to the seat, pale-faced.
“Hm? Are you sick?” He rested the pen he was twiddling and dipped towards you in the professional worry of his vocation. “Good news, you’re in a hospital. Tell me what happened.”
You massaged your stomach with a hand, forcing your eyes shut to focus on chasing the nausea off, even if it proved near impossible.
“Hangover.” You supplied curtly with the knowledge that any longer response would get a rise out of your bowels.
He nodded, scribbling it in your report. «Drinker» you guessed it said, which was a reasonable assumption although far from the truth. It was your first time declining glasses of any alcohol, and only under the pressure of your best friend’s insistence. And judging by the hangover, your last time, too, or so you wished.
The doctor skirted the desk to stand before you. “You still have to go through the checkup,” he winked, “but I’ll go easy on you.”
You shifted under his heavy gaze as he turned to get a stethoscope and glided the chilly metal over your back and chest, ordering you to cough and breath deeply. When he nodded in approval and stored the medical utensil away, asking you to step on the painted footprints three meters from an optician sight test, you crossed your arms to hide your bra-clad breast, awkward under his prying eyes.
He looked handsome, that wasn’t a discussion, but it made you all the more uncomfortable to be checked out by a man who attracted you. You gulped, feeling the churn in your guts replaced by an aroused burn as he told you where to move and what to do. While you were in nothing but underwear.
The meeting ended with a needle injecting vaccines in your bicep and the doctor tapping a band-aid unto the bleeding prick. You slipped the dress back on, disappointed to be leaving so soon the gorgeous man, but froze on your way out when you found him leaning back against the doorframe, casual clothes and a smirk worn fittingly. He pushed himself upright in a smooth ripple of his body, eyes lingering on your shape, hand extended for you to grab.
“I know a way to cure hangovers, if you want to come to my house.”
From the lascivious tone alone, you supposed his cure included bending you over and fucking you until your legs went numb, but you couldn’t care less. Weaving your hand in his, you let his hips brush up against yours at each step towards his car, his eyes glimpsing at you from the corner to sip your form inch by inch, from your hair to your perking chest to your unsteady feet.
He detached his hand from yours to fish out the key and open the driver door, letting you enter the shotgun seat on your own. The engine growled and quaked to life, sending a light jolt in your keen body, and the doctor carefully operated it out of the underground car park. Once in the dim evening rays, he glanced at you.
“By the way, I’m Hakyeon, you?”
Your glazed stare watched the neon road signs flash by with disillusion. You knew why he hadn’t given a full name, or anymore information, and you knew the most you could expect from him was one night. After three blocks, you felt his hand brush up against your knee, a distraction in other settings, purposeful teasing here.
His fingers inched up your thigh with light squeezes and sharp slaps, to which your body responded with a rocking of the hips, craving for his touch to reach your core. The pain faded the closer he got and you couldn’t recollect the last time you had sex, but you knew you needed it right now, no matter who Hakyeon was.
You moaned, hips grinding in a spasm, as he slid the skirt of your dress up and thumbed your clit through your panties. Pleasure speared up your spine, losing momentum at your trembling tits. You automatically groped a breast, kneading and massaging it to revamp the scorching sensation, breathing out with mockery in your voice.
“I thought you were taking me home?”
He steered the car harshly before the red light changed, and burrowed a finger in you to muffle your complaint with loud gasps.
“And I didn’t think you were so eager but here we are.”
“What an unfair judgement.” Your last word was engulfed in a chorus of moans at varying pitches as Hakyeon thrusted another finger in, curling it against your engorged flesh stronger than you could take.
“O — Ow!”
Your head rolled back yet your hips rocked up to deepen his contact, the friction of his hand between your legs electrifying. He dug his fingers to the edge of your core, prodding for the spot that would make you melt like ice cream and scream at the top of your lungs, rubbing his thumb around your clit. You mewled louder with every second, your throat itchy, your cunt desperate for something else, something more, a part of him you couldn’t get yet.
The car hitched roughly, Hakyeon hit a hectic knot of nerves in you, and the engine died with a vibration that spread through with a heavenly jolt. He unfastened his seatbelt in a rush, crawling over you with care not to knock his head against the low car ceiling, parting your legs to nestle between them and raising them around his waist. You were pinioned into the carseat, cramped yet intimately willing to remain as so for the upcoming event.
“Y/N, you problematic little thing… I can’t even hold it off until I get home, what a mess.”
You unbuckled and unbuttoned his pants, pulling them down out of the way, mewling as his hard member sprung out between your thighs.
“Just do your cure thing, Hakyeon. I’m not asking for more.”
He grunted an agreement, and in no time your bones broke out of place under the pressure of his harsh thrust. You fought for a breath, swallowing the air like water drowned you, and Hakyeon attached his mouth to yours. His steady lungs guided yours until you were comfortable with his presence in you, his lips moving just as much as his hips weren’t, aside from the eventual twitch.
There was a foreign enjoyment in his way of caring for you, like a single-usage doll he cherished while he had, and you found a new kind of pleasure in the one time you had with Hakyeon that none of your long-time boyfriends could emulate. He kissed down your neck, not trying to mark you as something you weren’t, just licking and nibbling to get moans that boosted his confidence and proved the pleasure he provided you with.
When you felt ready, you nodded, grinding against him to communicate your approval of him. He leant back, your core clenching as if it missed his cock filling it up, then he rammed back into you. You bellowed, surely attracting attention from passersby, arousing Hakyeon further. He dipped into your arched form, moulding it with his body, his heaving words heating up your ear.
“Why don’t you scream my name, sweetie? I’ll give you everything.”
The growl, low and controlling, sent waves within your body that clashed at your core with the actions of his hips slamming into yours, muting your thoughts of all but his words. Your moans drowned out his name in your throat, but when he thrusted deeper, meeting with your farthest nerves, you screamed, begged for his mercy.
“Ah! Hakyeon, Hakyeon, please, please give it to me, ah, Hakyeon!”
True to his words, he snaked his arms around you, hoisting you on his calves as he rocked upward, pulling you so close you felt his heat through the clothes as if you were nude. With no reserve and the entire acknowledgement that now would be the most you got from him, you clawed his back, offering yourself to his fantasy to toy with in any way he pleased. He took everything and gave it back tenfold, heightening your senses with his hands touching parts of you no one had before.
Your high crashed against you, your warm juices glistening over Hakyeon’s cock as he slowed down, helping you ride out the powerful shock with surprising gentleness, his seeds dripping with yours. Kissing your forehead, he removed himself and readjusted both your outfits, your muscles too limp to aid in any way. You flashed him a cynical grin as he seated himself before the steering wheel and started up the car to his house.
“Ha, what a ride,” you muttered as you gazed out the window at the nascent stars, not noticing Hakyeon glancing at you with affectionate smiles.
By the time you arrived, you’d already dozed off into an aching slumber, regrets you wouldn’t share with him building up. Hakyeon swung you on his back, wrapping your legs around his waist, and carried you to a bed that caved in when he tucked you in and lay by your side.
You woke up that morning like yesterday, in pain and loathing yourself for indulging in the ephemeral joy. The other half of the bed was empty, which you’d expected, and the night stand had a note and money pinned to it, which you hadn’t expected. The message read «Get a cab with the money and have a calm day. Last night was nice.»
You chuckled bitterly. Nice? It was nice? The implicit «but don’t come back» glared at you in a mockery of your pitiful choices — like an adult would care for you, Y/N, quit dreaming. He hadn’t bothered to write it down, how obvious must he think it is?
You extracted yourself from the cold sheets and reviewed the house as you plucked your clothes off the carpeted floor. A doctor’s home, clearly, neater than yours and decorated with translated treaties by Hippocrates and the full encyclopaedia of medicine in twenty-six volumes shelved all over the walls. The news of your insufficiency had cut your appetite, but you stole two eggs and bacon from his fridge out of spite. Your stomach hurt all the more after eating. To ease yourself, you also picked out the encyclopaedia with your initial.
On the threshold of his house, you hailed every passing cab and eventually the fourth parked to accept you. The driver took unnecessary turns to raise the final price, but you payed regardless, exhausted and not in a mood to argue with anyone, let alone a dishonest stranger.
The cat greeted you in with caresses of its paws on your bare calf, and you cradled it up in your chest like a baby, purring at it with affection.
“Hey furball, I think I’ve made a mistake.” Its black eyes gleamed with a rare intelligence, as if it understood and could comfort you. “You’ll still stay with me, right? Even if I’m an idiot.”
You all know Stephen Lunsford is one of the new cast members on Teen Wolf playing Matt the camera guy but this is the video that i saw of him that made me fall in love with him… seriously it’s a hilarious Hangover spoof with a bunch of Nick and Disney actors. I still laugh when i watch it!