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shybunnie20 · 4 months

Text

Virgin!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

strangers to friends to lovers

★Teasers ★Locations ★My Masterlist

Summary: Eddie embarks on a new chapter after finally graduating. He expects to face a variety of hurdles that come with a change of scenery, but what he doesn't anticipate is falling head over heels for you.

Author's Note: Holy shit, I can't believe this is finally finished after 11 months. It’s the first time I've written smut in well over a year and I'm pleased with how it turned out (I couldn't have done it without the support of my beloved @eddiethefreakkmunson)

Location photos are linked above and in the fic at their first mentions. AU with no Upside Down, no use of Y/N, focuses on Eddie's POV, fluff and mild angst with a happy ending *wink wink*

Word count: 17.3k

Warnings: MDNI 18+! alcohol consumption/drunken behavior, subtly pervy moments, masturbation, fondling, dry humping, protected p in v, oral (f receiving), a little bit of praise & possessiveness, includes swearing.

Eddie was determined to leave Hawkins for good as soon as he tossed his graduation cap to the sky. He didn’t expect how expensive a venture like that would be, so he devised a plan. For a couple of months, he would stick around to save up a financial cushion.

To pocket every penny possible, Eddie took up odd jobs around town like mowing lawns and painting fences. With every task completed, he army crawled his way toward living life on his terms. He didn’t expect it to take him well over a year to save up enough cash.

On this sweltering afternoon, the atmosphere is charged with the promise of new beginnings. The summer sun peeks out from behind the dense clouds and casts irregular shadows on the dirt road of Forest Hills.

His van is packed to the brim with boxes of his belongings. After mentally checking everything twice over, uncertainty twists Eddie’s stomach into knots. What if I have car trouble? What if I get lost? What if it’s not everything I hoped it would be?

Wayne descends the concrete steps and joins Eddie. He lets out a belly-deep sigh that speaks volumes. You’ll figure it out. You’re gonna find your way. Your best days are ahead of you.

There’s a hint of sadness in seeing his boy take this significant step toward independence. But beneath that sorrow, profound pride prevails within Wayne. Eddie’s dreams reach far beyond the boundaries of Hawkins. Sticking around here won’t do him any good.

Eddie looks at the man who’s been his rock; the one who used to rise before dawn to plate crispy bacon and fluffy pancakes, meeting Eddie’s needs before his own. The memories are vivid as he reflects on the milestones his uncle guided him through. Without a doubt, Eddie wouldn’t be half the man he is today if it weren’t for Wayne.

His beloved van sits atop the very spot where he once wiped out while learning to ride a bike without training wheels. “It’s time to be a big boy,” Wayne said, urging Eddie to muster some faith in himself.

Reluctantly, Eddie mounted his small bicycle and clutched the rubber handles. With a push to set him off, he experienced the fleeting thrill of accomplishment as he pedaled forward. He only made it a few feet before his balance wavered.

The bike wobbled, sending Eddie tumbling to the gravel. His knees and palms bore the brunt of the fall, and the sharp pebbles embedded themselves into his scraped skin.

Wayne isn’t exactly a ‘rub some dirt on it’ kind of guy, but he isn’t the coddling type either. He cleaned Eddie’s wounds, slapped on some bandages, and told him to give it another shot. Faced with his nephew’s tearful protests, Wayne emphasized that just because failure stings, it shouldn't deter him from trying again.

“I guess this is it then.” Eddie wipes beads of sweat from his brow using the back of his hand.

“Yep, looks that way. It sure will be quiet without y’here. I got so used to living with all that racket of yours.”

“It’s called good music. You should take it for a spin sometime, it’s way better than that honky-tonk shit you made me listen to growing up.”

“I like my honky-tonk shit just fine, thank you,” They share a laugh.

Wayne will undoubtedly miss their banter, but it’s their Sundays together that weighs the most on his heart. Occasionally, the summer graces them with a few perfect days—pleasantly sunny with a stirring breeze. That weather maintained an unspoken tradition.

When little Eddie moved in, he was struggling to find his footing and hadn’t spoken much. Wayne took him to a serene lakeside spot where the water gently lapped against the shore.

He cast his line into the water in pursuit of a crappie dinner, and six-year-old Eddie gleefully played with the live bait. Over the years, their dynamic remained largely unchanged. Wayne watched his bobber from the swaying dock while Eddie kicked back in a folding lawn chair. It was simple father-son time that didn’t cost more than an afternoon or two. As of now, those days are over.

“You sure you’re gonna be alright without me, old man?”

Wayne shrugs and shoves his hands into his front pockets. “I suppose I’ll manage one way or another.”

“Take care of yourself,” Eddie says firmly.

“Will do. Oof-” Wayne chuckles when he’s abruptly hugged. He smooths over the back of Eddie’s head with his calloused palm.

The men hold onto one another, their unspoken sentiments conveyed in the silent embrace. They exchange a pat on the back before parting.

Wayne’s eyes follow his nephew as he closes the rear doors and makes his way toward the front of the van. “Eddie, one last thing. Remember to take your chances while ya got 'em and strike while the iron’s hot. Don’t let nothin’ pass ya by.”

Offering a firm salute, Eddie hops up and settles into the driver’s seat.

With Hawkins in the rearview mirror, Eddie sets off. Chicago may not be the sprawling metropolises of New York or Los Angeles, but it’s a world apart from his hometown.

It’s far enough away to provide a much-needed change of scenery, yet close enough that he can move back home if things go to shit.

The drive goes smoothly overall with a couple of instances of getting turned around. By the time Eddie is finished with the long hours on the road, he’s bone-weary.

His new place may not be the epitome of luxury, but it’s a roof over his head and that’s all that matters. After lugging his things to the fourth floor, Eddie can finally consider himself moved in. His apartment lacks furniture and decor, but it’s a space he can call his own.

The throbbing of an unbearable intensity plagues his thighs, a fiery reminder of the multiple flights of stairs conquered. He collapses onto his twin mattress and emits a low groan. The sound bounces off the bare walls and echoes through the studio apartment.

Eddie starts noticing the difference in sounds around him. Gone are the barking dogs and tires rolling over gravel. His fridge hums like the one in the trailer, which is nice, but it’s not remotely loud enough to drown out the argument happening in the unit above his.

When the noise finally subsides, he hopes to catch up on some much-needed sleep. But just a few minutes later, the ruckus rekindles. In a bid for tranquility, Eddie clutches his pillow to his ears to block out the animalistic makeup sex seeping through his ceiling. He’s praying that the man is a two-pump chump because this is a lot for a first night. Hell, it’s too much for any night.

In a matter of days, Eddie has already encountered a series of issues. Whenever he tries to use hot water, his shower head screeches like a banshee. And the upstairs neighbors? They wear bricks for shoes and have a hoedown at 2 a.m. on a nightly basis; that is, if they’re not at each other’s throats.

Job hunting has been fruitless. The gas stations, car washes, and tobacco shops turned him down for the same reason: no documented experience. This means that he’s going to be stuck with the makeshift bed frame he came with for a while, which is just wooden planks zip-tied together. He’s not sure how long it’ll be able to withstand his tossing and turning.

There’s good news, though. Eddie refused to succumb to defeat. Today, he strolled past a tattoo parlor and impulsively checked it out. When he approached the counter, Eddie was met by an imposing man with a rather unwelcoming demeanor. In spite of feeling a bit intimidated, he greeted the man warmly.

As expected, the shop owner Cliff, did not reciprocate. When Eddie inquired about job openings, Cliff promptly replied with a curt “no.” Eddie’s tone grew desperate and he nearly pleaded. Cliff became irritated and offered a non-existent custodial position just to get Eddie to shut up and leave.

Currently sprawled on the rickety mattress, Eddie holds Mr. Pickles in the air and looks up at him. His trusty plushie is a bit worse for wear, having had his seams sutured with crimson battle vest thread.

“We’re doing it, buddy. We’re finally doing it.”

Shortly after moving in with his uncle, he had trouble falling asleep in the unfamiliar trailer. Wayne, hoping to provide comfort, gifted Eddie the stuffed bunny. It swiftly became a treasured part of his life, symbolizing safety and support—two things he hadn’t received much of up to that point.

The floppy-eared companion got its name from Wayne’s favorite snack. Whenever his uncle would pop the lid on a fresh jar of pickles, young Eddie would erupt into a fit of laughter. He insisted that Wayne was going to transform into a pickle due to how fast he blows through a jar.

In his twenties now, Eddie still cuddles with Mr. Pickles every night. If his pal could talk, he’d tell him how proud he is. Eddie rolls onto his side and nuzzles the bunny’s worn fur. That smile lingers on his face while he drifts off to sleep, now with a sense of hope for the days ahead.

The time has come. Eddie has worn through his entire wardrobe and needs to make a trip to the laundromat. Having a washer in the trailer was something he didn’t fully appreciate until now.

Taking a quick look around his apartment, Eddie spots a cardboard box that’ll suffice in lieu of a laundry basket. He fills the box with the scattered clothes from the floor, slips on his sneakers, and makes his way out onto the street.

Nestled in the heart of his neighborhood, Eddie arrives at his destination. The air carries an overwhelming fresh scent of detergent. It’s not bustling by any means; there are only a handful of people here.

Compared to those who are well-versed in their routine, Eddie feels out of place. He chooses an available machine and plops his box of dirty clothes on the counter behind him. He inspects the front-loading washer, not versed in its functions and operation. Eddie goes to open the machine’s door but it refuses to yield.

His patience wanes with each futile tug. Just as frustration peaks, a sudden realization dawns on him, prompting a blush to sweep across his cheeks. There’s a lock hidden on the flip side of the handle.

With the press of his thumb, the lock disengages and the door screeches open. Hot under the collar, Eddie hastily scoops up his clothes and stuffs them into the damp drum. He slams the door shut with a mechanical click, the sound signaling the lock relatching.

This place lacks helpful signage, to say the least. The only one here displays the cost of running a cycle, but there’s nothing to guide newcomers through the process.

Eddie pulls out his wallet to retrieve a few quarters. After inserting them, he figures out the detergent tray without much trouble. But as Eddie presses the START button repeatedly, increasing his force with each press, the machine stubbornly refuses to respond.

“You have to choose a setting.”

Eddie jumps at the sound of your voice, his brows arched and mouth hanging open. “Huh?”

You walk over from the adjacent wall of driers a few feet away. “It won’t start unless you select a wash setting first.”

He looks at you like a deer-in-the-headlights, so you step in and set the machine to delicate for him. The washer springs to life and water begins to fill the drum.

“Ah, that makes sense,” Eddie says while rubbing the back of his neck. “These are so different from the one I had back home.”

“Where’s home?” You ask, resuming your task of folding your clean laundry on the nearby counter.

Eddie is visibly taken aback by your continued engagement. “A town in Indiana that you’ve definitely never heard of,” He starts to fidget with the detergent jug’s cap, though it’s already sealed.

Suddenly, Eddie feels self-conscious about his appearance. Talking to a cute girl wasn’t on the agenda today, he didn’t dress for this. He regrets choosing function over fashion; his denim shorts are an old pair of Wayne’s jeans that he cropped to wear while mowing lawns. The raw hems are messily frayed and the light blue is darkened with grass stains.

“Indiana, huh? You’re a ways from home then. What brings you to The Windy City?”

Eddie’s attention lands on your pile of clothes, subtly assessing your wardrobe choices. “Uh- just needed a change of pace, I guess.”

“Chasing the dream, right? Figured Chicago had more to offer?” You peek at him, catching his stare fixed on a pair of underwear at the top of the pile—a standard white cotton panty, nothing worth ogling.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, his posture stiffening when you make eye contact. He swallows hard, averts his gaze, and shifts his weight between the balls of his feet. “Something like that.”

“Did you bring your band with you?” You take the undergarment in question and fold it, seemingly unfazed.

As you move the folded pile into your laundry basket, his clothes start thumping inside the machine, causing suds to splash against the glass window.

Eddie’s brows knit together. “How’d you know I have a band?”

“You’ve got the look,” You remark as your eyes travel over him.

He leans back against the counter and crosses his arms. “Is that so? Do enlighten me, what’s the dead giveaway?”

“Your hair,” You suggest charmingly.

Eddie swishes his brunette curls like a lady in a shampoo commercial. “Too predictable?”

“I’d say it’s on brand. Let me guess, Slayer? Maybe a little Dio or Megadeth?”

Eddie narrows his eyes at you before looking down at his shoes. “Jesus Christ, you’re reading me like a goddamn book.”

You cock your head to the side, playfulness tugging at your lips. “And if I were to look for this book in a store, what name might I find it under?”

“Eddie,” He lets his arms fall to his sides. When you tell him your name, it bounces around in his head. How pretty, he thinks.

After lifting your full laundry basket, you step away from the counter. “Good luck with the dryers. Oh, and just a heads up, those doors lock too. Don’t go yankin’ the handle off unless you’re looking to take home a souvenir,” You giggle to yourself as you walk out of the laundromat.

Eddie’s mouth hangs open while he watches you leave. Once you’re gone, his attention drifts to the nearby bulletin board. Among the various flyers, one advertises an open mic night. He decides that he’ll check it out sometime this week.

At Double Barrel Bar, Eddie is swallowed by a sea of mainstream nonconformity. The bar-goers are dressed similarly to him, and while the crowd is mostly younger people, they’re still a touch older than him.

A symphony of clinking glasses and animated chatter collides with the thunderous live metal music. The dense haze of tobacco smoke and the distant clatter of pool balls only enrich the ambiance. The walls are adorned with framed music memorabilia and band posters, a mix of global icons and local talents.

Eddie is enveloped with nostalgia. This place reminds him of the gigs he used to play with Corroded Coffin, although they never played for an audience this size. Staring at the stage, he questions whether he could engage such a crowd and persuade them that he’s worth listening to.

Between two other men at the bar, Eddie takes a seat.

Lee, the bartender, greets him. “What can I get ya?”

Eddie shrugs and hooks his sneakers beneath the rung of the stool. “I'll take a cold one, whatever's cheapest.”

“You got it. Bottle or tap?” Lee wipes his hands on the white rag draped over his shoulder.

“Bottle is fine.”

Lee retrieves a bottle of beer and deftly pops the cap before sliding it over to Eddie.

His fingers curl around the icy glass, the condensation cool to the touch. Eddie’s plump lips wrap around the bottle’s rim and he takes his first sip. The crisp liquid trickles down his throat, offering a short-lived remedy for the stuffiness of the room.

As Lee tends to another patron, Eddie fidgets in his seat, causing the flier in his back pocket to crinkle. “So, you host an open mic?”

“Yeah, Thursday through Sunday. Are you any good?” Lee asks.

Eddie flips his guitar pick necklace between his fingers. “I like to think so. I guess you’d have to ask the ants in my kitchen, they’re the closest thing I've had to an audience lately.”

Lee snorts. “I've got a good feeling about you, I’m gonna reserve a spot.”

“Oh, uh- you don't have to do that.”

Lee waves his hand in dismissal and gathers the abandoned glassware from the now-empty seat beside Eddie. “No pressure, just swing by on Thursday if you’re interested.”

The opportunity intrigues Eddie, but performing alone is uncharted territory. Contemplating the offer, Eddie grapples with a cloud of self-doubt looming over his decision.

It’s been two months, and his routine is now established. Each day brings progress and a sense of reward, even though there have been occasional hiccups along the way.

Surviving the sweltering summer with a broken AC was sheer hell. He found himself spending ample time nude in his apartment or standing in front of the open freezer compartment of the refrigerator; sometimes simultaneously. Fortunately, September has arrived, and the temperature has begun to wind down.

Managing expenses requires a frugal approach, given the modest pay from his custodial job. Eddie resorts to taking power showers and using candles to keep his utility bill low.

Sometimes he forgoes meals to keep an extra couple of bucks on hand. But when he does eat, he opts for saltine crackers slathered in butter, bologna sandwiches, canned soups, and plain noodles. Occasionally he treats himself to store-bought pasta sauce, though it’s still the saddest spaghetti known to man.

Eddie faces skepticism from the seasoned artists at the tattoo shop, all military veterans who view him as an arrogant kid. Their perception fuels his determination to prove himself. To earn their respect, he’s dedicated to cleaning more thoroughly than he ever has in his life.

He’s become keenly observant, absorbing every detail of the professional tattooing process, despite never being included in those conversations. Within the circle of artists—Ace, Lunchbox, and Dozer—Eddie gravitates toward Ace, who becomes a mentor. Seeing Eddie’s genuine enthusiasm, Ace asks about his drawing abilities.

Although Eddie’s sketchbook is brimming with fantastical creatures, Ace can recognize a young man’s raw ambition and desire for direction and purpose. He takes Eddie under his wing, allowing him to learn the medium while on the clock.

After taking Lee up on his offer, Eddie found himself on stage every Thursday night. His performances were rusty, as he hadn’t played in front of anyone since before he was working his ass off to get here.

As he strummed through the jitters, Eddie rediscovered the sanctuary that music had always offered. It felt like a part of him had resurrected, reviving the passion he sorely missed.

Playing Thursday nights may not rake in tips like the weekends would, but he’ll take what he can get. Eddie’s been saving up for some pre-owned furniture, and he’s happy to snag any extra cash he can for it.

Life is good right now. The worry about moving back home has lessened, and he’s genuinely amazed at how smoothly things are going. Just when Eddie thought things couldn’t get any better, a Saturday night slot opened up at the bar.

It would be twice as busy, packed from wall to wall with people who could bare witness to him fucking up. Doubt crept its way in, but when Lee mentioned that Eddie could pocket thirty-five bucks or more by the night’s end, it was a no-brainer.

Tonight marks his debut Saturday gig. Stepping through the red brick archway and out onto the stage, the creak of the rustic boards beneath his feet sends a ripple up his legs. Eddie hasn’t even made it to the mic and he’s already forgotten what foot he’s supposed to be stepping with next.

Beneath his t-shirt, his back grows slick. A lump lodges itself in Eddie’s throat, causing his voice to crack when he introduces himself to the room. Amidst the overlapping conversations and the flushing from the nearby restroom, the amassed noise seems muffled. The strong winds in his head distort the sounds, whirling like a twister.

Eddie hooks his guitar up to the amp and forces himself to take a deep breath. As he tunes his instrument, the upheaval begins to settle. Gradually, Eddie finds unity with his guitar and concentrates on perfecting the tone.

Throughout the performance, there’s a persistent undertow of nerves refusing to fully subside. In spite of his efforts to lose himself in the music, his fingers occasionally falter as they dance on the strings.

At the end of his set, Lee can be heard whooping and hollering over the sparse clapping. With a sense of relief, Eddie packs up and makes a beeline for the bar, eager to ease the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Normally, the rush is akin to a high, but this time around it’s so intense that he’s dying to dial it back a notch.

He splurges and orders something a bit fancier than his usual bland beer. Why not celebrate a little? Eddie claims a recently vacated table in the bustling crowd, seating himself on the leather stool adorned with studs. His eyes roam the room while he takes a swig of his drink, savoring the superior crisp taste.

His attention zeroes in on a figure just feet away, a quick recognition igniting in his mind. Eddie recognizes you instantly, due to the scarcity of memorable encounters he’s had.

Eddie observes from afar, observing your mannerisms as you execute your waitressing duties. You must only work weekends, which would explain why your paths haven’t crossed again until now. When your eyes meet his, a shock shoots through his body.

He sits in rapt anticipation as you make your way over. Time seems to stretch unbearably from your previous spot until you finally stand opposite of him, separated only by the circular wooden table.

A courteous smile graces your face—a skill that waitresses must master if they want to pay rent. “Ready for another?”

Eddie stares back at you. His eyes drift down to the almost full beer bottle in his hand. The cogs in his skull are scraping, unable to put the words you’ve said to him in a comprehensive order. He nods without making a peep.

You pivot to leave, but then turn back to him and lift a brow at his unaltered dumbstruck expression. “Are you sure? ‘Cause you don’t look it.”

He remains silent and shakes his head sheepishly, feeling foolish for agreeing to another beer and then changing his mind just because you asked again. Is there more dignity in being indecisive than a bumbling mess?

“You were just singing up there for nearly an hour,” you call him out, folding your arms and tucking your serving tray against your side. “I know you can talk.”

Eddie clears his throat, but he ends up making an odd sound. “Uh, my throat’s a bit sore, that’s all.”

“Did you forget to do your vocal warm-ups or what?”

“It probably sounded like I did,” Eddie laughs, the self-deprecation evident.

“Not at all, I thought you were great.”

“You did?” Eddie’s lips curl at your compliment. Heat blooms on his cheeks, amplifying the full-body perspiration. He takes a casual sip from his beer, a guise to moisten his dry mouth and escape your intimidating gaze.

“Totally, you really come alive when you’re up there,” you rest your forearms on the table’s edge. “Is it just Eddie, or do you go by a stage name?”

No way. There’s no fucking way that you remember him, his face is so forgettable it’s not even funny. Lee had to have said something about who was filling the Saturday night spot. Eddie is inwardly thrilled to hear his name roll off of your tongue, but he tries to maintain his composure. “I suppose not, I guess I never thought about it.”

“You could pull it off, it suits the whole ‘one-man show’ thing you’ve got going on,” You say while giving him a once-over. The intrigue on your face is unwavering as you walk away.

He’s drunk, he has to be. Or maybe his drink was spiked somehow. The room is spinning and he feels nauseous as all hell, despite only having taken a few swigs from his beer.

A short while later, Eddie’s bottle is half-empty as he sits, continuously replaying the moment in his mind. More specifically, he can’t stop thinking about the sparkle in your eyes; he’s never seen anything like it.

He snaps back from his daydream at the sight of your return, this time with an unopened beer in hand. Eddie looks nothing short of puzzled as you slide it across the table toward him. “Uh, no thanks, I’m-”

“Relax, it’s not for you. I’ll be clocking out in six minutes. I wanna hear more about that small town of yours. I mean, as long as that’s okay with you. I understand if you have other plans tonight.”

“No!” Eddie exclaims. “I mean, yes it’s more than okay, and no, I don’t have anywhere to be.”

You glance downward while scuffing your shoe against the floor. “Okay, cool. Keep it cold for me then?”

“Yeah, for sure. You can count on me.”

Shit shit shit. How is he going to keep this beer cold? Of course, ways to heat it flood his mind. If you come back to a lukewarm beer, that’ll be the end of him. He’s going to fuck this up and any chance of getting to know you will be squashed.

When you join him again, your drink is still cold and the bottle has left a ring of moisture on the paper coaster. Eddie’s unsure of how he managed to not lose it; if he’s capable of anything, it’s misplacing something when his only responsibility is to keep it in his possession.

As you slide onto the stool beside him, you’re quick to inquire. You ask him typical ice-breaker questions at first, and Eddie responds with a plethora of details. At times, he goes off on tangents. You don’t appear bothered by it.

Eddie talks about his ability to learn how to play songs by ear, and he delves into the intricacies of his favorite Dungeons & Dragons campaigns that he’s created over the years. He earnestly tries to convey its depth to you and throughout his ramblings, he doesn’t miss the concentrated look on your face as you try to keep up.

Lee is nearing the end of his cleaning routine and the other waitresses have left for the night. Neither of you is aware that the bar is devoid of a crowd, scorching lights, and blaring music.

Eddie has been too busy asking you about your origins and passions, his wide eyes and attentive demeanor affirming his genuine interest. Just as he mentions working at the shop and you’ve asked him how many tattoos he has, you’re interrupted.

Lee stands beside the table, armed with a damp rag and a spray bottle. “Awfully hard to wipe the seats when your asses are still on them. Scoot your booch,” Lee instructs by motioning toward the entrance.

Eddie doesn’t hesitate to slip off his stool. You, on the other hand, take your sweet time.

“Have a good night,” You say and give Lee’s shoulder a friendly pat.

Uncertain of his next move, Eddie hesitates while you make your way to an unmarked door. It’s half past two in the morning, and he feels a tug of concern about you leaving by yourself.

There’s a very good chance that you’d consider him clingy or intrusive if he waits here. Eddie opts to stand outside. He props himself against the building and idly nudges a loose chunk of concrete with his shoe to keep himself occupied. Soon after, you emerge into the night.

The slam of the heavy door prompts him to straighten up. “Hey.”

“Oh, I thought you left,” you admit and adjust your purse strap on your shoulder. “Thanks for telling me about Hawkins the Hell Hole.”

“The pleasure was all mine. Do you, uh…” Eddie inches forward, his Reeboks scraping loudly on the pavement. “Would you like me to walk you home? It’s pretty late.”

“I don’t live far, it’s just a few blocks.’

“Okay, I guess I’ll see you around then?”

Your eyes twinkle brighter than he’d previously seen. “I’d say the odds are in your favor.”

“Goodnight. Get home safe,” He says with a half-hearted bow.

“Likewise,” You reply, biting back a giggle.

Eddie watches you fade into the darkness along the unlit patches of sidewalk. Once you’ve turned the corner, Eddie smiles from the surreal sensation of floating on clouds.

In this moment, the feeling of joy is so potent that it’s borderline palpable. He’s the embodiment of elation, a soul soaring high. It’s a feeling he wishes he could bottle up and carry with him forever.

The next Saturday plays out much like the previous one, save for one detail: it’s considerably tougher to concentrate on stage knowing who’s in the audience. Post-performance, the routine echoes that of the prior week. The two of you gravitate toward the same table as before, establishing it as the one you’ll always sit at.

At first, a hesitation lingers before diving into more personal topics. However, as the night progresses and more beers are consumed, you seamlessly fall into them. Eddie weaves elements of drama and romanticism into his past, making it utterly engrossing for you to listen to.

When you propose getting together outside of the confines of the bar for the first time, Eddie eagerly accepts your invitation to show him around since he has yet to do any sightseeing.

Eddie is swept up in an exuberant wave of boyish excitement, and it’s unlike anything he’s ever felt. He never experienced it during his teenage years like the average person. The sheer thrill of having an instant connection with a girl is an entirely new feeling for him.

Week after week, your laundry days are synchronized and you’ve started the habit of making silly faces or giving each other the finger just because. During the late nights spent together at Dove’s Diner, Eddie finds enjoyment in seeing you eat. It’s a peculiar fascination, but it makes him happy. Seeing you completely at ease while enjoying greasy food is endearing to him.

When he arrived in Chicago, Eddie couldn’t shake the feeling of not wanting to move back to Hawkins. Even so, he wasn’t experiencing the same comfort here as he did in that cramped trailer.

There was a longing for familiarity that he had in his old surroundings. Eddie didn’t want to have to go back home in order to feel that sense of belonging again. He had his doubts about ever truly adjusting to life here until you came along. In your company, the foreignness of the city fades away, replaced by that feeling he’s been missing.

Several times, he’s been working in his sketchbook, adding to the pin-up style figures and faces that bear a striking resemblance to you. While engrossed in drawing, he hadn’t picked up on the similarities. But when he absentmindedly drew a simple heart, that's when it occurred to him.

Eddie like-likes you.

As your shift comes to an end, you head to the back room to gather your belongings. Eddie stands idly at your claimed table, picking at his hangnails while he waits.

“When’re you gonna ask her out?” Lee asks while tidying up nearby.

Eddie laughs heartily at the idea. “How about never.”

“You should. I can tell she’s into you.”

“Yeah, right. I don’t stand a chance.”

Lee puts down his spray bottle and looks at Eddie. “Listen, I’ve known her for a while now. Trust me on this,” he dumps a used ashtray out into a trash bag.

Eddie emits a noise of disbelief, his mind flickering back to the painful lesson he learned in his youth—he’s no one's type. Lost in reflection, he doesn’t realize you’ve returned with your sweatshirt draped over your bent arm.

Despite the tiring evening, you're upbeat in his presence. “Okay, I’m ready! I was thinking we could get some takeout and watch TV at my place.”

“Sure, I could eat,” Eddie says with a grin. Lee is shaking his head, looking particularly smug.

Your apartment is the polar opposite of Eddie’s, the difference is like day and night. It has a homey atmosphere and there’s a notable absence of wear and tear. He does have band posters, framed personal photos, and furniture, but they fail to create the same inviting ambiance that your apartment effortlessly exudes.

Seated beside Eddie on your couch, you tease him. “You’re terrible at this.”

“I’m trying!” He attempts to mimic your technique, but the piece of chicken repeatedly falls from his chopsticks.

“I can see that,” you stifle a laugh. “And you’re total shit at it.”

Out of frustration, Eddie impales his sweet and sour chicken with both sticks.

Glancing your way, he catches you smiling ear to ear, watching him. Eddie smiles back as he chews. “What? This way works just as well.”

You laugh and refocus your on the TV while resuming your meal. Eddie swears that you’re sitting closer to him than when you first sat down. Your thigh is almost touching his and your shoulder is just as close.

The paranoia subsides as he gets lost in thinking about how he can feel the heat radiating off of your bare thigh. But Eddie’s pulled back to reality when your chopsticks cut across his vision and dig into his takeout box.

He doesn’t mind, not really; sharing is caring. Having said that, when you lean over to look into the box, your shoulder bumps against his. A particularly appreciative sound escapes your lips, one that’s borderline pornographic.

“That’s really good, I’ll have to get some next time,” you hum and place your takeout box on the coffee table. “Or I could just keep stealing yours, it tastes better that way.”

Eddie is frozen, eyes unblinking. As you return to your spot on the sofa, you’re unquestionably closer this time. Your beautiful skin is on display in those shorts of yours and your bare thigh is brushing against his own. He could choke on air right now if he were still breathing.

You look over at him, your brow furrowed. “You good?”

“Yeah, yep. All good,” Eddie avoids making eye contact and stares blankly ahead. “Peachy keen.”

“Okay, weirdo,” you brush off his abrupt awkwardness and scoot toward the edge of the cushion. After gathering your trash, you look at him. “All finished?”

“Mhm,” He replies weakly and extends his box toward you.

With your arms full, you head into the kitchen, leaving him by his lonesome in the living room.

Eddie releases a heavy sigh and drags his hands down his face. Your absence allows him to reenter his body, but it only makes him keenly aware of his not-so-subtle half hard-on that’s outlined through the thin fabric of his shorts.

His eyes widen in alarm and panic takes over. “Shit!” Frantically brainstorming ways to conceal it, Eddie spots a fuzzy blanket at the far end of the couch and he retrieves it, draping it over his lap. While he tries to make himself look as casual as possible, he catches a glimpse of your approaching shadow just before the kitchen light is switched off.

In the few seconds he has left, Eddie tries out various hand placements, but none feel quite right. Every position feels forced and conspicuous.

As you stride back to the couch, your sweet expression eases some of the tension in his bones. “I got a bit chilly,” Eddie blurts out, hoping to preempt any impending questioning. “Is it okay if I use this?”

“No, I’m totally gonna tell you that you can’t use a blanket for its sole purpose.”

Eddie laughs nervously, “Alright, alright.”

This is arguably worse, being wrapped in your scent. It’s awfully hard not to get any harder when your natural smell is flooding his head. It’s intoxicating, and he finds himself inhaling deeply to capture as much of it as he can.

“What’d I miss?” You ask while plopping back down beside him.

The continuous movement causes Eddie to clench his back molars together because an image surges before he can even think to suppress it. He’d bet all the money he has that you’d look stunning on top of him. There’s fantasy looming alongside the image; Eddie wonders what you look like beneath your clothes.

“Nothing, you didn’t miss anything,” He mutters. When you start to squirm against the back of the couch, Eddie shoots you a questioning look. “You got ants in your pants?”

You huff, “No, there’s an itchy spot on my back. Could you scratch it for me, please? It’s driving me nuts.”

“Oh, um, sure,” Eddie fumbles for words as you angle yourself and present your back to him. “Where is it?”

“Right between my shoulder blades.”

Eddie’s eyes zero in on the outline of your bra strap that’s visible through your shirt across your back. Given his luck, that would be the target. Just to be cautious, he starts by scratching at the higher middle part of your back.

“A little lower.”

Eddie swallows hard as his fingers tentatively inch their way down. His belly begins to swirl the closer he gets to the clasp, but thankfully, you stop him just before he reaches it.

“Right there! Yeah, harder.”

If this goes on too much longer, Eddie could very well pass out. But, per your request, he applies more pressure. Beneath the blanket, the discomfort has only intensified—his arousal is now raging with a persistent ache.

“Oh my god, finally,” You say appreciatively and settle back into a more relaxed position.

The overwhelming urge to touch himself skyrockets as his body begs for friction. Eddie repositions himself to adjust the blanket, hoping to keep his erection concealed. From the corner of his eye, his gaze drifts along your figure, pausing at the rise and fall of your diaphragm as you watch TV.

A jagged breath falls from his lips, but he’s determined to clear his mind. Realizing that he can’t leave here tonight with your blanket as a shield, he has to find a way to distract himself by the end of this program.

Miraculously, he survived. Now lying in his bed, Eddie is surrounded by the darkness, save for the glow of the moon and the faint residual light from the streetlamps filtering through the broken blinds. Eddie stares up at the ceiling while his mostly naked body responds to the vivid recollections swarming his train of thought.

On any ordinary day, Eddie would resort to the routine of using his hand and lotion to relieve himself. Be that as it may, the stirring in his core demands a different sensation.

With the thought of you weighing heavily on his mind, there’s an alternative means by which he’s going to alleviate the frustration and desire that’s grown too loud to ignore. Eddie, already shirtless, yanks his boxers off in a swift motion and kicks them off carelessly. Moving onto his knees, he leans over the edge of his bed and retrieves a pillow from the floor.

He sits back on his heels in the middle of his bed and contorts the stuffing with intent. For a moment, he’s not sure how he wants to use it. His body’s impatience grows, causing his erection to bob expectantly.

Eddie licks his lips in anticipation and sets the bent pillow down with the bend facing him. With one hand, he firmly holds the makeshift toy in place. With his other, he strokes himself languidly, blotting the fabric of the pillowcase with precum as he taps his cock against it repeatedly.

Experimentally, Eddie rolls his hips downward, thrusting the sensitive underside of his length against the smooth material. His eyes fall closed, and he can’t seem to pick just one aspect of you to fantasize about, not when every inch of you is so captivating. Eddie grunts, “Yeah, you like that?”

He adjusts his hips, angling them lower to get more friction. The heat blooming causes Eddie’s jaw to go slack. The usual five or six minutes have been halved as the thought of your smile makes Eddie embarrassingly close already.

Wanting to get in a few more thrusts before he’s spent, Eddie pistons himself against the pillow. “Tell me how badly you want me, I wanna hear you say it.”

With one fist continuing to pin the pillow down against the mattress, Eddie trails his other hand up his pale, slender stomach. He digs his gnawed-down nails into his skin, leaving red streaks behind, as he tries to imagine it as your touch. Eddie doesn’t know what it would feel like if it wasn’t his hand, but the thought of you is more than enough.

Devoid of any visual aid, the absence of a magazine or porno tape isn’t hindering him. Typically, when Eddie only has his imagination to utilize, he can beat off without finishing until he eventually gets bored and gives up.

This time it’s different. As his thoughts run wild, Eddie’s rhythm falters. The bed frame squeaks, and the wood shifts while he thrusts as hard as he can.

“Uhhh,” A coarse moan pours from his throat as his cum shoots onto the pillow. Eddie’s thrusts slow to a stop and he pants. The tension in his abdomen gradually subsides as he floats his way back down to earth.

His eyes flutter open, and he’s faced with the mess he made. “Fuckin’ hell,” With a sigh, Eddie decides that he’ll deal with it tomorrow.

After changing into fresh boxers, he chugs down a glass of tap water. Utterly exhausted, Eddie collapses back onto his bed. The aged frame creaks in protest to his abrupt flop. The intensity has been burned away, and what lingers is rawness.

Here’s the thing, Eddie has a way with words, and his unconventional charm comes without a second thought. But conveying himself physically is a different story. His upbringing lacked affection, and consequently, Eddie was robbed of particular milestones. Among those missed moments was sitting on the grass beneath a starry night sky on summer night.

Eddie never got to pluck the green blades from the ground as he gathered the courage to have his first kiss. He hasn’t so much as held someone’s hand before.

With Mr. Pickles tucked under his chin, a wave washes over his heart, wading him further into the tide of ache. Eddie may be inexperienced but he’s not stupid. He’s picking up what you’re putting down. Your persistent hints practically scream at him to make a move.

But your persistence only worsens the anxiety because Eddie’s not sure that he can take the leap like you want him to. It’s not that he doesn’t want you, that couldn’t be further from the truth. It’s uncertainty about what to do if he gets to be with you.

Eddie’s drawn to you, his poor pillow could tell you that much. This isn’t the first night he’s spent laying here trying to talk some sense into himself. When he practices being smooth instead of awkward, Eddie struggles to navigate through the hypothetical scenarios that he’s in complete control of.

If his bedroom walls could speak, they’d tell of those nights. But after the sinful act he just committed, they have a hell of a lot more to say. Those bold utterances were far from who he is. It was a facade, a portrayal of a self-assured man he’ll never embody.

Talking dirty made him feel powerful in the moment because the mask allowed him to avoid facing how he truly feels about you. At his core, what Eddie craves is to baby you, he wants to show you that he can be sensitive. He’d die on the spot to see you in a state of delight from being showered with adoration.

Eddie closes his eyes and envisions a world where he can be what you want. He’d never be oblivious to having food in his teeth, and he’d never push a door that should be pulled. This false reality is one where he doesn’t disappoint you by shying away from your advances. It’s unrealistic, he’s just not wired that way.

During his younger years, Eddie endured the worst of taunting. The other kids mocked his short frizzy curls by referring to it as a “rat’s nest.” They told him that he’d resemble a troll until his dying days. It was ingrained into him that he was unworthy of any form of love—be it familial, platonic, or romantic. The remarks made about Eddie’s prominent nose convinced him that he was a walking safety hazard and he’d poke someone’s eye out if he ever dared to kiss them.

In the seventh grade, Eddie hit a breaking point. He was fed up with having chewing gum put into his curls. There are too many times to count where Wayne sat for hours with a jar of peanut butter, attempting to free the cemented wads from his nephew’s locks. One day, Eddie stood in front of the mirror in the cramped bathroom and cried at the discovery of another bright pink clump of gum tangled in his hair.

It may have been just one piece at that time, but it was the final straw. Out of desperation, Eddie did the only thing he felt would solve the problem for good. By taking matters into his own hands, he used the clippers to give himself a buzz-cut. As chestnut-colored locks cascaded down, settling atop the sink and his feet, the damage was done.

Wayne lent a hand in handling the patchy spots in the back of Eddie’s head that he couldn’t quite reach. The impromptu solution worked as he’d hoped, but it only opened the door to different torment.

The following school day, his classmates didn’t hold back, likening his appearance to that of an inmate waiting to meet Old Sparky, or cruelly suggesting that he resembles his imprisoned father.

Eddie quickly came to understand that he was never going to be the guy girls wished would ask them to the dance. The scars of rejection were etched into his self-esteem, and since then, he’s come to terms with his inadequacy.

Perhaps you’re interested in Eddie because there are still things you don’t know about him. Surely, once you learn how unworthy he is, you’ll laugh in his face just as the others did.

Tonight he’s shielded from the nightlife commotion inside his van, parked along the curb outside your apartment. He sits patiently, watching the pine tree-shaped air freshener gently sway with the feeble push of air from the AC vents.

It’s Friday night, and there’s nothing he’d rather do than spend it with you. Eddie directs his attention toward your building as you descend the steps of your apartment’s stoop.

Eddie detects the effort, even from afar. Your shoes look new and you’re wearing more makeup than he’s used to seeing you in. These differences have him pondering the significance behind the deliberate choices.

When Eddie casually suggested catching a movie a few days ago, he hadn’t thought much of it. To him, it was merely something you hadn't done together. He didn’t think twice when you got so excited about seeing a late-night showing of Die Hard.

It’s dawning on him that it wasn’t because you’re a big Bruce Willis fan. The reason you’re all gussied up is because this is a date. He asked you out on a date.

This is not a problem, per se. Eddie’s thrilled about going on his very first date, but fear also has him in a chokehold because he’s unprepared.

Wayne never took the time to give his nephew the lowdown on dating. It didn’t come up because Eddie never displayed interest or curiosity about it.

He’s at a loss. Eddie doesn’t know how to carry himself, he doesn’t have a clue about what’s considered proper etiquette beyond what he’s seen on TV and in movies. Are those even reliable sources?

As you cross the sidewalk in his direction, Eddie’s palms grow slick. It suddenly registers that he should be outside, ready to hold the car door open for you. But before he can act on this realization, you swiftly swing the door open and slip onto the passenger seat.

"Hi," You chirp, the sound almost a squeak as you close the car door behind you. You subtly adjust the bottom of your dress before securing your seatbelt.

“Hey,” Eddie’s eyes wander over your body until he finds himself admiring your bare knees.

With a jolt, his eyes snap back to your face, only for you to be watching him with a pleased expression adorning your features.

Eddie clears his throat and busies himself with turning over the ignition. “You look nice,” he scrunched his face. “Pretty! I meant to say you look pretty.”

"Thanks," you reply appreciatively and inspect your freshly painted nails to ensure they’ve withstood the indecisive wardrobe changes of the past half hour.

Throughout the brief drive, engaging in small talk grants Eddie a temporary respite from his brain being in overdrive. Determined to maintain composure, he makes a conscious effort to avoid looking your way.

Eddie successfully carries the conversation as you enter the lobby and get through the refreshments line. Luckily, you secure the last two seats at the end of a row; he’d have been mortified if the theater was oversold and there weren’t any seats left.

The first half of the movie goes as one would expect; you’re comfortably seated beside him, occasionally whispering commentary to each other. Meanwhile, Eddie shovels fistfuls of over-buttered and under-salted popcorn into his mouth, crunching away as the scenes progress on the screen before him.

But then there’s a subtle shift in your body language. He assumes that your inability to sit still might be caused by the need for a restroom break. That is until your knee gradually inches closer to his.

The film has become an afterthought as Eddie watches you place your hand on your thigh, noticeably close to his own that’s casually hanging off of the armrest. It’s impossible to differentiate the pounding pulse in his ears from the blasts of gunfire booming through the theater.

When your fingertips graze his, Eddie rips his hand away to reach for the bucket of popcorn that’s resting in the ditch of his opposite arm. “Want some?” he fails to whisper while offering the bucket to you.

The explosive flashes of red and yellow harshly illuminate your face and without a word, you shake your head and go back to the movie.

Eddie puts the bucket back where it was, and in the hopes of distracting himself from the guilty tingle in his feet, he fidgets with his wristwatch. Repeatedly, Eddie clasps and unclasps it, making the strap incredibly loose and uncomfortably tight around his wrist.

A few minutes go by and without warning, his heart stops because you unexpectedly rest your head on his shoulder.

As if struck by lightning, Eddie leaps to his feet. The motion launches the bucket of popcorn into the air, and the people in the row in front of you are showered with kernels. He's as stiff as a board as he’s confronted with mild uproar and a chorus of expletives.

Red-faced and unsure of whom to apologize to first, Eddie turns to you. “Shit! I’ll go get another one,” He doesn’t wait for your response and rushes down the stairs, practically leaping over them two at a time.

After bursting through the double doors and out into the empty hallway, Eddie brings his palm to his forehead, his other hand propped on his hip while he paces. Once he’s able to collect himself, Eddie heads toward the lobby, only to find that everything is powered down.

Eddie decides to use the little time he has to rehearse what he’ll say. There might not be anything he can do to play off his peculiar behavior; at least, nothing that he can think of at the moment.

As he shows up empty-handed, Eddie doesn’t overlook your rigid posture. Your left leg is crossed over your right, pointing away from him. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think that you’re just upset that he wasted the popcorn and didn't get more.

In your lack of questioning, Eddie feels compelled to explain himself. “Concessions were closed, so…” He gestures with upturned palms, but you don’t acknowledge that he’s spoken or come back.

Not having received a response, Eddie resorts to chewing on his thumbnail and his leg bounces in tandem. Lost in his head, he finds it increasingly difficult to focus on the remainder of the movie.

Exiting the theater and stepping out into the parking lot, Eddie’s voice lacks confidence as he walks alongside you. “What’d ya think? I give it a solid six out of ten.”

You reply with a casual shrug and wrap your arms around yourself. “It was alright.”

“How ‘bout I treat you to Dove’s? Wanna go for a bite?” Eddie suggests to salvage the remainder of the evening.

“I’ll pass. I’m not hungry,” you say curtly, taking a step ahead to open the passenger door for yourself, denying Eddie a second chance to hold it open for you.

“Oh,” Eddie begins, but his sentence is severed by the slam of the door. “Okay,” he finishes with a sigh.

During the drive back to your neighborhood, the air feels dense. The radio commercials do little to fill the space between you.

Upon the front tire nudging the curb, you get out of the van before Eddie has put it in park. He hurriedly follows suit, rushing over to catch up with you as you head toward your front steps.

“I had a good time tonight. Did you?” Eddie blurts out.

Pausing in your steps, you turn around and face him. “Yeah, I guess.”

Knowing that he’s the cause of your deflated spirit punches a pang to his chest. Eddie offers a gentle expression. “Would you wanna go again sometime? Probably best if you hold the popcorn though,” he chuckles uncomfortably.

“Night, Eddie,” You say with finality before letting yourself into your apartment.

Once you’ve gone inside, dejection overtakes Eddie’s features. “Goodnight,” he mutters to himself, biting the inside of his cheek.

Sifting through the mental archive of wisdom passed down by Wayne, Eddie desperately rummages for any guidance that could apply to his current situation.

Eddie has officially had the world’s worst date, and it very well could be the only one he’ll ever get to go on. It only hurts more that the outcome was entirely his fault.

You’re avoiding him, that much is obvious. You stopped showing up to do laundry together and while he performs, you intentionally keep your back turned to the stage.

After your Saturday shifts end, you no longer stick around to hang out with Eddie, instead choosing to leave with your fellow waitresses.

One would think that it was a tough decision, but it makes perfect sense to him. Eddie gives up playing on Saturdays to avoid crossing paths with you. He reverts to his old spot on Thursday nights.

It’s a way to protect himself while making things easier for you. He can’t fathom how repulsed you are by his presence at this point.

Eddie sits at the folding table in his living room, his feet hooked with one another. The blaring thrash metal fills the room as he meticulously drafts tattoo concepts, completely absorbed in his sketchbook.

The incessant ringing of the telephone hardly cuts through the music. Eddie ignores it for the first two rings and lets out a reluctant huff before pausing the tape and picking up the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Heyyy, can you come get me?” Your cheerful request weaves through the lively chatter and honking car horns in the background.

Not having seen you in two weeks, your voice hits him like a wall. “What for?”

“M’ready to go home.”

Eddie reads his watch and leans against the wall. “I don’t see what that has to do with me.”

“You know what, forget it. I’ll just walk home.”

“Absolutely fucking not. What bar are you at?”

“Errr, The Dugout I think.”

“Stay put, alright? Wait for me inside, I’ll be there in a few,” After hanging up, he recklessly shoves his feet into his Reeboks and snatches his car keys from the counter.

Eddie arrives, expecting you to be inside. But there you are, sitting on the curb, right where you shouldn’t be. He calls out to you and jogs over, dodging a few bar-goers on the way.

At first, you turn your head the wrong way when you hear your name called. When you spot him, you scramble upright. “You came for me!” Excitedly, you raise your hands above your head and it slightly throws off your balance.

“Holy shit, you’re plastered,” Eddie half-scoffs, half-laughs. His eyes roam your body, and he immediately takes notice of your scraped and bloodied knees. “Jesus, what happened?”

“Huh?” you ask, your drunken buoyancy unaffected by his evident concern. Following his guided point, you simply shrug. “I dunno, can’t remember.”

“You’re not here by yourself, are you?” Eddie scans the area, looking for any signs of someone accompanying you.

“Mmm... no, well yes. My girlfriends were here but they left.”

Eddie scoffs, “You’ve got some shitty friends.”

“Good thing I have you. My very own knight in shining armor is here to rescue me!”

“That tower of yours must’ve had quite the mini bar, princess,” Eddie remarks.

“Let’s go,” Eddie instructs, heading toward his van with the assumption that you’re following. Peeking over his shoulder, you’re practically tripping over your own feet.

The long strap of your purse slides off your shoulder, snags on your bent elbow, and the bag thuds against your calf.

“What am I gonna do with you, hmm?” He steps back, takes hold of your purse, and throws it over his shoulder. Then, he wraps his arm around your waist and holds you snugly to his side, determined to get you home safely by whatever means necessary. After helping you into the passenger seat, he reaches over to fasten your seatbelt. “No hurling in here, got it?”

“Yes, sir,” you salute before sitting back so that your head is supported by the headrest.

Getting you up the stairs was the hard part. He unlocks the apartment door and gently steers you toward the bathroom.

You make a feeble attempt to resist, grasping onto the door frame before finally yielding to your waning strength.

Eddie lets go of you and begins to rummage in search of supplies.

“Okay, Eddie Bear. I’m ready for my bath,” You slur, leaning against the wall for support as you start to ease yourself into the tub.

“Eddie Bear, huh? That’s new,” he snorts before glancing over. “Oh, no you don’t. C’mere,” Eddie grasps you by the waist once more, guiding you to sit on the closed toilet seat.

With both hands, he cradles your booze-warmed cheeks, unintentionally pushing your lips into a pout. “Stay put, would ya?”

Mumbling to himself, Eddie goes back to gathering the first aid supplies. “I look away for two goddamn seconds. Nothing but trouble, I swear.”

The pout doesn’t leave your face and you cross your arms with an annoyed huff. As the seconds pass, it's as though there’s elevator music playing in your head while you wait for something to happen.

Eddie crouches at your feet. “So, what’s your justification for getting shit-faced on a weeknight?” The tip of his tongue peeks out from between his lips as he begins wiping away the dried blood on your knees with a damp cloth.

“Boys are dumb, that’s why.”

“I know, aren’t they just the worst?” Eddie concurs with a hum. He stands to rinse the cloth, washes his hands, and then fully gets to his knees on the tile floor to apply ointment.

“Yeah, they are,” Your voice trails off as you look at his fingers resting firmly on your thigh, just above your knee, to prevent any inadvertent movement.

Engrossed in your own little world, you start humming an improvised tune. “Like them so much,” you sing-song to yourself.

Eddie glances up at you briefly. “What’s that?”

“Your hands,” you explain and poke each of his knuckles with your index finger. “You’ve got such nice fingies.”

“Fingies?” Eddie smiles as he secures bandages over both of your knees. He withdraws his touch from your thigh and he takes hold of your hand, turning it palm-side up.

“Mhm, the nicest.”

“Yours are nice too,” he comments as he cleans the scrape on the heel of your hand. As Eddie admires the intricate lines and wrinkles across your palm, he inadvertently brushes the cloth directly against your wound.

You make a high-pitched fuss in reaction to the sudden contact, reflexively pulling your hand away.

“Shit, sorry,” Eddie apologizes earnestly. He applies the ointment before applying a bandage. Rising to his feet, he theatrically brushes off his hands. “There, good as new.”

You reach out to him in a toddler-like manner and make grabby hands at him.

Eddie laughs and leans against the door frame. “I’m not carrying you. Brush your teeth so we can get you into bed.”

“You’re no fun,” you groan while you stand awkwardly, the bandages restricting full movement. You wet your toothbrush and squeeze toothpaste onto it, making sure to shoot a scowl at Eddie as you do.

After lackadaisically brushing your teeth, you plop the brush back into its cup. “There, squeaky clean. Happy?”

“As a clam,” Eddie says with a grin. He steps back to allow you out of the bathroom. “Go put your PJs on.”

With a dismissive wave, you drag your feet to your room and begin to dig through your dresser drawer.

Just as he’s about to start picking up after himself, he’s interrupted.

“Eddie,” You call out defeatedly.

“Yeah?” When he doesn’t receive an immediate response, he cautiously steps into the doorway of your room. There you stand, still wearing your dress.

“I can’t reach it,” You say, turning your back to him and bowing your head slightly, signaling that you need his assistance.

Eddie swallows hard and mutters under his breath, “Right, the zipper,” Stepping into the room, his hands start to tremble.

Now positioned behind you, he carefully takes hold of the small piece of metal. Despite the trembling, Eddie tries his best not to make contact with your skin as it’s revealed by the descending zipper.

Dizziness consumes him as his eyes flit between your shoulder blades. Once your dress is completely unzipped, Eddie takes a significant step backward, putting distance between the two of you. “Is that all you need?”

You return to sifting through your pajama options. “I think so.”

Eddie retreats to the bathroom. The image of your bare back is seared into his memory, he’s just gonna have to live with it etched into his mind forever.

After regaining his composure, he locates some aspirin and fills a drinking glass with water. “Are you decent?” Eddie asks hesitantly, not daring to step closer to the threshold without receiving confirmation.

“Uh huh,” You mumble, flopping onto your bed and committing to the first position you land in.

Holding the cup of water and two tablets of pain relief, Eddie re-enters your bedroom. He finds you sprawled and droopy-eyed lying on your back.

Eddie’s chunky metal rings clink against the glass when he sets it down on your nightstand. “I think you’ll appreciate this little visit from the aspirin fairy come morning. You’re gonna feel like shit.”

“Okay,” you murmur, your attention glued to how his strong nose casts a shadow on his cheek in the glow of your bedside lamp. Flipping onto your side facing the door, you yawn and stretch your toes.

Eddie gathers the jumbled blanket from the other side of the bed and drapes it over you, covering you up to your shoulders with care.

Although he wants to, he refrains from tucking you in, concerned that you might trip or get more hurt if you need to get up. “Well, goodnight.”

Just as Eddie turns to leave, your weak grasp seizes his hand before he’s out of reach. It stops him in his tracks, and his gaze follows the path from your joined hands, tracing up your arm until his eyes meet yours.

Fighting to keep your eyes open, you’re teetering on the edge of consciousness. “I don’t want you to go.”

He returns without needing any further invitation and sits on the edge of the bed by your belly. Releasing his hand, you rub your eye before tucking your fist beside your head.

Looking down at you affectionately, a grin graces Eddie’s face. He watches as your eyelids flutter closed, and your breathing becomes slow and steady. “Such a sleepy girl.”

With your eyes cemented closed, you adjust your head on the pillow before drifting off to sleep. Eddie stays put for a minute or two, simply admiring you. He’s never seen something so precious.

His heartbeat rattles his ribs, just as it did the first time he saw you waitressing at Double Barrel. That static-like tingling plagues his extremities as an old thought resurfaces. In those conversations where you shared your life stories, Eddie couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel to be kissed by you.

Eddie’s eyes brim with tears at the fact that his presence is solely due to your inebriation, and this closeness it’s about to expire. “God,” he exhales, rolling his eyes skyward to hold back his tears.

“Sleep tight, sweetheart,” Eddie whispers, pulling the blanket a touch higher over your shoulder. Then, he switches off the lamp and leaves you to rest.

Dwelling on the fact that you won’t remember tonight won’t do him any good. Getting this close to you would have never happened in sober circumstances. At least he got to take care of you in the way he always wanted, even if only for a short time.

Over the past few days, Eddie has been thinking about how he felt when you relied on him to get you home. He’s curious whether the call you made to him signifies that you still want him in your life. If that happens to be the case, then he can work with that.

Going through with this might worsen the sting of rejection, but Eddie has his heart set on mending things.

Within moments of entering the bar and scouring the room for you, he spots you conversing with Lee about a table’s order. Eddie begins to pat his thighs in an erratic rhythm as he feels his insides lurch.

As soon as Lee notices Eddie, he wraps up the conversation and gets back to work. You observe Eddie, noticing the hopefulness on his face as he strides across the room. “Do you need something?”

“Not necessarily. I was wondering if I could uh, make you dinner or something?” Eddie kicks one foot with the other and totters back and forth in place.

Your expression changes to one of disbelieving annoyance. “I can slap together a PB&J at home, but thanks.”

“No, no. I’m serious, I’ll make whatever you want,” Eddie insists.

“What for?”

Eddie briefly looks away, scratching at the nape of his neck. “I miss hanging out with you.”

“I don’t know,” You ponder with uncertainty, your gaze monitoring the occupied tables in case you’re needed.

“Let me cook for you. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

His pleading eyes wear you down. “Fine, when?”

A bright smile spreads across Eddie’s face, stretching from ear to ear. He bounces on his tiptoes with enthusiasm. “I’ll call you tomorrow and we can set a time then.”

“Sure, yeah,” you respond, your attention diverted to a booth on the far side of the room where the seated customers wave you over. “Look, I gotta go.”

You’re already back in work mode and walking away before Eddie can say anything else. He just stands there, incapable of shrinking his smile to a mere grin.

Bowing his head, Eddie pumps his fists at his sides in a moment of triumph. With the opportunity for redemption sitting in his lap, he has his heart set on making things right.

In the days leading up to the agreed-upon dinner, Eddie makes several trips to the library, hunting for a recipe for the meal you mentioned. He dips into his emergency savings to purchase extra ingredients, dedicating his time and money to practice making it.

The first go around, he forgot to add two crucial ingredients, resulting in a bland and tasteless dish. Eddie couldn’t let it go to waste, so he settled for the less-than-impressive dinner that night.

On the second attempt, he tried to compensate for the previous mistake by adding more than enough seasoning. He didn’t exactly do it on purpose; it poured out of the canister much faster than Eddie expected. Regrettably, that meal went straight into the trash. Eddie couldn’t stomach a forkful of it.

Eddie absolutely, positively cannot fuck this one up. He can’t afford to, both figuratively and literally. Without a doubt, if he serves you a shit dinner, you’ll push him out of your life for good.

When you knock on the front door, the perceived silence on the other side of the door is broken with a clatter and muffled cursing. The quiet resumes and hangs in the air for a couple of seconds before the door swings open.

There stands Eddie, hair a little tousled. “Hello, hello!”

His stomach does somersaults at the sight before him; your clothes accentuate your figure, and your skirt suits you. Once again, you look stunning and appropriately dressed for a date.

Meanwhile, Eddie doesn’t have many options to choose from. The most formal thing he owns is a button-up shirt and it’s too dressy, but it’s all he has. Paired with it are his holeless black jeans. Before today, he never thought it was possible to be both over and underdressed at the same time.

“Come on in,” Eddie says, stepping aside with reluctance, allowing you to enter his apartment.

As soon as he opened the door to you, his mind turned into a whirlwind of second-guessing himself. The shirt is definitely too formal, but Eddie wants to prove that he knows it’s a date this time, and he means for it to be one. If only he owned an iron so that the material wasn’t as wrinkly as it is.

He wants to prove that he can clean up nicely, evident from the scent of aftershave and cologne. Eddie meticulously clipped his fingernails and tidied his eyebrows, ensuring that he is as presentable as possible.

“This is my castle,” He gestures to the space.

The entirety of the afternoon was spent tidying up and Eddie couldn’t bear to leave a single surface undusted. Any potentially embarrassing materials were tucked away and he washed all of his dirty dishes.

As you enter and survey his studio apartment, he takes the opportunity to rake through his bangs with his fingers. You spot his sketchbook sprawled open on the guitar amp and pick it up.

“Oh, those are nothing, you don’t have to-” Eddie moves forward and reaches out, intending to retrieve the drawing pad, but pauses when you point to the sketch he recently finished.

“This one,” you trace the lines of the drawing with your finger before looking over at him. “I’d get this one.”

“You’d let me give you ink?” There’s a hint of insecurity and surprise in his voice as he subtly retrieves the sketchbook from your grasp.

“Maybe. It depends if you’re still shit at it,” you shrug casually, interlocking your hands behind your back as you assess the living room area. Your attention falls on the antique bookshelf, adorned with miscellaneous items and framed photos. “Has Cliff let you take clients yet?”

“No, you’d be my first real canvas,” Eddie admits.

As you continue looking around, his gaze is one beat ahead of yours. His eyes land on it just before yours do, and his stomach drops upon spotting the one thing he forgot to hide.

“Oh my god!” You squeal, rushing over to the couch and scooping up Mr. Pickles. “Who’s this cutie?”

Pale as a ghost, Eddie stares blankly back at you. How the fuck did he forget to hide the one thing on this planet that rids him of all masculinity.

“I’ll introduce you another time,” Eddie silently urges you to put Mr. Pickles back in his spot, desperately hoping you’ll never bring it up again.

In actuality, he should be thanking himself for the oversight, because you look far more high-spirited than when you stood outside his door.

“I’m looking forward to it,” You brush over the matted fur on the bunny’s head before carefully placing him back on the sofa.

The tension dissipates on his body as he picks up on the change in your energy. It’s reminiscent of how happy you were to see him when you were drunk. But this time is different; it’s genuine, rather than influenced by alcohol.

You’re lured into the kitchen by the incredible aroma, and the steaming food matches the enticing smell. “There’s no way in hell you made that.”

“You bet your ass I did,” Eddie retorts with his hands on his hips while he makes his way from the front door to the kitchen.

You step closer to him. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me before,” you purr, inching closer until your toes nearly make contact with his socked ones. With featherlight pressure, you place a tender kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.”

Eddie’s internal circuits fry as he tries to process the fact that he just got kissed on the cheek for the first time. His lungs refuse their vital function, denying him oxygen. He retreats by half a step, attempting to mask the blazing rosiness of his face.

“For god’s sake, I’m so sick of whatever this stupid game is.”

“What game? I’m not-” Eddie panics.

“You get me to throw myself at you by doing thoughtful shit like this, but when I finally make a move, you act revolted.”

“I swear to Christ I’m not playing with you. I mean, I’m not trying to,” Eddie explains, his words jumbling together. “I know I've been making a total ass of myself, and tonight was supposed to fix that. But I just- I keep screwing up because I like you and you make me so nervous.”

You scoff, halfway turned toward the door. “That’s hard to believe. You flinch if I so much as bump into you. You don’t want to touch me, I get it.”

A pang of guilt hits him like a baseball bat to the stomach. “No no no, I do! I wanna touch you,” Eddie admits. “Look, you mean so goddamn much to me. You deserve someone who can make you feel good, and I can’t do that.”

Still guarded, you sound agitated but you turn to face him nonetheless. “What are you talking about?”

His voice lowers, a whisper of shame. “I don’t know the first thing about pleasing a woman. Nobody wants to fuck the dorky virgin, y’know?” Eddie’s vision blurs from the tears veiling his vision.

You frown at the vulnerable quiver in his voice. “I do, I’ve been wanting to.”

“Don’t bullshit me,” he lets out a humorless laugh. “I wouldn’t be able to make you cum.”

“I have to disagree with you on that. You’re a fast learner,” You extend your hand to him at waist height.

Eddie stares at your outstretched hand, struggling to process the gesture. He holds his breath, torn between his anxiety and trust. Cautiously, he places his hand in yours.

The benevolent hold pulses a flash flood through his being, the frigid water jolting his systems alive. When you intertwine your fingers with his, the clamminess is evident against the softness of your palm. Insecurity floods him, worried that you’ll be repulsed by it.

Cracks of lightning electrify Eddie’s heart, rendering him unable to meet your gaze. Instead, he focuses intensely on your joined hands. “I have no idea what I'm doing though.”

“That’s okay,” you assure him with a confident smile. Giving his hand a slight squeeze, you add, “See, not so scary anymore, right?”

Eddie shakes his head, even though fear is still coursing through his veins. You pick up on his hesitation and knowing that he won’t do it himself, you guide his hand to your hip and leave it there.

He sort of caresses, not out of boldness, but seeking to alleviate the numbness in his fingers. The sensation has already spread to other parts of his body.

Your patient expression, graced with a grin, grows into a bright smile when you meet his eyes. Eddie’s confidence blossoms, and he uses his other hand to cradle your cheek.

Acquainting himself with the contours of your face, his thumb strokes lightly from beneath your eyes and along your cheekbone. He starts to smile too as his nerves give way to the feeling of reassurance.

As you tilt your head into his touch, your eyelids flutter closed, and you grasp at the loose sides of his shirt, pulling him closer. He steps forward willingly, but his voice retains an uncertain tone. “I really wanna kiss you, but I’ve never, uh…”

You lean in, and the tip of your nose gently brushes against his. The thundering of his heart in his ears drowns out everything but your voice.

“Close your eyes and follow my lead, okay?” The warmth of your breath encircles his lips, turning his knees to jelly.

Eddie can’t even whisper a confirmation. At your request, he closes his eyes, leaving him solely reliant on his other senses. The smoothness of your lips against his registers as a gentle peck with just enough pressure for him to feel it. It lingers, and he finds himself incapable of moving his lips in response.

“Want another?”

With his eyes still closed, he murmurs, “Yes, please.”

Devilishly, you press a kiss to his wrist, the hand that is still gently cradling your face.

Eddie’s eyes open, a pout and a scowl simultaneously forming his reaction. “Nu-uh, right here,” he insists, leaning in eagerly. He’s caught up in the desire to feel it again but he’s still hesitant to initiate the kiss himself.

You happily close the gap and this time, Eddie slightly purses his lips against yours, doing his best to follow your lead. After giving it a few tries, he feels you withdraw but his head instinctively follows, chasing your lips.

His eyes swirl with affection as he grapples for something to say, feeling breathless and dumb. “Fuck, I don’t wanna stop doing that.”

“Then don’t.”

Finally, Eddie’s able to pursue, but only a fraction of a second before you. With determination, his pecks carry more verve. It’s easier than he thought it would be; granted, he can rely on his ability to keep a steady rhythm, a perk of being a musician.

Eddie didn’t think this could get any better—that is until your lips slot perfectly between his, wet and warm. He pauses, malfunctioning once more. As you kiss him deeply, his mind is dusted in a golden haze and it feels as though he’s floating within himself. Enveloped by the sensation of your hands on his collarbones, a soft noise escapes him.

Mortified, Eddie freezes. Instead of deterring you, it only spurs you on. You wrap your arms around his neck and mold your body against his. The intensity of the kiss only escalates, he’s chasing your storm, matching your every move.

Your fingers entwine in the curls at the nape of his neck, coaxing more noises from him. Eddie is so far gone that he’s unaware of the growing bulge in his jeans. His hand leaves your cheek, traces down your shoulder, and along the outside of your arm before clinging to your waist with both hands.

You hover over his lips, a stream of electricity fizzling between you. “Is it okay if I take my shirt off?”

Eddie forgets to respond but then nods fervently. With curious eyes, he watches intently as you lift your shirt, unveiling skin he’s never seen before.

He inhales and exhales shakily as your necklace falls back into its place against your chest. It’s not a swinging pocket watch, but Eddie is entranced nonetheless.

“You said you wanna touch me,” you draw his trembling hands up your sides. “Now’s your chance.”

Eddie’s hands ascend and meet the silky band of your bra, and you guide his palms forward to the plush foam padding. Your reassuring hold is encouraging, but Eddie tears his stare from your breasts to check-in. He finds you already looking at him, exuding a sweet demeanor. “Give it a try.”

Eddie’s Adam’s apple bobs in the thick column of his throat, his hands unmoving beneath yours.

“Like this,” You squeeze your hands twice before removing your guidance and allowing him to proceed at his own pace.

Adrenaline motivates him to cup them independently this time, and his cock twitches as he commits to the action.

“You’re doing great by the way,” You offer a smile.

Growing more confident, Eddie applies more pressure. His thumbs move in tandem, brushing over the area where your nipples are concealed. The innocent delight in his eyes burns dark into frustration after a few squeezes. Eddie huffs in annoyance at the fact that he’s only getting handfuls of padding.

“Easy, tiger. Want this off too?”

Heartened by the lack of ridicule, he feels safe. Regardless, Eddie fails to articulate more than a few words, his heart lodged in his throat. “If that’s okay with you.”

“Come sit,” You suggest, taking his hand in yours to lead him to sit on the edge of the bed.

As he sits, Eddie thanks himself for having washed his sheets for tonight, despite never imagining that this would happen.

When you release his hand, both of them return to the plush of your waist, making himself at home there. The straps of your unhooked bra drape loosely on your arms, and his pupils dilate as the foam cups gradually gain distance from your body.

“Holy shit,” Eddie says under his breath, his bottom lip shining after a swift swipe of his tongue.

Your hips receive an involuntary squeeze as his patience begins to waver. He then slides his hands back up to your ribs, using his thumb followed by the heel of his palms to graze the bottom of your breasts.

With a sigh of relief, Eddie no longer has to daydream about what they might look like. His beautiful brown eyes roam over your body like you’re a masterpiece, a sculpture carved from stone solely for him to admire endlessly. Savoring the moment, he takes his time to appreciate every second. Eddie doesn’t take your trust for granted.

After a minute or two, you scoot backward onto the mattress toward the pillows. “Let’s get more comfortable.”

He watches you recline half-naked on his bed, and his belly swirls at the sight. Eddie follows suit, crawling to you. Now positioned between your legs, Eddie hesitates as he looks down at you, your hips not making any contact.

His touch resumes at your waist, but this time he’s stroking the expanse of your tummy; it inadvertently brings comfort to both you and him. Until this moment, he’s never had the chance to see the tiny details on your face up close—the distinct aspects that compose your sheer beauty.

Eddie’s hazelnut curls hang over his ears as his gaze trails over your neck and chest. His intense adoration makes you want to hide, but the unease is melted away when he captures your lips with his own. Eddie feels like it’s already been too long since he last kissed you, the deprivation like that of extreme thirst.

Goosebumps prickle his fully dressed form, a surge of belonging filling the cracks in the surface of his heart. Timid pecking is a thing of the past, each kiss more fervid than the one before it. The wet click of your lips drowns out the inhibitions buzzing in his ears.

Eddie’s large hand paws at your breast, his thumb playing with your pebbled nipple, drawing a whine from the back of your throat. You tug him closer by his jeans, bringing his hips down against yours. Regardless of the denim barrier, this causes a change in him. When you lift your hips against Eddie, he grinds back just as needily.

As your lips part, he begins a trail of affection along your cheek, jaw, and down your neck. When Eddie reaches your collarbones, his mouth moves hurriedly. He’s itching to fulfill the longing that’s been something he’s imagined plenty of times before. Kissing every inch in his descent, Eddie hunches over and takes your nipple into his mouth.

The melodious sound that pours from you makes him painfully harder. His cock strains against the metal zipper of his jeans, fighting to defy the taut material. You arch into his mouth, and Eddie continues to grind against the apex of your thighs.

He licks his way across to give much-needed attention to your opposite breast, all the while maintaining stimulation on the other with his thumb. Eddie suckles and flicks his tongue, his breath hitting your bare skin like a sweltering midsummer heat wave.

The reciprocity of sincerity is blowing his mind; the way it feels to have your hands weaving through his hair. There’s a slight tug when your fingers catch on a knot, and the sting only fans the flames burning in his lower belly.

Eddie releases your nipple, leaving it bereft of the heat of his mouth. Following his previously explored path up your chest and neck, he bashfully looks into your eyes. “Could I, uh, kiss you down there, too?”

“Normally I’d have to ask for head. Are you sure?”

The melted milk chocolate of his irises practically drips off of his lashes as he blinks at you. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life, sweetheart. I’ve wanted to taste you for so long.”

“I’m not entirely convinced,” You coax him playfully.

“I’ll just have to prove how starving I am then, won’t I?” Eddie quips, moving out of the way to remove your skirt. As he does, the waistband slips from your hips and he slides it off your legs.

You’re in nothing but your panties and the white cotton is not particularly sexy, but they sure are familiar. That day at the laundromat, Eddie never imagined he’d see you in this exact pair at some point. He wonders if you did.

His fingertips tap their way up your thighs until they reach the band of your underwear. You look so cute with your hands resting across your belly like an awaiting princess—his princess.

Much like the skirt before it, the garment is tugged down the curvature of your legs. Your knees knock together as your legs reflexively close. Meanwhile, Eddie is mesmerized by the damp patch on panties hanging from his fist.

“You wanna keep 'em?”

Eddie nods with feigned innocence. These would go to good use, he thinks.

“They’re all yours,” You grant his wish.

“I feel so spoiled,” he says while tucking them into his back pocket for safekeeping. Then, Eddie redirects his attention to the living art laid out before him. “Especially for getting to see you like this,” he drags his fingertips along the outside of your calves until they reach your knees.

Your legs fall open, proudly putting your glistening cunt on display for him.

“Fuck,” Eddie says, moon-eyed. He repositions himself between your legs, lying on his stomach. Drool pools on his tongue, his mouth just inches away from your body. With one arm wrapped under your thigh, Eddie uses a finger on his free hand to collect the wetness that’s all for him.

“Don’t be a tease,” You fuss.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Eddie responds, ready to put his new skill to use. It starts with a testing press of his lips against your clit. He works his way lower, mouthing at you messily, making out with your cunt. Eddie licks his lips and rests his cheek against your inner thigh. “Can I use my fingers too?”

“Yeah, just take it slow,” You gather his hair and keep it out of his face so it doesn’t get in the way.

Eddie glides two digits through your folds, admiring the way the pads of his fingers glisten with the mix of your slick and his spit. Slowly, he eases his two fingers into your entrance. They sink deeper without facing resistance, and you soak him down to his bottom knuckles. Eddie looks up at you from between your legs, amazed. “You’re so wet.”

You sigh, propping yourself up on your elbows to meet his gaze. “You own a mirror, don’t you? How could I not be.”

Flattered, Eddie smiles. He draws his fingers back before plunging them into you a little faster this time, though not by much. As you lay back and get comfortable, you instinctively roll your hips downward with each thrust of his fingers.

With his cheek still resting on the inside of your thigh, he’s unable to bring himself to speed up, downright mesmerized by the sensation of your velvety walls squeezing around his fingers. When he accidentally flexes and curls them upward, it elicits a pretty gasp from you.

Eddie’s gaze flits up, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What was that?” he teases and does it again, deliberately. “Did you say something?”

You moan, “That feels amazing,” You run your hand up your belly to your breast, massaging yourself in tandem with his improved technique.

He finds a steady tempo, rubbing the spot that makes your nerves flare. With nothing else on his mind, Eddie is fully engrossed as he drives his digits into you. Your fingers suddenly appear before him to rub your clit for added stimulation.

“Oh my god,” You moan unabashedly, arching your back off of the bed in response to the heightened ecstasy.

“You like that?” Eddie looks up at you, feeling a rush of pride as you writhe.

“Yes- fuck, I’m almost there.”

Eddie boldly nudges your hand away with his nose, swiftly replacing your fingers with his tongue, flicking it passionately.

Your moans fill his ears as he laps at you, enjoying the way you taste when you unravel. He’s so in the zone that he fails to realize you’ve already reached your peak and become overstimulated.

You squirm in his grip, gently pushing his forehead away. “Eddie, Eddie!”

“Yeah?” His fingers stop abruptly, and he looks at you with doe-like eyes, your glossy sugar smeared all over his lips and chin.

“It’s too much,” You say exhaustedly.

“Shit, my bad,” Eddie frowns, disappointed that his fun has come to an end. He slowly withdraws his digits, admiring the way you’ve coated them. He drags his fingers down his tongue like your arousal is cake batter from a bowl. A low hum emanates from Eddie as he sucks them clean, inadvertently making a show of it. “God, your pussy tastes good. Even better than I dreamed it would.”

“Come here,” You beckon him, smiling blissfully.

Eddie wastes no time getting onto his hands and knees and crawls up between your legs. Hovering over you, he gazes into your eyes, cheeks dimpled. “I made you cum.”

“I can’t remember the last time I came that hard either,” you chuckle, noticing the sheen on his face. You grab your discarded shirt to wipe it off. “Here, let me-”

“No!” Eddie angles out of your reach, his brow furrowed. Using his still-sticky fingers, he wipes at his lips and chin, licking his digits clean once more. “Can’t let it go to waste.”

After you tuck his frizzy curls behind his ears, Eddie’s tender grin fades. Your hands slowly move down his pecs to his belt, and you tug at the metal buckle. Just as you free the leather from the prong, he stops you.

“Uh- wait.” The hesitance in his voice brings your pursuit to a halt. The way you shrink back causes his heart to squeeze.

“I’m sorry. We don’t have to go all the way if you’re not ready.”

“It’s not that. Believe me,” Eddie reassures you. He brings a hand to the side of your face and strokes your cheekbone with his thumb. “I’m just worried that you’ll never wanna see me again ‘cause I'm so terrible in bed.”

Your shoulders raise and lower with the deep breath that you take. “You said you want to make me feel good, right?”

“More than anything,” Eddie declares in a heartbeat.

“Your cock would.”

Eddie nearly shudders and his voice burns raspy. “Yeah? You want it?”

You hook your fingers through his belt loops and tug, staring back at him intensely. “Not want. I need you inside me.”

“Christ,” he gulps and presses his hips forcefully against yours, dampening the denim. Eddie lowers his mouth to your shoulder and kisses it. “I wanna know what it feels like so bad.”

You turn your head and nibble his earlobe. “Let’s take care of that, shall we?” When your hands return to his partially undone belt, Eddie doesn’t intervene this time.

“I don’t have protection though.”

Blindly, you unbutton and unzip his jeans. “Side pocket of my purse.”

Reluctantly, Eddie pulls away and awkwardly scoots backward off the bed. His pants hang low on his slender hips, exposing the snug elastic band of his blue plaid boxers. After finding the condom, he inspects it. “I have no fucking clue how to use this.”

Sitting up, you hold your hand out. “I can put it on you if you want.”

Eddie hands it to you, then it occurs to him that he’s still fully dressed. While you’re tearing the foil package, he yanks down his jeans and kicks them away, his belt jangling. Only a few buttons are undone from the neck before he gets impatient. Eddie tears his shirt over his head, leaving his mane disheveled.

He pulls at the waistband of his precum-soaked boxers indecisively, but the sight of your beautiful naked body reminds him that it’s only fair. Eddie pulls them down and his anxiety has caused him to go partially soft. When you look at him, he wishes the world would swallow him whole.

Your eyes rake across his slim frame, then meet his eyes instead of drifting below his waist. Eddie climbs back onto the bed, sitting on his haunches. You crawl onto your knees to join him and pull his body against yours, kissing him.

Mumbling against your lips, he tries to apologize for already failing you by being unable to stay hard, but his words falter as the kiss deepens, his worries becoming an afterthought. Eddie grips your waist, and the sensation of your breasts pressing against his bare chest makes him feel woozy. As soon as you break the kiss, he’s immediately filled with fear once more. “If it’s small or it looks weird, don’t tell me.”

You effectively distract him from his insecurities by trailing your lips down his pulse, dragging your teeth along the supple skin there. Eddie grips your ass harshly, a shaky sound pouring from his throat as you kiss your way down his body. He watches, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth.

As you finally look at his shy cock, you run your palms up and down the sparse hair on his outer thighs. “You’re the perfect size for me,” You compliment him with a smile.

“I am?”

You suck a bruise on the pale skin of his waist. “Yeah, you are.”

Eddie’s eyes close, his hands resting on your shoulders as he focuses on the sensation of you licking and biting him. Lost in the feeling rather than inside of his head, Eddie’s cock gradually rouses.

Having previously set it aside, you grab the condom. “Hold it still for me, please.”

“O-Okay,” he secures it at the base, his palm covering the trimmed thatch of curls. “Like this?”

“Perfect,” With one hand, you fit the band around the tip, and with your other, you roll the latex down his shaft. That alone causes Eddie’s mouth to fall open, a ghosted moan tumbling from his lips.

“There, easy peasy,” Sitting back up and wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him flush against you. His wrapped, twitching cock is trapped between your bodies. “Tell me what you’re thinking right now.”

“I’m not sure I could if I tried,” Eddie says, his eyes flitting between yours. “Is this really happening?”

“It’s happening,” After kissing the tip of his nose, you settle back bringing him down with you to get comfortable, your head resting on the pillow.

Eddie returns to the previous position, this time with your legs hiked around his hips, causing his cock to rub against your mound. Afraid of poking around too much, he asks, “Would you do the honors, m’lady?”

“Why, of course,” you say with a giggle. You guide the head of his cock right where it needs to be and look into Eddie’s eyes. “Go ahead.”

He swallows hard and inches his hips forward, the tip of his cock breaching your entrance. Eddie sinks until he’s halfway sheathed by the hot embrace of your cunt. As he pushes the rest of the way in, his jaw falls slack.

“You doing okay?” You soothingly stroke the bulging veins on his forearms.

“Mhm,” Eddie mumbles with his lips rolled inward. After a few seconds without moving, he draws his hips back and then drives them forward. The moan that rips from his chest is unholy.

After two or three agonizingly slow and experimental thrusts, the motion comes naturally to him after all that practice he’s gotten from humping his poor pillow in this very spot. “Fuck me,” The hand that isn’t supporting Eddie’s weight fists at the bed sheets as he thrusts repeatedly, falling into a slow and steady pace. “Jesus fucking fuck.”

“Look at you go,” you moan out. “It feels amazing, doesn’t it?”

“Feels… god, you feel incredible,” Eddie grunts, propping himself up on both hands. His hair hangs down, swaying with the tempo of his hips. In this position, he can watch the bounce of your body with each thrust and he’s doing just that.

The grazing of your fingernails along his flexing hips throws off his pace. It weakens him, especially when you’re looking at him the way you are. Eddie is so consumed by the feeling of you wrapped around him that he can’t be self-conscious about the fact that he’s moaning every time he sinks back into you.

The shame of virginity has been lifted away as Eddie experiences this night of firsts with the girl he’s crazy about. Eddie is struggling to keep his eyes open, not wanting to miss a single second of this. He’s captivated by the way you’re watching his length disappear inside you over and over.

You look stunning lying on his pillow, anchoring his body to yours. Before tonight, he considered the concept of moaning someone's name to be cliché because it only happens in the movies. But Eddie’s had a change of heart because he can’t stop saying yours. It’s all of you right here, right now, all over, making a man out of him.

His muscles begin to tremble, and he lowers himself onto his forearms. Eddie rests his forehead against yours, his hips stuttering. “I’m so close, baby. I don’t wanna cum,” He slows his movement to stave off his orgasm.

“I want you to,” You express while gliding your hands down his muscular back.

“No,” Eddie protests, ceasing his thrusts entirely. “I want you to cum again first.”

“This isn’t about me.”

“Are you shitting me? It’s always been about you,” he pulls back to look into your eyes. “I’d do anything for you, you’re so damn worth it.”

Just before you have the chance to respond, Eddie unexpectedly rolls his hips. With one hand, he thumbs at your clit, watching how your eyes roll back. He doesn’t even have to look down to see the mess you’re making because he can hear it.

Eddie’s moans dance with yours as he pushes his knees forward, adjusting the angle of his hips to mimic a ‘come hither’ motion. He knows he’s found the spot he discovered prior when your legs spasm around him. In response, Eddie rubs your clit harder.

The way your walls tighten makes it all that more difficult for him to hold back. He’s on the cusp, his abs tensing as he tries to fight it. Your hand flies above you to push against the headboard, your other one occupied with gripping his flexing waist.

“Cum for me,” Eddie growls, frustrated with himself as he teeters on the edge, just seconds away from spilling into the condom.

Your brows furrow and your eyes squeeze shut, a rush of air getting caught in your throat as you climax.

“Yeahhh, that’s it,” Eddie’s abdominal muscles tense to their limit. “Oh- fuck,” His voice pitches higher.

“I’m yours,” You moan prettily and guide him down, letting him bury his face in your neck to give his arms a well-deserved rest.

“All mine,” Eddie says between his labored breaths. He grips and lifts your hips while you kiss his shoulder. Losing their previous steadiness, his strokes become shorter and more sporadic. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum. I’m gonna cuh- uh- mmm.”

Eddie lets out a whimper as he delivers two unsteady thrusts before slamming his hips against you, burying himself as he orgasms. His ass tenses and ripples, the muscles contracting as he rides out his high.

Panting loudly, Eddie stills his movements completely and props himself up to look down at you. “Jesus Christ. After that, I wanna have you for dinner every day,” he says against your cheek before kissing it. “As a snack in the middle of the night,” Eddie adds, kissing your temple. “Shit, you’d be good for breakfast too. It’s the most important meal of the day, y’know.”

You let out a winded giggle, your bodies sticking together as he struggles to keep himself propped up.

“Sweetheart, can I ask you something?”

“You just did,” You tease and smile wide when he rolls his eyes and snorts.

Eddie takes your hand, flattening your palm against his chest so that you can feel how vigorously his heart is beating. “Is this what being in love feels like?” He asks tearfully.

“Yeah,” you nod, placing his hand over your own heart that’s thudding just as hard. “Just like this.”

Reblogs are greatly encouraged and appreciated! ♡

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tags: @nj01 @tlclick73 @foreveranexpatsposts @madelynraemunson

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theinnerunderrain · 3 months

Text

Turmoil at Sea [Yan!Merman x Fem!Reader]

Warnings/tags: Yandere themes, description of violence, I saw a video of orcas hunting and wanted to write something abt it, disturbing content.

"Marlin."

With a shaky voice, you called out to the merman lurking beneath the dark depths of the water. Your eyes danced wildly along the watery surface, desperately seeking a glimpse of him.

"Please come out. You're scaring me."

On hands and knees, you clung to the meager wooden surface that barely qualified as a makeshift raft, the sole lifeline between you and the vast expanse of the ocean. The survival itself was a stroke of fortune, remnants of a shipwreck etching haunting memories – cannon balls piercing through ship walls, the frantic cries of the crew in a desperate quest for safety.

"Marlin!"

You attempt once more, your voice rising in volume and gaining a sharper edge. Splashes of water collide with the raft, showering your bare ankles. The once elegant gown, worn for your birthday celebration, now serves as your sole source of warmth. Your left thigh is wrapped in makeshift bandages fashioned from scattered scarves found amidst the vast sea. Slowly edging toward the raft's edge, you strained to peer through the dense water veil, only to be met with an impenetrable darkness that revealed nothing but a faint reflection of yourself. With eyes reddened, pallid skin, and hair beginning to knot after enduring two weeks adrift at sea, your physical state mirrored the harshness of your oceanic ordeal. The scent that clung to you was a noxious blend of fish and seaweed, the very sustenance provided by the merman. Surprisingly, you marveled at your resilience, having somehow endured the consumption of raw, uncooked meat without succumbing to its potentially fatal consequences.

Abruptly, a hand emerged from beneath the water, prompting you to swiftly retreat to the safety of the raft's center. The owner of the hand revealed himself to be none other than the merman, Merlin, whose expression conveyed clear disdain. His hand extended, torso flat against the raft's surface, and intense ocean eyes locked onto you.

"..M..Marlin."

He remains unresponsive to the sound of your name, his long blue tails faintly visible as they linger within the water. After a moment of uninterrupted gaze, he finally speaks, his voice flowing like a smooth seam of silk, captivating in its beauty. The sunlight above did little to forsake his beauty; instead, it gracefully highlighted his features, casting an enchanting aura that rendered him majestic, akin to a water nymph.

"Do you truly despise me that much?"

"What..?"

A bitter laugh escapes him as he withdraws his hand, crossing his elbow to rest his chin against his forearm. His dark hair cascades down, lightly sticking to his chin, a subtle dampness lingering. One can't help but marvel at how a being like him manages to thrive in the frigid waters, contemplating the preservation of his skin and hair—unchanged and undamaged, a testament to their enduring beauty.

"You've proven yourself quite clever, manipulating me into scavenging for food. Quite the strategist, aren't you?"

"I do not understand.."

Your brows furrow slightly at his words, perplexed by the notion that you might be using him to scavenge for food. After all, it was he who volunteered to assist you, the one who rescued you from the wreckage and gently placed your body onto the raft. During the night of the celebration, you discerned his presence beneath the water, catching a fleeting glimpse of his exquisite tail. Despite your observation, your crewmates dismissed him as a mere swordfish or dolphin, oblivious to the captivating mystery that lingered beneath the waves.

"You're exploiting me for your survival, only to abandon me once other humans come to your rescue, aren't you?"

"Certainly not! Once I set foot on solid ground, I am determined to find every possible way to express my gratitude for your kindness."

He scoffed at your words, finding your naivety simultaneously endearing and tinged with folly. Your captivating gaze drew him in, becoming the sole reason Marlin chose to rescue you amidst the entire ordeal. Although not inherently fond of humans, he found solace in the radiant brightness and warmth emanating from your eyes—a quality seldom witnessed through the eyes of pirates or the sailors he had encountered along his journey.

"Do you genuinely think fellow humans would permit such a scenario? If anything, they'll likely exploit that pretext as justification to pursue and hunt me down."

You dismiss his words with a subtle shake of your head, lips forming a tight line as you attempt to speak over him, any method to reason with him.

""Don't worry. I'll reassure them that you pose no threat. I can even persuade my father to consider implementing legislation concerning the pursuit of seamen!"

"My dearest human, it's not as straightforward as it may seem. Even if your father possessed the authority to enforce such a rule, do you believe those who exploit my kind for gain would genuinely adhere to it?"

"B..but it truly is!"

"It is not."

""Marlin, if you assist me in finding my way home, I am prepared to fulfill any wish or desire you may have forsaken. I give you my word—I am willing to do anything."

Marlin fixed his gaze upon you, his laughter crackling as if your words were nothing more than a comedic jest. Your face flushed with embarrassment, the dignity befitting a lady tarnished and mocked amidst the vastness of the ocean. After a few moments, Marlin succeeded in stifling his laughter, pressing his head onto the wooden surface of the raft. He pushed himself up, grinning at you once more.

"Given your persistent stance and reluctance to reconsider, it appears you are determined to return to your modest homeland."

He inhales deeply, then eases himself off the raft, submerging more than half of his body in the sea. His head emerges as the sole visible part, and his long, dark hair ripples in the water, reminiscent of the seaweed depicted in the textbooks you frequently borrowed from the library.

"Well. You leave me with no other choice."

He gracefully plunges back into the water, his form seamlessly vanishing into the azure depths. Your fist tightens as you attempt to fathom his intent, but before clarity settles, he emerges near you. His tail propels a considerable amount of water, conjuring a substantial wave that gracefully cascades onto the raft, drenching everything. A surprised yelp escapes you as the water meets your palm, and you swiftly realize you're gradually sliding toward the edge.

You successfully maintain composure for most of the ordeal, believing his juvenile outburst had concluded. However, your apprehensions materialize as you witness him rapidly approaching, his tail propelling him through the water with increased speed. The waves generated this time are more substantial, causing the raft to sway significantly. As the waves hit and water infiltrates beneath the raft, your last semblance of remaining afloat teeters.

It's over.

A second scream escapes your throat as the waves crash around you. The raft, teetering slowly, slips from your grasp, and you plummet into the cold embrace of the ocean. The frigid water engulfs your senses as you struggle to stay afloat, the taste of salt seeping into your mouth and nose, inducing a stinging sensation. Despite the pain, your eyes stay open, but water bubbles cloud your vision, leaving you disoriented in the underwater turmoil.

"[First Name]."

Even as the water filled your ears, a cold hand firmly gripped your torso, preventing you from descending deeper into the ocean's depths. Through your hazed vision, a pair of bright blue eyes and a mop of dark hair came into view, confirming that it was Marlin who held you.

"..N...No..!"

Your attempts to speak result in nothing but muffled cries, your struggle to wriggle free and rise toward the air and sunlight impeded by his unrelenting grip. Your body yielded to an inexplicable force, surrendering to his control like an underwater puppet. In a fleeting instant, a sensation of cold and softness grazed your lips. Uncertain in your disoriented state, you couldn't be sure if it was Marlin's lips pressing against yours, but the moment lingered in a haze of confusion.

As time slipped away, the diminishing air began to weigh on you, involuntarily coaxing your mouth open and allowing water to seep into your lungs. Your ears, now entirely filled with water, rendered Marlin's words muffled and distant.

Observing your distress, Marlin placed an additional hand on your stomach. His fingers, accompanied by sharp nails, delicately traced along your bare skin, adding an unsettling dimension to your already harrowing struggle. As the sands of time trickled away, you strained to discern the letters, your grasp on survival slipping through the narrowing hourglass.

The first letter being, "I". You could feel Marlin pulling you deeper into the ocean.

The second letter being, "L". The salt in your lungs were too much to bear.

The third letter being, "O". You can't see a single thing, your vision being nothing but complete darkness.

The fourth letter being "V". Oh God, you're going to die.

Before comprehension could settle, your body succumbed, surrendering to the relentless force of the deep. As your consciousness slipped away, the haunting echo of those unfinished letters lingered in the underwater silence.

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willowbelle · 4 months

Text

Hold Me. Down.

more sub!law is here per request! enjoy! ♡︎ (>ᴗ•) !

❤︎ trafalgar law x fem reader ❤︎

𖤐₊˚.༄ (nsfw, afab! reader, 18+ only) 𖤐₊˚.༄

cw: afab! reader, established relationship, very sub!law, softdom!reader, playful banter, teasing, bondage! (handcuffs), slight orgasm denial, edging, begging, pleasing, overstimulation, pet names (good boy), praise, oral (m recieving), oral (f recieving, face-riding), dick riding, unprotected sex, creampie, some aftercare

summary: reader is member of heart pirates, established relationship between reader and law, law is always dom, reader wants to switch things up in the bedroom, purchases seaprismstone handcuffs, law is submissive. yes, law is a whimperer! it's true!

word count: ~5,000 (oops)

Hold Me. Down.

Law was a predictable man. He liked things the way they were, and everyone aboard your submarine knew that, including you, his long-term girlfriend and crewmate. His lifestyle was monotonous, and your sex life filled the very same mold. Not that he was boring, oh no. He made your toes curl each and every time, and your moans and screams could constantly be heard ringing through the hallways of the Polar Tang as he rearranged your insides. Despite this, role reversal was quite infrequent, in fact, it was completely nonexistent. Law was a control freak, that was for damn sure, and each time the two of you engaged in intimacy, he always naturally fell into the role of the dominant. Understandably so, Law was hard-hearted in every sense of the word. He liked watching you come undone by each curl of his inked fingers and thrust of his strong hips. He found pleasure in watching your drooling mouth fall slack and your eyes roll back in your pretty skull as he railed you into the mattress.

You liked things the way they were, just like Law, but what had started as just a fleeting thought rattling around in your head, had slowly begun to make its way to the very front of your brain, burning into your skull, until you just couldn’t ignore it anymore.

You wanted to know what it would be like to dominate Trafalgar Law; to tie him down in your shared bed, to make him whimper and whine and beg for your touch, to ride him and milk his cock until he was a shaking, stuttering mess.

You knew deep down that this fantasy was nothing but that, an insatiable desire. But even still, you knew you’d regret it if you didn’t at least try.

Your crew had recently taken a quick stop at a nearby island to gather supplies for the submarine. Law stayed behind to catch up on work, per usual. You took this rare opportunity of alone time to make a few special stops. In fact, you took so much time trying to pick the perfect item, that you almost missed the last call to board the sub.

When you finally arrived back, you were surprised to see that your boyfriend had finally emerged from his dark den of an office and was now standing atop the sub, holding the railing with one hand, the other cupping his mouth to call out your name. When his eyes finally met your face as you ran to the sea, he sighed, placing an inked hand on his forehead and shaking his head. After frantically making your way up the stairs, you stood before your tall, lanky captain for a brief moment before your hands quickly found their way to your knees, hunched over and panting as you struggled to catch your breath.

“Jesus, woman,” his monotone voice began, “Where have you been? We were supposed to depart fifteen minutes ago.”

To you, and everyone else, fifteen minutes was nothing, but to this rigid, schedule-bound man, it was everything.

“I-I’m sorry,” you panted, finally rising from your hunched state to meet your boyfriend's gaze again, his eyes shooting daggers into your skin.

You felt your stomach knotting with guilt, you knew how much being on schedule meant to Law. Until you remembered exactly what you bought. All the commotion had made you forget, but once the memory solidified in your brain again, you felt the corners of your lips twitch into a naughty smirk.

Boldness suddenly struck you like a bat to your head; leaning forward, you grabbed the collar of Law’s shirt, pulling him down to meet your arrogant visage.

“Are you really complaining, Law~?” you purred in his ear, causing his skin to ignite with goosebumps at the seductive tone of your voice, “But you don't even know what’s coming to you,” you smirked, shaking the shopping bag in his face.

You felt heat growing within your core at your own tenacity, and at the way in which your boyfriend’ usually cold, stoic face now looked unbelievably hot and flustered.

“W-What are y-” Law began, stuttering over his words, but before he could finish, you had already planted a kiss on his reddened cheek, giggling knowingly as skipped off to your shared bedroom.

You sat on the bed, swinging your feet as they hung over the edge, patiently waiting for your boyfriend to burst through the door demanding to know what you had been on about earlier. You knew he’d come. Any second now. You had just finished setting everything up on the bed, silently apologizing to Law in your head. He made the bed perfectly every morning, with sheets crisply folded and pillows impeccably fluffed. He had a weird little rule about not messing up the bed during the day, until the two of you were ready to sleep, or have sex, of course, but with all your rustling around, the sheets were now a bit jumbled. You shook your head and silently laughed to yourself, you were dating quite the perfectionist.

And just as you had suspected, a loud bang rang through the walls of your room as Law made his way through the door.

“Y/n,” he began, grey eyes glued to you sternly, “What the hell were you-” his voice trailed off, eyes darting from your face, focusing on the object that lay behind you on the bed.

Satisfaction filled your veins as you noticed the blush that spread across Law’s once phlegmatic face, the redness making him look frazzled and bothered. You hummed in response, filling in the silence that Law had left hanging in the air when he cut himself off.

“Law,” you began, your voice a sultry whisper, “Why don’t you take off that shirt and lay down for me~?”

You watched on as your boyfriend’s lanky form twitched in response, his eyes never leaving the familiar sight of the seastone handcuffs before him.

Your boyfriend’s devil fruit ability was nothing short of spectacular, that was for damn sure. Law was an impeccibly intelligent, powerful man, with abilities unfathomable to any ordinary person. His smarts, coupled with his devil fruit, granted him the power to perform miracles. However, like all blessings in life, it came with both downsides and limitations. For example, he couldn’t swim, and anything pertaining to sea water was a no-go. Hence, your decision to purchase handcuffs made out of sea prism stone. Not only would Law be handcuffed, but the seastone would leave him completely powerless, at your mercy.

Despite his flustered state rendering him essentially immobile, Law gripped the hem of his shirt within his inked fingers and pulled the article of clothing off over his head, revealing his toned abdomen and inked chest to you. You had seen him this way a million times, but his divine body never failed to impress you. You bit your lip at the sight as he shuffled his way over to the bed to sit beside you, just as he was told. His unwavering compliance instantly made the heat within your core begin to boil.

Reaching forward, you placed a delicate hand on the back of your boyfriend’s head, pulling him in forcefully and pressing your desperate lips against his. He groaned into your mouth at the sudden action, immediately licking along your wet lips, begging for entry. Instead, you opted for biting his bottom lip and tugging on it playfully, not wanting to grant him what he desired. Tonight, you were in charge.

“Y/n~” he groaned your name, his voice agonizingly desperate.

The two of you continued to passionately kiss, chests heaving as you struggled to catch your breaths.

Law began to move a strong hand along your side, up to your breast, preparing to grip it tightly mold it between his fingers like he always did.

This time would be different. You immediately grabbed his wrist and forced in down, now positioning it atop the tight tent growing in his jeans.

"Oh, my," you purred teasingly, "You're this hard for me already?"

“Ughhh..” he groaned at the sensation of his aching erection finally being stimulated, sucking in a breath of air through his teeth.

You continued to press down on his hand, forcing him to palm his own erection through his jeans. He continued to groan, opting to begin bucking his hips against his hand to increase the friction.

In an instant, you moved your free hand down to grip his hip, halting his thrusts, making his breath hitch in his throat,

“N-Nghhh…”

You pulled back, separating your lips, a string of connecting saliva falling from them as you moved apart,

“I don’t believe I gave you permission to do that, Law,” you purred, removing his hand from his crotch and forcing it above his head, pinning him down.

You quickly followed in suit with his other wrist, now pinning them both above his head before moving atop him and straddling his waist.

He blushed deeply at your boldness before throwing his head back and moaning at the sensation of your clothed cunt now pressing against the tent in his pants.

Law was a strong man, and you were so much smaller than him. Both of you knew that he could easily overpower you if he wanted to, easily return to his comfortable, seasoned role of the dominant partner.

But he didn’t.

He stayed beneath you, letting you do whatever you wanted to him and his body. This realization gave you all the confidence you needed to continue pursuing your little plan.

“Y/n…” he whimpered, instinctively thrusting his hips upwards to reward his cock with more friction against your core.

You clicked your tongue, staring down at your boyfriend’s red face beneath you, “You’re stubborn, aren’t you, Law?” you asked smugly, the corners of your lips tugging upwards into a tight smirk.

You didn’t think his face could get any redder, but at this, you swore you saw his cheeks gain an even darker rouge as he whined beneath you. “M-Mhmm,” he whimpered, admitting defeat, “I’m stubborn, y/n.”

His blushing face and sweet noises were too damn much for you, and you almost lost your composure, just wanting to give in and give him what he ached for, but that was too easy, you wanted to press him harder.

You leaned down, rewarding him with a wet kiss on his neck. You felt his back arch beneath you, his body shaking at the sensation.

“F-Fuckk…” he groaned, leaning his head back to give you more access to his sensitive throat. Your soft tongue continued its dirty work, trailing down his neck, earning more delicious moans from his inked chest. You continued to grip his wrists tight, pressing them into the mattress.

He squirmed beneath you as you continued licking and nibbling your way down, now at his collarbones. You felt him shake beneath you as you had finally reached his most sensitive sweet spot. You smirked at his reaction, continuing to glide your skillful tongue along the bones, “I know, baby,” you purred, “You’re quite sensitive there, aren't you~?”

"M-mhm..." Law only whimpered in response, his body trembling, completely powerless to you and your wicked touch.

You continued your pursuit, leaving love bites in your wake, marking him as yours.

“You see that, sweetheart?” you inquired, voice ridden with lust and smugness, “You’re all mine, and everyone can see it.”

You watched as Law bit his bottom lip, eyes darting back and forth between the fresh hickeys that now decorated his sculpted body, “G-Good,” he croaked, voice shaky, “I-I’m all y-yours, y/n.”

You smirked down at him, satisfied with his submissive response, “Good boy, Law,” you purred.

“Sh-Shit,” he cursed, groaning in response to the new title, rolling his hips upwards to meet your heat.

“Mmm,” you hummed, smiling up at him as you continued making your way down his body, finally rewarding him with a kiss on his clothed cock.

“F-Fuck-!” he groaned, jutting his hips upward again, desperate for more.

You instantly grabbed his hips and pushed them down, stalling his movements, “Stay still, Law, or I'll go even slower,” you challenged, your voice tinted with something he’d never heard from you before.

He bit his lip and nodded feverishly, eyes wide and lust-blown, now understanding the severity of the threat.

You planted a few more sloppy kisses to his bulge before starting to undo his pants, working agonizingly slow at the button and zipper, making Law whine in frustration,

“Y/n,” he whined, “Fuck, please-”

At this, you removed your hands from his crotch, now passing the time by fiddling with his happy trail, teasing him to the point of no return.

Law withdrew his hands from the position they were in above his head, he was willing to comply, but not anymore, reaching down on his own to finally undo his zipper and free his aching cock.

Before he could get far, you grabbed his wrists again, gripping them tightly together in your hands, “Did you really think that would work, sweetheart?” you taunted, “Seems like you’ve left me no choice, Law.” you tsked and shook your head mockingly, turning around to retrieve a pair of keys from your nightstand.

Your boyfriend’s adam’s apple bobbed beneath the skin of his throat as he gulped, anxiously watching your every move.

“Hold your arms above your head, Law,” you instructed, motioning for him to do as he was told.

And he complies, a dark blush dusting his cheeks as he stares up at you and holds his wrists above his head again.

Above him, you leaned forward to unlock the seastone handcuffs, grabbing his hands and placing a wrist in each one before snapping them shut, making your boyfriend gasp slightly at the new sensation.

In an instant, he felt like a puddle of mush beneath you. The vitality that once coursed through his veins like a lively current dissipated as soon as the stone was shackled to his skin.

Mustering his strength, Law threw his head back and groaned, the severity of his predicament hitting him like a tidal wave,

“Y/N,” he groaned, his voice ridden with fatigue, “A-Are these r-really…?”

“Seastone?” you filled in the gap for him, smirking as you gazed down upon his situation: wrists shackled to the bedframe, sweat-coated tattooed chest and abs rising and falling with each labored breath, eyes lidded and weary.

“Y-You devil,” he croaked, smirking.

Much to his surprise, you rewarded his struggles by quickly removing both his jeans and briefs with one strong tug, freeing his aching cock from its confinement.

His long member slapped against his abdomen as it sprung free, causing Law to throw his head back again and groan loudly, sucking in a labored breath through his teeth, hissing at the abrupt sensation.

“Fuck, woman,” he groaned, "L-Look what you've done to me."

You giggled softly and moved down, looking up at the shackled man as you satisfied his aching by licking a long stripe along the veiny underside of his throbbing cock.

“O-Oh, fuck-!” he whined, squirming beneath you, unable to move much due to his confinement.

“I-I don't know if it was just f-from all the teasing or the cuffs, but that felt t-ten times more intense than usual,” he croaked breathlessly.

“Mmmm, I’m glad to hear that, Law,” you smirked, granting him another lick, this time all the way up to his tip, which was flushed an angry red-pink color and weeping with precum.

“Sh-Shit,” Law cursed, tears pricking in the corners of his eyes as your tongue lapped at his overly sensitive head.

“You always taste so good, baby~” you praised, opening your wet lips to take him fully into your mouth.

Law threw his head back again, writhing with pleasure beneath you, the chains of the handcuffs clanking with his rapid movements.

“A-Ahh, fuck-!” he cried, bucking his hips unintentionally, forcing his cock further into your mouth.

Instead of scolding him, you decided to play nice and force yourself further down, until the blunt tip of his cock kissed the back of your throat and your nose met his pubic bone.

You moaned around his length, he was so big and he stuffed your throat so damn full. You gagged around him as you began to bob your head, drool spilling from your stuffed mouth and tears falling from your eyes as you took on his massive length. You wanted to tap out, nearly choking yourself to death on his cock, but the sounds leaving Law’s mouth were too fucking delectable.

He whimpered and whined at your actions, louder than ever before. He shook beneath you each time you took him in, crying out your name at each pass.

“Y/n, y/n, y/n, y/n, y/n…!” he whined your name like a fucking prayer as you sucked the life out of him, eventually starting to thrust into your throat, desperately chasing his release, the chains of his confinements rattling as he did so.

“M-Mmmm! Mm! Mmmm!” you whined around him in between each thrust, sending vibrations through his exhausted body as he fucked your throat.

“F-Fuck-! I’m so close!” he cried, his thrusts now becoming frantic and sloppy.

At this confession, you pulled off on him, his painfully hard cock popping from your mouth with a lewd noise.

You had never edged him before, and the new sensation made Law writhe beneath you, tears spilling down his cheeks as he looked up at you, face red, sweaty, and desperate.

“Y/n…” he cried, “W-Why? O-Oh my god I was so close, y/n, why?” he pleaded with you, abandoning all of his remaining dignity, his eyes big and unapologetically needy.

“Because,” you began, wiping the drool from your chin as you smirked down at him, “Now, it’s my turn.”

Law’s deep grey eyes grew even larger at your reasoning, his face turning a deeper red as you made your way up to him, slowly removing your clothes,

He bit his lip as he watched you remove your shirt and bra, the perfect, perky tits that he loved so much bouncing free to greet his gaze. You slowly removed your bottoms and underwear, throwing them aside, your pussy glistening with your wetness.

You slowly inched forward and straddled Law’s face, looking down at him.

“You ready?” you questioned, blush decorating your cheeks.

You two had never done this before, but Law got the message loud and clear.

He nodded feverishly, desperate to taste your sweet, dripping pussy on his hot tongue.

“Sit on my face, y/n.”

And so, with his desperate request, you slowly began to sink down onto Law’s awaiting mouth, throwing your head back and gasping loudly when his hot, wet tongue finally met your slippery folds.

“Fuck-!” you cried, your hands instantly finding their way into Law’s thick skull of dark, messy hair. You gripped the strands tightly between your fingertips as you began to move your hips, unapologetically riding his face with all of your might, letting out sweet, euphoric moans as his skillful tongue slid in and out of your folds, dancing along your clit with each rock of your hips.

You ground yourself against him, pressing his tongue harder into your cunt as you moved back and forth, humping his face, wettening his chin.

“M-mmm, y/n…” he groaned into your pussy, “You taste so fucking good.”

“O-Oh, Law!” you cried, your grip tightening on his hair as the rocking of your hips grew sloppy, just desperate for more and more friction from your captain’s hot tongue on your aching clit. Stars danced beneath your eyelids as you felt your orgasm threatening its approach.

The band within your stomach tightened, ready to snap, but you didn’t want to cum, not yet. You wanted to edge yourself just as you had edged Law.

You removed yourself from his face, legs shaking from pleasure. You looked down at Law, and damn, it was a sight to behold; his face was glistening with your wetness, his tongue hanging from his mouth as he struggled to catch his breath, tattooed chest rising and falling frantically. You had nearly suffocated him as a result of your intense humping, but he didn’t care, he just wanted you, more of you.

Before he could catch his racing mind and frantic breath, you had already repositioned yourself atop him again, but this time, you were straddling his hips, his rock-hard, throbbing cock dangerously close to your dripping slit.

“Are you ready for me, Law? Will you be good for me?” you inquired, your smug gaze never leaving his needy one.

“Please, y/n,” he begged, voice ridden with desperation, “I’ll be such a good boy for you,” he blushed deeply at his own words, having never spoken like this before, “P-Please just let me fuck you.”

This desperate plea was all you needed, fuck, it was more than you needed. When you started this, you had no idea Law would get to this level. You thought maybe, perhaps, he’d beg a little, let you hold him down, but this, what was happening now, even exceeded your wildest of fantasies.

You moaned softly as you took Law’s long, slender cock in your hand, rubbing his weeping tip back and forth against your soaking slit, teasing him one last time.

“N-Nghhhh, f-fuck,” he groaned, eyebrows knitted together, eyes shut tightly as his strong body spasmed beneath you.

“Please,” he cried.

And with that, you plunged yourself down, forcing Law’s desperate cock into your pussy with one go, causing you both to throw your heads back and call out one another’s names.

“L-Law-!”

“Y/N-!”

You sat still for a moment, waiting to adjust to the intense stretch, Law’s cock throbbing within you as your tight walls engulfed it fully.

After taking a second to collect yourself, you began bouncing, your boyfriend’s chains rattling as you did so, fucking yourself so damn good with his cock.

“M-mmm!” you moaned shakily, bouncing up and down, forcing him as deep as he could go, causing him to groan and cry beneath you.

“Sh-Shit, y/n!" he cried, hips starting to thrust to meet yours.

You placed your hands on his decorated chest, forcing yourself up and down even harder, the sounds of wet skin slapping together filling the room.

“A-Ah, Law-!” you cried, “You’re doing so good for me, baby~!” you praised.

You looked down at him as you rode him roughly, wrists shakled above his head, chest rising and falling beneath your hands, hips sloppily thrusting into you from underneath, whimpering and groaning your name.

“Y-You feel-n-nghh, so good, y/n!”, he groaned, stumbling on his words in between moans, “Y-You’re-f-fuck-you’re squeezing me so tight-!” he cried for you.

You could feel Law’s big length reshaping your inner walls, throbbing within you as it stretched out your insides.

With each thrust, his blunt tip kissed your cervix, causing you to shake and sob at the intense pleasure. And at the same time, each pass caused his pubic bone to brush against your swollen clit, irrevocably overstimulating your body.

You were lost in your own pleasure, hips still rocking back and forth as you bounced on your boyfriend’s cock, when his desperate voice broke you from your trance.

“Y/n,” he began, shakily, still thrusting up into your tightness and warmth, “I-I’ve been trying to h-hold it, b-but I can’t -f-fuck- I can’t anymore,” he cried helplessly, “C-Can I cum, y/n?” tears spilled down his pretty face as he begged for your permission to orgasm.

Your eyes widened as you continued to bounce and grind messily on his pulsating cock.

Trafalgar Law… begging to cum? Couldn’t be.

“Please, y/n…” he groaned again, “I-I’m so close-mmnnngg- I-I can’t take it anymore-!” His head was thrown back, throat exposed, those beautiful grey eyes shut tightly as his mouth hung open, chains rattling around his wrists as you rode him.

“Cum for me, Law~” you leaned down, purring in his ear, still moving your hips rapidly, his throbbing cock destroying your inner walls.

“F-Fuck, Th-Thank you, y/n-! mm! th-thank you-!” he threw his head back again, thanking you for finally giving him the permission he so desperately needed to cum inside you. Law’s body shook as he orgasmed, chains rattling, he thrust into you needily and sloppily a few more times before spilling inside you, painting your insides white with his hot, thick ropes of cum.

“A-Ahgg-Fuck-!” he groaned as he came, louder than he ever had before, nearly making the walls vibrate.

You weren’t far behind, frantically grinding your hips on his cock, begging for more stimulation. His cum acted as lube and you fucked him through his own orgasm, overstimulating him as you chased your own.

With one last harsh brush of his tip to your g-spot, you came undone, gushing intensely onto his exhausted cock.

“L-Law-!" you cried his name as you came, your desperate bouncing finally slowing then stalling before you collapsed onto his heaving chest.

The two of you breathed as one, frantically trying to catch your breaths.

“I-I…” Law’s deep voice began, shaky and riddled with pure and utter exhaustion, “I want to hold you but I…” he shook his tattooed arms, rattling his chains so you’d get the picture.

“A-Ah, shit,” you giggled tiredly, hopping off of him to set him free.

You frantically dug in the nightstand, “Fuck, Law, I can’t find the key-!” you turned to him, face decorated with mock concern.

You watched as his face fell as he grew pale, clearly panicking.

“A-Are you serious?” he exclaimed, not even trying to hide his distress.

“Nah, I’ve got it right here,” you giggled, flashing him the shiny silver key between your fingertips.

“You devil,” he parroted his statement from before, rolling his eyes and chuckling softly to himself.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

thank you so much for the request-! (>ᴗ•)

i had so much (too much) fun writing this! ˚ ༘♡ ⋆。˚

i adore the concept of such a hard-hearted man being submissive.

(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)₊˚⊹♡

©this work belongs to willowhaze26.

do not repost, modify, plagiarize, translate, or share on other platforms.

comments, likes, and reblogs appreciated!

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historiaxvanserra · 3 months

Text

Whatever Our Souls Are Made Of | Chapter 2

Pairing: SingleDad!Rhys x Reader

Summary: The High Lord of Night makes a bargain with a beautiful Priestess and he has come to collect.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: allusions to sexual assault, allusions to depression, abandonment, broken homes (y'know keeping it light, in all seriousness this is not all angst it's quite sweet actually).

Last night you dreamt you went to Hewn City again.

You are a girl; coloured in the shadowed jade light of the Moonstone Palace, and your body feels unlike your own. A hostile vessel-- empty and aching-- longing for some semblance of release. You call into the darkness words akin to prayers; Mother, save me; Father, please.

From the darkness no answer comes.

Then, as all dreamers are, you are possessed of a sudden magic; you walk the halls of The Moonstone Palace. As a shadow or a memory. The cursed daughter of a capricious Lord. An Ill-faded bride to a mercurial God. The time passes strangely there in the dark dreamscape; the passing of time marked only by the slivers of opal light that pierce through the blanket of the dark each night. Fractured rays of pearlescent light that dapple the marble floors and high, onyx ceilings. You cherish those fleeting moments where hope bleeds into you with the rapidly falling night. It is those moments you cling to as dawn breaks.

The morning light creeps in like hunger; veins of first light that cascade-- all golden and ephemeral-- cutting through the darkness of your dormitory as the dream slips away from you again. A figure, obscured by your sleep addled haze, falls into view and you feel it as their weight settles at your side. The feeling of a fine bone hand runs along your bare arm, soothing and gentle and she whispers words close to comfort to you as the world around you comes back to life.

A myriad of light and color.

“Clotho is looking for you,” Gwny smiles down at you and her eyes shine in the first light. All glinting cerulean -- flecked with gold -- reminiscent of a diadem your mother had worn when you were a girl. That diadem and all memory of the woman you called mother is little more than a distant dream now.

A cruel reminder of the home you left.

“What does she want?” You murmur lowly as the fleeting remnants of sleep still cling to you. You rise with haste from your bed with a quiet reluctance and make quick work of pulling on your heavy pewter robes before the morning chill has time to kiss its way up your bare skin. Judging by the slivers of gold light that spill onto the plush rug beneath your bare feet it must only be about 9am but nonetheless, you’re late at starting the day. Gwyn hovers by your cluttered desk, flicking over some of the parchments there, as you dress hastily. By the time you’re covered and running a comb through your unbound hair you turn to face her.

She’s dressed in dark training leathers and her long auburn hair is adorned with white and silver ribbons that make her look as though she is crowned in starlight. She is every inch the Valkyrie in this light you think. Half-divine with an ethereal look about her.

Like a tragic heroine from some old myth.

“I didn’t ask,” Gwyn shrugs and her eyes meet yours in the broken mirror as your fingers twist and braid your hair as it cascades over your shoulder. Something flickers in those blue gold eyes then, some devilment pools in them as she regards you with a delighted smile that arches on smirking.

“Come on, you’ve got a visitor too.” You smooth a hand over the ill-fitting robes and sigh dramatically as you collect the scrolls and the hastily written notes you’d been studying. Gwyn retreats from your dormitory laughing and humming playfully as you fall into step with her as she rounds the corner into the Library itself. A night chilled breeze graces you as you descend into the lower levels where Clotho will be waiting for you and as you approach the balcony overlooking the ground floor you catch the scent of night blooming jasmine and citrus.

That smell seems to follow you these days. It smells so much of the home that you left all those years ago.

A cruel trick of the mind.

Sunlight filters through the large stained glass window that lights the antechamber of the library and as you round the stone pillars the world as you know it is crowned in gold light as the shadowed sun beams illuminate the great cavern of the Library. The Library deep in the bowels of The House of Wind is a feat of architectural grandeur; Like Hewn City, the house itself is carved into the dark stone of the mountain that looms over the City of Starlight, and everything within is saturated in shades of coal and bone. The Library itself is made up of a series of levels and floors, all held in place by dark pillars of the same stone. The large Gothic archways are adorned with carvings and intricate patterns and tapestries -- embroidered on black cloth -- illustrate the mythos of the court you were born into. Tales of dark Gods and gentle maidens. As a girl you had spent many nights enamored by the dark magnetism of the Gods of old and the cruel and beautiful Goddesses they loved. The Library, sacred as it is, breeds a strange sense of reverence in you. For the knowledge contained between its sanctified walls.

The Library is home to the High Lord’s vast collection of Prythian’s mythological texts; Holy relics of the arcane Gods which had once been venerated and revered in these lands so long ago. All that is left of them now, resides in the deepest part of the Library, where you spend most of your days. There in the bowels of the Library something ancient and foreboding calls to you. The knowledge contained here in the dark heart of Velaris could bring kingdoms to their knees if one were so inclined. And in truth, you had thought about surrendering yourself to the call of the darkness that lies dormant in the depths of the mountains more times than you can count or would care to admit. In it, you feel something kindred to you; something aching and empty that resonates somewhere deep in your soul.

As if the very fibers of your being are composed of the same darkness.

When the High Lord had first brought you to the library-- broken and aching-- there existed in you a vengeful wrath that longed to rage until the mountains gave way beneath you. Until the men who had hurt you were nought but dust and age-worn bone. All that rage. All that grief. It had been a terrible thing; haunting and terrible. But it had been yours. So you clung to it, until the girl you were was dead and buried beneath that mountain. And from her ashes the woman was born; tempered by time, and made strong by the faith you had found there in the library’s darkening aisles, in sisterhood, and in forgiveness.

Your thoughts are interrupted by Gwyn’s gentle humming as you are cast out of the memories that come back to you in flashes of jade and twilight.

“I best get back to Merrill before she comes for my head,” Gwyn exclaims loudly, smiling so bright that you’re sure she must be up to something. You offer her a small nod and a polite goodbye which she returns in earnest as her footsteps fall in sporadic succession and they echo down the aisles. You smile at her fondly and descend further into the main floor of the library still clutching onto the hastily compiled notes that are stuffed into the small cloth bound book you had been reading. Anxiety pools in your stomach, coiling and twisting as you approach Clotho’s office.

The office is situated on the main floor of the library and as you approach through the long, empty aisles the door to Clotho’s office falls into view and the swings open with a magical flourish. Through it a large figure emerges followed by the beautiful Priestess, who looks utterly impassive, even in the presence of such an intimidating figure as the High Lord.

You had always admired Clotho; her unwavering courage and fierce devotion to the Priestesses in her care. Her soothing presence and gentle smiles had been a source of comfort and strength for you in those first few months where you had thought you might surrender yourself to the mercy of the darkness that lurks in the bottom of this sacred Library. Since then it is her courage that had made you strong and her friendship that you valued above all else. There was a faith in the sisterhood you had found here, bonds forged of suffering and healing, made strong by the time in these sacred walls.

Now you must find something else to put your faith into. Who or what that might be you are not entirely certain. Yourself perhaps. And though Clotho was hesitant about your decision to leave the library and her behind, she had offered you her support and comfort all the same.

You approach the Priestess and your High Lord with a quiet caution as your school your face to a neutral expression that doesn’t speak to your rippling anxiety at the thought of leaving the place you had come to know as home or the women who you had come to call family.

The High Lord catches your eyes first; he’s swathed in shadow as he steps out and then the light cast through the windows wreaths him in a halo of topaz light and when his violet eyes find yours in the empty aisle he smiles at you. A carefully curated thing that glitters with false charm and behind the violet of his irises you see the darkness that lurks within them. Something kindred to you.

Made of the same darkness.

“There she is!” The High Lord of Night muses, his well-sculpted arms branching out towards you as if in prayer, “my favorite acolyte.” The High Lord's voice is tempered and light, with an air of arrogance about him that makes you smile shyly as he makes three long strides towards you.

There it is again; night-blooming jasmine and mandarin.

Clotho waits a few paces behind him in wordless silence but the silver lined eyes and sad smile she offers you is an indicator of her true feelings at your leaving. And though you don’t broach the subject at that moment you offer her the promise to find her soon. So that you might say goodbye to your dearest friend in the privacy of her office. She only nods and quietly retreats into her office with a few books.

“I’ve sworn my vows,” You offer gently, surrendering yourself to the enigmatic male that stands before you.

Rhysand leans casually against the desk in the forum, his violet eyes trailing lazily over the elaborate cursive on the parchment left by another Priestess, one of his hands is buried in the pocket of his suit pants and the other flexing around the lip of the lectern. In this light, as the sun bleeds through the stained glass windows, he looks like an old God from one of the tapestries hung along the slate walls.

Cut from the same holy cloth.

At once The High Lord meets your eyes and you resist the urge to avert that arresting violet gaze. Instead you offer him the ghost of a smirk as you address him again.

“So, I believe it is Priestess to you, High Lord.” The High Lord’s laugh is a wondrous thing as it permeates the air, rich and deep, and shaded with that same dark magnetism you had witnessed that first night.

“Well then, Priestess, I believe we made a bargain,” Rhysand pushes himself from his perch on the armoire and closes the space between you. He’s so close that you swear he will hear the flutter of your heart as he meets your eyes, “and I’ve come to collect.” His voice drops an octave and the words are tainted with an air of seduction that makes you feel anxious even if you’re certain he doesn’t mean it. Even if you see the morose darkness behind those violet eyes.

Rhysand studies you carefully and you feel his eyes on you even as you turn to shelve the book that you had cradled in your arms. Your silence does little to calm the air around you as you turn swiftly from him. “You still want to come, yes?” Rhysand sounds hesitant and quiet as he broaches the subject. You swallow thickly and cast your eyes along the long aisle of the library you had called home for the last few years.

“Would it matter if I didn’t?” You laugh lightheartedly, gesturing to the tattoo brandished into your skin, still unable to meet his gaze. The High Lord doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t so much as smile half-heartedly. Rather, the High Lord draws dark, thick brows together as the swell of his bottom lip moves into a deep frown. So mournful and aching that you’re sure you feel your heart ache for him in response.

“Of course it would matter,” The High Lord’s voice wavers once more as he addresses you with a sad smile. He’s so beautiful in this light and you regard him as you do all holy things, with equal parts reverence and anxiety.

“You know that, don’t you?” There’s an uncertain quality to his demeanor that disarms you. He’s always struck you as this enigmatic and confident male, with an almost louche quality to him that seemed to exude and air of rehearsed arrogance. But now. Now you see him for what he is; something dark and beautiful and fragile. There is a hesitancy about him as he steps away from you as though the mere distance between you is enough for him to feel untethered to this plane. Left to drift amidst a vast, starless sky

It is you, who closes that gap once more in a bold display of trust and despite the tremor of your own hand when the heat of the High Lord’s golden skin melts into yours, you smile at him as one might smile at something lovely and full of sorrow.

And he smiles back-- as though you and he are not both broken, fragile things.

“Yes,” You admit truthfully.

There is so little that you are certain of now but you know this: that you and he are made of the same darkness -- born from the same star perhaps -- and that with him, you will always have a choice.

“Yes, I do, High Lord.”

______________________________________________________________

“This will be your bedroom,” Rhysand offers with a wave of his hand before it wraps around the burnished gold doorknob to reveal the room nestled between the nursery and his own chambers “I hope it is to your liking?”

The guest room in the High Lords townhouse is just as beautiful as the rest of the house; sunlight, golden and ephemeral, cuts through the drawn linen curtains and cascades along the dark mahogany floors. Through the open window you can hear melodious birdsong from the garden below and as you step into it’s heart, the view of the dark marble fountain at its center that looks as though it is carved from the same mountains that flank the city. The garden itself is coloured with the climbing ivy and moonflowers that arch up the trellis and is shaded by a thick canopy of cypress and bergamot trees, whose citrus scent seems to bleed into the room itself.

“It’s absolutely breathtaking,” You say, smiling so brightly that you’re sure it must rival the midday sun as it bathes you in its radiant light. The rooms' furnishings are made of rich rose wood and the walls are painted a muted sage blue color that reminds you so much of the robes you wear and the bed nestled into the alcove is adorned with many quilts and duvets of cream and pewter and mauve. You don’t think you’d ever seen anything quite as inviting.

The High Lord crosses the threshold and instead of joining you in the center of the room to admire the view of the gardens in the sunlight he opens the door to the adjoining bathroom. The bathroom itself is almost as big as the guest room, with a beautiful claw-foot tub in the middle of the room and both the walls and floors are made of a champagne marble with decadent flecks of gold. You take a few steps towards the washroom and perch by the door frame to admire the craftsmanship. Rhysand does the same and makes no effort to put any space between you as the quiet settles over you both as the shadowed sunlight illuminates the gold accents in the marble.

“There’s a writing desk over there,” Rhys says, retreating back into the main room, pointing towards a matching rose wood desk and chair with a mirror hung above it so that it doubles as a dressing table. “And an armoire there.” he points at the ornately carved chest of drawers by the desk.

“Though if you find you need more room for your clothes there’s plenty of space for another.”

“I think I’ll be alright with just the one,” You say lightly, eyes traveling to the small, worn leather bag at your feet that contains all of your worldly possessions; a few sets of nightclothes, two dresses that are half as old as you are, four well worn books that you had sequestered from the Library and a small collection of trinkets you’d collected over the last half a century. Hardly an extravagant amount of personal belongings but they were yours.

The High Lord hums thoughtfully at you and for a moment you think that he won’t think anything of it but then violet eyes drift to the worn leather satchel and though he doesn’t speak you see the look in his eyes as it morphs from neutral to something akin to pity.

You don’t want pity, you think, and you feel something dark and ravenous nip at the back of your throat. It’s an ugly thing that you bite your lip and swallow down lest you bite the hand that feeds you.

It had been so long since that anger and pride made itself known in your heart.

“If you need anything you just have to ask,” Rhysand says, offering you a polite smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, he looks somewhere far off and you catch the scent of lilacs and pears when the breeze shifts, “whatever it is you want, you just have to ask.”

“Really Rhys, I don’t need anything else,” You make a move to haul your bag onto the plush velvet armchair by the window but in a flurry of movement Rhy takes it from you and places it on the small end table near the bed for you. “it’s beautiful, thank you.”

The High Lord does not respond, only smiles slyly at you from the end table, turning one of the straps of the brown leather bag in his deft fingers.

“What?” You ask with an accusatory tone, narrowing your eyes at the beautiful male beside you.

“Nothing,” The High Lord holds his hands up in surrender to you, his voice is velvet and lilting with his mirth as he looks at you again, “it’s just the first time you’ve called me my actual name.”

“I wonder what it would sound like in other situations.” He all but purrs and neither you nor he can manage to keep a straight face when you roll your eyes dramatically at him and elbow him sharply in the ribs.

The lull in the conversation comes with the passing of the afternoon clouds. They come in hordes of flowering grey and ivory, undercut with a darkness that spells a coming storm. In those quiet moments you watch as the confident facade that the High Lord wears so well melts away and he reverts back to the male you know him to be, tender and morose as the darkness in his eyes melts into a neutral expression that speaks to how truly tired he is.

“Get settled in and then come and find me later, Love.” Rhys voice is quiet and smooth and he offers you a gentle touch on your shoulder as he slips out into the hallway.

“Yes, High Lord.”

The High Lord’s eyes, iridescent and violet, meet yours and for a few moments while he is looking at you, you and he exist somewhere in the darkness between the stars.

TAGLIST: @awkardnerdd @ladybirdbeetle7 @lalaluch @saltedcoffeescotch @mybestfriendmademe @coisas-da-dani @justdreamstars

#acotar #acotar x reader #rhys x reader #rhys x you #rhys acotar #rhysand x reader #rhysand x you #rhysand fanfic #singledad!rhys x reader

427 notes · View notes

aemxnd · 1 year

Text

the fire king | aegon ii targaryen x velaryon wife!reader

Aegon needs to have his own way for once.

Inspired by a filthy anon request for Aegon with absolutely no limits…

WARNINGS: consensual non-consent/dub-con, basically p0rn with very little plot, canon typical incest, v fingering, squirting, physical force, p in v, language, praise, degrading, mention of virginity loss, overstimulation, aegon going from cute to angry to cute again, slightly fluffy if you squint, absolutely not proofread sorry not sorry

WORDS: 5.5k

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Fuck this.

Aegon’s mind rattled through the infinite curses that could spill from his tongue in that moment, yet his immutable standing as King of the realms forbade him, an invisible gag clutching at his lips.

Fuck. This.

The council meeting had dragged on with no tangible progress, supporters whining about Rhaenyra’s uprising from her Dragonstone seat, hapless solutions to an impending battle floating in the stagnant air and looming like a stormcloud in the room. Although he’d resigned himself to his fate as their chosen heir to the Iron Throne, it brought Aegon no joy to bear witness to the endless bickering in his name. No matter how hard he protested, his mother or grandsire would soon interject with an alternative, alluding that they knew best and it would be wise to follow their instruction. A king in nothing but name, Aegon had no true command over his own destiny. Compliance came first, contentment came second.

Fuck all this.

Aegon’s fingers danced over the glass orb perched before him, the pad of his thumb gliding over its cool, smooth surface his only distraction from the banality of his position. Like his idly occupied digits, memories swirled of a more peaceful time spent in the bowels of the Street of Silk, when a simple cloak could conceal his identity yet the mere mention of his name would open doors closed to all but the onetime prince of the realm. Although such heady freedoms had been snatched from him with the placing of the crown upon his silver curls, there was only one thing such halcyon days of his life lacked: his Queen.

Betrothed to the youngest of Corlys Velaryon and Rhaenys Targaryen’s heirs since the Driftmark succession, the pairing sought to publicly immortalise the union between High Tide and the Red Keep, or at least in the eyes of the slowly perishing King Viserys who longed for peace between his Targaryen offshoots before he departed his mortal body. Little did the two factions expect the couple forced together for political appearances would fall so deeply in love as Aegon and the Lady Velaryon. From the moment their eyes first met over the grand banquet at the succession, every interaction between them seemed as natural as breathing. From chaste brushes of fingers as they clanked goblets in toasts to Aegon’s uncharacteristic soft giggles as his gaze dropped comfortably to his chest before snapping back to lose himself in her lilac eyes.

The Lady Velaryon brought out the best in the drunken prince in the blink of an eye. He swore off cups and promiscuity that same night, resolving that no amount of bitter wine and fleeting company could rival the ecstasy coursing through his veins when his betrothed looked upon him as if he were the only man in the known world.

The star-crossed lovers were wed the next day, saving their first kiss for the moment they were announced man and wife. Aegon stepped nervously toward her, reaching a hand to cup her cheek and capturing her lips, two jigsaw pieces slotting into place. In the years that followed, his lady wife guided Aegon through his father’s demise, his council’s enforcement of his claim to the Iron Throne against his father’s final wishes, and the ensuing rise of incurable ill will between House Targaryen’s fiery branches. Throughout the rumbles of conflict that would surely melt down the Iron Throne, the only constant in his life would be the Queen at his side, hands clasped at her front and a comforting grin dancing across her lips. Whatever troubled waters he faced in the day, he could always retire to his chambers to the calming brook of his wife’s arms. Although the therapeutic steady stream would soon burst into a fierce waterfall once Aegon’s hands fell upon her irresistible frame, their tidal waves colliding together among the sheets and crafting a devastating tsunami in their wake.

“Your Grace?” The distant voice of the Hand called through Aegon’s dream-like stupor, snapping his consciousness back to the dimly-lit council meeting hall. Vision focusing slowly on the Hand’s figure standing bolt upright across the table, his countenance expectant yet determined all at once. “What do you suggest, your Grace?”

“I… uh…,” Aegon stuttered, gaze darting around the table for a signal of the conversation he missed, meeting only blank faces eagerly awaiting his response. “I… think we should all… uh… retire for the evening. It is late, we have spent hours debating our next move and now the hour of the owl is almost upon us, our judgement is clouded. I order you all to return to your chambers to consider the situation anew on the morrow.”

Aegon slammed his fists on the table insistently, rising to his feet with their aid as the eyes of the room bore into him bewildered.

“Your Grace, I strongly suggest we—.”

“Yes, grandsire, I am certain you have a veritably long-winded suggestion to raise to keep us here until daybreak,” Aegon seethed through gritted teeth, fists tightening beneath him against the ageing wood. “But I, on the other hand, have a wife I must attend to. I trust you remember what that feels like.”

A stony silence fell amongst the present number, Otto’s brows knitted together.

“But your Grace, I must protest—.”

“I dare you to protest against me once more, ser!” Aegon’s tightly coiled temper snapped into a booming roar, his bark still echoing around the chamber seconds after his last syllable left his tongue. “And I will have your head on a spike for defying the King’s orders!”

The tension in the hall was so palpable, Aegon could swear the very air hanging over the council table pulsed and swelled, taking on a deep crimson hue. His own laboured breaths from his outburst burst through the uncomfortable silence, taking deep inhales as he scanned each face to ensure compliance had fell upon them all.

“Good, I can see we have all come to an agreement,” Aegon kicked his chair aside and bounded across to the door, bellowing on his exit: “On the fucking morrow.”

The doors on Aegon’s furious journey back to his chambers bowed out of his path in the same manner he would wish from the council, days wasted trying and failing to persuade his own trusted advisors to acquiesce to his will when he could be laying with his lady wife, or rather hammering her very skeleton into the mattress beneath him. As he meandered around identical flagstoned corridors, Aegon wrung his hands before him, pressing his thumbs into the flesh until it turned a white hot beneath the pressure. His plan of action lay before him as straight as the horizon, arriving at the door to his marital chambers sooner than he expected. A deep sigh escaped him as he laid his hand on the wood that came between him and his final destination, squeezing his eyes shut before plunging through the portal without a care for what he would find on the other side.

Spinning to close the door against his back, Aegon discovered you surrounded by maids clutching at your heavy gown, the weight of its deep green velvet making the fabric plummet to pool at your feet as they disrobed you to your smallclothes. You spun on your heels to face your husband, your maids hurriedly curtsying in their arranged circle around you.

“Good evening, your Grace,” you chimed sweetly, a warm smile spreading across your cheeks as your gaze fell upon the man who held your heart from the moment you first met.

“Leave us, ladies,” he sighed gently, not expecting to be heard.

“Yes, your Grace,” each lady chirped, gathering the fabric from the floor and dutifully scurrying from the room.

Aegon cast a confused glance at the flurry of ladies sweeping past him, heads bowed to avoid his vision. “Well, that was alarmingly easy.”

“Has the council finally set you free, dear husband?” You cooed, pacing gently toward him.

“It would appear so,” he stated matter-of-factly, battling his own better judgement to revive the anger he felt before he opened the door and found the beauty of his lady wife.

“I was just trying on a new gown for Aemond’s return from Storm’s End. Gods be good you just missed the full show, I was hoping to keep it a secret for the grand occasion.”

Upon your arrival before him, you raised the back of your hand to graze against his cheek. His alabaster skin was searing hot with pent-up rage, the young king closing his eyes and dipping gently into the sensation of your cool skin melting his resolve.

When his eyes opened again, however, his lilac gaze darkened to a pitch black.

“Get on the bed,” he demanded through gritted teeth, his jaw tensed as he spat each syllable with a sinister venom. “Now.”

“Y… yes, your Grace?” You half-questioned, scanning his face for confirmation yet finding nothing but a half-shaken resolve before treading tentatively away toward the four-poster. Two half-hearted steps later, Aegon lunged forward and briskly grasped your arms, his nimble fingers blazing a trail downwards to lock your hands behind your back, pulling you flush to his chest.

“Resist me with all your might and I shall reward you with every peak you desire,” Aegon purred into the shell of your ear, planting a kiss where his words left behind goosepimples. “What word will you say to cease my advances should you feel unsafe, issa jorrāelagon?” My love.

You choked lightly as you composed your thoughts, thoughts swirling back to the previous occasion where Aegon insisted on proclaiming a word which would enable each of you an instant escape if either of you had taken your bedroom escapades too far. In the moment those two words hung in the air between you, you were to release one another without question or complaint, untie any restraints and salve any wounds or pain that might be caused.

“S… Sunfyre, ñuha perzys dārys,” you stuttered, hardly able to hear your own words over his deafening quickened breaths behind your ear, every second of holding you to his will driving his restrained fury to the surface. My fire king.

“Good girl,” he hummed into your ear, planting another confirming kiss on your ear before stepping you carefully forward. “Let’s get you on the bed.”

Aegon’s loose clasp of your hands and gentle treads forward betrayed his demands, his careful handling of his delicate wife ensuring your safety. The sole cause of the cold dread flooding through your veins as you approached the edge of the bed was when the kindnesses would cease and the ruthless Aegon would arrive. He had only made a handful of appearances in the bedroom before, but he had always been introduced well in advance. Tonight, you had no preparation, no introduction, only fear of where his limits lay this night.

Your knees nudged to the wooden bed frame and you instinctively swallowed hard, squeezing your eyes together in prayer for your husband’s mercy once he had fucked his frustrations into you.

“Do not be afraid, ñuha embar dāria,” he soothed, planting another reassuring kiss into the nape of your neck. My sea queen. “I do not intend to hurt you.”

Releasing your hands from behind your back, his own traversed your frame to unbutton your smallclothes until the linen pooled at your feet, the cold air of the chamber pricking your skin as you instinctively wrapped your arms around yourself. Aegon gripped your forearm and spun you on your heels to face him, his eyes now blackened and menacing as they consumed the sight of you.

“I only intend to break you.”

With a forceful palm pressed into your chest, Aegon pushed you down to the sheets, tumbling onto the soft mattress beneath you. His reckless silver curls framed his face as he towered at the foot of the bed, your thighs clenching together before him.

“Tell me to stop,” he commanded, frantically battling to decimate his own black clothing from his frame, the three-headed dragon cast to the floor to remove all semblance of ceremony between you. “Order me to cease and I will force you to take what I give you.”

His words alone sent you gently writhing among the sheets as he kneeled on the edge of the mattress, the mere thought of Aegon not taking no for an answer had never really crossed your mind before. His lovemaking was always a level playing field, constant hushed queries of your current state spilling whenever you had fallen too silent for his liking. This new relentless version of your husband intrigued you, but also paralysed you to the spot with anxiety where this new facade would draw the line with you, if indeed such a line existed.

“You look so beautiful like this,” he gloated, groaning hungrily deep in his throat as he consumed the sight before him, your anticipation of his next move utterly palpable. “So fragile, so delicate… so submissive.”

The predatory tone in his voice hitched your breaths in your lungs, coming out as ragged exhales as he crawled onto the bed, sharply nudging his knees between yours and forcefully parting your thighs, both hands braced on either side of your head and caging you to the spot. Gazing down at you through tumbling silver waves, Aegon tutted and skewed the corner of his lip in disapproval.

“I don’t see you fighting me, dear wife. Do you perhaps need reminding that I will not continue if you do not obey my orders?”

You gulped so loud, the thrum of your throat could well have echoed around the deathly silence of the chamber. Aegon leaned to hover his lips over yours, towering over you with a menacing grin as he watched you feign a squirm beneath him. His mouth drew nearer, breaths fanning your face and you pressed your eyes closed, jerking your face to one side away from him as if your life depended on swerving his kiss.

“That’s my girl,” Aegon growled, one hand fired to grab your jaw and yanked you to face him, crashing his lips against yours and fervently pressing into you. Your false grunts of resistance vibrated into his mouth and drove him to consume you further, greedily smashing into you and nibbling at your bottom lip. “I knew you could do it.”

His fingertips digging hard into your cheeks, your jaw constricted in his grasp and your soft flesh paled to a searing hot white beneath his grip.

“Get off me,” you snapped through gritted teeth, testing your ability to resist him by squirming and thrashing your head in his hold. “You’re power mad, Aegon, you can’t just take me when you feel like it.”

“You think so?” Aegon half-roared deep in his throat, eyes narrowing to a sinister sneer looming down over you. “I’ve spent all fucking day in that council being told what to do, I have no say in my own destiny so for once, just this once, do as I say.”

Releasing his grip on your face, his seizing hand fired down to your thigh, clutching at the soft flesh spread before him and earning a gentle buck of your hips in response. Your sensitivity prickled all Aegon’s senses, lurching his hand to your center to discover just how much your body truly craved him, only to find your sodden folds aching for his next move.

“How is it your cunt knows you belong to me, but your tongue does not?” Aegon snapped, tracing a light fingertip over the outline of your entrance and fluttering his eyelids as you keened into the sensation. “Look at you, you’ve always wanted me to take you by force, haven’t you sweetling?”

“Fuck off, Aegon,” you scowled through ragged breaths, squirming beneath him in a vain escape attempt. “I’m only wet because I can’t remember the last time you fucked me properly.”

His eyes bulged, a cold wave of shock washing over him as a newfound venom spilled from your acid tongue. This character was so unlike you, he could swear his wife was possessed by an unearthly force. Were you being truthful? Was he not satisfying his wife for your entire marriage? Was this part of the act?

For a brief moment, the King froze to the spot, gathering his thoughts and putting all his bets on the outcome he’d prefer. Settling for the latter result with all the hope he had mustered, he took your cutting words and buried two fingers inside your waiting heat, stealing the breath from your lungs with each knuckle breaching your folds as his finger curled fervently inside your core.

“You’re going to regret that, my insolent little Queen,” he seethed, nestling his fingers deep inside you and filling you to the hilt. He stilled as he reached up to his knuckle, not pumping in and out as he normally would. Instead, his forefinger and little finger rested at the meeting of your thighs, stroking outside your core as he slowly started drawing his hand up and down from the sheets to the sky and plunging his fingertips into your walls, stroking the spongy surface before pulling back and slamming upwards again. Settling at an alarming pace, your body betrayed you as your hips grinded up into his touch, your thighs quaking beneath him.

“S—stop, Aegon,” you ordered half-heartedly, voice cracking with the intensity of the building tension in your cunt. “You repulse me.”

“Tell that to your body, dear wife,” he rasped, ramping up his thrusts so that the rhythmic lewd splashes of pleasure from your core filled the chamber. “I can feel your cunt bowing to its King.”

Your weak efforts to restrain your hips to the sheets waned with every eager plunge of his fingertips into your walls, instead trying to disguise your pathetic writhing underneath him as an attempt to escape his clutches, but the more you struggled the more he chased your approval.

“S… stop,” your feeble plea stuttered on your tongue with the building pressure inside your walls rising to a searing heat, your head sinking back into the pillows with your eyes journeying to the ceiling. The sooner you distracted yourself from watching your silver King claim you in the filthiest manner, the more convincing your rejections would sound and the less it would seem like you were nearing a faux-reluctant climax. “Let me go, Aegon, fuck!”

“Not until you let go for me,” Aegon snarled, perching on his knees and hooking a hand behind your head to force your gaze down to the action between your thighs, his fingers thrumming into your walls with his palm cupping over your bundle of nerves only increasing the pressure inside you. His ragged breaths from his exertion blended into your own stammering rhythm, battling to maintain your guise of composure as Aegon destroyed you from within. “Go on, let go all over my fingers. Soak the sheets I deflowered you on, show me how much you need me.”

His words alone sent you careering over the edge of your peak, screaming out in frustration and lurching your back up to meet him in mid-air as a tight band snapped in your core. A wave of ecstasy suddenly flooded within you and poured free from your cunt in a violent spray, following Aegon’s orders to the letter as warmth pooled into the sheets beneath you, withdrawing his fingers to watch your climax unfold. Your eyelids clenched shut with shame, drawing your bottom lip between gritted teeth and willing the ground to swallow you whole. So caught up in your own embarrassment, you could not see the accomplished grin beaming across Aegon’s plush lips or his pupils blown pitch black with lust, his expression a combination of sultry desire, predatory domination and pride over your staggering obedience.

A silence fell between you as you both calculated the event in very different ways — while you held onto a ridiculous hope that Aegon would forget this ever happened, Aegon was consumed with wonder when, or indeed if, he could make you reach that high again.

“Do that again,” he declared, thrusting his fingers back into your dripping folds and caressing your slippery walls inside, dragging his fingers in the same beckoning manner that made your spine flex both away from and into him simultaneously. “Don’t make me wait, issa jorrāelagon.”

“G… get off me, Aegon,” you whimpered with all the strength you could muster, your mask of protest slowly slipping as you jerked beneath his vice grip on your heat, tension already rising inside you. “Y… you make me sick.”

“Now now, that’s no way to talk to the husband who can make your cunt flow like a waterfall,” his domineering sarcasm dripped like honey from his tongue, concentrating his strength on hammering inside you so hard the muscles on his forearm protruded with exertion. “You can give me another, there’s a good girl.”

“Stop, now!” You cried out with a spurt of faux-disobedient energy, desperately praying to the Seven that he could not draw another humiliating scene from you, obstinately clenching your thighs around his waist to offset the uncomfortably familiar pressure rising inside. “You can’t do this to me, Aegon!”

“Have you forgotten already, little one? I own you, you and this pretty wet cunt that’s already shaking around my fingers.” His filthy sneer accompanied a new move to a punishing pace slamming into your walls, stroking at the spongy interior as if to beckon your peak forward once more. “Just give me what I want and shut that disobedient mouth before I shut it for you.”

“Try me,” you spat without even thinking about the consequences of such a temptation, half-closing your eyes as if you would catch a glimpse of the eye of the storm in your husband’s gaze.

Sure enough, Aegon’s grip on the back of your neck released as he fired his hand to meet the valley of your hips, planting his palm in the plane of your pelvis and pressing down until he could feel his fingers plunging within you. Your strangled gasp in response suggested his new angle was working its charm immediately, your spine curving into mid-air to throw your hips up into his touch.

“That’s it,” he growled lowly, pushing deeper and pistoning his fingers faster to race you to the edge once more. “Can’t come up with a quick insult now, can you?”

“F… fuck you, Aegon!” You screamed out as your second wave consumed you, another clear fountain breaching your entrance and spilling over his waiting fingers, which he chose to run through your folds to spray your release even further over the sheets. Wails of frustration and overstimulation poured from your lips, your thighs quivering and writhing uncontrollably as the aftershocks took hold of your body.

“Soon, my love,” he cooed in a break from his dominant streak, too wrapped up in the power rushing to his head after eliciting two floods from you in quick succession. “Just give me one more.”

“N… no, please,” you begged as his fingers dipped inside your sensitive walls once more, your hips keening frantically into the sheets to desperately avoid another sensory onslaught. Your protests up until then had been false, tempting and almost goading, but that time, your senses could not withstand any more. Your folds puffy and abused, your forehead dripping with sweat, your breaths laboured and jagged. You were sure you could not produce another wave, let alone withstand his fingers punishing your core. “Please, no more…”

“Come on, little one,” his honeyed encouragement came through a softer voice than before, almost registering your overstimulation but craving one more chance at claiming you more than he ever had before. “Just one more for me, I know you can do it.”

His fingers slipped into your dripping heat with ease, gently caressing that sensitive spot inside you for a few moments before returning to his relentless pace hammering back and forth inside you.

“Stop, Aegon, please…,” your pleas far more convincing as you began to mean the words you spilled, your voice cracking weakly as his ministrations inside your cunt stole the air from your lungs.

“Just one more, that’s my good Queen,” he pressed, his one palm stroking the valley of your hips while the other rubbed your mound eagerly in time with his fingers curving inside your pulsing heat. “One more for me, soak the sheets again for your King.”

Your third wave arrived with a scream of his name that made no sound as it left your tongue, too exhausted to produce an audible syllable as you gushed another flood over his fingers still buried inside you, downright explicit splashing sounds echoing through the chamber in place of your voiceless cries.

“Good girl, good girl,” Aegon praised with wonder as he consumed the sight of his digits dripping with your release as he finally withdrew from you, the sheets sodden to translucency beneath you, glimmering droplets of your climax splattered over both your thighs and his own. Your legs refused to still, quaking uncontrollably in the aftermath of the sensory onslaught brought upon you by your husband’s desperate clamour for power in his life.

At last, he had power over one thing. But at what cost?

Brushing a tumbling silver curl from his face with a soaking hand, he reached to pay you the same kindness only for you to whip your face away from his touch. His brows knitted together tightly, a piece of his heart breaking to see you flinch from your husband so eagerly. Had he gone too far?

“Issa jorrāelagon,” he purred softly, a flush of dread cracking his voice. “Are you… are you well?”

You shot a stern gaze back at his terrified countenance, his pallor flushing to a sheer white as if the blood had drained from his face. His fingers ventured to touch your cheek again only to find you wincing away from him once more. Another piece of the King’s heart shattered.

“My Queen, did…,” his fragile stammer signing the validity to his concern. “Did I hurt you? I… I never meant to hurt you.”

He scanned your face for a response, any response that would shatter the glass of suspense between you. Your eyes betrayed nothing, your cheeks gave away no sign, yet as his gaze journeyed to your mouth, Aegon discovered your lips ever so slightly curling into a childlike mocking grin.

It was an act all along.

He let out a sigh of defeat and clicked his tongue in sharp disapproval.

“You have played your hand well, dear wife,” Aegon admitted, running his still-dripping hand through his wavy locks once more before rolling onto his knees, pressing one palm to spread your thighs beneath him while the other gripped his length, palming it lightly and surging the tip toward your swollen entrance. “But you underestimate your opponent.”

In one smooth flick of his hips, his cock slipped into your heat to the hilt, earning her another strangled gasp from the bottom of your lungs. The overwhelmingly full sensation of his length finally fitting inside you like the missing piece of your jigsaw left you battling the urge to throw your arms around his neck and capture his lips with yours. For the sake of the wicked game to which you had committed yourself, your surge of energy was spent on planting your palms on his bare chest and pushing him away from you with all your might. Unsurprisingly, his body weight was immovable and your fight was futile, eliciting a sinister chuckle from your dominant husband as he picked up a rampant pace, drawing his hips back and slamming down into you with a brute force.

“I don’t want this, Aegon,” you lied, your faux-protest delivered through a clenched jaw at the same time your thighs gave up their battle and spread wide for his languid thrusts to reach you easier. “I don’t fucking want you!”

“If you truly don’t want me, why is your cunt singing my name?” Aegon played his hand so eloquently for a man whose eyes were gently roving skyward at the feeling of your walls welcoming him so warmly, wrapping around him and choking his every piston deep into your heat. “Say the word and I will set you free, but until then I will not take ‘no’ for an answer.”

You swallowed thickly, his menacing nature such a contrast from the doting husband who only moments before had feared his own strength on your body, the man who had broken before your very eyes at the mere sight of your seemingly authentic rejection. He revelled in your wilful resistance, but each time he doubted whether you truly meant the sentiments behind your actions, Aegon Targaryen crumbled.

“No!” You cried out, gently writhing your hips in a false attempt to escape him but only succeeding in grinding up into Aegon and slipping his cock even deeper inside your heat. “Please, no!”

“As you wish, my sea queen,” Aegon confirmed with an accomplished grin, rearing his hips to deliver a punishing thrust that stole the breath from your lungs. “Think you can give me one more?”

Your gentle shake of your head acted as both truth and a lie at the same time — your resistant facade suggested you didn’t want to reach your peak a fourth time, your overstimulated cunt certainly did not feel as if it could deliver another flood of fluids, yet you somehow craved another chase of that ecstasy with Aegon splitting you open so perfectly.

“Good, I knew you could take it for me,” Aegon growled, curling his hips to plunge inside you so deep that his cockhead nudged impatiently at your cervix, leaving a hollow tension in your stomach in his wake. “Gods, your cunt is still so tight around me, you feel like the heavens.”

You whispered his name like a secret sacrament, inaudible over the wet slapping of skin and Aegon’s eager groans as he impaled you. Unfortunately for you, Aegon had read your lips.

“That’s it, little one,” he gloated gleefully, pouring every inch of his length within you in devastating curled motions. “Your King has you now.”

“F—fuck,” your broken stammer betrayed the tight coil of searing heat building in your core and constricting your walls around his cock in the same way your thighs clamped around his waist. “Fuck, I’m…”

“My dear sweet submissive Queen,” he cooed softly, pummelling into you with a newfound energy and leaving you both gasping for air. “Chase that high again, I know you can give me one more.”

With his next merciless plunge into your cervix, you instinctively flung your arms around his neck and pulled him down to capture his lips, screaming into his mouth you toppled over your peak and flooded over his cock, the clear jet of your ecstasy spilling from your folds and soaking his length until his sack of stones dripped with your release. A hungry growl rumbled on his lips as his hand travelled to where your bodies joined, splashing his fingers through the fountain of your climax feverishly spilling over him as he continued to pummel inside you.

“That’s it,” he drawled lazily into your mouth, his syllables catching on his tongue and rolling slowly onto yours. The veins traversing his length protruded and prickled as his own release neared, jolting and twitching inside you as he continued plunging into you. “Now take everything I give you like a good girl.”

His last sound signalled a stutter of his hips, his own climax flooding inside you and pouring his seed as far in your cunt as he could reach. Aegon deepened your kiss to disguise his own explicit moans, lazy growls echoing into your mouth as he jerked softly into you, his peak flooding your insides with a familiar warmth you knew so well, but this time, the sensation was unrivalled.

“I… I love you,” Aegon’s fragment whisper against your lips sounded fragile once more, his dominant alter ego well and truly buried with his seed inside you. Refusing to withdraw his length as if the action of leaving your folds would draw a close to the moment between you, Aegon continued kissing you as feverishly as the night you first met. “I love you so much.”

“I love you,” you whispered back, hands trailing into his silver waves and tugging gently, clamouring for contact after refusing to touch him ever since he laid you on the sheets, now sodden and cold beneath you. “Always.”

Aegon’s kiss came to a sudden halt, his eyes firing open as a realisation swept over him. Tearing his lips from yours, his eyes frantically searched your lips for a response before his enquiry even left his.

“Did you mean what you said?” His fearful query came from beneath furrowed brows and puppy-like pleading eyes. “Do I truly not fuck you properly, my sea queen?”

“My fire king,” you sighed contentedly, tightening your thighs around his waist and drawing his softening length deeper inside you. “If that is what I have to say to get you to do that, you can expect to hear it every night.”

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii fanfic #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii smut #aegon ii targaryen smut #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x yn #tom glynn carney fanfiction #tom glynn carney #tom glynn carney imagines #hotd fanfiction #hotd smut #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #aegon ii fic #aegon targaryen smut #aegon ii targaryen fanfiction #hotd

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dearmariposa · 3 months

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One Night Stand | pt 1

Buzzed. oh, you're absolutely buzzed. The resonating throb of the bass pulses within, dazzling lights paint kaleidoscopic patterns across your vision. The scent of alcohol and sweat fills the air, as the hem of your dress flirts with rebellion, rising with every fleeting opportunity. The night, undeniably, is in its youthful embrace.

As the echoes of your heels gently resonate through the crowd, you realize you've lost your friends. Perhaps one is entwined in a gratifying exchange, savoring the taste of passion, while the other might be surrendering to the merciless shots of tequila, expelling every drop consumed over the past three hours. Despite your own senses dancing on the edge of a cliff right now, you're still eager to find both of them and finally leave this place. Now that you reek of cologne, sweat, cigarettes, and every possible pungent scent to ever exist for mankind.

Stumbling, you make your way towards the bathroom. Retrieving your cell phone, revealing the ungodly hour – 1:48 a.m. "Fuck, talk about starting the new year right huh?" A muttered exclamation escapes your lips. With your phone pressed against your ear in a desperate attempt to call for your friends, the void of unanswered calls becomes the soundtrack to your fleeting optimism. After several calls, you abandon the idea of going home and walking out of the bathroom, squeezing yourself through the line as faint alarming noises are heard from the men's bathroom. Low grunts followed by whispered moans.

Seated at the bar, your feet aching, downing another shot of God knows what, given by the bartender, you made your way back to the dance floor. You find yourself dancing to the rhythmic pulse of the music in an attempt to let loose and forget all the stress and depravity rotting inside you for the past year. Besides, when else would you have the chance to unleash yourself, it's a rare occasion.

In the hallowed whispers of nightlife, there's truth concealed from youthful ears and its intoxicating rendezvous. Another truth kept concealed is the magic of alcohol and how much it can alter a person. Your dress strap delicately slips, blush blossoms on your cheeks, the warmth of intoxication coursing through your veins. An unfamiliar silhouette converges, pressing against yours, setting aflame a burning sensation between your thighs.

Moments stretched into an embedded memory until a low breath brushed against the curve of your neck. Instant shivers shot down your spine, a rising blaze of sensation. His face and form remained veiled in the shadows, yet you found yourself immersed in the depths of his essence, a scent that enveloped you, clouding your consciousness. Perhaps it was the music or your pounding headache, but you loved it, the intoxicating chemistry between you and this handsome stranger, you wanted more. No. You yearn for more.

His hands traveled every inch of your figure, from one place to another until they reached the bottom of your stomach. At that moment, a silent alarm echoed within – a code red pulsating in your thoughts. Amidst the haze of your fading senses, you discern that this will only lead to 2 roads. One is the possibility of this man being remarkable in bed. Two, a dismay of regret, a potential aftermath of chlamydia. Where strands of regret may intertwine with your hair in the week to unfold; and he’s horrendous in bed.

Yet, what recourse does a woman, starved for affection, possess in such situations? Certainly not the ability to make sound decisions. Thus, with vanishing sanity, you moved, turning your gaze only to encounter the man with a mischievous grin plastered on his face. His features blurred in the throbbing lights, whether a trick of the strobes or your own lack of sobriety remains uncertain. All that is certain is his towering figure, eyes sharp like obsidian or perhaps the hues of oakwood, lips naturally tinted in rosy plumpness, a nose bridge sculpted to envy, and hair as luscious as the depths of his eyes. A vision so enticing unfolds before you. Your heart quickens its pace as he, suddenly speaks. “Didn’t realize you were sober enough to drool over me like that, princess.”

In mere moments of his voice, you transitioned from drunk to tipsy. Awareness heightened, yet self-evasively distant. His presence lingered in your thoughts, the idea of him inches deep inside you occupying your mind, especially when your bodies entangled, the trail of his cologne weaving a seductive spell. “It would be a shame to waste a face like yours, sir,” you uttered, your arms wrapping his neck, causing his grasp to rest on your waist. Familiar butterflies fluttered with each passing heartbeat. As lips hovered in proximity, you sensed his breath, his hold on your waist intensifying, tension escalating between the two of you. This isn’t supposed to be a game of self-restraint, where the person who kisses the other would lose. But now that it has come to this, it is rather thrilling.

“My place is around here.” You offer a devil’s invitation to this enigmatic stranger who has been undressing you with his eyes for the entire night. You’ve lured him. You’re impatient. You’re ready to turn the city into a backdrop, to a night of forbidden passion and let the moonlight reveal secrets that were meant to stay hidden. Secrets like the image of how you’d like this man to ruin you. Now, all he needs to do is bring the images to life.

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook oneshot #jungkook au #bts smut #bts scenarios #bts #fanfic #dearmariposa

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srvbryn · 2 months

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Luke Castellan. A shot of espresso

Not set in riordanverse & FLUFF — MASTERLIST

Luke Castellan X immortal!reader

Summary: he wants to be immortal with her, she wants to relinquish her immortal to be normal with him

Warning: a decade timeskip, literally a bed time story, this one is so boring and long + a lot of dialogues A LOT

"I want to be with you, forever. I can't bear the thought of a life without you."

Your gaze met his, sorrow reflecting in your eyes. "But, Luke, you don't understand. Immortality comes with a price. I've seen civilizations rise and fall, loved and lost countless times. I don't want you to endure the pain that eternity brings."

He grabbed your hands, desperation etched on his face. "I don't care about the pain. I want to be with you, face everything together. I want to be by your side for all of eternity."

A bitter smile played on your lips. "Eternity is a heavy burden, Luke. Mortals live vibrant lives, but immortals watch those lives fade away. I don't want you to sacrifice your fleeting existence for me."

Anger flashed across his features. "My existence means nothing without you. I want more than just a short life. I want a forever with you."

A heavy silence fell, and the weight of an impossible decision hung between you.

Finally, you spoke, your voice strained. "Luke, I love you too much to let you make such a sacrifice. Mortality brings beauty in its brevity."

His eyes filled with frustration and anger. "I don't want a short-lived beauty. I want a timeless love with you. I'll find a way to make it work, to be with you."

Tears welled in your eyes as you pulled away. "You can't comprehend the weight of eternity, Luke. It's not a fairy tale. It's an endless journey, filled with pain and loneliness."

His voice grew desperate, "I don't care. I want to be with you."

"You're not thinking clearly," you whispered, your voice strained. "I've seen the consequences of immortality. It's not a gift — it's a curse."

Luke's frustration boiled over, and he snapped, "I don't care about the curse. I care about you. I can't imagine a life without you by my side."

A tear trickled down your cheek as you admitted, "I want to give up my immortality. I want to live a normal life with you, experience the short joys and pains of mortality."

He shook his head, refusing to accept your choice. "No, we can find another way. There has to be a solution that allows us to be together."

Your voice softened, a mix of love and sadness. "Luke, sometimes love means making the most painful choices. I want to live a mortal life with you, not bound by the weight of eternity."

He slumped, defeated, realizing the depth of your decision. "I love you, but I can't bear the thought of losing you."

You pulled him into an embrace, whispering words of comfort. "I love you too, Luke. Let's savor the time we have together, even if it's not forever."

— love sometimes requires letting go, even if it means relinquishing immortality or embracing mortality.

A decade had passed since you chose to give up your immortality to live a normal life with him.

The small town you both called home now echoed with a child's laughter, a testament to your blossoming love.

The modest house you shared held the warmth of a home filled with memories.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting hues of orange and pink across the sky, you sat on the porch, watching your child play in the yard.

Luke joined you, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. "Our life might not be eternal, but it's certainly full of love."

You smiled, leaning into his embrace. "I wouldn't trade it for anything."

Your child ran over, a vibrant bundle of energy. "Mom! Dad! Look what I found!"

You both turned your attention to the little one, who proudly displayed a handful of wildflowers.

Luke ruffled their hair, a proud smile on his face. "Those are beautiful, just like you."

As evening settled in, you gathered around the dinner table — a treasure you wouldn't trade for the world.

Later, as you tucked your child into bed, they looked up at you with wide eyes. "Will you tell me a story, mom?"

You chuckled, sitting on the edge of their bed. “Once, in a small town nestled between rolling hills and whispering forests, there lived a family unlike any other. Mom, Dad, and their child lived in a warm, loving home.

You see, a long time ago, Mom was an immortal being, someone who had seen centuries unfold like the pages of a story.

But one day, she met Dad, a brave and kind-hearted mortal. Their love was so strong that Mom decided to give up her immortality to share a mortal life with Dad.

From that choice blossomed a life filled with laughter, joy, and love. The house echoed with the patter of little feet, and the yard was always alive with the sound of playful giggles.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Mom, Dad, and the little one would gather on the porch.

The sky would paint itself with colors, and the world would hush into the magic of the evening. Dad would wrap his arm around Mom, and they would share stories of adventures and love.

In the yard, wildflowers grew, each petal holding a piece of the family's happiness.

The little one, a ball of energy and curiosity, would find treasures in the grass, such as the time they proudly returned with a handful of wildflowers as beautiful as the love that surrounded them.

At bedtime, when the stars sparkled like diamonds in the night sky, Mom would sit by the little one's bed. "Once upon a time," she would begin, "there was an immortal who chose to embrace mortality for the love of a mortal. And in that choice, they found a lifetime of joy, love, and the beauty of fleeting moments."

The little one's eyes would grow heavy with the magic of the story, drifting into dreams filled with love, warmth, and the gentle whispers of a life well-lived.

And so, in that little town, under the watchful gaze of a starlit sky, this extraordinary family created their own enchanting bedtime stories—a tale of love that transcended the boundaries of time, and a reminder that the most magical moments are often found in the simplest joys of life.

Goodnight, little one. Sweet dreams in the embrace of a love that lasts a lifetime.”

Your child's eyes drooped with sleep, a contented smile on their face. As you left the room, you found Luke waiting in the hallway, his gaze filled with gratitude.

"We created something beautiful, didn't we?" Luke whispered.

You nodded, intertwining your fingers with his. "Our own little eternity within the finite."

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #luke pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo series #i love him #charlie bushnell #luke castellan angst #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan x you

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valkyrieeeee · 2 days

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You have surgery | Han Jisung

ᑉ³pairing; Boyfriend! Han Jisung x Reader

ᑉ³genre; Sickfic, Comfort, Fluff,

ᑉ³warnings; Wisdom tooth removal, dentist, Anesthesia, amnesia

ᑉ³Authors Note; Other members coming soon! Based on a true story (me!) Edited!

As the nurse administers the anesthesia, you squeeze the hand you're holding tightly, drawing strength from their steady grip. You feel a cool sensation spreading through your veins as the anesthesia takes effect, gradually enveloping you in a blanket of warmth and tranquility.

A wave of anxiety washes over you, but it feels distant, muffled by the encroaching haze of unconsciousness. Your palms grow clammy, and your breath comes in short, shallow gasps. He reaches out, His touch is barely perceptible, a faint brush against your cheek. His whispered words of encouragement are like echoes from a far-off place, reaching you through layers of fog.

"Hey, you've got this," he murmurs softly, his voice fading into the recesses of your mind. "I know you're scared, but you're the bravest person I know. I'll be right here when you wake up, holding your hand okay?" His words cling to your consciousness like a passing dream.

With one final breath, you faintly hear the words "I love you" as you close your eyes, letting go of your fears and surrendering to the gentle embrace of unconsciousness.

As consciousness slowly returns, you find yourself floating in a hazy fog, your senses dulled by the lingering effects of anesthesia. Your eyelids flutter open, revealing a dimly lit room swirling with shadows and blurred shapes.

Confusion washes over you as you struggle to make sense of your surroundings. The faces that hover at the edge of your vision are unfamiliar, their features distorted and indistinct.

Panic begins to rise within you, a knot of fear tightening in your chest as you search desperately for something familiar. Your heart races in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears as panic tightens its grip around your throat.

You try to push through the fog, to grasp onto fleeting fragments of memory that slip through your fingers like grains of sand. But the harder you try, the more elusive they become, slipping further and further beyond your reach.

Desperation claws at the edges of your consciousness, urging you to flee, to escape this nightmare world of shadows and uncertainty. But where can you run when you don't even know where you are?

And then, amidst the chaos of your mind, a voice breaks through the fog, a soft whisper that cuts through the darkness like a beacon of light.

"Hey there, sleepyhead," his voice trembles slightly, gentle yet filled with love. "It's me, Jisung. How are you feeling" he asks softly, his tone laced with a mixture of hope and fear.

"Who are you?" you manage to croak, your voice trembling with confusion and fear. The name 'Jisung' means nothing to you in this moment of disorientation.

A flicker of sadness passes through his eyes, but he quickly masks it with a reassuring smile, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm Jisung," he repeats gently, his voice tender yet tinged with a hint of disappointment. "Your boyfriend. Do you remember? We've been together for a few years now."

You blink, trying to process his words, but the fog in your mind refuses to dissipate. "I'm sorry," you whisper, your heart heavy with guilt. "I don't remember."

Jisung's expression softens, sadness passing through his eyes once again , but he remains silent, his concern evident in the gentle squeeze of your hand. As you slowly regain awareness, you find yourself in a dimly lit room, the faint scent of antiseptic lingering in the air.

Your gaze sweeps the unfamiliar surroundings, confusion clouding your thoughts. "Where am I?" you murmur, your voice tinged with uncertainty.

"In the hospital," Jisung replies, his tone gentle yet urgent, his words a beacon of reassurance amidst the fog of confusion. "You had your wisdom teeth removed, but you're all done now. Everything's going to be okay," he adds, his voice laced with a desperate plea for recognition, his eyes searching yours for any sign of comprehension.

"Maybe going for a walk might jog your memory," the nurse suggests as she walks into the room, her voice a gentle interruption in the stillness.

You try to sit up, only to realize you're cocooned in warmth, covered in two blankets and a coat. "What's all this?" you say, puzzled by the unexpected comfort.

"You got cold, and I didn't know what to do. I couldn't see you tremble, so I tried to cover you as much as possible," Jisung explains, a slight tremor in his voice betraying his concern as he gestures to his coat draped over you.

With the help of Jisung and the nurse, you slowly stand and begin to shuffle around the hospital corridors, the steady rhythm of your footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway. As you move, the motion seems to stir something within you, coaxing snippets of memories to resurface from the depths of your mind. With each step, the fog of confusion begins to lift, replaced by a growing sense of clarity.

And then, like a dam breaking, the first clear memory floods back, washing over you in a rush of recognition.

You pause mid-step, a look of realization dawning on your face.

"BBama," you murmur, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I remember BBama."

Jisung's expression changes, a mix of surprise and mild disappointment crossing his features before he quickly masks it with a forced smile. "Yeah, BBama," he replies, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "He's a good boy."

You sense a shift in his demeanor, a subtle tension in the way he grips your hand a little tighter. Guilt washes over you as you realize the impact of your words, the inadvertent reminder of your forgotten memories hitting Jisung harder than you expected.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, reaching out to touch his arm in a silent gesture of apology. "I didn't mean to—"

But before you can finish, Jisung shakes his head, his forced smile softening into a genuine one. "It's okay," he reassures, his voice gentle yet tinged with a hint of sadness. "It's just... funny how memories work sometimes."

As you walk, Jisung's disappointment hangs heavy in the air, his silence speaking volumes as you navigate the hospital corridors together. You can feel the weight of his unspoken thoughts, a palpable tension in the way he holds himself.

Guilt gnaws at your insides as you realize the depth of his disappointment, the fear that perhaps you'll never fully remember the moments you've shared together. You want to reach out, to erase the hurt etched into the lines of his face, but words fail you in the face of such uncertainty.

Lost in thought, you suddenly remember a fleeting moment, a snapshot of a memory that cuts through the fog.

"The ferris wheel," you say, a smile playing at the corners of your lips as you recount the memory that has surfaced in your mind. "It was a sunny afternoon, and we went to the carnival. We got on rides, and we laughed and talked for hours."

Jisung's eyes light up with recognition, a spark of joy dancing in their depths as the memory comes flooding back to him. "I remember that day," he says softly, his voice filled with warmth and affection. "It was one of the best days of my life."

"You were afraid of heights and got scared at the top of the wheel. I kissed you to calm your nerves," you recall, a blush tinting your cheeks as you relive the tender moment. "And in that moment, everything felt... perfect," you add, your heart fluttering at the memory of Jisung's comforting embrace.

His gaze softens, his eyes shining with love and longing as he reaches out to cup your cheek, his touch sending shivers down your spine. "It was perfect," he agrees, his voice barely above a whisper, his thumb brushing gently against your skin.

After spending some time reminiscing in the hospital corridors, Jisung helps you gather your belongings and leads you out of the hospital. He takes your hand gently, guiding you with careful steps as you navigate through the corridors and out into the crisp evening air.

As you step outside, you're greeted by the cool breeze, a welcome relief after the sterile confines of the hospital. Jisung flags down a taxi and helps you into the backseat, ensuring you're comfortable before climbing in beside you.

During the ride home, you lean against Jisung's shoulder, the events of the day catching up with you as exhaustion washes over you. Jisung wraps his arm around you protectively, offering silent comfort as the taxi makes its way through the city streets.

When you arrive home, Jisung helps you out of the taxi and supports you as you make your way inside. Once indoors, he settles you onto the couch, fluffing up pillows to make you comfortable.

"Minho hyung dropped off some soup for us. Let me serve you some," he says softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before disappearing into the kitchen.

As you sink into the cushions, the sharp ache in your jaw intensifies, signaling to your senses that the anesthesia is wearing off. Every movement sends a jolt of agony through your body, and you clench your teeth to stifle a cry of pain.

Your eyes brim with tears. Talking feels like shards of glass scraping against your raw gums, and even breathing seems to exacerbate the throbbing ache in your jaw.

With Jisung in the kitchen, you try to compose yourself, not wanting to alarm him. You take slow, shallow breaths, trying to find a way to cope with the overwhelming pain that courses through your body.

But despite your best efforts, silent tears slip down your cheeks, betraying the torment you're enduring. You press a hand to your mouth, muffling the sobs that threaten to escape, not wanting to disturb Jisung as he prepares soup to ease your discomfort.

Minutes feel like hours as you wait for Jisung to return, each second punctuated by sharp pangs of agony that seem to intensify with every passing moment.

Finally, you hear the soft shuffle of footsteps as Jisung reenters the living room, a tray of steaming soup in his hands. He pauses as he sees you, his eyes widening in alarm at the sight of your tear-streaked face.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asks, his voice filled with concern as he rushes to your side, setting the tray down on the coffee table before gathering you into his arms.

You cling to him desperately, unable to hold back the flood of tears any longer. "It hurts," you manage to choke out between sobs, the words barely audible as you bury your face against his chest.

Jisung holds you close, his heart breaking at the sight of your pain. "I'm sorry," he whispers, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head. "I'll make it better, I promise."

You cling to him desperately, your tears soaking into his shirt as you surrender to the overwhelming tide of agony. Each sob racks your body, a symphony of suffering that echoes through the silent night.

"I'm so sorry," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion as he presses another kiss to the top of your head. "I wish I could take away your pain."

As Jisung holds you, he whispers soft words of comfort, his voice a soothing melody in the midst of your suffering. You feel a flicker of relief in his arms, a fleeting respite from the relentless ache that grips your body.

Eventually, Jisung guides you to sit up, his hands gentle as he helps you into a more comfortable position on the couch. He retrieves the tray of soup he prepared earlier and sits beside you, offering you the spoon with a tender smile.

You try to eat, but the pain makes even the simplest of tasks feel like an immense effort. Each attempt to swallow is met with searing agony, and you can't help but feel a sense of incompetence wash over you.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, tears welling up in your eyes as you struggle to eat. "I can't do this."

Jisung's heart breaks at the sight of your distress, but he remains steadfast in his support. "It's okay, love," he murmurs softly, his voice a soothing balm as he takes the spoon from your hand and gently feeds you, " Let me help you."

With each spoonful of soup, Jisung's movements are deliberate and gentle, his fingers cradling the spoon as if it were the most precious thing in the world. He watches you intently, his gaze soft and reassuring as he anticipates your needs.

As the warm broth passes your lips, you can feel the tenderness of his touch, his fingers brushing against your skin with a feather-light caress. It's as if he's not just feeding you soup, but pouring his love and care into every bite.

Despite the pain that still lingers in the corners of your mind, you find solace in the simple act of being cared for.

As he continues to feed you spoonful's of soup, he notices the heaviness in your expression. With a playful glint in his eyes, he brings the spoon closer to your mouth but then pulls it away with a mischievous smile.

"Here comes the plane!" he says, his voice filled with playful enthusiasm as he mimics the sound of an airplane soaring through the air. He moves the spoon in a swooping motion, as if it's about to land in your mouth, his expression hopeful for a glimpse of your smile.

Despite the pain and discomfort, you can't help but chuckle at his antics. His determination to bring a smile to your face melts away some of the tension, and you find yourself playing along, opening your mouth wide as if ready to accept the imaginary "airplane" spoon.

Once you've finished eating, Jisung takes care of everything, cleaning up the kitchen and washing the dishes with meticulous attention to detail. He returns to you, draping a soft blanket over your shoulders and ensuring you're comfortable on the couch.

Then, he gathers you into his arms, holding you close as you cling to him. He wipes away your remaining tears, whispering words of love and comfort until your sobs subside.

"Shh, it's okay, my love," Jisung murmurs softly, his arms wrapped protectively around you. "You're safe. Just breathe," he whispers, his lips brushing against your forehead in a gentle kiss. "Let me kiss the pain away," he murmurs, pressing another tender kiss against your temple.

As your tears gradually subside, Jisung holds you close, his warmth enveloping you like a comforting embrace. He brushes away your tears with his thumb, his touch gentle and reassuring. "I hate seeing you in pain," he admits softly, his voice tinged with regret. "I wish I could take it all away."

You nestle closer to him, finding solace in his embrace. "It's not your fault," you reassure him, your voice muffled against his chest. "I know you'd do anything to make me feel better."

Jisung's arms tighten around you, his love evident in every gesture.

"I was so scared," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "When you didn't remember my name or my face," he begins, his words carrying the weight of vulnerability, "it felt like my world was falling apart. I couldn't bear the thought of losing you, of having you look at me as if I were a stranger."

Your heart aches at his confession, realizing the depth of his fears. "I could never forget you, Jisung," you assure him, lifting your head to meet his gaze. "You mean everything to me."

A soft smile tugs at Jisung's lips, his eyes reflecting the love and adoration he holds for you. "Knowing that means more to me than you'll ever know," he whispers, his voice filled with emotion. "I love you more than words can express." he whispers, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. "I'm sorry you're in pain. I'd rather it be me than you."

You lean into his touch. "You're my everything, Jisung," you whisper, your face close to his. "And I wouldn't want to go through this with anyone else by my side."

As you lean into his embrace, you feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest. And as he lulls you to sleep with soft murmurs and gentle caresses, you drift off into dreams, knowing that no matter what, you'll always have Jisung there to hold you and kiss the pain away.

*·˚ᑉ³ M.LIST | Ko-Fi | Taglist | Thank you for your support | Consider leaving a comment, reblog or like. © Valkyrieeeee 2024

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yoonia · 8 months

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Mirrors: what becomes of us | jjk (m)

⤑ Summary | One year has passed, and the unmistakable fuzzy feelings that have nothing to do with lust continue to grow. Yet while he is able to look deep into your heart, he has yet to allow you to see what is hidden inside his. He still puts up a hard front, making you believe that standing by his side may not be as different than standing in front of fragile mirrors.

⤑ Title | Mirrors: what becomes of us ⤑ Pairings | Jungkook x female reader ⤑ Genre | Smut, Angst, Friends with benefits to lovers!au ⤑ Ratings & Warnings | +18 / M for Mature; pwp (there’s a plot here if you squint), explicit sex scene, dom!Jungkook, brat!reader, partly clothed sex (oc will be wearing her shoes…again), dirty talk, mentions of deepthroating, praise kink, stripping, nudity, size kink, breast/nipple play, clit play, masturbation (mutual), oral sex (female receiving), grinding, face fucking/riding, minor ass play and ass kissing, cum eating, finger licking, mirror sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, standing sex, rough sex, unprotected sex, orgasm control, orgasm denial, multiple sex scenes, multiple orgasms, creampie, aftercare ⤑ Word count | 8,5k words

⤑ Story guide: Mirrors

⤑ Main Masterlist | Taglist | Feedback | Mailbox | Ko-fi

⤑ Author’s Note | Found this rough draft while I was moving Mirrors back to Wattpad after the site deleted the book version and decided to rewrite it so I can release it for Jungkook’s birthday. Well, let’s just pretend that I didn’t post this a week late lol. While this story is connected to Mirrors, this one-shot can be read as a standalone.

You can feel the heat of his gaze without having to take a look.

It is not too hard to notice it when he has been doing the same the entire night.

The dinner party that you attended with him earlier now seems like a distance away, with nothing left but flickering images of the people whose names you have already forgotten and fleeting, hazy moments of it left in your memory. Because all you could sense and focus on had been his presence, and nothing could draw you away from his unwavering attention that kept tethering you towards him for the rest of the evening.

Looking up at the full-body mirror in front of you, you keep your eyes on your own reflection instead of focusing on the dimly lit bedroom behind you, denying the urge to turn and find him in the darkness. Knowing that he has his eyes on you only makes you want to give him a show as you slowly strip down all the fancy jewelries that you wore for the night. Starting from the glowing earrings, doing it gently as you take off one piece and then the other, before reaching back to the clasp holding your necklace together.

Just then, Jungkook slowly appears from the shadows, taking his position right behind you with his eyes locked on the reflection of your face. You return his gaze through the mirror. The intense look coming through his eyes quickly makes your skin tingle and warm without him having to touch you.

“Allow me,” he gently says with the tip of his lips rising to a grin, and you lower your hand so he can unclasp your necklace for you. Like an expert, he does it so easily without looking away from your face. Yet he takes his time with it, as he takes this chance to touch you after having to keep his hands away from you all night long. He slowly drags his soft knuckles against the nape of your neck as he pulls the necklace off, drawing a shudder that comes out through your exhale of breath, before he finally places the necklace on your palm.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he suddenly says, and the first reaction that you can give him is a scoff, though you doubt that it can do much to hide the way his compliment warms your cheeks.

“Only tonight?” you ask to tease him.

“Hmm—” he hums softly as he watches you putting away your jewelries before taking a step closer, pressing his warmth against your back. His hands find your waist, while his eyes once again find your reflection in the mirror. He keeps his gaze on you as he leans down, the dark intention you see glowing through his eyes becomes an invisible restraint that keeps you from moving away as he gently presses his lips on your shoulder, staying just an inch away from the straps of your dress. “You’ve always captivated me, but seeing you tonight was exceptional.”

You look down to hide your bashful smile, though it is quite hard to even try to pretend as if your cheeks aren’t getting warmer when he already knows what his compliments would do to you. It isn’t rare for him to surprise you like this, either with his words or the things that he does which often catches you off guard. And he always loves the reactions that he manages to coax out of you through the things that he does to you, through his sweet words and, of course, what has often affected you the most, his sweet praises.

“Do you remember what we used to do in front of this mirror?” he whispers against your skin.

While the warm breath that falls on your skin already does wonders to your body, it is the memory that he is bringing back which makes you feel as if you have a thousand wings fluttering inside your belly. The sensation isn’t only giving you warmth blooming within, but also a desire so familiar, so dark, that your next exhale of breath feels heavy, weighted down by your sudden want that starts building inside.

One year ago, you stood by this same mirror, baring yourself to him. When you stripped down your coat and dress right in front of his eyes—and yourself, when he made you watch your own reflection—and you inadvertently bared not only your heart, but also your soul for him to finally have a good look at what your true desire was.

One year has passed, and here you are, still standing right beside him instead of running away, and he is still embracing you with the same touches, blessing you with the same kisses, with not a single sign of the passion that you shared diminishing with the passing time. Just like how you had expected it would have.

As if he knows where your mind is drifting away towards, Jungkook nips at the spot beneath your earlobe and whispers, “We had quite a lot of fun with this mirror, didn’t we?”

You meet his gaze through the mirror and return the sly smirk he is giving you with an incredulous laugh. “Fun, hmmm?” Your question fades to a sigh when he continues kissing your skin, slowly going up and down the side of your neck that you can barely think clearly beyond the sound of your pulsing blood. “I think,”—you sigh when a shudder runs through your body. “We may have to review your definition of ‘fun’.”

With a soft chuckle, Jungkook tightens his grip around your waist for a brief squeeze, before he slowly slides his hands to your front, stopping at your stomach where he gently presses you back to him. “Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy every second of it,” he whispers right as he captures your earlobe between his lips. “As far as I remember—” he stops briefly to press his lips against your pulse, making you gasp softly to the touch. “We both enjoyed our sweet moments using this mirror.”

There is a dark look twinkling in his eyes, and you can slowly tell where this is heading. That he has no qualms in taking you back to those moments when he first introduced you to one of his most wicked desires.

Even if you keep trying to deny it, you have to agree that you did enjoy everything from that fateful night. The mirror may have more to do than to simply show your reflections, as it helped reveal what your hearts had truly desired—both to you and Jungkook. Even now, you can clearly see the clear desire that Jungkook is currently feeling, as it is evident through his deep gaze, his shallow breaths that have been falling on your skin, and the drag in his touch, as he keeps moving his hands upward, leading towards the mounds of your breasts.

“Why don’t I help remind you of those fun times?” he murmurs against your skin, the last warning that he gives before his thumbs graze against the underside of your covered breasts, igniting the burning flame inside you. Your thin, silky dress and the delicate lace material of your bra can only do so little to prevent you from feeling the heat of his touch on your skin.

Your chest arches into his hands, and your head falls back as you gasp at the shudder that is now rushing through you. Through your hazy eyes, you meet his gaze through the mirror, seeing him licking his lips and his eyes darkening at the sight of you as you are embracing your desire. “Is that a yes?” he asks, while his fingers continue grazing up the mounds of your breasts, finding your covered nipples and rubbing against them until they grow hard under his touch. “Talk to me, baby.”

“Mmmh—yess!” your words erupt into a moan when Jungkook pinches at your nipples from over your dress, drawing out your cry when he continues by simultaneously rolling his fingers around them and pinching them. Your body jerks when the mix of pain and pleasure comes rushing all the way down, and you can feel your core pulsing with a new need that is demanding to be sated.

“Yes, Jungkook. Please—”

At the sound of your begging, Jungkook releases you and pulls his hands away. With his fingers on your chin, he turns your face towards him. No more words are needed when he captures your lips, and you immediately melt into the kiss even before he begins devouring you. The kiss continues for a moment longer, just enough to help distract you from his wandering hands. While he slips one arm around your waist to press you back to his chest, his other hand moves upward, slipping the straps of your dress off of your shoulder, taking one side off and then the other. The silky fabric falls and pools down around your feet once he pulls his arms away from you.

“Sneaky bastard,” you murmur against his lips once he pulls back from the kiss.

Clicking his tongue, Jungkook makes a disapproving noise as he whispers, “You have such a foul mouth.” He reaches up and runs his thumb across your lips, smearing the rest of your lipstick that still remains after his kiss. “Maybe I should teach you how to behave.”

You bite your bottom lip and flutter your eyes open for him, lowering your voice when you respond back to him with, “You never minded with my mouth when I was doing all the naughty things I did to you last night.”

A deep groan escapes from Jungkook when his mind wanders back to the night before, when you have your lips wrapped around his cock while you were on your knees for him, taking all of his length down your throat to bring him pleasure under his swift command. The way he responds to your teasing pleases you, yet you keep it to yourself, feigning innocence as you return his gaze.

“You’re being naughty tonight. But you’re lucky that I am in no mood to punish you for being a brat,” he murmurs. Jungkook pulls back and turns you back to face the mirror before you. His jaw is tense when he says, “I love seeing you like this. When you are stripped down and you look ready to be thoroughly fucked.”

A breathless laugh escapes you, though you cannot stop the flutter that you feel when you finally turn to look at your own reflection and see exactly what he is seeing from you—your makeup that is partly ruined with your lipstick smeared and lips swollen after sharing the kiss, your body that is partly exposed, with only a strapless bra and your lacy underwear left covering your skin, your dress that has been left as nothing but a heap of mess around your feet, and the pair of heels that he had told you not to take off until he tells you to.

Jungkook’s hands return to you. His fingers are tender as he reaches out to touch your waist, keeping you steady. “Let me see you take those lacy things off,” he says. His voice is stern, yet breathless at the same time, as if there is a wave of emotions engulfing him. You have doubts that it would be anything different to what you are feeling right now as you stand under his gaze. The same dark gaze that feels like invisible fingers tracing your skin as he runs it up and down your body.

Reaching back, you hold his gaze with your own through the mirror while you unclasp your bra. You hold it up with your palm, keeping it from falling and exposing your breasts a little too soon, and his knowing gaze flickers at your face. “Tease,” he murmurs, drawing a soft giggle out of you.

Finally, you drop the bra and your breasts come into view. His eyes are easily drawn to them, just like they always would when you are completely bare for him to see. Yet he still doesn’t miss a thing when you trail your hands lower, reaching down to the lacy panties that you still have on. By the time your fingers slide under the waistband of your undergarment, Jungkook reaches down to undo his belt. The two of you move simultaneously as you slide your panties down your hips, to your thighs, while he kicks off his shoes and socks and slowly begins taking off his pants, his boxers joining right after.

Once every piece of clothing is left piling on the floor, Jungkook steps out of the mess he created behind to reach out to you. His hands find your waist before he starts running them up and down your curves, doing his best to avoid the more sensitive parts of your body. Yet every part of you that is vacant of his touch still tingles. An instant craving to have his fingers touching them as well keeps building up. It grows just as strongly as your desire to reach out to him, to run your fingers down his hot skin that you get to see through his partly unbuttoned shirt and wrap your hand around his cock that has grown semi-hard, its tip pointing your way, like a promise for a good time that is so easy to reach.

It only takes one look into his eyes to know that he isn’t going to be giving it to you that easily. And he proves you right once again when a grin appears on his face, and the familiar twinkle that you would often see in his eyes whenever his wicked idea comes to him makes its appearance.

Jungkook steps back, his eyes remaining on your reflection as he pulls his hands away from your body. “Keep your eyes on the mirror and touch yourself. Show me everything you want me to do to you.”

He reaches up to continue unbuttoning his shirt while holding his gaze on you the entire time. Tension builds before your hands begin to move, rising steadily the more you get to see the lines of his chest as the shirt comes apart. The moment your fingers come up to brush against your breasts, desire ripples through you. If he cannot see it from the way your body tenses and your legs shift when the urge to press them together rises, he would be able to hear it through your sharp inhale of breath.

Stifling down the sounds threatening to come out of your throat, you look at him straight in the eyes and question him, “Like this? Is this what you want to see?”

Jungkook says nothing as she shrugs off his shirt, but his gaze says a lot more. The hunger in his eyes is palpable, growing darker and more intense as you start kneading your breasts, rubbing and massaging them gently until you start feeling good. Every part of your bashfulness goes out the window when you feel pleasure. A soft moan slips from you when you move your thumbs, rolling them in circular motions around your nipples to draw the delicate shudders going down your spine. You keep your eyes on him, watching the way his chest trembles with each deep intake of breath he makes, and it is quick to help you recognise your own hunger that needs to be sated.

“Keep doing that, baby,” you hear him whispering to you while he seems to be lost in the sight of you pleasuring yourself. You are not even sure if he realises that he had spoken, judging from the way he remains still, transfixed with what he is seeing.

His gaze follows your hand as you move it down your torso. You are not even close to where the tingles in your body are building up the strongest, yet your legs are already shaking, your heartbeat keeps picking up, and you can feel the heat coiling inside you as you get closer to your pulsing core.

With his eyes remaining on you, it feels like everything just sparks violently the moment your fingers come touching at your folds. Spreading your legs, you give him a better view through the mirror as you part your slick folds, showing him your throbbing clit. Jungkook licks his lips, as if he is picturing himself touching you, tasting you, and the image appears in your head right then just before you move your fingers, rubbing your clit in a similar rhythm to the fingers that are moving around your nipple.

“Are you wet for me?” Jungkook says, his voice drips lower as he watches you stimulating yourself. He seems transfixed on you, that it almost seems like he is moving under a spell when his hand come down, engulfing the length of his cock which has been growing stiff while he continues watching you.

Knowing that he is just as affected to this moment as you are only elevates everything. Even his question sounds so sinful. Even if it wouldn’t be the first time that you’ve ever heard him asking about something so obscene, it still does the magic. Your eyes flutter to close as you rub against your clit, and your arousal seems to ooze right out of you with the shudder that comes from your touch.

“Yes,” you whisper with a soft moan escaping you. “I’m so wet, Jungkook.”

He takes a step closer, slowly, but not as slow as the drag of his palm along the length of his cock. Even with his eyes on you, Jungkook continues giving himself a few lazy strokes, then his other hand finds your waist to catch you from swaying. Lost in the pleasure you are giving yourself, and the heady sight of him stroking his hard cock, you don’t notice the way your body is swaying and trembling, slowly losing your balance. Until the touch of his hand on your skin helps you feel it.

“You want me to touch you,” he moves his hand from your waist, joining your hand as he cups the underside of your breast and roughly palms it while whispering, “here?”

The cry that slips out of your lips is the kind of sound that you can’t recognise as your own. How you manage to remain standing is beyond you, when it seems like there is a hot wave rushing inside you. Beneath you, your knees begin trembling, but you can hardly focus on it, when the pleasure continues rising, increasing faster when your joined hands are kneading firmly at your breast. You follow his gaze as he looks down, watching closely as you rub your fingers back and forth against your clit.

Dark lust fills his eyes, and it pushes you to give him more. Just as Jungkook’s fingers give your hardened nipple a tight pinch, you slide your fingers into your pussy, pushing into your walls. You can hear the sound of his breath getting caught in his chest, and you tease him with a soft voice,

“I…want you to touch me”—you gasp when your fingers hit right at your sweet spot—”here.”

You push your fingers deeper, drawing a shudder that he can clearly feel now that he has his hand on you. “Fuck,” his muted curse comes with a gasp. Pride overcomes you knowing that you are the reason for him to react this way. Except he gives you no time to revel in it, when he suddenly pulls you back. A gasp slips out of you when you are pressed back against his chest, his hard cock is pressing at your back, making you pulse from the inside when you can feel his thickness without having to see it, and the hand that he used to stroke himself comes down to your front.

You find it hard to look away from your own reflection, seeing with your own eyes the way your body is trembling in his hold. Your chest keeps rising and falling with ragged breaths, though it almost seems like you are pressing your breast further into his kneading palm. Instead of touching you right away, Jungkook grabs your wrist and gently pulls your hand out of your pussy. Your fingers glisten with your arousal, and he brings them up to your lips.

“Taste them,” he whispers to you. And just like a spell, it drives your lust-driven mind to follow through, as you bring your fingers into your mouth and suck every single drop of your slickness right before his eyes. Moaning at your own taste, the heat inside you burns hotter, and his eyes seem to grow even darker with his hunger.

He reaches down between your legs, circling around your wet folds for a brief moment before making his way in to find your clit. He draws out a moan from you with his deft fingertips as he runs them through your wet slit, sweeping across your delicate skin, the slick sound of your dampness reaching to your ears as he keeps moving his fingers between your folds.

“Hmmm—you were right. You’re already so wet, just the way I like it,” he says with a hum in his voice, and it comes out so deep that you it vibrating all the way down to where he is now touching you. Jungkook presses his lips on the top of your head and briefly closes his eyes while he continues stroking your pussy. “Makes me want to taste you so bad,” he moans softly, and it almost draws a whimper through your lips when you can picture his mouth on you, tasting you. Suddenly, his eyes are opened, and his gaze turns dangerously dark when he smirks at you and says, “Good thing I skipped dessert earlier, because now I can take it properly and relish it as much as I can.”

Jungkook pulls out his hand at the sound of your gasp, though he doesn’t stay far. Because his hands are quick to find your waist, both still warm after being attached to your most sensitive spots, then he leans down. Once again, his lips find the spot where he can feel your pulse, and then he begins kissing your neck, making you tilt your head as you enjoy the soft shudders he is drawing out of you through his kisses.

As you begin to give in to the pleasure rising inside you, he continues to trail his lips all the way down from the back of your neck, your bare shoulders, and continues kissing his way down along your spine as he comes down to his knees. The press of his lips on your bottom cheeks brings heat to your face and your entire body. It feels scandalous when he continues kissing against the area that isn’t used to getting such attention. Even more so when his hands come up, palming your soft flesh while his lips continue trailing lower, and lower, hovering close to your tight and untouched rim, making you flinch when you are not ready to have him anywhere close to that specific spot.

But you quickly relax when he moves past it, barely grazing across the area that you have decidedly to be kept forbidden to finally come down to find your folds. His grip tightens, and he gently pushes your hips down to his face, angling you just enough so he can get some space where he can reach your pussy with his mouth and tongue.

A breathless cry comes out of your lips when he slides his tongue between your slit and his mouth comes to give your nether lips a deep kiss. Your hips come down to meet his face in return, almost grinding against his mouth so you can feel more, and that is exactly what he gives you when his tongue flicks against your hot entrance and the pleasant rush you have been searching for instantly surges through your body.

Your body begins to sway yet again with the overwhelming pleasure. Even your foot slips at the stroke of his tongue across your slit, but his hands give you a firm grip on your thighs to keep you from falling. “Take deep breaths, baby. Hold still,” he whispers, before he presses his open-mouthed kiss right at your pulsing pussy.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan and curse as he begins licking your pussy, starting soft and slow, then gradually building up pressure and speed to draw more and more of the delightful spasms you feel pushing from your core. He twists his hands, sliding them into a position where he can press your bottom cheeks and open you up for him, allowing him to go deeper, to work his tongue and press his tender muscle into your pussy, then go around your clit while giving it a light suck.

Standing upright without anything to hold on to becomes extremely challenging when your body is trembling under a myriad of sensations he is giving you. Seeing him on his knees, with his face entirely buried between your legs, with the sight of his jaw and mouth working to devour your pussy only makes your mind swirl even faster. Your hands move, searching for something to hold, a leverage to keep you up. While one hand finds nothing but air to clench, the other flies to your back, finding his hair to clutch as your head falls back at the surging pleasure.

It doesn’t take long before your thighs start shaking, your pussy contracts violently to each work of his mouth and tongue, and your moans become louder at the approaching climax. You know that he can feel it when the coil inside you comes close to snapping, and just like that, he suddenly stops.

A desperate cry escapes you when he pulls back. After giving a few more kisses around your wet core, he trails his hot lips back up, across the soft skin of your bottom cheeks and up to your spine. He reaches up to pry your hand away from his hair, and brings your palm up for him to kiss. As he rises to his feet, he entwines his fingers with yours and slips his other arm around your waist to hold you still.

“Jungkook—”

“Hmm, are you mad at me? Did you think I’d let you cum without giving you permission first? Right after you used your foul mouth to talk back at me?” he asks you as he slides his hand back down. He easily finds your clit and starts rubbing against the ache in your pussy from being denied release. His touch brings the sparks of pleasure back alight and you slightly jerk against his hold. He gives your clit a sharp flick, drawing the sound of your cry, only to take away his touch from your heated center when you roll your hips.

“Not yet, baby. I want you to cum around my cock, and I want to be able to look at your face when you do,” he says, forcing you to open your eyes again when he runs his hand down your right thigh, giving it a grip as he gently lifts your leg up, exposing you both to his eyes and the mirror so you can see yourself.

Moving his other hand away from you, Jungkook reaches down and guides his cock into your sweet, throbbing pussy. A soft moan is drawn out of you when the tip of his cock is pressing against your hot entrance, yet he does nothing to push his way in until he has one arm wrapped around your waist to keep you steady, with the firm grip that he keeps on your right thigh holding you up and open for him.

You have never done this in such a challenging position, especially with your heels on which makes you feel off-balance. But before you have any chance to question it, Jungkook bucks his hips and slides his cock deep inside your pussy. Your walls throb around him to welcome him in, stretching around his girth as he slides deeper. A pulse engulfs him and Jungkook curses under his breath, yet it doesn’t stop him as he immediately begins to move. He starts thrusting in and out, taking it slow for a few more strokes until your muscles are no longer tense and straining against him, and only once both of your bodies are balanced enough—just enough to stop you from getting knocked down once his strokes grow stronger.

His thrusts are sloppy when he continues on, yet they gradually grow in speed and power that it feels like your entire world is being shaken. You almost feel like floating, with only his arm keeping you up and pressed against him, unable to escape or fall even when you are barely standing on the tip of your heel. Your hands find his forearm for the sake of having something to hold on to. Your nails sink into his skin when he keeps stroking deep and hard into your pussy, hitting all the pleasure spots inside that is pushing you so quickly towards the edge.

“Open your eyes,” he suddenly snaps. You don’t even realise that you have your eyes closed while you are revelling in the pleasure. Opening your eyes feels like a struggle, yet you manage. Through your bleary eyes, you find his gaze in the mirror, and that is before your gaze falls on the scene that he wants you to see.

What you get to see is the startling view of your body taking all of him in—how your body is trembling with each deep thrust he is giving you. You can see the blurry image of his cock sliding in and out of you so rapidly with each powerful thrust, while the muscles in his arms are flexing as he continues to lift your body and hold you up. His glorious tattoos seem to glow under the dim light as a thin layer of sweat appears on his skin. Looking down, there is the clear view of your pussy that seems wet, swollen on the folds, and is stretched apart to accommodate his size.

The wanton way you are taking his rough fucking seems enthralling, and it feels maddening just by watching you take everything he is giving you, while he too seems lost in his own pleasure, showing you that he feels good by sending you off to your own edge. That you are both in this together. The thought ignites the rush of pleasure that is coming to you in waves, one that he feels through the flutter of your muscles around his cock. You suck a deep breath, hoping that you can hold out just a bit longer, afraid that giving in too quickly before you are granted his permission would only grant you a punishment. The kind of punishment that he enjoys, and would only end with your pleasure.

Except that you want to have that pleasure in your body now.

Just when you half expect to hear him telling you to hold back, Jungkook surprises you when he commands you through his gritted teeth, “Play with your nipples. Make yourself cum for me.”

Your hands are shaking when you move them. As if they all have a mind of their own, they manage to find their destination even through the frantic motions, as one hand claims its spot on your breast, giving attention to the one that he wasn’t touching, while the other hand comes all the way down to find your clit, giving it a few gentle rubs that fall in the same rhythm of his thrusts.

Almost immediately, sparks light up beneath your eyelids, and your orgasm builds. It grows more and more until you start falling straight into it, though not before he snaps his final command, “That’s it, baby. Just like that. Cum for me.”

His words, his commanding voice, the deep gaze he is giving you through the mirror, the hard thrusts of his cock, and the press of your fingers on your throbbing clit—all of them come together to throw you over towards your climax. You cry out as the intense wave of your orgasm engulfs you, and it pushes him right over his own release. His eyes never leave yours as he tenses, his cock twitching inside you before you feel the warmth of his cum filling you up, almost sending you off to another climax.

Once the waves of pleasure begin to simmer down, your body slowly turns languid, almost pliant, barely hanging on with only your shaking leg and Jungkook’s arm holding you up. Your pussy throbs once, twice, almost rhythmically to the twitches that come from his softening cock, and Jungkook tightens his hold around you for a bit longer until everything winds down altogether.

It takes a while before you can start feeling things—anything other than the remaining spasms of your orgasm and the heat of his skin against yours—to be able to feel the warm, soft kisses that Jungkook is pressing on your neck and shoulder. The kisses help soothe you down from your high, coaxing you to relax in his arms, while he slowly lowers your leg and pulls out of you.

The move draws a gasp from your lips, when in the absence of his cock, your walls seem to contract against the void, and the liquid mixture of his cum and your essence drip down to your thighs and the floor beneath you.

“Seems like we made quite a mess,” Jungkook murmurs as he takes you in his arms, merely seconds before you would sway and fall, and carries you to the bed. He lays you down gently and kisses your lips. It helps calm you down even more that you barely notice him taking your heels off and tossing them away. He seems hesitant when he draws back, and you almost pull him back to you when your body shivers, suddenly feeling cold without his warmth. But you stop yourself when he smiles and promises to you, “Stay here. I’ll be back to you soon.”

There is something in his words that weighs on you, and it leaves you in a haze as you watch him leave to the bathroom, returning with a wet towel that he uses to clean the mess coating your skin. His gaze softens as he dips the towel between your legs, across the inner side of your thighs, your overly sensitive pussy, before he cleans himself from his own mess. He rises from the bed and leans down to wipe the mess on the floor with the soiled towel, and for some reason, watching him do such a mundane thing captivates you.

You follow him with your gaze as Jungkook walks across the room in his naked glory. His bare ass and solid back steal your attention before he disappears in the bathroom once again. When you hear the sound of the running water from the washbasin, and the heat of passion cools down in his absence, your mind wanders.

Just like always, your thoughts would start circling through your head in the silence, with a dozen questions and wonderings filling your head as you start to look deeper into what has become of the two of you over the past year.

Admittedly, your relationship hadn’t been a conventional one since it first started. What started from a mutual arrangement that had existed without a full commitment, had then shifted into something else when both of your hearts started craving for more, and with courage, you both reached for it when the chance arrived.

Though things didn’t start as easily as it seemed, the one year you spent with him had allowed you to understand each other a bit more. You have known from the start just how bad the two of you are when it comes to expressing your feelings, but everything else had only started to come to the surface once you decided one morning that you weren’t going to leave the way you used to after spending the night with him.

At one point during the entire period of trying to see if things would work out between the two of you, you managed to find out just how terrible the two of you are when it comes to going on dates like regular couples do. Going out on dinners and then the movies hadn’t been so tasking back in the day, and you remember having fun on those kinds of dates before Jungkook came into the picture. Except that any innocent night that Jungkook had always planned out for the two of you had always turned cumbersome and—well, dry.

If it hadn’t been for the way those nights quickly escalated into something else—something more fun—perhaps you would have taken it as a sign that things were not working well between the two of you. Because everything else has been going well. The desire you have for each other has always been a dominant part in this situationship that has been going on between you, as it has always been stronger when you are together, enough to supersede any words that would be needed to express your yearning for one another when you could act on it.

It should have been enough for you to stop questioning what you have between you, or to have doubts that this will last. That you wouldn’t wake up one day to find him changing his mind and suddenly kicking you out the door. But that doubt still takes root within you, leading you to always anticipate the moment the rug would finally be pulled under your feet and you are forced to face reality where the two of you no longer exist together.

Because just like the mirror which had just become the silent witness of your wanton exchange of pleasure, what you currently have with him now seems so fragile. As if there is a chance that everything will slip right out of your hands once you are too complacent.

The bed dips, taking you away from your thoughts to see Jungkook climbing onto the bed right as he returns to you. He is hovering above you in no time, almost covering your body with the length of his. His warmth becomes a comforting blanket, even when his presence is driving your heartbeat to start racing.

You look at his face, and your breath stills. His immaculate hair has become a mess after fucking you to oblivion. He has been growing it quite a bit to a length, and that hair has fallen to frame his perfect face while he slowly moves to cover your body with his.

His hands sink into the sheets as he lowers himself, his mouth meeting yours in a kiss that is soft and gentle that allows you to feel everything else that he is giving you. As if he is pouring his soul into the kiss, the same way he poured his desire into the intense lovemaking that has made your legs feel like jellos. The flapping wings in your chest linger as he pulls away from the kiss, though it is now mixed with anxiety when your mind still refuses to shut up with all the lingering doubts and the ceaseless questions.

“I can hear you thinking inside that pretty head of yours,” he murmurs against your lips, surprising you when he could easily guess what has been running through your head.

“That would be impossible, unless you can read my thoughts,” you reply to him once his lips rise from yours. You force a smile, but it falls short once you get to look up into his eyes. All of a sudden, you feel exposed under his gaze. Not only because of your complete bareness, but because he makes you feel as if he can look deeply into your soul. As if he is unraveling your secrets, layer by layer, until there is nothing left to hide the content of your heart.

The same way he made you feel a year ago when he called you after you ended everything and walked away.

“Even if I can’t hear it,” he starts, as he reaches up to brush a stray strand of hair that has gotten stuck on your cheek. “I can feel it coming out of you in waves. You’re practically trembling.”

A soft chuckle slips out of your lips. “Is that so?” Your question almost fades at the tip of your tongue when he takes the strand of hair and kisses it softly. He steals the rest of the words you are about to say when he tucks your hair back and grazes your lips with his thumb.

A worried look flickers through his gaze. Though it fades just as quickly it appears, and a small smile comes in its place while he is looking at you closely. His smile looks gentle and soft, tricking you into believing for a brief moment that he has nothing but sweet and innocent intention with his concern, until he suddenly questions you, “Was it not enough?”

“What—”

His question makes your heartbeat jump in your chest, and you find yourself wondering. What does he mean? What is he talking about? Is he asking if making you delirious by fucking you in the most outrageous way possible hadn’t been enough to satiate your need? Your lips tilt to a smile and you almost laugh at the thought of this, only to stop when you suddenly wonder if he truly had been reading your thoughts.

He couldn’t have possibly—

“Should I give you something else to shut that mind off and forget whatever it is that’s been troubling you?” he suddenly says, and your jaw almost drops open. As if he is seeing right through you, his words hit the mark perfectly.

With a knowing smile, as if he had gotten the answer he needed through your silence, Jungkook leans down and kisses the nape of your neck. He captures your lips next, giving you no chance to say anything at all. His kiss is deep, gentle and slow, but his tongue easily slips in to take control.

Everything that has cooled down now begins to heat up again. The invisible flutters in your chest arise, while a different kind of flutter sends your hips rising to meet his. You moan into the kiss when your folds brush against his cock, its girth nestling heavily against your center that you feel it when it slowly recovers. With each twitch you feel coming from his cock, it begins to grow hard and stiff, and Jungkook makes you feel it happening as he starts rocking his hips, grinding the length of his cock against your slit until you feel your dampness returns and builds.

He rocks once more with a groan rumbling from his chest, brushing the tip of his cock against your clit, and you give out a breathless cry when it sparks everything inside you alight.

“Answer me, baby,” Jungkook coaxes you, his voice nearly muffled by the sound of your pumping blood. “Tell me you want it. Let me silence your mind and take them all away.”

There is no need for you to question him, or for him to explain the implication of his words. You can see it when you look into his eyes, that what he wouldn’t be able to give you through his words, he would be giving them to you through his actions. Just like always.

“Yes,” you gasp out to him as you reach up, holding onto his shoulders as you look at him in the eyes to say, “Yes, I want it. Take me, please.”

Your answer draws a low groan coming out of him, and he continues stroking his cock between your legs a few more times before he pulls back. Using one hand, he aligns himself on your pussy, and within a blink of an eye, he sinks back into your slick, tight heat. Your body reacts with a jolt once he is buried deep in your pussy. Your walls contract around him violently for a brief moment, pressing around his length at the sudden penetration. Yet instead of causing you any discomfort, even when you are still sensitive from before, it just feels right. As if he truly belongs here, joined together with you.

Both of you tremble when the pleasure rises. Then Jungkook moves, going at it without taking his time or going slow and gentle. It feels mind-blowing the way he sparks the pleasure inside you. With the heels of your foot pressing onto his back, your hands begin to move everywhere. From clutching on his shoulders and biceps to hold on, up to his hair or cupping his cheeks, feeling the need to remain in contact with his body even while you are joined together.

Jungkook’s eyes have been fluttering close as he relishes in his own pleasure, but they snap open when he feels your nails sinking into his shoulders and your moan grows louder. He dips, drawing your lips into a kiss. The sounds of your moan and his deep groan are drowned as he sucks your tongue, while his pace remains steady, not once does he falter as he thrusts so deep you feel the entire bed rocking together with you.

He leaves your lips, kissing his way down your throat. When his hands move upward, cupping your rocking breasts, your head falls back. That is when you finally meet his gaze again, seeing the passion that is clearly shining through them as he gives attention to your breasts, palming at them and holding them up while your bodies rock together.

As he continues rocking his hips and thrusting into you, keeping it at a steady pace instead of rushing it, you realise his true intention. He isn’t simply fucking you to silence your mind. He is making love to you.

Your gazes are locked together when he lifts his head to look at you, and everything seems to fall into place with what you are reading through his dark eyes. You keep your eyes on him as you start returning his thrusts by rolling your hips against him. Each thrust feels enough to unravel you, while it slowly becomes his undoing.

His mouth returns to you, devouring you as you raise your hips, urging him to go deeper, harder, faster, because you are so close, already on the edge of unraveling completely into your climax. And he gives it to you, thrusting so deep inside you with hard strokes and increasing in speed while you hold on to him, your nails digging into his skin when your orgasm takes over. It comes barrelling down your spine as he takes you, slamming hard into your heat as pleasure erupts. You come with a sharp cry, and he roughly shouts when he joins you, falling into his own pleasure with a tremble rocking his whole body.

Your blood is still pumping wildly in your chest as the height of your climax slowly winds down. He is still twitching deep inside you as he presses his forehead on yours. Your chest rises and falls with your deep breaths, while his hands trigger the soft quivers in your body as he runs them down your torso to hold your waist.

Closing his eyes, Jungkook releases a deep, shuddering exhale of breath, while you feel heavy with sleep. Exhaustion rolls in once the remaining spasms of your release are fading. With the voices in your head silenced, drowned by the sound of your steady breathing and your racing heartbeat, all you want to do is to give in to slumber.

You try to open your eyes, but your eyelids are heavy. You can’t even move as he pulls out of you, once again taking away the fullness and dragging out the essence of your lovemaking that floods out, making a pool of mess on the sheets beneath you. Your muscles feel like liquid. Your bones are soft. You fall easily into his embrace when he pulls you in his arms once he falls right beside you on the bed.

And you simply let him.

You let him because you need to be in his warmth, to feel the touch of his fingers that are soothing, helping you relax beyond the rush flowing in your blood. You keep your eyes closed, allowing yourself to be engulfed in his comforting embrace. Because not only did he manage to silence your thoughts, he has also helped replace the uneasiness with relief.

The feeling of relief which only strengthens itself when he kisses the top of your head and whispers, “Sleep. I’ll hold you and keep you warm so you can have a sweet dream.” His words bring back the flutter in your chest, then dampness fills your eyelids when he adds with a whisper, “I’m not going anywhere. Not ever.”

And just like that, you have gotten what you were hoping for. Because those words are enough.

He might not be able to say it out loud, but you realise now—as you lean into his embrace, welcoming the warmth that he is giving you while your body hums in contentment—that you may no longer need to hear it. Because you can feel it. You feel it through his touch, through the way your bodies seem to fold and melt into one as he presses you to his chest, and you can hear it through his promise.

When you open your eyes again to meet his gaze, you finally allow the walls inside you to crumble. You may have already fallen for him from the beginning, but only now do you finally have the courage to let yourself fall deeper instead of fighting it.

Even if the landing will be hard, and most possibly be painful, you are willing to take the chance anyway. You realise that you would endure anything for him. Because he is worth all the risk. Judging from the way he is looking at you now, with a gaze so deep that you almost feel like you are drowning in him, and the way he is holding you as if he wants to protect you from the world, he shows you that he thinks that you are worth the risk for him to take.

Thank you for reading!!!

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