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kiwi-bitchez · 1 year

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Like Magic

Eddie Munson x Reader, 18+ mdni

Summary: Incredibly troupey enemies to lovers smut. The gang takes a trip together and a game of never-have-I-ever creates a new tension between you and Eddie. The classic "no one has ever made me come'' situation. A bit overused, but it still gets me every time. Hope y'all enjoy!

Warnings: afab reader, she/her pronouns, use of y/n, drinking (all characters are 21+), kind of Asshole!Eddie but not really, fingering, kissing, oral (m and f receiving), Eddie has a dick piercing because I said so, piv sex, unprotected sex, plz be safe irl this is just fanfiction, Eddie has big dick energy in this one, I said what I said, rough-ish sex but Eddie's def more of a soft dom here, a few pet names (princess, mostly), spelling/grammar mistakes, corny ending

Word count: 14k (oof… got a little carried away with this one besties)

Steve said it would be a getaway. A trip dedicated equal parts to celebrating Nancy's first big article getting published and to cheer Steve up after having been dumped by his most recent situationship. The former was the initial reason to take the trip but after finding out about Jessica or Jamie or whatever her name was you had a feeling the latter was the true motivator. Either way, Steve had found a cheap cabin up by a lake and had pitched the trip as a fun way to "get in touch with wilderness." You had a feeling it was going to be more drinking and board games than hiking and fishing, but that was fine by you.

It was nice to put in for the time off from work and have something to look forward to. A week away with your friends. And Eddie. It's not that you didn't consider him a friend... well, you didn't. But it wasn't for lack of trying on your end. You'd use the term friendly acquaintance. A person with whom you share several close friends but for some reason refuses to be friendly to you- that kind of friendly acquaintance. Okay, maybe the word friendly was a bit of a stretch.

There was an odd tension between the two of you that you couldn't quite figure out. When Robin had introduced you to her friends from high school, all staying very close over the years, you immediately hit it off with them, easily integrating yourself into their quirky dynamic. Even though Eddie sort of stuck out like a sore thumb among them, you never treated him any differently than you did Steve or Nancy. You liked that their group was so mismashed. You had made it a point to not to turn your nose up at him for any reason, expecting he typically got that reaction from those who didn't know him. At first you actually found him to be quite charming.

There was just a certain coldness he had towards you that you found off putting. Knowing what little you did about him, entirely through Robin's introductory ramblings, you could understand why he might be wary of new people. It was that you had put in an effort to get to know him and be friendly that had upset you when he didn't return the sentiment. Not only did he treat you with a certain dry curtness, but he seemed so warm and loving to everyone else. He'd ruffle Robin's hair, bear hug Steve, share a cigarette with Nancy when she was especially stressed and tell some long winded story that had her cracking up and forgetting why she was ever tense in the first place. You didn't expect immediate closeness, but a little bit of that warmth from him would have been nice.

The awkward tension between the two of you manifested as joking jabs that hit a little too close, sarcastic remarks and rolled eyes. If he was going to go out of his way to push your buttons, you had no problem doing the same. It never ruined the energy when you'd all hang out as a group, but it was an underlying feeling you could't ever seem to ignore, as much as you'd tried. So this trip was going to be a celebration for Nancy, a distraction for Steve, and a challenge for you.

The cabin really was a great find to credit Steve. You had all pitched in a little money to cover the expenses and were pleasantly surprised when you found out there were actually enough beds for all of you, a half decent kitchen, hot water, nothing special but certainly nothing to complain about either. You had access to a small dock and a beat up canoe, a little fire pit out back, the basic necessities for a half decent vacation. That, supplemented with the box of booze Steve had lugged up from the car and all of your excitement to let loose was sure to make for a good trip, if not at least a memorable one.

You had all scoped out the digs, poking around the shed outside and unloading all your stuff from the cars. You felt somewhat settled in and ready to slip into vacation mode right as the sun began to set. Steve and Nancy had taken care of bringing groceries for the week, unpacking a week's worth of dry pasta and snacks into the dusty pantry. Steve took it upon himself to cook a small meal for everyone in the kitchen, nothing fancy but still appreciated given the minimal kitchen setup, always the mom of the group. Eddie messily makes himself a rum and coke, offering Robin one as well and blatantly ignoring your presence. Not that you wanted a stupid rum and coke from him anyways. He hands her the drink and you avoid eye contact and push past him to fix a drink for yourself, quickly shuffling off to check if Steve needed any help in the kitchen.

"Too many cooks in the kitchen, y/n," Steve places his hands on your shoulders and backs you out of the small space, "go relax, I think I can handle boiling pasta by myself."

You were mostly trying to avoid the living room where Nancy, Robin, and Eddie were all settled, but Steve was right, the kitchen was far too small for you to be taking up space while he tries to cook for five. With a sigh you make the short journey over to the couch, wedging yourself next to Robin and quietly sipping on your drink, making a mental note to make the next one stronger. You easily fall into conversation, listening to Robin tell some story about when she and Steve used to work at an ice cream shop years ago, some exaggerated memory she kept referring to as "mint-chocolate-chip-gate," easily pulling laughs from all of you.

Hours later, empty plates scattered around the small makeshift dining area, a few more drinks in your system, you had hardly thought about Eddie at all. You'd managed to avoid his snippy remarks for the majority of the evening, both relishing in the good feeling of the start of a week off. It was always when you felt the tension slip away that it came back harsher than ever. The five of you crowded around the small table, playing cards shuffled into a messy deck. Robin had started a never-have-I-ever game, although childish, still fun and silly as none of you took things too seriously.

"Never have I ever," she searches her brain for something riveting, "faked an orgasm."

You and Nancy give her a fake-annoyed glance and take sips from your cups, not a huge surprise on anyone's part.

"Not fair Rob," you say, looking up from your cup, "just because you only have sex with women doesn't mean you have to target those of us unfortunate enough to be attracted to men." You and Nancy laugh.

"Sounds like the unfortunate ones are the guys you're sleeping with," Eddie mumbles. You shoot daggers from your eyes at him, "I'm just saying, how can you expect it to be any good if you're not being honest."

"Fuck off," you roll your eyes, "I'm sure you've been on the receiving end of more than one faked orgasm, Munson, it's kind of a universal truth for all women."

"Well I don't know if I'd say that-" Nancy interjects, "universal truth is kind of a big claim."

"Never have I ever," Steve interrupts, clearly trying to change the conversation, "accidentally poured salt instead of sugar into my coffee while on a first date and was too embarrassed to say anything so I just drank the salty coffee and suffered in silence."

"Oh my god," you burst out, everyone giggling, "that was such a pointed attack! I'm never telling you anything ever again!" You take a sip from your drink, being the only person in the group who has experienced that oddly specific situation.

"If you all are going to target me with the knowledge of friendship then I'm coming for all of your asses," you set down your drink and try to think of something that will surely get them to all drink, "Aha! I know, never have I ever had an orgasm during sex with a partner." Your mind was sort of still in the gutter from Robin's statement, and you knew for sure you'd get them all with this one, you knew that you were in a slim minority with that fact. It wasn't that you choose bad partners, well, that was sometimes part of it, but you just couldn't get to that place when someone else was doing it to you, only ever by yourself. You just figured it was a slight abnormality, and had resigned to a life of solo play and half decent but never truly fulfilling sexual encounters.

Steve groans, annoyed you brought the conversation back to the sexual topics he had previously steered the group away from, taking a drink alongside everyone else.

"Ha!" you gloat while everyone takes their long sips, "knew I'd get you all there. Keep trying to come for me with my oddly specific embarrassing stories and you'll all be sorry in the morning."

"I don't really think having a shit sex life is anything to brag about, y/n," Eddie snips at you.

"I'm not bragging, it's the whole point of the game to get people to drink, stupid," you shoot back, starting to regret revealing that level of personal information to him.

"Well maybe if you weren't so busy faking your orgasms you'd actually chill out for long enough to actually have one," he hurls back, the thick tension settling between the two of you.

"Jesus, Eddie, mind your own fucking business," you feel blood rushing to your face and your jaw tenses up.

"You were the one who brought it up, sweetheart," you hated how calm his voice still was, raising his hands up in fake defense, "never have I ever NOT made my partner come."

"Oh fuck off," your voice was seething, "you can't say that. There's, like, no definitive way to prove that's even true!"

"No, I'm pretty sure I know it's true," he was so fucking smug and it annoyed you to no end.

"OKAY," Steve breaks the awkward silence that had settled around the rest of the group, "I want to play cards, what do we think? Cards? Anyone?"

'Yeah, whatever,'' you felt bad if you had accidentally ruined the fun everyone was having, but it wasn't your fault Eddie decided to be such a dick about it. You help Steve shuffle the cards and start dealing, letting the heated energy dissipate around you as you wiggled your way back into normal conversation with everyone.

Several rounds of cards and a few drinks later the night took hold of the group and sent Nancy off to bed, Robin off to search for some advil that she knew she'd be grateful for in the morning, and Steve mostly asleep slumped in his chair at the table. You gently shook him awake and he grumbled a thank you and a goodnight as he dragged his body down the hall to his bed. This left you and Eddie with a half decent mess between the drinks, the aftermath of dinner, and the cards. He had started to gather the cards back into their deck while you debated on taking care of the dishes or putting it off until morning, ultimately deciding that tomorrow-you would be very thankful if tonight-you sucked it up and just cleaned up now.

"I got the rest," you start picking up everyones mostly empty cups and moving into the kitchen to tackle the mountain of dishes. Jeez Steve, how many pots does it take to boil pasta for five people? "Night, see you tomorrow," you say without turning back to look at Eddie.

He came up next to you and grabbed the dry towel off the counter, taking the soapy cup from your hand and wiping it away before stacking it on a clear part of the countertop.

"You wash, I'll dry, yeah?" he's already moved onto the next plate you had sponged down.

"It's really fine Eddie, I've got it," you appreciate the sentiment, but didn't like feeling so cramped standing with him in the small kitchen.

"I have manners, you know," he makes a harsh gesture to the dishes, urging you to get on with washing, which you do, "plus I'm not gonna let you take all the credit for cleaning up after everyone, you aren't anyone's mother or maid here."

You weren't really sure how to take that, but decided to ignore it as you continued to scrub away, silently handing him the dripping dishes as you finished cleaning them.

"I know you don't really care for me," you start, feeling the need to fill the awkward silence between you, "but can we please not make Steve and them regret inviting us both? Like, I know you're capable of being civil. I just really don't want to spend this whole trip walking on eggshells worrying that we're ruining the fun. So, this is me apologizing for anything I do this upcoming week that pisses you off for whatever reason, just know I didn't do it on purpose, and it's not worth freaking out over. I'm just trying to have a good time here, that's all."

You really couldn't tell if you felt relieved or more anxious after saying all that to him. You meant it. You really didn't want to drag any unnecessarily tense baggage around with you while everyone was just trying to enjoy their trip. You wanted him to know this, at least to feel like the blame was off your back if he was a dick to you, at least you tried to clear the air on night one.

"What? Still got your panties in a bunch over that game?" you didn't have to look over at him to hear the smirk in his voice, "Because I remember you were the one getting all in a huff about it."

"This is exactly what I'm talking about," you turn over sharply to look at him, "please just stop being such an asshole to me."

"Learn to take a joke, sweetheart," he had been drying the same mug for a little too long now, "that stick up your ass is probably the reason you can't reach the big O."

"Please, for the love of god, fuck off," you tried to not raise your voice too much given everyone's sleeping state, "What do you want me to say? Hmmm? 'Oh Eddie, I'm so jealous of all those girls you make come with your magical guitar fingers, oooooooooh, please pick me'." You roll your eyes and prepare to storm off to bed when his whole posture shifts in front of you.

"Magical guitar fingers? Hmmm?" he's really making you regret saying that, even sarcastically, you start putting the rags away, wanting to just finish up the dishes and get the fuck out of the kitchen. "You said it babe, not me."

"You're so insufferable," you bring your fingers to your temple, Eddie Muson manifesting as a special form of personal headache.

"This is exactly what I'm saying," he mockingly gestures to you, "you're the one always getting so worked up over nothing, I'm as cool as a cucumber, I think the problem might be you."

"Is everything a fucking joke to you? Can you really not be serious for three fucking seconds while I try to be straight with you about us getting along on this trip?" Your grip on the dish towel tightening.

"Me? Joking? About something so serious and romantic as having precious y/n her first orgasm with my 'magical guitar fingers' that she so obviously fantasizes about? I would never." He clasps his hands across his chest, always the fucking jester.

In a moment of white hot rage, and wanting to put him in his place, and only a tiny fraction fueled by your physical attraction to him, as much as you've tried to fight that off, you march the three steps in between the two of you and grab his wrist in your hand, holding his hand up in between the two of you.

'Fine, do it then," you maintain harsh eye contact with him, your faces only a few inches apart, "you won't. Better yet, I don't even think you could."

For the first time, you felt as if you had the upper hand, you had never rendered him speechless before. He always had some snippy comeback to everything you said, at a rapid fire pace that was honestly impressive given how subtly clever his remarks were.

"You wanna bet?" He cocks his head at you, trailing behind just a beat slower than he normally would.

You just raise your eyebrows and glance down at his hand, still in your grasp, lips pursed and voice secretly caught in your throat.

"You just say the word," he starts, voice slightly softening, "and I bet you that I can make you come using just this hand- scratch that, just these three fingers," he lowers his pointer and pinky, leaving his middle two and thumb sticking up, "in less than five minutes right here in this goddamn kitchen."

"Yeah, for what?" were you seriously considering this? Why were your thighs clenching together?

"I make you come, and not only do I get to live in your memory forever as the first idiot who had the sense to make you finish, but you're gonna be so sweet to me the rest of the trip. Make my drinks, fetch my lighter, roll all my joints with those cute little dexterous fingers of yours, be nothing but pleasant and lovely without the slightest hint of attitude." His words made you fume, but you were also inexplicably turned on, his breath fanning across your face as he spoke sending tingles down your spine.

"And when you can't, what then?" you tried to match his level of composure, but the gleam in his eye told you that he saw straight through your facade.

"If-" he starts, "you manage to hold out on me and I can't get that pretty pussy of yours to gush all over my super magical talented guitar fingers, I'll leave you alone for the rest of the trip. We never bring it up again, or you can tease me about it for the rest of our lives, totally up to you. But I'll be so civil and polite you'll hardly recognize me the rest of this trip."

You let your grasp fall from his wrist, holding your unsteady hand out to him to shake, "Deal."

He truly thought you were bluffing up until this point. When you had first met he had been impressed with how sharp you were, how you managed to meet his level of sarcasm so easily. At least he thought you had been sarcastic, after a few fumbled interactions he got the vibe that you weren't joking around with him in the jabby-playful way he was. If he was honest wit himself, he knew he sort of used this as a defense mechanism when meeting new people. Put up the walls and if they didn't like him, that was just fine.

The tension in the air was as thick as it had ever been between the two of you. You refused to break eye contact, refused to let him win. As much as you'd like to think this would be an easy way to put an end to his snarky attitude, there was no denying that a large part of you was excited, if not intrigued at the prospect of him touching you like that. Eddie was hot, you had never denied that. But the butterflies in your stomach and slight buckle of your knees indicated a little bit more than surface level attraction.

Breaking the handshake he takes a few purposeful steps forward, backing you against the nearest counter. He places a hand on either side of your body, caging you in, leaning his head down to speak directly into your ear, voice low and raspy.

"We doing this, babe? You say the word and I'll let it go now, but otherwise I'm gonna need you to unbutton those cute jeans for me."

There was no way in hell you were turning back at this point. You try to give him your best 'fuck you' expression and say, "Can't even unbutton my pants, how the hell are you gonna make me come?" Regardless, you follow his request and unbutton your pants, and better yet, slip them down your legs to let them pool at your feet.

You were still locked in between his arms against the counter, closer than you had ever been to him. As your pants hit the floor, you notice his gaze flicker down to get a look at you, then quickly back up to your face. All the while he had shifted over slightly, arm now fiddling with a dial on the stovetop. He was setting a timer, cocky bastard. He adjusts the stovetop cook timer to five minutes and casually hits the enter button, as if he had nothing to prove, as if the few extra seconds meant nothing to him.

He brings his attention back to you, knowing you were fully aware of the timer he had just set. Rather than plunging his hand straight into your already dampening underwear, his first move was surprisingly to bend down slightly and cup the backside of your knee, lifting one foot out of the pant leg that was scrunched around your ankles. From the crook of your knee, his hand slowly moved up your thigh, giving it a squeeze, acting as if he wasn't on any sort of time constraint. As promised, once he reaches your underwear he only uses one of the three promised fingers, running the tip of his middle digit along the top elastic of your panties, quirking an eyebrow, looking at you for one last assurance of consent before the two of you crossed the line. You give him a curt nod, knowing what his questioning glance meant, and with that he dips his hand into your simple cotton underwear.

Once again, you almost expected him to just shove his fingers inside of you and get on with it, but he took several long moments to run his middle two fingers up and down your slit, never entering your hole, but collecting some of your wetness and dragging it up to massage the hood of your clit gently. You wouldn't have been surprised if the oven timer went off at any given moment. It felt like he had been touching you for far longer than five minutes, despite only forty seconds having been passed. He continued to gently roll your clit between his fingers, placing one on either side of your bud and just letting them slowly massage it back and forth.

You were slowly losing control of your composure. You didn't want to give him the satisfaction of any sort of reaction, but a shallow gasp that you were sure he noticed escaped you. You mentally prepared yourself for a comment from him, a chuckle or signature smirk. Eddie never shut the fuck up, you wouldn't have been surprised if that was true in the bedroom too, or in this case, the kitchen. What did surprise you was the breathy "Good girl, that's it" he mumbled into the side of your face as he increased the pressure of his fingers ever so slightly, "just like that, relax for me, doing so well."

Fuck.

Your body responded to his words before your mind could make the conscious decision to, and you melted back into the countertop slightly with an exhale. His foot wedged in between your legs slowly slid them open a bit more, letting his ripped denim clad leg settle in between yours, his hand sinking a bit lower and slowly entering you with just his middle finger. The hand that wasn't occupied with your pussy gently came down to toy with the band of your still-on underwear, gently tugging them down as he managed to slip his second finger into you.

"That's it," he began to curl them ever so slightly, allowing you to adjust to the feeling of him, "your pussy's so pretty, so good, sucking my fingers right in."

His two middle fingers were sunk all the way into you, and he was moving them in a way that had you involuntarily drop your jaw and let shallow whimpers out with every roll and thrust. This was entirely different than anything you had ever experienced before. Up until now, 'getting fingered' for you was an annoyingly uncomfortably forplay where your partner would shove a hand in and out too fast just to make sure you were wet enough to proceed with the act. Eddie wasn't even bringing his fingers out of you, he settled them in and wiggled them around until he noticed your breath catch, and just let them push into this spot that you didn't know you had. Your own fingers never could reach that deep and his were filling you perfectly, thumb toying with your clit, not too hard, but just enough to add to the sensation. Damn, he was good at this.

When his fingers finally hit that new spot inside you your body reacted with a subtle roll forward of your hips and your head fell back to rest against the cabinets, eyes fluttering shut on their own accord. "Mmm, there it is," his voice was still gentle against your ear as he continued to make you gasp and squirm, "anyone ever find this pretty little spot inside you before?" He let his fingers slide all the way out of you, spreading some wetness from your hole up to your clit with a few circular motions before sinking back down inside you.

You were biting the inside of your lip, no longer trying to hide your reactions from him, but trying to keep them quiet enough to not wake anyone in the cabin up. You wouldn't dare answer his questions out loud in your state, but you give him a quick shake of your head to indicate that, no, no one had ever touched you quite like this before.

"Such a fucking shame," he increased the pressure on your clit, not increasing speed at all, but just curling his fingers a little harder, swirling his thumb a bit more deliberately, "bet you'd make such gorgeous noises for me too, can't have anyone wake up and find us like this though, yeah? Those pretty little whimpers are for me only."

Why were his words doing more to you than his hands? Not that you had any complaints about the care and attention he was giving your center, but his face pressed so close to you, letting out sweeter words than you had ever heard from him, that was what was making your walls tighten around his two fingers. Your mind had completely slipped away from the timer, no longer questioning whether you had three seconds or three minutes left, all you could do was feel.

There was a soft squelching coming from where his hand made contact with your pussy, wetness coating his fingers and spreading to your thighs with each of his shallow thrusts. While you would typically feel a little embarassed, hearing your own arousal only turned you on more, that along with Eddie's soft "mmmm, that's it" and "good fucking girl."

You were starting to feel it, that familiar tightening. Familiar, but so different from when you got yourself there. It was the difference of jumping into water versus being pushed in. When you jump in yourself, you have time to build up the courage and the cold water is less of a surprise and more of an inevitability. This was as if someone had thrown you over their shoulder and could fling you in at any moment, entirely out of your control. You feel your head start to spin, your walls start to tighten.

Before you could let the tightening band in your lower half snap, any thought of purposely holding back and trying to not come for the sake of the bet was far gone, he takes his unoccupied hand and harshly tugs on your chin. Your head had started to roll back, pressing against the cabinets for support, eyes fluttering shut as you almost reached your peak. You were jolted back to reality as he cups your jaw and forces your head to stay upright.

"Eyes open," your impending orgasm teetering right on the edge, you would do anything he said in this moment, "you're going to keep your eyes open and look at me while I make you come." His words with a few more expert swipes of his thumb against your throbbing clit had you gasping for air. It was truly unlike any orgasm you had ever experienced.

You tried your best to follow his directions, keeping your eyes as open as you could, maintaining eye contact with him through your high as your mouth dropped open and your moans caught in your throat, silently shaking and thriving as the tension in your body eased out in waves of pleasure. His gaze burned into you, fingers keeping such a steady and consistent pace as you rode out your peak. Mumbled phrases escaped him and only made your orgasm last that much longer. Why the fuck was Eddie Munson calling you "pretty girl" making your legs shake? This shouldn't be happening. That had never been a turn on before, none the less coming from a man you typically found insufferable.

With the last pulse of your walls you found yourself acting on pure adrenaline, you completely blame the endorphins for your next action. His hand was still firmly planted on the side of your head and your thoughts were spinning so fast, you had to ground yourself, and your body decided that lurching forward and kissing Eddie was how you were going to do that. Fingers still slowly rolling inside of you, thumb now coming to rest on your overstimulated clit, he was taken aback by your action, but leaned into the kiss and swiped his wet tongue through your bitten swollen lips as you melted into him. As soon as you felt fully entangled in him, completely consumed by his hands, mouth, scraggly hair, all of him. You jerked back, quickly apologizing, "Fuck, uh, sorry, I-"

He slowly drags his hand out of your drenched thighs as you try to find words, bringing his two fingers up between his lips to suck them clean. You wanted to moan out at the sight but were still scrambling to figure out what the fuck just happened. He casually leans over and pauses the oven timer with a beep.

"Hey, 4:20, nice!" you roll your eyes at his immature comment, "we have forty more seconds on the clock, wanna go again?" he jokes.

You were so far beyond caring about this bet, you had way bigger issues to tackle than having to wait hand and foot on Eddie for the rest of this trip. You awkwardly pull up your wet panties and readjust your pants around your legs, not sure what to do or say.

"Was that good? Better than when you do it yourself?" he asks, sarcasm indetectable in his voice but you were sure it had to be there.

"Do you actually care to know or do you just want to hear me say it? Fine Eddie, you win. You have magical sex fingers and made me come in like three minutes, congratulations. It was great, the best orgasm of my life. You were right, you told me so."

"Well that's great to hear and all but I wasn't looking for an ego boost or anything, babe," his tone was lighthearted and you weren't expecting it, "I just know it's like wayyyy different for me when its my hand versus another person, not to mention the difference between all the holes and whatnot."

"Gross!" you laugh and scrunch up your nose, not noticing how he was pouring you a glass of water.

"I'm just saying!" He holds his hands up defensively as he silently hands the cup to you, "I've never experienced a female orgasm so I just wanted to know if it was any different than when you use the showerhead."

"Oh my god I-" you start, in between gulps of water.

"Oh, don't even start," he cuts you off, "we both know that all girls do that, don't try and be all shy with me now babe, I know what your 'oh' face looks like."

You feel a heat rise to your cheeks and you bury your gaze down into your almost empty glass of water. "Yeah Eddie, it was different and it was better. Your fingers rank higher than the jet setting of my shower head, do you want a trophy?" This sort of banter usually had a sharper edge to it between you, but there was a new softness and humor to the way you communicated. Maybe he was just being nice because he felt bad for you, because you were so desperate that you came from three fingers on a kitchen counter in less time than most top forty radio hits.

"I'm glad it was good for you," he says, almost sincerely, "night sweetheart." With that he turned around and exited the kitchen, keeping his composure all the way down the hall until he could burst into his room, rid himself of his clothes, and pull his cock at the thought of how you felt wrapped around his fingers, the little whimpers and noises you made, how you looked right at him as you came, how you kissed him afterwards.

You were left somewhat dumbfounded, standing in the middle of the kitchen with an empty cup in your hands, looking around as if something else was going to happen. You weren’t expecting him to invite you back to his bed for a cuddle or anything like that, but you had just experienced the most earth shattering orgasm of your life followed up by some joking conversation and a friendly cup of water? It just didn't feel right. Then again, who the fuck has their first orgasm from someone else while being timed.

You didn't regret it though. You actually felt a sense of relief. While you were pretty aware that your past sexual partners had been a bit selfish or underwhelming, a part of you had always wondered if that part of you was broken. If there was a part of your brain that would never let you reach that vulnerable state at the hands of someone else. That you would only ever trust yourself to let go and feel that kind of pleasure. Nope. Not broken. Definitely not broken.

You feel like you're in a trance as you walk back to your room, shower, slip into pajamas and drift off to sleep. You started to wonder how the energy would be between you and Eddie in the morning, but as soon as you gave it any thought your brain decided it was time to shut down. You'd deal with it when it happened.

Your head still felt cloudy the next morning, processing the sexual high and confusing social situation you now found yourself in. You knew one thing for sure, you'd never be able to look at Eddie again without thinking about last night. Suddenly the thought of him playing guitar, shuffling a deck of cards, smoking a joint, all felt inherently sexual to you despite never having that connotation before. You were fucked.

What's even worse is when you tried to rub one out in the shower to ease some of your nerves before going downstairs for coffee all you could think of was comparing how your hand felt to Eddie's. It's like he put a stupid curse on you, that all your orgasms would now feel half hearted. It's like you were hungry and were served a peanut butter and jelly sandwich when you could smell a chef preparing a five star meal in the room over. Sure, a PB&J is fine, but now that you've had fine dining it just didn't quite cut it. On top of that your newly corrupted brain couldn't help but theorize about what else Eddie was capable of. He made you come in basically four minutes with three fingers. As soon as you let your mind wander you pull yourself out of it, make the shower as cold as your body can stand, and gear up to face the music, or at least put on an awkward front in front of all of your friends.

You were the first person in the kitchen, but you heard a fair amount of shuffling going on around the creaky cabin so you suspect your friends will be down soon. You take it upon yourself to put on a full pot of coffee and survey the pantry for breakfast options.

"Morning, y/n," Steve greets you passively, eyes clearly set on the coffee that's almost done brewing.

"Oh wow, did you do the dishes last night?" Nancy inquires, her and Robin taking their places at the table while everyone waits for the coffee to finish.

"Oh yeah, it was nothing. Eddie and I did it, only took like five minutes," you wince at yourself.

"Were the two of you up real late?" Steve questions, "I tried to get him up a minute ago but he was knocked out."

"Oh," you start, relying on pouring coffee to everyone as an excuse to not make any eye contact, "I'm not really sure, we were only really up for like ten, twenty minutes after you all went to bed. Maybe he stayed up late in his room." None of it was a lie.

"Whatever, let him sleep this beautiful day away," Steve's whole demeanor changed after a single sip of caffeine, "I say we go down to the dock and check out that canoe, maybe have lunch on the dock? Could be nice."

A murmur of agreement among the group settled the plans for the day, relaxing by the lake, doing exactly what you had intended this trip to be about. You all scarfed down quick breakfast and coffee and separated to change into swimwear. You hated that you thought of Eddie as you picked out your swimsuit. Did he even see you like that? When he called you pretty last night, was that all part of an act to win some stupid bet? You'd be better off assuming so, you decide, you don't want to get wrapped up in your own thoughts about how he thinks of you only to be totally wrong. But you secretly did hope that he'd check you out at least once.

You sprawled out on a big towel on the rickety dock, letting Robin, Nance, and Steve figure out the canoe. It didn't look like it could comfortably for more than two, and three was pushing it, so you decided to sit this one out considering the lake water looked a little murky. You set yourself up comfortably with a glass of lemonade and a book you were halfway through, letting the sun sink into your skin and illuminate the pages as you squinted at the words through the sunshine. You could hear their friendly bickering off in the distance, their canoe now a tiny speck off on the horizon of the lake. You could occasionally hear Robin shriek as Steve threatened to tip them all over.

You felt the dock creek behind you before he said anything, not bothering to turn around from your comfortable position, knowing it couldn't be anyone but Eddie. He made his way down to your towel, inviting himself to plop down next to you and dip his toes into the lake below. He was only in his boxers and a ratty tshirt, a mostly full cup of black coffee sloshing around in the mug he held.

He made you nervous, not sure what the energy would be like between the two of you now. You almost felt worried that nothing would have changed at all. You ignored the buzzing in your abdomen and kept your eyes on your book as he kicked up the lakewater and sipped his coffee next to you, seeming comfortable in your mutual silence.

“Reading anything good?” you knew he’d be the one to break the silence, ever the chatty Cathy. You were surprised at the genuine question rather than a smart remark or joke at your expense.

You told him what you thought of your current read, filling him in a bit on the general plot. Part of you decided that you no longer had the right to give him the edge you usually did. He had won the upper hand fair and square and you were willing to accept that. You could play nice, play by his rules.

You felt like your conversation was going well, or well enough. He asked to see your book, which you willfully handed over. You’d regret doing that. He dog-eared the page you were on and quickly set your book off to the back of the deck before moving at lightning speed and scooping you up and hurling you through the air and into the lake water. What the actual fuck was his problem.

Before you could even register the cold lake water you emerge from your splash and gasp for air. You don’t even have a moment to find where the dock is to cuss him out before you see his cannonballed form fly above you and crash into the lake next to you. His shirt and coffee were abandoned with your book and he emerged from the water with that stupid goofy smile.

That stupid goofy smile that made you less mad that he had thrown you in the lake. What was wrong with you? You should be pissed. Why did his annoying antics suddenly make you feel giggly? You knew exactly why, but wouldn't allow yourself to think about it for longer than a moment.

“Eddie you bitch!” you splash him as soon as you can locate him and that stupid smile. You couldn’t help but smile too. He knew you wouldn’t stay mad. The two of you play-wrestle for a moment, splashing each other and taking turns pushing the other under the lake’s surface.

“I was reading,” you continue to protest.

“And now you’re swimming!” He splashes you again, “We’re on a lake trip, y/n, not a library trip.”

You debated swimming out to where the canoe was, but mutually decided that sounded like too much work. Instead you took turns jumping off the dock and diving down to the bottom of the lake for rocks and other random junk. Eddie even found an old boat anchor.

Once the other three came in from their canoe adventure you all ate packed sandwiches for lunch in the sunshine on the dock. You couldn’t help but take in the moment, knowing you'd be nostalgic for it in the future. You were surrounded by some of your best friends without a care in the world, only focused on pb&j sandwiches and who was going to make the fire later.

After a backyard bonfire and several failed attempts at roasting hot dogs on sticks you all started to slow down and let the day in the sun take you to bed. You showered the feeling of lakewater off your skin and out of your hair with lots of soap and as hot of water as the cabin would allow. You thought you’d cozy up in bed and read some more of your book, or even crash right to sleep, but a nagging feeling kept pulling at you.

As sleepy as you wanted to be, and as interesting as your book was, your mind couldn’t pull itself away from the idea of what Eddie was doing down the hall. It was late enough that the others were probably asleep, you probably should be too. After rereading the same sentence four times you decided to abandon your book and just follow your curiosities.

Before your better judgment could stop you, you lightly knocked at Eddie’s door and cracked it open. You peek around the sturdy wooden door to see him propped up on the headboard, shirtless with a giant book in his lap. His lean chest and arms were littered with random tattoos, nothing you hadn't seen before swimming or when he wore those unbuttoned and ripped up shirts that he often did, but this time you couldn't help but stare at them.

“Sure just come right in,” he comments with a joking tone as you peek around the corner of his door.

“Sorry, sorry,” you half whisper through gritted teeth, “I just-”

You didn’t know how to finish that statement. You just what? Were curious about what he was doing? Wanted to see him? Wanted to know what he would say if you came to his room?

To your surprise he shifts to the side of his bed and opens a space next to him, lifting the sheet that covers his lower half and patting the space next to him. Your eyes widened in surprise a bit before you moved a bit too enthusiastically across the room and settled onto the mattress next to him.

“Hope I’m not bothering you,” you start, genuinely feeling bad if you were intruding.

“You? Not at all. I’ve only read The Lord of the Rings eighty times or so,” he turns over the enormous book in his lap.

“Wow, I didn’t know you could read,” you immediately felt bad, but knew your tone was joking enough to be permissible.

“Very funny,” he sets the book on his nightside table, turning his attention to you. You suddenly felt a spotlight on you, a sudden stage to explain the reason you showed up in his room. Truthfully you didn’t have one. Or, you didn’t have the words to tell him why.

“I-” you start, noticing how small your voice sounded, “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Is that so?” He looked genuinely surprised.

“Yeah, I just-” you still don’t know where you’re going with this, “I just wanted to apologize if I ever gave you the impression that I didn’t like you. I know we kind of go back and forth a lot, but I never really meant to make you feel like I dislike being around you. I just want to start over with you, if that’s okay?”

“Is this because you know all the rumors about my magic guitar fingers are true,” he smirked and leaned his head into yours, an action that would typically make your blood boil that you now found endearing.

“No- well yes- but no,” you couldn’t help but be flustered, finding yourself fidgeting with the hem of his sheet that you had tucked your feet under, knees pushed up against your chest, “I just thought that things were going to be really awkward between us today, or that you were going to be a huge asshole to me. But I just realized that maybe I hadn’t been fair to you, and maybe you weren’t fair to me either, so it would be nice to start over?”

“Do you want to start over right now, or do you want to start over, including last night?” He already knew that even if the two of you ‘started over’ neither of you could forget, or even pretend to forget what had transpired in the kitchen. You let out a sigh. You were thinking the same thing.

“Up to yout,” you look up at him through your lashes, “I’ll leave and never bring it up again, but I can't pretend like I haven’t been thinking about it since it happened.”

“Is that so?” He cocks an eyebrow.

“Shut up, you know it is,” you bump his shoulder with yours.

“Is it because you touched yourself and realized it didn’t feel the same?” his voice grew deeper, and you could feel his gaze pressing into the side of your face, “or because you imagined it was my fingers between those pretty legs of yours.”

You couldn’t help your head from falling back against his headboard and eyes to find solace in the ceiling before gathering the courage to answer him. His face was already inches from your neck, all you needed to do was close the gap, but a part of you was still worried.

You look tentatively into his eyes, big and brown and drawing you in, but you don't let yourself lean in all the way. You had initiated the first kiss between you two last night in the kitchen and had been shaken with worry that you had crossed a line. You didn't want to embarrass yourself again, so you held back. What if he thought that was too intimate? You hoped he didn't. Even though it had left you tense and anxious, kissing him was just as memorable as the orgasm he had given you. You remembered how his mouth tasted, how he slipped his tongue past your lips immediately, how you didn't have to think about anything other than how he was making you feel.

Eddie, on the other hand, knew exactly what you were thinking. He knew that he'd left you a bit high and dry last night. If he was being honest, he wanted to stay in that kitchen and kiss you over and over, offering to take you to bed, his bed. He left for two reasons: he wanted to maintain whatever aura of mystery and intrigue he had garnered by making you feel so good, the tensions were high and it felt right to keep the game up, Eddie enjoyed the cat and mouse, back and forth that the two of you had, and this had taken it to an incredibly fun and elevated state, and he had to leave to release his cock from the confines of his pants. If he was going to fuck you, he was going to fuck you right, and if you had stayed in that kitchen any longer he would have either busted in his pants or promptly three seconds after you made any sort of move on him.

He knew you were nervous. That you found him hard to read and unpredictable. That's probably why the two of you never really got along, and he knew it. He knew that the orgasm he gave you was the most pleasure you had ever felt, and that you hadn't stopped thinking about it for a moment since. It was written all over your face. He couldn't blame you. If he had never had the pleasure of climaxing during sex or at the hands of another person he surely would be in a spell over it too. He knew you needed to be taken care of, and that he had proved himself to be trustworthy of doing so.

While you were caught in your own head debating whether Eddie would kiss you or not, it only takes him a split second to crane his neck around to meet your face and catch your lips in a kiss backed by purpose and intent. He knew how to read your body language. Eddie grew up worrying what everyone around him was thinking of him, or what they were planning to do to him/ He knew how to tell when someone was angry or upset or disgusted. An arch of an eyebrow or a twitch of a hand could mean the smallest things, things that always came back to bite Eddie. He also could tell that your breath was caught in your throat and you were overthinking still, he knew to let the kiss linger for a moment and let you find your footing before deepening it.

The moment he feels your shoulders relax a bit and your head lean ever so slightly into his, he cups the sides of your neck with his hands. Those hands. Littered with tiny stick and poke tattoos and those clunky metal rings. Who the fuck wears jewelry to bed? You had taken note of how his rings had felt shoved down the front of your underwear the night prior, and now you relished in how the distinct metal felt against the soft skin under your jaw.

Last night you kissed him in the heat of the moment. Now he was kissing you. Really kissing you. Tugging on your bottom lip and running his tongue across yours until your stomach felt like you were on the dip of a roller coaster. Kissing you until you were breathless and your cheeks began to run hot, until you couldn't tell whose tongue was whose, or could hardly remember where you were or what time it was. You would have traded every sexual experience you'd had for what he did to you in the kitchen last night, and you'd trade every kiss up until now for the one you found yourself in.

His hands were in your hair, and his lips moved from yours, now wet and pouty, down to your neck. He kissed, licked, nipped, sucked against your skin, gently tugging your hair in the direction he wanted to open your neck up for him. When his bottom teeth dragged across a particular spot in between your jaw and ear a soft moan escaped your lips. You immediately sucked in a sharp breath.

"MmmHmmm," he mumbles into you, still attacking that spot that had elicited the noise, "let me hear you."

You let out a groan and moved to straighten your neck, wanting his mouth on yours again. The hand in your hair kapt you exactly where he wanted though, now using a touch more force.

"You wanna know a secret?" the hand not in your hair ran up and down your rib cage underneath your shirt, trailing from the band of your pants up to the underside of your breast and then gently back down, "Do you know what you do to me?"

"Mmmm, no what?" you could hardly recognize your own voice, now pitched up and airy.

"Those pretty noises you made for me, and the thought of you wrapped around my fingers has been driving me crazy all day, y/n. Do you know what I thought about while I jerked off last night? Those moans, and that pretty cunt you have, and the gorgeous face you made when I got you there. It's all I can see when I look at you now. It made me come so fucking hard last night and it's gonna take a lot of time and illegal substances to make me forget it."

You wiggled your hips up into his touch, wanting him to move faster but knowing he was going to take everything at his pace whether you liked it or not. "Fuck Eddie," he sucked on your earlobe and continued to bite against your soft skin, "you think I'm pretty?" You sounded fucking pathetic, you wouldn't have caught yourself dead asking any boy that, let alone Eddie before tonight.

"Pretty? I think those little moans you make are pretty. And that cunt you have, prettiest I've ever seen. That little bikini you had on today, that was pretty too. You wear that for me?"

"Maybe," you gasp out as his hand dared to venture lower, still over your pajama pants but dipping up and down where he knew your wet slit was.

"Sure, lots of things about you are plenty pretty, but fuck," he loved how responsive you were, already rolling your hips against his hand despite the layers of fabric preventing you from getting what you really wanted, "You? you really are somethin' else."

He could tell you were tired of his teasing, so in between kisses he tugs your shirt up and lets you pull it over your head. He presses your warm skin against his, using all his strength to stay in the moment and feel how nice your tits feel squished up against him, rather than immediately ravish you. He'll get to that, he knows you deserve his patience.

“Just-” you gathered your thoughts, “tell me you want me too, that this isn’t some sort of power trip or pity fuck. I don’t want it if this is some game to you.”

His heart sank a bit at your inquiry, worried that you thought of last night as some sort of power trip for him, although that was what the two of you had framed it as, a power play. He knew there was something deeper and hoped you had felt that too.

“Of course I want you. As much as it was nice to put you in your place, you brat, I didn't make you come to prove anything. I made you come because I wanted to.”

“Will you do it again?” your voice was barely a wiper, your neck craning around to meet his intense gaze.

“Again with my fingers,” he shifted so you were now slumped beneath him, his leg slotting comfortably between yours and his hands coming to cup your cheeks, shoulders angled above yours and hair creating a perfect curtain around your faces, “and my tongue, and my cock,” he leaned down to kiss you, “and all the other ways you’ll let me show you.”

You were a mess. A puddle of arousal and swarming thoughts of nothing but Eddie. Your hands flew up to tangle themselves in his beautiful curls, massaging the nape of his strong neck. The most passionate and enthusiastic kiss you had ever participated in. You were on fire for him. Any former doubt or worry that the actions of last night had on you dissipated into the air along with the breathy moans you couldn’t help but let out in between kisses and touches.

His knee pushed your thighs apart and you willingly splayed yourself out like a ragdoll for him to move and manipulate under him however he pleased. Before you could focus on his hands dipping into your underwear, he bit at your lower lip and pulled back, causing you to crane your neck and chase after his lips as he moved away. You were about to pout about the loss of contact, but his fingers dipping through your wet folds were plenty distracting. He sits back a bit to focus on pulling down your pants and underwear while still stroking you with his opposite hand.

You were too busy squirming under him, both from his slow methodical fingers against your cunt and a half hearted attempt to kick off your garments that were now pushed around your knees to notice his unwavering gaze that raked over your newly exposed body. His resolve was about to break, along with the dam that held back his desire and excitement to feel every inch of you, to make you feel good, to be the first person to make you feel good. He had always thought you were gorgeous, but picking fights is a lot easier than trying to flirt so he settled for riling you up the only way he thought he could.

He swats backwards to assist you in removing your final articles of clothing which are caught on your ankles, and as he leans back forward into you he sinks two thick fingers into you with a smirk on his face. It was a sudden stretch, but you'd be lying if you said you weren’t wet enough for him to slip in without any resistance. Your eyes want to squeeze shut, but you can't help but keep your sight locked on the shit eating grin that spreads across Eddie's face. He knew exactly what he was doing to you. He had made you fall apart in just over four minutes last night, and now he was going to take his time and have his fun with you. How could he not? You were so responsive to him, whimpering and writhing with every small movement, muscles tensing and your perfect lips parting open every time he curled his fingers upwards or brushed your clit with his palm.

He swoops down to give your tits some attention, and you let yourself tangle your fingers into his unruly curls. Between licks and nips he mumbles into your skin, "so fuckin' perfect" and "doing so good for me." He can feel your walls squeezing his fingers, soaking his palm, so he slows his roll a bit, wanting to draw you out a bit longer. You wanted to pull him up for a kiss, but he was deeply concentrating on sucking the perfect purple hickey to the underside of your breast. You could have sworn you heard "mine" come out of his mouth in between sucks and heavy breathing, but you couldn't be sure.

Once he released your skin with a wet pop, you tugged at his hair to beg for a kiss. Eddie liked you all whiney and desperate for him though, so he just lets you tug on his hair as hard a you want as he continues moving down your body, teeth dragging across your ribcage, his hot flat tongue licking a stripe across your hip bone just before blowing a stream of cool air across the new wet trail. All the while his fingers slowly rolled inside of you, making this delicious wiggling motion that had you feeling full and seeing stars.

He pulls his fingers out of you, taking a mental picture of how hot it was that your slick had soaked him down to his rings. Before you can sit up with any sort of protest, he cups his hands on the backs of your thighs and pushes forward to effectively fold you in half. Your head perks up, about to inform him that he is wildly overestimating your flexibility, he cuts you off.

"Just lay back," his hands run up and down from your inner knees down to your ass and back up, "lay back and let me make you feel good, you can do that for me, yeah?"

"Yeah okay," you breathe out as he places a tender kiss to the part of your thigh just under your bent knee, a part of you that had never had any sexual connotation before, and now the feeling of his lips were permanently seared into the skin there.

The last thing you caught sight of before your eyes rolled into the back of your head was Eddie spitting straight onto your pussy, not that it wasn't wet enough already, and immediately going in to lick a fat stripe up the middle of your center. You felt your breath hitch in your throat as he repeated the action, his grip on the meat of your thighs tightening and leaving fingerprint sized indents. He attached his lips to your clit and rolled it against his tongue in a way that you had never experienced.

Sure, you'd been on the receiving end of head before, but not like this. It had always been a 'hey, I just need to make sure your pussy is wet enough for my dick' sort of situation and never a 'it would be my pleasure to die here in between your thighs' situation. The moans that escaped you were shaky and broken, unlike the noises coming from between your legs, a sinful combination of wet slurping and Eddie deeply moaning and humming approval into you as he ate you out.

Your legs began to shake, partially from your growing orgasm, and partly from this advanced yoga position Eddie had you in. He slid a hand down from the juncture of your leg to toy with the pooling wetness at your hole. You let your wobbly hand replace his holding your knee back for him, keeping you spread open and on display as he stuffed two fingers into you, continuing to suck on your clit.

"Ohmyfuckinggod," your words slurred together in a high pitched moan, "Eddie- Eddie, fuck." You were no longer in control of the noises coming out of your mouth, a barely coherent slew of Eddie's name, 'fuck's' and 'please.'

He groaned into your cunt, picking up the pace and curling his fingers into you just like he had the night before, this time with the added pleasure of his mouth devouring you. You were not long for this world.

'You're gonna make me come," you warned him, your voice sounding on the verge of a sob, "feels so fucking good, Eddie, please."

Your eyes screwed shut and legs fell from their pushed back position to clamp around his head as your orgasm took over you. Crashing waves of pleasure that were pulling you out like a riptide. All you can feel is the release, hardly noticing your shaking legs or broken moans. Eddie moves up to catch your lips in a deep, wet kiss, slowing his hand as you ride out the end of your orgasm, still quivering around him.

You were severely out of breath, but refused to break the kiss. His slick, swollen lips swallowed your moans and anchored you, bringing you back down to earth.

"Mmmmm," he hums into the kiss, "you need to quiet down, unless you're tryina get me in trouble," he whispers into your lips, dipping down for another soft kiss as you regain your composure.

"Fuck, sorry," you pant out.

"Don't apologize to me," he slowly pulls his hand from your center and you wince slightly, "if it were just the two of us in this cabin I'd insist you let those pretty moans out to your heart's content."

"I'll be quiet," you reach down to palm him through his low hanging pajama pants, "will you please fuck me? Need to feel your cock in me so badly Eddie, I know you're gonna make me feel so good again."

A feral groan rumbles in his chest, head tilting back towards the ceiling as you stroke what felt to be an incredibly well endowed cock.

"You sure you're up for it?" Now it was his turn to show the hint of neediness in his voice.

"Are you sure?" You question back, getting a better grip through the material of his pants.

"You know I wanna fuck you," he ruts into your hand ever so slightly, "but I need to hear you say it."

"I already did Eddie," you mumble into his neck, "Want your cock so bad, I want to make you feel good too."

He rolls over onto his back, and slips off his pants and boxers. You shift onto your knees next to him, unsure of what position he'd want you in. As his hard cock springs out of his elastic waistband and onto his stomach you lose control over your facial muscles and let your slack jaw hang open, eyes bulging slightly.

"Wh-" a look of concern on his face grows as he notices your expression, looking from you, down to his cock, then back to you, "Oh! The piercing?"

You were completely frozen, because the only thing more shocking than the two little metal balls sticking out of his cockhead was the fact that Eddie Munson had a pornstar dick. Thick, long, girthy, perfectly curved, the most glorious shade of blushed pink. No wonder he had decided to bedazzle it, it was gorgeous. Not only was it the largest and most aesthetically pleasing dick you'd ever seen, in real life or photos, you sure as hell had never had one that big inside you.

"Yeah, the piercing-" your voice trailed off, still gawking at it.

"Shit, I'm sorry if you're like, super freaked out," the worry in his voice snapped you out of your trance, "I guess I maybe should have warned you-"

"No no," you were quick to correct his concern, reaching down to wrap your hand, which hardly fit, around it and give a few experimental strokes, "it's fucking perfect." You were visibly salivating, wanting to feel how the metal balls felt against your hot tongue.

"I mean, it's okay I guess," you say, sitting up, "I wouldn't want to give you an ego or anything," joking sarcasm rolled off your tongue, "but fuck..." the way he twitched in your hand drew you back in, not thinking twice before leaning forward and letting your tongue run from the underside of his shaft up across the metal balls that decorated the head, all the way up to his leaking slit. Your tongue gathered his precum and went back to explore how the piercing felt against your lips, rolling it across your tongue, placing open mouthed kisses to the head.

"Shit-" he hisses out, Eddie knew his dick was fine, maybe a little bigger than average or something, but no one had ever stopped to admire it, compliment it. Then again, most of Eddie's sexual escapades were just that, escapades. Random girls in bar bathrooms, quickies in the back of his van, a few weed customers who he didn't mind exchanging a good quick fuck for a discount. Sure, he'd heard the 'oh you're so big' line mid thrust, but everyone said that about the person they're fucking, right?

After feeling his hips twitch a bit underneath you, you release his cock with a soft pop and climb on top of his torso. Grinding down on his hard length with a few slow forward rolls of your hips, you can't help but lurch forward and capture his lips in a kiss. You let out a deep moan as you feel the head of his cock catch your clit as you drag your wet folds up and down his shaft. Your foreheads stay pressed together as your mouth opens in a silent gasp, his hands coming down to guide your hips and dig his fingertips into your ass.

"Fuck, princess," his voice was low and sexy, and the new nickname had you bucking your hips a little harder, "lay back and let me make you feel good again. This is all about me giving it to you right, yeah? So let me do all the work."

You know his intentions were sweet, but you kept his hips pinned under yours. "Eddie I-" you pull back a bit to meet his eyes, "you can fuck me however you want in a bit, but... I've never had anything that big inside me before and..."

"Shhhh," his hands ran up and down your sides, "we can take it slow, promise. You can sit on my cock and take it at your own pace, let it fill you up right, don't wanna hurt you."

With that you nudged his tip into your entrance ever so slightly, taking a moment to feel how his piercing dragged across your cunt and left a cool metal trail that sent a shiver down your spine. Once you slipped the head inside you, it really wasn't any different from an unpierced dick, other than the sheer girth of it. Your teeth caught your lower lip, sinking down to take the first two inches or so, letting your opening adjust to its size.

It was taking everything in Eddie's willpower not to thrust up into you, or grab your hips and roll them down onto his aching cock. But he knew better than that, and the last thing he wanted was to hurt you in any way. So he stayed still, holding in a deep and shaky breath as you started to take him. Part of him wanted to look away from the gorgeous faces you were making, because if you were going to bat your eyelashes and tuck that perfect lip in between your teeth he was going to come a lot sooner than either of you would like. But he can't bring himself to do it, loving the way your eyebrows furrowed slightly, almost like when you were angry.

You were fully seated on his cock now, breathing slowly and leaning back to sit up straight on it, somehow pushing it even deeper into you.

"That's it," Eddie's hands still gripped at your hips, making sure you were steady on him, "that's my girl, taking me so well."

You experimentally shifted your weight front to back, rocking your hips shallowly against his. You felt Eddie move underneath you, reaching his hand from its place on your hip to your back. He adjusted his position, and pushed up against the headboard to sit upright, now holding your torso against his. He smoothed your hair across the back of your head.

"It's okay if you need a minute," he took your chin in his hands, clenching his jaw as you continued to rock your hips into his, "don't want you to hurt yourself.

"Just feel so fucking full," you whispered into his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck for leverage, "need you to fuck me, fuck me deep and hard, please Eddie, need it."

He arches his hips up slightly to meet your hips as they come down, and your eyes practically spin into the back of your head. He takes it slow, his first few thrusts from under you are careful and gentile. You continue to mumble "please" and "more" into his lips, so he scoops you up from your back and flips you over, not removing his cock from deep within you as you settle down into the mattress. Your legs wrap around his hips and he pushes his dick all the way into you, reaching a new spot that knocks the wind out of you.

"Fuck just like that," your words are hardly there, "so fucking good, Eddie, Eddie..."

"Beautiful," he fucks into you a little harder, "your pussy was fucking made for me." His hands were settled on the backs of your thighs, keeping you spread nice and open for him to pound his cock into you. He lets one hand press into your lower stomach, pushing his cock down while inside you, causing you to let out a gasp. He lets his palm spread your on your lower abdomen, letting his thumb creep closer and closer to your clit, catching it every so often as your hips rolled back and forth with his thrusts.

"You gonna be good and let me make you come again?" he asks, the cocky edge in his voice has you losing all coherence, "so pretty wrapped around my cock."

The movements of his thumb are much more deliberate now, rubbing your clit in tandem with the movement of his hips. He wasn't fucking you particularly fast, but he was making sure his cock was buried all the way inside you with every thrust, rolling his hips forward and punctuating each thrust with extra pressure.

"Oh my god, I-" your head was thrown back into the flannel pillowcases, body starting to tense up again. You were still so wet and turned on from your last orgasm, but coming while his massive cock was in you was going to be entirely different, you could feel it.

"That's it, come on my cock," he could feel the muscles in your thighs start to tighten, the walls of your pussy fluttering around him as he drew methodical figure eights on your clit. You felt so fucking good around him, so warm and wet and tight, swallowing his cock up with every thrust. That plus those damn sounds you were making. But Eddie had a goal, and couldn't be distracted by the overwhelming pleasure coursing through his body, his one and only focus was to push you over the edge, to take care of you and do it right.

The choked sobs leaving your heaving chest were the first indicator that you were about come, that and your pussy gripping him like a fucking vice. You weren't able to form words as you fell apart for him, just letting broken moans escape you as your body shook and released all that tension. Part of you could hear a string of praises coming from him, but all you could focus on was the ripple of your orgasm tearing through your body.

You start to come down for it, catching your breath, until you feel him pull out of you entirely and push you legs back as he had before, and dip his head down to lick down your quivering center. He lapped up your wetness and sent a few aftershocks buzzing into your core. His tongue slowed down and he let you settle down, before pushing his tongue entirely into you and letting out the most sensual groan right into your cunt.

"Holy shit," you let out, looking down at him and realized that next to seeing his dick for the first time, Eddie lapping up your orgasm was the hottest thing you'd ever seen.

He sat up and let his cock rest in between your puffy pussy lips, his pierced head sitting right on your sensitive clit. He lets the weight of it fall into his hand and gives your pussy a few taps with his cock, sending your hips jerking from the sensitivity.

"Eddie," you start, eyes glassy and voice hoarse, "please keep fucking me, don't want you to stop."

"You want more?" a comment half cocky and half serious.

"Mhmm, want you to fuck me hard," your hands came up to play with your tits, "want you to come in me, use me, give it to me hard how I know you like it."

"'S'that right," he quickly grabs your hips and flips you over, angling your ass up in the air for him, "you wanna take all my come like the good girl you are?"

"Please," your muffled voice comes up from the sheets, "I'm on the pill, it's okay, it's safe."

"Mmm fuck," he slips his cock back into your soaking wet hole, guiding your hips back and forth with his big hands, "thank you, so fucking perfect for me, you can tell me if I go to hard, yeah?"

"Yeah Eddie," you try your best to bounce back on his cock, but know he's doing most of the work moving your ass to slap against his hips, "I want it hard."

With that he takes the initiative to snap his hips forward with every thrust, pulling your gorgeous ass back against him and twitching inside you every time it comes flush with his lower stomach. He can't help but bring a flat palm down to smack it, loving the big red handprint he leaves behind, and loving even more the muffled moan that leaves you when he does so.

"Y'like that?" he already knows you do, but just wants to hear you say it.

"Yes, again, please," each word comes out as a short gasping breath. He smacks your ass again, watching it jiggle against his palm has him thinking he's died and gone to heaven, you his personal angel.

Although he can feel the end in sight, he wants to feel your pussy squeeze around his cock again, so he snakes his hand under your arched hips and toys with your clit. You're beyond fucked out at this point, but can't help but prop yourself up on straightened arms to give him more room to rub against you. He leans down to press his chest against your back, one arm coming down by your side to support his weight as he fucks down into you.

"One more time," he lets out into the skin of your shoulder, "can you come for me one more time, princess?"

“I-” you start, about to tell him you’re unsure, but then he starts rubbing fast strokes against your clit and you’re already seeing stars.

He’s fucking into you fast and hard, just like you’d asked him to. The feeling of you clenching down on him has him biting your shoulder to hold back his grunts and moans. As soon as he feels your pussy start to gush around him, your arms collapsing and legs shaking under him, he lets go with a soft grunt and spills his come deep inside you.

He lets his cock stay there for a moment, pulsing inside you, relishing in the feeling of your hot cunt wrapped around him. He pulls out slowly and you let out a small yelp, letting your hips fully sink down to the mattress without his hands to heep you propped up.

He runs a hand across your thigh, and you acknowledge your attention with a hum.

“M’gonna go get something to clean you up,” his voice is soft and you nod into the pillows, making a half hearted attempt to roll your body over. He uses his discarded sweatpants to wipe off his forehead and chest, suddenly aware of how sweaty he is, you both are.

He slips on his boxers and creeps down the hall to the kitchen, grabbing a big glass of water and a clean hand towel run under the sink. He slips back into the room to find you paid out on the bed, all sweaty and fucked out, it’s the best you’ve ever looked to him.

He lifts you up by the shoulders and helps you sit up while you take a few sips of water and let out a “thank you” in between sips. He runs the warm cloth in between your legs a few times to catch anything sticky, before tossing it into the pile with his dirty clothes.

You were already mostly knocked out, all the energy completely drained from your body. Typically you’d awkwardly dance around the notion of spending the night or not, but your eyes felt too heavy to care, and your body was already molded into his sheets. He flicked off the bedside light and got settled into bed next to you, thinking you were already completely asleep.

“Thank you Eddie,” your voice was sleepy and almost didn't cut through the air.

“No problem, good sex is dehydrating,” he responds, assuming you meant the thanks for the water and towel.

“No thank you for taking care of me,” you roll into his arms, snuggling up against him, “I didn’t know sex could be like that.”

“Like what?” he partially knew what you meant, given that the three times you’ve ever come during sex all happened in the past hour.

“Like magic,” you’d have been embarrassed to say it in other circumstances. But the post sex bliss and intense sleep that was washing over you made you sort of hazy and elated.

“Yeah I think you’re pretty magic too,” he wrapped you up in his arms, feeling the same tiredness, “good night y/n.”

The next morning he felt a sort of sore stiffness in his body, wiping the crust from his eyes and suddenly remembering the events of the night prior. There was an empty warm spot in the bed next to him, indicating you must have slipped out recently. He shook out his messy bedhead and threw on some sweatpants.

A short trip down the hall brought him into the kitchen, where you were making a pot of coffee. You heard him come in from the hallway, and you suddenly tensed up at the thought of facing him. How did he look so damn good mid yawn, rubbing his face and his hair a wild mess.

You turn towards the coffee machine on the counter, frantically trying to think of what to say or how to act towards him. Before you could give it too much thought, you feel his presence directly behind you, his arms caging you in and his back pressed against you.

“Are you pouring me a cup?” he asks, hunching down to rest his chin on your shoulder.

“Yes,” you elongate the word, taking in his scent and feeling his hair tickle your neck, “this is how you take it right? No cream, no sugar.”

“Mhmmm,” he mumbles into your hair, giving you a quick peck on the side of your neck before moving to grab the cup.

“Wow okay early bird Eddie,” Robin’s voice cuts through the air of the kitchen and he immediately grabs his coffee and moves away from you. There’s no way she wouldn’t notice and the two of you cringe at the somewhat compromising position.

“Okay I don’t think I want to know what the hell that was about,” she points between the two of you. Ahh Robin, master of the art of subtlety.

Steve comes into the kitchen, immediately sensing the awkward air between everyone in the small space.

“Oh god,” he looks from Robin’s pointing finger to the two of you with somewhat guilty expressions, “was THAT all that noise I heard last night? Jesus Christ you two.” He turns out of the kitchen dramatically, leaving Robin with a bewildered expression and the two of you cringing.

“At least they’re fucking instead of fighting now!” she calls to him as he continues to walk down the hall away from you.

Amongst Robin yelling and Steve leaving in a huff, Eddie manages to sneak his hand behind you and pinch your ass, making you jump a bit and the coffee in your cup to slosh around. He gives you a wink and starts to head out of the kitchen.

“I’m gonna have my coffee by the lake, you joining me?”

Maybe this trip was going to be something special after all.

All Eddie Fics Taglist: @eddielives1986

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things smut #stranger things fic #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #smut #smut fanfiction

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thesimplicityofchance · 2 years

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Idk why but I woke up today and just feel so lonely and isolated.

#literally just woke up feeling like no one will want to put effort in to being with me like i see with others #i would like that feeling to stop hurting so much or go away plz

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plztumb1rhelpmegetoveranxiety · 2 years

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#SO much brainrot for the headcannon that Luna's horn is shaped like a creasent moon AND that it perpetually grows bc she's an alicorn #Anyways I think it'd be fun if she had to put less and less effort to be scary every nightmare night #princess luna #mlp #may i plz have an art tag?

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sexiestpodcastcharacter · 7 months

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Sexiest Podcast Character — Unscripted Bracket — Round 4

Propaganda

Glenn Close (Dungeons & Daddies):

#Propaganda for Glenn Close: one of the other PCs mentions multiple times how hot he is #Actually several characters point it out but especially Henry #Also the only person in a podcast that has to put a disclaimer about not being a BDSM podcast to have had sex during the course of the show

We didn’t do hot Glenn summer for him to LOSE. Spoilers for his story but MORE PROPAGANDA FOR YOU:

Young hot rocker dilf

Loyal to his dead wife <3

Does in fact smoke weed

BARD!! HES A BARD. HE WAS LEAD GUITAR IN HIS BAND (that he was kicked out of)

His band was a Christmas cover band btw.

Literally the fandom had hot Glenn summer which consisted of drawing him being incredibly hot and sexy

Anti government (ofc)

Kind of cringefail (Disney adult) (was on dilfs of disneyland)

Young and sexy not your style? Then how about HIM AFTER YEARS LOCKED IN A TIME PRISON WITH A DAMN HANNIBAL MASK ??

Lost an eye and wears a fucking eyepatch

One incredibly buff arm

Has a pet rat named after his son <3

Immeasurable amounts of trauma in this man- becomes progressively more unhinged

OH OLD HUMAN BARD ISNT CUTTING IT? FINE

HE BECOMES A FUCKING DEMON

A COOL HOT ONE-EYED DEMON WHO WANTS TO KILL HIS DAD (also sexy)

HE CANONICALLY ENDS CHRISTIAN HELL VIA CHRISTMAS

IS ALSO WAY OVERLEVELED

Becomes a demon hunter for the rest of his existence

Also nonwhite !!! We are done with cringefail whiteboys !!!!!!!!!

I can’t put into words ok just know he is the best plz love him.

Listen, I don't know this other character but I've seem some good arguments for her However Consider Glenn Close winning through no effort of his own in a bullshit way despite being a dick is the most in character thing ever. He leveled up three times and got a crab mech, we GOT to give him this win, it's fitting

I don’t regulate if minors follow me or not bc I’m a pretty chill space but I hope the world is aware that’s the only reason I haven’t been downright nasty about Glenn close. I’m down bad. I’m NOT in the boat of ‘Glenn isn’t sexy but I want him to win bc it’s my fandom’. I would estimate I have 200+ drawings of Glenn on my phone that AREN’T safe for work. Way more that are. Where did they come from? That’s MY business. But I tell you this fact to assure you- Glenn IS sexy. I’m not voting to represent my fandom I’m voting out of TRUTH AND LOVE. IF YOU DON’T GET IT YOU DON’T GET IT!!! I just think my level of feral over this man is more powerful than y’all realize. If you don’t get his sex appeal that’s okay, but don’t doubt that this is my truth.

Okay but Glenn made a minivan cum by talking to her so

HE HAS A BOOK THAT HE MARKS X’S AND CHECKS FOR EVERY DAY TO SEE IF THAT DAY WAS A SUCCESS OR NOT. TO SEE IF HE DID GOOD THAT DAY. ITS ALMOST ENTIRELY X’S. HE WAS CUCKED OUT OF A SON. AND A DEAD WIFE. HE DIDN’T EVEN GET TO KILL HIS DAD IN REVENGE. There’s absolutely nothing going for him except his sex appeal in his life. Nobody he loved remembers him. He lost his eye. All he has is a pet rat and friends who admit they don’t really like him that much. He was kicked out of his own band. The band was named after him. He was kicked out of the Glenn Close trio. All he could do was deez nuts the big bad and be sexy. If nothing else, then pity him. Look in his eyes. Look at his heart and soul. Do you think pickman needs this to feel good about herself? Can she not accept a loss for the sake of a pathetic father? Can she shake hands with the minivan fucker and his human gun and just take the L on this one? He did not do the BDSM episode for this I’ll tell you what. Do this for my his sake. Do it for Nick Jr, who needs the prize money to pay for his rat snacks. Do it for his son. For Morgan. Ganbatte.

Mod Note: While I will still take "bad dads are sexy" propaganda and "bad dads aren't sexy" anti-propaganda, I kindly request no more discussion on whether or not he was a bad father. This is a sexypoll, not a parentingpoll. If you see a post you strongly disagree with, you can just not reblog it.

Mod Note 2: This tournament is about fictional podcast characters. Please do not vote for the real actress Glenn Close.

Lup (The Adventure Zone: Balance):

Is somehow the hot twin between her and Taako

Lup Bluejeans (née... Taaco? Tacco? Taco? Tako? who tf knows this is why I'm going with her husband's last name. doylistly she gets her last name from her brother whose last name is given as "Taako again but spelled differently"): Hot, funny, smart and undead. Is there anything else you could want in a woman?? Well, in case there is: she's also canonically trans

LUP IS THE HOTTEST. VOTE LUP.

#Round 4 #Glenn Close #Lup #Lup TAZ #Dungeons & Daddies #Dungeons and Daddies #Glenn Close DnDads #The Adventure Zone #TAZ Balance

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azsazz · 4 months

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Midnight Muse (Part 15)

Azriel x Reader [Art School AU]

Summary: You and your best friend Feyre have just moved into a new apartment for your sophomore year of college at art school. What you didn't know when you signed the lease is that you'd be living next to three rowdy boys.

Warnings: Mentions of throwing up, doesn't actually happen.

Word Count: 4,008

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14] [Masterlist]

Notes: ENJOY. Also, someone plz tell me they got tagged this time 😭

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Everything fucking hurts.

Your head is throbbing like someone is repeatedly hitting you with a hammer. You can’t even open your eyes because the dots of light in your vision are swimming in circles, and you’re pretty sure if you crack your eyes open and squint into the room you’ll surely lose the contents of your stomach, which is still mostly alcohol from last night.

You groan in agony because it’s the only thing you can do. Curling in further on yourself, you tug the covers up over your head, trying to block as much of the sun, creeping steadily in through the windows, as you can.

A deep inhale to try and ease your stomach brings along the scent of freshness; like night-chilled mist and cedar. The smell is so perfectly balanced, familiar and fresh in your aching lungs that it almost lulls you back to sleep. It’s effortlessly masculine and with another luxurious inhale, your brain connects the scent to its familiarity. It’s the same as the soap you’d used when you were forced to stay the night at the apartment next door, while Feyre and Rhysand had been having their public nudy show in your living room.

You want to snuggle into it, wallow in its comfort all day, but your mind is quickly catching up to you, running that specific thought back a second time, but slower.

It smells like the same soap you’d used when you were at Azriel’s apartment after the rainstorm.

Your eyes snap open and your body jolts into an upright position that makes your stomach roil, shoving your head down between your knees.

Fuck. You drank way too much last night.

You blink away the bleariness, the dizziness from your vision, staring down at your lap. You’re still wearing the clothes you’d ambled over to Cassian’s party in, and the fabric sticks to your skin uncomfortably. You feel like shit all around, sick from the alcohol, dirty from the night spent dancing and sweating, and you’re pretty sure your breath smells like you’d licked the floor of the local dive bar.

Another blink brings the sheets into focus, certainly ones that are not yours. These are a deep charcoal color, softer and smoother than anything you’ve ever touched. The thread count must be in the thousands. The mattress beneath your aching body feels like a cloud, and all of the effort that went into curating such a lovely bed surely shouldn’t be wasted.

You’re impressed for all of a few seconds until you lift your head and realize where you are.

Azriel’s room.

It’s easy to tell because your memories of last night slowly roll in like flipping through pages of your sketchbook.

“Look,” Cassian grunts as you stumble again and he has to put you on your feet again. He’s faring slightly better than you right now, but only because there are women to flirt with. “I know our friendship is still kind of new, but if you keep hanging all over me like this you’re going to scare away the ladies.”

You can’t help but to laugh. It feels good, so good that your chest aches with it. Your cheeks are red with drink, and Cassian hasn’t ever seen you grinning so much.

It kind of scares him.

“Where are your keys?” he continues, his hands warm on your hips where he’s trying to keep you from falling flat on your face. Maybe that last shot you’d taken together had been one too many. “Can I pat down your pockets?”

“I know you wanna feel me up, Cass,” you slur playfully, and his name sounds snake-like, with the way you drag out the S.

“Of course I do, (Y/N), any man would be stupid not to want you,” he comments but his words don’t register because the floor is slipping out from under your feet again.

“Feyre has the keys,” you hiccup. Then, “Are we on a roller coaster? The room is spinning.”

Cassian curses, poking his head out of the crowd to search for your missing roommate. She’s with Rhys, no doubt, but he doesn’t see them in the mass of bodies crowding his apartment. What he does see are a lot of disappointed, single women.

He gestures to you and then slices his hand under his chin in a cutting motion, signaling that he’s not with you, even though you’ve wilted against his chest, rubbing your cheek into the soft fabric of his shirt. Cassian watches his message land, their eyes sparkling in intrigue again, and he doesn’t care, he needs to get you somewhere safe so he can take that pretty brunette and her friend to his room.

The safest place in the apartment he knows is Azriel’s room.

“Oh my fucking Gods,” you groan, holding your head when your curse rings in your ears. Of course you’re in Azriel’s room, because you’re fated to end up in situations that will make him hate you even more.

Slowly, you shove the blankets away, slipping your legs over the edge of the bed. The good news is, you feel like you’ve slept for a hundred hours. The other good thing is that you didn’t throw up anywhere in his room that you can see, or smell.

The bad news is that you don’t know where Azriel is.

But at least he’s not currently here to witness you rising from the dead.

Blindly, you reach for you phone, patting across the table next to the bed. In the back of your throat sits a lump that you consciously work to swallow down. Later, you might regret not purging the rest of the sickness from your body, but the last place you want to do that is here, in Azriel’s room. What the fuck did you end up drinking last night? You remember the flaming shots and Cassian throwing out a partygoer who looked awfully familiar.

Then there had been Mor, who had told you all about Rhysand growing up over a few drinks. The longer Cassian had forced the two of you to talk, presumably so he could sneak off to flirt with girls while you were distracted with each other, the more Rhysand’s cousin seemed to relax. Those cutting looks had turned from pinning you to your spot to glaring at any of the girls who came up to the both of you to ask about the hosts of the party.

Mor’s stories had you seeing your roommate’s boyfriend in a different light. And the embarrassing ones were even better. Like the one time they had gone sledding down the slope of Mor’s family home in Colorado. It had been a steep incline and they’d been warned many times not to go down there, but the fresh snow had been all too tantalizing not to.

Their punishment had been to walk back up the hill to the house, and when they were small the trek felt like it was ten thousand steps high. And they had to carry their sleds behind them. Rhysand had thrown up halfway and Mor had gotten sick from the tears of laughter streaming down her face afterwards.

Cassian’s words cut through the smile trying to sluice across your face. Azriel had said something about a date. Your stomach revolts but you don’t know why. The thought of Azriel missing out on one of Cassian’s parties doesn’t seem out of character for the broody man, but going on a date? This is the first you’ve heard about Azriel doing so. You know much more than you’d like to know about his roommates’ sexual lives, but you didn’t think Azriel was even open to going out. You don’t know why you care.

You don’t.

It doesn’t sound as convincing as it may have once been.

He’s ridiculously attractive, so why wouldn’t he be going on dates? He probably has a plethora of phone numbers from girls begging to go out with him. So many that it makes your teeth grind at the thought.

Your fingers connect with your phone and your head throbs at the brightness of your screen, rivaling the sun’s rays spearing through the blinds.

And then you see the time.

“Shit,” you curse, scrambling for the shoes someone had kindly taken off for you. They’re piled at the foot of the bed.

You’re late for class.

Gods, you don’t remember the last time you drank like this. Must have been sometime last year because even with all the wine you’d consumed during your pottery painting with Feyre, Cassian, and Rhysand, you hadn’t felt this badly. This is a next level hangover.

You brace yourself when your hand lands on the doorknob to his room. There’s a lock and it’s flipped shut, so you turn it back carefully, breathing a sigh of relief when the click is quiet.

You freeze in your tracks, breath catching in your throat when you slide the door open.

Azriel is lying on the couch, his body splayed out in a long line. His shirt has risen from where he’s lifted his arm, resting it over his eyes to block the sun coming in through the windows, revealing the cut of his hips. There’s two tattoos painted on the skin that you hadn’t noticed the other night, a pair of feathered wings lining the defining muscle of his hips.

You lick your lips before realizing that in the quiet of the apartment, Azriel is fast asleep. The steady rise and fall of his chest helps give him away. That, and the fact that he’s not snarking at you or shooting daggers in your direction.

It’s your saving grace.

The coffee table shoved in front of the couch is littered with cups and rolling paper wrappers, alcohol spilled across its surface. You have no idea how the glass tabletop has survived the rowdy part unscathed, because you’re pretty sure there was one point in the night where you saw a girl standing on top of it, readying herself to fall into the crowd of people congregated in the living room.

The floor is much the same, and you feel like you’re walking a minefield as you tiptoe around questionable puddles and garbage. The stench of alcohol in the air makes your head spin, your stomach protesting and you press a hand to it, trying to comfort the ache.

You escape the apartment without waking Azriel, breathing a sigh of relief that has the remainders of your final drink swimming up your throat.

You make a run for your apartment next door, and thankfully, Feyre answers your knocking.

You don’t like the knowing look she’s wearing, but she doesn’t pester you while you make a break for the bathroom.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Surprisingly, it doesn’t take you long to get ready for class.

You’d told Feyre to go on ahead without you when she had knocked softly on the door while you had your head in the toilet, but the sound still clanged through your head like a gong. She was going to get coffee with Rhysand before class and asked if you wanted anything, to which you gratefully accepted.

Even though you have plans to meet Lucien at the coffeehouse for a drink, you need something now or you’re afraid that you won’t make it through the day.

As badly as you want to go and be a hermit in bed all day, you don’t want to miss your classes. Alis is bringing in another model and grading what you come up with in class, and you don’t want to be docked points for missing out.

Your other class for the day is Art History, and you need to show up to be able to drink in as much of the different styles of art as possible.

Dressing quickly, your clothes stick to your freshly-showered skin. You shove a baseball cap over your hair because while you had the time to wash your body, your hair had been left neglected until later tonight.

Slinging your backpack over your shoulder, you snag your sketchbook from your desk, shoving all of the loose papers hanging out the edges inside. It’s a haphazard job at best, but you’re already running too late for your liking, and you can organize them later.

Like as you wait for the Gods-awful elevator your apartment building has.

The queasiness in your stomach has gone down but the piece of toast you’d forced yourself to eat threatens to come right back up when you spot Azriel, his own backpack slung over his shoulder, waiting for the elevator.

You can still turn around and hide away, there’s definitely still time to—of course he’s turning around at the sound of your approaching footsteps.

His golden eyes glitter with amusement and you can’t shove away the shiver that slides down your spine like a paint filled brush as he trails you from head to toe.

“Sleep well?” He asks gruffly, and the sound of his voice makes your knees weak. Tripping on your next step, your sketchbook goes flying from your hands, spilling the loose papers you’d just stuffed in there everywhere.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you can hear Azriel curse in surprise, but you feel the hot mortification slicing through your body. There are sketches of his hands fluttering to the ground. Ones you had drawn while working on your last project for Alis’ class, the one where you drew Leonardo’s Study of Hands. Azriel’s had been your inspiration, and there’s sketches of them in all sorts of poses, some more promiscuous than others, and you’re completely fucking mortified.

You drop to your knees, face burning red as you scoop the papers closer to you, praying that he doesn’t see. Azriel’s already crouching down with you, helping gather some of the drawings, and the fact that this is the first time he’s ever seen any of your work is overshadowed by the fact that there’s a piece of thick drawing paper right next to his boot. It’s creased from its fall, half of it turned up at an angle. You can see the wavy lines you’d tried so hard to recreate from memory. If he picks that up and looks at it you will have to transfer schools.

“Don’t touch that,” you almost screech when his fingers close around the edge of the paper. You watch it in slow motion, the clench of his jaw, the way that his eyes flick down to his hands, marred flesh fully on display. Oh Gods, you think you might throw up all over again. He thinks you mean that you don’t want him to touch your things because of his fucking hands. Your throat tightens, heart beating so fast in your chest that you’re sure it’s going to burst through your skin. Quickly, trying to rectify yourself, you plead, “No.” Your voice cracks around the lump forming but you shove past it. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Azriel’s face is tight as he stands. You scramble, collecting your papers into your arms. He towers over you, even standing, and you don’t like the flicker of muscle in his jaw because he’s clenching his teeth so hard.

You don’t like the shadows writhing through the gold of his eyes, molten with anger.

He hands out the papers he’s picked up and an apology is on the tip of your tongue. Reaching out, you’re just about to grasp them, croak out a thank you, when Azriel drops them.

You watch them flutter to the ground again. The elevator dings and the doors squeal open, but you can’t stop staring at the paper on the ground now. You swallow hard, the mortification bubbling into annoyance.

Azriel’s boots twist in your vision and he enters the elevator without another word.

Your eyes prickle but you don’t know why. The breaths you’re releasing through your nose to keep calm are harsh and shaky. Like Azriel’s hands. You need to go to class, and he can fuck off now.

You dip down and snatch the papers from the hall floor, not caring if they get crumpled in your haste. The doors of the elevator begin wheeling shut but you slip through before they can shut completely, trapping you inside with Azriel.

The tiny, metal box that grinds down the elevator shaft is filled to the brim with tension. You can feel the stiffness wafting off of Azriel’s body, though he’s leaning against the wall like he doesn’t have a care in the world, head currently buried in his phone.

Your anger emits in waves, and you feel like you’re drowning in it. What you had said came out the wrong way. You had in no way meant it in the way that you didn’t want his hands touching your work, but the way you’d seen Azriel go preternaturally still, something flash in his eyes, still makes you sick to your stomach. You want to cry, because they’re not tainted in the least. If anything, his hands are the most beautiful hands you’ve ever seen, imperfect yet so, so perfect.

Of course he had retaliated in the way that he did. You would’ve misconstrued the comment as well, but there’s an itch on your side that tells you he didn’t have to react like that, throwing your papers back to the ground. Another misunderstanding between the two of you.

You open your mouth to speak, but there’s a screeching that’s more horrible than it usually is, and the elevator is jerking to a grinding halt.

You stumble a little, and Azriel steadies you before removing his hands just as quickly. His brows are pinched and the lights in the tiny space flicker before going out completely.

“What the fuck?” You question, pitched higher because of your nerves. You’re stuck, the elevator has stopped working and you’re stuck in it with Azriel. “Oh my Gods, we’re trapped!”

Azriel grunts, punching the buttons on the door. An emergency light flickers on, casting the metal box in a low, fluorescent light. Nothing that he’s doing works, and you’re officially beginning to freak out.

You watch Azriel try to pry the doors open, but even with the bulging of his biceps he’s no match for the metal jaws of death.

Throwing a look over his shoulder, he says, “What are you standing around for, princess? Call the fire department or something.”

“Right,” you respond weakly, pulling your attention from his muscular form. The dispatch is nice about it, sending someone your way and all you have to do is stay calm and await assistance. “Thanks, “ you reply to her, hanging up the phone and turning back to Azriel. “So we wait.”

He looks like he wants to ask more questions, but he nods instead, sinking down and making himself comfortable against the wall. Looking up at you expectantly, you sigh, dropping your bag from your shoulder and collapsing to the floor across from him.

His legs are so long they nearly stretch across the entire elevator, and you can’t help but follow the path back to his eyes, glowing as he watches you. You avert your gaze as quickly as possible.

You don’t know how long it will take for the fire department to get here, so you shoot a quick text to Feyre with your predicament, letting her know that you won’t be able to make it to class and to give your coffee away. Then you send a sad emoji because you really, really needed that caffeine.

Across from you, Azriel’s phone buzzes. He reads it, and then his eyes flicker up to yours in a glare.

“Cassian seems to think that this is funny,” he says, and you don’t know why the deep timber of his voice feels like fingers brushing across your skin. “Why did you tell them?”

“I texted Feyre,” you huff defensively. Crossing your arms over your chest, you level him with your own glare. “I don’t control who she tells.”

Azriel rolls his eyes, shutting off his screen.

It’s silent for a long time. There are no sounds coming from outside of the elevator, and you wonder if anyone has even noticed that it’s trapped. The godsdamned thing takes so long to arrive at any floor that you think most patrons take the stairs now, or give in when the elevator of doom never reached their floor.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt, mostly to break the silence. Azriel raises a straight brow and you flush. Sheepishly, you continue. “I didn’t mean what I said in the hall like that. I just—I didn’t want you to see my sketches.”

It’s the most you can give him without spilling the truth of exactly what the drawings were.

Azriel’s jaw works, and it looks like he’s contemplating something important, with the way he’s assessing you. Maybe he’s trying to read if you’re telling the truth, if your apology is sincere or not. The intensity of his eyes makes you want to pull your hat down over your own face to hide it from sight.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” He surprises you by asking.

Your lips part in shock. “What?”

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” He asks again, because he doesn't know how he can word the question any differently.

The question throws you. Azriel’s ignored your apology, and instead he’s asking what you’re doing tomorrow night? Has the elevator getting stuck somehow transported you into the Twilight Zone? Is this even really Azriel sitting here with you?

“Um…nothing?” you respond, and he quirks a brow.

“Is that a question or an answer, princess?”

“An answer. I’m doing nothing. Why?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, tipping his head back to rest against the wall, as if he’s contemplating even finishing his question. He looks ever the picture of nonchalance, but what you can’t see is the way he’s curling his fingers to stop their trembling, the rapid beating of his heart.

“I’m having an exhibition tomorrow night. Would you like to join me?”

What? You’re even more dumbfounded now than if that had been the end of the conversation. An exhibition? Tomorrow night? And he’s asking you of all people?

“Who are you and what have you done with my douchebag neighbor?” you ask, shifting in your spot.

A wry smile cracks his mouth and it makes your heart flutter. “Still here, princess.”

Your mouth twists sourly at the nickname. “Let me get this straight. You want me to go to an exhibition with you tomorrow night?”

“Yes,” Azriel nods, agreeing with the echo of his words you’ve just replayed back to him.

“Why don’t you ask your roommates to go with you?”

“They don’t know about it.”

Huh. You don’t know why Azriel wouldn’t invite Cassian or Rhysand to an exhibition he’s having. Well, you could see Cassian wreaking havoc and drinking too much champagne, but Rhys? It seems like the perfect spot for someone like him.

You mull it over, analyzing him. Azriel waits patiently as you study his eyes. The gold is bright under these lights, looking like two golden bars of sun. He’s never been easy to read, and even right now, as you’re trying with all of your might, you can’t find any flicker of anything that tells you this may be a joke.

You tut, crossing your arms over your chest to stop yourself from wringing your fingers in your lap. “Why me?”

“No one better to go with than someone I’m not trying to impress,” Azriel answers seriously. And, he has a point there. You won’t have to hold back from telling him your honest opinion of his work.

You hope that he’s terrible at art, but you have a feeling he’s anything but.

“That doesn’t give me a lot of time to find something to wear.”

His eyes flash and you wish you knew why.

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s not a no.”

Azriel nods, and that’s that. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at eight, then.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

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#midnight muse #tattoo artist!azriel #artist!azriel #art school au #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel/reader #azriel au

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pedge-page · 4 months

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i love your preggo wife drabbles soo much!!! could you write one where joel takes care of reader with her morning sickness? 🫶🏻

Joel dealing with Preggo Reader: Morning Sickness

Notes: Idk why I keep making reader so mean but he's such a trooper! I'm also no pregnancy expert obviously so plz take my minimal effort in research with a grain of salt.

Warnings: mean reader, language, vomitting, morning sickness

- - - -

"I hate your penis."

Joel rolls his eyes. It's only the 11th time you've said it today while being hunched over the toilet, with Joel caringly hovering over you, holding your hair out of the way as you take a deep breath and hurl the breakfast he made you this morning.

"I hate—"

"I know, sweet pea. Just breathe."

You nod in an almost drunken state. He knows its because you've got no energy in you to really fight him, with the baby giving you all the first batch of hell in the life long journey of headaches in child bearing.

He rubs over your spin, caressing the shivers raking over your body so you can focus on not dying right now.

"I hate your toes. I hate your shampoo. I hate your fingernails. I hate your toast. I hate—"

"Ah huh..."

At first he was pretty upset and angered by how much you loath him, but at some point he's tuned it out and just holds and shushes you. While you pout your disdain for the man, you don't oppose his touch.

For now.

"Doin' so good, baby. It's only temporary, baby's just making sure you're a tough momma—"

"Shut the fuck up and get me some water."

Joel stands, his knees reminding him of his less than youthful age, before running downstairs and grabbing a bottle.

You were both a little surprised that all the morning sickness you were warned about hadn't really given either of you trouble in your first trimester. It came with a surprise by the middle of your second, and comes and goes on a daily basis. Today is honestly not so bad: it's your attitude shift that really gives him whiplash.

By the time he gets back up, you're already meandering out of the bathroom like a lost soul with puffy, sleep deprived eyes, and over to the bed, slowly crawling over the mattress, muttering "too tall". You feel his hand supportively on your back, but you snap "fuck off" and get in the bed yourself. He goes to tuck you in with the sheet, but again your hand slaps his away and you close your eyes into darkness.

You can still feel his annoying presence. "What!" You yell, eyes shooting open to see the bottle dangling from his hand. You snatch it without a thank you and gulp.

Joel's just got his hands on his hips, staring at you.

"Kern I hEp ouu, Hondah?" You gurgle through your water sloshing in your mouth.

He just chuckles to himself. "You're cute like this."

You swallow. "I'll fuck you the fuck up."

He laughs even harder, seemingly unserious in your threats. To him, you looked even smaller than before, despite the obvious roundness growing in your tum tum. You seemed like some small puppy finding her growl, or toddler pointing her finger trying to be intimidating but unaware of how badly you're failing.

"So amusing? Why dont you make yourself useful and rub my feet," you demand.

"You need to eat food, baby girl."

"BaBy GiRl" you mock with puppet hand mouth. "NAG nag NAG. I Don't WANT food. I want my FOOT. In your HAND. before I put it up your ASS."

Joel can tolerate the baby cock-blocking him for a few weeks and the endless assult of your words, but he puts his foot down when your basic needs arent being met. "I need you to eat food. You need energy. Baby needs energy."

"Fine! Crackers, you crackhead. Then—" and you thrust your leg in the hair and wiggle your foot in his face so he gets the picture.

"Okay okay!" And he walks out the bedroom.

Joel spends a record 4 minutes downstairs hurriedly putting together a fancy array of cracker options, from Saltines, to Townhouse, to Ritz. He also pops a few cubes of diced ham in his mouth and then holds a few in his hand to snack on later since he too had to abandon breakfast to service you.

By the time you're conplaining "it's been hours!" He's trotting up the stairs, you wiggle your bum so you sit upright in bed, hand over gurgling belly as he brings the tray to you.

Just as youre about to feast on these dry ass cardboard squares, your nose twitches. You see Joel chewing something in his grasp, popping one cube of pale meat quickly into his mouth, and it takes all of 2 seconds for the smell to travel to your brain before you're throwing the tray on the ground, crackers spilling all over the carpet and b lining to the bathroom again to throw up.

As he hears your dramatic gasps and hurls, Joel pulls out his little note pad he's been documenting your pregnancy so far. He writes "no ham" in the lines , right under "hates my penis", before tossing the paper on the bed and stroking your hair lovingly again as you empty your entire organs in the toilet.

By the time you finish, you've got snot and tears running down your face. "but I LOVED HAAAMMMMM" You screech.

It's true. You used to wrap a thick spread of cold butter on a slice of cheap deli ham and eatnit like a cannoli— something he thought was a weird aquired taste BEFORE he even got you pregnant.

Joel grabs a tissue and plants it firmly in your face, and you squeeze your eyes tight and blow right into his palm like a little snot nosed trumpet. He rubs his fingers in your nostrils to get all the boogers out before tossing it and helping you up to your feet again.

All the while you're bawling "l-l-loved—my hh-ham—n cheese" with gross babbling as he tucks you back in the duvet. You were fine with giving up other aversions like tomatoes, pizza crust, and yogurt. Even sex (occasionally). But your beloved ham is one baby step too far.

"Your—"sniffle— "big—"hiccup—"ugly—"choke—"WORM —" cough—"DID THIS TO MEEE," you accuse his crotch and wail into the air.

Then you hiccup very loudly and go quiet entirely.

You look around with curious eyes, fresh tears suddenly unbothering you at the moment.

"Mmmmmmmn crackers," you moan. "Gimme that one," and you point to the mess on the floor.

"What one?"

"That one!"

He bends down and picks up a piece.

But you shake your head. "No that one."

"No." "No the other." "No."

"Which one!" He shouts, unable to contain the lace of frustration.

"The one I'm pointing to, stupid!"

He finally picks up one hes pointed to 3 times already and you clap your hands.

You snatch it out of his grasp, pull a hair off its curved cracked edge before munching on it happily.

He looks at with uncertainty on his face.

You swallow the dry mushed bits and hum contently. "Mmm. Salty."

Not even 12 hours later you two are getting ready for bed, and you mood has completely changed. Still sick, but instead of being unable to stand Joel's entire existence, you praise it.

"Joel, honey? Can you please prop my feet up Under this pillow. I'm sorry. I just can't seem to reach it myself."

"Baby? I'm a little thirsty. Can you get me some water?"

"Im so sorry, Joel. I just can't stomach this food, I know you put so much effort into it. Ugh! I loved this, I really did! I don't know what's wrong with me."

You rub over the discomfort in your slightly swollen tummy and try to be a brave girl and fight the tears, as Joel's been so attentive to your needs, aches, cries and cravings, only to hurl them back up.

You sniffle and look up to him.

He's a bit tense, almost in a fight or flight stance with fear behind his eyes.

"W-whats wrong, Joel?" you ask with a honey song voice.

"Who are you and what have you done with my wife?"

- - - -

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verysium · 6 months

Note

how bllk boys would react when u draw them, could either be rlly good or rlly SHIT u choose idk (plz include barou and the itoshi bros) 😊😊😊 i love you and ur works, and the way u write the boys and ur content makes me laugh fr, one of my fave bllk authors mwjahaja 😓 have a great day, ily:3 and the icks post made me smile like all of ur posts do!

thank you so much anon ♡ this ask had me contemplating very seriously, so apologies if it's a bit late:

sae is definitely awestruck in some way, even if he doesn't immediately show it. i think i talked about this in a previous headcanon, but he has a deep-seated admiration for artists who can grasp abstract concepts because he himself cannot. he would be somewhat flattered if you drew him since he's never considered his own appearance to be particularly inspiring. would be appalled if you considered him your muse. like....why? to him, his looks aren't anything of importance (clearly he is blind.) would probably say your drawing was inaccurate but then hang it up by his nightstand so he can look at it every night before he goes to sleep. if you're a full-time artist, he probably keeps a little stash of your gifts in a small box beneath his bed. sometimes if he's having a bad day or he lost a game, he goes back and flips through them just to make himself feel better. secretly loves the way you draw his bangs and the little swoop you do in your signature.

kaiser corrects every single detail in your drawing. stands behind you and gives you little pointers here and there. he should have an 8-pack, not a 6-pack. his jawline isn't sharp enough in your initial sketch. poses shirtless in front of you so that way you can encapsulate the full extent of his sexiness. shows off your drawing to every living creature in existence. "isn't he handsome?" like...🙄 yeah, michael we know. he's probably the hardest to draw because of his tattoo, so i think he genuinely appreciates it when you put in the effort to capture his intricacies. will never admit this but he's low-key proud of you and your talent (mostly just your ability to make him look good.)

rin is one of those people who doesn't understand hyperrealism. like why does he need a highly detailed sketch of his face when he can just take a photo and print it out? i don't think he understands art in general. probably despises modern art too. he'd take one look at a rothko painting and be like....i could draw this too...in my sleep. similar to sae, i feel like he's just numb to the sentimentality of gift-giving. doesn't understand why you would waste your time drawing a little picture of him, but it does make his heart feel strangely fuzzier, so maybe he'll keep it this one time. lo and behold, months later he now has a collection of your drawings he doesn't have the heart to throw away. refuses to let isagi or anyone see them because they're meant for his eyes only.

yukimiya has impeccable taste. in fact, he's probably an artist himself. i think it'd be cute if you both drew little sketches of each other throughout the course of your relationship. but neither of you ever knew until you gifted him your sketchbook for christmas, and he was like....guess what...i drew you too. thinks you're pretty even when you don't think so. sometimes when you're having a coffee shop date, he scribbles a portrait of you on his napkin because the sunlight hit your cheek just right in that moment, and the birds were chirping, and he fell in love all over again. i think it's also tragic that he's slowly losing his eyesight, so he won't be able to enjoy your drawings and the vibrant colors you infuse into them. that's why he treasures them even more. probably thumbs over the pages from time to time. memorizes every stroke and line.

isagi likes the way you always draw that little tuft of hair that sticks up on the top of his head. it looks like a cute little bean sprout. he pins your drawings up above his bed next to a polaroid of you two in germany. buys you a professional art set for your birthday. if you're a digital artist, he buys you a new tablet and stylus.

bachira adds his own doodles next to yours except he makes a chibi version of everything. always pesters you to include his little fangs. uses the boldest combination of colors. he would definitely be a messy artist. paint everywhere. fingernails perpetually stained a different color. you both draw during class, so when you two trade notebooks to actually study......there aren't any actual notes.

barou acts like he doesn't know what to do with your drawing of him but then the next day you visit his house, and he's already put your artwork in a fancy picture frame. refuses to let anyone else even stand within a ten meter radius next to it because he doesn't want their "nasty fingerprints" all over your beautiful masterpiece.

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johnwickb1tsch · 2 months

Text

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 31 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

Maybe it’s silly, but you feel as though you have a new lease on life, in the days that follow.

John is still undeniably clingy, but so very sweet. It is a much easier form of obsession to bear.

You are still a prisoner, but at least you feel loved.

Perhaps even more precious, you begin to feel safe.

Whatever possessive madness gripped him before seems to have receded for now, and maybe you’re a fool, but you dare hope in time he might make a full recovery.

Now that you’ve reached a sort of understanding, John seems bent on making up for lost time. There is no doubt that you are still his prey, but now he ambushes you with the express intention of making you cum—whether you like it or not.

Again, you find yourself begging him for reprieve, though this time through laughter rather than tears. He swallows your protests with devouring kisses, eating your cries whole as he slides his long fingers inside you and works your clit masterfully with his thumb.

When you complain of your difficulty sitting down, a gift of a hemorrhoids donut pillow appears. You think he meant it as a joke.

John likes to give gifts, you find.

When one day you walk into your studio to find a bejeweled set of headphones bedecked like a crown, you cannot help but grin like an idiot. It is ridiculous what those fucking things cost, and you’d thought you’d been clever about concealing your enchantment with them in Italy, but nothing escapes John Wick’s sharp eye.

When he finds you later wearing your new coronet, singing out of tune while you put paint down on canvas, he presses you into the worktable with his hips and his kisses, going down on his knees before you with a murmur of, “My beautiful queen.” His words make your knees weak, as does his insatiable tongue in your slit. It’s all so much, and when you beg him to take you there on the table he is all too happy to oblige, scattering your pastels in a rainbow of projectiles with a sweep of his arm before driving himself inside you. With legs wrapped around his waist in a desperate effort to hold on, you take the fury of his adoration with a cock-drunk smile.

If you learned anything in the darker times before, it is that this man is a predator to the bone, and no matter what his mood, he loves a good chase. It becomes your favorite game, and it starts one evening when you splash him while doing the dishes. The look of surprise on his face is priceless, and with a screech you run for the stairs.

You only get so far as the living room before he catches you, his arm like a band of iron around your waist hauling you from your feet entirely. It happens too fast to register, but by some form of ninja magic you are suddenly on the floor, the lean length of his body on top of you. On the plush oriental rug with his thick cock inside you, this man makes you see God.

It feels alarmingly, magnificently, terrifyingly, like truly making love.

“Has anyone ever loved you, the way I do?” he demands desperately, filling you impossibly to the brim.

“Never,” you barely manage to answer, the force of his thrust stealing your breath away.

The next question is much more vulnerable.

“Have you ever loved anyone, the way you love me?”

“Never.”

It’s true, and in the softening of his gaze you dare to hope that someday he will believe you enough.

It is surprising, how quickly the time passes. Despite the circumstances, it is not terribly hard to live with John Wick, like this. He is sweet, and loving, and he spoils you rotten. You could almost mistake your relationship for normal—if one didn’t look too hard at the locks on all the doors.

Soon summer is fading, giving way to the golden hours of early fall. You see it out the window, but since your little car ride, you still have not been allowed outside. You’re an outdoorsy girl, and frankly, it’s starting to drive you a little crazy. You find yourself clawing at the impenetrable windows with a sigh.

John’s mood has been steady, but your heart is still in your throat when you dare ask, “John, can we go out?”

He looks up from his book, the fall of his dark hair covering half his face as he cants his head in thought. They say familiarity breeds contempt, but even after all this close proximity, you still find him beautiful. You do not think that will ever change.

“Why?” he finally asks, and you detect the shadow of suspicion in his tone.

“Because I miss it.”

You used to hike every day off you had. Being indoors this long…is doing things to your brain.

You watch as his nostrils flare, his chest rising and falling as he considers this request. You can tell he doesn’t like the thought at all, but you force yourself to stand your ground. He won’t punish you for this, surely? Just for asking?

Of course, he might punish you for what you’ll do later, if the answer is no.

In the end he nods, though more to himself than to you. “I’ll think about it.”

“Think about it fast? The weather will be turning soon.”

The look he pays you then is less kind, his eyes sharp as glittering obsidian. “I said. I’ll think about it.”

You sigh, assuming the answer is no, and retreat to sulk in your studio. You are painting the view from your favorite outlook on the mountain trail nearby from memory when you start to hear an odd, rhythmic toque…toque sound, over and over.

You go downstairs, searching for the source. No dice in the living room or the kitchen. You follow your ears to the bank of windows off the living room. There’s another door (locked, of course) that leads to a patio. You see John outside…chopping wood? Watching the pine rounds explode under the sharp blade of an axe in his hands shouldn’t be this fascinating, but you find yourself pressed to the window, transfixed. The definition in the muscles of his forearms as he swings down are a sight to behold.

You’re not sure he can see you, the way the glass is mirrored on the outside, but you knock on the widow anyway. He looks up at you with narrowed eyes at first. Then, a small smile. It feels like a little gift, just for you, and it quickens your heart. Watching him do everyday things moves you, and you acknowledge to yourself uneasily for the umpteenth time that you’re in so deep.

As it turns out, the wood was for a little pit fire, which you sit together and watch with a glass of wine that evening out on the patio. The tall trees loom all around you, pitch black outside the ring of your little campfire. It feels so good to be out of the house, but it’s not quite what you wanted. As though he senses that you’re not exactly satisfied with his offering, John tries to distract you with his kisses, laying you down on the outdoor couch to wreck you with his mouth. You make love with your skin bared to the great outdoors, but no one to really see you in your seclusion. Later you snuggle under a soft blanket together.

Sated, you let it go, for now.

-But John doesn’t forget, and one morning he wakes you early with kisses on your ear. “If you want to hike, we have to go now,” he tells you. You have become spoiled in your captivity, no longer at the mercy of coffee house hours, now used to sleeping through the morning after John keeps you up late with his kisses and his beautiful cock, but the offer of getting to really go outdoors has you up and at ‘em in minutes.

You find your old pair of broken-in Merrel hikers in the walk-in closet, and realize John must have accessed your possessions from your previous life at some point. It’s so strange to see them—you realize in the suspended reality of your current situation, you’ve almost written off everything that came before.

There is a distinct mental separation in your personal timeline—BW, and AW; Before Wick, and After Wick.

You have a quick breakfast and coffee before stepping outside, the sun just peeking over the horizon.

You can hardly describe the elation you feel, at last being allowed to walk out that front door like you are almost normal. You are so happy just to feel the morning air on your skin. You stand in the driveway like a simpleton, your face lifted to the sky, soaking in the sun. There is a cool breeze that smells of pine, and it is the sweetest thing you have inhaled in a long time.

John watches your reaction intensely, and you do not think you invent it, when you see a glimmer of guilt in his expressive mocha eyes. Intent on assuring him, you stand on tiptoe, pressing a kiss to his bearded chin with your front flush to his.

“Thank you,” you say, and he relaxes slightly against you, resting his forehead against yours.

You are practically skipping as you hit the trail in his woods that connects to the bigger loop. You cannot help but think about that day in the snow, when you met him, alone, on that very path. How easily he could have had you then. It is another clue that tells you he hadn’t decided yet—or he had not yet cracked.

This early, in the middle of the week, it isn’t likely you’ll meet anyone in the woods. You feel a trill of nervousness, as you wonder what would happen if you did. You have been kept to yourself for so long, the thought of contact with other people out in the world feels strange, a little frightening, even.

As you walk an exuberance overtakes you, fills you head to toe. It almost feels like you’re…free. The only contradiction to that is the tall man in black walking by your side. He has let you have free reign, not insisting on holding on to you. He doesn’t have to, you know. He could just run you down with those delectably long legs of his any time he wanted, surely.

That doesn’t mean the thought of it isn’t titillating, even if you absolutely know you would be destined to lose. Perhaps he truly has broken you at last, but you have come to love the game of chase too. It is your most exciting distraction in your world that is limited to the confines of the Wick cabin.

You are going to be sore the next day, you know. It’s been…forever, since you’ve been able to walk like this. The most exercise you’ve really gotten has been engaging in your sexcapades with John—as much of a workout as that is—it’s a different group of muscles.

Perhaps he does not insist on holding you, but it doesn’t stop you from reaching for him. You squeeze John’s hand in thank you.

Despite everything…it feels like a perfect day.

“Maybe this is far enough for today,” he says as you approach the junction with the main trail, the line of his private property and the park that adjoins it.

Disappointment spears through you. You are not ready to go back into your prison. It’s turning into a beautiful day, and you have so much energy to burn.

You make a pouty face, playing cute while you are flirting with rebellion inside.

“But the overlook is so pretty this time of year,” you insist, batting your lashes. Lately, that’s been enough to get your way on little things in the house. Today you feel like you can’t lose. Everything is too good.

He narrows his eyes down at you, as though he senses your internal mutiny, but in all your elation you feel strangely impervious. You realize you feel high, the kind of mood lift usually people have to ingest pills to get.

“Y/n…” He reaches for you, and without thinking you step just out of reach. You’ve played this game a dozen times now in the house. A game you’ve never, to this day, won, but you’ve found it’s the thrill of a lifetime, to be chased down by this man, trusting he won’t really hurt you. It always leads to mind-blowing sex, and maybe you are thinking a bit too much with a lust-addled brain alongside your elation for the great outdoors.

There is a very pregnant moment between you, and you smile when his intense eyes meet yours, your lips curling in what you know is a shit-eating little grin. What happens next is pure reflex; an extension of a thing you’ve done repeatedly together, with a dash of that age-old ingrained instinct of prey in the presence of a predator. But now you’re outside, and your jubilation is magnified times a hundred.

You run.

“Y/n!”

He lunges for you, his fingertips just brushing your arm, but in the end he’s–amazingly–too slow.

You are a human missile, rocketing down the hill, fueled by gravity and the knowledge of how to move in this environment you’ve trained for since you were just a child. You may as well be a wood sprite, for this is your element. This is your mountain, and no matter how many wealthy interlopers buy it up and carve it into parcels and drive up the price of everything so that locals like you can barely live—this will always be your home.

It feels so good to run.

Your feet fly over the needle-strewn forest floor, jumping over rocks and dodging trees. You laugh like a madwoman, the sweet sweet mountain air filling your lungs. You run like a wild thing of the woods, the way you used to when you were a child, before your parents decided to break the oath they'd made to each other and split your happy world to pieces. While your parents fought you would flee to the trees to be free, and you feel that desperate euphoria again. That feeling like you can fly, jumping over rocks and launching from boulders.

You sense more than hear John behind you, your own ears filled with the rushing of your blood and your racing heartbeat. His fingertips brush your back before you juke him around a tree. You hear him curse and you laugh—you do sound mad.

“Have to do better than that, old man!” you crow.

You realize with another rush that you are far more agile than John is. The trees are your friend, the way you dart around them and power yourself down a new line of retreat. You hear him curse after grazing one, and you realize you might break the poor man’s neck, making him pursue you like this.

In a pine-needle carpeted clearing you make yourself slow down, and you are so high on adrenaline it doesn’t even hurt when he finally tackles you to the ground, your grin like a baring of teeth, giddy from the chase. He pins your hands above your head, sharp pebbles digging into your skin as you laugh.

“What the fuck—” You interrupt him mid tirade with your mouth on his, a hungry kiss that swallows his fury, but does not quench it. Already anticipating the passion of your (and his) reward with his delicious weight pressed down into you, your legs are wrapped around his waist, pulling him close.

“You think you’re cute?” he snarls above you when at last you separate.

“I am very cute,” you assert, still giggling to yourself. “Don’t be mad. You love this game.”,

“Maybe I’d love to spank that cute ass of yours raw?”

“Nuh-uh. No hitting.”

You’d made a deal, after all.

He narrows his eyes down at you, and this is when you finally start to sense that maybe he is not half as amused as you are. Your blood runs cold, and before you can blink he has you flipped over on your belly, your pants down around your thighs.

“No—”

You try to squirm away, but his inexorable hand is in your hair—it makes for a damn good handle, the bastard. His big hand digging into the globe of your ass makes you quiver under his fingers.

Your heart plummets into freefall, as you realize he’s serious. And you can tell he’s not talking about the playful little smacks he sometimes gifts you in the middle of riding his cock to completion. He means to punish you, and the knowledge takes you from the highest high to the blackest despair. You can barely hear past the sound of your heartbeat in your ears, the familiar fear and uncertainty from before creeping in. Not again. Life was so good. Please don’t go back to this shit again. You can’t go back to the way things were. You can’t live like that again.

A revelation settles over you with irrefutable clarity. You accept it as truth with every cell of your being, and you know there will be no going back after this.

“If you hit me we’re done.”

There’s no hint of playfulness in your tone either now. Just…resolve. You mean what you say, to the very marrow of your bones.

“I think I must have confused you, y/n. You are not in charge here.”

“Maybe not. But I’ll tell you this. If you hit me, I’ll fight you to my dying breath. I mean it.”

Like watching yourself from the outside, you almost find it interesting that this is the true limit of your generosity with him. This is the cliff’s edge. The point of no return. Your resolve is unmoving, even if it fills you with absolute misery. You could lose him now, today, this very minute. This man who keeps you prisoner, yet with whom you have lived happily the past months. This complicated, broken man, who you love with all your heart.

In this insane moment you realize with soul-shaking clarity…you don’t want to leave him. What would you do with your life? Go back to your stupid little existence at the coffee shop, working your fingers to the bone, doodling on the chalkboard, waiting? You’ve spent most of your life just fucking waiting. Waiting to travel. Waiting for something good to happen. Waiting…for this man to come through the door, so you could pester him for five minutes, knowing it would be the highlight of your day.

Could you possibly go back to looking up at the mountain, knowing your Beast in his castle resides there? That a man who loved you like no other is there pining for you?

But if he crosses this line—you will have to leave, somehow. Or die trying. That is your heartfelt resolution. That is the promise you make to yourself. You’ve made too many compromises as of late, and this is a battle for your very soul.

You feel him like a malevolent storm cloud behind you, trembling in his fury, but for once, torn as to what to do. You realize this is the only time you’ve seen him doubt himself, when he’s contemplating teaching you a lesson.

You dare to try to talk him down, your voice calmer, or perhaps more distant. You don’t know how you muster the courage; perhaps only in the knowledge that this could truly be it for the two of you. No more we’ll see how it goes or maybe it will be better tomorrow. There is only now.

“This thing we’ve somehow built together, despite everything…” You shake your head, trembling as much out of fear as despair. “It will be destroyed, and you’re the one who will have broken it.”

“You’re the one who ran from me!”

You can tell from the hushed fury in his voice that he is hanging on by a thread. You realize now, what a stupid thing that had been to do. That despite the games you’ve been playing in the house, out here, he just couldn’t handle it. Even just the slightest possibility of you leaving is enough to drive this man off the edge.

“I let you catch me.” You will him to believe you. You even half believe it yourself.

“The hell you did.”

“It’s true. I know these woods better than you. I’m smaller. I’m faster. I let you.”

“Bullshit.”

Before you can hardly think about what to do you lower your face to the dirt, offering your ass in the air. You know he can see your puffy slit, your glistening opening just begging for him. This is how he has warped you; or maybe you were a twisted little thing all along, just waiting for him to show you the way to your ruin. Either way—you want him, and you will him to see it for himself.

“I let you catch me,” you insist again. “So give me my reward.”

You feel the tremor run through him, from his fingertips to his core.

You realize that he wants to believe you. That maybe punishing you was never really the fun for him at all, in this deadly game you’ve been playing.

You feel him shift his position behind you, his merciless hold moving to your hip. When his long fingers slide into your wet folds you mewl like a cat; half relieved, and half just needing him. He makes you buck by circling your bud, before delving inside your weeping channel with two of his fingers. It makes you moan, and if someone walks up the trail my god will they get an eyeful, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Does that feel like someone who’s afraid of you?” you bluff. Because wanting this man has never really stopped you from fearing him. Fearing what, exactly, has shifted over time. In the end though, maybe just that he would be the absolute ruin of you.

He only grunts in answer, spreading your juices around your aching pussy. When his fingers withdraw you whine in protest, but you hear him rifle with his clothing, the zzzip of his fly jerked downwards. When his thick tip kisses your entrance you could weep, offering your ass even higher in the air.

“You are a very bad girl,” he tells you as he slides home, making you writhe with a mixture of pleasure and pain.

“I’m your bad girl,” you correct him, and he growls behind you, thrusting again. He’s not treating you with the usual care he pays this position, but you take it anyway. Gladly, if this will mend the thing between you, you’ll take it all.

“I would have found you, you know,” he pants as he thrusts, his hand weaving in your hair. “Even if you made it down the mountain…there’s nowhere in the world you can hide from me.”

You absolutely believe him.

“I know,” you tell him, your face in the dirt, yet somehow still loving the feeling of him behind you, filling you absolutely and completely. “You don’t–have to–lock me up, John,” you pant, interrupted by the violence of his thrusts. “Because I know I can’t escape you.”

This makes him growl again, that primal, possessive sound that touches the darkest recesses of your cavewoman brain. It is as though there is no part of you, inside or out, that this man cannot touch. He drapes his long body over yours, engulfing you in the shelter of his warmth. Even now, you cannot stop yourself from leaning back into him, pressing your smooth cheek to his soft beard. His tone is pure gravel, but you know him well enough now to sense the vulnerability in his words too. “But do you want to escape now?” he asks.

“No,” you tell him, and you know in your heart this isn’t manipulation, or vying for a better chance to run somewhere down the line. It’s just the truth, and you even surprise yourself as you say, “No, I don’t want to leave you.”

He goes still behind you as he evaluates this heartfelt confession, his harsh breathing and the pulsing of his cock buried inside you his only movement.

“I want to believe you.” You only enjoy a moment of relief, before he rears again behind you, driving himself into you to the hilt. “But I can’t.”

Your heart plummets as you realize he still cannot bring himself to trust your word, to have the faith to walk out into thin air, the way normal people do when they dare to fall in love. He cannot leave anything to chance with you, and now you are not sure he ever will.

He really might keep you locked up forever.

You feel the earth beneath you, hyper aware of the pine needles in your clenched hands, the wonderful smell of the dirt and ancient rocks below. The cool breeze on your bared skin, and the dappled light filtering through the pines. What if this really is the last time you are ever allowed outside?

There was always a glimmer of hope on the distant horizon for you, that little light of optimism that never quite managed to extinguish, despite everything he put you through. But now you feel it leave you, stealing the integrity from your very bones. You go limp beneath him, only his iron-grip on your hips holding your ass in the air as he uses you. When he reaches down to find your slippery bud you are no longer in the mood, and perhaps foolishly, you try to shake him off.

“Just get it over with.”

You already know it’s the absolute worst thing you can say, but now you don’t care.

“But I thought my darling wanted to enjoy the great outdoors?” He doesn’t sound half as angry as you expected him to, but there is still something sharp in his tone that puts you on edge. Like glimpsing a dorsal fin parting still waters, you know something dangerous swims underneath.

He slows his thrusts behind you, so that his magnificent length stretches you just right without hurting you. He uses his now expert knowledge against you, weaponizing the hours you’ve spent in bed together making up for lost time. You can’t stop yourself from arching into him, canting your hips to intensify the sensation, and now you bow your head so you don’t have to see his smug smile. “Goddamn you.”

He huffs with laughter, though there’s no real humor in it. “You’re too late, I’m sure.”

This time when he touches you, you are desperate for it, your aching walls squeezing him in search of release. It tears a groan from deep in his throat, a sound you know so well by now, and you realize you can use your own knowledge of this man against him too. You squeeze him again, almost in challenge, and it becomes a contest between you, who can bring the other to pieces first. You have to admit that his blunt fingers on your clit are heaven, and your heart pounds too fast in your chest, your head light as you very nearly forget to breathe in your concentration. He tries to hold himself off as you move to take him deeper. He cannot control your body as well as he would like, like this, with his fingers buried in your slit, and you almost smile at his grunt of frustration at you.

In the end you both lose.

You cum so hard on his cock you see stars, a ringing in your ears as a merciless pleasure breaks and explodes through you. He fares no better, filling you with ropes of hot seed as he moans, loud enough to echo across the mountains.

Maybe you do feel a little better, panting in the soft leaf litter with his body draped over yours again, his heavy breathing and soft lips upon your neck. As usual, you feel bereft when he withdraws, wishing you could hold him inside you longer. You didn’t bring anything to clean up with, and you anticipate a soggy walk home back up the hill.

In fact, after sprinting, then fucking like animals on the ground, you’re not even sure you can walk.

It’s John who rises first, groaning with the effort. He glares down at you, as though daring you to make another old man jab. For the moment, however, you are out of quips, out of jokes, and out of clever repartee. Even though you know it shouldn’t be so easy for him to tame you, you snuggle under his chin anyway, kissing the swell of his Adam’s apple. For a moment he sags against you, savoring this sweetness, before brusquely leading you back up the trail.

He is not cruel, or strangely, even outwardly angry now, but somehow you just know you are in so much fucking trouble.

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick fic #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #yandere john wick #bittersweet john wick imagine

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thegoldencontracts · 3 months

Text

Too Late!

You and Azul are texting each other one day when he accidentally sends you some more honest texts.

Note/Warnings: Azul/Reader, fluff with a smidgen of angst (specifically Azul insecurities, he gets comforted tho)

You loved Azul. A lot. You'd been dating him for quite a while now, after all. But you couldn't deny that it felt like he was a bit- formal with you, to say the least. Sometimes, it felt like he was playing the role of a perfect boyfriend in a Romance Novel's screen adaptation. How did he really feel? Was he happy to be somewhere, or was he just playing along so that the other students in his dorm could see how attractive and understanding he was while they seethed in envy at the fact that they were single and he wasn't?

Which was why when Azul slipped up one day when you were texting, you were very, very happy about it.

It was a boring evening, like always. You were texting Azul, complaining about your homework while lounging in your bed like always. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Zuzuuu <3: You know, if you'd like, I'd be happy to assist with your homework. It'll even be on the house, just for you.

Me: cant believe im dating a capitalist mf /lh

Me: really tho, tysmmm for helping <3 I don't deserve u bbg...

And then, something completely out of the ordinary happened.

Zuzuuu <3: how could you say that you're literally so perfect? I love you so much I keep doodling you bc you're so. Pretty. I simp so hard for you plz never say that again <3

At first, you wondered if Floyd wrote the text as a joke. It was pretty in character for him, after all. But that didn't make sense. This wasn't Floyd's way of texting, nor did it even attempt to imitate Azul's. When Floyd was in the mood to prank someone, he put in the effort to make it good.

Whatever. You took a screenshot of the message so you could treasure it forever. And lucky you, because right after you did, the message was deleted.

Zuzuuu <3: Please don't say such things about yourself, even for comedic purposes.

He was not being slick with that. You sent a text in response, giggling all the while.

Zuzuuu <3: Regardless, would you like to come over later today?

Me: Real slick hehe... Plz show me ur doodles of me they probably look so good bc you're good at art just like everything else somehow

After a while, Azul replied.

Zuzuuu <3: I don't know what you're referring to. Regardless, would you like to come over?

As much as you wanted to press, you decided not to. Too much pressing would just make Azul clam up more. You'd just have to get him in person, where it'd be harder for him to run away when you showed him the screenshot.

Me: Sureee! Heading over right now

And so, you set out for Octavinelle, evidence in hand. You were going to make him admit he sent that text.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time you got to Azul's room, you had everything planned out. He wasn't usually so candid with you, and he was clearly ashamed of it when he was. You were going to figure out why.

You knocked on the door, and Azul opened it, letting you in.

"Come in," he said, tone even more formal than usual, by some miracle.

"Thanks," you said, taking a seat.

"So, about that text-"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Azul said, quick to cut you off.

"So quick to interrupt, Azul!" You said with a mock-pout, before grinning as you pulled up the screenshot on your phone. "But I think you do."

First, Azul's mouth hung open in shock. Then, his whole face turned red, lip quivering as a high-pitched whine left his mouth. Then, he moved to snatch the phone from your hands.

You narrowly dodged, and you couldn't resist sticking out your tongue at him.

"Too slow!" You laughed as he tried to grab the phone from you again, only to fail even more without the element of surprise on his side, because for all of Azul's many strengths, speed wasn't one of them.

"Delete that at once!" He shrieked, voice cracking in the middle.

He kept trying to grab it for a while, before finally giving up.

"Fine, fine," he grumbled, pouting like a kid. Cute. "You win. Are you satisfied now?"

"Very," you said, "because I get to see you. Your actual thoughts. Not just the ultra-filtered version."

Azul scoffed at that, seemingly in disbelief, though you saw the way he stifled a smile.

"Don't flatter me," he said. "My 'true thoughts' are not something you'd want to see in the slightest. Merely a more pathetic, messy version of what I already tell you."

"And that's precisely why I want to hear it," she said. "You sound so perfect all the time that I wonder whether you're really being honest with me, you know. It's just so refreshing to see you be gushy and candid about things. And pretty cute."

"How odd," he said, before turning to you with a face more genuine. "Thank you. For what little it's worth, I'll try to be a tad more honest with you. I can't promise anything, though."

You smiled.

"That's all I ask."

And really, truly, that was enough.

Bonus:

"So, how'd you learn so much internet lingo? Never took you for that kinda guy."

"I'm in the board games club with Idia Shroud. What did you expect?"

#azul ashengrotto #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul x reader #azul x you #azul Ashengrotto x you #hurt/comfort #twst x reader #aaah i love the mafia octoboy sm <3

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sh1-n0bu · 1 year

Note

Congratulations on 300! You deserve it nobu :D

Have you ever thought about super inexperienced Scara and like you have to be so gentle with him because it's his first time ... Omg and praising him plz I love him so much

-👖

♡︎ 𝙢𝙮 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙨𝙩 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 ♡︎

characters: AFAB!sub!scaramouche x nb!dom!reader

warnings: insecurity, praise, slight angst, fluff, crying, fingering, virgin scara, just a very gentle lovemaking

notes: thank uuu 👖anon and i’m super sorry it’s late. wanted to finish the first ongoing work first😔 also wanted to try writing transmasc scara since suddenly this hc got me in a chokehold

full filling my duty which is weekly ritual of feeding the hornies and the scaranation😤💪

even before getting into a relationship with scaramouche you knew he had a bit of inferiority complex. even a small bits a doubtful glance towards the purple head will have him threatening the poor person, so it can be set in stone that he is indeed superior. although it was just an assumption made from simply observation, in the end that simple assumption was proven to be correct when you, the traveler alongside paimon and nahida had to fight against the newly born “god” scaramouche.

the power imbalance was too great between your team and the newly born god, you didn’t even had to put in the effort to defeat him and his mechanical body. you were sure you disliked scaramouche but the negative feelings towards him twitched even the slightest bit when you saw just how desperate the harbinger truly was for a heart that belonged to him. perhaps the tears forming in his eyes and the anguish in his voice is what caused you to catch him as he fell from the robot like a lifeless husk of a being.

perhaps that's what led you and the wanderer to grow close. in the beginning it wasn't pretty. constant suspicious glares, venomed words and icy cold tones were exchanged. but as time flew, the seasons changed, the ice began to thaw and inside it revealed misunderstood people holding each other close in comfort as they shed tears together.

the stormy eyed wanderer let go of his past as he revealed everything that happened to him, as you held him close. and you, the former-mercenary showed him the scars that made you, as he gently traced all of it with his pristine, untainted fingertips. every moments spent with you is a cherished one however there’s one memory that scaramouche holds closely and gingerly to his heart. that being the night you two first shared your souls with each other. he still smiles with pure adoration, blushes with the brightest red tainting his cheeks whenever he remembers of it.

if anyone were to tell the scaramouche of the past that he would find love, he would’ve scoffed and electrocuted them as a warning. but all the current scaramouche could do was whine when your lips separated from his and chase after with the fervor of a starved man. sloppily kissing you with all of the adoration he mustered but all he could do was try and follow your lead but to fail and end up with desperate whines and stuttered breaths.

you were sure scaramouche never kissed anyone in his life since he was just so very cute with his attempts. when you tried to palm him through his short kimono shorts, scaramouche pulled away, flinching and covering himself.

“love? ah shit, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to scare you like that” slowly reaching over, holding his hands gently in yours, you tried your best to calm his racing thoughts. however scaramouche only shook his head “sorry” and climbed back onto your lap.

“no no you didn’t scare me at all it’s just… i never r-really got intimate with someone. a-and not to mention i uhmm…” he trailed off with a troubled look in his eyes and bleeding bitten lips.

“darling no. i thought we talked about this. no hurting yourself, come on” you cooed out peppering his face with kisses. just as you were about to ask him what you did to cause him discomfort, he pulled away from your lap-not before stealing a one or two kiss-and slowly took of his clothes with uncertainty in his eyes.

when he was finished stripping, he slowly pulled away his shaking hands which were covering his private parts and looked away with red blooming his on his cheeks. his pink pussy was already glistening with some of the precum dripping down to the bedsheets. maybe it was the quivering look in his eyes or the slight tremble of his legs. whichever it may be you simply reached out, pulled his hands closer and left butterfly kisses along the knuckles.

the faint chuckles scaramouche emitted gave you the slightest bits of confidence that was missing, as you trailed the kiss further up his hands, onto his neck and sucked love bites along the smooth skin.

all the while as your darling lover let out breathy moans of your name, your one hand trailed over the lips of his wet folds. circling your fingers over the lips, gently pushing in only the tips and pulling out, letting him get used to the feeling. however that seemed to unintentionally edge your sweet boy since soon enough he started to sniffle, bucking his hips against your hand.

whispering your sorry to him you eased in one finger first and stayed still. as you murmured gentle praises of how he’s doing so good, how he’s handling you so well, scaramouche whined out.

“p-please… m-move already nngh~ feels good” cooing at his cute words, you started to finger his dripping pussy slowly. pulling out and pushing back in until the room was filled with a quiet sloppy, messy squelching of his puffy pussy and whines of your name tumbling out of his mouth.

scaramouche felt like his mind was turning into a jumbled mess. the way you were singing him soft praises as you adorn his neck while love marks and fill his tight insides with your finger. archons just your finger alone was enough to have him feeling mushy and dizzy.

“w-wait! aanngh~ aaghh~ s-something’s weird. m-my tummy. i-it nyaah! feels weird! [name]~!” clinging to your neck like a lifeline, scaramouche didn’t know what to do. it felt like a hot, bubbling feeling was rising in his tummy and it felt like it was going to explode at any given moment. he couldn’t make out what you were saying, his brain too fried to even properly hear you anymore. and before scaramouche knew it, his legs gave out on him, tears rolling down his cheeks, eyes rolling to the back of his skull, your lover came over your hand with a loud keen of your name.

“there there. you did an amazing job honey” as scaramouche was suddenly embraced in a familiar warmth, all he knew was to sink deeper into the arms of his love. sleeping soundly and dreaming of staying with you until the ends of time.

#nobu.writes #sub!genshin impact #sub genshin impact #sub!genshin #sub genshin #sub scaramouche #sub!scaramouche #genshin smut #x dom reader #dom!reader #sub!character

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cinnamostar · 6 months

Text

01: self-fulfilling prophecy

part two.

pairing : jisung x gn!reader

summary : han jisung, the man who is incapable of maintaining a relationship for more than a few months. han jisung, the man who is in complete denial that maybe he is the problem. han jisung, the man who has convinced himself he isn’t meant for love.

wc : 8.5k

cw : not proof read, nonidol!au, alcohol/drinking, sadness, angst, arguing, cursing, some cute stuff. plz let me know if i missed anything.

a/n : likes, reblogs, and feedback is much appreciated!! not too confident on this one because idk, i feel like the dialogue isn’t well executed, but let me know what you think. please enjoy!

┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

Jisung didn’t exactly have the best track record when it came to romance. He never did anything exceedingly horrendous, he always remained faithful in each relationship he had, but they never lasted long. He simply didn’t know how to be a good partner, always too focused on his own needs to the point that his selfishness turned into emotional neglect for the other.

It’s not that he didn’t like the people he dated. He genuinely adored them for who they were, yet he always found himself heartbroken and confused at the end of each relationship when they would all voice the same exact reasonings on why they were ending it.

“I just don’t feel like you care about my feelings.”

“It feels like you don’t even like me enough to put in the effort to make this work.”

“I don’t feel like a priority in your life.”

“I swear you forget we’re even in a relationship.”

“You’re too focused on yourself and everything else to even make time for me.”

Like clockwork, a few months would pass by and his partner would sit him down for the break up talk. It was exhausting. He was clueless, not having any idea what he was doing so wrong even though he would always receive a list of reasons each time. In his eyes, he was doing the best he could, but perhaps his best was not enough.

Of course he cared for their feelings! Of course he liked them, he could’ve sworn he was doing his damnedest. Not a priority? That was ridiculous, he always made time to spend with his partner during the week despite his busy schedule. Forget? Nonsense! Too focused on himself? Well, of course he was focused on pursuing his music career which required long hours at the studio, why would he want to be with someone who didn’t support his endeavors? They knew what they were getting into when they met him!

It made zero sense to Jisung. At some point, he had given up on love altogether. Maybe he just wasn’t meant for it, maybe relationships were just not his thing. Clearly, he was doing something wrong and he decided that maybe hook up culture was just where he belonged.

What Jisung failed to realize was that he was forcing his own ideals of a relationship onto his partners. The idea that people had different needs and perceptions on how relationships should function never dawned on him. He never thought to consider what the other person wanted and had simply assumed they would be content with whatever he had to offer.

He forgot that some people needed more reassurance. He forgot some people wanted to go on actual dates, not everyone considered a night in a date, especially if every date was a night in. He forgot that some people didn’t just want to sit in a room with him while he was on his phone or working on his next project. Sometimes people wanted his undivided attention. Sometimes people wanted to be able to hold a conversation with him. Sometimes people needed more communication because quite frankly, three texts a day didn’t quite cut it for most people.

Yet, Jisung was too absorbed in his own world and his passions to even begin to understand that concept. He absolutely refused to believe he was doing something wrong and that he was just dating the wrong people this whole time. He just hadn’t found the one, right?

Despite that foolish belief he stubbornly held onto, it didn’t mean each instance didn’t take a hit on his ego. After the many failed relationships he had been through, the fear of inadequacy and insecurity began to creep into his mind. Was he not worthy of love? Was he incapable of forming a healthy relationship? Was something wrong with him?

He felt that he had so much love to offer in his heart, but he had no idea what it took to be a good partner. He was too tunnel visioned on producing and music to realize that sometimes, love and relationships required a bit of sacrifice, and that was something he refused to do.

Yet, Jisung wanted to fall in love. Like any other human on earth, he craved to love and be loved, to be understood wordlessly by someone else, but it seemed like love didn’t welcome him with open arms. He desperately wanted to feel like he was needed and wanted, to feel the bubbling shyness and giddiness that only love could give him, but somehow, it seemed that he was the victim of a paradox. Love hated him.

However, Jisung had resigned and accepted defeat. He wasn’t cut out for it. Besides, it’s not like anyone would even bother to give him a chance anymore. After a few failed relationships, people were quick to label him as ‘trash’ and a terrible boyfriend, only good for fun, but definitely nothing more. It was almost as if he had a permanent warning label above his head that scared off anyone who had any remote interest in him.

People talked. And if anyone so much expressed any interest in him, someone would leap in to rescue them from a foreseeable heartbreak, telling them he was no good and a waste of time. Oh, but if you wanted a few nights of fun and to just fool around, he was perfect for that, but never, and absolutely under no circumstances, was he someone to settle down with.

He was the only one to blame for his infamy in the dating scene, but Jisung was suffering from a case of extreme delusion and oblivion. Maybe one day he would lose that self-centered immaturity and have a much needed epiphany, but that day seemed far off in the future.

┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

For the past week, Jisung had holed himself in his studio, insistent on perfecting his latest track by some arbitrary deadline he had set for himself. This was a regular occurrence that his friends had gotten used to. They would be more surprised if this didn’t happen, but this also meant that they had to pay a visit to his studio every few days and force him to take a break for the sake of his mental and physical health.

Today was one of those days in which Minho came knocking at his door after unlocking the door with the passcode Jisung had given him long ago, reminding him to come by his place later that night for a small party to celebrate his dance troop’s recent competition win. While Jisung was proud of this achievement, part of him felt a tad bit annoyed that he had to interrupt his work schedule for someone else, but Minho was one of his best friends, he at the very least should show up for a bit. He could stay for an hour or two, and hopefully by then everyone would be a little too drunk to notice he had escaped back to his studio.

Jisung sighed as he begrudgingly made his way to Minho’s apartment, dreading the amount of people he would have to socialize with tonight. He was relieved to know that a few familiar faces would be there, such as Hyunjin and Felix, who were also part of the troop, but the team had also gone through auditions recently, meaning there would be people he would have to meet for the first time.

He wasn’t one for befriending strangers, as oftentimes, many of them had a negative impression of him due to his dating history. He hated how every time he introduced himself, as soon as the words “Han Jisung” left his mouth, people’s faces would drop into an unreadable expression, almost as if they were disappointed to finally meet the man who was rumored to be complete and utter trash. It was anxiety-inducing and turned him off from seeking out new friendships because everyone would always say “Oh! Did you used to date my friend?” And at that moment, he knew it was over. They hated him before they even got to know him. As a result, Jisung always felt apprehensive when it came to meeting new people and he much preferred sticking with his small circle of friends.

As Jisung arrived at the front steps of Minho’s apartment, he felt his shoulders tense up with trepidation as he subconsciously bit the inside of his cheek. The party had already started with the music blaring throughout the building, the lights dimmed with colorful LEDs visible from the window. A chorus of joyful cheers followed by the clinking of shot glasses and laughter could be heard from outside, signaling that the party was already in full swing. Jisung let out an uneasy groan, unprepared for what the night would bring, but reassured himself knowing that he only needed to stay for at least an hour before he could retreat back to the safe haven known as his studio.

After a sharp inhale, Jisung put on a fake smile as he opened the door, instantly greeted by a drunken Changbin who was double fisting two beers, wearing a toothy smile.

“Jisung! You made it!”

The last thing Jisung wanted tonight was to be put in the spotlight, which Changbin just unknowingly thrust him into with no warning. Others nearby turned their attention to the front door, some choosing to ignore Jisung’s presence to continue their conversations while others politely waved or called out a quick hello.

Minho shortly appeared in Jisung’s vision, grinning from ear to ear as he pulled him into a one-armed hug, “Glad you showed up, I was worried you forgot!” An airy chuckle escaped Minho as Jisung gasped, feigning a look of betrayal while playfully shoving Minho’s shoulder, “How dare you think I’d forget my best friend’s party? I would never!”

Minho rolled his eyes at Jisung’s gesture before dragging him by his wrist. “Whatever you say, but c’mon! I want you to meet our new members. Plus, you look a little too stiff for my liking,so let's get some drinks in ya first.”

Suddenly, shot glasses filled with tequila were shoved into Jisung’s hand as people egged him on to down them, chasing the two shots with lime and salt to cut through the harshness of the alcohol. A familiar buzz took over his senses, his head feeling lighter than usual as a lopsided smile appeared on his face while the nervousness he felt earlier quickly dissipated.

The bit of liquid courage energized Jisung enough to forget all the now seemingly silly concerns he had earlier as he jumped through the bunches of people, excitedly yapping away as he caught up with friends and introduced himself to new people. Each time he noticed someone cringing at the sound of his name or giving him a dirty look, he would promptly take another shot to rid himself of the anxiety he was feeling, hoping the alcohol would make him just unaware enough of any other glares he would receive from people that night.

Eventually, Jisung made his way to the loft upstairs to take a break from the hectic party below, already feeling a headache coming on. He stumbled his way to the couch, not paying much mind to his surroundings as he plopped himself onto the couch, immediately throwing his head back while shutting his eyes.

“Oh, he definitely overdid it again,” laughed Felix from the left of him, “How many shots did you take?”

Jisung waved his hand as if he was shooing Felix away while mumbling, “Don’t even ask.”

He heard an unfamiliar giggle erupt from the right side of him, causing him to sit straight up with his eyes wide, hastily snapping his head to see who the laugh belonged to, not expecting anyone other than his friends here.

He found himself staring into your eyes that were crinkled from laughing, a lax smile adorning your face as you brought up a hand to hide behind. Your laugh was rich and decadent, almost as sweet as chocolate, and your smile was so refreshing that it instantly roused him from his drunken state the moment his eyes landed on you.

Oh, shit, they’re cute.

Jisung’s inebriated state had caused him to lose all self-awareness because all he could do was gawk at you with enamored eyes, his lips slightly parted as he struggled to find the words to introduce himself. He felt his face flush from embarrassment when you returned his gaze while wearing an expectant expression, patiently waiting for him to finish his sentence.

“I- Oh, uhm, I…”

You had instantly captured his heart with the most saccharine smile he has ever seen and within a few seconds, Jisung was undeniably smitten, but he was also completely making a fool of himself within those same few seconds.

“Jesus christ, Jisung, how drunk are you?” howled Hyunjin, who had gotten up to lightly poke Jisung’s cheek, “Helloooo, earth to Jisung? Anyone home?”

“Dude… Close your mouth before you start drooling over there. I don’t think that’s an image you want Y/N to have during your first meeting,” Seungmin, who was sitting on the floor, mischievously sneered, quickly recognizing Jisung’s speechless state was caused by something more than just alcohol. Jisung shook his head side to side to wake himself from his lovestruck daze, clearing his throat in an attempt to cover up Seungmin’s comment.

“Mm, sorry! I just-,”

Oh, this is bad, he really is making this so much worse for himself. He was now regretting all the shots from earlier as he tripped over his words, his nerves not being of any help. He desperately was trying to say something sensible, but instead, all he could blurt out was,

“Jisung! I’m Jisung… yeah!”

Now it is a lot worse as Jisung cringed at how loud and annoying his voice was, everyone else also seemingly cowering from second hand embarrassment as they watched the scene unfold, but no one was able to peel their eyes away.

Like an angel sent from heaven, Felix decided to have mercy on the brown haired boy, peeking out from behind Jisung to meet your eyes at the other side of the couch. “Y/N, this is our friend Jisung! He makes music with Changbin and Chan. Jisung, this is Y/N. They’re one of our newest members on the team.” God, Jisung could kiss Felix right now from how relieved he was to have alleviated the awkward tension he had just created moments earlier.

You nodded, smiling at Jisung as your eyes lit up in realization, “Oh, Jisung? I’ve heard about you before.”

Ah, there it is. Of course! Of course you have and how stupid of him to think he’d be able to have an untarnished first impression with you and-

“Minho says so many good things about you! He even showed me some of your songs. You’re really talented at what you do, I definitely added a few to my playlist.”

Someone pinch Jisung right now because he must be dreaming, there’s absolutely no way. Is luck finally on his side? Has God finally decided to be oh-so-merciful today? He was on cloud nine as he relished in your compliments, savoring this moment because this may never happen again.

Jisung clicked his teeth as he waved both his hands in front of him with a flustered smile, “Oh, no, no, no, I am not that good! But thank you!” The alcohol was really doing a number on him as he slurred over each syllable, but thankfully he was coherent enough for everyone to understand what he said.

You let out a breathy laugh at his antics while standing from your seat, “Well, it's nice to finally put a face to the name, but I do have to go now, I have to be up early.”

Jisung deflated as everyone wished you good night, feeling disappointed how quickly your first meeting with him ended. Hyunjin stood up, offering to walk you out and once you were out of earshot, Jisung whipped his head to Felix.

“Felix… Who was that? How long have you been hiding them from me?”

Seungmin struggled to contain his laugh, earning a confused look from Jisung, “What are you laughing at?”

“Dude, you. You looked so stupid trying to talk to them.”

Jisung threw himself back into the couch, sinking into the cushions with an embarrassed groan, “Shut up, I know.”

Felix laughed, shooting Jisung a pitiful smile, “You’ve done worse, it’s fine. And no one was hiding them from you, you just never show up when we invite you anywhere. That is your own fault, not ours!” Jisung pouted, cursing himself mentally for rejecting all those plans.

“They’re cool, they’ve been on our team for a few months. Crazy good at dancing too, we are super lucky to have them.”

“Are they dating anyone?”

The room grew quiet at Jisung’s question as Seungmin and Felix looked at each other with uneasiness, unsure how to respond. Hyunjin had come back up the stairs after walking you to your car, just in time to hear Jisung. He let out a heavy sigh, alerting everyone of his presence.

“I… I think it's best if you just leave them alone, Jisung. They’re a really sweet person and you, well…”

“Me what? What do you mean?” Jisung furrowed his eyebrows at Hyunjin as the taller boy struggled to finish his thought.

“Just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Why?”

“Seriously, Jisung? I know you’re wasted right now, but don’t make me say it. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

And he did, he knew that Hyunjin was referring to his dating history, but Jisung felt himself growing angry hearing his friend allude to him being a bad partner, suggesting he would hurt you.

“No, I want to hear you say it,” Jisung spat out, a scowl painted all over his face as he stared down Hyunjin with his arms crossed, who was still standing by the stairs. He felt himself become warm in frustration as all the insecurities he held close to his heart started to bubble up. Did his own friend’s think so poorly of him too?

Felix reached out to put a reassuring hand on Jisung’s shoulder, hoping to defuse the situation, “Let’s not do this right now. You’re still drunk, Jisung.” Jisung shook Felix’s hand off his shoulders, standing up while still glaring at Hyunjin with clenched fists.

“Say it.”

“Jisung-” warned Felix, but he was cut off by Seungmin.

“You’re a shit boyfriend, Jisung. We don’t need you hurting someone we’re friends with again.”

The room was silent as everyone now stared at Seungmin with wide eyes, startled at how blunt he was being. Jisung didn’t know what he was feeling as a flash of rage took over his body, but at the same time, he felt his heart drop hearing those words come out of his own friend’s mouth. It was now Hyunjin’s turn to butt in,

“Seungmin, stop-”

“No, he needs to hear it straight up. He fucking sucks and you all know I’m right. I’m tired of him acting like he isn’t the problem. Leave Y/N alone. They’re better off without you.”

Jisung felt hot tears well up in his eyes as he took in every one of Seungmin’s words, each casting daggers into his heart. His worst nightmares were coming true as he realized that it wasn’t just strangers and ex-lovers who viewed in such a negative light, but the people he trusted so much, his own friends, also thought the same of him. The fury laced in Seungmin’s voice cut Jisung deep as every syllable pushed him over the edge til Jisungfound himself falling into a pit of sadness and hurt, his stomach flipping onto itself on his way down.

Was he really that bad? Wait, no! How dare Seungmin say such a thing to him? What does Seungmin even know about Jisung’s past relationship? He was stepping out of line! The sadness instantly subsided, soon being replaced with a familiar feeling of denial and anger as Jisung stomped towards Seungmin, crouching down to meet him on the floor. Jisung sloppily grabbed Seungmin by the collar of his shirt, pulling him close to his face.

“What the fuck did you just say? Take it back right fucking now,” growled Jisung, venom dropping down from each word.

Seungmin rolled his eyes, pushing the drunken boy off him who stumbled backwards, “See, this right here is your problem. You can’t even begin to accept that you’re in the wrong.” Seungmin stood up, now looking down at Jisung who still hadn’t regained his balance. He took in an exasperated inhale, a subdued smile replacing the vexed look he just had as he softened his tone, “Look, Jisung. I love and care for you, but I cannot turn a blind eye and let you hurt someone else. I mean it. Leave them alone.” With that, Seungmin made his way to the stairs, wanting nothing more than to get away from Jisung at that moment before he said something he’d later regret.

Jisung remained seated on the floor as he was processing the words and emotions that were rushing in all at once, his drunken brain unsure how to handle all the information he was just fed. He laid his head into his hands as his brain echoed Seungmin’s words again and again.

Jisung felt his breath get caught in his throat as he hiccuped a quiet sob, his body starting to tremble as the tears he was holding back for so long finally fell. His body collapsed onto itself as his heart stuttered in his chest, his lungs burning from the lack of air as he continued to inconsolably weep, struggling to breathe between his cries.

Maybe he is as bad as everyone said he was.

┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

A few weeks had gone by since Jisung and Seungmin’s argument at the party, but the tension between the two boys didn’t last long as Seungmin showed up to Jisung’s apartment the very next day with a bowl of soup for his hangover and an apology, which Jisung graciously accepted, neither wanting to be upset at each other any longer.

Despite that, the words Seungmin had said never left Jisung, leaving a permanent scar on his brain as he constantly recalled the moment. The words painfully rang through his ears as a ball of shame and misery formed in his stomach while he reminisced about his past relationships, trying to figure out what he did so wrong.

Jisung felt horrible as he carried this weight of guilt on his shoulders as he wondered how his actions had hurt others and how he had remained oblivious for so long. All the insecurities and fears he had about himself were true at the end. Everyone around him was in agreement that he was the issue and he was the one behaving so selfishly in every relationship. He could understand that and he knew if his friend’s felt that way, it had to be the truth, but he was still struggling to identify what exactly about him and his behavior was so bad.

Sure, he could reach out and ask his friends to help see what he was missing, but he was too afraid to face the reality of the situation, not ready to take another brutal beating of words. He was terrified to hear the truth, but he knew the same conclusion he came to long ago remained true. Love was just not for him, it didn’t want him the same way he did.

Everyone had taken note of Jisung’s downtrodden mood and thought he had just needed a few days to collect himself, but once everyone realized more time had passed and that he didn’t even have the will to attend a recording session with Chan and Changbin, everyone went into crisis mode. So, over the last few weeks, someone would show up to Jisung’s house to check in on him and either spend a few hours with him at home, or forcefully drag him out the house to spend time with the group, insisting it would help him feel better.

Each time someone had forced him out, he would be huffing and sulking like a grumpy toddler throwing a tantrum, but as soon as he got there, he would be as cheery as ever and would end the day feeling a lot better. He hated how right his friends were, but he was always thankful for every time they dragged him out despite his whiny and bratty attitude.

However, there was another mental battle Jisung was fighting that everyone was unaware of, or so he thought, and he was definitely not coming out of it as a winner. Unfortunately for Jisung, since the time you joined Minho’s dance team, you had hit it off so well with the rest of the group that you were there almost every time Jisung joined you guys on an outing. And each day he spent with you, he found himself falling more and more for you.

He was really trying to stop himself, as he took Seungmin’s words to heart and imagined that sentiment was shared with everyone else, but this task was becoming an impossible one for Jisung to tackle!

It was weird. Every time he’d get invited out, Jisung would dread seeing you because he knew he was doomed to a hopeless, unrequited love with you, but if you weren’t there, he would be so disappointed and would find himself wanting to go home sooner. He wanted to stay as far away from you as possible, but something about you drew him in and he couldn’t resist and now here he is, finding himself in a friendship with you that he could not escape.

It’s not that he didn't want to be friends with you, if anything he loved the friendship you two had grown in such a short time and how quickly he became fond of you. You were incredibly sweet to Jisung, constantly showing your consideration for him everyday in new ways. If he ever felt anxious or out of place, you were the first to take notice and offer to get him out of whatever stuffy social situation he was in and stay with him til he was ready to join the others again. If he had decided to stay in that day, you’d send him a message letting know he was missed and hoped to see him the next time. There was even a time where he was too sick to leave the house, and much to his surprise, he found you and Minho at his front door steps with food and medicine.

Somehow, unlike everyone else before you, you had shown him a special kind of unwavering kindness and didn’t judge him for his past. For the first time in years, he finally felt safe and unconditionally loved in a friendship that wasn’t one of the boys. That was enough for Jisung to know that you were someone he wanted to keep in his life for as long as possible, even if it meant he had to confront eventual heartbreak and only stay by your side as nothing more than a friend.

But, that was okay. That was more than enough for him because as long as you were there, he would give you his all and support you endlessly. He would do anything to see you smile, anything to ensure your happiness, and if that meant he couldn’t be your lover, then that was a sacrifice he was willing to make. Besides, no one has ever been happy with him in a relationship. This was how it had to be, this is how he could protect you from himself.

Regardless of how Jisung felt towards you, he had seriously doubted you had any interest in him in the first place. How could someone as angelic as you want to be with, well, trash? There was no way you hadn’t heard about his disastrous dating history, and if you were as smart as he thought you were, that alone would turn you off from him. Not only that, he was pretty sure you had heard about the fight he had with Seungmin and if that fight said anything about him, it showed that he was a mess of insecurities and arrogance. Why on Earth would you ever like someone like that? And if you heard about the fight, he was positive that Seungmin and everyone else had warned you about him and dissuaded you from even considering anything romantic with him.

It was doomed!

And although Jisung had earnestly vowed to himself he would not engage in anything romantic with you, he was failing miserably. His affection towards you was something everyone picked up on. He always, no matter what, had his undivided attention on you as you ranted to him about whatever bothered you that day or how you were struggling to nail a part of your dance routine. It was obvious. He loved hearing you talk and could listen to you for hours as if you were his own personal podcast, always mirroring your emotion and blindly agreeing with you during your rants, always asking you questions whenever you rambled on about your own hobbies and interests.

If someone ever talked over you, he’d make sure to ask you what you were going to say. If you were upset that day, he’d always offer to buy you ice cream and insist to the group that they all needed to stop by the local ice cream shop. If you ever showed him a video of your latest dance routine, he’d shower you with a ridiculous amount of compliments until you were a flustered mess asking him to stop. And every time he noticed you were wearing a new outfit, changed your hair, or wore different jewelry, he would be quick to notice and let you know how wonderful you looked. He was shamelessly flirting with you, and he hadn’t even realized how far he had let it go.

On the other side of the pond, you were well aware of every horrible thing that was said about Jisung, even long before you had become a member of Minho’s team, and to be quite frank, you thought he was a complete asshole from what you’ve heard. But once you realized that he was one of Minho’s lifelong best friends, you knew you had to push your personal feelings aside, especially when you realized some of the music Minho had you perform with was Jisung’s original work. You hated to admit it, but he was an absolute genius when it came to music production and you were slowly becoming a fan of his work.

All you could tell yourself was that he couldn’t have been that bad if everyone was still his friend and reminded yourself people change, it’s not like you were going to end up liking the guy anyway.

Oh, but you were so wrong.

The first time you saw him at Minho’s party, you thought he was so irresistibly adorable during his drunken babbling, and you were honestly taken aback that the cute man who sat in front of you was none other than Han Jisung. Although, it did help soften your initial thoughts of him, making you think maybe he wasn’t that bad, especially after seeing him become a blushing mess at the mere sight of you, but those thoughts were quickly pushed away while Hyunjin walked you to your car after you left.

“Y/N…”

“Hmm?”

“I’m sure you’ve heard about Jisung from other people, right?”

“Oh, I’ve heard plenty, but he doesn’t seem so bad though.”

“Well, he isn’t if you’re just friends with him, but… He definitely seemed into you when he saw you and as your friend, I feel like it is my responsibility to let you know that he isn’t someone you should pursue. I love him, but you deserve someone better than that… I would hate to see him hurt another one of my friends.”

“Ah, no worries, Hyunjin. I’ve made dumb dating choices in the past, but I’m not that stupid.”

Except, you were that stupid. So, so, so incredibly stupid and you were terrified that anyone would uncover your growing crush on the boy. You could already imagine both Hyunjin and Seungmin’s disappointed looks, and you promised yourself you were taking this little secret to the grave. You had every reason in the world to not be attracted to Jisung, especially after hearing how he put his hands on Seungmin during their argument! Drunk or not, there’s no excuse for that and his denial of his actions said so much about him.

Yet, here you are, sitting next to Jisung on the couch in the living room of Minho’s place, excitedly talking to him about the latest episode of the drama you were currently watching, gossiping to him as if the actors were real people you knew in your personal life. He sat on the couch with his legs crossed, facing you while nodding along to every word you said, his eyes trained on you and you alone.

“And-, oh my god, I almost forgot, but the lead then told her to shut up! Can you believe that?!”

Jisung would then gasp, theatrically putting his hand on his chest, “No fucking way… What is his problem?”

“Right! And then-,” you paused for a moment, suddenly feeling insecure that you were forcing Jisung to listen about something he probably didn’t care for. You sighed and gave him an apologetic smile as you anxiously twiddled your fingers, “I’m sorry, I got carried away, you probably don’t wanna listen to me talk about some stupid drama.”

This time, Jisung did look genuinely surprised as his eyebrows furrowed upward with panicked eyes, “What? No, I love hearing you talk about this, you’re always so excited that it’s adorable.” He hated how fast your mood changed and started to worry if he had done something to make you feel that way. Did he look uninterested? Was he not responsive enough?

“Did I do something to make you think I didn’t want to listen?”

You felt your cheeks grow warm at Jisung calling you adorable, and then felt your heart start beating loudly in your chest when he asked you that question with all the concern and worry in the world filling his eyes. You shot straight up in your seat, returning his gaze with astonishment, not expecting him to be so considerate. “No, no, you didn’t do anything wrong… I just…” You paused for a moment, trying to find the words without revealing too much on how you were feeling, “I just got nervous for a moment, I don’t know.”

Jisung nodded as you spoke, taking your hands in his as he gave you a reassuring smile, “Y/N, I promise there’s nothing more I’d love than to hear you talk. You could be explaining the most boring thing ever, and I would still listen to you happily.”

In the kitchen stood Hyunjin, Seungmin, and Minho who were watching the scene unfold before them as they prepared food for everyone, while the others were upstairs playing whatever video game upstairs. Seungmin narrowed his eyes as he watched Jisung reach for your hands, taking note of the flustered look on your face.

“I think Y/N likes him.”

Hyunjin and Minho turned to Seungmin for a moment, then looked back at you and Jisung, unsure what exactly Seungmin saw other than Jisung’s flirtations.

Hyunjin let out an annoyed exhale as he continued to fry the eggs on the pan, then muttering, “There’s no way that’s possible. Y/N knows better.”

“I don’t know. Just look at them, they act like there’s no one else in the room when they’re together,” whispered Seungmin.

“I guess,” murmured Hyunjin, clearly upset about Seungmin’s hunch, “This is going to end terribly, isn’t it?”

Minho silently stood as he separated the ramen noodles that were boiling in the pot, humming along as he listened to the two younger boys angrily whisper. “I think it will be okay. I think our Jisungie has learned his lessons.”

The other two looked at him with disbelief, neither believing Jisung was capable of ever growing from the immature mindset he had for as long as they’ve known him. Hyunjin scoffed, “No, you don’t really think that, do you?”

Minho kept his eyes on the stove as the other two stared down at the back of his head, shrugging his shoulders, “Well, I could be wrong, I can’t exactly predict the future, but…” He then glanced back at the couch, smiling as Jisung made you laugh, “He treats them differently. I don’t know why, but he does. Don’t you two think so?”

Seungmin and Hyunjin stayed silent, not being able to deny Minho’s statement because they fully knew he wasn’t wrong. Everyone knew something in Jisung had changed when he had met you, and everyone saw how gently he treated you, almost as if he was scared he could scare you away with one little misstep.

“Whatever, I still don’t trust him,” Hyunjin grumbled, putting the last of the eggs on a plate.

Minho chuckled at both of the boy’s protectiveness, “That’s okay, no one is forcing you to, but remember, they’re both adults. They can do what they want, no matter how stupid we all think it is.”

┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

Months had gone by and there was no denying the small romance that had flourished between you and Jisung. You both were hopelessly head-over-heels for the other, to the point that everyone around you two had grown sick of it and was praying for the day where one of you would finally confess your feelings to the other.

You had long given up on hiding your feelings for the boy from your friends, especially after one day Seungmin had confronted you and told you it was the most obvious thing in the world. Part of you had prepared yourself for Seungmin to berate you for your poor taste in men, especially after the plethora of warnings you had been given about Jisung, but instead, he was very supportive and wanted you to feel comfortable enough to talk to him about it, even if he thought you could do better.

Jisung had become a part of your daily life, spending nearly everyday with each other or at the very least, you both had become accustomed to texting one another throughout the day. You’d start your day either sending or receiving a ‘good morning’ text from him and you’d end your day the same way, except it was a ‘good night’ text.

You’d often pay him a visit at his studio on days he had lost track of time, always letting yourself in after he had given you the passcode to the door, which he had only given to you, Minho, Chan, and Changbin. It came to you as a surprise when he gave you the code to his studio, insisting that you needed it so you could drop in whenever you wanted, telling you that you were always a welcomed guest at his studio. In reality, Jisung just wanted an excuse to see you more, and you had taken the bait as you would often show up with an iced americano in hand and whatever takeout food you were in the mood for that day.

If you ever had a long day of dance practice, Jisung would make sure to stop by to drop off a snack and drink as well, often receiving complaints from Minho over his blatant favoritism, accusing him of neglecting his best friend, which would cause Jisung to grow red from embarrassment. Despite his relentless teasing, Minho was more than proud to see how much Jisung had grown and how naturally caring for you had come to him. It was a side of Jisung no one had ever seen, and it was a very much welcomed change.

Today, you were sitting on the couch at Jisung’s apartment as he washed the dishes from the dinner you both had attempted to make, humming along as he put them in the drying rack. For some reason, you and Jisung had thought it would be a great idea to recreate a steak dish you both saw online and while it did not go terribly, the steaks ended up being a little too burnt for either of your liking. You were a bit disappointed, part of you feeling embarrassed you couldn’t even cook a proper meal in front of your crush, but he had lifted your spirits up by telling you it was an ‘excellent culinary choice’ to serve the steaks charred, shushing you each time you said the word burnt.

Soon after, he took a seat next to you on the couch, flicking through the TV as he tried to find something to watch, but soon gave up as he turned to you, “Is there anything you wanna watch?”

You scrunch up your face as you take a few seconds to think, clapping your hands excitedly once the idea hits you, “Have you ever watched Love is Blind? It’s kinda a dumb reality show, but I still haven’t seen the new season and it’s always a fun watch!”

Jisung furrowed his eyebrows quizzically, tilting his head to the side like a confused puppy, “Love is Blind? I’ve never heard of it, what's it about?”

“Never heard of it!? No way!” You gasped, a hand clasping over your mouth dramatically as he smiled adoringly at your antics, “It’s such a crazy show! Basically, a bunch of singles are trying to find the love of their lives, but they’re meeting people without ever seeing what they look like!”

“Oh, so they only get to talk to each other?”

“Yeah! And then they have to get engaged, and once that happens, they can finally meet face to face. They’re supposed to get married at the end of the series, but there’s always juicy drama going on before then!”

Jisung hummed, taking interest in the show's concept, “That’s cool, so they’re trying to see if love is truly blind?”

“Exactly!” You chirped, nodding with enthusiasm as you beamed at Jisung, waiting for his response.

“Sure, let’s watch it!” How could he ever say no to you when you’re smiling at him that way? He swore he felt his heart flutter the moment you smiled at him, the jubilation in your eyes making him become putty in your hands. “Do you really believe in that though? Like, unconditional love?”

You turned to him as you grabbed the remote from his hands, a bit taken aback from his question, “Well, I’ve already seen the other seasons and some couples have definitely proven that love can be blind, but love differs for everyone. I think that’s the beauty of this show though, loving someone despite their flaws and loving them for who they truly are.”

He leaned back on the couch, returning your gaze as he lost himself deep in thought, “Right, but do you think you could love someone unconditionally? Even if they’ve made mistakes in the past?”

You furrowed your eyebrows as you tried to understand where Jisung was coming from, a gentle smile gracing your features as you reached a comforting hand over his wrist, “Well, as long as those past mistakes aren’t murder or something, I don’t see why not. I’d like to think people are able to grow from their past.”

Jisung smiled as he sighed in relief, his other hand resting on top of yours, “Even me?”

“Especially you.”

┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

It was a quiet and cold night as you curled up into Jisung’s side, your head resting on his chest with a leg thrown over his as his arms swaddled you into a tight embrace. It was peaceful and serene, the only sounds filling the room was the light pitter patter of rain against his bedroom window and the comforting beat of his heart. You tilted your head upwards and caught Jisung’s gaze, a relaxed smile on his face as he leaned down to press a gentle kiss on your forehead, but you could’ve sworn you saw a glimmer of sadness in his eyes.

To be quite honest, you weren’t entirely sure what you and Jisung were, as neither of you had ever officially discussed labels, but you both were very aware of each other’s feelings for one another. There was no doubt that you both were more than just friends, but the label of partners or dating was something Jisung nervously tiptoed around.

After a few weeks of these shared tender moments, you figured Jisung would soon ask you to be his, but the question never came and it filled you with nervousness. You didn’t want to pressure him, as you could sympathize with his concerns since he was very transparent with you about his hesitance from the very start.

Jisung was irrevocably in love with you and wanted nothing more than to make you his partner, but he would be lying to you if he wasn’t also terrified of the weight of that label. For so long, Jisung had convinced himself he was incapable of loving someone the way they deserved to be and never thought anyone would have ever fallen for him, especially someone as perfect as you. Perhaps it was your sheer kindness and undying belief in him, but he felt like a complete fraud, as if you had imagined him to be this amazing man that he could never be and has never been. He wasn’t ready to fall short of your expectations, he wasn’t ready to face the disappointed and heartbroken look on your face once you realized the rumors about him were complete truth.

He felt as if he was truly undeserving of someone as pure as you, someone so selfless and caring who approached their own feelings with so much confidence, while he was just a shamefully selfish man who didn’t know how to trust himself, who didn’t believe in his own ability to make his own partner happy, a man who was painfully insecure and unsure of who he was.

He wanted you with every fiber of his being and desperately wanted to be the very reason behind your smiles, laughter, and happiness. He so greedily desired to see his own reflection in your eyes for the rest of his life, a sight that he wanted to treasure for the rest of life and the thought of you looking at someone else that way physically pained him.

Yet, his fear of hurting you and disappointing everyone else around him held him back from chasing those feelings and Seungmin’s words from months ago ruminated in his mind as a constant reminder of his past failures. He would not be able to shoulder the burden of hurting you, the guilt would completely eat him up because at the end of the day, it would be his fault for fooling you into the idea that he was capable of giving you that movie perfect love story. For crying out loud, he’s Han Jisung, the guy everyone hated and criticized for his ineptitude of romantic relations. He knew what you wanted, he knew you were growing impatient and scared over his inaction, but his anxieties held him captive in a standstill, and he was not strong enough to challenge it.

All he could tell you was that he needed more time, that he was afraid and needed the chance to grow that confidence in himself once more, but he knew time was finite and he was running out of it.

As he kissed your forehead, he felt his heart flinch as a pang of sadness flooded his body, forcefully fighting the overwhelming adoration and affection he had for you. He was petrified at the way his body slowly began to reject the feelings of love he had for you, fear and insecurities consuming it as if everything you had to offer nothing. All rational thinking had left him in that moment as panic took over his thoughts, angrily yelling at him for being such an idiot to think anything would ever change. How stupid he was to lead on another innocent person and how he was only going to hurt them, just like all the others before him. How idiotic he was for thinking he was ever deserving of love, as love does not wish to know him.

He just couldn’t be your love.

God, if he wasn’t such a selfish asshole, maybe then he could’ve saved you from his own carelessness. If he had only heeded the warnings of his friends, but once again, he has fallen into the trap of self-centered needs outweighing the feelings of others. If he had only stayed your friend and nothing more, if he had only not-

“Y/N, I don’t think this is going to work.”

Did he really say that out loud? He held his breath as he cursed himself for acting so quickly out of fear, his heart stopped as he watched you stiffen in his own arm. You silently sat yourself up, his arms falling to the mattress as you turned to him with tears filling your eyes, your lips trembling as you tried to contain a sob.

Oh, how Jisung just wished the world would swallow him whole in that moment, his heart completely shattering at the sight of your crestfallen face. He looked into your watery eyes to only realize that this time, the reflection of your eyes showed the source of your sorrow, an expression he had wished he never had the misfortune to witness.

“I… I’m sorry, I just-”

You shook your head, raising a hand to signal him to stop talking, refusing to take an explanation from him, “It’s okay. I was afraid this would happen.”

You forced a tightlipped smile, taking a deep breath through your nose as you tried to keep yourself together, faintly whispering a broken “Please don’t text or call me.”

Jisung shot up as he watched you get up from his bed, trying to scramble after you as you made your way to his front door, grabbing your belongings on the way. He didn’t realize how much he was already crying until he tried to speak to you, but it all came out in a blubbering sob. “Y/N, please, listen to me…” He begged you to listen to him, pleaded for you to try to understand where this was all coming from and to understand that he still loved you so much despite how selfish his actions are, yet you never gave him a chance.

“Jisung, please. I don’t care why, I don’t want to know,” you croaked between sobs, doing your best to maintain your composure as you faced the front door, refusing to look at him. “I just feel like an idiot. I should’ve listened to what people said about you.”

There you went, leaving his apartment and shutting the door in his face with force, leaving Jisung to confront nothing, but his own cowardice.

Once again, Jisung fell into the trap of his own self-centered thinking, getting lost in his own immaturity as he became the victim of the circumstances he created. If he had only realized that he wasn't alone in this battle of his own conscience, if he had only realized you would've fought each insecurity and fear with him.

Oh, woe is me, Han Jisung. Only a fool would be afraid of love.

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