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endlessthxxghts · 7 months

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You Better Jump... (part 2 of 2)

no outbreak!neighbor!joel miller x afab!reader || W/C: ≈9k

Summary: Your neighbor fixed your lock for you. How can you ever repay him? [read part 1 here]

Warnings: Canon divergent (no outbreak) & mentions of Sarah but we don't see or interact with her (AU - she moved out, lives on her own). Partial physical description of reader (having a thick/curvy body, wears a dress/feminine). Reader is a polyglot but no explicit mentions of race/ethnicity. Feminine pet names (sweet girl, darlin’, etc.). Flirty/awkward interactions and heightened sexual tension. Reader’s unhinged bestie <3. Implied age gap, but no explicit mention as to how big. LATINO JOEL MILLER (😫). An oddly weird amount of sweetness for 2 people who just met LOL. SMUT 18+ MDNI: Joel gets turned on at reader being a polyglot LMAO. Overall dirty talk/vulgar language. Dom/sub undertones (not heavy or established but definitely present). Vaginal fingering, p in v unprotected (I’m not sorry), semi-public sexual activity, thigh riding, bit of exhibitionism kink, oral sex (f receiving), squirting (blink and you’ll miss it), spit kink, choking, hickeys/marking… please let me know if I’ve missed anything!!

A/N: HERE'S PART 2 (THE FINAL PART)! ENJOY, MY LOVES!!💚

MASTERLIST

You and Joel make out like that, with your front door wide open, until you hear a loud meow from what you immediately know to be the neighborhood cat who likes to visit you once in a while. You two break away from each other, breathless, startled from the feline just sitting at the foot of your door.

You look back up to Joel with a cheesy grin on your face, and he mirrors your expression, bringing one of his hands up to run along your red and swollen bottom lip. “Sorry,” he chuckles breathily, “got a little carried away.”

You slowly lean forward into his touch and take his thumb into your mouth, swirling it around your tongue. “Don’t apologize,” you say. You pull your mouth off his thumb and leave a little kiss to the pad of it, “I liked it.”

He groans, his eyes completely black and the grip on your waist tightens, “Darlin’,” he warns, “I need to take you out properly first.”

You slowly back away an inch with a smile full of trouble and put your hands up in a surrendering motion.

His jaw clenches, “You’re trouble, aren’t ya, sweetheart?”

You shrug your shoulders in response, “Maybe.” You fall to your knees in front of him, slowly, and pick up the tools he dropped before your little makeout session. You stand on your knees, head in line with his hips, and look up at him. You reach around and tuck his tools in the back pocket of his jeans, grabbing onto his belt loops to pull yourself back on your feet, “Thank you for fixing my door for me, Joel.”

Before you can break away from the close proximity, his arm snakes around your waist yet again and pulls you in, his other free hand going straight for the underside of your jaw. “Pick you up at seven tonight, hm? Wear somethin’ pretty,” he says, leaning in for a deep kiss that sucks all the air out of you, “Somethin’ that gives me easy access, yeah?”

And with that, he walks out (the cat in tow), shutting the door in the process.

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

It’s 5 o'clock by the time Joel left you completely speechless at his last words, and it’s 6 by the time you call your best friend to get your ass over here right now and update her on everything that happened, including her stupid ass comment that made it right into Joel’s earshot. Of course, she laughs hysterically at that, slapping the shit out of your arm with every deep breath she takes at an attempt to calm herself.

“Alright, bitch,” she says, wiping the edges of her eyes from any residue tears, “Let’s get ya dressed, so you can jump-”

“That’s enough,” you say, slapping your hand over her mouth.

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Holy fuck.

All your life, you were never really confident in yourself. You were secure enough in your identity that you knew you weren’t that bad to the average eye, but you also very much knew that you weren’t jaw-droppingly sexy. That is, until Joel made you feel like the hottest person on the planet with how he couldn’t control himself with you. Mix in your best friend’s way of hyping you up, and fuck did you feel unstoppable.

You’re not much of a dress person, but you did have a silk, dark green spaghetti strap dress that you bought on a whim a year back. You were slightly skinnier then, but the way it hugs you now accentuates all the right curves and you’ve never felt so fucking beautiful. The dress is also very flowy, having a long slit on both sides, stopping at your hip. Standing, sitting down, no matter what angle, anyone is bound to see a slip of your underwear. Which is totally the reason why you make the executive decision to not wear any, and not because of Joel’s words ringing in your ear since it left his mouth.

You enter your living room once again, giving your best friend a bit of a show before you kick her ass out, and just as your laughs settle down, you hear a knock at your door.

No fuckin’ way it’s been an hour already, you think to yourself. Your eyes go wide as you look at your best friend, her expression mirroring yours. You frantically look at the clock on your television stand, and, it has been an hour already, fuck.

You tell your best friend to hide in your room for now because there is absolutely no way she’s meeting Joel yet. She frowns, but ultimately she listens and runs to your room while you run to grab the door.

You’re already out of breath from the show you were giving your best friend, and the nerves that were building with Joel on the other side of the door you were about to open is not helping one bit.

You planned on just side-stepping him and making it straight for his car, so he doesn’t come inside, but as soon as the door opens, your breath hitches. Joel is so fucking sexy, Jesus fucking Christ, you want to swallow him whole right fucking now. As your eyes give him a full sweep, you make it down to his sleek black shoes, and in your peripheral vision, you see that your feet are still bare. Shit, there goes your plan.

“Well, aren’t you a pretty sight,” he says, also looking you up and down, matching your energy, wanting to devour you just as bad. You smirk up at him and muster up a bashful thank you, but you’re still in a trance from how good he looks. Finally, you feel the outside air tickle your feet, so you start stepping backwards into your apartment, beginning to kneel down to reach the heels you set aside earlier.

He notices where you’re headed and stops you by gently grabbing you by the hip, “Here, may I?” And before you can even think to decline (which you never would), he’s already on his knees for you, for the second time today, and you can’t help the pooling arousal in your core. Your panty-less core, to be exact, which is now only inches away from him.

He grabs your foot and situates it on his knee while he works to unclasp the strap. When he does, his rough hands are grabbing your ankle so contrastingly soft and situating your foot into the heel. He makes sure the strap wraps perfectly around your ankle, and seeing how big his hands are, you would think he would struggle with such a tiny buckle. But no, he clasps it faster than even you would, and he finishes off by leaving a sweet kiss just above where the strap lays on you. He hears your breath hitch at that, so, like the menace he is, he places three more soft kisses, making the journey higher up your leg. And before you can beg him to keep going, he’s already switching your feet around, and repeating the exact same process to your other foot. Including the three kisses up your leg. He looks up at you, a smug smile and a playful sparkle in his eye, “Ready, pretty girl?”

“Y-yeah, I-I’m ready,” you stutter out, eyes already glossed over. He stands at full height now, his hand falling to your lower back as he guides you to the front door. He pauses, though, and you look up at him slightly confused. “I reckon she won’t be here when we get back, but, uh, aren’t ya gonna introduce me to your little friend?”

Your eyes go wide, “How-?” You begin to question, but his fingers are already at your chin, guiding you to look at the black Jeep, backed into a parking spot next to your car, with a bumper sticker of a half set of butterfly wings. It perfectly matches up to the sticker on your car, making a full butterfly. “Oh,” you say defeated but also impressed he picked up on such a little detail. It makes your heart warm a little.

He lets you go from his grasp, and you turn your body in the general direction of your room and yell, “Bitch, get out he-”

It’s as if she had her ear to the door the entire time, waiting for the moment she could dart out because she doesn’t even give you a moment to finish your statement. She’s already in front of you both within seconds.

You give her the eyes that she immediately translates as please play it cool, but you both know she won’t. “Hi, Joel, right? I’ve heard lots about ya,” she spits out at the speed of lightning as she holds her hand out for him to take, and she quickly follows by introducing her name. Joel chuckles at her eagerness and his date’s obvious embarrassment. It’s endearing. Reminds him of his relationship with Tommy. It warms him to know you have a true ride or die in your life, it’s rare to come across these days.

Eventually the introductions are over, your best friend is headed back to her home, and you and Joel are headed to some restaurant that he refuses to tell you the name or where it is, just that the “Drive is worth it, I promise.”

“A 40 minute drive?” you say jokingly just to rile him up, “This better be the best goddamn thing my mouth is ever gonna taste, then.”

His stare breaks from the road for a moment to look at you, then it’s back on the road. But he has a shit-eating grin on his face. “We might as well turn around then, huh? Because the best goddamn thing that mouth of yours is ever gonna taste is not available in any restaurant, no matter how far or fancy.”

It takes you a minute to register, but when it does, you can feel your cheeks and ears heat up, spreading down to your chest, and eventually his dirty implication forces the heat to settle in between your legs. “Christ,” you say under your breath as you shift your hips in his passenger seat, not wanting your already soaked pussy to get anywhere.

Maybe you should’ve worn some panties after all.

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You guys are on the last stretch of your drive, about ten minutes left, and Joel’s hand has found his home on your thigh, thoughtlessly rubbing his fingers up and down. However, your mind is completely racing because fuck you just wish he’d move up a little higher to where you are absolutely begging for him the most.

As if he hears your plea, his hand goes higher and higher, but then he stops. His hand goes rigid, grip gets a little tighter, and his breath gets a little heavier. His hand is high enough to where he should be feeling the hem of your underwear, or at least that’s what he was expecting to feel.

“Darlin’?”

“Yes, Joel?” you say as innocently as possible.

“Are you not…?”

“No,” losing the innocence in a matter of seconds.

“You’re fuckin’ killin’ me, baby,” he grits out as his hand resumes his path to your wetness. The closer he gets, the more your hips try and angle upwards so he can reach you better, and as soon as his fingers are running through your folds, you’re fucking done for.

“We’re not leavin’ this car ‘til you cum at least twice on my fingers,” he says, his voice completely dark now. “Ya hear me?” He questions as he applies pressure to your clit.

“Fuck! Yes- yes, please, Joel,” you whine out. You shift your body slightly towards his direction, and you open your legs as much as his truck allows you to. Immediately, his fingers slide from your clit and come down to your entrance, spreading your wetness all over you.

He dips into your hole, just one finger in and slowly starts pumping in and out. You’re so turned on by him that just one finger is enough to make that wet squelching sound from going in and out of you. You let out a moan at the action, your one hand shooting to grip the handle of your door and the other gripping onto his bicep. “You make the sweetest sounds for me, darlin’,” he says to you, southern twang increasing in line with his own arousal.

“Please, baby-” you mutter as your head falls back. His one finger speeds up at your words, “Oh, c’mon, use those words,” he teases a second finger at your entrance.

He’s only using one finger right now, and you’re already fucked out, unable to speak or think. You so badly want more of him, though, so you will yourself to talk. “Oh, p-please, an- another finger, Joel, please.. n-need you so bad, please,” you beg.

“That’s right, baby, usin’ your words for me,” he slides his second finger in, “Dámelo.” Give it to me.

“Oh my god,” you damn near scream out, his words spurring you on more than you’ve ever felt. More slick leaks out of you at his Spanish command. Of course he’s fucking sexy and has the filthiest mouth, in multiple languages, known to man. His two fingers are coming in and out of you at a delicious rate, the thickness and length of him hits that sweet spot in you without even trying. “Touch your clit, baby,” you barely hear him say with how blissed out your head feels. Slowly, you let go of the door handle beside you and bring your hand to your clit, rubbing messy circles on your center, coaxing your orgasm closer and closer to the edge.

“Fuck, Joel, your fingers-” you say as he works you open. “My fingers, what? Go on, lemme hear you, trouble.”

Your breathing speeds up to an erratic pace, hot and heavy, “t-too fuck-” your moan cuts you off as your orgasm approaches. He makes his fingers bend in a motion that hits you right where you need it, and- “Oh, fuck, I’m cumming, Joel.”

“Fuck, yeah, that’s it, baby,” he says, his movements slowing momentarily.

In your foggy haze, you find yourself peaking at the time, and- It’s only been four fucking minutes? Never has a man ever been able to make you cum that fast. Your past girlfriends, absolutely, but the men you slept with? They’re not even worthy of the label boyfriend if you’re being completely honest. Whatever the case is, you just know Joel has you absolutely fucked. You knew this from the start, of course, but it’s finally setting in. When he’s knuckle-deep inside you while less than ten minutes out from your mystery date location. Chivalry isn’t dead after all, huh?

You’re brought back from your slight distraction when you feel him pull out of you. You whimper at the loss, your hips raising for more. “I know, sugar, I know,” he comforts, “I just have to get a taste before I lose my fuckin’ mind.” His fingers disappear into his mouth, licking and sucking every last drop on him like you’re some lifesaving nectar he’s been searching all his life for. He lets out a pained groan, “I need to taste ya for real, fuck.”

He gives you no time to react to his words because his fingers are back inside you in no time. This time he pumps into you with a steady pace but a deep pressure that has you unable to take a single breath in. Your eyes are rolled back, and it feels like you’re drowning. Like you’re being consumed in everything Joel, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sweat is dripping down your neck at this point as the heat spreads from the apples of your cheeks to the swell of your breasts all the way down to your core. The sounds flowing out of you are uncontrollable and pure filth, and it’s riling him up so much that he is in literal physical pain. His hand that’s on the wheel is gripping so hard that his knuckles are ghost white, and his entire face is flushed with the utmost amount of pained self control you’ve ever fucking seen.

“C’mon, my filthy fuckin’ girl,” he grunts out, “almost there, baby, need one more from you,” his pace finally speeding up in the way that he knows, from your first climax, will end you. He tried keeping his pace slow on purpose, so he can draw out all your beautiful moans and gasps and drag you further into that floating state of mind, but you’re nearly at your destination now and he so desperately needs to get out of this car before he drops his gentlemen promise and pulls over to take you right here in his truck. Unbeknownst to you, he pulls into a parking space that is completely excluded from the general population, and he leans over to bring his hand on your jaw to make you meet his eyes.

“You look at me when I make you cum, yeah, trouble?” he asks, though it’s not much of a question. Your eyebrows furrow as you look at him and you try to answer him, but you’re feeling too good that as soon as you starts, “Anythinforyou, Jo-” your orgasm cuts you off and your mouth falls open with the most desperate and needy moans you’ve ever heard yourself make.

He continues his movements as you let yourself fall deeper and deeper, and only until the overstimulation begins to hit you do you realize where you are. “W-when did we park..?” you groan out as he removes his finger from your spent pussy. He chuckles at your cluelessness, “Few minutes ago, sweet girl,” he says as he brings his fingers up to his mouth yet again to lap up your arousal. The action alone has your pussy clenching for something more.

As if he can read your mind, “Later,” he smirks at you. “Let’s eat,” he adds as he gets himself out of the car and walks to your side, opening your door and guiding you out. “Thank you,” you say shyly, unable to look up at him and as you stand on your jello legs.

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The restaurant he takes you to is absolutely gorgeous and lively. It’s an Italian restaurant, small and homey, and it seems like a locally owned business. It’s extremely dim, and the main sources of light are purple and red, pointing in the direction of the live music. You two are sitting in a booth in a dark corner, intimate and excluded.

“This place is really beautiful,” you tell him with a smile that makes the butterflies in his stomach flutter. “You eat here often?”

“Y-yeah,” he stutters. Why is he nervous now when he just had you coming apart on his finger merely moments ago? Human emotion is a peculiar thing. “Actually, sorry-” he blurts. You sense his nerves, but you don’t mention it. It warms you that he’s actually nervous. It shows you he’s actively wanting more than just your lust-filled endeavors. You rest your arm along the table, your hand resting palm up near his own, offering him comfort. Silently telling him you’re nervous, too, for whatever it’s worth. He takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers with one another. You can see him physically relax. “I don’t really eat here often, but my daughter has dragged me here once or twice. The food is really fuckin’ good.”

“I’m excited,” you squeeze his hand to reflect your excitement. You’re usually the one making the pasta or any Italian dish you’ve been craving because cooking is what you were bred to do. Cooking is the way to the heart, your nonna always taught you. No matter how traditional the sentiment was, it was one you carry with you always. Naturally, you were a bit reluctant to indulge, but the entire atmosphere here screams authentic Italian culture, reminding you of your nonna and soothing your reluctances.

You both scour the menu for a moment, but you both settled on an option fairly quickly, your waiter comes right on queue. “Ciao! Can I start us off with anything to drink?”

Too enraptured by your food options, you forgot to decide your beverage. Before you can even begin to think, Joel is already on it. “Could we get two glasses of red, your house blend, please?”

“Right away, sir, I’ll be back with those in a moment and take your order, then,” he says as he steps away. Immediately then, another individual appears with two glasses and fills them up with water while you wait.

Joel’s focus is on the water being poured, while you’re still devouring him with your eyes. You and him never had a chance yet to talk about your backgrounds or your interests, but so far he’s doing a damn good job at dissecting you: your favorite food being Italian and your drink of choice always being red wine, and he got that, all unprompted.

Finally, his eyes meet yours and the sultry look you’re giving him makes him immediately heat up, his red flush making its appearance again. “What?” He gives you an amused grin.

“Oh, nothing,” you say as you lean back in your bench seat, “I just- you’re really impressing me. It’s quite the turn on.”

His expression turns from amused to aroused in seconds. “Oh?” He leans forward. “Tell me more?”

Before you can indulge, your waiter is back, placing a wine glass in front of each of you and pouring your glass a little over a third way full before he sets it down to begin taking your order.

“What can I get started for you guys?”

You signal for Joel to go first. The look on your face screams mischief, so he doesn’t question it. He orders the filet mignon gnocchi, tonight’s special. The waiter turns to you.

“Buonasera! Vorrei la carbonara, per favore,” (Good evening! I would like the carbonara, please) you say as you beam up at the waiter. His expression brightens tenfold as he realizes what language you just spoke to him. “Perfetto, la carbonara,” (Perfect, the carbonara) the waiter writes down, then looks between the both of you, “I’ll get these in right away.”

“Grazie,” (Thank you) you say, and you hear a small thank you coming from Joel as the waiter walks away. You and Joel meet each other’s gaze.

“You-” he breathes. He looks really shocked. And utterly turned on. “You speak Italian?” You don’t remember when, but his hold on your hand switched to running his finger up and down your forearm. Chills fall down your spine. “Mhm,” you respond with, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible while you reach for a sip of your wine, as if you don’t know how much you just completely rocked his world.

“Fuckin’ trouble, I tell ya,” he says under his breath as he tries to casually adjust himself under the protection of the table and the dark lighting.

After your meals come out, the next 45 minutes are spent in easy conversation. You ask him questions that prompt responses ranging from telling you about his daughter to him being a single father to his contractor business with his younger brother, Tommy. In return, he asks you questions about your family, your best friend, and the question that’s been burning him all night, “Where the hell did you learn Italian?”

You chuckle at his eagerness. Who knew Joel Miller would have an auralism fetish? You wonder what else could spur him on. “I can ask you the same about your Spanish,” you say as you wipe your mouth from any pasta sauce. “Throwing your words at me while you have me wrapped around your fingers, literally.” You say it so casual yet bold that it does nothing but fire him up more. His self control slips more and more with every flirty and filthy word your mouth utters.

He clears his throat and takes a deep breath to compose himself. “Grew up bilingual,” he offers.

Southern drawl with a Spanish tongue? Yes, please, you think to yourself. You hum in agreement. He picks up on it. “Ah, I see.”

“Not bilingual, though,” you clarify with a smirk, mainly to test out just how turned on he’ll get at the prospect of your tongue being versed in a variety of ways.

One hand of his tightens as if he’s trying to really hold onto the string that’s keeping his self control at bay.

You sit and think for a minute. You grew up in a mixed ethnic household, so you have a few options you could choose to reveal right now, but there’s one in particular that you know will make him snap.

The waiter hands the bill directly to Joel. He’s writing down the tip and total as he murmurs to you, “What else do you know?” The waiter comes back and offers you both pleasantries and bids you goodnight, in Italian to you and English to Joel.

You lift your napkin up off your lap and begin to stand. He starts, but freezes as soon as you begin to speak, “Bueno,” you breathe out. “Me encantó la comida, pero tenemos que ir a la casa, ¿qué piensas?” (Well, I loved the food, but we have to go home, what do you think?) You begin to walk in the direction of the exit, but you don’t feel his warmth radiating from you, so you turn back around. He’s sitting back down at the edge of the seat. You go back to him and put your hand on his shoulder. “Joel…you okay?”

“Yep,” he says strained, “Just, uh- need a minute.” Both his hands are situated on his knees and he’s leaning over a little. Your eyes drift to in between his thighs and god damn he’s hard. Painfully hard. His bulge is so big it has you holding back a whimper at the sight of it.

You can’t help but make this situation worse for him, it’s in your nature. So you bring your mouth down to his ear and in a low whisper, “Faster we get into the car, the faster I can take care of that for you, big boy.”

He stands at full height now, his body completely flush and towering over you. He takes one look at you and his hands are on your waist, spinning you around and guiding you to the car without a word.

You can feel yourself walking faster than you’ve ever done in your life, and thank Heavens you do because as soon as you reach the car, he wastes no time in turning you around and pinning you between the driver’s side door and his body.

His lips meet yours in a frenzy, it’s a clash of hot breath and tongue, and you take all of him in fervently. His tongue passes over yours in a way that has your knees buckling. He clocks it immediately and before you know it, his thick thigh is slotted between yours, nudging your core. You moan into his mouth at the pressure, and he pulls away to grab your jaw, forcing your attention onto him. “Gonna give me another one, baby?”

“Joel-” you start, but he cuts you off. “You’re gonna give me another one, right here, right on my fuckin’ thigh,” he demands, his grip on your jaw tightening with his words, “Am I understood?”

You nod your head frantically as much as his grip allows you, followed by a “Fuck, fuck, yes, Joel, yes, I understand,” and your hips start moving on their own accord. “That’s it,” he chuckles, eyes blown out in his arousal for you. One hand wraps around your waist while the other bunches the front of your dress so he can see the mess you’re creating on him.

If anyone were to walk by right now, they would get a full view of your sobbing cunt rubbing all over his dressed thigh. It’s lewd, it’s pornographic, and it would definitely get you arrested for indecent exposure and disorderly conduct. And even though those reasons should be enough for you to stop what you’re doing and tell Joel you want to just get home first (which he’d be more than willing to oblige to for your comfort), you don’t want to. The prospect of someone walking by to witness what this hunk of a man can reduce you down to is enough to push you to the edge that much faster.

He slightly rocks his thigh back and forth in time with the grind of your hips, the now wet fabric catching enticingly on your clit. Joel’s grip on your waist tightens, encouraging more pressure into you. He lets go of your dress to slip his fingers in between your cunt and his thigh, adding more stimulation to the bundle of nerves as he pushes himself into you to meet you in another wet kiss. His lips leave your mouth and make its way down your jaw to just below your ear, and he bites. Hard. The searing sensation mixed with everything else makes your vision go white, and you’re literally creaming all over his black dress pants. He soothes that part of your neck with more sucking and licking as your hips come to a halt, his fingers still rubbing slowly, ever so often teasing them at your entrance.

Your full weight is leaned against his truck, and the only reason you’re still standing right now is because of his hold on you. He knows this, so keeping his one arm around your waist, he slowly pulls away from you to bend down and bring his other arm under your knees. He picks you up and cradles you to the front seat of his truck. He sets you down gently, buckles you in, and before he steps away to the driver side, he uses his pointer and thumb to nudge your chin up to his level, and he kisses you so sweetly, the butterflies in both your bellies fluttering like crazy at the feeling. “I can’t get enough of you,” he whispers.

“Then take me home, cowboy.”

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･��✧

Ironically enough, your car ride back to your apartment is filled with the sweetness of each other’s presence, your main conversation of getting to know each other from dinner picking back up. The first few minutes of pulling out of the parking lot and getting onto the main road was you bringing yourself back down from your orgasmic high. You wanted to take care of Joel, so that’s what you started to do as soon as you gained your consciousness again, but he stopped you.

“Trust me, darlin’, I want you to so fuckin’ bad,” he says as he regretfully puts your hand back on the middle console and engulfs your hand in his. “But, at least, for tonight, I need to get you off before I do.”

You look at him even though he can’t meet your gaze. The gesture is heartwarming, you’ve never had anyone like this before. And although pleasing your partner is equally as pleasing for you, you don’t argue—but you are confused. “You did get me off, though…three times already?”

He smirks and meets your eyes for a moment before turning back. “That was just your appetizer, baby,” he lifts your hand up to his mouth and leaves a kiss to the back of it.

Your eyes go wide, “Oh,” you squeak out. You can’t help the giggle that escapes you, “Okay then.”

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

As soon as he parks, he’s out of the car in an instant, opening your door and guiding you out again. You walk up to your door, fumbling for your keys to unlock it. He’s behind you, lips hungrily kissing up and down your neck and your shoulder. As soon as you get it open, you turn around to face him, your lips smashing into his and tugging him into the house as you walk backwards towards the direction of the nearest piece of furniture possible. He kicks your door shut and swiftly locks it, his one hand only leaving you for an unnoticeable second.

You were trying to lead him to your living room, but somehow you ended up crashing into your dining table. He doesn’t care though because his hands are grabbing at your hips, hoisting you up. He breaks the contact with your lips and you whine at the loss, but immediately he’s kneeling. Third time today, you think to yourself, could definitely get used to this view.

“Told ya, I needed to taste you for real, sweet girl,” he says as he runs his hands up your thighs. “Spread your legs, baby.”

You gather the front of your dress and let it pool beside you, your bottom half completely bare to him. You spread your legs and bring your hips to the very edge, your core completely at his mercy. His eyes grow completely black at the view, your wetness dripping out of you.

He secures his hands at your hips, borderline grasping at the globes of your asscheeks, and your thighs hooked on his shoulders. He leaves warm, open-mouth kisses up your thigh, alternating between both. Once he reaches your sex, you realize there is absolutely no stopping him until he’s had his fill. Your one hand stays behind on the dining table to hold you up while the other flies to the back of his head, gripping the curls at the base of his neck.

You’ve never felt anything like this before. His plush lips kissing every place vulnerable to you with such a velvety sensation, his tongue pushing into you and nudging areas you didn’t know a tongue could reach, and his nose—My God, his fucking nose—providing life-altering sensation directly on your clit.

The only noises in your apartment are the sounds of his slurping mixed with your high-pitched moans and occasional dirty praise, and you’re sure your neighbors can hear you, but you’re feeling way too fucking good to even care about that right now.

“Just like that, fuck-” your hips start grinding into his face, “-shit, you feel so fucking good, Joel, yes!” You gasp out as his rhythm changes, forcing you to the edge for the fourth time tonight.

He pulls you in impossibly closer and shoves his face impossibly deeper, and at that moment, your orgasm crashes into you. Your arm that was holding you up gives way and you fall back into the dining table, back arching while your thighs tighten around Joel’s head. The feeling of being completely consumed by you eggs him on so much that he can’t bring himself to stop. He continues devouring you like his life depends on it, his moans and whines vibrating you deep within. You don’t know if it’s another orgasm hitting you or an aftershock from the one you just had, but all you know is that your ass is completely off the dining table and he’s holding you into his face drinking every last drop.

You use all your strength to pull yourself back up, both your arms behind you to hold you up. You try and scoot your ass back onto the table, but Joel is still gripping onto you, spoiling the entire area with slow, deep kisses. He gives extra attention on your thighs, sucking bruises that’ll flourish through the night. Loving the sensation but not loving the way your ass is hitting against the table, you softly call his name with a smile full of adoration, “Let’s take this to my room, maybe?”

He stands to his full height while scooting you back to be able to sit properly again. His smile mirrors yours. He grabs your face with both his hands and pulls you in for a kiss. It’s soft at first, but tasting yourself on him is a taste you don’t think you’ll ever tire of. Your tongue caresses his bottom lip, and he opens, pulling you in, his tongue embracing yours in an all-consuming dance.

Your hands begin to roam at his sides, making your way to the buttons of his dress shirt, and it’s then that he pulls away, remembering the question you asked. “Wait, wait,” he says. He opens your legs a little more so he can step in between. His hands are underneath you once again, and he nudges you forward, wordlessly telling you to wrap your legs around his waist. So you do, and he picks up, chuckling at the squeal you let out when your body reaches the air, and he leads you to your bedroom.

He lets you plop onto the edge of the bed and get yourself situated in the center. He finishes what you started and starts undressing himself. His shirt is the first to go, unbuttoning, untucking, and letting it fall to a random place on your floor. Looking down at you ready for him, he takes a step closer, unbuckling his belt, pulling them out of the loops, letting it follow the same path as his shirt.

He’s been catching the way you’ve been admiring all day, so he indulges in your fantasy a little in the way he undresses himself for you. With every article that gets removed, he watches your eyes grow hungrier, your breathing heavier. You’re too occupied at the sight of his body, you don’t make any move to pull your dress off, but that’s okay. Joel wants to be the one to unwrap his dessert.

Joel removes his pants and boxers in one go, and you let out an involuntary gasp at the sight in front of you. He is fucking huge. His length isn’t overbearing, but it’s his fucking girth that’s throwing you in for a loop. Your anxiety starts to rise a little; you have never been with a man as well-endowed as Joel and no strap-on you’ve taken could ever resemble what you’re about to take right now.

You fell into your overthinking, not realizing that Joel has made his way over you. He grounds you with a kiss, stealing all your worries. He grazes his finger over your forehead, pushing a hair away. The action makes you melt. Oh, there goes the butterflies, again. He guides your head to angle down to kiss your forehead, then your nose, and back to your lips once more. He makes sure your eyes are on each other before he says, “We do not have to do anything more if you are not ready, sweet girl.”

He’s been pretty dominating all night, which you don’t mind at all, but this coming out of his mouth at the fire of your anxieties completely distinguishes them. You know you’re safe with him. Your eyes tear up and before you speak, you snake your hand to the back of his neck and yank him into you for another kiss. As he pulls away, a tear falls, but his thumb catches it.

“I trust you, Joel, I need you,” you say as you lean into the warmth of his hand, “Please.”

“Sit up for me real quick then, darlin’,” he says, sitting back on his haunches and pulling you up with him. His hands find the hem of your silky dress, and he slowly guides it up your thighs, up your torso, and you lift your arms off so he can guide it off completely. Now it’s his turn to admire. It’s as if his eyes don’t know where to look first: at your luscious thighs, your beautiful tummy, your full chest. “You’re so perfect,” he whispers, not meant for you to really hear, but it makes you flutter all the same.

“Lay down for me, baby,” he says as he continues admiring you. You lay back down again, reaching your arm up to drag the pillow below your head. You spread your legs, inviting him in, letting him know you’re ready. But what he does next absolutely surprises you. He grabs your leg at the ankle and lays kisses everywhere. Up your calf, the bend of your knee, all around your thigh in the areas he marked earlier. He reaches your mound and makes no move to dive in. Instead, he lays kisses in the area, even a kiss is placed directly on your clit. You moan at the feeling. He mirrors his actions on your other leg. Then, he bends forward and begins kissing your tummy. Kisses in the general vicinity of your belly button, your ribs, making his way up your sternum.

Granted, your body is buzzing in arousal right now, and you’re making a puddle in your sheets, but mentally, the way he is appreciating your body has you feeling utterly content.

Your hand finds its home again in his neck just as Joel reaches your breasts. He continues his journey and kisses all around, his tongue swirling around your nipples. Your back arches at this, and you feel him smile against you as his hands wrap around your ribs, his thumbs caressing underneath your boobs. His mouth makes its way to your neck.

His mouth transitions to longer, wetter kisses, leaving trails of spit on the valley of your breasts and on your neck. The cooling of his spit coaxes a whimper out of you, wanting more of him. Wanting to drink him. His mouth finally meets yours and it’s slow but desperate, your hips lifting to meet his at an attempt for any kind of relief. His tongue massages yours and you can feel the spit build up; you eagerly try and lap it up.

You pull him away for a moment, slightly bashful to ask, but you need it so bad. “C-can you…” your gaze slips from his. His hand on your rib comes up to rest on the lower part of your neck, his fingertips grazing your jaw but also softly guiding you to look at him again. His eyebrow quirks up at you. Go on, he’s telling you. “Can you, uh- I-” you completely fumble. “Words, trouble,” he smirks, the nickname eliciting a sense of comfort within you.

“Canyouspitinmymouth, please?” You rush out with your eyes clamped shut, scared of what his reaction would be. He doesn’t say a thing, waiting for you to come to your senses and open your eyes. As soon as you do, he’s on you again, kissing you like before you pulled away to ask your question. Except this time, his fingertips secure themselves on the hinge of your jaw and nudge you open. Your lips but a whisper apart, his spit falling into your mouth, as your tongues’ tips dance around one another.

The moans you let out for him are sounds he never wants to give up. He’ll let you drink him dry if this is what he hears in his last breaths.

He pulls away, a spit string connecting you both. You lean forward, attaching to his bottom lip for a moment more before you let yourself pull away, then you swallow.

“Fuck, that was so hot,” you breathily giggle. He smirks at your antics, leaning in for another kiss to distract you. He reaches for another pillow above your head, and as your kiss becomes more heated, you grind your hips up into him, giving him perfect timing to slot the pillow underneath your lower back.

You pull back, “Wha-” you start to question, but he’s quick to respond. He sits back up for a sec, “It’ll help,” he says, and he brings both your legs into a bent position, like frog legs, in a way. Your confusion immediately fades as you physically feel your pelvic floor open up. Oh.

“I thought you were a contractor, not a chiropractor?” you tease.

“Watch it,” he warns. “You know, I could just,” his fingers graze your glistening entrance, “force it in,” he slips a finger in, slowly. You gasp, teasing demeanor gone in an instant. “No preppin’ this tight little thing,” he pulls his finger completely out, you whine in response. “How ‘bout that?”

A barely audible please escapes your mouth, unsure of what it is you’re begging for, and you feel your pussy clench at his words.

His eyes darken, “Oh, she likes that idea, huh?” He’s leaning over you now, kissing your jaw and neck as he grabs himself by the base and lines his tip up to your warmth. “Maybe next time. Right now, trouble, I’m takin’ my damn time with you.”

He grabs himself by the base and guides himself to your entrance, his other hand at the side of your head. He lets his cock grind against your wet folds for a few moments, covering himself in your earlier climax, and then his tip catches at your entrance. You both let out a sharp gasp at the sensation, and he slowly starts pushing in.

“Oh, fuck,” you let out.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he whimpers, “so fuckin’ good, fuck.”

Your pussy clenches at his tone of desperation, and his one arm moves to situate underneath the curve of your back, accentuating it. He’s halfway in you and the painful yet pleasing stretch of your pussy has you closing your eyes at the sensation.

“Baby, eyes on me, need t’see you,” he says, reaching down to nip your bottom lip. Your eyes shoot open and your brows furrow, your pouty face doing nothing to ease his yearn of just pushing completely in you with no remorse.

Finally he bottoms out, both your hips flush with one another, and being completely engulfed in you like this, he can’t hold out any longer. “Look, doll,” he rasps. His hand beside you snakes underneath your head and he’s lifting it for you to look down. “It’s like you’re made f’me, huh?” He says as he begins to pull out of you until only the tip is in.

Your eyes are fixed on the sight below you. Your pussy absolutely stretched out, his dick completely covered in your juices. You don’t have the mental capacity to form anything coherent. Joel knows that, so giving you no time to acknowledge his filthy words, he pushes inside you again. This time much faster and much harder.

He continues that rough and fast pace for a while, kissing and biting everywhere his mouth can reach, relishing in the constant moans and whimpers spewing from your mouth.

“S-so big,” your voice quivers.

“But you’re takin’ it so well, sweet girl,” he replies, voice husky and strained. He sits up a little to stand on his knees, his pace faltering momentarily. His arm from your waist moves down to the underside of the bend on your knee. He pushes your leg higher, opens you up more. The angle makes you flutter around his cock, and he can’t help but speed up.

“Fuck,” he grits out, “not gonna last with that, sweetheart.”

His hand beside your head moves to rest at the base of your neck, his fingers splayed wide across you, giving him more leverage to rock in and out of you. You feel your body wanting to arch up into him, but the hold he has on you and the angle you’re in gives him complete control over you. The thought brings you higher, and you can’t help what spills from your mouth next.

“‘S okay, Joel, p-please,” you moan, “Use me, use my pussy, daddy.”

His hand trails a little higher and now he’s completely wrapped around your neck, his thrusts sloppy, but harder than you’ve ever felt before. “Say that again, sweetheart?” he rushes, hurtling towards his release.

You let both your hands come up to grab ahold of the hand wrapped around your throat. You pulse your grip, hinting at him to squeeze. He gets it, and within seconds, his fingers are right on your pulse points, applying pressure and giving you a yummy dizziness.

Your breath hitches and your voice picks up in pitch, “U-use me, daddy, I want your cum, please.” His other hand reaches for your clit. You gasp out. Immediately then, a lightbulb turns on in your mind, and a dazed smile forms across your face.

“Yeah, baby, that what you want?” he says as his ministrations on your clit picks up, his cock kissing that sweet spot inside of you, over and over again. “Wanna be pumped full of daddy’s cum?”

“Ay, dámelo, papi, dámelo.”

It’s as if you two were really standing on an edge of a cliff, and you pushed him off with just your words. He roars out an addictive moan, and his release coats your walls. The warmth flooding in you and the pulse of his cock mixed with his fingers still circling, and you’re getting pushed off the cliff with him. His fingers begin to slow, and he’s letting go of your throat. He leans back over you to meet your lips, and you take him in. Quite sloppily, though, you’re doing the best you can with the feeling of his hips still slowly rocking into you, the overstimulation milking both of you for all that you’re worth.

You both stay like that for a few minutes longer, basking in the softness of him on your lips, inside you.

But then immediately he pulls away — and pulls out. You both hiss at the feeling.

“Shit! Fuck, I’m sorry-” he starts blabbering, but you cut him off with a finger on his lips.

“Hey, hey, hey, breathe,” you say as you take a deep breath for him to mirror, “What’s going on?”

He takes a deep breath and repeats himself, calmer this time. “I’m sorry, I didn’t ask where you wanted-” he gestures to his cum beautifully dripping from your entrance, “I know how risky that was- and we didn’t even use protection, I-” his panic starting to rise again.

You put your hand on his sternum and put a little pressure, figuring if your anxiety sits there, it’s worth a shot to see if that’s where his sits, too. It does. He looks down at your hand and back up at you, kind of shocked but not more than the situation at hand to question how you know that would help.

“A few things,” you say as you keep your hand on him. “One, I never stopped you, we both took the risks. Two, luckily enough for the both of us, I’m on the pill.” He smiles at that. “And three, even if I wasn’t on the pill” you continue, “I wouldn’t mind picking up a Plan B if it meant I got to feel you like that inside of me again…” your voice trails off and immediately he pulls your hand away from his front up to his mouth to press several kisses on your palm, bursting in lighthearted laughter, his anxiety fading away.

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You and Joel laid in bed, tangled up in each other, for a little while longer, but he could sense the mess started to make you a little uncomfortable. He pulled both you and him off your bed, guiding you with his hands on your hips but ultimately letting you take the lead to your bathroom.

He guides you to your toilet and starts scouring your bathroom to find your washcloths. Once he does, he soaks it in warm water, and falls down to your level, so he can clean you. You reach out to grab the washcloth, thinking you’re gonna be the one doing it, but he’s quick to swat your hand away with a smile. He asks softly, “May I?”

Your eyes meet his, and all you can see is a genuine softness and a genuine yearn to take care of you. It makes you breathless. “Yeah,” you return his softness.

Being the pretty kinky and adventurous person that you were, aftercare always existed for you. Albeit, some of your past partners were more tender than others, but none of them treated you in a way that made you feel like you two were endgame. There’s something about Joel and the way he can be so soft, warm, and appreciative. He’s so experienced and considerate that you know he’s probably had his fair share of lovers in his past, but the way he treats you makes you feel like everything back then was solely leading him to this very moment. Like he spent years searching, and now that he’s found you, he needs to make sure what’s his is truly being taken care of in the way it deserves.

The thought and his actions should scare you, but they don’t.

There are people who spend years dating each other, still trying to figure out if they’re meant to be. There are married couples filing for divorce because they learned that they weren’t for each other after all.

There are others who get married after six months because they just know. Then, there’s you and Joel. Obviously you’re not going to marry him tomorrow but as you sit here, letting him care for you in such a way you’ve never felt before, you feel it. The rightness. The belonging. He’s gonna be in your life for a long, long time, and one of the most important people in your life at that. You don’t say any of this, though. You can’t. It’s too soon.

So, for now, you’ll just let your actions speak louder than words, and show him just how much you need him in your life.

“I’m cooking for us next time,” you say, pulling Joel from his own thoughts.

“Okay,” he says without a second thought. Unbeknownst to you, he was thinking the exact same thing as you.

He feels it, too, and just like you, for now, he’ll let his actions speak louder than his words.

He reaches over and plops the washcloth into the sink, his eyes on you.

“Only if we christen the dining table before dinner.”

Your eyes widen and your cheeks go hot.

Yeah, you are absolutely fucked. And so is he.

I hope you guys enjoyed!🥹 As always, feedback, comments, reblogs, etc. is extremely appreciated! Thank you to every single one of you for welcoming me with open, loving arms. I'm giving all of you forehead smooches right now. I love you all. So much.

EDIT: As of the new year 2024, I no longer do taglists!! Follow @endlessthxxghtsnotifs and turn on the notifications to be updated when new stories come out!!

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wynnyfryd · 3 months

Text

💖 2024 Steddie Fic Recs 💖

@thefreakandthehair and i were talking about how so many of the fics we can name off the top of our heads are from right after the show came out because we were still actively making rec lists back then, so:

in no particular order i present to you an incomplete list of fics i love that were published or completed within the last two months

short fics (<10k)

Found God In A Tomato by @beetlesandstarss 5.7k | rated M | fluff, text fic

syrupy sweet strangers to first date fic. without spoiling anything, eddie is a flustered cutie and steve is a fuckin' menace who's lucky he's so hot

he tightened he grip by @steddieas-shegoes 1.3k | rated E | crack not treated remotely seriously

Mickala beloved your commitment to the bit makes me wanna commit myself to you 💍

Slide It In by gayhandshake 1.8k | rated E | multimedia crack

another truly impeccable work of crack fic, i laughed so hard at the first image that i made it the icon for my private discord server

what's that sound? (there's a funny man at my door) by @jewishrat420 4.8k | rated M | spicy six text fic

laughed out loud at this fic so many times i really don't know what else to tell you. as a matter of fact, i went to look at my bookmark note to see what else i had to say about it when i read it, and my note just says "fucking hilarious i laughed out loud like 6 times" 💀 did not do not will never know what else to tell you except that the phrase "the goyim of gender" just randomly pops into my brain once every four or so days now

medium fics (10-20k)

In the Kitchen or the Tulips by @teddywesworl 44k | rated E | telepathic soulmate AU

this fic said "watch me flip this trope inside out like a freshly cubed half of an avocado" and then DELIVERED. i finished this fic and then stared at the side of my husband's head for long enough that he looked over and went "wtf are you doing" lmao hush baby i am contemplating the implications

they're going to send us to prison for jerks by @greatunironic 16k | rated E | social media AU

okay firstly the premise of this fic is so specifically and delightfully unhinged; love that i'm not the only one who looks at a random tiktok account and manically whispers to myself "there's a fic in there somewhere." secondly the execution is a 10 outta 10 outta 10 outta TEN

long fics (50k+)

Sneaky Link by @morningberriesao3 152k | rated E | onlyfans au

the sex is HOT the boys are dumb as goddamn ROCKS what more do you need? oh, what's that? you do need more? sick because this fic also has: the tags "cum slut eddie munson" and "everyone is gay (because i say so)", chrissy the homophobe slayer being the cutest little spy, and jason getting his ass whooped, like, spiritually. on a spiritual level. physically unharmed but that boy's soul is missing teeth do u understand what i am saying

podfics!

it was love, love alone read by @reena-jenkins 21min | rated E

am i technically reccing my own fic on my own fic rec list? you bet your sweet ass i am, i don't even care how tacky that is reena's performance is hilarious and deserves to be listened to at least 40 more times while doing the dishes

relax (lay it back) read by @flintandfuss 1hr 10min | rated E | yogi dom steve x sub eddie

listen if i'm already being gauche then i gotta include my internet wife's belated birthday present to me, like i gotta. morally and lustfully obligated.

Schiava by @teddywesworl read by aheada_lettuce 1hr 30min | rated E | kas!eddie AU

said it once already today and i'll say it again, i cannot believe one of the best reading voices i've ever heard belongs to a person i mentally refer to as fucking lettuce LOL anyway this read is incredible and i have listened to it Times(tm)

and lastly, if you want more recs (like, 348 more specifically), you can browse my full list of public st bookmarks here

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fic recs #i'm still playing catch up on tbrs from 2023 so don't have a ton of new fics to rec just yet but these are all excellent i promise <3 #steve harrington #eddie munson

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yandere-sins · 22 days

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A yandere with a darling who is kinda worse than they are but are still into it.....I don't know how unhinged you'd have to be for the yan to be like "Are you ok? Like if you need to talk about it I've put listening devices in the vents but still..."

I didn't want this to go into compliant darling territory or the darling being the yandere for someone else (though I did laugh a lot at the idea of telling the darling that the vents are bugged just in case they need it lol that's a good one). But this somewhat brought me a kind of different idea which you probably didn't intend, but I hope you like it all the same!

Warnings: Yandere, Violence (Descriptive acts of murder, stabbing, punching other people, breaking bones, getting bloody, a lot of blood actually, burying bodies), Sexual Content (Mentioning of non-con, dub-con, taking advantage, doing it in the blood of victims and next to dead bodies), Mentioning of drugs, Mentioning of knives, Patient/Doctor relationships, Murderer/Admirerer relationships, Reader is a serial killer, Yandere captures people for reader to kill, Yandere is also mad but so is reader, Reader doubts yandere's reasons for liking them, Reader is genderneutral but gets lifted into a bridal-style at the end, I once again didn't compile these warnings while writing and editing so I might miss some, sorry :(, Mentioning of wanting to throw up, Reader doesn't actually want to get better, it was different but really fun to write, Long post?, I feel like there are more warnings... but I can't remember anymore, if you made it this far and still want to read it, I hope you enjoy it!

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

Click

You sighed, holding your head in your hands, arms squeezed between your torso and legs. Your head was throbbing with the headache of the century. One you hadn't had in a long time... like five days.

"You're a fucking dick, you know that?"

Groaning, you heard your own voice echo through your dizzy brain, nausea building as you felt like you were on a ship, everything moving unsteadily around you. The blinding lights flooding the off-white room didn't help soothe the feeling either, and your whole body kept tensing up, readying itself to throw up. You tried deep breaths, but they barely did anything. Not like they ever did something. You were too far gone for that.

"I did what was necessary," his voice rang out through the speaker in the top left corner, accompanied by the screeching of technical issues. You whined loudly, tearing your hair out as your head felt like it would burst. "My bad," he added, turning down the volume.

"What was it this time? Double the dose, triple? Must you keep drugging me? Some doctor you are..."

"I tried something new," he admitted, a cheeky grin in his voice.

"Worked great..." you slurred, listening to him chuckle.

For a while, you gave in to the need to collapse, putting your arm over your eyes to escape the lights while you thought about the last few things you could remember. Therapy was going well... at least that's what you were told. But the nurses—ugh. That one bitch.

"She did it on purpose," you mumbled, hearing the softest of agreement through the speaker. You knew that if it wasn't against regulation, he'd be sitting next to you, brushing your hair out of the way while you'd tell him your woes. He was that kind of sicko. A doctor, yet fascinated with you, his patient. Even though he merely sat behind the cameras, watching you, you could hear the sickening affection he held for only his favorite patient in every one of his words.

In a way, he wasn't that different from you.

"You beat her up real good, smashed her face in. Got yourself into a frenzy and just tore open all your stitches from your last fight while you were at it, you really..."

He sighed. He was disappointed. Upset. This was a significant setback for him, too, after all.

"She called me too stupid to ever recover properly and I was trying this time, really! How else should I have reacted?"

"You could have told me."

"And you would have dealt with her how?"

A brief chuckle rang out before he replied, although, had you been less delirious, you wouldn't have needed to ask. You knew what he did to people who behaved poorly with you. "I would have taken care of her, as always. You know you have my unending support."

You couldn't help a smile creeping over your face, the memory of burying the last nurse who bothered you in the asylum's cemetary resurfacing. Digging out the grave had been hard work, but you had to agree with him that the physical labor did wonders to soothe your ever-agitated mind.

"You're terrible," you mumbled, unable to hide your smile.

"Ah! There it is! Look at those little dimples! I'm glad my services are appreciated by my darling. I was hoping to take you out on a rendevous once the dust settles. Maybe we can do that sooner than I expected."

"Who'd want that, you sicko."

Groaning, you finally sat up, looking down at the cushioned floor while you adjusted to being awake. Standing took a few attempts; the cushions aligned along the wall, not actually graspable, even if they looked like it. Everything about the solitary cell was so safe, it made you feel helpless. But eventually you managed to get to your wobbly feet, sighing in exhaustion once you stood.

"There you go, breaking my heart," he sighed, and you shook your head with a laugh, knowing he didn't mean it.

"No straight jacket this time?" you asked, raising your arms and, for the first time since you awoke, realizing your movements were unrestraint.

"You weren't in a condition to restrain you. I prioritized your healing over that awful jacket."

"You just don't like it because it does nothing for my figure."

Again, you heard the grin in his voice as he said, "Busted. You're too cute to walk around constrained. Even though I love how crazy you look with it."

"Sicko..." you mumbled, your nickname for your doctor, endearing only in his ears.

Your limbs were terribly heavy as you moved them towards the door. Part of you wanted to collapse on the ground again; simply pass out where you were. But knowing him, he'd definitely use the opportunity to take advantage of you, especially now that he could get a video of it.

You didn't always mind what your doctor did to you. In a way, he was helpful even if everything you two did was against any laws in this country. If anyone knew what you two were getting into when no one was looking, you'd both be put down like rabid dogs. But that's just how you two were—feral.

The sicko kept telling you how he'd get you back on track. How he'd "fix" you just enough so you could go home with him. There was no way you'd consider living with him if you ever did get out. Still, he liked to paint the picture whenever he crawled into your bed while on night duty, hugging you and telling you about his ideas. You told him often enough that, given the chance, you'd kill him outside the safety of this institution, but so far... you hadn't.

You had enough chances, enough people he let you murder, watching you while you did it and helping you to hide the bodies once you were satisfied, but you never once turned the knife on him. Maybe it was because of his studies; perhaps he knew more about you than you about yourself. Or it was because he was just as insane. Fucking your patient in the blood of their victims was definitely not normal, even you knew that. So what other reason could he have for it except insanity?

"Earth to my darling, I repeat: Are you thirsty?"

You felt the heat spread over your face as you felt called out by his question, almost as if he was reading your mind. It wasn't like you two were lovers. There was no chance in hell you'd get together with someone like him—or anyone for that matter. You didn't want the burden of someone clinging to you while you did your dirty work.

But the sex after releasing all your pent-up anger? Out of this world.

Perhaps his doctorate was in fucking instead of psychiatry, but he knew how to work every part of his body. And he knew just how to get you in the mood, too. An explosive combination, mixing his lust with your madness.

That didn't change much about your feelings for him, though.

"I'm not," you muttered, trying to hide your face, which probably showed the embarrassment you felt, thinking of the last romp you two had. You tried the deep breaths again, but the thoughts kept popping back into your mind. Must be the drugs, you thought.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course!"

His excitement was loud and clear as it rang through the microphone, and you weren't sure if you should smile at it or sneer. For some reason, you both held each other in a tight grip, unable to be separated, yet most likely toxic for each other. But he still got excited over any kind of interest you had in him and you about all the things he did so you could live out your best life—even though you were locked away for a reason.

"Why me?" you asked, standing in front of the door, not looking up. Even if he was just the voice behind a camera at the moment, somehow, this question left a bad taste in your mouth. You didn't want him to see the conflict on your face; didn't want him to know that you were doubting how deserving you were of his favor. It wasn't insecurity, wasn't a need for reassurance, but how could anyone look at you and think, "That's the one!"? You killed people, went into violent rages, and weren't considered safe enough to be reintegrated into society, probably ever again. There was nothing you had to show for yourself. Nothing that could justify the feeling of adoration your own therapist held for you. Especially not he. He should have been one of the good ones. And you weren't. It made no sense to you why he'd behave like he did.

"Why you what?"

"Why do you like me so much? I mean, come on! I mean, look at us! We're batshit crazy! This isn't some romance movie on television, we're actually doing bad shit, and yet you keep shielding me, doing me favors, telling me you love me. I'm sure there are others out there who you can fix and fuck if you like. It's not like..."

Biting your own tongue, you wondered if it was the new drug combo he tried on you that made you feel especially irritated with his feelings that day. You let him do all this stuff to and with you, but now you were getting weirded out by it? It wasn't like you to get so worked up over him; you were more of the cool type, spitting-in-his-face-type if he pissed you off. You didn't even want to validate his feelings for you, but also... being self-aware enough to know you were a danger to humankind, you couldn't shake the feeling he might just be using you for his own sick desires. And that made you angry again. You'd not be a pawn or a means for no one.

Click

"Wow, okay, you bastard." Your grumbling fell on deaf ears as he turned off the microphone. "Sure, I'm going through something here, but by all means, stop listening. Not like it's your job or anything..."

Unprepared, you jolted back as the door to your cell suddenly yanked open, revealing the pitch-black corridor that lay behind. Apparently, it was late at night, but you couldn't focus on that as your doctor appeared from the shadows, a deep frown etched into his beautiful face. He should have been a model. At least that job wouldn't have led him to meet you.

"Do you doubt me?" he asked, stalking forward, undeterred by the open door, not thinking for a second that you'd try to escape. "Do I need a reason to love you for you to believe it?"

He caught your chin between his fingers, tilting your head back as he matched the steps you were taking backward. Soon, you'd run out of space to back into, but perhaps that was his goal.

"Can't I just love you because the first time you caved in and told me about the things you went through, things just felt... right? Everything just clicked in my head, and I thought, "Wow, I want to see them happy!" Must there be any other reason for me to love you?"

Your back hit the wall just as his eyes lowered to your lips, his thumb reaching up to brush over them. "I dream about those lips. I can't help but think about you no matter where I go. In the evening, I imagine you curled up on the couch next to me; sometimes, I hear your laugh when you aren't even there. I want that picture-perfect life with you, but the moment I step into your room and see you covered in blood, your eyes showing just how far gone you are, it just..."

He looked up again, his eyes swirling with all the emotions he tried to convey in his words. But when he met your gaze, the color drained, leaving behind what you could only describe as pure, unfiltered madness.

"It drives me insane."

His second hand raised to the side of your face. He cupped your cheek in his palm for a moment, a soft smile creeping over his lips. "I like you like this. Docile, calm, sweet. I like it when you ask me things, I like it when you beg for something. I like it when you only let me do things to you. I want to help you, I do! But..."

His hand sliding down, you looked away, trying to catch it before it slipped around your throat, pressing into it, squeezing so hard you felt as if your head was going to detach from your neck.

"I want to ruin you. I want you worse, I want you deranged. I want you to kill everyone and then me, so I'll be the last of your victims, the only one you remember. I want to be ruined by you so badly that every day, I hope you tell me about yet another staff member we get to kill, and then you can use me to satisfy your needs. Can't you understand? This is love. No one will ever love someone like you, but. I. do. I understand you, I care for you. And I will continue to do so, with no other reason than I love you. I love you so much."

You gasped for air at this point, fingers grabbing his arm. It was hard listening to him, but it was harder to breathe. You knew he wouldn't kill you. This was nothing compared to other things you two did to each other. It stung a little when he said no one else would ever love you, but he was right. Not unless the change everyone expected from you was also something you wanted.

But why would you?

The pressure on your throat disappeared, only for your breath to be stolen by his kiss. You hated this man. You hated him because he was a little bit too much like you. Too unhinged to be likable. And at the same time, he wasn't at all. He was too supportive, too nice, too forgiving. It disgusted you, honestly. Yet, you reciprocated, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. Before he could back off, you caught his cheeks in a squeeze between your fingers to draw him back to lick off the red fluid, reminding him he wasn't the deranged one here.

"Don't question me again about my feelings, please," he asked, out of breath, too, as he bumped his forehead against yours. "I love you, I really do."

"You're a sicko, you know that? And your beard is stinging me, you should shave."

At this, he laughed out loud, raising his head to the ceiling. "I spent three days waiting for you to wake up. You can deal with some stubble."

"No, I don't like it."

Grinning, he lowered his face to you and gave you another peck on the lips. "It's gone tomorrow, I promise."

"Can I go back to my room now?"

He hummed thoughtfully before shaking his head. "Someone's awaiting their punishment still. You really want to miss out on that?"

Now it was your turn to grin as well. "Aww, you shouldn't have! Are we gonna cut up that bitch now? For real?"

"Anything for you," he mumbled, raising your hand to give it a quick smooch. "But let me change your bandages first. I don't want you to accidentally get sepsis if your wounds are still open."

"Surprisingly, you're still a doctor at heart."

"That's not true," he gasped, feigning indignation about your statement.

"Are you not?" you asked, watching him bend down to pick you up, bridal-style even. You weren't mad since your legs felt even weaker than before, and you really wanted to conserve your energy.

"I'm afraid it's no longer medicine that has claimed my heart."

He looked at you, smiling softly. "It's all you."

"And I can't help but love you more, realizing I am becoming more like you every day."

#yandere doctor #yandere!doctor #yandere therapist #yandere!therapist #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #yandere stories #yandere oneshots #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #Yandere TW

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freakshowtwopointoh · 6 months

Note

Hi!! Can I request jealous Jordan li where reader is spending a lot of time with someone else, maybe for a school project or something and Jordan notices and is like, nope, not happening, this one's mine bc they're so in love with reader and want all of the attention

Whew, that was a lot, haha,

Thank you!!!!

*not sure if u want established partners or situationship w feelings or something else, but i think imma go with situationship bc thats always the vibe for jordan lol if u want more established relationship lmk*

Debate club was a sensible extracurricular, and you had been doing it since your school stopped having model UN in 9th grade. It wasn't your favorite thing in the world, but you liked to argue, so it worked out. This week, you were arguing the "for" case with your teammate for the semester, Blake Mathers. He's a grating sophomore with floppy hair, and telekinesis powers you've only seen him use to enable his own laziness. The head of the club was nice enough, but he was insistent on "teamwork" when you'd much rather write alone. It was exhausting, trying to filter your thoughts and opinions, and allowing others to shine was not your style.

You try to pay attention to what Blake was saying about the topic, but all you were thinking about was Jordan Li. Ever since you made out at one of Dusty's infamous parties, they had invaded your senses and your thoughts. They'd catch you staring during class, or you'd wear a tiny skirt to a party, and you'd end up in a closet, or a car, or a bedroom, all limbs and heavy breathing.

"Um, hello? Did you hear me?" You shake your head.

"Sorry. Say that again?"

"The argument we wrote yesterday. It's gone - my computer got fucked." Ah, crap. This is the second time Blake's stupidity has made you re-do work. You'd done some research at the start of the week, and he'd forgotten to mention the topic had been changed. You sigh.

"Well, fuck. Alright, let's go back to the library then." You turn around and start walking, trying not to show your disappointment. You'd been hoping to "run into" Jordan at the JitterBean - hence the tight-ass skinny jeans.

Waste of an outfit, you think bitterly, pushing open the glass doors and setting up at the table that you and Blake had been using to do your assignments. Thankfully you'd saved your notes from yesterday, so you began reconstructing your argument while Blake screwed off.

You weren't paying much attention to what he was doing until you saw him fucking with Justine. Now there's some bullying you can get behind. You giggle, and watch as he makes another paper airplane fly around her head. She glares over at him and storms out, which makes you laugh out loud. The librarian glares, and you exchange a guilty look with Blake before getting back into writing.

The afternoon goes by easily after that. You were vaguely aware of other students milling about or studying nearby, but you were in the zone. Finally, at almost 8, the argument was done, and you saved it in multiple places just in case.

You wave goodbye to Blake, happy that the session went reasonably ok and the work was done. Saturday's debate was going to be a blast.

"Have fun on your little date with Mathers?" Jordan was leaning against the outside wall of the library, expression unreadable.

"Is the infamous Jordan Li jealous?" Their eyes harden slightly.

"Not jealous, just lookin out for you. He's a moron." They begin walking beside you, not acknowledging how unhinged they were behaving. Just looking out for you? If they weren't so damn hot, you might slap them. But the fact that they were asking meant.... something, right? You ignored how that made your heart swoop and just kept walking.

"We have debate club together, and he keeps fucking shit up, that's all." You say, in spite of yourself. If you were smarter, you'd let them wonder what you were doing with him. But you couldn't keep from looking at them, and feeling disappointed you can't make out any relief in their eyes. But then, their arm is snaked around your waist and their lips are at your ear.

"You wear those skin fucking tight jeans to just study with him?" You grit your teeth, forcing your mouth to not say what you wanted so desperately to say: 'No, I wore them for you, and you're clearly the idiot if you can't tell that I am so wrapped around your finger that I will dress up just in case I see you.' and just roll your eyes instead. They let their hand slide from your waist to your back pocket, daring you to stop them. And of course you don't. With every inch their hand travels, your heart skips another beat. When they squeeze your ass ever so slightly, a whimper sneaks out before you can stop it.

And with that, you're being pressed against a tree and their lips are on your neck.

"Fuck, J." You curse as their teeth sink into your skin.

"You're mine, baby. Only mine." They murmur in your ear.

"Always have been." You say back, almost moaning as they continue their assault on your neck. They pull away at this.

"Yeah? That why you're spending all your time with Mathers and co instead of me, in such," They pause to run their hands on your hips, pulling you tight against them. "delicious clothes."

"I thought you weren't jealous." You murmur, sliding your hand up their back. "But I wore these, and what's underneath, for you and you alone. He's just a moron who's forced me to re-do my work twice this week alone."

"Oh, you poor baby. Let me take you up and make everyone hear who really owns you." You barely hold back a moan as they drag you up to your dorm to fulfill their promise.

#jordan li #gen v #gen v prime #jordan li x reader #gen v smut #gen v fic #jordan li imagine #request #reqs open

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corpsebasil · 1 year

Note

Can you do smut with Nikolai getting a blowjob? Like he’s always going down on the reader so like the roles switch or smth?

Time for Nikky Boy to get some action

warnings: p0rn with little plot lol; oral (m) receiving

————

You felt slightly unhinged.

You’d been your Prince’s lover and crew-mate for a while now and while you were into him with his royal suits and combed hair, something about the tousled curls and privateer persona made your stomach twist.

You leaned against the wall during the meeting he’d called you into, listening as the Sun Summoner and..whatever his name was, discussed passage. You felt your skin growing tight as you watched his side profile, your eyes transfixed on his mouth as he spoke, his intimidating nature distracting you from guarding him.

He’d always been this way as Sturmhond. He turned up the charm times a thousand, pulled out every cocky and sarcastic comment in his arsenal and even around you, who knew better, he shamelessly flirted with as if he wasn’t a prince.

As soon as the two left Nikolai ran a hand over his face, leaning back into his chair. He glanced over at you, blue eyes shadowed by the dim lighting of his office as he raised an eyebrow.

“Whatcha thinkin’?” He asked, standing up to shrug off his heavy coat. His pistol lay discarded on the desk, a tool used to threaten Alina and Baldie, and you’d almost laughed earlier when he’d taken it out. “Let em’ stay?”

It took you a moment to respond as he pushed the sleeves up of his white shirt, the top few buttons undone. The golden skin of his arms caught the light of the lanterns and you nodded, forcing yourself to focus.

“I don’t see why not.” You said breezily, one boot propped against the wall, your arms crossed over your chest. “But we both know you’re not just in this for money.” You smirked. “You gonna sell her to yourself? Accept the reward you’re offering?”

“Nothing like a bit of motivation.” He said, his grin a slash of white as he shuffled some papers on his desk, tapping them together in a neat stack. “We need a symbol. She’s that.”

“She seems..” you furrowed your brows. “…less confident than she acts. I know a front when I see one.”

“Oh yeah?” Nikolai teased, approaching you. “How many fronts have you seen in your lifetime, soldier?”

“Enough to know when someone’s acting.” You purred, but your pulse betrayed you as he neared, his hand reaching out to grab onto your belt loop and yank you into him.

“And what front are we putting on, love?” He asked, eyes heavy-lidded as he leaned in, lips pressing against the side of your neck. Your head tilted involuntarily at the sensation. “Solider and Captain?” He asked, lips moving lower. “Prince and Grisha?” He nipped your skin and you jolted, your hand grabbing onto his generous bicep. “Friends?”

“We are friends.” You mumbled, breath catching as he bit and then licked over a spot on your collarbone.

“We haven’t been friends for a while, sweetheart.” He chuckled and pulled away, headed to the door. “We should go and—”

But you stopped him, lunging out to grab his wrist. He turned in surprise, raising his brows. His eyes seemed to scan over your face, taking in your flushed features; your pulse was beating so fast in your neck you were sure he could see the skin jump. His smirk was lazy as he locked the door and moved back over, his heavy-ringed hand reaching for your waist.

“Desk or wall?” He murmured against your mouth, taking your bottom lip between his teeth and pulling. But you surprised him by pushing him backwards, towards his chair, separating your mouth from his as he dropped down into it. His hands were already going to his belt as you hovered over him, your teeth sinking down harshly into your lip. “Shit—you want to ride me, or—?”

“No.” You interrupted, ignoring his confused look as you sank down onto the floor, grasping at his waistband. His stunned look lasted approximately .5 seconds before he was helping you get him out of his trousers, a sheen of sweat already appearing on his brow.

“Fuck—are you sure?” Nikolai asked, a bit breathless as he watched you drag the rest of his clothing separating you from him off, leaving him only in his dress shirt. You’d done this before, sure, but drunkenly and only for about thirty seconds before he couldn’t wait any longer to have you. “What’s gotten into you—” his mouth fell open when you took him in your hand, experimentally running your closed fist down the smooth skin of him. He gritted his teeth.

“Been thinking about you the whole meeting.” you mumbled, moving further between his legs. “Looking like a fucking godsend.” Your words had his eyes half closed into slits as you licked the tip of him, feeling his hips stutter around you. One of your hands rested on his firm thigh as you licked again, a tiny kitten lick that drove him crazy.

“Yeah?” He panted, his hands gripping the sides of his chair as he watched you; your tongue ran along the length of him, your hand following the rise and descent of your soft muscle. “Fuck—what were you thinking of?”

“This.” You admitted and ran your tongue over the head of him. “You being all cocky and shit turns me on.”

“We always do fuck the filthiest when I’m Sturm—shit.” His head fell back a fraction when you took him into your mouth, sucking slowly, your mouth getting him as wet as you could to make it easier. His chest was already rising and falling rapidly and you’d barely started. “Y/N, shit.”

“Hmm?” You hummed, and took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks out as you began a slow, torturous rhythm with your mouth. The warmth of you—the wetness—it was driving him mad. Especially when you began sucking him harder, your tongue spoiling him with licks and swirls, your eyes watering at the feeling of something so big filling your entire mouth.

“Saints—” he groaned, reaching out to take a fist of your hair, trying not to pull too hard as his hips lifted a fraction. When your eyes moved to his he almost lost it. He gritted his teeth and, when you didn’t protest, began to set the pace himself, your tongue and hollowed cheeks squeezing him so hard it was almost painful. “Oh god.”

The breathy plea left him and you didn’t stop, your nails digging into his thigh as he used your mouth, hips lifting to meet your lips with every downward push. The sounds he was making were music to your ears; you could hear his breath catching, your eyes locked on his face as he cursed and gasped, trying to stay as silent as possible with the crew not far from his office.

You felt him twitch and you sucked harder, his eyes closing and his head falling back on a barely suppressed groan. You swallowed up every bit of him, almost gagging as you choked, but when you pulled away and wiped your mouth off, he was staring at you with such a fucked-out look of adoration it sent a pang of desire straight between your legs.

“Saints, Y/N.” He mumbled, sweat making his curls stick to his forehead. “Desk, now.”

lololol

#shadow and bone #nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov x reader #wattpad #nikolai x reader #shadow and bone imagine #fluff #six of crows #smut #nikolai lantsov x you #nikolai lanstov x y/n #nikolai lantsov smut #sturmhond x reader #sturmhond #sturmhond smut

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marsmarbles · 2 months

Text

TRAFFIC SONA!!!

I talk about each design under the cut

On Mars’ green life, they’re fairly normal. Or as normal as a character based on myself could be. No trauma just yet.

I actually own a grey version of their jacket, so I really like their jacket lol.

On Mars’ yellow life, they become overly cautious. They’ve had their first taste of death and they really didn’t like it. They’re starting to grapple with the reality of the situation and it’s really getting to them.

Mars is also upset they’re piss yellow now.

Strange shadowed blotches are starting to form on their body, with one on their tail and over on their eye. This makes them blind in their right eye. They’ve started to grow a second tail as well. They’ve also got a cape for good measure.

Red life Mars is literally clinically insane. They’ve embraced what and mean to be a red life and they love it! They relish in the blood stains on their clothes.

They’ve completely grown a second tail and they’ve both gained a head. All more to bite you with, deary. The shadow blotches on their body have completely engulfed the right side of their face. I also gave them knee high boots and a torn up cloak.

They laugh A LOT, and very loudly too. They are as unhinged as I could be if I snapped.

Here’s an extra doodle of red Mars being creepy. I did this before I made the official design so it’s not exact but it still gets the vibe I want across.

I really like how Traffic!Mars turned out and it makes me wanna be a part of something like the life series even more.

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jeonqkooks · 1 year

Text

our beloved summer | jjk (06)

You made a vow to hate Jeon Jungkook ever since he packed up and left you without a single explanation, but when he shows up at your door after years of radio silence, it turns out that maybe your resolve isn’t as strong as you thought.

pairing: producer!jungkook x songwriter!reader

genre/warnings: exes au, fluff, angst, eventual smut, swearing, kissing (omg k1ss1ng omg WHO IS IT ??? 😦), tbh this is the only warning i wanted u guys to read cuz 6 chapters in and we finally get sum action i feel like that's a win lmaooooo, jimin being Real as fook, unbeta'd cuz uhm i'm a godless menace who should be conked on the head, once again we are severely lacking jk in his own fic lol i'm owning up to this 🤗 BUT! this is probably the last chapter where jk feels like a side character lol apologies my dudes

rating: PG-13

word count: 8.1k (honestly i wrote obs6 just so i could get to obs7 lmao that's why it's a lil bit shorter)

note: my apologies if this sucks. you are legally allowed to stone me if you hate it. but i hope you don't hate it. but if you do hate it don't tell me just stone me lol 🤐 why am i so unhinged with this update

series masterpost / playlist ; moodboards ; taglist

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

I can see you starin', honey Like he's just your understudy Like you'd get your knuckles bloody for me

Exile - Taylor Swift (ft. Bon Iver)

The picture is fucking terrible.

“Jimin, what the fuck,” you grumble, staring at the huge framed photo on the wall, taken on the day of the opening party. You, Taehyung and Jimin are gathered on the floor of the dance studio, with boxes of takeout neatly sitting between the three of you. “I look like ass.”

Jimin barely glances at the wall, just continues to stuff his face with the dumplings that you ordered. “You look fine,” he says absentmindedly, mouth full, continuing to munch on the food despite your little dilemma.

“Bitch, I have my eyes closed.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“I look like I’m in the middle of a sneeze.” You cross your arms in front of your chest, squinting at your photographed self again. The more you look at it, the more irritated you become.

Realistically, you know nobody would pay enough attention to notice the immortalized visual of your fluttering eyes, and you yourself wouldn’t care about it that much. Maybe you would even laugh in good spirits and poke fun at yourself as you often do. Make a meme of it for the group chat.

“What’s the big deal?” Jimin asks.

You shrug petulantly. “I told you. I look like ass.”

Yeah, true, but it’s also more than that.

It’s the fact that the person standing next to you looks so good that you must voice your grievances. It’s the fact that he looks so much more than just good.

The guys stop eating to look at you. You wonder just how much of what you’re feeling is written all over your face. Regardless, they don’t comment on it.

One of them clears his throat, shaking the whole thing off.

“Did you tell Yoongi anything yet?” Jimin asks.

You poke at a lone dumpling with your chopsticks, popping the ‘p’ when you say, “Nope.”

“Damn, Y/N,” Jimin scolds you. “It’s been three weeks. He doesn’t want to push you for an answer but the man has got to be suffering.”

You flick a piece of spring onion garnish at him. It lands on his hair, a single bit of green sitting among golden locks. “I don’t know what to tell him!”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Jimin shakes the onion piece from his head and chucks it back at you. “Obviously you say yes!”

You exhale through your nose, then take a bite of your dumpling. You nibble on the fried dough, stretching out the silence, delaying your response.

It hasn’t even started, and it might not even start. But you’re already thinking about all the things that could go wrong. Yoong is your friend, first and foremost. He’s a good friend, and you would be crushed if you lose that relationship.

What if he hurts you, or you hurt him?

Sometimes, people are meant to hurt each other even if they don’t mean to.

Yoongi hasn’t seen your pieces in all of their jagged glory, how they’re only meant to reflect the light but never be healed by it. He’s still blissfully unaware of the ugly thoughts that have a home inside your head, and you’re afraid if you let him in, he’d realize it’s a place he doesn’t want to be. It’s hard to love a broken thing. You wouldn’t want to love you either.

Maybe this is the real reason that’s been holding you back all this time. Maybe it isn’t Jungkook - though he certainly isn’t absolved - but it’s you, and how you just don’t know if you’re someone who deserves to love and be loved. You’ve felt inadequate more times than you can count. You’ve been left before. Who’s to say it isn’t going to happen again?

You’re well aware that this is a bad way to look at things, but can anyone really blame you? You still have a heart, and despite how fragmented it is, you still want to protect it.

“I know that look,” Taehyung says, parting your fog and pulling you back to him. “You’re overthinking again.”

You roll your eyes. He knows you so well, but does he have to call you out every time?

“I’m not overthinking. I’m regular thinking.”

“Right. And to normal people, that’s overthinking.”

“It’s just…” you wonder out loud, gaze on the floor. “What if I go all in, and Yoongi sees me for who I am and thinks that I’m just an utterly sad person who can’t be loved? That I’m too much work when he’s got literally thousands of people throwing themselves at him left and right?”

Taehyung stares at the side of your face as he bites the inside of his cheek. His tongue soothes the spot, his jaw clenching once. “He’s not going to think that.”

“You don’t know that,” you say, the corners of your mouth tugging down.

“You’re not unlovable just because one person didn’t love you right. So stop it with that bullshit, because I love you,” he says, voice serious. Even Jimin stays silent as he listens to his friend, his eyes flickering between you and Taehyung. “And Jimin loves you. Hobi loves you.”

You merely blink, because you hate it when he’s right. In all fairness, you understand. This is the same thing you would tell him if the situation were reversed.

You deflect anyway. That’s what you do best.

“You don’t count,” you tell him with an unserious scoff, your tone starkly contrasting his. “You’re my family.”

You taste something bitter as soon as the words leave your mouth. You should know better than anyone, that just because someone’s your family, doesn’t mean they have to love you.

Taehyung reenacts the blinking guy meme before chuckling, holding a hand over his chest like you’ve just wounded him. “Ouch.”

“You two are getting nowhere,” Jimin interjects. “Just call Yoongi.”

“And say what?” you ask.

“I told you. Say yes. God, you’re so dense sometimes.”

You reach over to jab a finger into his side, making him hiss and shuffle away from you.

“That wasn’t nice,” you grumble.

“Well, somebody’s gotta say it.” He gives you a look, eyebrows raised for a few seconds before he lowers them and grows more stern. “Come on, Y/N. You know you don’t want to say no, or else you would’ve turned him down already. You said you wanted to start dating again. Yoongi is practically on his knees offering himself to you. What are you waiting for?”

There’s a voice in the back of your head - tiny, barely audible - that whispers, Who are you waiting for?

“Fuck it, I’ll say it,” Jimin continues. “It sucks balls that Jungkook hurt you, but you can’t let that affect you for the rest of your life. Not everyone is going to hurt you. You’re not even giving Yoongi a chance just because someone else did you dirty. If you keep always thinking about the worst possible outcome and banking on it to happen, then you’re never going to get anywhere. I love you, dude, but y’know.”

You stare at Jimin with your mouth slightly open, stunned into silence. When you glance at Taehyung, he’s surprised too, though probably not as much as you.

After a couple of minutes, you say, “Wow.”

“Tough love. I have my moments.” Jimin shrugs casually, like he didn’t just drop a truth bomb on your head. “But also…” He picks his phone up and types something in. Your phone instantly buzzes with a notification.

“Open the link I just sent you,” he says.

“You are literally sitting across from me.”

“Just open it! I made you a playlist.”

“Aw, Jimin, that’s so cute,” you coo softly, reaching over to pinch his cheek before he swats your hand away. You unlock your phone to see what Jimin made you, because that is some friendship hall of fame stuff right there. However, when the link redirects you to your music app, your smile immediately drops.

Aaand he’s back.

You stare at the screen for a good ten seconds to try and find your bearings, flabbergasted at something that is quite honestly very on-brand for Jimin if you think about it. “You made me a playlist called Dick Appointment with an eggplant emoji and the tongue out emoji and it’s mostly just Yoongi’s songs. Even the playlist cover is from his Valentino shoot.”

“So you can get it on while Agust D plays in the background!” Jimin grins, and you could just smack it right off his face.

“Park Jimin, who raised you? You are vile.”

“Validate me,” he demands. Oh, you would smack him. You really would. “I spent hours making that playlist.”

“It’s literally just Yoongi’s songs.”

“Yeah, but I had to curate an experience. I can’t just dump every song into a playlist and call it a day. I gotta make sure they fit the vibe.”

“I literally just heard the most profound shit from you not even two minutes ago.” Then, you turn to Taehyung with an exasperated look on your face. “Why would you let him do this?”

He just waves a dismissive hand in the air, like Jimin isn’t even there. “I’m not responsible for the stupid shit he does.”

Jimin crosses his arms in front of his chest, both eyebrows raised dramatically as he gapes at you. “You both suck. From now on, you can make your own sexytime playlists.”

“Nobody even asked you to do that!” you cry.

“Yeah! Which makes me an even more considerate friend,” he says. “Ugh. Whatever. Go call Yoongi.”

“You want me to do it now?”

“Yes. Because I know you’ll wuss out when you’re alone. You can stay and put him on speakers for us to hear or you can go out into the hallway. Come on, chop chop.”

“No, I have to text him first,” you protest. “What if he’s busy?”

Jimin narrows his eyes at you suspiciously, but allows you this after a moment. “Fine.”

You take out your phone from your bag that’s lying carelessly on the floor to draft a quick message to Yoongi.

[12:59] You: got a minute?

The three of you go back to the food, abandoning the previous topic of conversation in favor of something lighter and meaningless or else you would go crazy waiting for Yoongi’s reply. After you’re finished, you and Taehyung are in the middle of putting away all the empty containers and soda cans when your phone buzzes again.

You go to grab it to look at the notification, hands already starting to sweat.

[13:17] Yoongi: for you? always :)

You turn back to the guys to find them already looking at you. Jimin wiggles his eyebrows suggestively while Taehyung just stares at you.

“Time to get your whore on,” Jimin says in an exaggeratedly sultry voice.

You turn to Taehyung for help. “He’s bullying me.”

“Ignore him,” your best friend tells you gently. “Go call Yoongi.”

When you take your phone out into the hallway, you make sure to go to the far end of it, near the main entrance so the two dorks can’t eavesdrop. You’ll tell them everything once you come back anyway, but you don’t want them within earshot while you’re in the middle of it.

Yoongi picks up your call on the third ring. In the background, your ear picks up on some chatter.

“Hey, princess,” he greets you. Then he holds the phone away from his ear to tell someone that he’d be back in a bit.

“Hey,” you say. “Where are you?”

“Just at a fitting. I have an ad campaign to film next week,” he answers. “Did you call just to get my whereabouts?”

“No, I… If you’re busy, we can talk later.”

“We’re still in the middle of lunch break anyway. What did you want to talk about?”

You briefly regret not taking a minute to psych yourself up before. You suck in a deep breath, which eases your nerves for just a second, long enough for you to say, “Yes.”

You’re met with brief silence from the other end of the line, which only makes your palms more clammy than they already are.

“Yes?” he echoes confusedly. “Yes what?”

“Yes,” you say again. “To…”

The silence commences once more, and lasts longer than you think you can handle. Then, you hear him stop in the middle of a breath.

“Oh.” A subsequent chuckle in response to the lightbulb that must’ve been switched on. “To that?”

“...Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

It feels like you two have invented a secret language that nobody else could understand. A single syllable, bouncing off the metaphorical walls of your conversation. Two idiots sharing the same brain cell.

“Yes?” he continues to prod, but at this point, you know he’s just teasing you.

“Yes! God, stop making me say it again. We sound so stupid.”

He graces you with a hearty laugh that makes you fight back a sheepish smile, even though there isn’t a single soul in sight to witness it. Yoongi makes you so fucking shy for some reason. Your nerves dissolve momentarily as you lean against the wall, your index finger running along a crack in the paint.

“Hmm, I wish you would’ve told me this in person,” he says, his voice soft.

“I can’t handle you in person. You’d tease me so much.”

“Because you’re adorable when you’re flustered, that’s why.” He waits a second before adding, “You’re blushing right now, aren’t you?”

“You’re being overly confident, Min.”

“Maybe,” he responds easily. “But am I right, though?”

“Shut up.”

When Yoongi said he would cook for you, you almost gasped.

“You can cook?” you had asked. It wasn’t an earth-shattering revelation or anything, but you suppose you’d never given much thought to the hidden sides of him.

“Y/N,” he laughed then. “I’m a great cook. I could probably make a pretty decent career out of being a chef.”

“I didn’t know that,” you told him sheepishly.

“There’s a lot of things you still need to know about me.” It sounded like a promise. Like I’m willing to show you me. Like I’m willing to take the first step if you’d be in this with me too. “Does that sound like a good idea? You, me, dinner at your place?”

“My place?”

“Yeah, so you’ll be more comfortable. I’ll come over.”

This one simple gesture shouldn’t affect you that much, but it does. You appreciate that he’s considerate even when it comes to the littlest things. You swell with gratitude for the thought he puts into this, into putting your comfort first. It made you feel a bit better about yourself, calmed your stormy sea of thoughts enough to rationally accept the fact that he genuinely cares.

Regardless, it doesn’t stop you from spending most of the day obsessively cleaning your apartment. Even - and especially - your bedroom, although you’re sure that is not where the night will end. Every surface is spotless, not a single speck of dust to be found. It’s like the goddamn Pope is coming over for a house inspection.

You haven’t had a first date in… fuck, how long has it been now? Nine years? It’s almost been a fucking decade already? You honestly can’t tell if that’s embarrassing or not.

But you remember the last time.

College, freshman year, with Jungkook. His yellow piece of sticky note that he slipped inside your favorite book. His adorably flustered expression when he timidly stood in front of you in the campus library. The way he was trying so hard to be confident and charming throughout your first dinner together. How he ran back to you after saying goodnight.

No.

You shut your eyes and shake your head, warding off any Jungkook-related thoughts before they could send you spiraling. You can’t reminisce about your ex while waiting for someone else to show. Yoongi deserves better, and that’s what you’re trying to be.

You’re not exactly sure how nice you should dress tonight. Yoongi told you that you could be clad in sweats for all he cares. If the dinner didn’t hold any connotation other than platonic, maybe you would’ve really donned your loungewear like you were merely having Taehyung and Jimin over for pizza.

You’d completely forgotten all the things people worry about in the early stages of dating, when you want to impress the other person but don’t want them to think that you’re trying too hard.

Calm down. It’s just Yoongi. He’s seen you ugly crying with mascara running down your face, for fuck’s sake.

In the end, you opt for a sweater and a comfortable skirt. Casual.

Yoongi rings your doorbell about ten minutes later than when he said he’d be there, holding a bag full of groceries. The visual alone makes you bite back a giggle and subsequently fail. You believe this is what people would call husband material.

You take his coat and guide him into your home. “Welcome to my humble abode,” you say shyly, gesturing around as you lead him into the kitchen to show him where everything is. Why are you acting like this? This isn’t you. If Taehyung or Jimin could see you right now, they would probably laugh. Hoseok would straight up be rolling on the floor.

You barely breathe as you watch Yoongi take in his surroundings. It’s intimidating, even though you know it’s just Yoongi.

“I actually don’t know what I expected, but I like it. It’s very you,” he comments, smiling.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that it’s cute,” he says, throwing you a wink as he leans against your kitchen counter.

You avert your gaze immediately. “Oh… Thanks,” you reply, fiddling with the hem of your sweater. “So, uhm, what are you making? How can I help?”

“Just sit down. I got this.”

“Yoongi,” you say his name in protest. “I want to h-”

“I’m trying to romance you here. Let me do that,” Yoongi says, his smile turning lopsided as he starts emptying the contents of his grocery bags. Even though his tone is light, the gentle reminder of tonight being a date shuts you right up.

You take a seat at your dining table, though you can’t really sit still. As Yoongi starts working, you absentmindedly talk to each other about your day, about his campaign, about Seokjin’s album. At one point, you get up to creep over to his side when the smell of whatever he’s making becomes more prominent. You try to peek at the pot, curious, but he just shoos you away by bumping his hip against yours.

When you give him a small pout, you pretend not to notice the way his eyes dart to your mouth. You retract yourself from his personal space, choosing a spot on the other side of your kitchen island, staring at his back as he works.

You watch him expertly navigate your kitchen like he’s been here before. When he’s finished, he makes you sit down, not even letting you help bring the food to the table.

“What is it?” you ask once he’s settled in his seat, everything plated in front of you.

“Kimchi jjigae,” he says, a proud look on his face. “My mom’s recipe.”

It’s endearing, and it makes you smile.

For the most part, Yoongi lets you eat in peace, though there’s still a couple of flirtatious comments here and there. Every time it comes, you bite down on your bottom lip to try and snap out of that daze before you cough, as if that would help tone down the colors adorning your face. There’s no verbal response from you, and it seems like Yoongi doesn’t expect one either, because he just chuckles. You think he must notice the palpable nervousness that radiates off of you, but it’s not like you’re doing a very good job at hiding it.

You’re taking baby steps and he knows it. The fact that you even agreed to this at all is already major progress.

When you’re done eating, he clears the table while he asks you to open the expensive bottle of wine that he brought over. It does wonders for your nerves.

Three glasses in and you’re visibly more relaxed as you both sit on the couch in the living room, facing each other. There’s a small smile on your face that you can’t help, maybe it’s some of your inhibitions wearing off as a side effect of the alcohol.

You glance around the room, and you take in the sight of Yoongi sitting here, this close to you. He feels bigger than your small world can handle.

“You know,” you start. If the wine didn’t make you more mellow, you probably wouldn’t be saying this. “There are thousands of people thirsting over you every day.”

Yoongi tilts his head, swirling the wine in his glass. “Really?”

“Don’t you look at the internet? I personally know two girls from college who are on the Yoongi Marry Me train,” you say matter-of-factly, like you aren’t borderline tipsy in front of him.

You aren’t an avid Twitter user, but every time you check the damn bird app, Yoongi is almost always trending. In every single one of his posts on social media, there is always an influx of comments asking him to marry them. Not only that, when word first got out about you collaborating with Agust D back then, people you knew - both old friends and acquaintances - practically bombarded your messages to see if it was true, and to ask if you could get them an autograph.

Yoongi stretches out his legs until they brush against yours. Your stomach flips even though it’s only your legs that are barely touching.

“The what train?”

“You seriously don’t know about the Yoongi Marry Me movement? Look it up. It’s a whole thing. People would do anything to, I don’t know, hold your hand or something.”

With an amused look on his face, he holds your gaze. “Would you?”

“What?”

“Would you do all of that just to hold my hand? Because you don’t have to, y’know.” He brings the wine glass to his lips, partially hiding his face from you, and you don’t know whether he’s doing it for your sake or his in preparation for the words he speaks next. “But I would do it to hold yours.”

You’re sure that your cheeks are burning bright, your stomach twisted in knots. It’s the wine, but it’s definitely the effect of his words too. You stare at Yoongi in surprise; no matter how many times he openly flirts with you, he’d still elicit the same reaction from you. It’ll be hard to get used to it. He just always seems to know what to say to make you blush like a schoolgirl, which you resent but you can’t deny the sparks of excitement that make your fingertips tingle.

Yoongi is smooth, and it’s even worse - or is it better? You haven’t decided yet - that you know he means every word he says. It makes you feel… wanted. It’s good to know that he’s being genuine, and to know that Yoongi isn’t the type of person who would ever pull the rug out from under you.

Yoongi is… stable.

You suppose, after everything you’ve been through, that stability is what you need. It’s good for you.

You try to swerve around the thoughts, to avoid them at all costs, but deep down you know now that they’re glaringly true.

That love is stored in two bags of groceries, so filled to the brim that some onions almost fall out. Love is stored in every flick of his wrist holding a knife, slicing the sharp blade across your cutboard. Clean cuts, yet he’s never this way when it comes to you.

Love is stored in a fond smile and adoring eyes when he sees how you cradle your expensive dishware like it’s a newborn baby before you set it carefully on the table.

Love is stored in a Yoongi-shaped silhouette, dancing over your countertops with practiced precision in every movement, filling in the cracks of your home. The love in him is reserved because you, like the moon when it crescents, still have a ways to go.

When he stands at your door an hour later with his coat in hand, you wait for him to speak first.

“Performance review?” he asks. “How did I do?”

“I… liked it. It was nice,” you say honestly. But you still feel the wine in your system, and it makes you bold enough to tease him for a change. “But it was my first date in a while, so it’s hard to tell if that opinion is objective.”

He rolls his eyes fondly. “Do I qualify for a second date then?”

You hum in thought, making him wait on purpose. “Yeah, I guess,” you say, feigning nonchalance, which earns you a hearty laugh.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” he asks, hopeful.

“Don’t know yet,” you answer, though you’ll probably end up going home and catching up on a kdrama. “Are you coming in tomorrow?”

“Just in the morning. I have a shoot in the afternoon.” He shifts to lean his weight on his other leg, tipping his body closer to you. “But I can pick you up after.”

“Yeah? And where would we go?”

Yoongi shrugs in earnest. “Just drive around? Grab a bite?” he thinks out loud, tilting his head slightly to one side for emphasis. “I could take you to that popup store you mentioned.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “You would stand in line with me to buy a novelty mug?”

“Pretty sure we wouldn’t have to stand in line if I gave them a call,” he says, grinning. “One of the perks of the job, y’know.”

“Must be nice,” you laugh, then shift to lean just a tad closer to him. You look at him for a brief moment before you agree, “Yeah, okay.”

You and Yoongi stand there at the door, each of you on either side of the threshold. This would be an appropriate moment for a kiss, you think. That explosive first kiss, if this were a movie. Exhilaration courses through your veins. You feel it from your head to the tips of your fingers to your toes. The feeling is rendering you a mere teenager again.

It’s exciting because it’s new. You have the entire book ahead of you, waiting to be written. At this point, anything could happen. You’re a blank canvas waiting to be drawn, a blank page hoping to be written.

Wait.

Back up.

A kiss?

A kiss?!

With Yoongi?

You’re thinking about kissing Yoongi?!

Fuck.

Fuck?!

It’s the wine.

Your thoughts knock against each other like bumper cars, echoing loudly in your brain that it almost gives you a headache.

You stay still as Yoongi leans down, your heart racing while your brain just keyboard-smashes. You can’t tell if you want him to kiss you or not, but when he only presses his lips against your cheek, you feel two emotions at once.

The first is disappointment, the second is relief. They press down on you with almost equal force, and you’re not really sure which one weighs heavier.

Baby steps.

You blink when he pulls away, and he just smiles fondly at you as if he can read your mind.

“Goodnight, princess.”

You watch him until he’s in the elevator, until the doors close and the lift descends. Even when you know that he must be on his way to his car and that someone else is making their way up, you stand there, with your hand loosely wrapped around the door handle, your breathing slightly erratic as you process what just happened.

Déjà vu?

It’s oddly reminiscent.

You’ve been here before.

Part of you thinks he’ll burst through the elevator doors, or rush up the stairs if the lift is occupied, and come back to grab your face and kiss you senseless.

He doesn’t.

Jungkook knows you’re probably waiting for Yoongi.

He’s seen Yoongi pick you up after work almost daily over the past couple of weeks, and it’s driving him insane. Even on the days that Yoongi comes to the studio during the day, the guy is all over you, so much so that he doesn’t even bother being a nuisance to Jungkook anymore, which just makes him a thousand times more insufferable.

Something is happening.

He can’t weasel shit out of Jimin anymore because Jimin has been especially tight-lipped after accidentally spilling Yoongi’s confession to you.

Because that should be him in Yoongi’s place. Or should he say his place, and Yoongi is just a placeholder. An imposter.

Because it used to be him that you smiled shyly at.

Jimin’s words have been plaguing his every waking hour since he was forced to hear them. If she wants to choose Yoongi, let her do that too. It feels like he’s rewinding all of your memories, retracing them with cautious fingers only to find that his every footstep is being erased to make room for someone else.

An abandoned dirt road, while you walk down a flower-filled path holding someone else’s hand.

Like you’re stamping him out.

Like he was never there at all.

Not only are you denying him a chance, you’re giving it to someone else. When he tries to move at someone else’s pace, all he gets is left behind.

It’s not about Yoongi; or at least, it’s not just about him. Yoongi doesn’t even really matter to Jungkook in this equation. It’s about what Yoongi represents. An idea of a person that Jungkook can never be.

A bigger life. A stable present and an even brighter future. Yoongi is everything better than him.

And that’s his own problem to deal with, not anyone else’s. At the end of the day, no one has to live with his insecurities but himself.

But still, he can’t help it. Whenever he sees you with Yoongi, his eyes burn. Please don’t let him take my place, he wishes every time, you’re the only good thing about me.

It’s jealousy, sure, of course it’s there.

But what if you realize what everyone else already knows? That Yoongi is better in every single way. That Yoongi is the person who really deserves you.

What if you start to see Jungkook the way he sees himself?

You hating him - despising him with every cell in your body - is a thousand times better than you deeming him unworthy.

“I talked to Jihyo,” he speaks up suddenly, when it’s only the two of you.

“Okay,” you answer, never taking your eyes off the page in front of you. You must have circled the words daisy a thousand times already, wracking your brain for anything that rhymes. “I don’t know why you’re telling me this, but good for you.”

At this point, you wonder if you should just avoid the studio for the time being. It’s empty here again. You resent Seokjin for drowning in concept photos. You resent Namjoon for leaving Jungkook here to fend for himself, but it’s only fair, because Namjoon was only supposed to give him a helping hand, not take over the whole thing. You even resent Yoongi a bit, for not being here right this second.

“I talked to her,” Jungkook says again, ignoring your sass. “She won’t give you a hard time anymore.”

This makes you look at him. You never asked him to do this. You never asked him to do anything. In fact, you have only ever implored him to sit still and leave things alone.

“She never gave me a hard time,” you say. Sure, you don’t appreciate being given the death glare first thing in the morning, but it’s not something that you can’t ignore. It doesn’t actively affect you, and the only reason Jihyo does it is because of Jungkook.

Because he broke things off with her?

Because he gives you more attention?

Ugh. Attention?

This is the stupidest and most childish thing you have had to think about in ages.

“You said she acts differently toward you.”

“And aren’t you the reason why?” you counter. “Because you two were fucking?”

Jungkook visibly winces at your words, like he did when you mentioned it the first time in the break room. You don’t mean to be snarky; you’re just stating the facts. They were hooking up.

You don’t harbor any ill will toward any of his past lovers, and that includes Jihyo. You know she doesn’t have anything against you either, at least not on a personal level because you don’t know each other well enough to do so. She’s just someone you pass by every day on your way to the elevator.

“So why did things end?” you ask just for the sake of it, since he was the one who brought it up. But you’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious.

He hesitates for a moment. “She wanted something more and it wasn’t the same for me.”

It’s stupid that the tiny voice in the back of your head resurfaces, hoping that you were the reason why he couldn’t pursue things with another woman.

Jihyo isn’t you, that much is clear. You never asked for anything more from him, not once from start to finish. He was always the first one to pour love into you. It’s arguable which one of you loved the other more - maybe you loved each other equally, just in different ways - but it was a fact that Jungkook always took the initiative. He made the first move so you wouldn’t have to. He gave you the option to match his affection, and never have to worry about being left out to dry.

He took initiative, right until the very end.

You bite your bottom lip, then give him a curt response, “Okay.”

Your phone vibrates with a text from Yoongi but you don’t open it just yet. You look at Jungkook, who only looks back at you. His lips part slightly as he searches for the right words, or any word at all. It’s like you’re asking him to navigate a minefield when all he has to do is be honest. Even if he told you that he fell out of love with you, it wouldn’t be that bad. You would be hurt, yes, but you wouldn’t blame him. You would understand. It would be a reason.

Silence fills the room, save for the continuous tapping of your pen on paper.

He says your name, pleading. “I’m trying here.”

At Jimin’s party, Jungkook said you were someone important to him. You don’t doubt that he meant it, and that’s what infuriates you the most. You’re important, but he keeps running circles around you and making your head spin. You’re important, but everything he’s done makes you think that you’re the opposite. You’re important, just not important enough to get an explanation.

You know he’s genuine about everything he says, but that’s not enough. You can’t sustain yourself on just his words alone.

It’s another cycle of the same conversation, running over and over and over again. He’s reaching out but he’s holding back. You’re still getting nowhere. You don’t know how many times he has to make you ask this, only to not give you any clarity at all.

If there is a trait of Jungkook’s that you both love and hate at the same time, it is that he doesn’t know when to quit.

He texts you every day even when you don’t reply - one for good morning, and one for goodnight. He gets you a chai latte every day, which doesn’t do shit for your concentration because there’s not enough caffeine in it. He gets the door for you whenever you go into the same room together. He hounds your every waking moment. He makes sure that he’s the first thing you see when you wake up, and the last thought that crosses your mind before you go to sleep.

I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.

You suppose this is him, showing up again. In a lot of ways, it’s selfish. But it’s an effort too. Now your phone is full of meaningless messages that remain unread.

You barely glance at him. It’s routine at this point. He tries in ways that you don’t bother acknowledging anymore, because you figured that the best course of action is to let him wear himself out. When he has had enough of it, when he deems his efforts to be enough to absolve his guilt, he’ll stop. He has to.

But at what point does it stop?

At what point will you stop wanting to give in to him? Your mind rages wars with itself every time you feel his eyes on you, and you have to kill the urge to not turn your head and look at him too. At what point will you stop wanting to go to him and let him in again? At what point will you stop unconsciously making him a priority?

All of this, you supposed, is to say: Do you still love him?

You know that if you sit down and get to the root of it, you’ll find an answer you don’t like. Even in this moment, you want him to tell you just a fraction of the truth, because that would probably be enough to reel you back in.

Your own heart claws at your chest but this is how it has to be for a while. All you can do is take it one day at a time, gently nudge your heart in one direction like a child that needs to be goaded, until he doesn’t live on the forefront of your mind anymore.

Until someone else does.

“No, you’re not.” You stand up then, closing your notebook with more force than necessary. “If you’re really trying, then I wouldn’t still be wondering why I wasn’t enough to make you stay.”

Even then, you’re still hoping that he’d say something else. But when you’re only met with silence, the anticipated disappointment in you bubbles, boiling. His reluctance to clue you in makes it easier for you to decide.

There's someone else who's willing to give you things that you don't even need to ask for.

In your mind, it's clear who you should choose.

Jungkook clenches his teeth, holding his breath as he watches you shove your things into your bag. “Are you going home?” he asks after a minute.

You could say yes and let the conversation die a swift and simple death. But for some reason, you choose to kill it violently. You bite the inside of your cheek before you tell him, “I don’t know. Yoongi’s picking me up.”

The chagrinned look that takes over his features for a split second is one that you immediately catch. Maybe it’s because he wants to make sure you know how he feels about this, or maybe you still have a way of reading him somehow. Regardless of what his face tells you, he doesn’t prod any further.

Your phone vibrates on the table, the sound ten times more thunderous amidst the silence that’s befallen the both of you. You don’t need to check the screen to know who’s calling, and neither does he. When you leave, the sound of your fading footsteps ricochets off the walls. It shoots right through him.

He hears every word of that conversation ringing in his ears then. He recalls that afternoon’s sunset; it was the most beautiful sunset he saw that year, despite the sun overhead mocking him with every magnificent glint of light. He sees the look on your face when his words finally register in your mind, the Oh moment when you understood what he was saying, when the smile you wore sunk helplessly to the floor because even though you knew that love had an expiration date, you hoped your love would be the exception.

That memory fades, only to be replaced by something much worse. He sits there with Jimin’s words, echoing in his mind, reverberating around the room.

Technically, you and Yoongi haven’t been on a second date. You think.

You’ve seen him almost every night since the dinner, when he picks you up at the studio. Sometimes, you two just drive around. Sometimes, you sit by the river in the cold, eating hot ramen cups and giggling over nothing. Sometimes, he just takes you straight to your home if he has a packed schedule the next day.

These days, you see Yoongi even more than you see Taehyung. Even though he hasn’t explicitly implied that any of these outings is a date, you know you aren’t hanging out as just friends anymore.

It feels good to be wanted. The feeling is reinforced tenfold because it’s been so long that it’s like you’re experiencing it for the first time in a new body, as a different person.

But even after all of that, you two can still go back to being friends like nothing ever happened. Because in a way, maybe nothing did happen. Maybe things have always been like this between you, the only difference is now you’re noticing the meaning behind his words and glances.

You two can still go back, because technically, no line has been crossed.

But tonight, something feels different. It’s colder, but Yoongi keeps you warm with all the looks he’s been giving you all night.

It feels like you’re both toeing that line right now.

You know that once you cross it, things can’t revert back to the way they were anymore.

You know that it will happen eventually, because Yoongi isn’t doing this just to half-ass it. He won’t back out, and he has made it crystal clear from the start.

Usually, this is the part where he tells you goodnight and you have to pretend not to freak out when he kisses you on the cheek in goodbye.

He takes a step closer, you take no step back.

“You know what I’m about to do, right?”

You do. You could say you’re even hopeful.

“I might have an idea…”

“Okay,” he says easily. He takes your waist in his hands and brings you closer. The way the corner of his mouth tugs upward tells you that he’s pleased, that you know what’s about to come and you’re letting it happen. Still, he asks, “Can I?”

You nod. That glowing sensation washes over you in waves.

“Words, princess,” he reminds you.

Your hands land on the lapel of his coat. “Yes, you can.”

He chuckles, and squeezes you a little tighter.

Then it happens.

The line you clumsily drew in the sand has been erased.

Yoongi is kissing you.

You’re kissing him back.

He’s soft and warm and he holds you like you’re delicate. His sincerity, you can feel it in his kiss, and it’s only a fraction of it. Regardless, there is still life that blooms this winter. Inside of you, small and fragile, but it’s there.

You sigh into his mouth, feeling completely limbless if not for him holding your body upright. One of his arms wounds itself tighter around your middle while his other hand tucks your hair behind your ear so he could cup your cheek more easily. Yoongi tilts his head further to one side to deepen the kiss. You feel something in his kiss that you have never heard in his words, something soft and pleading. Wanting but still contained. Out of fear that you might run away, perhaps? You can’t blame him though. You are a bit of a flight risk.

The wind dances past like a nosy bystander, pressing you further into him like it wants you to be more sure in the way you move, in how much of yourself you’re willing to give to him. Instead, the cold just makes you shiver.

When you break away, his hand on your face moves to hold the back of your head. Yoongi doesn’t look half as flushed as you think you do, though his cheeks are slightly rosy.

Through a thin veil of clouds, the moon still shines down on his profile.

The chill in the air, the mesmerizing view of moonlight dancing across his features, and most of all, the way you’re still lost in the kiss, in the feeling of being wanted.

“C’mon, I’ll walk you up,” he says, after you stay silent for a beat too long, hooded eyes basking in the warmth of a heart chasing your own. You want to want him. You do want him, but there’s still something missing. It doesn’t feel entirely right, but for now, you try not to dwell on it too much. Just let it be. Maybe in time, that void will inevitably fill.

Yoongi holds your hand through the lobby and on the whole way up even if neither of you says anything, just shy glances in the elevator and bashful half-hidden smiles. You don’t invite him in once you get to your door - because an invite now insinuates something that you just aren’t ready for - but he does kiss you again. If the kiss you shared downstairs is a proper goodnight kiss, then this one means see you later and doesn’t last half as long, but it makes you tingle just the same.

He pulls back, only to dive in again, and again, and again, until one chaste kiss turns into five and you have to push him away with a giggle so you can breathe.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, eyes still set on your mouth. “Couldn’t help myself.”

“Yoongi,” you say, a little breathily, like oxygen hasn’t sufficiently made its way into your lungs since downstairs.

He rests his forehead against yours. “You’ve never said my name like that before,” he sighs.

“Like what?”

“Like you want me to kiss you again.”

You tug your bottom lip between your teeth and pretend to consider this even though you know you would like to be kissed again. “Maybe I do,” you say after a beat, bravely. “Just one more.”

He gives you your final kiss of the night then, one that lasts a second longer than the others, like he’s trying to memorize how you taste.

You head in once Yoongi is out of sight. You lean your body against the door the second you snap the lock shut. You touch your lips lightly, reliving those moments again even though they happened mere seconds ago. You’re buzzing with excitement like a schoolgirl, every feeling coursing through your body all at once.

You’re familiar with this. It’s the stage right before every love song you listen to suddenly reminds you of that one person.

You go through your regular evening routine with a pep in your step, thanks to a certain person tonight. You take off your carefully applied makeup and take a nice, hot shower. You think the heat would help melt away the high that you’re riding - like you’ve had too much coffee to drink and now your senses are beyond heightened - but it doesn’t. Once you’re fresh and comfortable in your PJs, you still feel that jittery feeling seeping through your pores, keeping you awake. There’s a message from Yoongi that tells you he has made it home safely.

It’s still early, and you’re far too restless to go to bed. You decided to brew yourself a mug of chamomile tea, even though you don’t even like chamomile and you can’t remember why you even have it, but they say that apparently chamomile is good for sleep. You decide to take the mug into the living room to sort through your mini mountain of mail that should’ve been dealt with days ago.

Sitting underneath that pile of junk mail and letters addressed to the previous tenant even though you’ve lived here for nearly two years, is a cream-colored card addressed to you. The material feels smooth under your fingertips, like velvet if that’s even possible. Inside, there are two names - one you recognize and another you don’t - typed out in a fancy calligraphy font and encircled by pretty flowers, all pinks and whites and romantic.

The saccharine sensation associated with the thought of Yoongi dissipates instantly. Instead, your mind blanks, only to buzz to life again momentarily with a newfound sinking feeling dragging you down.

You suddenly realize that Jungkook hasn’t crossed your mind once tonight. Not until now. That crestfallen look in his eyes from the other night appears in your mind again, clear as day.

You are, quite literally, holding someone’s declaration of love and yet, it’s not joy that you feel, having been asked to join them on their special day.

You never thought you would see Jungkook’s family again - even though you always adored his parents and you felt that they loved you too - let alone receive an invitation to his brother’s wedding.

remember when y'all said u wanted a wedding?? well u didn't say whose wedding 😌

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ghosts-cyphera · 7 months

Note

i cant rest until i talk about the pure unhinged RIVALRY between porn☆!graves vs. porn☆!ghost

im not in the mood for seggsy talk n shit but graves is smug and a know-it-all and relishes in your firey anger towards him (cause hes a bastard slut when ARENT you mad at him???) and just lets out a laugh and shakes his head when u storm out to take a smoke break or smth (honestly he probably gets even more turned on at ur angry attitude)

nd ghost watches you from the lounge area (??? idfk how studios work LOL-) as ur stomping out and cursing graves to all seven hells and decides to confront him about his assholery

AND ALL HE DOES IS JUST SMIRK AND CHUCKLE AND PATS GHOSTS SHOULDER SAYING SOME SHIT LIKE "jealousy's a bad look on you. just admit i can treat 'em better"

after counting, ive used about 24 tissues during my time writing this ask. anyways.

🪷

OMFG WAIT A SECOND

HOLD UP.

AND ALL HE DOES IS JUST SMIRK AND CHUCKLE AND PATS GHOSTS SHOULDER SAYING SOME SHIT LIKE "jealousy's a bad look on you. just admit i can treat 'em better"

YES YES YES I fucking love this?! I'm scribbling furiously, hahaha. I swear my favorite thing about the whole ps!universe is how so much of it is shaped by you all people. like you send me the most amazing ideas and thoughts on ps!ghost and pals, and it inspires me so, so much to keep writing more content and to explore the universe further.

I love this omfg, thank youuuu!! this just made my whole entire evening I swear I swear. peeps please keep sending me your ps!universe ideas, even for other characters than just ps!ghost. they keep me so damn well fed. 💗

#🪷#lo answers #ps!graves #pornstar!graves #pornstar!ghost #ps!ghost

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written-in-flowers · 2 years

Note

Aegon ii Targaryen x wife smut please??

a/n: I got two more of the same, so I'm just putting them all together lol Hope you all like it as always <3 feedback is always appreciated <3

***

Okay, okay, so he's a bit drunk, but has that ever bothered you before? Stumbling into your chambers late at night, the heat from the alcohol reddened his pale cheeks and kept him from standing upright. A long night of hopping from tavern to tavern, groping serving women, gambling all his coin away, and watching two men brawl in the street, Aegon craved the comfort of his bed. His brain felt slightly fuzzy from the ale he'd piled himself with, and he leaned against the first piece of furniture he reached. He shut his eyes for a moment, shaking his head, but this only made him dizzier.

"Rough night, my love?"

Aegon looked further into the chamber, where he saw the bath tub placed near the crackling fire. Your nakedness was the first thing he noticed. His eyes glued themselves to the tops of your breasts where the water surface began. Aegon fumbled with the clasp of his cloak, laughing softly at the sight of you. In his drunken haze, he'd forgotten the slight bump in the middle of the water. Your baby. His baby. The child you'd created together eight months ago swelled his wife's belly slowly but surely. The maester told him rigorous activity is to be avoided considering the princess's delicate condition, but Aegon could keep it gentle. Something about seeing you pregnant brought out a glow in you. It aroused him to see you full with his child; carrying the newest Targaryen born to his legacy. Another little dragonrider, like his brothers and sisters.

Four children later, and he still finds you to be the most desirable woman in all Seven Kingdoms. He might pinch a bottom or stare at naked breasts when in his eyeline, but no woman in the world compared to how you made him feel. Finally managing to discard his cloak, he tore off his stained shirt as he walked over to you. Messy, greasy waves of silver fell in his face, but he kept you in his sights.

"Nearly lost everything I had on me because a man got his second wind half way towards the end of a fight," he said, working on the strings of his breeches, but his fingers clumsily knotted them by accident. The heat of arousal started working its way through his lower half. "Then, I watched these two whores get into a fight over this old, fat lord who'd come walking in with pockets full of gold."

"So, it was exciting at least?"

"It was." He grunted to himself as he managed to undo the knot, "I wish you'd come. You haven't gone outside the keep in a long time." He snorted when he finally undid the lacings and tugged down the breeches. He saw your eyes twinkle at the sight of his flaccid dick. "I miss us going out together."

"You know I don't like leaving the keep when I'm pregnant," you said, your fingers trailing through the soapy water. "Besides, we have children now, Aegon. We can't run off into the city, frolicking around like two unhinged, shameless scoundrels anymore."

"I'd hardly call you a 'scoundrel'," he nearly fell down taking off his boots, but he kept himself firmly on the ground. Aegon specifically asked for a large tub when you finally married. He knelt beside the tub, using the edge to keep himself steady, "You were a goddess." He pushed hair from your face and stared at you fondly. "I remember the time we both went to The Blue Pearl, and we had sex with those Dornish twins?"

"Aegon," you giggled and patted his cheek, "How much have you had to drink?"

"Not enough that I can't get it up for you," he smirked, cupping your chin to kiss you. "I remember," he looked at you with lust in his eyes, "You laying right next to me as one girl kissed your lips and the other kissed your pretty cunt..." He briefly kissed you again. You never minded the wine or beer or ale on his lips. He put his hand in the lukewarm water, trying to find your thighs before asking, "Why is the water so tepid?"

"It's as hot as the maesters will allow."

"Dragons need heat," he said, running his hand on your belly. "Looks like you need me to keep warm."

"I'm pregnant, Aegon," you said between his kisses, "We're meant to take things gently."

"I'll give it to you gently, my love," he replied, pecking your lips. "Let me help you out. Our bed is warmer."

He lifted you to your feet, and removed the linen dress you'd worn into the tub. Your wet, naked body glistened in the fire light nearby. His eyes drank up the heavy curves of your body as it adapted to the new life growing inside you. Aegon brought you into his arms, slowly kissing you while he brought you towards the bed nearby. His body sobered up immediately at the possibility of bedding you. You rested back on the pillows, and he rested himself between your legs. He stayed bent over you, your belly keeping him at a distance, and kissed you deeply. He hardened when his hand found your breast, growing cold and hard from the recent change from warm to cold. He continued going down your neck to one nipple, and gave a soft peck.

"We did have some fun times, didn't we?" you sighed, running your hands in his hair while he started suckling your breast. "The horseback races are still my favorite."

"Especially when we're on the same horse," he said, "And my cock just happens to slide right inside you." He rolled his tongue over your hardened nipple, flicking it right over the center. "I don't think you ever came as hard or as quickly before."

"I couldn't help it," you giggled, grinding yourself into him so he whimpered on your skin. "Being in front of all those people, the horse galloping and bucking fast down the street, and having your hard cock buried in me...It felt even better when we stopped and you finished in me."

Aegon felt your sex brush lightly against his cock, and he couldn't help grinding back into you. Your lips found his again as you shifted around to grab him. It'd been too long. His body let him know that with how quickly the blood in his pumped through his member. He tried not fucking you during pregnancies, because they can be so delicate, but he can't help it tonight. Your breasts in his hands, your hand gliding over his shaft and your lips locked with his own, the fire inside him burned hot. Too hot. His tongue brushed up against yours as you opened your mouth for him; your soft moans went into his, and he replied with his own.

"The children?" he asked quickly, pecking at your chest again.

"All asleep," you told him. "Mya and I put them down hours ago."

This information encouraged him to go farther. Nothing ruined a moment more than being hilt-deep in your wife and one of your children barges in, crying about a nightmare. Aegon kissed down your body, stopping at the middle for extra kisses, before reaching the middle of your thighs. He ran his hands up and down them as he peppered kisses on your inner thighs. Your pussy, his favorite thing in the entire world, sat right in front of him. Aegon knew from the first time you made love that he'd never find another one like yours. He thought back to those Dornish twins, who lapped and sucked your clit while he slid his dick into your mouth. You two had many fun excursions into sexual deviance together, but nothing compared to a nice one-on-one with the light of his life. Finally, he ran his tongue over the very center when he felt you shudder in his hands. Your belly kept him from seeing your expressions, but this didn't matter. It was your sounds that aroused him. Aegon gyrated against his mattress while he traced his tongue lightly over each fold, before taking it in his mouth to suck on lightly. Every brush on the soft sheets made him groan into you, vibrating around your throbbing clit each time. Soon, he tasted your slick, juices on his tongue and went faster.

He then heard you giggle and looked up, "What? Are you not feeling anything?"

"No, no, keep going," you insisted, pushing his head down. "I was remembering the first time Mother caught you doing this to me..."

"Oh," he chuckled, getting back to business, "So do I. She was horrified. You'd think she'd never seen it before."

"To be fair," you sighed, eyes closed and head into the pillows, "I was sitting on the window ledge naked where anybody could see or hear me."

"That's what made it fun though," he smiled, kissing your soaked sex again. "I recall the sweet little noises you made while I did it," he hummed on you, "And how hard you came right when she walked in." He slipped a finger inside you without warning, which made you jerk for a moment before adjusting to his finger, "I also remember my jaw hurting after that."

"Well, if you'd been honest and told me that you had no idea what you were doing," you said, "We wouldn't have had that problem."

"I definitely know what I'm doing now, though, don't I?" He added a second finger and began pumping them into you while his thumb rubbed your clit. "Don't I, Wife? Don't I?"

"Yes, yes, you do!"

So much so it resulted in multiple pregnancies. Aegon continued humping the bed while fingering you. He listened to your whimpers and cries whenever he stopped, taking a break with his hand and using his mouth on you instead. He thought back to the first time he tasted you. He'd seen two women doing it in a brothel, and wanted to do it to you. It'd been your idea to do it on the window. He'd spent ages figuring out which spots made you squeal; what spots had you whimpering and begging him to stay there and keep going. When you finally climaxed, he didn't even notice his mother there. Aegon had been too caught up in his own satisfaction to care; right then, he knew he'd never want another one. He'd only crave yours.

The moment he couldn't take his own teasing anymore, he knelt in front of you and aligned himself with your body. He looked down to see you panting, licking your lips and pleading with him. He'd never seen a more beautiful sight before. In a swift movement, Aegon slid himself into your hole all the way to the base. Pinned deep inside you, he remained there a few seconds to enjoy your pussy throbbing. Your walls hugged his length, as if pulling him further in, and he could feel your clit wetting the pubic patch above. He loved every second of it. Aegon swore he could cum simply staying inside you long enough. But, judging by your winding hips, he knew what you wanted...what you needed. The last time had been so quick and so long ago, he wanted to take his time. He kept a gradual, gentle speed while he rubbed your clit with his hands: both his thumbs kept rubbing over it one after the other, massaging and keeping it hard while he rocked back and forth. As much as he enjoyed watching you squirm, he really wished to pound you into the bed.

"Do you still enjoy it?" you asked, pulling him down to you for a kiss.

"Enjoy what?" he asked in your kiss, "What? This?"

"Yes..."

"Of course, I do," he hooked his arms under your shoulders, bringing you even closer, and began bottoming up into you. "I love nothing more, in all fairness." He kissed along your jaw to your ear, "Why? Did you suddenly stop liking this?"

"I've had four children, Aegon."

"So?"

"Mother says it loosens up over time," your head tilted back as he started picking up his pace, "I worry...I worry one day I might not be tight enough-"

"-Trust me," he laughed, eyes closing as your pussy clenched him, "You are plenty tight for me, my love. Always have been. You'll get no complaints from me."

Staying pressed against you, looking at your face and kissing you, both of you came together. Your fingers intertwined with his at your sides, and your legs went around his waist to bring him even closer. The only time Aegon ever felt close to anyone; the only time his heart and mind became one with another person was when he was with you. All thoughts of his drunken night in King's Landing faded away at the arrival of your trembling, shaking, hard orgasm. You chanting his name as he kept the right rhythm was better than any tune a bard can sing. Aegon withdrew in time to avoid finishing within you, letting it spill onto your thigh inside while he buried his face into the pillow to muffle his groans.

The post-orgasm glow came in the form of soft kisses and cuddling naked on the bed. He'd clean you up later, of course, but right then he wanted to hold you. You two did not have moments like this very often; there's usually a child nearby or about to come around the corner for something. So, for the moment, Aegon soaked up whatever bit of you he can before morning.

"When I have the baby," you said, watching him fight off sleep to look at you, "We should go into town together like we used to. I'll put on my peasant girl clothes, and we can run amok as we did when we were younger." You smiled, "Maybe go on another horse ride together?"

"Or visit The Blue Pearl," he added, eyes half-open. "Those twins probably aren't there, but gods they had good wine and pretty girls."

"And boys."

You pecked his lips one final time as the pair of you drifted off to sleep. He'll regret the drinking in the morning, when he's surrounded by his children at breakfast, but he wouldn't regret fucking you. He never did. ****

A/N: yaaay more Aegon content! I really like writing dad!Aegon, so I'll probably do more of him.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon the elder #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x yn #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd drabbles #hotd imagines #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #tom glynn carney

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just-some-random-blogger · 1 year

Note

Hello!!! Since your fics did this to me, I have a truly unhinged request. Can we get one where Daemon is forced to marry a Hightower (Alicent's sister or someone) after his 'divorce' from Rhea Royce and while Daemon is his usual 'pretend like that marriage never happened' stage, going about ignoring her and fucking whores instead, thinking this wife is probably as boring and meek as Alicent and won't say anything. But, surprise! This one's a complete nutcase and turns out she had long since wanted to marry Daemon (I mean look at the man, reader's me) and now that she has him so close, she won't let him ignore her or escape. He HAS to fall in love with her. So one night, while he's drunk she tries him to their bed and when he wakes up, gets a Valyrian dagger and carves her name upon his chest, telling him something like "See, now I'm so deep into you, you cannot pretend I'm not here." And surprise! Masochist unhinged Daemon actually does fall in love with her. I mean, how can he not! Name carving?! Beautiful! So fucking hot! They fuck (him still tied but she rides him GOOD, like they made her for him only.) And once done, she untied him and then HE carves his name on her back. Because she too wants him so deep engraved into her skin.

Please let me have this!!! Pleasee!!!!!!!

Made For You

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader

Summary: You grew up in not one, but two shadows, your older sister's and your sister's best friend's. People often mistook your silence for docility, and perhaps to an extent you were, but in truth, you inherited all the desperation, the eagerness, and the nefariousness of from your family.

Word Count: 2k+

Warnings: Fem!reader, yandere!reader, mentions/depictions of violence (blood, gore?, murder), smut (dubcon?, fingering, bdsm themes, masochism, knife play [but they injure each other 💀], marking, scratching, vaginal penetration, degradation kink, breeding kink, bondage, choking), just general dark/grotty themes, typos, etc.

A/N: ok very much MINORS DNI hello im calling 911 this is crazy and i love it HAHAHAHH update i am very confused if i love it lol HsaL:FHASHFAF. i had a little problem with believing daemon would marry a hightower 💀 so i had to add a part explaining that to convince myself. anyway. i hope you enjoy. idk what happened to be honest. im just glad i got this over with. Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @sloanexx

My compulsive habit of chewing my lip had made me addicted to the taste of blood. And though I was heading to the library, the same one I did every single day, my heart was pounding because I knew today would be different. I knew today the prince would be here.

The moment I walked in, I headed straight for the bookshelf that held the only tomes I knew Daemon read. I sucked the iron off my swollen lip and released a sigh as I began to go through the books.

I snort in a sharp breath when I hear a voice to my side. I turn left and find him, short sliver hair spilling down his forehead, a faint line between his brows, and a slight curve in his lips. He had spoken to me in High Valyrian.

I bring my hands to the side. I pull at the inside of my bottom lip. He watches me, awaiting a correct response to his words.

"Iskan..." I start slowly, "kesīr naejot jurnegon rȳ se tembyr."

I'm here to look at the books.

My stomach flutters when he chuckles.

"Very good," he says, standing straight, walking over to me, "though it's Iksan," he adds, reaching out for a book. He opens it but keeps his eyes on me and repeats, "Iksan."

"Iksan," I mutter, looking down at his book.

He closes the book and mindlessly puts it back, "good," he leans on the shelf, "now once more. All together."

I dart my eyes up to him and lick my lips, "Iksan kesīr naejot jurnegon rȳ se tembyr."

He chuckle, reaching out for my hair, "had you not inherited the ghastly color of your father's locks, you'd have me fooled to be of my blood."

My breathing heavies.

He laughs, muttering words in his mother tongue too quick for me to understand.

When he pulls his hand away, I am eager to say something that will elicit the same response, "I am glad I amuse you, my prince Daemon."

Daemon hums and turns about, "you are eager to please me so. How could I not?

I follow after him as he makes his way back to his chair. I spot the heap of books on his side as he sits down.

"Would you like me to take those back, your grace?"

Daemon turns from me to the books on his side then tilts his head, "I don't suppose you are trying to get a job as a librarian."

My eyes widen at his words, "no, I am not."

He straightens in his spot and crosses his legs, "then tell me, will you make no attempt to escape from your hundred year old prospect?"

I grip my skirt.

Daemon raises his brows along with the corner of his lips.

"You know of this?" I mutter softly.

"Your cunt of a father spoke of it to Viserys in the morn," he pouts in thought, "he spewed some crap about the old man from wherever the fuck being enchanted by you when you met him two nights before at the banquet."

I clear my throat, "Lord Sheperding was... quite eager to speak to my father about my prospects."

Daemon bounces his foot up and down. He grips the armrest, "so tell me," he stands and marches over, catching my face in his hands, craning my head up, "did the cretin that fucked you into your mother ask you to come here and seduce me like he did your bitch sister?"

My throat constricts in panic, "I-"

He pushes me back until my I was pressed between him and the side of the bookshelf. His hands come around my neck, "don't you dare fucking lie to me."

I gulp at the fact he was not putting pressure in his grip. My stomach flurries. I shake my head frantically, "my father would rather kill me than ever allow me to yours."

"But that is what you want," he blurts, beginning to tighten his hold on me, "what you have wanted for long, no?"

My heart hammers in my chest. My hands dart to his sides. I moan out, "yes."

Daemon leans close to me, "then I will give you what you want." He releases my neck and begins to pull up my skirt, "but if I find your father pleased by our union, I will make sure your death is more painful than that bronze bitch's."

I let out an involuntary whine but then bite my lip tightly when I feel Daemon's hands make their way to my inner thigh.

"Oh you filthy girl," he moans, "you don't seem to need my fingers at all with how worked up you've gotten yourself."

I cover my mouth when I feel his fingers brush over my burning core.

Daemon pulls away and rip my fingers off. He tuts me and flips me over, shoving my chest against the shelf, "this will only work if you're loud enough for someone to hear."

And someone very much did hear. As swiftly as Daemon had made me come undone by the shelves of library, the news came to my father of the disgrace I had done to my maidenhood, to our name, to him. So when he came to me, he chastised me and left physical evidence of his sore displeasure and then he came to the king demanding justice.

Upon seeing the state of me, King Viserys called for his brother, and Queen Alicent offered me comfort. Daemon came with haughtiness and scorn. My father and my sister eyed him dirtily. Upon seeing the mark on my cheek, the only mark on my body that he had not left, Daemon looked to the enraged king and agreed to the demand of taking responsibility of his actions.

So with a violet cheek hidden behind makeup, reddish marks on my neck hidden behind a high collar, a swollen eye, and bitten lips, I was wed to the prince.

I was now his princess, his wife.

Yet a month later, I was just a stranger that lived in his house that inconvenienced him. Why just this morning, he came from his chambers where he would bring his whores to fuck them, then came into our shared chambers to sleep, knowing I'd be gone and awake by now.

I watched him from the mirror as he walked across the room.

I stopped brushing my hair by the time Daemon jumped into our bed. I release a breath, "tired, my love?"

"Dorea kept me up all night," he chuckles, "filthy girl."

I cringe at the nickname. He had called me that when he made me his wife. That was my nickname, mine.

I turn over to look at him. He was curled up under the blankets, embracing a pillow. I stand from the chair in front of my vanity, "there is a banquet we must attend in the afternoon."

"Go by yourself," he mutters.

I clench my jaw and walk over to him, "the bastard lord, as you affectionately call will be there."

Daemon, who had his eyes closed, furrows his brows, "which one?"

"The one who called you a tyrant in the making."

He chuckles, rolling over on his chest. He begins to curse in High Valyrian.

I reach our bed and sit by the side, looking at him, wanting so badly to brush back his hair, to snuggle next to him, to make love to him, to cage him in me. I press my hands on the bed. I purse my lips before I whisper, "would you like for me to handle him?"

Daemon does not respond nor move.

"I will do anything for you... I can kill him for you if that is what you want."

When I move to stand, my groom speaks, "kill him then."

He turns to his face to the other side of the bed, I watch as he rubs his cheek on the pillows. He mutters idly, "bring me his head."

"And then you'll let me have you to myself?"

He laughs, "whatever you want."

But he betrayed me still. He couldn't fucking wait to get his cock wet.

I came to him that night with the lord's severed head. He was in his other chamber room, with a whore I have not seen before. And she had been going ah-ah-ah in pleasure as he straddled my prince, but then she made the mistake of turning over her shoulder. She ripped out an ear-piercing shriek upon seeing my figure, drenched in red, both hands clutching things of horror.

She fled the room promptly after seeing me, screeching loudly. Daemon however, was reeling at the sudden loss of contact. It became apparent to me that he was drunk, possibly out of his mind.

I walked over to him, beholding his naked form, his wet erection. I raise one hand, the one holding the severed head. I frown deeply, "your prize, husband."

I throw it to him.

Daemon, instinctively swats as he evades it. The lord's head rolls on the floor. He groans and pushes himself up on his elbows. He looks at me and narrows his eyes, slowly speaking my name, as though he was only recognizing it was me now.

I begin to shudder. I begin to shake in rage. I clench my jaw and my fists. I grab my skirt and lunge at him, pinning him down beneath me, raising my other hand, still clad with the weapon I used to slay the man with. I press it to his throat, screaming as tears fogged my eyes, "I HATE YOU."

Daemon clutches my arms and pushes me back, not before I manage to nick his skin and make red gush down the side of his throat.

I feel like he is pushed into a semblance of sobriety after this, and yet in my rage, I still managed to subdue him in his still very much intoxicated state.

We struggle against each other, but the only important thing to know is that my fury managed to best him. Now here we were. I was straddling his hips and he was tied to the bed, hissing at the feel of my cold blade on his chest.

Daemon was wide eyed and very much sober with the pain at this point.

"It's so nice of you not to scream and call for help, prince husband," I mutter as I etch my initials on to his left pec, "your pride will be the death of you, you know. Be glad I have no intention to kill you. even now."

"Mad cunt," he spits in anger.

"You told me I could have you to myself!" I scream, body trembling in rage, "now I must mark you so your whores know who you belong to."

He huffs, shifting his hips beneath me. I repel him and force him still.

Daemon growls as I toss my blade on to the bedside table and lean and lick the blood on his skin. His blood tastes so much better than mine. I moan at the iron and shift from how I was straddled atop him. My skirt bunches up by his midriff as I suckle on his flesh and nipped at his skin with my teeth

He strains against the bounds I managed to put on his wrists and releases a moan.

I lift my head at the sound of it and breathe hotly against him, "wicked dragon," I sit up then slap him across the face, "you're not meant to enjoy this," I rub his cheek down to his chest, "not really. This is meant to satisfy me."

Daemon looks at me, frazzled by the hit.

"You've been nothing but spiteful even though I've been nothing but obedient, prince husband," I mutter, leaning into him, digging my nails into his chest, "and you insult me so greatly by wasting your precious seed on whores who could not bear you any heirs."

I prop myself up on his chest. Daemon pants at the rocking movement of my hips. I scowl at him as I gather my skirt up until my skin was bare against his. I whimper at the feel of his still hardened member pulsing beneath my own pulse. I recall the whore he was with just moments ago, and how her slick was glistening on his manhood. I feel ire and jealousy burn through me.

"Is it not painfully obvious to you that I can be your whore, your grace?!" I bark through tears as I grab his hair and pull his head up.

Daemon grunts, "fucking bitch."

I desperately retort, "I'll be your fucking bitch, Daemon. I want to be your fucking bitch, your slut, your plaything, your executioner, your bride, your darling. Everything, whatever you want from me, I can become it."

I release his hair, making his head fall down. He looks up at me as I lift myself up and grab his veiny girth, aligning him into my core and burying him deep with me.

"Fuck," he huffs.

I whimper at his reaction, licking my lips as I do so, "I want to hurt you so badly, Daemon, but I love you so much that I'll make you feel good while do it however."

I begin to bounce on top of him while I dig my thumb into his fresh wound and choke him with my other hand.

Daemon begins to exclaim in his mother tongue, gripping tightly on the bounds on his wrists.

I groan and lick the blood off my thumb as I fuck myself on him. I move up and down on his hard erection, mind going wild with the fantasies I've thought of him long before we were even wed. When he begins to let out a strangled sound, I release the pressure on his throat and lean on his chest as it heaves up and down.

"Don't wanna see you with anyone else, Daemon," I mutter as I quicken my pace a notch and begin to feel my stomach tighten, "I'll kill your whores cause I can't kill you. Never you, my love."

Daemon groans as he catches his breath, "faster."

I whine at his command and eagerly give into him, adjusting myself atop him and allowing myself to plop up and down him at a quicker and rougher tempo. I feel my insides flutter at the sound of his moans. I scratch his chest up and down with my nails and look down at his face, mouth ajar, eyes shut, neck straining.

"I was made for you, husband," I mutter, biting my lower lip as I feel my core tighten and my climax build, "was made to be your confidant, your right hand, your bride, your baby maker."

He groans, "is that right, come slut?" He lifts his head up, "you want to bear my children so badly you tied me up to fuck yourself on me?"

I whine and nod my head, "yes," I muffle out, "s'all I think about. Wanna be good to you. Wanna give you everything. Wanna give you sons and daughters."

Daemon replies in High Valyrian. I vaguely recognize it as compliment and a curse.

I begin to lose my breath as I ride him more desperately than ever.

"Then take what you want from me and come on my cock, come slut."

I nod my head and clench around him, "yes, Daemon, yes, yes, yes-"

I feel my body begin to burn and flare at my ministrations. I fuck him eagerly and begin to feel grow manic with every thrash and every grunt.

Daemon huffs and rips at his bounds, "you better not disappoint me, my Hightower bitch."

"No, husband," I grunt,

"You better take me good."

"Yes! Gonna be so good to you, so good."

I hear him say something after, but I don't have time to make sense of it as I feel myself tighten then shatter all over him. I cry out his name in pleasure, and as I ride out the pleasure as much as I can. Only then do I realize that Daemon was thrusting into me as well. It is twice as evident as I begin to slow my pace.

And then my toes curl and my nails dig into his skin when his heat shoots into me. It makes my flesh quake and intensifies my undoing.

I scream out his name. He calls me dirty ones. I bask in our union and slowly come down from my high. Slowly making sure he was just as spent as I was like a dutiful wife.

What remains is a mess. I am a mess of short breath, sweat, and blood as I slowly sink down and fall onto Daemon's chest. I whimper against him, dazed by it all, but completely and utterly satisfied with myself.

I lap at his wound, soothing myself as I enjoy the remaining stretch inside me, the fullness and warmth planted in my belly.

I knit my brows when I feel hands come around my form.

"Take off your clothes."

I lift my head out and look at Daemon's face, his eyes blown and his lips parted. I push myself up, "how did you get o-"

I whimper when he chuckles, my tenderness sensitive to vibrations if his body. His hands run up my back, to the ties on my dress. His fingers begin to tug and he undo them, "you cannot seriously believe to have overpowered me, little girl."

Before my pulse could even calm, it's racing all over again when Daemon easily flips us over and begins pushing my skirt up, "your knots are shite. I'll teach you how to properly tie a victim up."

He arduously rips my dress off my body overhead, up until I was as naked as he was beneath him. He looks down at my bareness and grips my thighs, roughly ripping his nails in a downward motion, making me reach out to him as I whine.

Daemon grunts before he chuckles, "I can feel you clench around me, dirty whore."

I squeak when he pushes forward and reaches out for something. He places my blade between my breasts then adjusts my legs around him as he pushes himself up on one arm. He then grabs the blade and eyes me darkly as he presses the steel on my skin. I slap my hand on my mouth when he begins cut into my abdomen. He looks down at his work as my tighten my legs around him, holding back my sounds as he did.

"Don't be selfish, slut," he mutters, "I own your womb. I ought to mark it now."

Daemon's eyes flick up to me as I scream into my hand and screw my teary eyes shut.

I silently sob at the sting of the blade and try to control my cries until he finishes. I begin to heave when I hear the sound of something being dropped to the floor.

I whimper and open my eyes when I feel Daemon sigh as he sinks back down onto me, face coming to the side of my own. He pushes my hands off my face in order to press our chests together. I lean into his shoulder and suckle at his skin to soothe myself.

"Shhhh," he kisses my cheek, "I'll make you feel better, my bride. Make sure to fill you up until you're full with my seed, okay?"

I nod my head and wrap my arms around him.

"Olvie sȳz," he mutters, "good little slut for me."

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happypotato48 · 1 month

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Only Boo! EP 2 Unhinged Tangent Thoughts

I didn't comment about it last week, but i feel personally attacked when some kid called moo "poser" cause he's wearing this jecket on top of his school uniform.

I'm pretty sure that most younger thai people unanimously agreed that ours school uniforms are lame as hell. when i was in school i always look forward for the cold season when i get to wear anything over that ugly ass uniform. and the fact that he wearing this in summer??? cause right now in thailand it's 100+ degree most days and i still see some high school kids with hoodies or jeckets on top of their uniforms, the length we go through to express ourself 🤣(this is why the kids are protesting and i 100% support them for that.)

This is a grown ass man! are they really want us to believe this is a 18 years old😂

God, this show is so cringe, and i respected them for it.

THIS IS A DIRTY JOKE! i repeat it's a dirty joke. it totally caught me off guard with how cute and pg this show has been.

Me honkgry!!

What with this scene lol, 10/10 i loved how unhinged this is. i think moo need an exorcist not a boyfriend.

"Not today gay satan." or "must not think gay must not think gay."

Oh hi oishi i wonder where you've been (i hate this drink btw it's too forking sweet.)

Damn those art kids and their custom made stuff. i want that helmet!

I'm going to hell for laughing here. but the trope of people getting hit by a car after buying sentimental gifts in dramas are so overdone it become comical.

Just kill that thing!! did your parents never taught you about dengue fever?

i liked this ep overall and i hope there is more angst in the future but right now i'm content with how cute and unhinged this show is.

#only boo the series #thai bl #bl drama #dumb boy unhinged thoughts

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whinlatter · 10 months

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In your opinion when did Ginny start drifting away from Dean? What was it that made her decide she didn’t want to be with him anymore? I know it can’t just be him helping her through the door because it’s such a small reason to break up with someone. Did she start to notice Harry noticing her? Or did the relationship run it’s course?

are you ready for an unhinged galaxy brain take from me

I actually think Ginny started to suspect something had changed in Harry's feelings for her not long after he himself realised, after the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match, early November. The scraps of evidence for this headcanon are few and far between but you can nonetheless prise them from my cold dead hands. Even before Harry himself realised he had feelings for Ginny, he was asking to hang out with her (on the train, in Hogsmeade) in ways that definitely would have seemed new. Then after the match itself:

'Laughing, Harry broke free of the rest of the team and hugged Ginny, but let go very quickly. Avoiding her gaze, he clapped a cheering Ron on the back instead as, all enmity forgotten, the Gryffindor team left the pitch arm in arm, punching the air and waving to their supporters.'

Ginny is a very good reader of Harry's emotions and responses at this point in the series. She seems to clock that Harry has just given her this very weird, out of character hug - weird both in that it's clearly very physically awkward and brief, but also weird in that Harry has given her a hug at all, when he's never initiated a hug with any other character before, let alone her. Then, this chat at the after party, immediately after Harry has just ditched a group of admiring (and extremely willing) girls flirting with him:

'“It looks like he’s eating her face, doesn’t it?” said Ginny dispassionately. “But I suppose he’s got to refine his technique somehow. Good game, Harry.” She patted him on the arm; Harry felt a swooping sensation in his stomach, but then she walked off to help herself to more butterbeer. Crookshanks trotted after her, his yellow eyes fixed upon Arnold.'

This is the first time Ginny touches Harry in the series. It's innocuous enough to anyone watching - Chaser pats Captain on the arm after a game - but given how unusual it is for Ginny to touch Harry, so soon after their previous strange interaction where Harry initiated touch with Ginny for the first time, I think we can see this interaction as Ginny testing her theory. (Tbh I think Harry's response to her here, including the fact that he literally doesn't even speak in front her lol, would give her even more reason for suspicion.)

I basically think Dean and Ginny are doomed after this. Not because I think Ginny would be like great Harry likes me time to break up with Dean - I think she's got months of pranging out about it ahead of her. But I think the stage is set for Ginny starting to actively compare Dean to Harry, and finding him wanting. Between the more morsels of evidence she gets in the following weeks (taking Luna to the ball, the maggot incident), and how miserable Ginny seems at the prospect of going back to Dean in the New Year, I think there's good reason to suspect she had clocked that Harry might, at long last, be returning feelings for her. (I tried to talk a bit about Ginny's view of Dean here).

I know a lot of fics and general fanon has Hermione working Harry's crush out first and pointing it out to Ginny, but I actually really don't buy this! There's no real proof of Hermione noticing Harry's changing feelings for Ginny until really late on. On the topic of Slughorn's party, she tells him to "just invite someone", and doesn't seem to suspect anything after he lies that there's no-one he wants to invite. I genuinely don't think Hermione knew until mid-March:

“Yeah, well, there was no need for Ginny and Dean to split up over it,” said Harry, still trying to sound casual. “Or are they still together?” “Yes, they are — but why are you so interested?” asked Hermione, giving Harry a sharp look. “I just don’t want my Quidditch team messed up again!” he said hastily, but Hermione continued to look suspicious, and he was most relieved when a voice behind them called, “Harry!” giving him an excuse to turn his back on her.

Of course, after this point, Hermione is in full super sleuth mode. To Hermione, Ginny's argument with Dean suddenly makes a lot more sense now she's realised that a) Harry likes Ginny and b) Ginny has already worked out Harry likes her and so is sabotaging her relationship with Dean. After Ginny and Dean break up while Harry is on Felix Felicis (subtle from HJP), Hermione knows for sure what's going on, and is deliciously smug and unsubtle about it in ways that makes me think if she had known before this, she would have let on. It's true that Harry is oblivious, but it's also true that Hermione has never passed up a chance to say I told you so (she's just like me fr)

#hinny #meta #TL;DR ginny weasley knew as soon as that man came in for a cuddle #'harry potter wants to HUG ME? oh shit i'm in trouble' - ginny weasley #probably #thank you anon!#trying to work through my inbox i'm so sorry this week has been a fresh fiery hellscape of deadlines #doin my best forgive me forgive me

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lilislegacy · 28 days

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Your blog gives me whiplash. Every time I come here I never know what I’m going to get. For example a couple posts ago was so serious and bone chilling, the one about Percy torturing the goddess in tartarus and how Annabeth would want him to do it again if their kids were about to be murdered. Then this morning you posted a cute, sweet little analysis about how strange it would be for percabeths friends to see them with kids that made me want to hug the screen. Then your most recent is an unhinged incorrect quote about college percabeth going from laughing to arguing to making out in the span of 15 minutes and it made me laugh out loud. That’s why I love your blog because you cover the serious stuff, the sweet stuff, and the funny stuff. It’s such a rollercoaster lmao

LOL

wellllll percy IS known for his drastic mood changes, and is perceived very differently by differently people because he’s all over the place

so what you’re saying is that my blog is a good representation of percy’s character? 😏

#hehehe #pjo #percy jackson #answered

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trashmouth-richie · 1 year

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Can i request king steve having his eyes set on queen of the damned and eddie feels a lil insecure and jealous because of course a queen would want a king. So reader reminds him shes all his with racy pictures and a bj where she swallows and sucks his balls. And hes just left on cloud 9 lol. 🫣🫣

@sidthedollface2 , this is for you 💋 special thanks to @munson-blurbs @hxllfired @corroded-hellfire @eddiemunsonsmum @jadequeen88 for reading through this + whoever else I suckered into doing that 😵‍💫🖤

part ii for QUEEN OF THE DAMNED

eddie x female! reader

W.C: 2.8k

TW: NO MINORS, blow job, mentions of sex, etc. possessive!eddie, jealous!eddie etc etc etc

Since prom when you had gone public with Eddie, you were inseparable. Word spread like wildfire of your infidelity, and poor Ethan was left confused, in more ways than one. Honestly embarrassed that he didn’t notice that you were cheating on him. The locker room hazing was no laughing matter. Every swinging dick around joked about Ethan and his whore of an ex girlfriend. “She good in bed? Oh yeah guess you wouldn’t know.” “Munson possessed your chick and you had no idea?” Laughter erupts from the locker room as Ethan makes his way to the showers, crying softly.

The person most responsible for teasing Ethan for his misfortunes? Steve Harrington, King of Hawkins High. He was a player, easily the most sought after guy to roam the halls. Girls fell at their feet for him, begged to be his flavor for the night. Between him and Billy Hargrove they were swimming in pussy. Everyone’s except yours. But Steve was determined, and Billy’s bet made his determination grow even stronger, almost carnal.

“Hey there gorgeous,” Steve swoons, laying it on thick, sliding next to your open locker, pushing his sunglasses into his hair. He had never spoken to you in his life, why was he starting now?

“Uh, hi?” Glaring, shut your locker, holding your books close to your chest.

Steve looks you up and down like his next meal, licking the fat muscle of his tongue along his top lip, eyes lazily drinking you in, the honey flecks dancing along your curves. “Just wondering if my favorite Queen wants to sit with me at lu— “

Leather arms wrap around your middle the same time a pair of soft lips caress your neck, biting softly and sucking the beginning of a bruise as Steve’s eyes stare annoyingly into your face. Tongue pressed into his cheek as he throws his hands onto his hips, accentuating the bulge in his pants as he cocks a hip out.

Eddie spins you around into him, your back to Steve. He kisses your lips, his thick hands are wrapped tight along your waist, traveling down to cup your ass, squeezing the denim of your jeans. Making eye contact with Steve the entire time, a silent awareness of possession between them, Eddie’s eyes pitch to black, drilling holes into Steve’s. “Something I can help you with Harrington?” Eddie asks him, holding you tight to him so that your focus is solely on him, “or do you normally hit on other guy’s girlfriends?” He stands to his full height, broad shoulders and chest puffed out, head cocked high and to the side as his lower jaw practically comes unhinged from itself. An animalistic stance of dominance invades the air, thicker than mud, hung dense like fog between the lockers.

Steve also stands to his tallest, brushing the back of his neck and leaning in. “We were just talking,” he says, adding, “and last I checked— you were into fucking other guy’s girlfriends— which is exactly why I’m here.”

You wince, it was bad enough that your parents were disowning you for choosing to be with Eddie, kicking you out and cutting you off, the last thing you needed was to hear it from the asshats at school. Especially Steve Harrington. The whole town had branded you an outcast, you could practically feel the crimson ‘A’ stitched into your clothing, burning into your heart. A name you would wear proudly for him. He was good to you, devilishly handsome and all yours. His queen. He’d do anything to protect his queen, a trait Ethan fell short on, not that he wasn’t doting he was just careless, letting a fox into the hen house, an evil wolf amongst his little lamb. And by far, too stupid to realize you had been fucking around on him. But Eddie was much more careful with you, protective and possessive.

Eddie holds you tighter, pushing you into his side and wrapping his large hands around you.

The flick of Eddie’s knife rings in your ears as he twirls it around his fingers, his eyes twitch as his tongue dances around his mouth like a sick eel slithering for purchase. “Choose your next words carefully, Harrington, would hate to cut a few of those Farrah Fawcet locks from your head.” Black orbs making the night sky jealous fill his eyes, poisoned with carnal, chilling drops of insanity.

“Yeah ya see,” Steve says, playing Eddie’s mind games, edging towards masculinity and stupidity, taking a step forward slightly, whispering low for only Eddie and yourself to hear, “I’m the King of this high school, and you?” He sucks through his teeth, wincing, “well you’re not even comparable to the gum on my shoe, so why don’t you do your girl a favor, and let her go, let her have a chance at taking that Queen status to the very top, instead of the depths of despair that you inhabit.”

The blade is cold against Steve’s neck, scraping the hairs along his Adam's apple, closer than any barber could get in Hawkins. “Whoa, easy there,” Steve says, swallowing thickly as Eddie’s breath falls against his cheek. “The mayor is my godfather and the police, they’re on my dad’s payroll. So go ahead, do it. You pull a knife on me and you better deliver, pussy. You’ll be in jail so fast your head will spin, and your girl, aww, she’ll be with me, pretty little feet up resting on my shoulders.”

The anger clouding Eddie’s eyes is demonic in every way, he wants to succumb. Wants to give into the darkness flooding his mind. Do it. Do it. A voice stops him. The angel on his shoulder, bringing him back to reality—you.

“Come on, Eddie, let’s go.” You beg, trying to pull him away. Your eyes wet with tears from Steve’s harsh words and Eddie’s temper.

How easy it would be to give in. Watch the blood trickle down Steve’s neck and paint his perfectly pastel colored polo crimson. But he doesn’t, the veil of hell falling from his eyes, his aura, his mind. Eddie listens to you, backs the knife away from Steve’s neck and folds it back into his pocket. Taking long pulls of humid air through his nose, grounding himself. Rolling his shoulders backwards, cracking the bones of his neck in a twist, “For the record,” Eddie taunts, whispering into Steve’s ear, his musky cologne wafting into Steve’s nose, “I’ve spent nights in jail for far less than this, see you around.”

With that he retracts from him and smirks, a small chuckle reverberating from his lips. Arm wrapped around your shoulder he leads you towards the front doors leaving Hawkins High.

Eddie is quick in his movements, rushing you out to his van. “Eddie?” you ask as he throws open the passenger door and picks you up, setting you down into the seat and shutting the door.

He slides into the driver’s seat and roars the van to life, the knuckles around the steering wheel were white, clenching for dear life as his movements are anything but calm. “I swear to you, I will end that fuckers privileged white picket fence life if he ever tries to touch you.” He’s pissed, angry but also hurt. Jealous, and possessive. “He thinks he can have whatever he wants because of his name in this town, like you should be so lucky to have him? oh no baby— you’re mine.” He’s speeding through town, forgoing stopping at any of the stop signs, dodging around cars as he drives like a bat flying from hell.

Showing him that he’s right instead of telling him, you swivel in your seat, the crunch of the leather groaning against your body shifting. Looking into his eyes you can see that they have softened, the brown pumping back in the more deep breathing he does, you unbuckle yourself, leaning forward to lick a stripe from the collar of his shirt up to his ear. He hisses at your touch, moving his arm to the back of your seat, letting you in. Blowing your hot breath along his spit covered neck, his moans fill the van, the grip on the steering wheel subsides as his hand travels down your back, lingering, burning, clawing at your skin. He hikes you into his lap— eyes steady on the road as he adjusts you where he needs you, the heat of your core pressing into him. You’re straddling his narrow waist, your mouth sucking bruising kisses into his neck. The dangling “e” on your necklace tickling his chest as your panties fill with arousal.

“I’m yours,” you murmur into his neck, “always.” The sway and bumps of the van alert you that you’ve turned into the Forest Hills Trailer Park. Eddie silently thanking a higher power as his growing erection is ready to bust at the seams. Biting gently into your shoulder, Eddie’s eyes are barely on the road, a few more seconds and his attention will only be yours. Wayne’s truck is in the driveway as Eddie shifts the lever harshly into park, your bodies colliding and grinding together as the van abruptly comes to a halt. Your hands are twisted in the confinements of his tangled curls, pulling to expose the slope of his neck, sucking and licking, painting his neck with your marks, showing him how possessive you could be. How he was yours and you were his, no one else belonged in that equation. The only math Eddie would completely understand.

You grind your hips down into him, your pussy slotting around the outline of his cock, as he kneads your tits. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he moans into your neck, nipping at your ear as his hands rake your body, burning with want. You climb off of him, moving this sinful act to the back of the van, sparing Wayne’s ears. Hands clenched around his leather lapels pulling him upwards and back with you, legs tangled around the steering column, tripping over cords, cassette towers teetering around your clumsy bodies.

“Let me show you,” you breath, lip locked and breathing heavily against Eddie’s mouth, panting into his neck as you shove him down onto a spare amp. Feverishly undoing his belt, sloppily kissing him, tongues painting each other's mouths. “Show you how much you mean to me.” Eddie’s a mumbling mess as you pull his dick out from the confines of his boxers. Hissing as you pump him achingly slow. Taking your time with the act. Eyes dripping with innocence as you look at him through your eyelashes. Your tongue kitten licks around his ruddy head, tasting the precum that’s beaded.

“Christ, baby,” he seethes, whimpering under your gaze, cock throbbing around your lips. Teasing him as you ghost your mouth around him. His teeth biting into his own lip waiting for you to close your mouth around his length. Another pass of your tongue has him shaking. He moans above you, tucking your hair behind your ear as to get a better look at you. You slap his cock against your tongue, pooling spit around it as it splashed around like rain boots in a puddle. His head is thrown back in anticipation, brown curls cascading down his leather jacket as you finally take him into your mouth, swelling your lips down his shaft until he’s snug in your throat, a saliva slide of glory. Your name rumbles off his dry tongue.

“D’you like that big boy?” You muse, when you pop him out of your mouth and graze your hand into a fist to rub down his shaft. “…my pretty lips around you… making you feel good?”

“Fuck…yes,” he moans, eyeing you again as you swallow him, gagging slightly but loving the sensation. You could suck him off for hours, the feeling of having someone you love whimper and beg you for release stirs your insides with pleasure. “So fucking good… mmm…. Fuck.” His hips lift from the amp as he thrusts into your throat. The lewd noises fill the proximity of the van, as you breathe through your nose and relax the muscles of your throat. His pace quickens. Your hands sit and claw at his thighs. Your pull back to catch your breath— spit dribbling from your mouth onto chest as Eddie kisses you harshly, singing your praises.

The slow roll of your tongue against him makes him weak in the knees. Your lips wrap tightly around him, spitting and drooling, “want me to come baby, fill that throat up with my come?” He whines. So close to coming but want to feel your throat go raw from him fucking into it, burying himself into your mouth, nothing besides your pussy feels better to him. You moan around him, vibrating your throat against his cock, he comes undone, coating your mouth, you’re milking him for all he’s worth to the very last drop, pumping and gently moving your tongue around him, as you swallow his release. He groans your name, thick hands holding your head in place as he quivers beneath you.

Licking your lips Eddie brings you into an embrace, he’s sweaty, bangs stuck to his head, as he tucks you into his chest, nose pressed against your neck. “You’re too good for me,” he mumbles, holding you tight, “didn’t think ‘the talking wig’ would ever get to me, I can usually just brush that shit off, but not when it comes to you.”

He pulls you away from him and rests his forehead on yours, the muddy brows of his eyes swell as he stares into your soul, coaxing a smile from you, “you’re the most important part of me,” he quipped, rubbing his fingers down and back the length of your back moving around your shoulder to hold your neck softly, admiring the necklace he gave you all those months ago. “I wasn’t joking when I said I would kill anyone who tries to take you away from me.” He kisses your neck, marking you as his, branding you forever with his lips. “I love you baby.”

“I love you too,” you whisper as he removes your sweater and lays you down in the back of the van, blessing the neighbors as you yell out God’s name, but you’re definitely not in church.

The idea popped into your head while you showered while Eddie was at band practice with the boys. It was perfect, he would go nuts over it. You raid the dresser for what you were looking for…

The next day at school you tell Eddie you have to meet Mrs. Click to turn in your history paper, he tugs you back to him and kisses you slowly, letting his fingers dig at your chin as he prompts your face up to him. You skip inside, the prized possession hidden in your backpack. You knew Eddie’s locker combination, and fetched the tape out of your bag along with the Polaroids. The black lacy set he had bought you the weekend you dumped Ethan was his personal favorite. The positions you were in suggested only unholy thoughts. The expanse of your neck showing off your hickies and the ‘E’ necklace that never came off with your tits pushed up in one shot, your kiss swollen pussy with your panties shoved to the side in another, and finally your mouth wide open and tongue out, the prom tiara balancing crudely stop your head. If this didn’t solidify that you were his you weren’t sure what would. You find him outside, finishing the last of his cigarette and laughing with Gareth and Jeff. He walks alongside you, holding your waist and inching towards the curve of your boobs as he does, eyes scanning widely for that piece of shit Steve. A lipstick kiss pressed into the metal of his locker made him chuckle as he looked down at you, your own personal brand.

His cheeks go pink and his dick twitches in his black jeans when his eyes land on the pictures. “B-babe, is this? When did y-? Oh fuck.” He thumbs through them quickly and hurriedly shuts his locker, hauling you over his shoulder and running down the halls and out to his van. Your giggles echoing off the brick walls. “Gotta get you home right now, take care of my naughty girl.” Eddie laughs, “damn, and I thought watching Harrington come into school with black eyes and a half shaved head was going to be the highlight of my day.”

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