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joequiinn · 25 days

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The Dos & Don'ts of Fake Dating | E.M. x reader | pt. 1

[all chapters here]

summary: You propose a crazy idea to the resident freak of Hawkins, Eddie Munson. But maybe he was even crazier for agreeing to it…

notes & tropes: fem reader, faking dating, opposites attract, bratty rich bitch reader, super minor revenge plot, not-quite-enemies-to-lovers

a/n: Was I the only one who turned 18 a month into their senior year and then proceeded to spiral and become The Worst version of themself possible?? Well, this fic is semi-inspired by that shitty part of my life lmao. Reader figure skates though. I can’t figure skate, hurts my feet lol. I never expected to write a fake dating story, but Eddie Munson has had me bewitched for nearly 2 years now, so here we go.

(if you'd like to be added to a tag list, pls let me know!)

wc: 3.9k

Chapter One

The idea came to you during a student council meeting as the class president was droning on about the ‘85 homecoming preparations: you needed to do something crazy, something completely and utterly out of character.

Maybe it was because of your ex breaking up with you just weeks before school started. Maybe it was that senior year itch. Maybe it was the realization that you were turning 18 next week. Hell, maybe you just woke up that morning with a strong sense that the things in your life were no longer satisfying you.

Whatever the cause, since the start of your senior year, you’ve just felt so off.

Your ex, Duncan, breaking up with you right before school started was a low blow, and an absolutely shitty feeling - you didn’t date much, but when you did, it was never the guy that ended things. It wasn’t shitty because you were in love and oh so heartbreak, it wasn’t shitty because you saw a future with him. It was shitty because of how goddamn embarrassing it was.

To your peers, you were a couple that made sense, and in fact people had been urging you to go out for a while. And, obviously, you had grown to like him, considering that you were in a relationship for six months - you never would have put up with him for that long if you didn’t actually like him. But the fact that he broke up with you, and not the other way around, left a sour, spiteful taste in your mouth.

So, perhaps it was that break-up that made you feel different this entire month. Or maybe it was your impending 18th birthday, which made you realize just how close you were to legal adulthood. Whatever the cause, every single aspect of your life up to this point suddenly came under your deep scrutiny. You just weren’t… happy?

That made it sound bad, but what were you enjoying right now? What got you excited every day? As you sat in the student council meeting, zoning out since the very start, you came to think that maybe you had nothing going on right now that you genuinely wanted in your life.

Hell, you weren’t even on the student council because you enjoyed it, Janet just dragged you into it back in your sophomore year. You figured she loved the sense of importance it gave her. She and everyone else in the council probably got off on how important they felt, the dictators of Hawkins High School.

You always ran in this crowd, and before you never questioned it. The popular kids, the rich kids, the successful kids. You don’t remember ever choosing these friends and acquaintances - if anything, it seemed that these peers were all a constant, as if they’d always been there from the very start. You figured it was the natural state of the world - as the daughter of one of the richest men in town, you were predestined to end up here. Not here as in the student council, surrounded by other spoiled rich kids debating the difference between turquoise and cyan. But here in an even broader sense - in a finely curated life, in all the “right” circles, on the path to either greatness or becoming the trophy wife of greatness.

Up until now, you’d never questioned it. Yes, mom and dad, you were a popular kid whose free time was fully booked between college prep, figure skating, student council, dates with a cookie-cutter boyfriend, and everything else under the sun. Yes, mom and dad, you were doing everything they all told you too because it would look great on your college applications, because that’s what you’re supposed to do, because that’s how things have always been done.

It started to dawn on you maybe a week or so into the school year just how mundane you were - you never questioned your time spent skating or on extracurriculars, you never went against the order of things as dictated by only the most popular of your peers. That’s just what was done, what was always done. But after your ex dared to break up with you, you came to realize recently that maybe all of this wasn’t what you wanted - maybe it was time to start making some choices for yourself instead of worrying what your parents told you or what your peers thought or what to do to keep your boyfriend semi-happy.

So, you started to consider what exactly it was that you wanted. And that proved to be more challenging than you anticipated, which probably would have sounded extremely pathetic if you had said it to any of the people sitting next to you.

Did you like figure skating? Of course, it was your idea after all. What you didn’t like was the pressure from your mother to train and become an Olympian, a feat that was never your intention when you took up the sport at six years old. Besides, you told her, you were way past the age for trials, you’d never get in (or, at least, that’s what you told her, because how the hell would you know whether or not there was a cut off age).

Did you like your friends? You thought so - you’d known them virtually your entire life, so you never questioned your relationship with them. But proximity didn’t necessarily go hand-in-hand with likeability. Maybe some of them you actually liked, but the rest? No, they were just around because they always had been.

Did you like your relationship before Duncan broke up with you? No, probably not. Of course, your opinion of him and that entire relationship was soured now, but even at the time, you were probably just going through the motions, doing things that couples do without any real heart in it.

So… What did you want? What did you actually like?

It was jarring to realize that your entire life had been dictated and finely tuned for you from the moment you were born, that even the things you wanted had been molded into new shapes by your parents or your peers or your teachers.

Once you realized how little of your life was in your own hands, you couldn’t get it out of your head. You always saw yourself as someone who was in control, as someone who couldn’t be told shit. And yet, you came to realize that that was far from the truth. It was as if suddenly everything about your life was something you hated. You hated your classes, you hated your friends, you hated running in the same circle as your ex, you hated all your obligations. Through the first few weeks of senior year, all you felt was frustration, disinterest, and absolute boredom with everything around you. Something had to change. And during the bullshit student council meeting, you became determined to make it happen.

So, over the course of that boring as all hell meeting, you tried to figure out what you wanted, and how you were going to get it. You set a goal for yourself, silly but helpful considering the structure you were so accustomed to: you’d set your plan in motion on your birthday. New year, new you, right?

Once you gave yourself that deadline, you then had to think about what exactly you were trying to accomplish - yes, you wanted to make some major changes, you wanted to, in a way, become a new person, but how were you going to do that?

You settled on four key things to keep in mind:

You wanted to piss off your parents big time - your dad barely acknowledged your existence and your mom coddled you, so actually upsetting them would be a feat unto itself. You had to become so awful that even your mother would stop making excuses for you.

You needed to drop your friends - the more you thought about all the people you grew up alongside, the more you realized that you weren’t particularly interested in relationships with any of them. Whether you made new friends or not wasn’t a priority, in fact you kind of liked the idea of just being left alone.

You had to figure out what you actually enjoyed - outside of skating, you had no idea what really interested you, what you would like to do with your life and your free time. You figured it was time to do some self reflection and focus on finding things that you’d actually enjoy.

And, most importantly, you had to get back at your ex. Yeah, it was stupid to be motivated by a boy, but nothing would make you happier than seeing him worked up and frustrated. Your focus wasn’t on trying to win him back or anything like that - you wanted to piss him off, to exact some kind of revenge for making you look like an idiot when he broke up with you at a party that all your friends had attended.

How you were going to accomplish these, however, was yet to be determined. But they were a damn good starting point, and they got you motivated to become an absolute nuisance to everyone around.

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The Friday following the student council meeting, you decided to first experiment with a little something, satiate a mild curiosity. To anyone else, it was probably the most mundane thing in the world, but to a high schooler who thought graduation was life or death, doing anything out of the ordinary felt nail-biting.

You were going to sit at a new lunch table.

You had just two days left until your birthday, until you’d officially set your plan in motion, so you still had a little more time to come up with something. So far, you couldn’t think of shit. You were already someone who was blunt and commanding and mean, whose thoughts and feelings were always on your face, so people were used to you being bossy and a little miserable - you couldn’t start being meaner or blunter, you just knew that wouldn’t be enough. Maybe you could start skipping class, maybe you could start flaking on friends, but somehow none of that felt like enough, like it wouldn’t make a statement. You had to really make an impression, to really set yourself up for a total ruination of your social status, you just hadn’t figured out how.

But a new lunch table was as good a starting point as any, right?

You chose a table at the far end of the lunchroom; customarily your group of friends, acquaintances, and ex sat centrally, surrounded by the jocks on one side and the academics on the other. The new table you chose was only occupied by two other people, a dorky little couple who looked at you funny when you sat as far from them as possible. In turn, you gave them an icy cold glare, prompting them to look away quickly, like you were a Medusa who could turn them to stone.

Your stupid little lunchroom plan was a bust, though. Five minutes into your peaceful lunch, your two closest friends, Amelia and Janet found you, each looking perplexed and put-off by your seat of choice. They looked around before lowering into the seats around you, their expression full of something akin to disgust, as if sitting at a different table was that offensive.

“What are we doing over here?” Amelia asked judgmentally, eyeing the couple at the opposite end of the table. Across the lunchroom, a few people (including Duncan) from your usual lunch table looked at you funny, “It’s like we’re exiled or something.”

So dramatic, you thought while staring harshly at her.

“Change of scenery.” You answered plainly, stabbing at the food in front of you. Amelia hummed in acknowledgement, but still made it quite clear that she didn’t agree with the decision.

“What, does this have something to do with Duncan?” She jabbed, receiving another nasty look from you, “So, he’s a jerk? Get over it.”

You should’ve known this idea was too simple to work. Of course they’d just follow you like the lemmings that they were, just as unable to make their own decisions as you were. Yeah, you definitely needed to try something bigger to scare them off.

Briefly, you thought that you could maybe tell them, just say point blank, “Amelia, Janet, I hate being around you and this friendship is done.” But, again, you figured that wouldn’t be good enough, that they’d laugh at your mean sense of humor even if you reiterated yourself. In this crowd, being mean was never enough to make your point, because all of you were nasty, not only to each other but to virtually everyone you met.

And despite your well-known attitude problem, you still cared about Amelia and Janet, flaws and all. These were the girls that you’d known since you were five years old, of course you worried about their feelings at least a little bit - nearly 13 years of friendship would do that to anyone. Guess you had more of a heart than you gave yourself credit for.

You definitely needed a foolproof plan to get out of this friendship, this social circle, this popular bubble that you’d always been trapped in. The friendship had to end without you saying so. You had to push them out until they finally gave up on you. Make it seem like it was their idea, that would definitely work on them.

As you schemed, Amelia and Janet chatted around you. Various acquaintances stopped by the table, all with the same question: what the hell were you guys doing sitting all the way out here? Even Duncan was amongst those that asked, trying to ignore the way you glared daggers at him. Amelia and Janet gave various responses, all of which put blame on you as if this simple little decision meant their utter ruination.

As Duncan was preparing to walk back to your usual lunch table, a commotion rose out in the hallway, the echo of rapid footfall drifting in through the doors. Multiple heads turned to face the cafeteria doors with curiosity, some people peeked out into the hall to check what the yelling was about, scurrying back to their friends to report what they’d seen. You, Amelia, Janet, and Duncan all waited silently, sharing raised brows and curious looks.

Not even a minute later, Eddie freaking Munson came crashing into the lunchroom, a look of total glee on his face as he cackled, not even remotely fazed by all the eyes on him. As he tumbled through the cafeteria doors, you jumped a little at the burst of sound. Eddie’s disruption turned everyone’s heads now, the lunchroom silent in shock and loathing as the resident outcast ran between tables, heading for the set of doors at the opposite end of the room. Your gaze was locked on the shit disturber as he blew past your table, carelessly running into Duncan in the process, but even that collision didn’t slow him down. Duncan yelled at him, but Eddie was focused on one goal, and if this were a cartoon you definitely would have seen dust kick up behind him from how quickly he was moving.

Not too far behind was Coach Miller, a look of absolute rage marring his puffy red face as he pursued Eddie. It didn’t even seem to cross his mind that he was making a fool of himself in front of the entire student body - his only focus was stopping the offender of whatever shenanigans currently pissed him off.

Your gaze turned back to the excited Eddie, an undeniable curiosity rising in you - what the hell did he do to piss off Coach Miller this bad? Sure, the coach was always pretty damn temperamental, but you couldn’t recall ever seeing him look quite this upset before.

Eddie paused at the cafeteria doors to turn and pull a mocking face at the coach before darting from the room, as if nothing in the world could touch him and he was unstoppable.

As Coach Miller disappeared after Eddie and students returned to their usual conversations, albeit with an air of awkwardness, you stared at the cafeteria doors thoughtfully.

That’s when an idea began to form.

You needed to take a page out of Eddie Munson’s book. If anyone in this school knew how to be a thorn in everyone’s side, it was him. So, you spent the remainder of your lunch brainstorming, trying to figure out how to channel even a sliver of Eddie’s energy; you only chimed into the conversation when someone spoke to you directly.

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In the middle of fifth period, you still weren’t quite sure what your game plan was, but you at least had a vague starting point. While your history teacher rambled on about some significant European war that you couldn’t begin to care about, you tapped your pencil as you thought about Eddie Munson (a sentence that very nearly grossed you out).

You’ve known about him since your freshman year - at the time, he was a year ahead of you, but since then he’d been held back. People always sneered when talking about him, as if Eddie was the most offensive thing they’d ever encountered, as if he was some kind of plague. He went against all social norms you’d learned up to that point, he was contradictory to everything you’d ever been taught about social conduct and likeability - he wore ratty clothes, listened to scary music, acted out in the most theatrical ways possible, and never seemed to give a shit what anyone thought.

You had never spoken to Eddie personally. Through the years you’d had a few classes together, including your math class this year, so you’ve witnessed some of his antics. But really, you knew nothing about the guy. Just the things that everyone else told you, and those things were nothing good. Whether or not Eddie was as bad as people said didn’t matter to you. His reputation was shit, and in this instance that’s exactly what you needed.

So, how were you going to ruin your senior year with the help of Eddie Munson? Well, at the very least, maybe you first had to have a conversation with him. It would be pretty stupid to walk up to him and go “hey, Munson, I know everyone here hates you, how about we chat and you make them hate me, too!”

Maybe you needed to find a way to hang out with him? Pretend to be friends long enough that the rest of the student body begins to ostracize you? With a little amused huff, an even worse thought crossed you: maybe you needed to pretend you were interested in Eddie Munson for a while, that was sure to piss just about everyone off. Especially Duncan.

But then the idea gave you pause.

You could not pretend to flirt with, or even date, Eddie fucking Munson. No chance in hell that would work. No way he would go for it, and no way you’d be able to tolerate him long enough to convince anyone that you were even remotely into him.

But… maybe?

Shit, what a stupid idea.

Or maybe it was a brilliant one.

You mulled it over a few minutes longer - if you were going to, somehow, convince Eddie Munson to pretend to date you, you needed to offer him something in exchange, that was obvious. You needed to give him a good reason to help you out, or this plan was never going to work. Its chances of success already seemed slim to none.

You had one idea, though you weren’t entirely certain if he’d go for it.

Your Uncle Tom was a cop, had been with the force your entire life - and you’d bet he’s probably had at least one run-in with Eddie. Maybe you’d tell Eddie that you could get cops to leave him alone, to stop watching him wearily whenever they were around. You couldn’t promise him too much, of course, but you knew at the very least that you could get your uncle to leave him alone. Or you could even take the fall here and there for whatever trouble Eddie inevitably lands himself in - what cop was stupid enough to arrest the niece of a cop and the daughter of a man who owned half of Hawkins?

It wasn’t foolproof, and you knew there were flaws to be found, but it just might work.

So, with your mind made up, you rip a scrap of paper from your notebook and scribble out a quick message:

Let’s make a deal. Sunday. You pick the time and place. Locker #436

You’d hoped that Eddie would be smart enough to realize that you wanted him to write you back, to drop his own stupid note in your locker so you could meet up and tell him your stupid, crazy idea. God, this better work.

You swiftly raise your hand in the air, giving a small impatient wave when your teacher didn’t acknowledge you right away, instead trying to focus on his lecture.

He rolled his eyes when he spotted your hand in the air, pointing at you and saying in an annoyed monotone, “What’s so important that you’re interrupting?”

Without any hesitation, you state bluntly, “Lady troubles.”

The teacher looks shocked by how plainly you stated it. But because it was you that said it and not someone else, your peers didn’t dare laugh, although a couple boys seemed to choke in surprise or amusement.

“Go, go…” Your teacher waved you off before continuing his lecture, wanting to forget the small interaction entirely.

You exited the room and roamed the halls confidently. Eddie’s locker wasn’t hard to miss - he was one of the students that decorated the metal with crude permanent marker sketches, and the school was too cheap to care about replacing or painting over it. As you approached Eddie’s locker, you checked around to make sure no one spotted you; it wasn’t as if you were committing a crime, but you didn’t need anyone wondering what you were up to in case this plan didn’t work.

So, you slipped the note into his locker, returned to class, and waited impatiently for the final bell of the day to ring, hoping that Eddie would actually stop by his locker and not just leave school without ever seeing your note.

When the end of the day came, it took everything in your power not to rush back to your own locker - just in case, you didn’t want him spotting you there. Why all the secrecy, you sure as hell didn’t know, but you nonetheless continued it.

So, you waited, stopping into the bathroom to check your makeup, walking with Amelia and Janet as they stopped at their own lockers. As the three of you exited the building and walked into the parking lot, you pretended to remember something, telling them that you needed to run back inside. You said your quick goodbyes and went back to wandering the halls, finally opening up your own locker.

It was stupid that your heart leapt when you saw a crudely torn piece of paper resting on top of some of your belongings.

You opened it quickly, eagerly reading the metalhead’s response:

Picnic table behind the football field, 4.

God, what were you getting yourself into.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things #em #dos and donts

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astrobiscuits · 7 months

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Astro observations part 8

[LONG EDITION] - taken from my phone's notes (also, i was too lazy to edit it so here's a nice chunk of info)

🍂 Sun conjunct Saturn individuals inherit mindsets from the father, grandparents or great-grandparents. They might never fully act like their Sun sign (aka "shine"), since they've been conditioned from a young age to listen to parents, teachers, and later on bosses. They are the type to never divorce, no matter how toxic their marriage is. If these peeps deal well with their Saturn Return, they might become "THE BOSS" (aka the person everyone looks up to due to how accomplished, disciplined and rich they are, they've literally got their shit together and deserve a round of applause, "it wasn't easy to get to the top, but it was worth it" - you might hear them say this). They are also more prone to ingrain stoic principles in their lifestyle

🍂 Mars square Neptune gives off major cult leader vibes. They're the type to fool you with false promises until you sign up for their "camp" but then you realize it's actually an evil cult where all they wanna do is put you to work (and maybe later even kill you lol). These individuals become very scary when angry (you don't wanna see them angry, trust me). If they ever commit suicide, it'll be by drowning, alcohol or drugs

🍂 Mars trine Neptune is one of the best aspects for those who make a living off their talents. The talent depends on the element the trine is in:

If it's in Earth signs - ideal for those who work in the "money handling sector" in advertising, becoming an entrepeneur, holistic care (if Virgo is involved), cooks, those who work in interior design, seamstresses, embroidery/lace makers, models, event planners If it's in Air signs - ideal for those who work in sales (their negotiation skills are ✨chef's kiss👌🏻✨), becoming a spiritual/religious teacher or an art/music/any other creative pursuit teacher (lmao, i can't even speak💀💀), writers, musicians, magicians and astrologers (for the last two - if Aquarius is involved) If it's in Fire signs - ideal for dancers, theater/movie actors, hairstylists, circus performers, photographers (only if Leo is involved) If it's in Water signs - ideal for make-up artists, painters, tarot readers

🍂 Moon sextile Uranus individuals have got the ability to create a positive parasocial relationship with their followers. Since these people often use their devices to validate their emotions, i wouldn't be surprised if most of y'all also have atleast one active profile where you post quite frequently

PRO TIP: Whenever Transit Jupiter is trining/conjuncting your Natal Uranus (to a less extent also the sextile), you'll get a sudden boost in your followers count

🍂 This is a theory of mine that i've come up with and i'd love to hear your thoughts on it. When it comes to intergenerational astrology, i do believe that we inherit all of our personal planets placements from our parents and ancestors. But then you might say "But i don't act like my mother at all! This is bullshit!". I'm not saying we're all carbon copies of our family members. What makes us unique and distinguishes us from our parents and grandparents (or even great-grandparents) are the way the planets aspect each other in our birth charts and the planetary configurations between them. Basically we start from the same ground, but we all use our traits differently, whether for the better or the worst expression of them. Let's not forget that we also tend to go through different life experiences than our parents and grandparents; we might be blessed with different opportunities that might enhance our best traits and help us achieve what our ancestors always wanted to but weren't able to

Hope you enjoyed today's post, loves!💗💗💗 I've been wanting to post for a while now but my inspiration has been wandering alone in the Sahara Desert I can't promise that i'll start posting again more frequently (the new uni year is starting soon for me + i enrolled in a local astrology school 2 weeks ago🥳🥳 ya girl can't wait to officially become an astrologer) but my inbox will be open again for further questions! I must also thank you for helping me hit 500 followers!!! I'm probably gonna do another ask game once i hit 600 followers, as i'm too busy right now. As always, don't forget to drink water and take care of yourselves! Hope to see you soon! ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

#astro #astro community #astro placements #astrology #astro observations #astro posts #astro notes #astrology notes #astro blog #astroblr #astrology community #astrology tumblr #sun conjunct saturn #mars square neptune #mars trine neptune #moon sextile uranus #intergenerational astrology

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anikaluv · 9 months

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I'LL BE THERE —

❤︎︎ pairing: Miles (e!42) × fem!reader

❤︎︎ genre: fluff

❤︎︎ cw: stalking , Miles being a barbie kinnie, reader realizing there’s no escape lmao

❤︎︎ summary: Miles was your ex from a year ago, and you had completely moved on, blooming in your new life. So, why was he just now popping up everywhere?

❤︎︎ w/c: 800

❤︎︎ a/n: Was thinking about how Barbie has a million different jobs and went like, “What if that was Miles?”

E!42 MILES getting so frustrated in an argument you two were having; looked you dead in the eyes and spat, "If you don't like that shit, you can get up and leave."

E!42 MILES being genuinely shocked when that is precisely what you did, thinking this was just gonna be another one of the little squabbles you two were used to having

E!42 MILES realizing in the next following months that you could live perfectly without him and move on, while he, on the other hand, was going through the worst turmoil of his life

E!42 MILES deciding that whether or not you wanted him in your life, he needed you in his. So he was going to get you back no matter what

E!42 MILES turning around to greet you with a cheeky grin on his face at the cafe you’ve been a regular for the past 6 years as the barista going, “Hello precious, ¿Qué será para ti hoy? (What will it be for you today?)”

E!42 MILES ignoring your look of surprise as he jots down your usual order that he already has memorized and then has the audacity to look back into your eyes and ask, “Can I get a name for the order, please?”

E!42 MILES a few days later watching as you pull in your cart full of groceries to checkout and couldn't help but laugh mischievously when your jaw dropped when seeing that he was the cashier. (He made sure to scan your items very slowly)

E!42 MILES becoming the bus driver of the bus you took every day to work. Pulling up to your bus stop, opening the doors, tipping his hat, and greeting you with a playful smile. "Mornin', mi vida (my life), pretty day, ain't it?", ignoring your eye roll as you stepped onto the bus.

E!42 MILES who “coincidently” ditches the home gym he’s been using since he started being the prowler and starts going to the exact same gym as you, sucking in his breath when he sees you squat in those tight seamless shorts

E!42 MILES who’s happy to treat you and your niece to some ice-cream at the park inside of the ice cream truck he now works at, playfully chuckling at you as you arrogantly shoved the money into his chest.

E!42 MILES sitting comfortably in a salon chair at your normal nail salon as a nail tech, ready to paint whatever design you desire on your delicate fingers

E!42 MILES who types into his computer at your local bank as your bank teller, prepared to enter in your weekly / monthly checks when you walk in. Taking your check out of your hand to observe it, acting shocked like it’s not its about the same amount every time. “Woah, cariño (darlin’) , did’nt know my girl worked this hard.” (He was proud of you, he knew his girl could achieve anything she wanted on her own )

E!42 MILES who welcomes you openly to his salon chair at your favorite hair salon when your usual stylist “happens” to be out of town going, “Hey mami, you want the usual?”

E!42 MILES at your library organizing books loudly while you’re studying for a important exam, holding his finger at your lips when you’re about to explode and scream and whispers, “Baby, this is a quiet environment, quiet your lips f’me aight?”

E!42 MILES clocking in as your yoga instructor at your yoga studio only on the one day of the week you go, wearing a purple headband with a tight tank top and yoga pants that showed the ass you didn’t know he had. You groaning as he does doggy style shouts, “Thats it ladies! You want to really arch your back like this!” while smirking. (Kelly Clarkson’s “What doesn’t Kill You Makes You Stronger” is playing in the back)

E!42 MILES who works at your local mall at Nike on one knee in front of you happily assisting you put on one of the pairs of shoes, locking eyes with you the whole time wearing that smug grin he always got. (When he was finished you kicked him in the face before he got up, but lets be honest, he probably fell in love more)

E!42 MILES being on the plane you were taking to move and get away from him. Wearing his flight attendant uniform and slowly making his way down the aisles. Finally getting to you and turning to you as that cute scowl appears on your face while nonchalantly saying, “Would you like some pretzels, ma? They gluten-free.”

E!42 MILES chuckling loudly when you downright ask him why was he following you everywhere like a stalking creep, amused that you haven’t gotten the message yet

E!42 MILES picking up your chin to make you give him all of your attention, leaning down to where your lips brushed against each other, and spoke in a quiet tone no one else heard,

“Doesn’t matter where you go or what you do conejita (bunny), I’ll be there."

ENDING A/N: Is this really extra and extremely unrealistic, damn right. But its funny.

TAGLIST: @janaeby @bellstwd @nmgstuff @axeoverblade @zaddyskye69 @agstuffsworld @spidrstar @laylasbunbunny @missusmorales @popeheywardssecretgf @lumineliax @fukingsad @wisteriaflowersss @crxss01 @joliety @fiannee @sylisan

TAGS:

#anika❤︎︎writes #miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles morales x black!reader #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles x you #across the spiderverse #earth 42 miles fluff #prowler miles #atsv miles #earth 42 miles morales x reader

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hwanghyunjinenthusiast · 1 year

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✨️1K Followers Celebration Day 6: Seventeen bias wrecker - Dino✨️

Affect

AN: This has been in my drafts for 600 years because those clips of him from In The Soop still haunt me. I just think it's funny that because it took me so long to get to this, we got even more shirtless Dino in the gym content recently. Clearly a sign from the universe to finish this lmao. I was going to go on a whole unhinged rant about him but, I'll spare you all. We're all going to ignore that 1. his is the longest so far and 2. I've written the most for him out of every idol, thanks.

Synopsis: You thought working out with Chan would be a fun, productive way to spend time together. However, you're sorely unprepared for just how distracting he can be.

Heads up: Lee Chan x Fem! Reader, friends to lovers of sorts, Reader going through it because of her attraction to Chan, praise kink (f. receiving), Chan being a menace, technically public sex I guess (they fuck in the gym but, no one catches them and it's not brought up as a concern), hair pulling, dirty talk, petnames used for Reader, nipple play (f. receiving), oral sex (f. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), unprotected piv sex, Reader cries a little and creampie.

Word count: 4138

I will block you if you are a minor and/or have no easily visible indication of your age on your blog if you interact with me in any way.

You knew you were doomed the moment you saw Chan in his workout clothing. His shirt sticking to his torso and practically acting like a second skin. You're sure if you looked hard enough, you could see the outlines of his nipples. His shorts were worse, somehow. Beckoning you to look at his toned thighs and zero in on how they hugged his ass.

Today is going to be more challenging than you anticipated.

"So, where do you want to start?" He asks, snapping you out of so blatantly ogling one of your closest friends. God, what're you thinking? You're here to spend time with him. Not think about how broad his shoulders are and just how muscular his ass would feel if you gave it a squeeze or five.

"You're the gym expert. You tell me," You pray to whichever deity is listening that Chan mistakes the delicate quality in your voice for anything other than how much just seeing him dressed like this affects you.

His laugh is boisterous and fills you with so much warmth, turning the already present butterflies in your stomach into dragons. One person shouldn't have this much power over you.

"I better not hear any complaining then," he responds with a wide smile, his eyes crinkling with mirth. Yeah, maybe being alone with the man you're borderline in love with isn't the wisest decision you've ever made, but it's too late now. You resist the scowl that wants to make itself known on your face when you invision a knowing Soonyoung in your mind. He's the one who suggested this to begin with. You're definitely going to be having some words with him the next time you see him, that evil man. He knew exactly what he was doing.

You severely underestimated how much worse this could get. You thought just seeing him in his tight-fitting gym attire was enough to fog up your brain but, that was before you heard the noises.

Lee Chan is a vocal man in all areas of life. Well, all areas of life that you've experienced him in. He's always talking, laughing, yelling at points, singing, sometimes rapping to fill the silence, and a million other things. The point being, Chan is not a quiet man. So, it shouldn't take you by surprise that he's vocal while he's working out too.

Still, the quiet grunts that fall from his lips and fill the otherwise relatively silent gym when he lifts weights causes your heart to beat wildly in your chest. The drawn-out groans when he finishes a set or stretches out his muscles might be the worst. Coupled with the way he grits his jaw and his face contorts when he's lifting, it's frankly a miracle you haven't spontaneously combusted.

However, as you stand and watch him while he illustrates how he wants you to lift these weights to your absolute horror and mortification, you realise you're getting wet. Not only that, but a barely there ache is beginning to make itself known between your thighs.

You're sure your face is radiating enough heat to power a small apartment building. You're really getting this worked up just watching him work out? What in the world is wrong with you? Are you truly this needy? You definitely need to call Soonyoung after this and yell at him until you're hoarse.

"Do you want to try now?" Chan asks you, kind eyes focused on you. You really might be the world's worst friend.

"Yeah, sure," you respond, pulling yourself together as best as you can given that you're unravelling at the seams. The weights aren't too heavy. You test them in your hold momentarily before imitating Chan's movements. There's a slight burn in your biceps but, otherwise you feel fine. It feels good, even. The slight burn fueling you.

"That's my girl,"

Oh.

Oh no.

That's all it takes for you to falter. Your mind suddenly completely forgetting the motions for the exercise you watched minutes ago.

"You were doing good just now but, try doing it this way," he says, standing up from where he'd been seated to watch you. His hands correcting your hold on the weights and the positioning of your arms. Every brush of his fingers on your skin leaves electricity in their wake. Fuck. Fuck this is bad. This is so bad.

Trying to remember how to be a normal human being, you nod at his words. Following his guidance and resuming the exercise precisely how he showed you now that your brain is semi-functional again.

"There you go. Good job," perhaps you should be a little more concerned about just how much his praise increases your pulse and worsens the way your panties are already sticking to you, but that's a thought for examining on another day. You can only handle so much right now.

"How about some pull-ups next?"

"Chan, do I strike you as the kind of person even capable of doing a single pull-up?"

"You could learn today,"

When all you respond with is a stone faced expression, he seems to get the message loud and clear, "Okay, fine. I'll do pull-ups and you do squats. How does that sound?"

"Now you're speaking my language,"

On the ever growing list of 'things you're violently unprepared for today', the next to be added is Chan just casually taking off his shirt. That stops you dead in your tracks. Your lips parting as his bare back comes into your line of sight. You thought it was broad before, but now? Seeing it completely bare? Broad feels like too simplistic of a word to describe it.

You knew, logically, that Chan was ripped. You've seen his arms, paying special attention to them more times than you care to admit. All of the guys work out regularly, and most of them mention Chan as one of the more dedicated members of the group when it came to hitting the gym.

You knew all of that, and yet, seeing the evidence a mere few metres in front of your very eyes leaves you speechless and stunned. Chan must notice your blatantly staring because he turns to look at you over his shoulder, "Is everything okay?"

You must struggle to come up with a believable response too long because he both looks and sounds panicked as he continues on, "Shit, did I make you uncomfortable? I should've asked if you were okay with me taking my shirt off. I'm sorry."

His panic must be infectious because you soon find yourself in a similar state, "No, no, Chan, it's okay. You did nothing wrong. I don't mind you being shirtless," quite the opposite actually, and that's the issue, but you decide to keep that bit to yourself.

"Are you sure? I really don't mind putting it back on if it's a problem,"

"Yes, I'm sure. It's really not a big deal,"

He looks unsure briefly but seems to accept your words. Giving you a nod before turning back to face the pull-up bar and begin his routine. You barely register the faint sting in your thighs from how deeply your nails are clawing into them. Eagle eyes drinking in as much as you can of every muscle contraction of his back. Your panties growing uncomfortably wet now as your ears are assaulted with grunts louder than the ones before.

You need to take a cold shower that lasts hours after this. At least you have a good month's worth of masturbation material now, so there's that.

Chan finishes his set far quicker than you would've liked. Sweat drenching his handsome face and droplets running down his jaw, his neck, his collarbones, his pecs until they disappear into the waistband of his shorts. Would it be so horrible to admit that you'd love to see just where those droplets wind up? That you'd happily follow their path with your tongue instead of your eyes?

"Hey, is everything okay?" Chan asks, dropkicking you out of your obscene thoughts.

"Ye-Yeah. Why do you ask?"

"It's just um you haven't really moved, and you've been kind of...staring at me?"

Oh no. Oh god, he noticed. No fucking shit he noticed you've probably been staring at him with all of the subtly of a rhino in a tea shop. Why did you have to make a day meant to be catching up with a friend so fucking weird.

"I-sorry. You're just distracting," is what comes out of your mouth in your blind panic.

"Distracting?" He asks, titling his head, "I'm distracting? Distracting how?"

By being shirtless, with all of the noises you've been making all day, by touching me, by telling me what a good job I've been doing, by just existing in the same space as me - are all of the thoughts that spring up in your mind. All the thoughts you show a great deal of restraint in not word vomiting out at him.

To your absolute mortification, an expression akin to understanding dawns on Chan's face. You've never wanted the Earth to spilt open and swallow you whole more than in this moment.

"Oh, I'm distracting huh?" Chan asks with a grin a touch too arrogant for you, taking a step towards you.

"No! It's not - I'm not - I wasn't - it wasn't like that," you stutter out, growing ever more flustered as a shirtless, sweaty Chan invades your space.

"It wasn't like what exactly?" He asks, mischief shining clear as day in his typically warm eyes.

Before you can consciously think about it, you find yourself stepping backwards. Much to the amusement of the man you're not sure if you want to kiss or throttle in front of you.

You decide to abandon the route you were on and attempt another one, "I'm sorry for staring at you."

"You don't have to apologise," Chan waves you off, "But I do want to know why you were staring,"

It's clear as day to anyone with basic critical thinking skills why you were so laser focused on his stupid back and shoulders. He just wants you to say it. You never took Chan for the humiliation type.

"You know why," you mutter, leaning against the wall that you had no idea you'd even gotten so close to. You suppose your brain is too preoccupied with trying to keep your friendship from going up into flames.

"I don't. You have to tell me," You really want to punch that shit eating grin off of his face. Your adrenaline spiking as he takes another step towards you.

"You're really annoying, you know that?"

"I've heard that once or twice over the years. Still doesn't answer my question though,"

"I think you're attractive, okay?" You finally blurt out. Looking at everything but him in the gym. Studiously focused on one of the treadmills in towards the back, over his shoulder.

"Aw, I'm flattered," he responds, so close to you now that all you'd have to do is reach out, and you'd be touching his bare chest. You have a feeling this isn't going to bode well for you.

"Whatever. You got the answer you wanted. Are you happy now?"

"You know, for being one of the smartest women I know, you're pretty dense," he responds dryly.

"What? Hey!"

"Do you really think I'd react this way to anyone saying they think I'm hot? Do I really have to spell it out for you?"

All you can do is owlishly blink at him. His words washing over you, trying your hardest to digest what he just said to you.

"I think you might have to spell it out for me, yeah," you mutter more breathlessly than you care to admit. It certainly doesn't become any easier to breathe when Chan is fully in your space, crowding you against the gym wall. His scent flooding your system, worsening the wetness between your thighs and muddling your mind even more.

"Is this okay?" He whispers, mere centimetres away from your mouth. His eyes considerably darker than they were minutes ago.

"Yes,"

"May I kiss you?"

"Yes," if anyone asks, you don't sound needy in the slightest when you reply to him.

You quickly learn that Lee Chan, as with many other facets of his life, excels in kissing you until you can think of nothing but, him. Not your mind has been anywhere else for the past few hours to begin with.

Your hands make themselves at home on his shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle there as you pour what feels like centuries worth of yearning into this kiss.

"May I touch you?" He mutters against your mouth and, you wonder why he'd ever stop kissing you to ask such a stupid question.

"Yes, Chan. You can do whatever you want. I don't care," you rush out in response, dragging his mouth back to yours to feed into what is quickly becoming your newest addiction.

With your green light, his hands drift towards your oversized shirt. Smiling against your mouth when you shudder from the brief brushes of his fingertips along your abdomen while he toys with the hem of your shirt.

"I didn't think you'd be one to tease," you say.

"Have you thought about me like this often?" You really had to be so weak for such an insufferable man huh.

You choose to kiss him instead of replying, tugging on his hair in retaliation for the grin you know is on his face. Luckily for you, Chan seems to have had his fill of toying with you for now. Shoving your shirt upwards, pulling away from you briefly to tug it off of you fully.

He just stares at you. Want clear as day in his eyes as he watches your chest rise and fall and how your sports bra outlines your hardened nipples. You find yourself growing a little self-conscious under his heavy gaze. You hadn't picked your outfit with the goal of winding up like this in mind.

"You're staring," you finally find the courage to say, pushing down every instinct to cross your arms over your chest.

"Just returning the favour," he quips back, jumping back into action and acquainting himself with your throat. You can't help the moans and throaty gasps that leave your lips as his kisses and nips at your sensitive skin, exploiting every weak spot he can find. One of his hands reaching down to fondle your breast, running his thumb over your nipple through the fabric of your bra.

All you can manage to do is lean against the wall for stability. Every kiss and lick and squeeze sending lightning down your spine straight to your clit. You wouldn't be surprised if your legging were wet, too, at this point.

"You're so responsive," he whispers against your neck. Given how quietly he said it, you're not sure whether he meant to verbalise that thought or not, but you can't think to respond when he pushes your bra up.

He dots kisses along your breasts. Each press of his lips bringing him closer and closer to one of your nipples before he envelopes one into his warm mouth. He seems intent to wring every noise, every reaction out of you that he possibly can. Teasingly running his teeth along the sensitive bud, smiling when you arch into his touch. His nimble fingers find themselves at the waistband of your leggings. Slipping into them and pulling a particularly loud gasp from you when they come into contact with your more than likely ruined panties.

Your face burns when Chan's expression morphs into one of surprise, his fingers running along your panty covered slit as if to affirm to himself you're really this wet already.

"I didn't realise I had such a strong effect on you," he says against your breast, his voice gravelly, "Fuck, you're already so wet."

A strangled moan is all you can offer when he finds your swollen clit.

"Poor baby. Don't worry, I'll take care of you. Just need to get you out of these," he says, kneeling in front of you and pulling your leggings and panties down. You kick off your shoes impatiently to help ease the process, leaving you almost fully naked.

"I can't believe you're this wet when I haven't even touched you properly," he says, sounding genuinely amazed. Intense gaze focused on your swollen, slick slit. Lifting one of your legs and letting it rest over one of his shoulders.

Anticipation settles in your gut as Chan makes himself comfortable between your thighs. Your hips jolting into him when he experimentally touches you once more, completely bare this time. Your wetness generously coating his thick fingers. Your eyes flutter shut as he shifts closer, goosebumps rising all over your body when his warm breaths hit you.

His first lap of you is messy and passionate. A muffled groan is your only warning before he grips your thigh and all but shoves his face into you. One of your hands fists his hair, not sure if you want him even closer or whether you need a minute from the sensations wreaking your system.

"Ch-Chan ah god," you cry out, your hold on his hair worsening. He doesn't seem to mind all that much, however. Intently focused on grinding your pussy against tongue until you fall into pieces for him.

With his mouth latched onto your clit, he teases your entrance with two of his fingers and you feel faint. His eyes find yours momentarily, looking at you through his hair as he checks for any signs of discomfort or reservations. Watching your face while he slowly sinks his fingers into you. His cock leaking even more when your warm, wet walls squeeze his fingers for dear life. He's so fucked.

The stretch his fingers provide requires some adjusting to, and Chan catches onto that. Focusing his attention back on your clit and providing some distraction while you get used to his fingers.

The wall behind you is proving to be extremely helpful. You're sure you would've crumpled onto the floor by now with the way Chan is determined to devour you whole and his fingers curl inside of you. Embarrassment warming your face as the squelching sounds of your wetness and his fingers moving inside of you hit your ears. Those sounds are accompanied by louder moans and whimpers from you when his fingers strike gold. Finding your weak spot and going for the kill.

He exploits your weaknesses gleefully, assaulting the spot over and over again while he continues his ministrations on your clit. It's no wonder your orgasm doesn't take long to slam into you. Watery cries of his name and jumbled curses echoing throughout the empty gym. You're sure you're hurting him from how fiercely you're gripping his hair. You couldn't remember the last time you'd cum this hard. Sagging against the wall when the most intense parts of it subside.

Chan presses one last kiss to your pussy before easing his fingers out of you. Standing up on unsteady legs, cupping your jaw and slamming his mouth against yours. The taste of yourself on his tongue further fueling the fog clouding your mind. Desperate hands dragging him closer to you, revelling in his closeness and the firmness of his body against your own.

"If I knew you tasted this good, I would've offered to eat you out a long time ago," he says when you shift to litter kisses on his jaw.

"If I knew you did it so well, I would've let you," you respond with an easy smile. However, any humour in your tone dissipates when you register his cock pressing against your thigh. Scorching and heavy even through the material of his shorts. Fuck.

Your mouth finds his once more. Teeth and tongue clashing with one another as he grinds himself against you, groaning into you.

"Chan, please," you whine.

"Hmm? Please, what?" You're not sure if he's genuinely too disoriented to understand what you're asking of him or if he wants you to beg. Either way, you've long since abandoned any semblance of pride.

"Please fuck me,"

His eyes shut briefly, and you watch the way his jaw clenches, "You're going to be the death of me."

If you weren't aching and noticeably empty, you might've giggled at his words. Watching him shove his shorts and underwear down his thick, muscular thighs through lidded eyes. A fresh wave of wetness gushes out of you when his cock springs free. Of course his cock would look mouthwatering too. Of course.

"You really do like to stare, huh?" he muses, stepping closer to you. Hoisting one of your legs over his elbow.

"Sh-Shut up," you stutter, fingernails digging into his biceps as he drags his cock along your pussy. His cock glistening with your arousal in no time.

"That's not nice," he faux pouts, nudging your entrance with his tip. Your knees almost buckle underneath you. A moan bubbling out of just from him toying with you.

"Chan, please. I want it. I want you, please-"

You're promptly cut off when he pushes inside of you. If you thought the stretch provided by his fingers was overwhelming, the girth of cock brings tears to your eyes. Your strained gasps and his restrained groans intertwining.

Is it possible to cum just from being so full? Lee Chan might just help you answer that question. You're not sure you've ever felt so full and stretched out in your entire life. A few stray tears running down your face already.

"Are you okay?" He asks, looking just as wrecked and overwhelmed as you feel. He's practically vibrating from the effort not to move. His cock pulsing inside of you.

"Ye-Yeah. It doesn't hurt. You can move," you respond. It's now or never.

Chan starts off very slowly. Letting you grow accustomed to his girth with every drag of him along your walls. Muttering quiet praises into your neck about how well you're doing, how good you feel, and how you're taking him so well. His words prompting you to clench around him and gush around him.

"Chan, faster, please. You can move faster. It's okay, I can take it," you whine. You feel like you're going to lose your mind if he keeps thrusting so slowly. His consideration is sweet. Really, it is, but it's torturous too. From the way he seems to be restraining himself, you assume the feeling is mutual.

Something snaps in him then. His eyes more feral than they were moments ago as he picks up his pace considerably. The sounds of your wetness and skin slapping against skin mingling with your respective noises of pleasure.

"Taking my cock like such a good girl," he groans into your shoulder, sliding impossibly deeper into you when he angles himself a little differently than before.

Perhaps he's noticed the way his praise impacts you. His filthy mouth not stopping.

"Look, baby," he mutters lowly into your ear, "I want you to look at how well your pussy takes me,"

You can't find it in you to disobey. Chasing the high of being his good girl. So, you glance downwards. Your cheeks heating up as you watch him fuck into you and the way you're being split open by him. You never thought the sight of yourself being fucked would garner such a strong reaction from you but, you've been learning quite a bit about yourself today.

"It's hot, isn't it?" He asks, a moan falling from his lips when you tighten around him, "So hot watching me fuck this pretty pussy of yours."

You've never cum just from penetration but, Chan is proving himself to be head and shoulders above every other man you've slept with. You're completely and utterly caught off guard when you cum for a second time and, Chan seems to be too. Startled, wide eyes watching you shatter in front and around him for a second time. Ever the caring gentleman as he soothes and fucks you through it.

You're barely coherent when Chan's pitchy moans of your name register to your mind and you feel his warm, thick cum flood your awaiting pussy. His hips weakly twitching into yours with ever spurt of his cum inside of you.

Honestly, it's a wonder both of you are still standing. Barely, but you're standing. Leaning into each other and the trusty wall for support as you come back to yourselves.

"If working out with you always ends up like this, we should work out together more often," he says, kissing your neck and shoulder lazily.

You really just had to fall for one of the most eye roll inducing men you've ever met, huh.

#lee chan smut #dino smut #seventeen smut #seventeen dino smut #dino seventeen smut #chan smut #chan seventeen smut #seventeen chan smut #1k followers celebration day 6 #1k followers celebration #1k followers milestone

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changbunnies · 5 months

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All About You, (18+)

♡ Pairing: Royal Knight/Bodyguard!Minho x Princess!Reader

♡ Genre: royal au, historical au, arranged marriage au (reader only), age gap, angst, kind of forbidden love? (maybe more than kind of), basically porn with plot

♡ Word Count: 7.5k

♡ Summary: You, the princess who ran away from the castle after finding out your father, the king, has finalized your arranged marriage. Minho, your royal knight and glorified bodyguard, tasked with bringing you back home at all costs. When found, you hit Minho with a very interesting proposition- for him to be the one you share all your "firsts" with, instead of your inevitable husband.

♡ Warnings: age gap !! reader is ~23 while minho is in his 40s, please don't read if this makes you uncomfortable!, uneven power dynamics, outdated traditions and views on women to suit the setting, brief reference to death by guillotine, and death in general, mentions of injury and swordfighting

♡ Smut Warnings (contains spoilers): lowkey corruption kink, loss of virginity (reader), petnames (princess (mostly as a title), good girl), slight sub + dom dynamics, soft dom minho, submissive reader, a lot of kissing (should be expected from me atp), nipple play, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), slight overstim, unprotected piv, multiple orgasms, creampie

♡ Notes: at this point i am determined to write a royal, historical au fic for every member, and my newest offering to you is minho <3 i was literally possessed writing this like once the idea hit my brain i had to get it out asap lmao you can also read the story on my ao3 here, and if you're interested you can also check out my fic rec and feedback blog @stray-dreams

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

Fuck. Minho was absolutely fucked. In recent years, he had one job, and one job only, and that was to take care of the princess. Make sure she’s safe, escort her to where she needs to be and watch over her at all times- that’s all. Not always an easy job, but one of vital importance that Minho took with utmost seriousness. In the 3 years it’s been since becoming your royal knight and glorified bodyguard, he never messed up this critically.

You always had a rebellious streak and challenged authority, everyone in the castle knew that. And part of Minho’s job, apart from keeping you safe, was keeping you in check- and the king made it extremely clear that failing to do so was not an option. So he lost track of the amount of times he uttered the words “Princess, please think rationally,” or “Please consider your responsibility to the kingdom, don’t do this,” in a near desperate attempt to get you to listen to reason.

And today, he fucked up the worst he ever had. He knew you were upset tonight, but he was under the impression he successfully calmed you down, and that you wouldn’t do anything rash. He turned his back to you, thinking the storm had been quelled, and that you’d listen to your father, even if doing so felt like pulling teeth. He underestimated however, just how deep your sadness and anger truly ran, and the very moment you saw an opening, you took it.

You fled from the castle with blind determination, nowhere to go and with little of value in your hands, fueled purely by the desire to escape your unfair circumstances, and live your own life by your own means. You may not believe it, but Minho understood, and felt for you- he really did. But that didn’t change what his duty was, and even if it made you hate him, he had to do his job to the best of his ability.

So now here he was, roaming the streets looking for you, the hours passing in a blur. You must’ve done a good job of concealing your identity, because no one he asked had seen a young woman matching your description, and as the minutes ticked by, and sunset turned to midnight, he was at a complete loss of what to do. He made record time combing the entire bustling town, stopping into places full to the brim with people in the hopes he’d catch a glimpse of you in the crowd, and yet there seemed to be no trace of you anywhere.

It was easy for someone to hide their presence in a crowd, or in the rowdy environment of a tavern, and you were more than intelligent enough to blend into a crowd and divert attention away from yourself. It was entirely possible that Minho had seen you at some point, and simply didn’t realize it, though he liked to believe he’d recognize you anywhere, no matter what you wore. Minho scowled, clenching his teeth as he scanned the dark horizon of the treeline; should he check the outer walls of the town for a clue, or double back and check the streets again?

He doubts you made it out of the town easily, considering you likely had no money on your person and little experience with the realities of the world. You were intelligent, yes, but sheltered; he could easily imagine you quickly getting in over your head, thinking you could make it to the next town without issue, only to end up lost and in need of help, with no one for miles to hear your desperate cries.

Fuck. If he couldn’t find you, his head would most certainly be meeting the cold steel of a guillotine. He had no family who would mourn his loss, but still, he wasn’t ready to face his mortality. And the king, despite being someone he could call a close friend, would spare no mercy if he failed to keep his one and only daughter safe. But really, there was more to it than just the threat of death that kept him searching for you. Believe it or not, he genuinely wanted you safe and well, and he'd do anything to ensure you made it back home, even if it made you curse him for the rest of his days.

As if God himself heard his prayers and decided to grant him a miracle, Minho sees you- there, on the outskirts of town, holding your cold hands up to your face and letting your breath warm them. It’s dark, the street barely even illuminated enough to discern your recognizable features, but he knows without a doubt that it's you standing there in the cold street, because truly, he knows you anywhere.

By the time you realize you’ve been spotted and recognized, it’s already much too late to flee. Minho approached you with utmost haste, reaching out and grabbing your arm, lest you make the foolish decision to try to escape again. His hold, while not rough enough to hurt you, is firm, and it only takes one attempt at pulling your arm from his hold to know this is it; your escape attempt has failed, and you’ll be dragged back to the castle and reprimanded for your “temper tantrum.”

Your father never listens to you, no matter how hard you try to make him understand and see your point of view. Maybe if you were born a boy, your opinions would be important to him, and he’d see you are more than an object to pawn off to whatever man gave him the most political power. “Princess-” “I’m not going home,” you interject before he even has a chance, though you already know it’s in vain. There is no avoiding returning to your glorified prison now that Sir Minho has you in his grasp.

He sighs, but his face changes to one of sympathy, his grip on your arm loosening ever so slightly. “Can we at least go to an inn room? It’s not safe for a young lady to be on the streets at night,” he reasons with you, as gently as he can manage. Normally Minho is quite stern with you, but you get the impression that he feels being stern isn’t the right approach tonight. You’re known for expressing yourself very vocally, even when doing so is extremely ill-advised, and he is well aware of how opinionated and fiery you are.

But treating this display as anything other than a genuine act of desperation, a culmination of years of perceived disrespect and conformity, would be another critical error- one he can’t afford to make. So he will be firm, yes, but gentle in his approach. You frown as you look at him; you’re stubborn by nature, and part of you wants to fight against him until the bitter end, but he’s not wrong about the streets being unsafe for you at night. You know he won’t let you escape again come morning, but that’ll have to be a problem for later; for right now, you really should heed his advice and go to an inn for the night.

“Fine,” you concede, much to Minho’s relief. He could’ve forced you to go with him if he really needed to, but he’d rather avoid doing something so unpleasant. He leads you to a nearby tavern, which is still bustling with activity even at the late hour. He keeps you close as he pushes through the crowd of rowdy drunks to the dual innkeep-bartender, hoping that there is still a room available. The man departs, coming back with a key dangling in hand, “You’re in luck. Last room’s all yours.”

Minho thanks the man and pulls out his satchel to pay him, leaving a few extra coins as a tip before stashing it back in his pocket, along with the key he was given, and the two of you go up the stairs together. “There’s only one bed,” you comment as you step inside the room, though Minho doesn’t seem to care much about that fact. “That’s fine, don’t plan on sleeping anyways,” he says as he removes his leather scabbard from his back, resting it against the back of the chair in the corner of the room.

You frown as you sit on the bed and watch him; he must’ve been in a hurry when he received word you fled from the castle, as he wasn’t wearing any of his armor, strictly in casual wear you’d very rarely seen him in. Probably for the best, you think, because if anyone saw a royal knight desperately searching the streets, multiple alarms would be raised. He lights the fireplace, hoping to quickly spread some heat throughout the cold room, before he sits in the chair, crossing his arms and watching you carefully.

Deserved, you suppose. How is he supposed to trust you’re not going to flee at the first available moment just as before? You certainly don’t make his job easy for him; he can’t take his eyes off you for a second. The silence between you lingers for some time, the crackling of the fire the only sound either of you hear, apart from the muffled patrons enjoying their drinks downstairs. Minho, despite his relaxed posture, looks like he’d be ready to jump up at a moment's notice should he need to.

You sigh; should you just try to sleep? It’d feel awkward and uncomfortable to try to fall asleep with someone's eyes boring holes into you, but you really didn’t give him much of a choice. “Do you want to tell me why you ran away from the castle?” Minho asks suddenly, breaking the tempered silence between you. “You already know the answer to that,” you respond, crossing your own arms now.

“Is marrying Sir Jin really so bad?” he asks, and you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Yes, obviously. I don’t want to. Not that you or my father care about me or anything I think.” Minho’s brow furrows, the frown on his face growing. “Princess, you know that’s not true. I do care about you.” “Do you? I haven’t been able to tell in the slightest,” you counter a bit harshly, “and you could help me if you wanted to, you know. I’d be fine out there if I was with you.”

Okay, maybe you’re not being fair to Minho right now. You do know he cares, but realistically, what is he supposed to do? If he disobeyed your fathers orders, he’d be lucky if his only punishment was a swift death. He was assigned to you because your father trusts him to do the right thing and follow orders dutifully, a trust that is usually not misplaced. But he has to admit, the more and more time he spends with you, the more he feels for you.

Minho never knew your father, the king, to be an unreasonable or cruel man, but in your eyes, he might as well be the devil himself. And maybe he is cruel- because how do you strip someone of their freedom and choices for your own gain, and not see the harm it causes, the wrong in it? You are more than a pawn, more than a subject, more than his daughter- you are a person. A person with thoughts, feelings, and opinions as real as any mans, who did not deserve to be treated lesser than for the simple crime of being born a girl.

But what is Minho if not an upholder of the status quo? He was just a single man, and even if he recognized how unfairly you were treated in comparison to the golden child that was your elder brother, what was he supposed to do? He always performed his tasks dutifully and without question, and it wasn’t until he met you that he began to struggle with what he should do, and what he wants to do.

And maybe he could get you out of this town, help you live a quiet, modest life somewhere new, away from the watchful eye of your father. Where he could be your protector, same as now, but without the guilt, burden, or threats. You know you shouldn’t take your frustrations about your life out on Minho, but he’s really all you have. You trust him with your life, and he’s shown you multiple times that he cares about you beyond the duty he has to you, or to your father. He's your only confidant, the only person in the world you can rely on.

Your eyes linger on the scar across his nose- he got it protecting you, the other man’s sword barely missing his eyes and cutting just across his face, and it was only one of many scars he obtained in his service to you. He’d pick you up and run with you in his arms when you were injured, he’d fight off attackers without breaking a sweat, sustain injury after injury all to make sure you were safe. You’d watch his back, always stunned and mesmerized at the ease at which he cut down your enemies, as if they were nothing but paper.

When he’d turn back to you, breathing heavy and sweat only just starting to trickle on his brow, his eyes would turn from the harshest winter chill to the gentle warmth of a spring morning. He was quiet, stern, but his care ran far deeper than one would think just by looking at him, and all you had to do to see the true depth of his feelings was look in his eyes. So you knew it was unfair to accuse him of not caring about you, to expect him to go above and beyond for you, to ask that he go against your father to give you what you want, but you were just so sad, frustrated, angry, that you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Maybe you’ll grow to love him if you give him a chance,” Minho suggests; you both know that’s never going to happen, but what else can he say? He never married, and had no children, dedicated to his duty as he was; he had no real advice to offer someone when it came to love, romance, and the like, but he imagined it wasn’t impossible to fall in love if you just met Sir Jin with an open mind.

But as stated, that’s never going to happen. You’re stubborn to a fault, and once you’ve decided something, there’s no changing it. The best Minho can ever manage to do is get you to reconsider, but even then, you’re still likely to go about things the way you originally wanted to, with no regard for consequences or keeping up appearances. You’re a fiery woman, there was no doubt about it, and you don’t let go of things easily.

“The mere thought of giving that man all my firsts makes me sick, it’s vile,” you scrunch up your nose, making your distaste for the man very clear. Minho doesn’t even think you’ve actually met the man yet, but you’ve already decided you hate him, that you don’t want to marry him, and so you’ll be firmly stuck in your opinion no matter what anyone says.

“Maybe this isn’t advice I should be giving you, but.. You don’t necessarily have to. To give him your firsts, or love him. Find someone you do love, even if you have to keep it a secret, and hold him with all you’ve got. It still wouldn’t be ideal, of course, but.. Well, it’d be something, at least.” Really, Minho is supposed to encourage you to be an obedient daughter and listen to your father without question, but he knows you well enough to know that’s a fool's errand.

You’re never going to listen, never going to be obedient, never going to stop being opinionated. So what’s the next, most realistic piece of advice he can give? Lie, of course. Make your father and inevitable husband believe you’re a good, obedient wife and daughter, and then go live the life you really want behind their backs. It's dishonest as all hell, and there would be consequences if you got caught, but if you’re going to be miserable no matter what you do, you might as well try, right? It’s what Minho would do if he were you, anyways.

“What about you?” you ask and Minho raises a brow in question. “What about me?” he asks, and what you respond with makes him feel like the air has been punched out of his lungs. “What if I gave my firsts to you?” Did he hear you right? There must be some mistake with his ears, there’s absolutely no way you said what he thinks you did. “You.. what?” Surely you can’t be serious about this. You’re the princess, and he’s just the man who happens to be your guard, a man who is your fathers age at that.

But the way you look at him, he can tell you’re not joking in the slightest. “Princess, I couldn’t possibly accept that,” Minho says sternly, his arms no longer crossed but instead resting on the arms of the chair, hands beginning to grip tightly so he can ground himself and try to make sense of this insane situation. “Why not? I’d be happier if I gave it to someone like you. I trust you,” you say so nonchalantly it makes his head reel. What the fuck is happening right now?

Minho was the ideal man, at least in your opinion. He was handsome, mature, realistic and practical, knew how to reel you in without disregarding the root of what you feel or being disrespectful to you. He never dismissed how you felt, made you feel over emotional or like a fool who overreacts; he’d ask you to see reason, sure, urge you to think more before acting, but he never, never made you feel like your feelings were invalid. And he genuinely cared about you, and you liked him, were attracted to him, so if the opportunity presented itself then.. Why not take the chance?

Fuck. Minho was absolutely fucked. You were just freshly 20 when Minho first met you and became your guard, and hard as he tried to never see you beyond the platonic, he’s always viewed you as an attractive young woman. He liked your fiery spirit, liked how you had the bravery and gall to challenge authority, a skill that in recent months he felt he was sorely lacking. Your attitude was refreshing, and despite your circumstances, you never acted like a damsel in need of his help.

In a different life, in another world, maybe you two could have met as equals, not painfully stuck to the rules of an unfair, unforgiving reality. You’d be each other's foil, you, the impassioned dreamer with as many thoughts and ideas as there were stars in the sky, and he the realist, who didn’t dim your light but tempered it into a steady, sustainable flame. You’d take him out on adventures, out of the strict box of his comfort zone, and he’d ground you more firmly to reality, never discouraging your dreams but making sure you took the necessary steps in the right way, responsibly, matching one another perfectly, complementary and meant for each other.

But that’s not your reality, and you both know it. There would never be any coming back from this if you go through with it, and there’s no ideal, happy future for you two to share. “I’m not so disillusioned to think this would be anything other than sex for you,” you continue, and he swallows, mind still racing impossibly, “but it’d be much more meaningful for me with you than some bastard I don’t like in the slightest.”

You’re wrong. So wrong, and you don’t even know it. It would never be “just sex” with you. You mean much, much more to him than you even realize. “You won’t regret asking a man like me? There’d be no taking it back once it’s done,” Minho can’t help but ask, rationality and reason desperately trying to gain control.

Despite what your father may believe, you’re a grown woman capable of making your own decisions. And this is a decision you make with full knowledge of what it means for you, more than willing to accept whatever consequences may arise for committing such a sin. In an ideal world, you’d be allowed to love who you wish, live where you wish, do what you wish.

But this isn’t an ideal world, and if there is only one thing you can ever be granted in this life that feels as if it isn’t even your own, it would be this- to have one night, just one night, where you can be the person you want to be, with Minho by your side. “You’re free to reject me if you’re not attracted to me, but.. My only regret would have been not trying. So I ask, are you not attracted to me?”

He looks you over carefully, grip on the armrests tightening. Admitting that he’s attracted to you may as well be a death sentence. But he can’t lie to you, completely at your mercy. Fuck the king, it’s you he’s really loyal to. All he’s ever done, all he ever will do, it’s always for you. He’s always tried to act in your best interest, to do the right thing, to keep you safe and protected. But does keeping you safe even matter if you’re miserable?

“I am,” Minho swallows, answering honestly despite his better judgment, “You have no idea how attracted to you I am.” “So why hesitate?” you ask, fingers trail down your lap, over your knees, to where the very bottom of your dress lies. He watches you, eyes darting from your hands back to your face. You’re watching him too, carefully, considering his every reaction before you make your next move, impressively calculated.

You take the hem of your dress in your hands, pulling it up leisurely, getting it halfway up your thighs, and Minho is in front of you in an instant, his hands grabbing your wrists and stopping you from lifting it any further. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Princess,” he breathes, voice low and strained; he can’t lose control of his desires, but fuck, you’re making it so hard. You look up at him, meeting his gaze with the same fiery determination you always have, but there’s more there than just that this time. Desire, want, need- all for him.

Fuck it. He’s going to get burned, but maybe it’s worth it. You’ll be his funeral pyre, engulfing him in your flame until all that remains are the ashes of the man he was supposed to be. And what a beautiful way to end his life it will be, lost between your thighs, feeling your nails dig and claw at his skin. He lets go of your wrists, one of his hands coming to cup your face, thumb tracing over your bottom lip.

“Has anyone ever kissed you, Princess?” he asks and you give a slight shake of the head, breathing a soft “No..” He hums, and there’s a twisted sort of pleasure he derives from knowing he’ll be your first in every conceivable way. You’re not “innocent,” he knows you’re not, but there’s something about being your first kiss, your first cock, your first everything that makes him crazy.

“And you want me to be the first one to kiss you?” he follows up with another question, corners of his mouth threatening to twist into a smile when you nod, a soft, honest “yes” leaving your lips effortlessly. He leans down towards you, keeping your head tilted up so he can easily meet your lips. He does so softly, treating you with care. His lips are softer than you expected, and the feeling of them against your own fills you with butterflies.

He carefully tilts you back, and you let your body fall back onto the mattress, head hitting the surprisingly soft pillows. Minho crawls over you, spreading your legs apart just enough to get between them, your dress now hiked all the way up your thighs. He’s hovering over you, looking down at you with so much love and lust and that it leaves you speechless. “I’ll need you to listen to me tonight. Can you do that for me?” he asks, pressing light kisses to your jaw, under your ear, your neck.

You can, because it’s Minho. He’d never hurt you, never try to control you, never make you feel lesser than. So you can listen to him, because you trust him with your care; he’ll take good care of you, you know he will. He smiles when you nod, and you see him smile so rarely that it makes your heart skip a beat; his role always requires him to be so stern and straight faced, that seeing him smile down at you like this is enough to melt you into a puddle.

“You’re a good girl when you want to be, hmm?” he hums against your neck, resuming his trail of kisses against your skin, and you can’t explain why, but the words and tone he says them in makes your stomach flip. If you were in a different world, and didn’t have to return home to the castle tomorrow, he’d take his time marking your neck, filling it with pretty shades of blue, purple, and red, sinking his teeth into your soft, supple skin.

He just knows you’d look so pretty like that, and the way you react when his breath tickles your skin and his lips linger, tells him you’d like it too. His fingers trail down your body, finding the hem of your dress and pulling it up over your chest. You lift your back off the bed when he separates from your neck, pulling your dress off the rest of the way and discarding it to the floor. He kisses you as he fiddles with the straps of your bra, effortlessly unhooking it in the back and pulling it down your arms and off your body.

He may have never married, but he’s no stranger to being with and pleasuring women. And he’ll make sure he makes this a night you’ll always remember for all the right reasons. Capturing your lips in another kiss, his hands take in your now bare breasts, gently kneading and squeezing. You try to squeeze your legs together, but his place between your thighs stops the act from happening, and he chuckles against your lips when he realizes what you’re doing.

“Be patient, Princess, I’ll take good care of you,” he whispers before kissing you again, and you let out a small whine, not knowing exactly what you want but knowing you want something. You gasp when he takes your nipples between your fingers and pinches them, not too hard of course, but enough to give him the chance to slip his tongue into your mouth. Your body shudders, you feel dizzy with pleasure and excitement, and the feeling of his tongue circling yours is impossibly intoxicating.

One of his hands travels down, over your stomach, coming between your bodies to feel your heat over your panties. He’s barely even begun and you’re already soaking the fabric, your eager anticipation for more of his touch palpable beyond all else. He nips at your bottom lip, gently tugging it between his teeth before soothing the sting with kitten licks, his hand slipping inside your panties to feel how slick you’ve gotten directly.

Your body jolts when his fingers run between your folds, and he barely has to move them at all to get his fingers completely coated in your juices. He pulls back to look at you, taking in the sight of your flushed face and swollen lips, pretty and perfect. You’re panting, breathless, overwhelmed in the best way possible. You keen when his fingers rub over your clit in circles, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you lift your head from the pillows to watch.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he asks, suppressing a grin when you whine and quickly nod your head. “Want more, want you,” you mutter, the most timid you’ve ever been in regards to a man. He coos, giving you a sweet kiss as he continues his stimulation to your sensitive spot. “Remember what I said? Patience, Princess, you’ll get what you want. We can’t rush and have you getting hurt, can we?”

You pout as you concede, and God, he finds that so cute; he’s never seen you actually act shy and pouty before, and it makes him want to give you the entire world. He’ll give you everything you want, anything you ask for, but he’ll have to remember to tease you first so he can see that cute expression on your face before he gives in to your whims. “I’ll make sure you’re nice and ready for my cock, so just be a good girl and follow my lead until then. You can do that for me easily, can’t you?”

Another shy nod, another adorable flushed look that makes his cock throb in his trousers. It was a little intimidating for you, knowing how experienced Minho must be due to his age, and feeling like you must fall short in comparison to other women, women who knew what they were doing, but really, that was just your own insecurity talking. He didn’t mind at all that you were inexperienced; in fact, it excited him for reasons he didn’t entirely understand.

Maybe it was the knowledge that he was the first to touch your skin, or maybe that someone as determined and fiery as you are is allowing yourself to concede control, to let him be in charge of your pleasure, trusting him to bring you to utmost bliss. What bigger display of trust could you ever show him? Your glassy, pleading eyes, begging him for more but still waiting for it just as he asked- you’re too good for him. He’s going to ruin you.

He takes his fingers away, and you have to physically stop yourself from whining at the lack of contact, lest he remind you again about “being patient.” “Open your mouth for me,” Minho requests, and though you are a bit confused, you do as he asks immediately, obeying without question. Fuck, that’s hot; the image of you, mouth open, tongue slightly sticking out and waiting to receive whatever he gives you is something he never wants to forget.

Minho slides two of his fingers into your mouth, instructing you to lick, to get his fingers nice and wet. Truthfully, you were more than lubricated enough to take his fingers without this step, but he couldn’t resist the urge to see you this way. He pushes his fingers in your mouth down to the knuckle, and you persist with coating them in your saliva even as you gag and tears prick the corners of your eyes.

He showers you with praise, slipping his fingers out of your mouth when he feels satisfied with the work you’ve done on them, kissing your cheeks, feeling the heat of your face on his lips. Slipping his hand back inside your panties, he presses the tips of his wet fingers to your hole, and you instinctively suck in a breath, body unconsciously tensing from the anticipation. “You have to relax, Princess, it won’t feel good if you’re tense,” he explains sweetly, shaking his head when you mutter a soft apology.

“Don’t be sorry, not for that. Just focus on me, hmm? On this,” he whispers, his lips lingering on yours in a deep, impassioned kiss. His fingers stay completely still until he feels your body start to release its tension, heeding his advice to focus more on his kisses than the motion of his fingers. He keeps kissing you even as the first of his fingers finally starts to push inside you, and you moan into his mouth, hot pleasure licking your skin.

He moves his finger in and out slowly, making sure you’re well adjusted before he pushes in another one, hooking his fingers to find that delicious sweet spot he knows will have you crying his name in no time. You gasp loudly when he finds it, your hands twisting the sheets beneath you between your fingers, your entire body trembling. It feels so good you almost can’t breathe, and when he picks up his pace, hitting your spot over and over as he brings his thumb to your clit, you know you won’t last long at all.

“M-Minho, I’m- I’m gonna-” you try to warn him, but the words die in your throat, the pleasure too overwhelming to continue to try and form a sentence. He simply hums, continuing his motions until your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, sharp, shuddery gasps and moans tumbling from your lips as your orgasm takes you. “That’s it, just let go, just like that, I’ve got you,” he praises, pressing kisses to your hot skin, helping you ride out your high.

Before you can even fully recollect your breath and get your racing heart back under control, he’s pushing a third finger inside, the trembling in your body intensifying from the addition. “You need more to get ready for me,” he tells you, and in your fucked out state all you can do is nod, taking his word as gospel truth, “need to stretch you good to make sure my cock fits.” All you can do is lay there and take the onslaught of pleasure, unable to think of about anything other than how full and good his fingers make you feel.

You don’t even register that he’s moved your down your body and tugged your panties to the side until his tongue is meeting your clit, swirling around it in expertly practiced circles, making you desperately cry out his name. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging harshly as your hips buck up to keep feeling the delicious sensation his tongue provides you. He flattens his tongue and lets you grind against it as you want, the motions of his fingers not stuttering or ceasing despite the movement of your hips.

You feel the familiar heat pooling your stomach, another orgasm approaching quickly, the sounds you release turning into desperate whines and whimpers as you chase the feeling. It only takes a few more rolls of your hips and thrusts of his fingers to have you releasing all over his face, your juices gushing around his fingers. He sits up and pulls his fingers out when your body falls limp, chest heaving and ears ringing as you try to recover from the mind-blowing experience you just had.

Your eyes are closed, and you can feel his weight shift, can hear the soft clink of his belt unbuckling, followed by the rustling of clothes. You open your eyes to see Minho’s cock is now out, his hand lazily pumping it and spreading the pre-cum that accumulated and dripped over his time focusing on you. You reach a hand out to touch it, to replace his hand with your own, but he grabs your hand before you can, instead making you intertwine your fingers.

“Tonight’s all about you, Princess. Don’t worry about taking care of me,” he says, kissing the back of your hand and then holding it down right above your head; you’re not quite pinned, easily able to snake your hand out of his hold if you wanted to, but you have to admit, you like the feeling of his hand keeping yours held down. He rubs his cock between your folds before he lines himself up with your entrance, though you didn’t miss the subtle smirk on his face when you whined from the feeling of his tip rubbing against your clit.

“Squeeze my hand if you need to,” Minho tells you before taking your free hand and bringing it up to his shoulder, “and hold onto me.” Your heart squeezes in your chest; the hidden romantic in you yearns to tell him you love him, to thank him for taking such good care of you, to express how you never want this night to end, but you know that would be a mistake. Neither of you can afford to let your emotions spill out, so you swallow them down the best you can, deciding to just live in this moment, to experience it for all that it is and all that it means for you.

The initial push is slow, and thanks to his diligent preparation, there is little physical pain or discomfort you experience from the stretch of his cock. A slight sting, sure, but nothing you can’t easily handle, and it’s barely even recognizable when compared to the pleasant fullness you feel. So when you squeeze his hand, and your eyes well with tears, it’s not because you are pained; it’s because you finally have something you want, a happiness you thought would forever elude you.

He takes his free hand and wipes away the tears from your eyes, a soft look of concern on his face. “Hurts?” he asks, but you shake your head quickly. “Feels good, I just.. I..” you struggle with the words, knowing you can’t express how you actually feel even if you felt you could. “I know. You don’t have to say it, I know,” Minho speaks to you softly, and the kiss he gives you very nearly makes you sob.

There’s still a few inches left before he’s fully inside you, and he pushes the remainder in slowly as he continues to kiss you, his free hand now rubbing soothing circles on your hip with his thumb. Minho does well at maintaining composure, staying firmly in control of himself and his body despite the way your walls squeeze and suck him in, despite the way you whimper when you feel him throb, or cry out against his lips when his tip kisses your deepest spots.

“That’s a good girl, taking all I give you, doing so well,” he praises you some more, and you love when he tells you how good you’re doing if the way you clench around him is any indicator. “Fuck, Princess-” he groans when he finally starts to move, pulling out and pressing back in much more slowly than he normally would, but the wet friction you provide him is delicious. “Minho, I-” you start, interrupted by a sharp gasp when he finds your sweet spot with his cock.

He looks at you as he stills his hips, patiently waiting for you to continue in case what you have to say is important, or a request for him to stop. You swallow, face heating up but determined to get out what you want to say. “J-Just this once, I don’t want to be the princess. Call me by name, please-” Oh, that’s what you want? He can do that, easily; he’s already groaned your name countless times in the privacy of his room, stroking his cock to the thought of you.

The sound of your name falling from his lips as he resumes the thrust of his hips has you clenching hard, stars erupting in your vision as he picks up his pace, beginning to quickly and mercilessly hit your spot, over and over again. He takes one of your legs and props it up over his shoulder, allowing more of his cock to fill you up, the creaking of the bed and the sound of skin slapping beginning to overpower the noise from downstairs.

Taking his other hand away from yours, you’ll have to forgive him, he licks his fingers and then brings them to your clit, wanting nothing more than to see and feel you release on his cock. It only takes a few more thrusts and circles from his fingers to have you crying out his name as you cum, fingers digging into the sheets beneath you as your body shakes and legs tremble. But Minho hasn’t cum yet, so he’s not quite done with you, not that you mind in the slightest; you’ll let him chase his pleasure as long as he wishes, even if it leaves you a drooling, fucked out mess in the end.

He pulls out of you, just long enough to sit against the headboard, and then he’s pulling you on top of him, guiding you to sink back down on his cock and sit fully in his lap. The new position has you rolling your eyes to the back of your head, Minho guiding the movement of your hips with his hands as he thrusts up into you. He’s quite literally doing all the work, but that’s perfectly fine; this night is supposed to be about you, after all, and he doesn’t want you to lift a pretty little finger. Just let him use you a little until he cums, that’s all he needs.

You’re panting against his neck, head laid on his shoulder and nails digging into the skin of his back beneath his shoulder blades. The sting of your nails in his skin is just how he imagined it to be, and his head is falling back against the headboard, low grunts and groans of your name leaving freely as his cock throbs and twitches, getting closer and closer to his release. He uses one of his hands to grab your face and lift it up to his, crashing his lips to yours in a desperate, impassioned display of love and lust.

A few more snaps of his hips and you feel his cum spurting inside you in long, thick ropes, the sensation sending you forward into yet another orgasm of your own, your desperate sounds muffled only by Minho’s mouth on yours. Your body collapses against his when the moment slows to a stop, both of your chests heaving and breaths heavy as you lie against him, his arms wrapped around you snuggly and keeping you upright against his chest.

You can hear the quick, erratic beating of his heart as he catches his breath, looking up at him to see his eyes closed and sweat trailing down his brow towards his cheek. He looks beautiful like this, you think; you hope he thought the same of you. Even as his cock starts to soften, neither of you move, and though your legs protest and beg to be stretched out, you refuse to leave your spot on Minho’s lap.

“Are you alright, Princess?” he asks once he’s collected himself, pushing your hair from your face and wiping the sweat from your brow. “Mhm, just want to stay like this,” you reply, and Minho smiles softly, rubbing over your shoulders and down your back in a sweet gesture of comfort. You’re silent like this for some time, just simply enjoying the feeling of him, the sound of the crackling fire, the warmth he and this room provides you.

“Does my happiness really have to end here?” you can’t help but quietly ask, and Minho is quiet for a moment, carefully considering before he speaks. In a different world, in a different time, in a different place, maybe the two of you are meant to be. There’s comfort in imagining yourself there, truly happy with Minho, letting him care for you while not snuffing out the flame that is your pride, ambition, and spirit.

It’s not meant to be, you both know that to be true. To be with each other required great risk, sacrifice, hardship. But again he has to wonder, is being safe worth the cost of happiness? Would you even truly be “alive” if your every moment was spent miserably? He doesn’t want to see the very core of what makes you you be snuffed out by selfish, idiotic men and their expectations of what you should be.

You’re much younger than him, and it would be impossible for him to be there for you for the rest of your life, but he can be for the rest of his, at least. “Maybe not,” he answers, unsure of what the future holds for the two of you, but not entirely ready to give up so easily. He could accept his fate, accept that love is something out of his reach, but it’s your happiness on the line that makes him want to fight for it.

There’s a lot he could lose by helping you escape this life you feel trapped in, but he’d rather see you happy than wasting your days away in the castle, subservient to a man you loathe. Your love isn’t meant to be, but that’s okay; he’ll help you all the same. He’s loyal to you, and only you, he’s decided- so if you make your future husband, your father, the entire kingdom your enemy, then they’ll be his enemy too. And it’ll all be worth it just to see you smile for a little bit longer.

#skz x reader #lee know x reader #lee minho x reader #skz smut #lee know smut #lee minho smut #skz imagines #skz scenarios #not me posting a fic again literally 4 days after my last one i am serious when i say i was possessed to write this #also not posting between the hours of 4-7am for once that is a win for me !!#mdni + divider graphic credit: @cafekitsune

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latenightsimping · 2 years

Text

Nothing Else Matters

Summary: Being Jason Carver’s little sister can be be hell. Especially when you fall in love with someone he despises. Jason has a plan to break you up, and it almost works. Almost. (Part 2 is here!)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem reader

Word count: 6,618

Warnings: V ANGSTY, angst to fluff, heavy themes of bullying, themes of child abuse and neglect, Jason Carver is an absolute shitheel in this, mentions of suicide, argument heavy in one part, reader is Jason Carver’s little sister, this is kind of a rough one for the first three quarters or so, it does get better I swear, posted without being beta read and in the early hours of the morning

AN: This was a wonderful request that I got from borhapgirlforlife19, and my first one for this blog, so thank you!! Really hope you enjoy it! The request asked for smut at the end, and I’m gonna be working on that in the next couple of days! I wanted to put it in two parts; one because this got quite long, and also separating it means that those who don’t wanna read smut can choose not to click on the second half if they wish! Actually gave myself psychic damage writing some of this lmao

Being the little sister to the school’s golden boy had both good and bad connotations. For one, you weren’t picked on throughout your years in high school, able to weave through the halls and mind your own business. Make a couple of friends, and manage to keep your head down and focus on your grades.

However, the downside was that Jason was the one to make your life hell, if he was in one of his moods. A couple of times he’d humiliated you for some inane reason that he thought required payback. The worst had been when you’d told your Mom about him sneaking out at night to drink with his buddies, only to come back from a gym class the next day to find your fantasy books in shreds after they’d been stolen from your bag. No doubt orchestrated by Jason as revenge, seeing as the cheerleaders seemed to follow his every command.

It was how you and Eddie had first met, the day that it happened.

You were crying under the East stairwell during class, hating the thought of having to go to class and face the smug looks on the faces of your bullies, knowing they’d finally got to you by ruining the one thing you enjoyed. Back pressed against the cold bricks, arms wrapped around your legs and your forehead pressed against your knees as you tried to will yourself to stop crying.

“What’re you cryin’ for, pretty girl?” he had asked you softly, making your head snap up to look at him. A halo of dark curls and soft brown eyes, such a contrast against his rough and sharp outfit of ripped jeans and chains. When you only sniffled in response, he carefully crouched in front of you, a respectful distance away as he placed his rings hands against his knees. “Somethin’ bad happen?”

“M-my books,” you manage to get out between ragged breaths, and you watched as his eyes flickered towards the piles of paper by your bag. It looked as if you had tried to rescue them, only to become overwhelmed after you realised it was pointless. Sitting himself in front of you, legs crossed in front of him, a hand slowly reached out to carefully pluck a cover from the pile. Eyebrows furrowing as he clicked his tongue behind his teeth and shook his head as his eyes snapped back up yours.

“Someone destroyed a copy of The Silmarillion? Why princess, that’s sacrilege. Honestly, the firing squad need to be summoned at once for this heinous crime.” His dramatic flair as he spoke; the hand clutching fake pearls and the exaggerated exasperation made you let out a small giggle. His face warmed as he set his hands back in his lap, tilting his head with a soft smile.

“There it is,” he mused, making your eyebrows knit in confusion at his words.

“What?” was your dumb reply, already internally kicking yourself at how small and helpless you sounded.

“There’s that smile I look for in the cafeteria,” he answered with a soft voice, making your stomach flip pleasantly at the thought of him looking for you in a sea of people. You’d known of Eddie, of course you did. Had watched him launch himself up onto the table to parade around, yelling about whatever had him revved up that day. Had seen him rough-housing with his friends in the hallways, all smiles and earnest laughter. But you’d also seen the kinder side of him. Letting people pass when he was in the way, or holding doors open on instinct whenever someone was behind him. No matter how much people bullied him, he was still giving them common decency. And now you knew he knew who you were? You couldn’t stop the heavy blush dusting your cheeks.

As if sensing your slight embarrassment, he cleared his throat as he shifted on his place on the floor to get more comfortable. Both hands placed on the floor behind, him, leaning back as if giving you some space if you needed it. “Soooo… I happen to have a few copies of Tolkien kicking around my place. Wouldn’t mind lending them to you, until you get another. Totally your call, though. Won’t be offended if you tell me to get lost.”

Your heart warmed at the offer. You’d never spoken to him before, but he was clearly picking up on how upset you were, willing to go without if it made you happy. The kindness that you’d soon learn that filled him so much he was fit to burst with the intensity, especially when it came to the ones he loved and cared for. It made your smile so wide it made your cheeks hurt as you wiped your tears away with the back of your cardigan as you nodded.

“I’d like that.”

A love of books had bonded you both, and what begun as sneaking copies of what one thought the other would like when nobody was around turned into hanging out to talk about them. You’d tell your parents you were visiting a friend when you went out for the weekend, which was technically the truth. You would spend your free time in his messy bedroom, reading in comfortable silence or watching him play his guitar as you tried to focus on homework, something that fascinated you endlessly. The way his fingers would move over the fret board with an ease that came from a lot of practice, playing you songs that you thought you’d like. He was the one to introduce you to heavy metal, and you found that you actually really liked it. You’d had so many deep conversations when you were curled beside him on his bed, talking about how much you hated when Jason picked on you and others, or other worries that filled your mind. He was a good listener, and always seemed to know what to say to soothe you. His bedroom became your solace, somewhere that you would yearn for when you weren’t there.

In return, he shared the thoughts that you knew he never shared with anyone else, keeping them to himself and gnawing on his soul. How much he missed his Mom, or how the years of abuse at the hands of his father when he was drunk still made him carry both mental and physical scars. You soothed him when it became too much, a hand on his and rubbing soothing patterns onto the skin of the back of his hand as you listened to the heartache that poured from him. You wondered why he never asked you not to tell, but it eventually dawned on you that he trusted you. He trusted you to hold his heart, and to never crush it. And it made you feel honoured to do so.

It was there that you had your first kiss. You could still remember how you were both laughing at some silly joke as you lay side by side, and the way that your bodies were practically inches from each other when you rolled onto your side to face him. How his eyes darted down to your lips, his own parting as if he was silently asking for permission. Seemingly finding the want you had for him in your body language, and closing the distance to slot his lips between your own. He tasted like cigarettes and cherry flavoured gum, and it became a taste you so desperately needed every time you were with him. Needed the way that his hand would come up to cradle your jaw, the cool metal of his rings against your warm skin. He always kissed you like it would be the last; passionate, tender, loving. He was your first kiss, and you found yourself wanting him to be the only boy you kissed for the rest of your life.

Ever since the first, the kisses didn’t stop. He would come and find you, nodding his head towards a supply closet and ducking inside, knowing you would follow to be wrapped in his arms with his mouth peppering your lips, your cheeks, your jaw with soft kisses as he told you how beautiful you were. You were only dating for a few months, but it was the small things like that which had you smitten with each other. He would find you small gifts that made him think of you; a beanie baby of an otter, because you once noted how adorable you found them. A silver chain bracelet very similar to his, though daintier, that you wore with pride. His eyes would light up when would find him new books to read that were his favoured genre, finding them when you took trips to the second hand bookstore. Your handwriting on the first page, saying things like ‘I thought you’d like this one because of the lore on elves. Enjoy!’ with your name signed underneath and a small heart.

You didn’t know it, but Jason knew something was up with you. You’d been smiling more, and wasn’t bothered by his usual jabs to your confidence, and the fact of it enraged him. The suspicions were confirmed when he was snooping through your room when you were out of the house, finding a very familiar shirt buried in the bottom of your dresser drawer. Moth eaten and faded with time, the black cotton with WASP proudly emblazoned on the front made him see red as he clutched it tighter in his hand. He knew who the previous owner was, considering he was one of the only people he knew that listened to this sort of music. Not to mention the faint smell of weed still eminating from the fabric. What the fuck was Munson’s shirt doing in your room? Slowly, he put the clues together. The late nights coming home, the smell of cigarettes on your clothes and the near constant chipper demeanour for the past couple of months.

You were banging the freak. And he wasn’t going to have that.

A plan formed in his mind, coming to fruition on the Monday morning before class. One of the cheerleaders, Donna, had a knack for copying handwriting; she was the one that they would come to if they needed a fake sick note, or an excuse for not doing homework. Filling her and the rest of the cheerleaders in on the plan, they were all right on board to make his little sister and the Devil worshipper of Hawkins break up. “It’s for her own good,” they had nodded sagely as they all chipped in an insult to write down, as though they were fully in their right to meddle in people’s affairs. Chrissy seemed uncomfortable with it, though she didn’t say anything as she watched. Just hanging onto Jason’s varsity jacket sleeve, giving him a small frown that he chose to ignore. In his eyes, he was second ranking in the position of the other man of the house. The women in the household were expected to listen to him, just like they listened to his father. In his eyes, he was doing the right thing. Straight up threatening would only push you further into Munson’s arms. This way? This way, he could kill two birds with one stone. Destroy Munson, and get his little sister away from him. The freak would be doing all the hard work, and he could come out of this looking like the one in the right. It was perfect.

Eddie was late to school, yet again. He was really trying to get in on time, knowing that it would look bad on him. The rubber soles of his sneakers squeaked against the linoleum as he rounded the corner, coming to a harsh stop in front of his locker. “Shit, shit, c’mon baby work with me,” he quietly pleaded with the combination lock, fingers fumbling as he twisted the dial. A triumphant noise escaping his lips as it finally unlocked, making quick work of putting his backpack and lunch box into the locker as he picked up the Math and Chemistry books he needed. He almost missed the small folded piece of paper that fluttered on the floor, his name in a familiar handwriting with a small heart just underneath. A sight that he was always glad to see, knowing that this was something you did often. Picking it up and shoving it into his pocket, he booked it towards Math. Not really because he was excited to learn about whatever the fuck the teacher was on about. But because he would have time to read your little love note.

Ten minutes into the lesson, and he finally took his chance to retrieve the paper and gently fold it open. Seeing his name on the top made him swoon. But as his eyes scanned the words, the grip on the note tightened so much that his ringed knuckles turned white.

Eddie,

I know it isn’t April Fools yet, but surprise!! Got you real good there, didn’t I? Got you thinking this was real, didn’t you? God, you’re a loser. Should have seen your face when I said I loved you. All doe eyes and stupid grin. Who would ever love you? You’re a freak and a nobody. Trailer park trash, just like your no good Daddy. Wonder if you’re gonna share a cell when you eventually wind up in prison? Or will you OD on smack before then, just like Mommy? Maybe if you do some sort of pact with your Lord and Master Lucifer, they might bring them back for you? When you’re not too busy sucking his dick, of course.

I never want to see your pathetic, ugly face again. This is the last you’ll hear of me. So enjoy the memories of me fucking you while they last, perv. Hope this finally sends you over the edge and you finally do us all a fucking favour.

p.s. Get a fucking haircut, you look like like the ugliest chick alive.

Your name was signed on it, and it just made his heart shatter that much more, his whole world crashing down around him. His hands were shaking as he tried to control his breathing, trying to keep it from going as rapid as his body was trying to force him to do. Vision growing blurry as hot tears pricked at his eyes that he couldn’t stop from forming. He was stood up before he realised his own body was moving, barely hearing the teacher yell at him for leaving the class halfway through and Jeff’s voice asking “What the fuck, man?”

Now in the halls, he began sprinting. Letting his feet pound on the floor as a wretched sob burst from his chest, running towards the only place of solace that he had left. He’d thought that he’d got used to the bullying over the years. He’d got used to the punches and kicks; those could be patched up and bruises covered. Even the names stopped bothering him after a while, after he’d heard them enough times. Only one time had got him to this state, and that was when they had stolen a necklace that he had hung on the rearview mirror of his van. One of the last things he had that belonged to his mother- the one of very few items in the whole world that he cherished more than anything. And it was you who had got it back for him after you snuck into Jason’s room to get it, risking your own neck in the process. It was you who he had spoken about her to, about how much he missed her every damn day and still wished every night that she was still around. You had hugged him while he cried on her birthday last month, carding your fingers through his hair so tenderly and softly whispering that it was okay to cry, to just let it all out, that you were always going to be around to catch him when he felt like he was free falling.

He had trusted you, heart and soul. He loved you. And none of it was real.

…

“Hey, have you seen Eddie?”

You were confused to not find him at the head of the Hellfire table when you got to the cafeteria. You were used to him giving you a lopsided grin as you passed to make your way to sit with your friends, teasingly patting his lap in offering and knowing full well that you wanted nothing more than to indulge and finally join him. Coming up to the table was already a risk; the boys who sat there looking nervous as you approached. But you had to. Eddie had promised that he wouldn’t skip school because he was determined to graduate this year, and you knew full well that you would see him here if he nothing was wrong. Was he sick? Maybe his van broke down? Either way, your stomach lurched as you waited for an answer.

The boys shot looks you couldn’t quite decipher between them all, and it was a curly haired boy with a boyish smile that Eddie told you was named Dustin to finally answer. “Do you uh… Do you need him for anything?”

You knew why they were being apprehensive. With the last name of Carver, of course it was going set them on edge. No doubt your older brother was making their lives a misery, and they wondered if you were about to do the same.

You gave them a soft smile as you nodded. “Yeah, I um… I-I have one of his books that he gave me. Wanted to return it.” Technically the truth. His beloved copy of Lord of the Rings was safely tucked in your backpack.

“We can give it to him,” Dustin offered, still eyeing you with suspicion.

“Oh, thank you, but there’s no need,” you answered, keeping your tone light. “I actually need to talk to him about something, too.”

The one with the dark cropped hair and kind eyes seemed to give you some pity. “You know that’s his girlfriend, right?” he muttered to his friends, keeping his voice down in case they were overheard. All eyes snapped back to you, shoulders relaxing and small sheepish smiles when they finally put two and two together. Eddie had been talking non-stop about a girl he was dating, and it was actually Jeff who had sussed it out first. It wasn’t rocket science, considering he’d probably caught the way you two stared at each other every moment you got. You wondered why Eddie hadn’t told them your identity, but you also understood. If word got out that you two were dating, it’d mean untold consequences for the both of you. You knew he trusted his friends enough not to snitch you two out, but you guessed he was just being extra careful with it all.

“Yeah, I am,” you said, smiling fondly at being called ‘his girlfriend’ in public. His girlfriend. You were Eddie’s, and he was yours. And you loved how it sounded. “I was just wondering if he was okay? If he was actually in school today?”

“He burst out of Math about something,” Jeff explained, shrugging as he pushed food around his plate with the tines of his fork. “Seemed real pissed. You might find him out in the woods, past the football fields and keeping right on the path. He sometimes goes there to smoke on the old bench out there.”

You couldn’t stop your heart racing as you nodded, thanking them profusely as you turned heel and left towards the place Jeff had told you about. Eddie was mad at something? He seemed fine when you saw him yesterday. In fact, he seemed in a really good mood. He’d got his first C in English, and you celebrated by ordering in pizza and cuddling up to watch horror movies on his couch. It had made him laugh when you jumped at the sudden scares in the movie, a smug grin on his face when you cuddled into him and whined that it wasn’t funny. Kissing the top of your head as he soothed a hand over your back. “Don’t worry babe,” he’d cooed. “I’ll save you from all the nasty zombies.”

So the fact that he’d left a class that he was set on passing was making you worry even more. Had Jason done something to upset him again? If he had, that would be the last straw. Eddie was rubbing off on you, and not in a bad way. For your whole life, you had bowed to your older brother. If he said jump, you asked how high. But Eddie had gently reminded you that you were your own person, and you didn’t have to do anything that you didn’t want. And that included with him, too. Many times, you had talked about losing your virginity with him, and he had promised that you would finally take the next step in your relationship, as soon as you were sure you were ready. As soon as you were sure you wanted to lose it with him. And like the gentleman he was, he never went any further than some light over the clothes action when you’d practically begged him to, respecting your wishes to not go any further. And you loved him all the more for it.

He came into view as you entered the clearing, and your heart skipped a beat at the sight of the very familiar Dio patch on the back of him denim jacket. He was sat on the table of the bench, feet planted against the seat, facing away from you and his shoulders hunched over. You could see the lit cigarette in his hand as he leaned his weight on the arm beside him, clutched between index and middle finger that was tapping in quick succession on the rotten wood. It was a nervous habit that you’d picked up on a while ago. Though his hands were always in motion, you could tell by the pace what kind of mood he was in. Slow and languid meant he was calm or sleepy. Slightly more rapid, he was excited. If they moved in the shape of frets to his favourite songs, he was trying to focus on something to take his mind off whatever bothered him. But this near frantic energy meant he was really, really upset or angry. It set you on edge a little as you winced at the sight of it.

“Eds?” you called out, noticing how his whole form froze as he heard your voice calling the name only you called him. A soft, sharp sob escaping his chest, the sound causing cracks to form in your heart. You took careful steps towards him, rounding the bench as you came into his view. Eyes downcast, red and puffy from crying. Cheeks stained from tears, and bottom lip quivering as he gasped for breath. Your eyebrows furrowed as you softly cooed, holding out your arms as you stepped towards him. “Baby, what’s wro-”

“Don’t you fucking touch me.” His voice was cracked, the edges of the words sharp and laced with anger, making you stop dead in your tracks and freeze in place.

Your eyes widened as you took a sharp inhale of breath, confusion marring your features as you dropped your hands to your sides. “Eddie? What’s wrong?”

He laughed, though there was no trace of humour in them as he shook his head and poked his cheek with his tongue. Reaching into his jean pocket, a piece of paper was in his grasp for only a second, before it was flung towards your feet. “You still keeping up the charade, Carver? Wanna try and hurt me more?” The use of your last name made you cringe. He knew you hated when people called you that; you hated being called the same thing as your brother. To Eddie, you were babydoll, princess, babe, sweetheart or angel. Barely ever your name any more. Using your last name was a weapon to hurt you with. And you both knew it.

Reaching down to pick up the piece of paper, you unfolded it and skimmed it through. A strangled, horrified sound escaping your lips as you felt physically sick from the cruelty of the words. The handwriting was so familiar, yet slight differences that only you could notice. The inflections of the letter I, or the syntax slightly off. But an icy hot panic washed over you in an instant when you realised why it was so familiar. It was your handwriting. Well, nearly. But to him, blinded by rage and hurt, those differences didn’t matter. You tried desperately to find the words, to try and tell him that none of this was you, but all you could do was shake your head.

You heard him take a sharp inhale of breath, and when your eyes flickered up, you watched the smoke languidly flow from his mouth. He wasn’t crying now. Instead, there was a mask-like quality to his features. Devoid of all emotion, eyes hardened as he stared at you. And honestly? It hurt worse than seeing him upset. Knowing that underneath it all, he was fully blaming you for the trauma. “Going to drop the act now? Hm?” He flicked the filter of the cigarette in your direction, with more force than needed to break the embers away. “You’re embarrassing yourself with keeping it up.”

“Eddie, I didn’t write this,” you whispered, tone practically pleading as you gripped the note with shaking hands. “You’ve gotta believe me, I don’t-”

“I know your fuckin’ handwriting,” he interjected, spoken through gritted teeth. “Don’t play dumb.”

“No, please, I promise! I swear on everything I love!” Your voice was becoming more shrill as you flailed your arms around, wishing to God that the ground would swallow you up. This was it. You’d never know Eddie’s kisses again; never know the intimate moments on late afternoons when you were wrapped up in his arms, or listen to him sing along to whatever he played on his guitar with that devastatingly beautiful voice of his. It was all snatched away from you, and you hadn’t even done anything.

“That’s your problem,” he scoffed, pointing at you with the fingers that held his cigarette between them, jabbing them at you with fury. “You don’t love anything. You’re a fucking sociopath, Carver. Just like your brother.”

His vile words made your knees buckle, sending you careening to the dirt and leaves until you kneeled in front of him, the crumbled note in your hands that rested on your lap. Hot tears welled in your eyes as you dropped your head, a sob wracking through your chest as the accusation hit you. Causing all brain function to cease as you shook your head. Over the course of your relationship, you’d never said those three little words to him. Too scared of rocking the boat, of driving him away if you said them too soon. Didn’t want to be too clingy, or too desperate, fearful of never being good enough for him and living in fear that some day he would up and leave when he found a girl who would treat him right. Wouldn’t have a brother who was one of his biggest tormentors.

“That’s not true,” you finally managed to squeak out. “I… I love you, Eddie. I’m so sorry that I never said it before but-” Your words were interrupted with another whimpered hiccup, trying to wipe away the wetness on your cheeks with the sleeve of your cardigan before trying again. “If I could turn back the clock, I’d never stop saying it. Please, just believe me when I say that I didn’t do this.” You finally looked up at him, not noticing a slight confusion that furrowed his brow, too wrapped up in your own grief and agony. “I love you, Eddie. I love you more than anything.”

Everything seemed to stop for long, agonising moments. Only the sounds of your small sobs, and his hitched breath mingling with the distant sounds of birdsong. “You… You didn’t say it,” he finally murmured, harshly driving the embers of his cigarette against the table until it was extinguished and hopping off it to take a few steps towards you.

“Wh-what?” you whimpered, flinching as he took another step.

“The note, you… It said that you told me you loved me.” His words were rushed now, his hands coming up to run harshly through his curls, giving them a small tug as the penny well and truly dropped. “But you never did. And it said that we… That we slept together, but we haven’t.”

You scanned the note again, noticing what he was talking about. The stuff about his parents was knowledge that was easy to come by if you asked the right people, considering the rumour mill in this small town was always working full time. Devil worshipping, living in a trailer park and cheap shots at his appearance? That had been flung at him since middle school. But he was right. In his haze of anger and hurt, he must have forgotten that some of the content just didn’t add up. But who would do this? Who had this much malice and scorn, that they would try and split you up like this?

The name seemed to come into both your minds at the same second, knocking against your skulls with the force of it. A person that hated his guts, and wouldn’t care if you got hurt in the process. In fact, they might see it as some sort of punishment. A consequence for your actions, that would would be criminal if they had their way.

A long few moments of silence filled the clearing, both of you trying to wrap their heads around the consequences of this encounter. Would you be able to come back from this? Would Eddie be able to forgive himself for the harsh words spat like hellfire, because of his own wounded heart? Would you be able to forgive him? Was this the end of everything, before it even had the chance to fully begin? You had fallen so hard for him, and now you felt like you were freefalling, and the anxieties that came with that feeling made your gut clench and palms sweat.

You were the first to speak. A small “oh my God,” barely audible, burying your face in your hands to try and hide away from the embarrassment and pain. Of course your brother would be the culprit behind this. And behind the agony, sparks of fury threatened to set ablaze the kindling of memories, of all the times he had made you feel less than a person. Hiding your dress hours before the Winter Formal, not caring how much you cried when you realised you weren’t going to be able to go. Breaking countless cassettes because he didn’t approve of them. Driving away potential friends because he ‘didn’t approve’. All with the knowledge that your parents saw it all, and didn’t do a thing to stop it. Jason was the golden child. The star basketball player, the popular one, the one who could never do something wrong. You knew that, all you life, you knew. But now, being with Eddie, a person that thought you hung the moon and saw you, really saw you, and loved you with such a warm intensity that it seeped through every fibre of you being? You weren’t ready to give that up. Not for anything.

You heard movement from in front of you; a heavy thump as you opened your eyes to find him kneeling in front of you, knees framing the outsides of your own. His dark eyes so filled with regret and shame, that it hurt to look at. His shaky hands came towards you, yet stopped when he realised that maybe you didn’t want him to touch you. Perhaps thinking that maybe you just… Couldn’t forgive him. “Baby, I-I’m so sorry… Please, can we talk-”

It was instinct that drove you to launch yourself at him, arms wrapping tightly around his neck and burying your face into the crook of his neck, nearly knocking him off balance. You felt him coil his arms around you in return, a hand on the back of your neck and his forearm against the small of your back, pressing you close to his chest. “I-It wasn’t me,” you mumbled, muffled by his skin and hoping he could hear you because of it. “J-Jason…”

“Ssh, it’s okay,” he softly cooed, the hand resting at your waist gently rubbing at the skin there to soothe you. “I know. I know it wasn’t you, okay? A-and I’m so sorry for what I said. I was so wrong, and I was an asshole, and it’s okay if you don’t forgive me because it was such an awful thing to say, a-and…”

You knew that he rambled whenever he was upset, and though the sorrow was still there, a fondness seeped through you at the reminder of his little habits. A warmth in the knowledge that this was fixable, and that you had the luxury of time in the relationship to fix the heartache that this had caused. “You don’t need to apologise,” you said softly, head raising to meet his own, forehead pressed against his. “You were hurt, and I understand. It was such an awful thing they did to you, Eddie. I just wish I could say sorry on my brother’s behalf.”

“You don’t need to do that,” he frowned. “Please don’t ever apologise for other people’s actions. Especially not your dickhead of a brother.” The jab at Jason made you abruptly smile at the sentiment, and he mirrored it as he shifted his legs to pull you to sit in his lap. “Because I was wrong. Carver is your last name, but you’re nothin’ like him, sweetheart. You’re kind, and funny, and so smart. Beautiful, too.”

The compliments made your cheeks warm as you let out a small giggle, shaking your head a fraction as you bit your bottom lip. “Stop…” The whine was small, and playful. God, you never wanted him to stop loving you with his words. Not really.

As if he knew, he rose to the challenge, capturing your lips in his own with a soft and brief kiss. “Pretty,” he whispered against your lips, adding another kiss. “Talented.” Another kiss, though to the side of your mouth. “Brave.” One at you jaw. “Thoughtful.” The word pressed into your neck, and you could feel him smile against the skin there. “You wan’ me to keep going, or are you gonna give in and let me adore you?”

“I give in,” you squealed, hurt temporarily forgotten at the tender affection that he gave. Happy to share a few moments in his embrace, enjoying the warmth and tenderness that you would never grow tired of. You allowed the silence to settle for only a few heartbeats, before you finally broke it. “I meant it, you know.”

He came into view again, a small smile on his lips as his eyebrows slightly furrowed in questioning. “Meant what, angel?”

“That I love you.” The words came easier now; now that they could come from the heart, each syllable laced with loving intent. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it before, but… I mean it. I’ve fallen in love with you, Eddie Munson.”

The grin that overtook his face was an incredible sight. His eyes crinkling with the ferocity of it, happiness seeping from every pore. “I love you too, sweetheart. So fuckin’ much.”

The lunch bell must have rung out a long time ago, and you couldn’t find it within yourself to care. Not when you were kissing him like this, and he was returning them with a matching earnestness. You kissed until your lips were slightly bruised, barely coming up for air before coming back for more. So in love, your heart so full that it was a near ache. You only stopped when you felt the soft patters of rain on the crown of your head, looking up to find the skies a deep grey, threatening to let the heavens open. He helped you up onto wobbly legs, his arm around you as you made your way back to the school for shelter.

You noticed his apprehension as you got closer, and you knew exactly why. He was worried that if Jason saw you together, he would make both your lives hell. But with this little stunt your brother tired to pull, that kindling of rebellion had been well and truly set alight. You no longer wanted Jason to make decisions for you. Eddie Munson was the love of your life. And you didn’t give a single fuck who knew it. Placing your hand on his where it rested on your shoulder, you looked up at him with a smile. A silent plea to keep it there, and one he seemed to acknowledge as he pulled you closer.

“Can I come over tonight, after school?” you asked him, voice hopeful as you bit your lip.

“’Course you can,” he answered with a grin. “Was thinking about taking you for a milkshake at that diner you like, actually. Could drop by there before we get to mine, if you want?”

It was an invitation to go public, and you knew that. A lot of the teenagers at your school went to that diner, and it wouldn’t be long before word got back to your brother about your involvement with Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to care about that. Hope filled you as you tilted your head. “Like a date?”

“Like a date,” he echoed, pecking a kiss to your temple. “Never took you out on one before, and that’s kind of a shitty boyfriend move. How ‘bout it, sweetheart? Wanna finally have that first date I owe you?”

A grin spread over your features as the school finally came into view. You were about to walk the halls of Hawkins high, your boyfriend finally by your side and his arm over your shoulders, just like you finally wanted. Screw what anyone else wanted.

“I’d like that.”

#eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #stranger things imagine #stranger things x you #stranger things fanfiction

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dyhayc · 2 years

Text

A Polaroid Is Worth A Thousand Words

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!Reader (Fluff, Humour, Smut)

Summary: It’s summer break! You, your boyfriend, and your friends go on a road trip to meet with the Byers in California. Chaos ensues

Word Count: 7.9k

Warnings: Self-esteem issues/previous negative body image, MDNI 18+, explicit consent, protected sex, innocence kink, corruption kink, praise kink, a little dumbification, a little hand kink, a little oral fixation, a hint of temperature play, a hint of a choking kink, fingering, piv penetration, semi-public sex, virgin!reader, blatant misuse of a popsicle

A/N: I was inspired to write this because I had to pack for my vacation to a beach area. I know this is pretty divergent from my regular stuff. I try to write fluff only (and honestly this is my first time writing anything nsfw) but I’ve been thinking about this specific scenario a lot and I had a long plane ride so… yea. The intrusive horny thoughts won today

Also most of this was written pre-part 2 so I’m just gonna ignore cannon lmao. I actually haven’t watched it yet (I made the mistake of opening Tumblr because I forgot it was July 1st and instantly saw a spoiler, so I’m aware of… things). This can be considered an AU because I know that it doesn’t match up with s4 pt2 at all

The last sentence is a gift for all the people who miss Eddie

Light wash or dark wash? A dilemma that has taken twenty precious minutes from your life. Space in your luggage is limited, and you’re too indecisive to make a choice. Which pair of jeans to bring isn’t the first tough fashion decision you’ve had to make tonight. Over half of your closet is scattered around you. Clothes on hangers struggle to grip onto every ledge available in your room.

Typically, you’d pick the most comfortable clothes from your closet and call it a day, but you and Eddie made a deal. He’d told you that if ‘86 was his year, it would be yours too. At first, you pretended not to know what he was talking about, but he’d just raised his eyebrow, and you knew he knew.

High school had caused a lot of insecurities about your body, mainly because of your “friends” who were catty at best and downright rude at worst. Every day, they’d rate each other’s outfits. However, when it came to you, they always commented about your body rather than your clothes. There had never been a day where you’d felt comfortable in your skin. Getting together with Eddie was one of the best things to happen to you. He helped you to gain your confidence back after years of suppression. He’d always gone out of his way to help you; it was how you’d met.

It was dark that night. The grey storm clouds looming over Hawkins threatened to release a torrent of rain at a moment's notice. They’d been around for days, intimidating but never actually storming. Unfortunately, luck was not on your side. The rain was predicted to pour the night of your graduation.

Even though graduating is a momentous occasion, the ceremony was boring beyond belief. The school had been too cheap to rent a venue, so the entire class of ‘85 and the accompanying families were squeezed into the gym. The speeches were shallow, it smelled like homecoming, Tammy Thompson performed a horrendous rendition of your class song, and to top it all off: you didn’t even get your diploma, just the holder. Everyone had to return with an ID the next day to get the real thing.

Afterward, you were dying to get home, but your friends wanted to attend some grad party. And by “grad party,” they meant going to an abandoned barn and getting shitfaced with half the class. Parties had never been your thing, much less one where everyone would be so fucked up. Maybe you were naive and wanted to believe your friends cared about you, but you didn’t expect them to be so upset that you didn’t want to go.

Thinking you would be hanging out with your friends, your family had left. To make matters worse, it was sprinkling meaning the storm had finally started. If you walked home, the rain would only fall harder, meaning you would get soaked. You asked your friends to drop you off at home, but they said, “The only place we’re going is the party. You’re either coming with, or you’re walking.”

You walked.

Down the jagged streets, you trekked for a few blocks. It was miserable. Your heels hurt your feet, but there was no way you’d walk through the muck and debris barefooted. Your robes were massive, inconvenient, and so thin the wind blew right through you. You were right about the rain. Effectively soaked, you were sure you’d be sick the next day. The disappointment got to you. What was supposed to be a happy day felt impossibly terrible. Sniffling, you weren’t sure if the water on your face was tears or raindrops.

A pair of headlights blinded you, so you raised your arm over your eyes to block the brightness. Brakes screech as the vehicle comes to a stop. Lowering your arm, you see the driver’s side window roll down. Inside is someone you never expected: Eddie Munson.

He seems as confused as you but leans out the window to shout over the wind, “Need a ride?” Considering your options, walk home and potentially get frostbite or ride in a van safe from the rain, you chose the van. Thinking back, it was stupid to trust a man in a van offering to drive you home in the middle of the night, but in the moment, the thought that he may be dangerous hadn’t even crossed your mind.

Running across the street, you open the door and put your soaked cap and holder into the van. Thank goodness they hadn’t given you your actual diploma; it would’ve been ruined in the storm. You unzip the gown, shimmy out of the thin, itchy fabric, and then sit in his passenger seat and shut the door. Embarrassed about the massive wet spot you’re going to leave, you mutter shyly, “Sorry about your seats, Eddie.”

You realize too late you’ve used his name, despite never talking to him before, but he didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he was distracted by the beautiful and, quite frankly, fancy dress you wore underneath your gown. So distracted, he took a second too long to respond, “It’s fine. This van has seen worse.” Unsure of what he means, you don’t reply and buckle your seat belt. He continues, “So, where are you headed? The party is the other way, y’know.”

You wrinkle your nose as tears gather in your eyes again. Vigorously shaking your head, you declare, “I wanna go home.” His eyes soften when you tack on a weak “please,” to your request.

He nods, “Of course. Where do you live?” You notice how his tone becomes gentler, his energy lowering to match your mood. He accommodates you effortlessly, but the thought only hurts your heart, knowing your friends would never do that for you. Hearing your address, he pulls a u-turn and drives toward your house.

You’re both silent, but he keeps glancing at you. Finally, he voices the words he’d been holding back, “Are you okay?” There’s hesitance in his voice as if he doesn’t know whether or not the question will break the relatively calm air of the ride. You genuinely consider ignoring him for a moment before deciding that would be incredibly rude.

Fidgeting with your fingers, you attempt to summarize your night, “I just- Well, after graduating, my friends wanted to go to the party, but I didn’t. I don’t know why they got mad. I guess they didn’t want to drive over to my house cause it’s out of the way. I live far from school, so I kinda get it, I guess.” You couldn’t help but make excuses for them. You didn’t know any better.

Though you couldn’t, Eddie recognized how toxic your friends were and pointed it out, “Sounds like you have shitty friends. A real friend would’ve driven you anywhere you wanted.” You stare at your feet. Deep down, you’ve always known your friends weren’t good for you, but they were comfortable, familiar. He just voices the thoughts you’ve been too scared to acknowledge yourself.

Internally, you rewatch every moment they’d treated you poorly, every time they’d disregarded your feelings, every time they’d been… shitty. “You’re right,” you say softly before laughing in disbelief and repeating louder, “you’re right. They are shitty friends. I can’t believe I didn’t know.” Turning to look at him, you smile, “Thank you.”

He seems baffled at your sudden realization, unsure if you’re being serious, but he still smiles back. “Y’know,” he offers, “Since you’re now friendless, you’re gonna need new friends.” Your eyes widen in alarm. How could you forget? Seeing your panic, he quickly adds, “Maybe I could be your friend?”

Insecurities bubble in your chest, and you question, “But what if you don’t like me? Like, when you get to know me?” Right as you voice your concerns, he pulls up to your house. Parking in front of your home, he unbuckles his seatbelt and turns in his seat.

“Why don’t we get to know each other right now? I have nowhere else to be.” Almost six months later, you’d found out that he had somewhere else to be: the party. He was planning on making bank from the drunk graduates who wanted to party hard. The funds he could’ve gotten probably would’ve paid for two or three months’ rent.

You agreed to chat, excited he wanted to talk to you. Both of you had stayed up for hours talking about anything and everything. You’d only left because you got so tired your eyelids wouldn’t stay open. For the next few months, you saw Eddie around a lot. You also met your new best friends, Steve and Robin, during that time. Working at Scoops-Ahoy was a fun, positive experience. It was even more exciting when Eddie would visit you, though Steve and Robin teased you endlessly for it. At least, it was fun until the “mall fire,” when you experienced the horrors of the Upside Down for the first time.

When news spread about the disaster, Eddie spent hours searching for you. When you’d finally been reunited, he’d confessed that the experience made him realize he couldn’t deal with the idea of losing you. At first, you were confused and thought he was trying to break off your friendship, but he realized you didn’t understand and told you point-blank he wanted to be your boyfriend. You were ecstatic and rushed to let your friends know about your new relationship. They had been excited for you, though Robin and Steve told Eddie privately that if he hurt you, he’d be in deep shit.

Your first date had been perfect. He took you to a park for a picnic. His cooking skills were… subpar, but it’s the thought that counts, and he had obviously tried very hard to please you. And, if that wasn’t enough, he gave you a polaroid camera. He said it was because he wanted to capture every beautiful moment with you. Your teasing about his cheesiness was to cover the way your heart swooned at how sweet he was.

Smiling at the memory, you search through your things to get the camera. Finding it in your dresser drawer, you grab a bunch of extra film and some colourful markers to shove in your backpack. Even though you’ve successfully packed a few items, there’s still the wardrobe dilemma left. With a groan, you return to your jeans and begin the internal debate again.

It takes a few hours of sorting and a break to eat dinner, but you’ve finally chosen all the clothes you want to bring. Now, all that’s left is your swimsuits. You grab a one-piece to be conservative, though it’s not your style. Going back in, you pull out a few mismatched high-waisted bottoms and bikini tops. Putting those away, you move to shut your drawer but hesitate.

Last summer, you were heading to work when you saw the cutest bikini set in the window of a store. It had a strawberry print and frilly detailing with ties on the top and bottom to adjust the size. That swimsuit haunted your thoughts your entire shift, so when you headed home for the day, you bought it. You were at the peak of your negative self-image then, so you never wore the bikini out. It was pretty, but it drew attention to insecurities you hadn’t felt comfortable showing in public.

You’re still not sure if you have the confidence to wear it, but your promise to Eddie makes you bring it anyway. If this is supposed to be your year, you want to wear your favourite bikini. And, if you have doubts, you can probably ask Robin what she thinks? She wouldn’t lie to you.

Content with everything in your luggage, you head to bed and mentally prepare to be stuck in a car with Dustin for hours. You love him like a little brother, but he does not do well when he can’t move around.

You slept in a little that morning, getting up at ten. Sitting in a car is oddly tiring, so you’ll definitely need that extra rest. Gathering up your luggage, you move it to your door. Everyone agreed to meet at your house, so you can chill in the kitchen until noon. You know they’re not going to arrive when they said they would.

Though you love him, Eddie is a hot mess who arrives at least fifteen minutes late to every event. He calls it “fashionably late,” and you agree, but for different reasons: he can’t decide what accessories to wear, so he’s never on time. Steve always wakes up late but still insists on doing his perfect hairstyle. Robin is just a disaster who can’t stick to a schedule to save her life. You adore your friends, but you also tell them to come an hour before you expect them to arrive. That way, they’re on time even if they’re running behind (and all of them always are). It doesn’t help that they’re picking up people today, which adds even more time to their arrivals.

It’s 12:26 when you hear Eddie’s favourite band faintly through your walls. Walking to the door to greet him, you lean against the pillar on your porch to watch his van pull up. You can hear Eddie bickering with Lucas and Max from your spot fifteen feet away. The second the van stops, Mike jumps out and walks towards you. “Hey,” you greet, “Fighting already?”

He rolls his eyes and replies ‘yea’ in an annoyed tone but doesn’t elaborate on the issue further. He makes a beeline for your kitchen, leaving you outside alone. Eddie is the next to go, and you watch him slam the car door aggressively before lighting up when he notices you on the porch. He throws his arms up into the air and exclaims, “My angel!” as he comes closer. He moves his outstretched hands to cup your face and whispers, “How did I get so lucky?”

You giggle, flustered, and mumble, “I think I’m the lucky one.”

He shakes his head and responds, “Wrong!” Before you can refute him, he leans in to kiss you. You reciprocate the kiss and wrap your arms around his waist to draw him closer. Both of you are too preoccupied to notice the other two kids, Lucas and Max, getting out of the van too.

Max passes you both without a word, but Lucas wrinkles his nose and makes it a point to comment, “Gross. Get a room,” as he goes into your home.

Eddie pulls away and yells after Lucas, “Be careful what you wish for. She lives here y’know!” Lucas groans, and you can hear him complaining to Mike and Max in your kitchen. You’ve never had sex before, mainly because you wanted to feel more confident in your body before doing something so intimate, but regardless, the threat is meaningless. Though, Lucas doesn’t know that. You laugh at your boyfriend, and he looks at you with his pretty doe eyes, currently filled with mischief, “What?”

Amused, you just shake your head and slip out of his grasp. Walking inside, you remember your luggage and turn around. Moving it all to the doorway, you clasp your hands and give him a little pout, “Will you help me?”

He laughs at your antics and starts grabbing your bags, “You didn’t have to pout to get my help, baby.”

Kissing his cheek, you thank him with a grin. While he’s stuffing your things in the back of his van, Steve pulls up. Robin rolls down the side window when you walk up. You greet them and get a chorus of hellos in return. Leaning your forearms on the car door, you tell Dustin the others are inside, so he runs off to talk to his friends. “Hi, Nance! I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Moving her head so she can see you, she smiles and replies, “Yea, it has been a while.” In high school, you ran in parallel social circles. Occasionally, you’d talk, but it wasn’t typical. After everything that happened with the Upside Down, you got closer. Last night, she’d slept over at Robin’s place, where you would’ve been too if you hadn’t procrastinated on packing.

Robin points out, “You’ll be stuck in a car together for a few hours. There’s plenty of time to catch up.”

Dramatically, you sigh and pout, “I wish you could be with us too, Rob.” Reaching into the car, you rest your hand on her shoulder and give Steve puppy eyes.

He cuts in, unamused, “No. I am not gonna be stuck babysitting again.” He points his finger at you, “If you wanna talk to Robin, you’ll have to sit in my car.”

Though you knew he was gonna say that, you still sigh and pat Robin’s shoulder, “Sorry, best friend.” Moving out of their way, they all get out of Steve’s car and disperse. You watch them go inside as Eddie comes up next to you. Grabbing his hand, you tug him towards your house, “C’mon, we gotta call Ms. Byers.”

When planning your trip, you agreed to call Joyce before you left. She wanted to make sure she’d have space ready for all of you to sleep. You’d tried to tell her you’d get rooms at a motel or hotel, but she’d insisted on letting you stay. She’d said it would be too expensive, and, honestly? She was right.

Everyone is in the kitchen area hanging out and chatting, so you go straight to the phone and call your friends in California. Jonathan picks up the line and slurs, “Uh, hello?” It’s obvious he had been asleep moments before. You tell him it’s you, and he responds, “Are you guys heading out now?”

You’re about to reply when Dustin comes up and asks to say something. You tell him it’s not Will on the phone, but all the teens have crowded around, expecting to speak to him. Relinquishing control, you let them do whatever it is they do. You learned early on that it’s best to just get out of the way.

Checking in with the rest of the group, you offer snacks and water if they forgot to pack anything. Everyone seems to be content with their things, though, so you just get water for yourself and Eddie. You know he’ll forget them if you put them on the counter, so you hand him both bottles. He radiates warmth that draws you in, you can’t resist leaning against his side. Glancing up, you see him softly smiling down at you, so you return it in kind.

Mike hangs up the receiver loudly, getting everyone’s attention. “They know we’re coming,” he announces, “We should leave now.” Desperation bleeds through his voice, obviously eager to get to El. You agree and usher everyone out of your kitchen. Heading out to the cars, the group splits into two. Going with Eddie is you, Dustin, and Nancy. Following Steve is Robin, Mike, Lucas, and Max. Ironically, Steve is taking more people even though he has the smaller car, but it had taken a long fight to get to these positions in the first place.

There had been quite a few rules put in place that limited the placements of people:

1. You’re riding with Eddie (that was non-negotiable)

2. Nancy didn��t want to be in the same car as Mike

3. Dustin insisted he be put with you and Eddie

4. Steve threatened not to come if he was put in a car with only younger teens

5. Lucas and Max requested to sit next to each other

The battle had been brutal, taking over two hours. Luckily, you’d been able to make seating arrangements that pleased everyone. People disperse to their respective rides as you slide into Eddie’s passenger seat, putting your backpack between your feet on the floor. The second he turns on the van, you lower the volume. Dustin leans forward with his walkie in hand, “We’re Eagle One. Steve’s car is Eagle Two.”

“When did we decide that?” you ask, confused.

He responds, “In the kitchen,” before turning on the walkie to talk to the other car, “Eagle Two, this is Eagle One, come in.”

Mike’s filtered voice comes through, sounding agitated, “No way. We’re Eagle One, you’re Eagle Two.”

Recognizing the beginning of a fight, you snatch the walkie out of his hand to break it up, “Dustin used Eagle One first, we call dibs.” You turn down the volume and toss it back to Dustin, who leans back in his seat and listens to what Lucas and Mike are saying.

Eddie glances over and chuckles, “Didn’t expect you to side with Henderson, babe.”

You stick your tongue out at him and jokingly say, “I have to throw him a bone sometimes, Eds.” Dustin exclaims indignantly in the background, but you ignore him. Nancy finally makes her way to the van, so you ask, “Everybody here? Are we ready to go?”

Eddie does a head count, though you only have four people, while Dustin calls over to the other car to check they have all their passengers. Confident you won’t leave anyone behind, Eddie pulls out, and Steve follows. Earlier in the week, your friends gathered any relevant maps they had for the trip. You volunteered to be the navigator, so they were all given to you. The route is pretty simple, though. The hardest part of your trip will be finding places to sleep.

The Hawkins scenery passes by for the first fifteen minutes until you merge onto I-80 West. From there, just follow the highway until you arrive in California. The drive should take about 35 hours, split into three to four days, depending on how much driving is done each day.

Watching grass and trees out your window gets old quickly, so you catch up with Nancy. She rests her elbows on the center console while you’re turned in your seat so you can talk closer together. After a while, you’re both gossiping instead, giggling at stupid rumours about Steve. Eddie seems to enjoy them and says he’ll remember to tease Steve about them later.

Both cars need gas, so you take a pit stop. Hopping out, you walk in circles to stretch your legs. Robin joins you and complains about Steve’s music choices. Teasing her, you laugh, “You’re in the loser car. What did you expect?” She glares and jokingly pushes you out of the way to walk inside the store.

Trailing behind Robin, you beg her to buy you an Icee. To your surprise, she does. You thank her endlessly, excited to drink it. Taking it back to the van, you show the slushie off and tell Eddie that Robin bought it for you. He jokes, “Is Robin your sugar mommy now?”

You stick your Icee-stained tongue out at him, and he takes a picture. You’re thrown off for a moment. You didn’t know he took the polaroid camera out of your bag. Huffing, you set down your Icee and try to steal the photo from his hands. He has much longer arms than you, so it doesn’t work out. Sitting back, you whine, “Why do you even want it, Eddie? I brought my camera to take exciting pictures.”

He laughs at your desperation to get the polaroid back and hits your forehead with it, “Every moment with you is exciting, sweetheart.”

The moment is ruined abruptly. “Why are you two being so lovey-dovey?” Mike questions as he settles in where Nancy had been sitting.

You counter, “Why are you being so dumb?” as you snatch the polaroid from Eddie’s hands. The developed picture turned out surprisingly well, so you decide to keep it.

“You’re not the Wheeler I expected,” Eddie comments dryly, also annoyed at the ruined atmosphere. Mike explains that Nancy asked to switch until the next pit stop; you all leave it at that. The last one to arrive, Dustin hops in with a bag of chips, and you’re on the road again.

Instead of listening to Eddie’s mixtapes, you turn on the radio this time. Flipping through channels, you settle on a random choice. There isn’t much of a selection out in rural Indiana. It gets warm in the car, but the breeze feels fantastic when you lower the windows. You all sit in silence as the smell of dry grass and humidity fills your lungs. The wind is so loud it drowns out the radio, but you don’t mind.

A new song starts, and from what you can hear, it sounds familiar. Turning it up, you realize it’s Mamma Mia, and you crank the volume higher. Laughing in delight, you sing along loudly to the lyrics. To your surprise, Eddie sings too. Dustin says something, but you can’t hear it, and you're definitely not gonna stop singing just to hear his most-likely cynical remark.

He gives up trying to convey what he was saying, instead turning up the volume on the walkie. To your surprise, you can hear Robin and Nancy singing along with you from the other car. The song is over, but everyone’s energy is still high. Rolling up your window, you listen to the group singing along with the radio, occasionally joining in when you recognize a song.

The time passes quickly with the new distraction, and soon enough, you’re at the second pit stop. Steve needed to go to the bathroom, so you found the nearest rest stop. Even though it’s going to be quick, you ask Eddie to photograph you underneath a huge tree. He gets one polaroid before Nancy notices and asks if you want her to take a photo of you both. Posing together, she snaps a picture of you and hands back the camera.

When Steve comes out of the restroom, you get an idea and have Eddie ask a stranger to take a photo of your entire group together. Corralling everyone together is a difficult task, only matched by trying to get them to pose for the camera. The end result is worth it, though, the picture is cute, and everyone looks great.

When you return to the cars, Dustin and Mike switch out for Robin and Nancy. Dustin makes it a point for you to be cautious with his walkie as he passes it, claiming, “with great power comes great responsibility.” You promise him you’ll keep it safe as you take it.

Steve is pissed that he’s “stuck babysitting” even though he threatened to ditch if that happened, but Eddie reminds him he’s too far to go back. Aggravated, Steve hisses at the teens to get in the car as he grumbles under his breath. Part of you feels bad, but another part is happy to finally hang out with Robin.

The ensuing conversation is chaotic. Most of your time is spent arguing about stupid things that don’t matter, but you’re grateful because they fill the time. Robin tried to walkie Steve once, wanting to include him in the conversation, but he was still mad, so he ghosted her.

It’s around 9:30 when you stop at a motel for the night. Anyone who has an income helps to pay for the two rooms. Sorting out luggage, Eddie takes both of yours to the room. You two get a bed, Nancy and Robin get the second, and Steve gets the couch. There’s a line for the shower, so you check up on the younger teens. They’re just watching some stupid horror movie, sprawled out randomly on the two beds. Deciding they’re fine, you tease them, “Don’t get nightmares,” before returning to your room.

The water is freezing, so you shower and brush your teeth quickly. You dress in your typical pajamas, one of Eddie’s t-shirts and a pair of shorts. Your movements are sluggish, the tiredness hitting you suddenly. Reaching your bed, you flop down onto the mattress. Eddie’s the last to shower, so you warn him the water’s cold as he walks away. The alarm clock next to the bed glares 10:13 in bright red lettering.

Huffing, you sit up and crawl under the sheets to try and get comfortable. Steve and Robin are already knocked out, but Nancy is still awake. She has the lamp on as she reads a book, but you’re glad for the light. After everything in Hawkins, you have to admit you’re afraid of the dark.

Eddie finishes his shower fast, dumping his towel in a random spot on the floor. You struggle to keep your eyes open as he lies down on his back next to you. Wiggling around, you find a comfortable position resting your face in the crook of his neck. He smells like the cheap bar soap the motel provides, but you still detect a hint of his usual scent underneath. He kisses the side of your head and mumbles, “Good night, sleepyhead,” into your hair. You fumble some words out that vaguely sound like ‘g’night.’

The following two days go relatively the same. The seating arrangements shuffle around slightly, you drive for about three hours, stop at a rest stop, sight-seeing spot, or gas station, take a few pictures, then repeat. When you get bored, you label and decorate your polaroids. You bought a photo album a few weeks ago to hold all the polaroids from the trip.

On the fourth day, you finally make it to the Byers house. It’s almost three am, so everyone just sleeps and agrees to talk tomorrow. You’re the first to wake up, apart from Joyce. The smell of pancakes leads you to the kitchen, where she’s making breakfast. “Good morning,” you say, rubbing your eyes.

She jumps, not realizing you were there, “Oh! Good morning.” Embarrassed, you apologize before asking if there’s anything you can help with. Food is scattered around the counters, and she appears to be having trouble making a meal for so many people. She motions to a cupboard full of pots and pans, “Can you cook some bacon, please? Thank you so much.”

Together, you make bacon, fried eggs, scrambled eggs, pancakes, Eggo waffles (for El), toast, and apple slices. While cooking, the topic of conversation is grim. You’re both recounting your experiences with the Upside Down and all the other terrible shit that happens in Hawkins. You’re grateful for her insight. She has a lot more experience with murderous monsters than you.

The more people that come in, the more chaotic the kitchen becomes. People snatch items from plates and fight to get food first. You’re surprised, but Joyce looks resigned, like she expected it. When El comes down, you give her the dish of Eggos made specifically for her, and she smiles at you. Observing the scramble for food, you decide to wait until everyone’s done before getting some yourself.

“So, what are you guys planning to do today?” Joyce asks, eating some toast. She has to work since it’s Friday, but tomorrow she’ll be able to hang out with you guys too.

“We’re gonna go to the beach for a few hours,” Jonathan informs her.

Lucas admits he’s never been to the beach before, and Max says, “It’s nothing special. Just sand, water, and trash.” That statement sparks an argument about beaches that you’re desperate to get away from. Pulling Robin out of her chair, you bring her to the spare bedroom where everyone’s luggage is. You pull out the bikini, change into it, and ask her if it’s too much.

She laughs in shock and says, “Too much? It’s perfect. Eddie will love it.” Then, she mischievously nudges your side and adds, “It’s sexy. He’ll love it. If you know what I mean.” She raises her eyebrows to emphasize her point and you push her out the door. Her words still give you confidence, so you put a sundress over your bikini and leave the room.

Once everyone gets dressed, you all head to the beach. For convenience, you park next to each other and open the trunks. Grabbing canopies, towels, bags, and coolers, each person brings something down to the sand. You help Steve set up an umbrella so Robin and Eddie can sit with you.

The sun is burning hot on your back so you peel off the sundress and leave it in your bag. Though you don’t notice, Eddie’s eyes are glued to you. His breath hitches at the view of your ass when you bend down. He’s never seen you wear such a revealing bikini before. The simple sight of your exposed skin makes his heart pound.

Jonathan has a cooler of drinks and popsicles that he’s offering to the kids. You ask for a coconut popsicle, and Lucas tosses one to you. Right after you start to eat it, you realize you left your sunscreen in the van. Letting Robin and Steve know where you’re going, you head towards the parking lot.

Eddie showed you a trick to open his van’s door without the key. There’s a dent in the door that will release the lock if hit hard enough. You’re about to attempt it when two hands rest on your hips. Scared, you jump and whip around, only to find Eddie behind you. He laughs as you angrily glare at him. “Sorry baby,” he says softly, kissing your cheek. His hair tickles your nose and you giggle, accepting his apology.

He holds up his keys and opens the door for you. Or at least, that’s what you assumed he was doing. Instead, he reaches inside, himself, and grabs the camera. You know he’s going to ask for a photo, so you whine, “I need my sunscreen, Eddie!” Still, he smoothly talks his way into just one picture.

Resigned, you pose for the camera, holding your popsicle out in front of you. There’s drops of melted ice cream gathering at the bottom, near your hands, but you wait until the camera clicks to do anything about it. Cupping your tongue, you gather the liquid then lick a long stripe up the entire length of the popsicle.

Eddie groans, “Jesus fucking christ,” before placing his free hand on your chest and pushing until your back hits the van. He crowds your space, hand remaining firm on you. His eyes are hooded as he looks into your wide, confused gaze. You hold your popsicle in front of his face and remind him, “it’s gonna melt.”

He pushes the popsicle away using the hand holding your camera. With the other hand, he can feel your heart racing underneath his palm. Your breath comes out in shaky pants as he slowly inches his hand upwards to rest on your neck. Leaning forward, he whispers in your ear, “God, you have no fuckin’ idea, do you?” An involuntary whine slips out, but it’s quickly silenced by a light squeeze to your neck.

“So innocent you can’t even see that I want you, huh? My sweet angel, so good you can’t recognize you’re being bad.” The way he speaks about you is reverant, like he worships the ground under feet. His big brown eyes shine with love and lust. You stare into them until your lips meet, then your eyelids flutter shut.

The kiss is intense, like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. He takes the lead and you let him, unsure of what to do. The tip of his tongue runs against the seam of your lips and you gasp, unintentionally letting him in. He explores until you have to part to breathe. A string of saliva connects your lips as you both gasp for air. He grabs your free hand and tugs you into the back of the van.

Shutting the door and setting the camera to the side, he grips your hips and pulls you onto his lap, your back fit snugly to his front. You feel his lips kissing the crook of your neck. “Do you want to continue?” The words are spoken into your skin. You nod, but he doesn’t move, “No, use your words. I need to hear it.”

“Yes, I wanna continue,” you speak quickly, adding, “please.” You can feel his smile on your skin, apparently pleased with your words. He presses wet open-mouthed kisses down your neck, starting behind your ear. Sliding his hands up from your hips, he slips them underneath the sides of your bikini cups. He massages your flesh before pinching your nipples. The sudden action makes you jolt. He chuckles at your surprise and moves his hands lower.

Fiddling around with the strings on your bottoms, a harsh tug pulls the ties undone. The light taps on your thigh signal you to lift your hips, and he throws the piece to the side. His right hand splays across your stomach and slowly heads downward. Leading with his middle finger, he continues until his entire hand cups you. His finger swirls around your hole, gathering the wetness there. The movement makes his palm lightly brush against your clit, but any stimulation is enough to send you reeling.

You’ve completely forgotten about your popsicle until he reminds you, “Don’t want it to melt, do you?” Stopping all movement, he waits for you to act. Shakily, you bring it to your lips and take a lick. Pleased, he slides his middle finger inside you with one fluid stroke. Forgetting all about your popsicle again, you let out a loud whine and focus on the feeling of his finger against your walls. He thrusts a few times, before deciding you can handle a second.

He runs the pads of his fingers up and down trying to find the spongy spot that’s guaranteed to make your toes curl. You gasp when his fingers brush against it, so he massages that area, purposefully rubbing the heel of his palm into your clit. You try to breathe, but you can’t. It feels like all the air has left your body, like your lungs have decided to stop working.

The popsicle stick is sliding out of your hand and you don’t even notice it, but Eddie does. Snatching it up with his left hand, he coos, “Do you need help, baby?” Unsure of what he’s gonna do, you nod cautiously. Bringing the popsicle to your lips, he tells you to open up. You obey, and he slowly presses it in until you can feel the freezing tip against the back of your throat. Pulling the popsicle stick back, you whimper at the loss. Confident you can handle it, he pushes it in and out matching the tempo of his hand.

The cold constantly grabs your attention as he thrusts it in all the way, every time. Now in the wet heat of your mouth, the popsicle is melting at an alarming rate. You’re trying to swallow it all, but there’s so much it drips down your chin and spills onto your chest. “So messy,” he teases, but you barely hear him, the pleasure from both ends is entirely too distracting. Attempting to ground yourself, you grip onto his right arm with both hands.

You’re getting close when he pauses to pull the popsicle out of your mouth. There’s only a little left on each side of the stick, so he eats it and throws the wood away. He praises you for being so obedient, “Good girl, you did so well for me.” You clench hard at his words and he mentally notes your response before moving his fingers again. You don’t know how he knows, but he asks, “Does my angel need to cum?”

Nodding, you squeeze your eyes shut, hard. Shaking his head, he continues, “You can, if you ask nicely.”

“Eddie!” you whine when he pushes particularly hard with his palm, “Can I please cum?” He hums in thought, pretending to consider your request. Meanwhile, his fingers are moving even faster than before, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Your grip is like iron, now, fingernails digging into his skin.

He concedes, “Well, how can I say no when you ask so nicely? Go ahead.” You see stars behind your closed eyes, leaning your head back onto his shoulder. He presses soothing kisses to your neck and continues his hand motions until you try and squirm away, overstimulated.

You accidentally push back hard against his bulge and you both groan. Helping you off his lap, he gently lays you on your back. Brushing sweat-slicked hair off your forehead, he takes in all the mess on your chest. He licks all the white residue from the popsicle off of you, and you hope silently that he can’t hear your heart pounding hard under his tongue.

“Do you still wanna continue?” he inquires, chin resting on your sternum. You say yes, so he rucks up the top of your bikini. Mischievously, he sucks small marks on the sides of your breasts where the bikini will cover. He notices you watching with impatient eyes and shimmies out of his boxers, sitting on his knees. Lifting up your hips, he rests them over his thighs and gently runs his hands up and down your bare skin.

For a second he appears to be thinking, before he leans over and reaches under one of the seats. You watch, perplexed as he blindly searches, before pulling out a condom. In disbelief, you ask, “Really?”

He shrugs, “You never know when you’re gonna get laid in the back of a van.” You gawk at him, but say nothing more. Watching him put it on is mesmerizing, his hands are so nimble and big. You’re still fascinated as he grips the base of his dick and runs the tip through your folds. “I’m not gonna lie, it might hurt,” he admits, “I’ll go slow, okay?”

You just nod, the anticipation makes you feel afraid to say anything, in fear he’ll turn around and realize this isn’t what he wants. He pushes in entirely in one long movement, kissing your neck because he knows it will help distract you. The stretch burns, you scrunch your eyes at the feeling. Focusing on the crook of your neck, he bites down and sucks to make a mark.

You moan out and clench hard around him. Knowing he’s marking you is so indescribably hot that you can’t control yourself. The rational part of your brain takes over for a few seconds, and you complain, “you’re gonna leave a mark, everyone’s gonna see.”

Eddie laughs, “Well, it feels like you enjoyed it, sweetheart.” Effortlessly, he calls you out on your lie. Flustered, you stutter some lame excuse, but he continues to laugh at you.

Deciding to test the waters, he pulls out partially and pushes back in slowly. When you respond positively, he begins to speed up. The pleasure builds up and you cry out, digging into his shoulders with your nails. “Be a good girl and be quiet for me. Someone might hear you, angel,” he commands, reminding you that you’re in a beach parking lot.

“‘M sorry, I’ll try, promise,” you whimper, wanting to please him. All your energy is dedicated to keeping quiet, but it doesn’t work. With each thrust, you get louder and louder. It’s almost embarrassing how fast your second orgasm builds up, but he just feels so good.

His knuckles brush against your cheek as he coos, “Do you need more help?” You make a noise of agreement, so he slides two fingers into your mouth. They taste slightly like you. Moaning around them, you suck, which makes him groan. He rolls his hips harder, knowing you won’t be able to make noise. Every single time he hits the right spot to make you see stars. Dropping his other hand down, he rubs your clit in tight circles, increasing your bliss. It’s too hard to keep your eyes open now, so you allow them to flutter shut. The loss of sight only adds to the pleasure and you can feel your second orgasm rapidly approaching.

Eddie can feel the way your walls flutter around him. He demands your attention by pushing roughly on your tongue. Your eyes shoot open, and you look at him, vision blurred by tears. “Are you close?” he asks, his tone indicating that he’s expecting something from you. Knowing what he wants, you beg for your release around his fingers. Grinning widely, he commands, “Cum around my cock, I know you can do it. Be a good girl, cum for me.” He says more, but you can’t hear it, all senses consumed by your release. Your orgasm triggers his, and he finishes inside the condom.

Pulling out, he takes off the condom and ties the end, throwing it in the direction of the popsicle stick. You’d chastise him for being so gross if your mind wasn’t so hazy. In a daze, you watch him pick up the camera and take a photo. He takes the nearest marker, a neon pink one, and writes in shaky letters “my angel,” adding a heart to the right.

Finished, he pours some water from a bottle onto his beach towel and wipes the mess off your legs. You flinch when he presses too hard on a sensitive spot. He apologizes, cleaning you with a gentler touch. Eddie pulls your top to its proper place before finding your bikini bottoms and tying them for you. He slips on his swim trunks and nudges your leg, “C’mon, you need to rinse off.” You try to stay on the floor, but he forces you up and takes you to the beach showers outside.

With shaky legs, you struggle to stand so you opt to lean on Eddie, who wraps his arm around your waist. He turns on the water and helps wash the sticky coconut residue off your face and torso. His touch is soothing, and you lean into his hand, closing your eyes. You realize that you’re going to have to go back to the beach, so you mutter, “I don’t think I can walk.”

Turning off the water, he offers a piggyback ride. You perk up, “Really?”

He chuckles at your enthusiasm, “Yes, really.” Kneeling down, he lets you climb onto his back. Before going back to the beach, he stops by the car and hands you his leather jacket, “For the mark,” he says, tapping his neck to show you where your hickey is. You slip it on and wrap your hands around his neck, squeezing tighter and begging him not to drop you when he begins to run. “Special delivery!” he exclaims, setting you down between Steve and Robin.

You instantly drop back, “I’ve never been so glad to be on solid ground.” Dustin calls Eddie away, leaving just the three of you.

Steve has a stupid smirk on his face, which makes you squint at him. After a tense second, he asks, “Yea? You’re not glad about other things?” Realizing he’s pointing to the hickey, you pull the jacket higher on your neck, embarrassed.

Steve laughs, but Robin defends you, “Leave her alone, you knew they were gonna go make out.” She turns to you, “Next time you two are gonna run off somewhere, think of better excuses. Sunscreen and the bathroom are too generic.” You completely forgot about your sunscreen! You groan and drop your head back, covering your face with your hands. At least they think you were only making out.

Continuing the conversation, Steve starts bragging about the craziest places he’s made out. You tune out the conversation in favour of watching Eddie. He looks so genuinely happy here, with his friends, having fun. He catches your eyes and smiles wide. You grin back, content to watch him living happy and healthy.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie smut #eddie munson smut #eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #fluff #humour #humor #smut #my writing

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here2bbtstrash · 2 years

Text

the spins (explicit)

genre: smutttyyyyyy as hell (with like one angsty conversation about isolation as a trauma response, but said in much vaguer terms lol)

pairing: jungkook x reader

summary: you discover a new side to your former lab partner, frat wonder boy jeon jungkook, when you confess to him the one thing no man has ever been able to make you do.

word count: 10.3k

contains: explicit sexual content AKA porn!!!!! alcohol, minor frat house shenanigans, reader is a total bitch but in a highkey relatable way, jungkook is The Only Good Frat Boy, mentions of shitty hookups/sexual dissatisfaction/faked orgasms, an **absurdly** lengthy and gratuitous cunnilingus scene, a lil bit of teasing/begging, spitting, LOUD sex, reader’s first partnered orgasms, also JK has a tongue piercing 👀

A/N: so writing this nearly killed me,,, lmao. i have two inspiration sources that i must credit- one is jai’s @gimmethatagustd INCREDIBLE fic paint me naked, which gave me the final shove i needed to topple over into JK hard stan land (listen he’s 3 years younger than me, i had a complex about it, it’s fine). seriously go give it a read and give her some love, i fully credit her with moving college!JK into my brain where he now lives rent-free.

the other source of inspiration is this insaaaaane imagine audio (WARNING, extremely NSFW and will literally ruin your life!!!!!) that hooked me on the idea that JK would be competitive about eating pussy and….. yep, smack those two things together and ta-da, this porn was born. godspeed and thanks as always for reading 💜

this is now (finally) on AO3!

~*~

You really don’t know why you came to this party. It’s so crowded, bodies pressed together, people screaming to be heard over the noise, or just because they’re white girl wasted. The music is terrible, the floor weirdly sticky, the container of jungle juice in the kitchen extremely suspicious. You opted for tequila instead, the last of which you now drain from the bottom of your red solo cup. The whole place smells like cheap beer, vape smoke, and frat boy cologne.

Yet another Jack Harlow song comes on over the bass-boosted speakers and you roll your eyes. That’s it. Time to go home and actually finish the psych paper you’re putting off.

You shove your way into the kitchen, trying to be the only upstanding citizen in this godforsaken frat house and actually put your trash in a trash can. You spot one in the corner– nearly overflowing, but still good enough, except that a whole circle of Brads and Chads block your path. You do your best to squeeze past them, but because they don’t do anything except live at the gym and snort protein powder, they might as well be a brick wall.

“Excuse me,” you try. Nothing.

“I need to get through,” you say with a gentle push. It’s like talking to a brick wall, too.

“Alright, fuck it.” You roll your eyes and decide to just fucking go for it. You’ve had enough liquor that you won’t feel the pain until tomorrow anyway.

The circle breaks apart in confusion, not a brain cell in sight, as you slam your way through. They part so quickly that your plan works too well, and the excess momentum shoots you forward. You stumble, losing your footing, already cringing because you’re about to faceplant on the nasty floor of this nasty frat house kitchen.

“Hey, whoa!” A voice way too close to your ear for comfort shouts, but then an arm snakes around your waist and saves you from your doom, gripping you tightly. “Careful!”

You glance up, wondering if this guy is going to try to turn the moment into some attempt at flirtation, the world’s worst meet cute, but then you see big round eyes staring back at you with legitimate concern. Oh, fuck. You know those Disney princess eyes. Your stomach drops.

“Whaaaaaaaat!” Holding you in one arm, an unopened 18-rack of beer hoisted up on his shoulder with the other, grinning like a kid in a candy store, is none other than frat wonder boy Jeon Jungkook.

Ah, shit. You knew he was in a frat, of course. He doesn’t shut up about it. But you didn’t know it was this one– well, actually, you don’t even know which frat house you’re in right now. Alpha Beta Omega? They’re all the same to you. You don’t really understand why they have factions anyway instead of all just living together, but that would probably be too gay.

“I didn’t know you partied!” Jungkook is still smiling a smile that takes up his whole face, clearly unable to believe that you’re standing here in his disgusting frat house kitchen in your leather jacket and your combat boots.

You huff a laugh as he slowly unloops his arm from around you, assessing to see if you’re stable enough to stay upright. You shoot him a look as if to say I’m fine, dumbass. Uncoordinated, not intoxicated. There’s a difference.

“I do not party,” you correct him. “Never once in my life have I partied. I merely come to the parties, stand on the edges and observe, get my free alcohol, and then depart. Like I’m doing right now.” You aim your solo cup at the trash can and miss by about a foot.

“You– hang on,” he pauses, turning back to offload the fresh case of beer onto the kitchen counter. There’s a clamor of excitement from the Brads and Chads as they crowd around to slap him on the back, shouting things like “okay, JK!” and “let’s fucking gooooo!”

You have to get out of here, you think to yourself, and then you watch Jungkook bring his tattooed hand up to rip the cardboard front of the case off effortlessly, and that is lowkey kind of hot.

Quiet, you tell your tequila brain. No lusting after frat boys. Not even the one you sat next to for an entire semester in bio lab, the one who was actually way smarter than anticipated and didn’t just use you for an easy A, who genuinely seemed like he cared about the way you answered “How was your weekend?” every time he asked, and who didn’t even say one problematic thing the whole semester.

Just because he’s the exemplary form of his species doesn’t make him not what he is, you remind yourself. Even the best frat boy is still a frat boy.

Jungkook returns as the rest of the bros swarm the counter and proceed to decimate the case of beer. That must have been the reason they were waiting here, at their proverbial watering hole, because they circle up and dissolve back into the party, several of them clapping Jungkook on the back again in thanks as they leave.

You realize he doesn’t have to yell to be heard anymore as he says, “You’re leaving already?”

“Yes, Jungkook,” you sigh. “I have a paper to write.”

He scrunches up his face, knowing he can’t argue with academic excellence. “It’s still early. What if you just have one more drink, and then go? I haven’t even gotten to enjoy the party yet. The pledges severely underestimated how much alcohol it takes to run this place.”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, I’m so terribly sorry that your child servants who literally give you money in exchange for friendship got something wrong.”

The words feel biting as they leave your mouth, and you honestly expect him to protest, but he only shrugs. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re right. The whole thing is stupid.” For a moment you wonder how on earth he’s immune, what it is about him that allows him to live in the cradle of toxic masculinity and still be so regular, so good.

“Will you stay?” He asks again. You try to purse your lips to hide your smile, but it doesn’t work, and then he’s smiling too.

“Fine.”

The kid literally fist pumps, and your laugh bubbles up before you can stop it. He gestures broadly to the kitchen counters which are a veritable nightmare of liquor bottles and beer cans. “What’ll it be? Don’t say the jungle juice,” he warns with a laugh.

You look at him like he’s gone entirely insane. “I would never say the jungle juice. Tequila, please.”

Jungkook moves fluidly, as if he’s imitating those ridiculous Las Vegas bartenders who do tricks while they pour your obscenely overpriced drink. He shakes a solo cup off the stack and throws it up, spinning on his heels and catching it in his other hand, and you’re laughing again because he’s such a fucking dork.

He crosses to open the freezer and scoops up some ice in your cup, then pours a healthy amount of tequila in. “And mixer?” He looks back at you over his shoulder.

You pause. “Uh, just ice is good.”

He puts the bottle down and turns to squint at you in disbelief. “You drink straight tequila and you’re telling me you don’t party?”

You falter, a little flustered. “I don’t know. It’s not like I’m drinking it for the taste, you know?”

“Can I show you what you’re missing out on?” He asks, and you don’t know why the question makes you swallow hard. “Seriously.” He picks the bottle of tequila back up, eyeing the brand with distaste. “This stuff is… not great.”

Your instinct is to joke about him slipping something in your drink, but you bite the words back– because first of all, not funny. But you also genuinely don’t think he would ever do something like that, and you don’t want to give off the impression that you do.

“Alright,” you say instead, lifting your hands in surrender.

He opens the fridge door and crouches down, digging around through what you can only imagine is a Costco-sized amount of egg cartons and packages of chicken breasts. Finding what he’s looking for, he pulls away with a carton that’s been Sharpie’d to death, “JK ONLY DO NOT DRINK” on all sides. It’s really every bro for himself out here, you think.

“Grapefruit okay?” Jungkook double-checks, and you give a shrug and a nod. He pours a little, inspects the cup, then adds a splash more. “It’s not too sweet.”

He passes the cup off to you and returns his juice to the fridge, shuts the door, then seems to realize he forgot to make himself a drink and repeats the entire process again, spinning in a full circle which has you hiding your giggle in the rim of your cup. Once he’s made himself a matching drink to yours, he leans against the counter and takes a sip, surveying you.

You mirror him– the drink is admittedly a lot better than straight bottom-shelf, and you like how the sour taste lingers on the back of your tongue.

“Thank you,” you remember to say after a few sips, and he waves it off as if to say it’s no big deal.

“So, why are you here? Observing us in our natural habitat?” He puts on a voice for the last part, in a clear imitation of you, and you smirk. It does sound like something you would say.

“I’m an agent of chaos,” you say and he gives you a look like he’s waiting for the real answer. You choose that moment to take a long swallow of your drink, buying time. He continues to wait patiently, so you finally just shrug and make a face. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to do my paper. I saw a thing for it on insta. And I was tired of rotting away in my dorm room.”

He nods thoughtfully. “I tried inviting you to stuff when we were lab partners.” You wonder if the tequila is making you imagine that he sounds a little hurt. “You never seemed into it.”

At that, you laugh, because he’s being kind. Jungkook did invite you regularly to whatever mixers or ragers his frat was planning, and every time you would tell him no, directly to his face, like the bitch that you are. You eventually started trying to come up with as many creative ways to phrase it as you could: no, nope, never, not in a million years, when hell freezes over. He took them all like a champ, and that was one of the first things you remember liking about him. A frat boy who can respect when someone says no and not try to push it– now that is a rarity.

You want to apologize, but you really have no explanation for what makes tonight any different, at least not one you can say eloquently. How do you tell him you’re fucking sick of staring at the walls, feeling like “the best years of your life” are passing you by and leaving you with nothing to show for it? That you’ve painted sarcasm and an “I don’t give a fuck” attitude over your life for so long that now it feels like you’re backed into a corner where you can’t give a shit about anybody because there’s nobody left to give a shit about? So you were neck deep in insta stories on a Friday night like a fucking loser, and you saw a stupid post about a stupid frat party by some girl you swore was going to be your bestie the first week of freshman year who you promptly never spoke to again, and something in you snapped and said, “fuck it”?

Oof, tequila coming in strong, you think to yourself. You decide to spare Jungkook the emotional word vomit.

He keeps going when you don’t respond. “I just figured you had better things to do. Like ride motorcycles, or be in a mosh pit.”

You roll your eyes. “Motorcycles are giant metal death traps. Hard pass. And I don’t like getting punched in the face by nazis, so I don’t mosh.” You take a sip of your drink and size him up. “You’re one to talk, little alt boy.”

He’s playing with his lip ring when you say it, and the blush that creeps up his neck is honestly cute. Thoroughly unfazed by your words, he rolls up the right sleeve of his eyesore of a button down until his arm is fully exposed. “Check it out! Finally filled in the shoulder piece.”

You step closer to admire the fresh ink. Jungkook’s sleeve is, admittedly, really fucking cool. You still remember the first time you saw it in bio lab. It was the first day where the temperature crept up to an actual tolerable degree after what felt like a winter that would never end. You’d only known him in hoodies up to that point, so when he rolled into class that day in a baggy t-shirt and you saw the hint of lettering and shading peeking out from under his sleeve, your jaw nearly hit the floor.

“It’s rude to stare,” he’d said with a soft laugh and a cheeky-ass wink.

You wonder now if maybe you stepped too close, because you can feel the heat radiating off of his body. He holds his arm up for you, rotating it to show off the whole thing. Throughout the rest of the semester, you’d watched as he slowly started to fill in the blank spaces, but now it’s even more cohesive; he’s nearly finished it in the time since you last got a good look.

“Just need something on my wrist. And I might do the back of my hand. I haven’t decided.” He squeezes his hand into a fist and flexes with a put-on grunt, and you laugh even as the swell of his bicep makes your heart jump in your chest.

Emboldened by how close you are to him, and also the tequila, you trace your finger along the words that wrap across his forearm– rather be dead than cool. “That one’s my favorite,” you say softly.

When you glance up, he’s already looking at you, and now your heart’s in your throat. “I swear this thing’s the only reason you like me,” he says, the non-pierced corner of his mouth crooking up in a barely-there smile.

You open your mouth to protest when the kitchen is suddenly alive with noise as a mass of bodies crash through the doorway. A girl in a minidress that has ridden dangerously far up her thighs is nearly carried in by two of her friends, with several more trailing in right at their heels, and her name must be Hannah because they all say it about a thousand times in six seconds. A couple of dudebros shuffle in behind them, shouting for everyone to step back and give her space.

Nowhere else to go, you’re forced that much closer to Jungkook as far too many people try to squeeze into the tiny kitchen. You’ve basically got him pinned against the counter, and you look away, then look back, extremely uncomfortable.

“Sorry,” you mouth, and he shakes his head like it’s not a big deal.

He does smell really good, you realize now that he’s this close. Not like he took a bath in Axe body spray or Drakkar Noir, as most of his frat bros do, just… warm and clean, with a hint of the good kind of boy musk, salt and skin. It’s a welcome distraction from the unbridled chaos of Hannah and her entourage.

“She’s gonna be sick,” someone warns, and you wince in preparation.

“Hannah, aim for the sink!” Another girl coaxes. You turn over your shoulder and watch as Hannah takes a few steps forward, legs quivering like a baby deer, then does a last-second pivot and vomits directly into the jungle juice.

“Oh, party foul!” One of the bros yells.

You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head, and then Jungkook’s breath is ghosting over your neck and you can’t think about anything else. “Do you want to go to my room?” His voice is low, his lips inches from your ear.

You look up at him over the rim of your cup. “Yes, please.”

It’s only once you start walking that your mind is able to process what’s happening, and the panic sets in. Jeon Jungkook is guiding you through his packed frat house, his hand on the small of your back. Of course the crowds part for you like the fucking red sea, no throwing elbows required, because everybody loves him.

His bros greet him as he passes, “‘sup JK!”, and you try to avoid eye contact. You wonder how regularly they see this, him leading some wide-eyed girl up to his room to do what frat boys do best. Your stomach twists as you wonder what his expectations are, and what the fuck it is that you’ve just agreed to by saying yes.

You climb the stairs, his hand still pressed to your back, and he leads you to the first room on the left when you reach the top. When he opens the door and motions for you to step through, you’re surprised.

For one, it doesn’t reek of weed. It just smells like he does, but stronger, with a hint of fresh laundry. His bed isn’t made, but there are also no questionable stains on the black sheets, and he has four pillows and a bed frame, not just a mattress and box spring on the ground with one sad rectangle. There are some cups on the nightstand, but no ash tray overflowing with burnt out ends of blunts, no empty beer cans, and you can actually see the floor.

Not bad, you think to yourself, and then the anxiety presses in again as he shuts the door behind you. Nope. You are absolutely not doing this.

“Sorry about that,” he says with a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “These things get really crazy around finals season. I guess people need an escape in the form of mild alcohol poisoning.”

You cross your arms, unable to continue the polite conversation. “Look, I don’t know what you think is going to happen in here, but it’s not going to happen, okay?”

He steps back, his brow instantly furrowing. “Wait, what? Are you mad at me right now? I just figured you’d want to get out of the kitchen, since a girl was actively puking.”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” you say, not buying it.

“I-I’m not.” Jungkook seems genuinely flustered, enough that you realize he’s probably not acting. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he starts, and then he sighs, like he’s correcting himself. “But, I guess my intentions really don’t matter, because it seems like I did. So I’m sorry.”

You squint at him, wondering who the fuck taught this boy how to apologize so damn well. This is the first time you’ve ever heard a frat boy say “sorry” without it being immediately followed by “but” and then something so offensive that it negates the entire thing.

He waits for you to respond, then gestures to the door. “If you want to go, you can go. I just wanted to talk to you. I haven’t seen you at all since last semester, and I’m really glad you came out.”

The thought of going back downstairs is slightly more anxiety-inducing than staying in this room. At least here it’s quiet, and it smells nice, and he apparently is not actually trying to get into your pants. It really does seem like you read him wrong, you admit to yourself, and then you unceremoniously plop down on his carpet.

Jungkook doesn’t even try to hide the big smile on his face as he joins you on the floor, and you both lean back against the foot of his bed. He slips his feet out of his slides and you lean forward to pull your boots off.

“Like I said, I’ve been rotting away in my dorm room,” you remind him with a dry laugh.

“You should’ve texted me. I would’ve come rot with you.”

His words make you smile a little, but you’re still suspicious. “Uh-huh,” you intone as he takes another sip of his drink. “And what would we have done, Jungkook?” The question nearly makes you cringe; it’s like reading a bad sext out loud. You don’t know why you keep pushing him on this.

Maybe, a tiny part of your tequila brain whispers to you, you’re goading him so hard into saying that he wants to hook up because for a split second back there in the kitchen, you realized that’s what you want. But you’re a hyper-independent bitch who can’t ever admit to needing anything from anybody, so you need him to say it first.

You grit your teeth and give your head a nearly imperceptible shake, trying to shut that brain cell up.

“I don’t know,” he says with a shrug, like he really doesn’t. “Play video games?” He gestures to a Nintendo 64 in the corner of his room, hooked up to a large TV that’s mounted on the wall.

It’s certainly not the answer you expected, but you don’t hate it. You raise an eyebrow as if to challenge him. “Well, I will kick your ass in Mario Kart.”

He sucks gently on his lip ring as he looks you over, and there’s a glint in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. You’ve clearly tapped into something. “Oh, I highly doubt that.”

“Then prove it.”

Dropping out of shit-talk mode for a second, Jungkook gives a laugh that almost sounds embarrassed. “I should warn you, I get pretty competitive.”

You refuse to back down. “Better work on your gracious losing face, then.”

In acceptance of your challenge, you watch as he sorts through the bin of cartridges next to the console until he finds the one he’s looking for. He brings it up to his mouth and blows on it, some strange gamer ritual you’ve seen before but have never understood, and a shiver runs through you.

“Here,” he says, tossing you a dark blue controller, letting the cord unravel and plugging it into the port. “You can even use my favorite.” You take it in your hands and smile when you see the yellow Pokémon logo stamped across the center.

“You’re going to regret that when I beat you with it,” you retort, shrugging out of your jacket for optimum mobility. He’s grinning as he settles back next to you and the menu music starts up.

It turns out you’re pretty evenly matched in the Mario Kart skills department. You sail past him on the first course, easily finishing in first, but get entirely wrecked by a blue shell in course two and he’s able to clinch it no problem.

You would’ve expected more shit-talking based on his warning, but instead he’s just so focused, eyes wide, mouth wiggling his lip ring back and forth. It’s a little endearing. A lot endearing, really. You keep sneaking glances over at him as you start up the third and final course, wondering why he has to be so goddamn cute, why you’re incapable of finding a single flaw in him no matter how hard you try.

Forcing yourself to focus, you return your attention back to the screen, only to see that he has flown right by you and is far ahead in the lead. Oh, this simply will not do, you think to yourself, and then an item box hands you a perfectly-timed golden mushroom, and you see your path to victory.

You drift around the sharp corners, giving yourself a speed boost each time, and it’s just enough. “Get fucked,” you say with a giggle as Princess Peach cruises her way past Bowser into first place. You use the last few seconds of your mushroom power to put a solid amount of distance between your characters. There’s less than half a lap left, and absolutely nothing he can do to deny you of your win.

Or so you think, until he reaches over and drags his hand across your controller, forcing your joystick in the opposite direction and causing Peach to start driving in circles on the screen.

“What the fuck!” You scream, trying to smack his hand away, but he closes one of your hands in his and forces that down on the joystick, making your car go fully backwards. “You fucking cheater!”

“You’re the cheater,” he grunts, which doesn’t even make any sense, but pisses you off enough to reach for his controller to mimic his strategy. However, you fail to account for his evolutionary advantage of having longer arms than you; he’s easily able to scoot away while keeping his hand pressed down on your own. You see in the game that he’s inches away from overtaking you now, the fingers of his other hand stretching to work joystick and button at once.

“No!” You cry out in frustration, desperately trying to wriggle your hand free. You can’t just sit here and watch him steal this out from under you, so you dive hard to one side and yank the controller away at the same time.

It’s only a little too late that you realize you have once again made an uncoordinated lunge and ended up with far too much leftover momentum. He does not relent, and you underestimated the severity of his grip on your hand because when you fall over he comes with you, both of you toppling onto the carpet as the controller flies out of your grasp.

You end up flat on your back, and his reflexes are only barely fast enough to respond, his hands bracing the floor on either side of your head so he can avoid landing on top of you.

But that’s even worse, because now Jungkook is hovering over you, and you’re both breathing heavy, and his hair is falling in his eyes, and you don’t even know how but his thigh has managed to end up pressed between your legs.

For a moment, you don’t move or say anything, and neither does he. You just stay like that, staring at each other. Your eyes drop to his mouth, and then he cracks a smug grin.

“I told you I don’t like to lose.”

Your stomach flips as your panic rears back in full force, and you meet his gaze again. “Am I still supposed to believe you didn’t bring me up here to hook up?” Your voice is barely more than a whisper.

The smile drops off his face as his eyes search yours. “What do you want?” He asks, and you can hear the exasperation in his voice. “Because you’re the one who keeps talking about it.”

You falter, unable to come up with any witty retort because you know he’s right. Jungkook moves away from you and you sit up with a sigh. He scoots back a few more inches, giving you plenty of space, and reaches for the remote to mute the TV.

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” you say, your voice still soft. You can’t look at him, so you stare at the carpet instead. “That’s just alcohol and adolescent sex drive talking. It’s not a good idea.”

“Why not?” He doesn’t sound mad, but confused, like he wants to understand your thought process. Good fucking luck, you think to yourself.

You give him a look. “Because I’m not an idiot. Hooking up with a frat boy in his frat house is never a good idea.”

The way his face falls makes you feel like the biggest bitch on planet earth, and you desperately wish you could shove the words back in your mouth, that you were capable of shutting up for once in your goddamn life.

“Is that really how you see me?”

Of course it’s not. You know it’s not, and you hope he knows it too, despite your inability to ever actually say what you fucking mean. But you can’t stop yourself. The defense mechanism is fully engaged now.

“Jungkook, you are literally a frat boy. We are literally in a frat house. This is not a perception character judgment thing. It’s an objective facts of reality thing.”

He fixes you in his gaze, saying nothing, then sighs. “Why do you do that?”

Your heart sinks. “Do what?”

He shakes his head, worrying at his lip ring again, clearly a nervous habit. “I don’t know, it’s like… Sometimes I think you like me, but then you always throw a wall up at the last second. I just wish I knew why.”

That makes two of us, you think bitterly, but your heart is simultaneously cracking apart at how vulnerable he’s being with no hesitation. You’re almost jealous that he can just move through life like this, open and honest, so unafraid.

“I do like you,” you admit, and you open your mouth to add the qualifier, to put the wall up, but he speaks first.

“I like you, too. I’ve liked you for a long time.” This kid is going to be the death of you. “I’m not just looking to score, or whatever."

You pull your knees to your chest, crossing your arms over them, trying to shrink until you no longer exist. You start to shake your head. “Jungkook, I don’t–”

“See,” he cuts you off, “you’re doing it right now.” You groan and bury your face in your arms. “What is that? We like each other, why can’t that be enough?”

The question hangs heavy, because you know there’s no good answer.

Finally, you look up at him and sigh. “Because,” you start decisively. “You’re… you. And I’m me.” You gesture between the two of you. “We’re from different worlds.”

His face scrunches up a little, and it’s his turn to shake his head slowly. “I really don’t think we are. I think you’re just telling yourself that.” You can see he’s getting frustrated and you don’t fucking blame him. “And I don’t get how you can complain about sitting by yourself in your dorm room, but then keep blocking everyone out so that you’re always alone.”

“I like being alone!” The lie comes out reflexively before you can even think to stop it. You’ve said it so many times at this point that it almost feels true. “Alone is best.” You pause, and for a second you really wonder if you’re going to cry right now, on the floor of Jeon Jungkook’s bedroom, in his stupid frat house. “You can’t get hurt, or disappointed, or left behind if you’re alone,” you conclude. There it is. The truth, kind of.

“I wouldn’t do any of those things to you,” he says softly.

You just stare at him for a moment. The promise is too good to be true. It always is. “You can’t know that.”

He pauses, then nods once, staring back at you. “You’re right. But I don’t want to do those things. And I would try really hard not to. I just want to make you feel good. Whatever that looks like.”

You can’t help where your stupid tequila brain immediately takes the idea, and you let out a dry laugh. “Well, if that’s what you’re after, there’s really no chance.”

His brows pinch together, clearly not understanding. “What does that mean?”

“Many have tried, none have succeeded,” you say with a roll of your eyes, stretching your legs back out. “I am a puzzle that no man can solve.”

The realization slowly dawns on him, and his eyes widen. “Wait, are you saying you’ve never had a–”

You wave a hand in the air as if to shush him, and you cut him off. “Stop. Don’t be dramatic. I’ve had plenty of orgasms, courtesy of my vibrator and my showerhead.” Your face is a little hot from talking about this in front of him. “Just… only alone. The running theme here, apparently.”

He tilts his head, processing this new information. “So do you fake it?” You tell yourself you’re just imagining that he sounds a little upset.

You grimace. “With my high school boyfriend, yeah. He was my first everything, and we were so young. I was too embarrassed to say it, so I just let him believe he had a magical dick that brought me to orgasm at the exact same time as him every time.”

Jungkook huffs a laugh of disbelief.

“And after that,” you continue, looking down in embarrassment, “I don’t know, it’s pretty much just been hookups, and most usually don’t bother to ask. Some have tried for a while, and then given up…” The memories make you cringe. “It’s just uncomfortable. Hence the alone thing.” You give a half shrug. “It’s okay. My vibrator is nice.”

He says nothing, and you mentally kick yourself for oversharing. This is why the wall goes up, you think, but when you look at him, he’s already looking at you, and not in the way you expected.

In fact, you’re surprised to see that glint in his eyes again. He licks his lips, and you realize your pulse is racing.

“The way I see it,” he begins slowly, his voice low and even, “we have two options.” You raise an eyebrow, your interest piqued, and he continues. “Option one. You let me know, for real, that you’re not interested. You don’t have to tell me why, but you do have to mean it. And I’ll leave you alone, and you can go home and write your paper.”

Your mouth goes dry as you try to prepare for what might come next.

“Or, option two.” You swear his eyes darken as he says it. “You admit to me that you like me, and that you want me. And you let me take care of you. Which includes keeping you in my bed for as long as it takes me to make you come. I don’t care if it takes hours. I’ve got hours.”

He shrugs like he hasn’t just said the most devastating thing you’ve ever heard. “We can figure out the rest after. It doesn’t have to be anything you don’t want it to be. But it’s your call. I won’t be mad, whatever you choose. I just need to know.” He leans back on his hands, awaiting your choice.

“Jungkook,” you breathe. “You don’t know how tempting that offer is.” You try to say more, but he’s faster.

“Then say yes.”

You want to scream at him that it’s not that simple, that letting people all the way in is a door you slammed shut long ago, never to be opened again. But despite your best attempts, this cheeky, dorky, pierced and tattooed frat wonder boy has managed to wedge that door back open, just an inch. And it’s enough that now you can’t help but wonder what’s on the other side.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe it really can be that simple with him. Maybe safe doesn’t always have to mean alone. Isn’t that why you came to this party in the first place?

You let out a slow exhale, and then for the first time in your life, you decide to get out of your own way.

“Okay,” you say, and you have to work to keep your voice from shaking. “Yes. But,” you quickly add before he has a chance to react, “I don’t want this to turn into a big thing if…” you trail off. “You know. If I can’t.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about that.” He says with a self-assured smile, and you hate that it’s so hot. “I have a secret weapon.”

And then he opens his mouth and sticks his tongue out, and the end of a silver barbell winks at you.

Your jaw drops. “I’m sorry, you have a tongue piercing?!”

He smirks. “Got it a couple months ago. It’s fully healed now, so you get to be my maiden voyage.” You cringe and he laughs self-consciously. “Sorry, that sounded cooler in my head.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re laughing too as his hands reach for your ankles. He gently starts to pull you towards him and you cross your legs, scooting the rest of the way forward until your knees are touching his.

“Can I please kiss you now?” Jungkook asks, but you take his face in your hands and beat him to it.

Given his competitive streak, a part of you had expected everything about this to be rough and hard, but the way he kisses you is so gentle, it’s romantic. You’d forgotten what it’s like to be kissed like this, intimate and slow, not just a tongue shoved down your throat. Jungkook is continuing to prove to you what he already has time and time again: he is nothing like any man you’ve ever met.

You are really curious about that piercing, though, so you tilt your head and tentatively lick into his mouth. When you bump against the metal post he whines a little, and goddamn, you need to be in his bed right fucking now.

He must have the same thought because his hands run firmly over your hips and you both maneuver to your feet without breaking apart. You let him guide you backwards until your knees hit the end of the bed, and you sit down and gaze up at him, breathless from his kisses.

You’re a little nervous, you realize, but then you see the way he’s looking at you. “God, you are so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, and your face flushes.

Jungkook ducks his head to kiss you again, moving you to lay down, and his hand finds the small of your back beneath you. You can’t help but smile when he uses the arm wrapped around you to effortlessly lift you up and scoot you backwards to the head of the bed. You lean against the pillows as his tongue returns to your mouth.

His fingers start to play gently at the hem of your shirt as if asking a question. You nod and he pushes it up, your lips breaking apart only for as long as it takes to pull it over your head before finding each other again.

You reach to do the same for him, but he makes an “uh-uh” noise into your mouth, then pulls away. “I want this to be about you.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Jungkook, that is incredibly sweet, and it can absolutely be about me. But I think you will severely hurt your chances of bringing me to orgasm if you’re wearing that creamsicle nightmare shirt while you’re doing it."

He raises his eyebrows for a split second like he’s weighing whether or not he should accept that challenge, but then he shrugs with a grin and pulls his shirt off over his head. His body is ridiculous, lithe and toned, and he inhales sharply when you run your hands up his chest.

You realize now, as he unhooks your bra and tosses it off the edge of the bed, then starts to kiss down your jaw, that Jungkook is vocal. He makes these breathy little sighs against your skin as he goes, and when you do something like scratch your nails over his back or dip your head to trace your tongue along his neck, he outright moans. The low, raw sound makes your pussy throb.

Noise during sex has always been weird for you; you felt like guys expected you to be loud, which is hard to do convincingly when you’re nowhere near satisfied. But none of the sounds he’s making now seem in any way performative. You can tell it’s just him enjoying your shared pleasure the same way he does everything– unashamedly.

So when he sucks gently at the place where your neck and shoulder meet, lightly running his piercing over the sensitive skin there, your eyes flutter closed, and you don’t hold back the noise he pulls out of you.

“Fuck, Jungkook,” you breathe, and you feel him smile.

You’re overwhelmed by all the different sensations his mouth can make against your skin. He kisses, licks, drags his tongue ring, and bites along your neck and your collarbones, working you until you couldn’t keep quiet even if you wanted to. His hands slide up your waist, coming to cup your breasts, and he tries similar experiments with his thumbs over your nipples: barely-there tapping, then firmer pressure in slow circles, then light pinches that make you gasp and writhe.

He’s clearly educating himself, paying close attention to your responses to figure out the best ways to touch you and take you apart. No one has ever cared this much about what actually felt good to you before; this is a far cry from the half-hearted two minutes of foreplay you’re accustomed to. He really does act like he’s got all the time in the world.

The thought of him touching and kissing you like this for hours is dizzying. Even if he can’t make you come, you don’t fucking care, everything he’s doing still feels incredible. It’s a hell of a lot better than writing a paper.

Jungkook groans into your skin as he mouths down to your breasts, and when he shifts, you can feel his erection grind against your thigh. The knowledge that he’s just as turned on by this as you are, paired with a deft flick of his piercing over your nipple, makes you whine loudly. Your core is already aching to be touched, licked, fucked– anything.

He reaches to unbutton your pants while his lips and tongue still work at the bud of your breast in his mouth. Your hips lift up at his touch and he pulls your jeans down, dropping your nipple from between his teeth so you can kick them the rest of the way off.

His hands slip under the band of your panties with a grunt so heady it’s nearly a growl, but instead of pulling them down, he loops the fabric around his fingers once and pulls up, so the lace is pressed tight against your dripping cunt. Even that small amount of friction makes you whimper, your hips rocking in desperate search of relief.

“Can I take these off?” He pairs the question with another firm tug, so the lace rubs right over your clit as your hips circle.

You don’t even have the breath to answer, you want it so bad; you can only nod.

He pulls your panties off, tossing them to join the rest of your clothes on the floor before moving down between your spread legs. You’re so wet for him now that just his breath on your core is enough to make you moan.

You brush his hair off his forehead and watch as he brings his mouth to your thighs, trailing lips and teeth upwards. With each pass, he comes so close to where you want him, where you need him, but deliberately stops just shy, teasing you. He runs his tongue along the crease where your hip and thigh meet, and the drag of his piercing on your skin makes you cry out, delirious with anticipation.

But then his mouth goes in the wrong direction. Rather than close the small amount of distance left to finally, finally make contact with your cunt, he shifts away from it. His lips and tongue trail back over your hips, your stomach, and up the valley between your breasts. You lift your head in disbelief to watch him, and you don’t think you’re going to make it– you’ve never been denied pleasure like this before. Your eyes start to sting like they might well up with tears.

He keeps going, lips moving from your neck to your jaw and then finally back to your mouth. You turn your head to the side, your breathing ragged.

“Jungkook,” you nearly sob, “please.”

His voice is hoarse when he murmurs in your ear with a dark laugh, “I was wondering how long it would take you to beg for it. You really held out on me.” He kisses you again and you whine in frustration as he sucks on your bottom lip. He pulls away with a smile. “Talk to me. Tell me what you need.”

Your head swims; you try to form words through your desperation. “I– fuck, anything, anything. Please, Jungkook, please.” You sound so wrecked, so needy, but if he wants you to beg, you’ll do it, gladly. You’re going to die if he doesn’t touch you soon. Your hips shudder up against his, your nails dragging down his back.

“Good girl, love it when you say my name like that,” he groans into the crook of your neck, and your pussy clenches around nothing, your brain short-circuiting at the praise.

He doesn’t drag it out any longer– you don’t think you’d survive if he did– and instead just shifts to settle back between your legs. His hands come to your thighs and you’re so keyed up that you jump under his touch as he spreads you wide open. You’re nearly clawing at the bedsheets in preparation to finally feel him after so long, but instead of his fingers or his tongue, something wet hits your clit.

It takes a second for your brain to process that he spit on you. Fuck.

You look up to see him looking at you, wide-eyed, like he’s only just realized what he did. “Sorry, I should’ve asked first. Was that okay?”

It was fucking hot, actually, but you’re so far gone that you can’t make the words happen. You can only nod and roll your hips up toward him.

“Jungkook, please,” you manage to whimper one final time, and he dips his head to press a kiss to your inner thigh.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs against your skin, “I’ve got you.” And then he closes his lips around your clit.

“Oh my fucking god,” you moan, relief flooding through you like a shot in the arm. His movements aren’t that different from how he first kissed you, gentle and sweet, and your clit throbs when his lip ring rolls over it.

Jungkook’s mouth falls into a steady rhythm, and he’s groaning against your pussy like it feels good for him, too. Enthusiastic is the only way to describe the way he eats you out; you really do believe he could do this all day.

Alternating with the movement of his lips, he starts to incorporate long, slow licks of his tongue across your folds. There’s enough spit and slickness that his piercing slides right over your clit, and it’s a sensation like nothing you’ve ever felt before that has you bucking against his mouth. He whines mid-lick when you do, and the vibration rips through you, your back arching in response.

That earns you two of his fingers slipped into your cunt, and for the second time tonight, you think you might die. Your legs start to shake as his fingers curl inside you.

“Yes, yes, oh fuck,” you groan. You don’t recognize your own voice; you’ve never made noise like this before, but nothing’s ever felt this good. You’re coming undone in his hands, under his tongue.

He changes up the rhythm on your clit, moving between fluidly swirling his piercing over it and pulling it into his mouth for hard suction. The pleasure is still overwhelming, but something about the switch-up takes you out of your body and into your head, and you falter for a moment.

He’s been at this for a while, and he does seem to be enjoying himself, but even so, you start to feel self-conscious. Are you taking too long? Is his tongue getting tired? What if you still can’t come from this?

Your momentary silence and lack of movement must be enough to send Jungkook’s competitive edge into overdrive, because he grabs your thigh with his free hand as if to pull you even closer and fully buries his face in your cunt.

He flattens his tongue against you and starts to shake his head aggressively, wiggling his tongue with it, and the barbell tapping rhythmically at your clit has you gasping for air and grabbing at the bedsheets.

As if that wasn’t enough, he adds a third finger inside you, slowing down for just a moment to make sure you’re accustomed to the stretch. He runs his free hand up your thigh and lays it flat below your stomach, pressing down firmly on your lower abdomen. You don’t know what to expect– no one’s ever done it to you before, but when he resumes rocking his fingers back and forth against your front wall under that extra pressure, you nearly drench his hand in arousal, it feels so good.

“Fuck, Jungkook, fuck!” You moan, and you wonder if the whole party downstairs can hear. You sound like a goddamn pornstar, the kind of noises that are so ridiculous you’d think they were fake if you weren’t experiencing the insane, all-encompassing pleasure yourself firsthand. Here, in Jungkook’s bed, in his fucking frat house, getting eaten out like you’re his last fucking meal.

You can’t even remember what you were worrying about now. There’s no space left in your brain for it, and your pussy is already starting to flutter around his fingers as you feel the pressure building in your core.

Out of sheer desperation, you wind a hand through his hair and lift your hips up against his mouth, matching his rhythm. He looks up at you and moans around your clit, nodding his head, clearly trying to encourage you without letting his tempo slow.

His breathing is ragged and loud as you grip his hair and rock your hips, bumping your clit against his pierced tongue again and again and again, exactly the way you need it.

Your moans increase in pitch and pace as you feel your orgasm crest. He responds back in time, encouraging you, his voice coming from some raw, primal place as he grunts open-mouthed, “uh-huh, uh-huh” against your clit, and you can hear his fingers working your cunt so well, and it’s all too fucking much.

You come so hard, it makes you question if you’ve ever actually had an orgasm before. Hands gripping at the sheets, toes curling, legs shaking violently, back arching up off the mattress, all with a loud moan that’s more like a sob. You have never in your life felt anything this good.

Jungkook slows but doesn’t stop as the aftershocks roll through you, slowly moving his head up and down to lick flat, long stripes over your clit as you continue to shudder against his face. Your thighs pull together reflexively when you become too sensitive, and that’s when he finally relents, pulling off and out of you.

You stare up at the ceiling, trying to remember how to breathe and wondering if you really did die after all. There’s a loud bang on the door, but you’re too blissed out to even give a fuck, and it’s just one of his frat bros yelling “alright, JK!” from the other side.

At least they’re supportive of a woman’s pleasure, you think, and then you can’t help but laugh at the sheer insanity of it all. Jungkook slides up the bed to lay next to you, and he’s smiling as he wipes his face with his hand.

“I guess you didn’t fake that one, huh?”

You can only shake your head as you struggle to get your breath back.

“Holy shit, I feel like I should say thank you,” you eventually manage, and he laughs his perfect laugh. You roll over to bury your face in his shoulder. “What the fuck, Jungkook– I think I saw my life flash before my eyes. That was fucking crazy.”

Jungkook flips onto his side facing you, propped up on one arm, his other hand gently running back and forth along the curve of your waist. “What can I say? I play to win.” He can’t hide his satisfied smile as the official winner of your first ever non-solo orgasm.

You lean against him, allowing your eyes to close again as your pulse slows, and you sigh contentedly as he presses his lips to your hairline.

“What time is it?” He asks after a few minutes. “Do you need to go write your paper?”

You tilt back to shoot him a death glare. “Do not mention my fucking paper right now, Jeon Jungkook. I’m trying to bask in the glow here.”

He laughs again and pulls you closer. “My bad.”

“And besides,” your face softens, and your eyes trace down to his hand that’s now gently palming over the front of his pants, where you can see the bulge of his erection. “I believe you promised me hours.”

He raises his eyebrows slightly. “Oh, I’ll give you hours.”

Your pussy doesn’t feel anywhere near recovered, but you’re somehow also aching for him to fuck you. If that was only his head game, you genuinely don’t think you’ll survive sex with Jungkook. But you’re willing to die trying.

“Come here,” his voice returns to that near-growl and he crawls over you, one hand cupping your jaw as he brings his lips to yours.

This time when his thigh presses between your legs, it’s on purpose. Your clit still twitches at the contact, but the pressure is indirect enough that it only feels good, and you rock your hips slowly into him.

You’re desperate to see him, touch him, return the favor, and your hand slips between your bodies to grab him through his pants. You whine against his lips when you feel how thick he is in your hand, and you pull little gasps out of him as you slowly start to pump him over the fabric.

“Please fuck me, Jungkook,” you whisper when you break apart, begging for it the way you’ve learned he likes, your hand still working him.

He bites down hard on your neck with a laugh, like he can’t believe you’re real.

You start to unbutton and push down his pants and then he flips onto his back to do the rest, shedding pants and boxers at the same time. You can’t help but giggle a little at his apparent urgency, pleased that he needs you just as bad, as he yanks his nightstand drawer out, retrieves a condom, and rips it open with his teeth.

But that urgency is gone once he’s hovering over you, cock teasing at your entrance, your knees bent and legs spread for him. It’s replaced by that same look in his eyes, those same gentle kisses, and arousal pooling in your belly at the realization that he really could do this for hours. But you need him now.

“Please,” you whisper one more time, and he groans against your throat as he pushes into you.

His pace is slow, hips rolling fluidly, and you’re still so sensitive that your walls flutter around him with each thrust. The thickness of his cock feels just as good as you thought it would. You moan loudly, arching back against the pillow, as his head drags over your sweet spot.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” he groans, his voice ragged. He keeps rolling his hips, stroking so slow and deep that it’s pleasure and torture all in one.

Jungkook must be a fast learner, because when he thrusts into you one more time and you whine in response, the same strangled noise you made when he teased your cunt, he knows what you need. You don’t even have to beg for it.

His hands slide along the backs of your thighs and he pushes, just a little, folding your legs up so your pelvis tilts to give him full access to your cunt. And then he picks up the pace.

The pleasure is overwhelming as he bottoms out inside you over and over, and you’re already close to the edge of a second climax. You rake your nails down his back and his hips move even faster, both of you moaning with every thrust. The sound of skin on skin is so loud it’s obscene; there’s no way the whole party doesn’t know what you’re up to by now.

You don’t give a shit. You hope they’re all jealous.

Your legs start to shake as the pressure in your core builds, and you’re suddenly in dire need of release all over again. You move to reach a hand down between your legs, but Jungkook doesn’t miss a thing.

He lets go of one of your thighs to knock your hand away, replacing it with his own, his thrusts never slowing. You watch this time as he spits on your clit again, and then starts to rub circles over it.

It’s a touch you’ve felt before, fast and hard, usually performed by a guy who has no idea what he’s doing, and usually painful as all hell.

But Jungkook is very obviously a fucking expert in his field, and he must know that when you’re as slick as you are from his mouth and your own arousal, and you’ve already come once, and you’re this insanely turned on and desperate for it, it doesn’t hurt at all. Your hips lift up off the bed because right now, it’s fucking perfect.

“Oh my fucking god, Jungkook, fuck, yes, don’t stop–” you cry out, and your last moan is nearly a scream as you come all the way undone for him. Your cunt squeezes tightly around his length, and he only has to rut into you a few more times before he’s coming, too, with a loud groan of your name.

His head drops onto your shoulder as he finishes, gasping for breath. You lean back against the pillows, still shuddering a little but entirely spent, fucked out of your mind.

You’re only vaguely aware of what’s happening when he pulls out of you, or when the bed shifts as he gets up to dispose of the condom, then collapses back down next to you with a dazed sigh.

You roll into him, still lost for words, and he wraps both arms around you. You can hear his heart thudding hard in his chest, the same tempo as yours.

A laugh rips through you as you play the last few moments back and remember his hand shoving your own away. You look up at him. “So what are you, in charge of my orgasms now? Did I sign a contract tonight?”

“No,” he gives a small smile, and you see a blush creep up his neck at the reminder of something done clearly in the heat of the moment. “I don’t know. No one had ever made you come once before, so… I just wanted to do it twice. Set a new number to beat.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the grin on your face. “I’m not a video game, Jungkook.”

“Nope,” he laughs, tightening his grip around you. “You are so much better.” He ducks down to kiss you gently.

You’re still smiling when he moves to rest his chin on your head. “And you are better than my vibrator.”

There’s a comfortable pause, and then you decide you may as well do what you do best and ruin everything. “So, is now the time when I ask you the phrase that every frat boy dreads to hear?” You start, and he’s already looking at you when you glance up again. “What are we?”

He shrugs, looking totally nonplussed. “That’s up to you. I will literally go out there right now and announce to the entire party that you’re my girlfriend and I’m the first man to ever make you come, if that’s what you want.”

You press your face to his chest and laugh self-consciously. “Well, I think they already know about the second part. I wasn’t exactly quiet.”

His lips brush against your temple. “Don’t be. I want them all to know who’s fucking you right.”

You sigh, wondering how on earth this kid is real. There’s a big part of you, especially with the high of two orgasms rattling around in your brain, that wants to take the leap right now, straight into the unknown. You want to trust him fully, but you’re still scared of the uncertainty, the potential for disaster. It’s been a long time since you let someone all the way in.

“But the G word…” you say nervously. “That’s a lot for me, at least right now.”

“Okay,” Jungkook says simply, and when you meet his gaze, the look on his face betrays no hurt feelings or hidden agenda. It makes you feel like it really is okay. “We can be whatever you want,” he continues. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You can feel yourself getting emotional, and you bring your cheek to his chest again, hoping he can’t tell. “Well, whatever label we put on it, you are eating me out like that at least once a week.”

“Once a week?” He huffs softly. “How about once a day?” He shifts slightly to trail kisses along your neck. “Actually,” he murmurs in your ear, “I could go for seconds right now…”

You laugh and shove against his chest. “Hey, I’m still getting used to this brave new world over here. If you make me come again tonight I think I might literally die in your bed.” He relents with a smug smile and a kiss pressed to your cheek.

“But if you wanted to wake me up that way tomorrow…” you offer, and he gets that goddamn look in his eyes, the one that may forever be known as the look that ruined your life.

“Oh, I think we can make that happen.”

#jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook x y/n #bts smut #bts x reader #the spins

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libraryofgage · 7 months

Text

Hashah Tovah! It's Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, and there's no such thing as too much Jewish Steve in my book (that being said, this story isn't about the New Year, it's about Shabbat hfjdks)

Also, I'm gonna be honest, this fic is a love letter to Judaism and my experiences with my temple and the people there. My experiences aren't universal, though, so please don't take anything here as, like, the end-all-be-all of Judaism. If you have questions about anything here, you can ask me; I'll be happy to answer ^_^

The time period is also very loose. Upside Down happened, but some of the attitudes are probably a bit more modern. Honestly, I suggest just shutting off your brain and enjoying the story lmao

CW: vague mentions of antisemitism and homophobia

As always, if you see any typos no you didn't

(also this is like 4k so buckle in bois)

----

Steve's car has officially given up on life. Honestly, he's surprised it even managed to live this long. For all it's been through, it probably deserves some rest and TLC. Steve just wishes it could have demanded that rest and TLC on any other day.

Because it's Friday. Because it's Shabbat. Because he's about to have a mob of concerned elderly members of his temple crowding his door if he doesn't go to services tonight, and that's not something he wants his neighbors to see.

He considers calling Robin, but she won't be much help. She might be his Emergency Goy, but she doesn't have a car. Now that he's thinking about it, Robin may not be the best Emergency Goy, not that he'd ever tell her that.

He knows one other person with a car, of course, but that means he has to call Eddie. Not that Steve has anything against him, of course, but Eddie makes him feel a lot of things that he's not quite ready to confront just yet.

Steve frowns, staring at the phone for a long moment, trying to come up with any other option.

Steve comes up empty.

Shit.

He takes a deep breath and takes the phone off the receiver, slowly punching in the numbers as though he'll suddenly have an epiphany before he's finished dialing.

Unfortunately, he doesn't, and the phone is now ringing. It rings twice before getting picked up, Eddie's familiar voice saying, "You've reached Casa de Munson. The fuck do you want?"

"Do you always answer the phone like that?" Steve asks, momentarily forgetting about the favor he was planning to ask.

He hears Eddie hum and can practically picture the way he's now leaning against the wall next to the phone, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. "Well, well, well. If it isn't Stevie. What, pray tell, has you calling me?" he asks.

Steve almost hangs up. This is already stressful for him. What if Eddie doesn't agree? Worst, what if he does? Wouldn't that mean Eddie is going to see a part of himself that nobody but Robin has seen? That's fucking terrifying. What if Eddie suddenly hates him?

"I, uh, I need a favor," Steve admits.

"What kind of favor?"

If he wanted, Steve could just lie. It wouldn't be his first time lying about Friday plans. "My car won't start," Steve says, hesitating for a second more before continuing, "and I need a ride to the next town tonight."

"Gee, Harrington, get invited to a party?" Eddie asks, a slight edge to his voice that Steve can't quite place.

"What? No. I...it's not a party, okay? This is really important to me, man. Can you give me a ride or should I ask someone else?"

Maybe Hopper or Joyce would have enough time to give him a ride. He just needs to be dropped off. Getting back...can be a bridge he crosses when he comes to it.

"What time would we be getting back?" Eddie asks, pulling Steve from his thoughts.

"Probably after nine. And we need to be there at six, so that means leaving here no later than five," Steve says, trying to ignore the growing hope and sense of dread in the pit of his stomach. "I know it's really last minute, but you could spend the night at my place after. If you want."

"Will it be fun?"

"Uh, maybe? I don't know, man, it kinda depends. I find it fun, but you might get...bored," Steve says. Or offended. Maybe infuriated? Maybe betrayed that this is a whole part of Steve's life he's never hinted at.

"You're being real mysterious about all this, big boy."

"Yeah, I'm sorry. It's just hard to explain."

"Well, lucky for you, I'm bored and curious."

----

On the drive, Eddie keeps trying to figure out where Steve is directing him. He keeps asking questions, Steve keeps dodging them, and that feeling of inevitable dread keeps growing.

Of course, all that dodging is rendered obsolete as Eddie pulls into a parking spot and shuts off the van. A few families are walking into the temple, some parents glancing curiously at the unfamiliar van, some glancing suspiciously, and some too distracted by kids to notice.

"Uh, are you sure this is the place?" Eddie asks, frowning slightly as he looks at the temple and then at Steve.

Steve swallows around the lump in his throat, his hands nervously gripping the material of his sweater. "I'm Jewish," he blurts out, feeling his face burning. When a few seconds pass without any response, he burns holes into a tree outside and adds, "It's Friday night services. Shabbat. I've missed too many because of...you know. The, um, the Rabbi called and asked if I was okay, and I promised to be at services tonight. You don't have to stay if you don't feel comfortable."

"You don't look Jewish."

Steve tenses, jerking his head to look at Eddie. There's no malice in his eyes. No suspicion, either, thankfully. He just looks...confused. "What's a Jew supposed to look like?" Steve asks in return, wondering if Eddie even knows that he's toeing the edge of the antisemitic swimming pool.

Eddie opens his mouth before closing it again. "Uh...I don't know, actually. Just...not you, I guess?"

Okay. Yeah. Steve can deal with this. He forces himself to relax. "Well, Jews come in all shapes and sizes," he says. He hesitates before deciding to get a burning question out of the way. "Are you angry?"

"What the fuck would I be angry about?"

"That I didn't tell you. That I was Jewish. To be fair, only Robin knows."

Eddie shakes his head, turning in his seat to face Steve. "No, Stevie, I'm not angry. I mean, I live in Hawkins, too. Not exactly the place to be standing out unless you wanna get accused of murder."

Despite himself, Steve can't help snorting at that. He takes a deep breath, the last bit of tension leaving his shoulders. "Well, uh, do you want to stay for services?" he asks.

"Can I? I'm not Jewish. And I'm dressed like this," Eddie says, gesturing at his clothes.

A Hellfire Club shirt, denim vest, gaudy rings, and dark jeans. It's incredibly Eddie, and something about it reassures Steve. He says, "You're with me, so not being Jewish is fine. And your clothes are okay, too. It's not formal."

"My shirt literally says Hellfire."

"Well, it's a good thing Judaism doesn't really have a hell."

Eddie stares at him for a few seconds, clearly full of questions, but then he just nods and climbs out of the van. Steve blinks and scrambles out as well, wanting to create some kind of buffer between Eddie and the congregation members who see a stranger and instantly become defensive.

The moment he's shut the door, he hears a little kid shout excitedly, "Steve!"

He whirls around in time to see a young girl rush across the parking lot, much to the shock and concern of her guardian. Thankfully, there aren't any cars, so the girl is unimpeded in her rush to Steve.

Eddie comes around the side of the van just in time to see the girl launch herself at Steve, giggling when he lifts her up and spins. "Yael! Have you gotten bigger?" he asks, smiling brightly as he comes to a stop and sets her on his waist.

Yael returns his smile with a grin of her own, tilting her head up so he can clearly see the brand-new gap in her teeth. "I lost a tooth! See? It came out last week," she tells him, practically bouncing in his arms.

By now, Yael's grandfather has reached them, smiling indulgently. "Yael," he says, his voice gentle but firm, "you know better than to run across parking lots." When she mumbles an apology, he looks at Steve, his smile turning warm. "Steve, it's been a few weeks. I'm glad to see you again, and you've even brought a friend."

Steve returns the smile and nods, shifting closer to Eddie. "Yeah, things got a little...chaotic in Hawkins. Oh. Mr. Adler, this is Eddie Munson. Eddie, Elijah Alder."

Mr. Adler's eyes light up, and Steve suddenly remembers something incredibly embarrassing. "Oh?" he says, looking at Eddie with renewed interest, "So this is the famous Eddie Munson? I'm glad to see you've healed well."

Eddie blinks, glancing at Steve. "Uh, thanks. How'd you know?"

"Steve asked the Rabbi to include you during the Mi Shebeirach."

"The Misha what now?"

"Mi Shebeirach," Steve says, gently nudging Eddie with his elbow. "It's a prayer for healing."

Mr. Adler nods once, his eyes practically dancing with new gossip. "Oh, yes, you've created quite the stir among the Sisterhood, you know. They have a backlog of Mi Shebeirach cards and nowhere to send them."

Steve translates that information as "the old ladies have been dying to know who this mysterious Eddie Munson is, so Steve had better brace himself." His smile becomes a little strained. "Well, let's get it over with, then."

Mr. Adler nods and gestures for Steve and Eddie to follow as he leads them toward the temple. While they walk, Yael looks at Eddie, her eyes wide. "Why is your hair so long?" she asks.

"Cuz I like it that way."

"Oh. Why are you wearing rings?"

"Because they're cool."

"Oh. Why did you need healing?"

"I was hurt really bad."

"Oh. By what?"

"A bear."

"Oh. Are you Steve's friend?"

Eddie glances at Steve, meeting his eyes for a brief second before smiling at Yael. "Yeah, Stevie and I are best friends."

Yael smiles right back. "Steve is my best friend, too! He's super strong and can carry me without getting tired and makes the best hamentaschen at Purim!"

"Yael," Mr. Adler says, cutting off any continuation of the conversation as they reach the doors of the temple. "Why don't you go let the Rabbi know Steve has joined us?"

Her entire face lights up with joy. "Okay!" she shouts, wiggling in Steve's arms until he lets her down. She tugs open the door, straining until Steve smiles and helps her. "Thanks! Bye, Steve!"

With that, she dashes into the temple, her voice carrying Steve's name into the room full of other people. When almost all of them, including three children that Steve can see, stop what they're doing and look over at the door, Mr. Adler says from behind Steve and Eddie, "Brace yourselves, my boys. The wolves have appeared."

Steve groans as Mr. Adler pushes them both inside. "Should I be worried?" Eddie whispers, leaning in closer to Steve as the door shuts behind them.

"I apologize in advance," Steve tells him.

Despite his words, he has a large grin as the three kids shout his name and rush over, much like Yael did. They're followed by a few teenagers and their parents. The kids pounce on Steve, two holding onto his biceps and hanging from them as he raises his arms while the third clings to his leg.

"Where ya been?" one of the teens asks, her hair pulled back into a ponytail so permed it looks ready to burst.

"Yeah, man, I've been manning the oneg table by myself," another teen says, his arms crossed over a Metallica shirt. He's got piercings climbing up one ear and through an eyebrow, and his gaze moves to Eddie as he speaks, taking in the other boy. "Who's this?"

"Yeah," another girl asks, smiling at Eddie and batting her eyes in a way that makes even Steve feel uncomfortable, "who's your friend, Steve?"

"Kids," an older woman says, pushing her way through them, "you know better than to crowd. Shouldn't you be passing out prayer books right now?" Once she's managed to shoo the teens away, she turns her gaze on the children still clinging to Steve. "And you three, I heard Mrs. Rost needs help in the kitchen. Something about there being too many cookies to platter all by herself."

Steve suddenly finds himself weightless as the kids abandon him, dashing down the hall toward the kitchen. He smiles with slight relief and looks at the woman. "Thanks," he says, rolling his shoulders.

"Of course, Steve. Now, who's your friend?" she asks, looking Eddie up and down curiously.

"Oh, right. Uh. Rabbi, this is Eddie Munson. Eddie, this is Rabbi Sara. I, um, I was hoping he could sit in on services tonight?"

Rabbi Sara immediately smiles at them. She holds out her hand to Eddie, shaking firmly when he returns the gesture. "Of course! I'm glad to see you're doing better, Eddie. We've been a bit worried about you here," she says. She glances around before leaning in and conspiratorially whispering, "There's a betting pool on whether his name would be added to the Mourner's Kiddish."

Steve snorts, knowing exactly which members would have started that bet. "Yeah, well, tell Diane and Yakov they've lost."

Rabbi Sara barely holds back her laughter, nodding once as she lets go of Eddie's hand. "Well, how about I spare you boys from socializing more," she offers.

When Steve nods, she gestures for them to follow her, leading the way to the sanctuary. He glances at Eddie as they walk, taking in the way he's tugging on a lock of hair and looking at the hall around them. "You doing okay?" Steve whispers, leaning in closer.

Eddie glances at him, is silent for a few minutes, and then says, "It's a lot to take in."

"Service will be easier. Lots of music. You'll like it," Steve promises, smiling reassuringly at Eddie. He hesitates before adding, "And if you want to leave, just let me know. The important part was making sure people saw I wasn't dead."

That's not entirely true. Steve doesn't want to leave the Shabbat service. He misses the routine of it and the feeling of togetherness as everyone sings. But Eddie's comfort is taking precedence here; he's already given Steve a ride and has begun subjecting himself to Steve's nosy congregation. Leaving early if he gets overwhelmed is the least Steve can do, really.

The teen in the Metallica shirt, Sam, holds out two prayer books when Rabbi Sara leads them to the sanctuary doors. His gaze lingers on Eddie for a few seconds more before asking, "Dude, do I know you?"

Eddie blinks and raises an eyebrow. "I don't know. Do you?"

Their gazes hold for nearly a minute before Sam's eyes widen and light with recognition. Steve is bracing himself for the worst (you know, devil worshipper, accused murderer, wannabe criminal, take your pick). Instead, Sam grins and says, "Yeah, I totally do! You're in that band, yeah? The one that plays at Hideout sometimes? Corroded Coffin. Your music is metal, man."

Eddie returns Sam's grin, throwing an arm over his shoulders and leaning in close. "You know, you're alright. Always happy to meet a fan. What's your favorite song?"

"You played that new one last Saturday. Bats, I think. It spoke to me, man."

Steve stares at Eddie, wondering how he missed the fact that Corroded Coffin started playing gigs again. A curl of something like regret or maybe hurt begins to build in his stomach, and he's almost overtaken by it when Eddie nods and says, "Oh, yeah, that one's about Stevie."

"Oohh, dude, that makes so much sense now."

"You wrote a song about me?" Steve asks, successfully regaining Eddie's attention.

Apparently, Eddie sort of forgot he was there. His relaxed posture becomes a little awkward, and he removes his arm from Sam's shoulder. He clears his throat, tugging a lock of hair in front of his mouth as he says, "Yeah. Is, uh, is that a problem?"

"No," Steve says, feeling a reassuring smile tug at his lips, "but you should play it for me sometime."

"This is all very touching," a voice says behind them, "but can you take the flirting inside the sanctuary? We still need our prayer books."

Steve jolts and looks behind them, laughing awkwardly when he sees Rivkah, a woman in her early 30s, and her partner, Tamar. "Sorry," he says, grabbing Eddie's arm and dragging him through the doors.

"Hey, Harrington," Eddie whispers, allowing himself to be pulled over to some chairs near the left corner of the sanctuary, "is everything okay? Like...are we...safe?"

It takes a moment for Steve to understand what Eddie means. Like, of course, he can't guarantee their safety. It's a synagogue. Every person here old enough to understand the world knows the risk, the potential for one person to show up and wreak utter destruction. Steve is about to say as much (and explain the temple's "worst case scenario" game plan) when he notices Eddie glancing at Rivkah and Tamar.

A light bulb practically clicks on above him, and he almost laughs at himself. He sits down and tugs Eddie into the seat next to him. "Yeah, we're safe, Eds," he promises, smiling softly when Eddie looks at him. "Rivkah and Tamar are married. I attended the ceremony. It was very nice. Tamar broke the glass."

Eddie's eyes widen slightly, and he looks around the sanctuary with renewed interest. His gaze especially lingers on the people that file in, taking in the couples and families and groups that wouldn't make much sense outside the temple's doors. Steve is content to let him look, allowing himself to relax back into the seat and wait.

After almost 15 minutes, Rabbi Sara approaches the bema and smiles at everyone. "Good evening, and Shabbat Shalom," she says, nodding along as her greeting is returned. "I'm glad to see so many familiar faces tonight. And some new ones. The week has been long for some of us, but it's now come to an end, and we have gathered to celebrate its end, another week's beginning, and being together. Now, please open your books to page 47 for the L'cha Dodi."

Steve flips open his book as Anna, the cantor and the same girl who tried to flirt with Eddie, starts playing the guitar next to Rabbi Sara. "Uh, the book is backward," Eddie whispers, leaning close to Steve.

"Hebrew is written right to left," Steve explains, taking Eddie's book and opening it to the right page. "Also, don't worry about singing along. Just try to follow. If you don't know where we are, just nudge me. I'll point you to the right spot."

Eddie nods, looking almost overwhelmed, but Rabbi Sara starts singing before Steve can reassure him verbally. Instead, he just shifts so their shoulders are pressed together, flashing a tiny smile when Eddie looks at him before joining the rest of the congregation in singing.

Steve has to point Eddie at the right line a few times, but he doesn't mind. He's memorized the prayer by now, and the book is really just for show. He pulls Eddie up with the rest of the congregation during the L'cha Dodi, turns him to the sanctuary doors, and places a hand on his back to gently nudge him into a bow. Eddie blinks through it, following along but seeming overwhelmed by the entire process. When the prayer is finished and Rabbi Sara invites them to greet each other, Steve looks at Eddie with a smile (one of the most genuine smiles he's had in weeks), holds out his hand, and says, "Shabbat Shalom, Eddie."

Eddie doesn't hesitate to take his hand, leaning in close and returning the smile. "Shabbat Shalom?" he asks, speaking slowly to test the words and let Steve approve of the pronunciation. When Steve nods, Eddie's smile grows wider, and he whispers, "Shabbat Shalom, sweetheart."

That...that's a new nickname. And Steve doesn't know what to do with it. Maybe Eddie just wanted the pseudo-alliteration, but his smile says otherwise, and Steve feels like he's frozen in place.

And then a few of the kids dash over to him, shouting, "Shabbat Shalom!" at the top of their lungs and practically fighting to shake his hand first. Steve would feel honored if he didn't know they raced to beat each other to every adult.

After greeting, they light the candles. After lighting the candles, Rabbi Sara leads them into the next prayer, the rest of the service flowing smoothly with her as their guide.

The service is (beautifully, wonderfully, incredibly, thankfully) the same as always. Prayers are sung, and Steve can practically feel them in his bones. He's never been particularly religious (his mother would say they're more culturally Jewish than anything else), but he can't deny that the sound of over 50 people, young and old and in-between, singing together is an otherworldly experience.

They are singing a language that only a few of them actually know how to speak. Steve is reading a language that he wouldn't recognize outside of the prayer book. It's disconcerting as always, but also special, because he shares in the ignorance and devotion wrapped into singing words he wouldn't understand without the book's translation on the opposite page.

The Mi Shebeirach and the Mourner's Kiddish are Steve's sign that service is almost over. And for the first time in forever, Steve doesn't speak any names when Rabbi Sara calls for them. He sinks back into his seat, an unfamiliar relief easing tension he didn't even know he had anymore. But it's true. Everyone is fine, and they've all healed, and Steve no longer has to say Max's name or Will's or Hopper's or Eddie's. He no longer has to dodge questions or call up the Rabbi and ask her to include an extra name in the service.

And this realization, the sheer relief he feels at the simple act of staying quiet when Rabbi Sara's gaze sweeps past him, is almost enough to bring him to tears. His throat gets tight, his eyes burn, and his voice almost cracks when he joins the rest of the congregation in singing for those in need of healing and those who have passed.

Eddie nudges him gently, and Steve glances at him and then at their shared armrest. Eddie's hand is lying palm-up, a silent invitation, and Steve doesn't hesitate to accept. He slips his hand into Eddie's, interlocking their fingers, and feels infinitely better when Eddie squeezes his hand gently.

----

"So," Steve says, refraining from getting up as others file out of the sanctuary, practically tripping over kids racing to reach the oneg brownies first, "did you...like it?"

Eddie is silent for a few minutes, staring down at their hands. Steve almost pulls away, an apology ready on his tongue, when Eddie squeezes his hand tighter. "Yeah. It was...different. But good. I...there was more singing than I expected."

Steve grins, glancing up to see the sanctuary has mostly cleared, and stands. He pulls Eddie up with him. "Yeah, we sing most of our prayers. It's nice."

"It is," Eddie agrees, still looking a little lost for words.

Steve doesn't push. Instead, he pulls, leading Eddie out of the sanctuary. He gives their prayer books to Sam, grabs two tiny, sample-sized cups of Manischewitz wine, and gives one to Eddie. "Don't drink it yet," he says, nodding to where Rabbi Sara has her own cup and is waiting for the rest to be passed around.

Once everyone is ready, she blesses the wine, blesses the challah, and invites them all to drink and eat. Steve braces himself before knocking the wine back, the strong, warm grape flavor coating his tongue, vaguely reminiscent of cough medicine. He sees the same grimace on Eddie's face. "This is shit wine," Eddie whispers, his nose still scrunched as he tosses the cup into the trashcan like he can't get rid of it fast enough.

"Yeah. It's specifically for services," Steve says, "it's not supposed to be good."

"Right," Eddie mumbles, glancing at the oneg table, his eyes lingering on the desserts laid out. "Do you wanna stick around? You know, talk to people?"

Usually, Steve would. He likes catching up with the kids and teens, likes ganging up on them when their parents come around and playfully scold them, and he likes hearing the most recent temple gossip. But as he looks at Eddie, feels their hands still tightly holding onto each other, Steve finds he doesn't mind leaving early.

So, he leans in closer to Eddie and grins at him. "Or," he whispers, "we could steal an extra pack of brownies from the kitchen, sneak out the back, and eat them on the drive home."

Eddie returns the grin, amusement and eagerness practically dancing in his eyes, and says, "You read my mind, sweetheart."

Later, when Eddie pulls into Steve's driveway after an hour-long ride spent eating brownies, explaining different prayers, and telling him about old temple gossip, a different kind of tension will start to fester between them. Steve will delay getting out of the car, Eddie won't comment on it, and they'll slowly gravitate toward each other.

And they'll kiss. It will be awkward and taste like chocolate and end far too quickly, but it will be perfect.

Steve will pull away, a faint blush rising and his heart racing faster than it ever did with Nancy, and shyly offer to let Eddie spend the night. And Eddie will accept and spend the night and ask to attend Shabbat with Steve again and...

And so much more.

But for now, while he has no clue of the future that's about to start after an hour's drive, Steve glances around the crowded hall and pulls Eddie toward the kitchen.

After all, they've got brownies to steal.

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #jewish steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things fic #my writing #this is so fucking self indulgent guys

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redtsundere-writes · 20 days

Text

Jinx | Sukuna Ryomen

mma fighter!sukuna ryomen x femalecoach!reader

Part 9. Don't Know

Beginning. ← Previous | Next →

Synopsis: Sukuna is a world champion with anger issues. It's believed by many that he is untrainable. Yeah, you can't train him, but you can dominate him. Contents: Fighting. Sukuna being Sukuna. Female reader being dom. Jinx AU (the BL, not the character from lol) Warnings: Cursed words. Fighting. Sexual harassment. I only read it once, lmao Word count: 2722 words. A/N: Shoutout to @ghosts-girl_ on IG for sending me a Sukuna fanart that was inspired by this fic! Tysm <3!

Btw I made a PLAYLIST

Going back to the hospital always scared me. I always enter the doctor’s office with sweaty hands while imagining the worst in my mind. The white and neat walls, decorated with informative posters about the importance of exercising regularly. The light gray floor was freshly waxed, I could see my scared face reflected in it. There were a few fake plants around to make the place look less intimidating.

The doctor was asking me questions about my lifestyle over the past six months while typing incessantly on the computer perched in the middle of the large desk. The doctor took out the new x"ray that had been taken of my neck and inspected it in front of the light screen. He didn't say anything, he just analyzed her very carefully to not make a wrong diagnosis. My manager, Mei Mei, came with me this time for support despite having a tight schedule. She noticed I was nervous, so she patted me on the back to calm me down.

“Do you think she can fight soon, Doc?" Mei Mei asked him my biggest concern.

“Her neck has completely healed, if she wanted, she could fight tonight,” the doctor answered with a smile.

A sigh of relief escaped my lips at the wonderful news I had awaited for so long. 3 years to be precise. I was out of the octagon for 3 years on medical recommendation so that my neck would heal completely and avoid future injuries. My face was about to cry with joy, so I hid it in my hands. I was about to reborn, I already wanted to return to the gym with my team to train like in the old days. Start again, conquer the battlefield and recover the title that was taken from me.

Mei Mei and I left the office to meet my friend and training partner, Nobara, who was waiting for us along with Mei Mei's younger brother, Ui Ui. I told her the good news, and she hugged me happily. We used to do everything together before I was injured, now we could go back to our routine as if nothing had happened.

“Everyone will be very happy when they see you back at the gym,” Nobara said excitedly.

“Finally,” I sighed heavily jokingly. “Mei Mei, shall I ask you to gather the team?” I asked her nicely.

Mei Mei was in charge of ensuring that my schedule was met without delays. She was the one who organizes my fights, gathers athletes for special training, hires doctors, etc. She was always busy, but she never let me out of her sight. Not only that, but she always took care of my my needs even though Team Black gives me everything I need. I told her not to worry so much in several occasions, but she always responded with “you never know.”

"I'm already on it, darling. Also, since your appearances with Ryomen, there are several sponsors interested in you,” Mei Mei reminded me of the unexpected kiss Sukuna gave me after his crushing victory against Naoya a couple of weeks ago. "Your life will return to normal in no time."

"When do you plan to come back?” Nobara asked me excitedly.

"I don't know yet, I have to talk to Sukuna's manager to agree on a release date and find a replacement,” I replied.

"When you have the date, let me know,” Mei Mei asked me without taking her eyes off her phone.

"When you return, could you bring me something signed by the King of the Ring?". Ui Ui asked excitedly.

"I'll see what I can do,” I answered honestly.

Mei Mei and Ui Ui left after that. Once we lost sight of them, Nobara took my hands to approach my face curiously. I moved away from her face at the unexpected proximity. When I saw her eyes sparkling from excitement, I could imagine what she wanted.

"So… You and Sukuna, huh?" she asked excitedly.

Since living with him, I have noticed that our relationship had improved, but only as a coach-athlete relationship. I haven't noticed that he treats me sweeter, that he gives me flirtatious glances or that he gets nervous when I am around. He continues to act as the same fearsome Sukuna as always.

My feelings towards him have also increased. When I have to watch him to make sure he does the exercises, my mind travels back to the passionate nights we've had together. I can no longer see his hands without thinking about how he holds me by the waist or his face without imagining him moaning my name. He made me blush without even trying, I was fed up. It was so frustrating not being able to do my job well.

"There’s nothing between me and Sukuna,” I answered, removing my hands from the grip.

"Don’t lie to me! Everyone saw that passionate kiss he gave you!" Nobara scolded while pretending to make out with herself.

"Sukuna only did it to annoy Naoya," I answered, trying to downplay it…

…but I couldn't ignore it. After that night, my perspective on Sukuna had completely changed. I wasn't surprised that I fell in love with him, I mean, I have a reputation for choosing the worst possible men. I had to get rid of this feeling as soon as I could. If I could do it while I lived with him, great, but I knew perfectly well that after asking for my resignation, Sukuna would throw me out and this feeling would go away on its own like a cold.

"And how are you so sure that he doesn't like you?" Nobara asked me.

The idea that Sukuna was interested in me in that way was tempting. It wasn't crazy considering we've already slept together twice, and he kissed me on international television, but I highly doubted that was the case. Yuuji had told me that Sukuna wasn't interested in having a girlfriend and I doubt that will change anytime soon.

“Impossible,” I answered without further ado.

"Oh, come on! Men never kiss woman just because,” Nobara argued.

"What do you know know about men? You're a lesbian,” I joked.

"I know how they behave when they like a girl, it's what we have in common," she challenged me.

My heart wanted to believe her, but my mind warned me with red flags that I shouldn't. Being in love is complicated.

At first, I had a hard time adjusting to living with Sukuna. I lived alone for so long that I forgot how it was living with someone. Quickly, I could adapt to his cold attitude in the morning, seeing him walk around the house wet and with a towel wrapped around his slutty waist, and listening to his complaints when we left the gym. Sukuna is the one who pays for everything, the only thing I could contribute to the house was to cook for him from time to time if the cook was not available. I couldn't help but feel like a sugar baby, but that feeling went away every time I used the magnificent indoor pool.

The microwave announcing that my popcorn was ready brought me out of my thoughts. I was preparing myself some popcorn as tonight's fights began. The schedule was not very exciting, except for the main fight. The fight for the heavyweight division championship between Toji Fushiguro and Aoi Todo. A battle between two powerful giants of the UFC.

I returned to the kitchen to prepare the popcorn to my liking in a bowl. I opened the refrigerator to look for the juice I had bought before I got home. Being a high-performance athlete, Sukuna's smart refrigerator only served to store large amounts of chicken breast, vegetables, and sparkling water. If I wanted something with sugar or “chemicals”, I had to buy it myself and hide it so as not to tempt Sukuna's appetite. As I closed the door, I noticed the new dietary regimen that Sukuna's nutritionist had asked hm to follow.

"Chicken, rice, and broccoli for 4 days straight? No wonder he's always so angry,” I thought out loud as I quickly scanned the sheet of paper.

No sugar. Do not eat carbs after 6 pm. Just an egg without yolk in the morning. I knew that Sukuna was a highly disciplined athlete, but going on such a demanding diet was ridiculous. If a nutritionist asked me to follow this regimen like a soldier, I would fire her in no time.

There were so many things I wanted to change about his extreme lifestyle, but I was sure I wouldn't be able to figure it out before my last day. Furthermore, I had to tell him that I would no longer be his coach and that someone else was going to take my place. I didn't know how he would even take the news. I just had to make sure to tell him when he is in a good mood. Who am I kidding? He is never in a good mood, that goes against his personality.

"Fuck this shit!" Sukuna yelled as he reluctantly entered the house. Now was not the right time to tell him.

He tossed his backpack onto the small stool at the entrance, where we kept our shoes and had a mirror for finishing touches. Sukuna slammed the door shut which offended my ears. I just watched him confused while I ate my popcorn.

"Things didn’t go well with the Olympian?" I asked, trying to understand where his anger was coming from.

While I was at the doctor, Sukuna went to the Olympic stadium to have an exclusive sparring with a boxing gold medalist. He insisted that I cancel my appointment to come with him, but I told him that even if I did that, I wouldn't be much help. My specialty is jujitsu, not boxing. I told him that Gojo knows more than me, and he stopped annoying me.

"That idiot asked for a break on the fifth round. Can you fucking believe that?! The best boxer in the nation?! My balls can last longer than that!” He exclaimed in annoyance as he ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation.

"Could it be because it was training and not a real fight?" I asked before putting a popcorn in my mouth, staying calm. If I got down to his level, he would only get more upset.

"If I had wanted to waste my time, I would have trained with one of the gym's rookies,"Sukuna mumbled.

He sat on the stool and sighed heavily as he unlaced his shoes to enter the house. I could see the helplessness in his eyes at not having the demanding training he wanted. Having a perfect streak of 28 overwhelming victories, he hasn't had a rival who can match his level in years. Always being the winner means that you are not learning, and you are staying stagnant while others moved forward, Sukuna was afraid of being left behind.

I sighed as I understood his anger, putting the bowl aside to approach him. I took advantage of the fact that he was at my level to gently massage his shoulders. Even though I didn't do it with a romantic intention, touching him like that after weeks felt like drinking water in the middle of the Sahara. A temporary pleasure that I had to take advantage as much as I could.

"Do you know what it means that he didn't last more than 5 rounds?" I asked him while massaging his neck.

"I'm not in the mood for your shit," he mumbled, focused on his shoes.

"Let me finish!" I barked. "It means you're better than an Olympic medalist," he looked at me again, calmer now.

"You think?" he asked me, looking at me to deduce if I was saying it out of pity or not.

"Of course! You are the king of the ring, not just in the UFC!" I cheered, giving him a friendly pat on the arm.

"Not everyone can go against the king," he said with an evil smile.

It was one of those few times I've seen him smile like that. I'm glad to know that I could be of use to him outside the gym. I wanted to be the cause for him to smile more often, even if it meant he didn't feel the same way about me. A reality that I was willing to accept for the sake of both of us.

The fight between Aoi Todo and Toji Fushiguro was about to start. The current champion, Toji, entered shining his glorious belt with Welcome To The Jungle by Guns N' Roses in the background while the commentators read his statistics. Aoi, the challenger, Todo looked forward to the fight from the octagon. The crowd was excited, music was blaring from the speakers, and commentators were debating who would take home the belt. It was an important fight that deserved to be seen on the room's beautiful 80"inch screen.

"That son of a bitch," Sukuna snorted behind me, referring to Toji. He was in my robe as always before going to sleep.

"A talented son of a bitch," I joked. "Sit down and watch it with me."

"I'll watch it until I get sleepy," Sukuna scoffed as he sat next to me on the couch.

After formal introductions and the referee's instructions, the first round took place. The two mastodons faced each other face to face in a rain of punches and jabs that seemed to have no end. They were like two bulls striking each other with their sharp horns, making the plaza resonate with the power of their tackles. It was clear that Aoi Todo was a born boxer who did not allow himself to be intimidated by the enormous presence of Fushiguro with those beastly hits. Before Toji could take him to the ground, like he had done in the fight against Sukuna, the bell rang.

“Who are you rooting to?” I asked Sukuna excitedly.

"I do not know, and I do not care." he answered with a yawn. That answer deserved me to throw my empty popcorn bowl at him.

"It's a very important fight! You should know!" I scolded him as the TV went to commercial break. "Todo and Fushiguro have been fighting for the division title for 2 years. Both have won twice simultaneously. This is their fifth fight. It's the fight for 3 out of 3!” I explained. Sukuna shrugged his shoulders, downplaying it the importance it deserved.

"And who are you rooting for?" He asked me to make conversation as they returned to the fight.

"Aoi Todo is a magnificent boxer like you…". At the comparison, Sukuna gave me a killer glance. "Obviously, you are the best," I corrected before he killed me.

"That is what I thought."

"But Toji is a complete fighter, I am team Toji for life," I replied with a proud smile. Sukuna gave me another killing look, this time it was more stern. I really don't learn from my mistakes, huh? "Obviously I'm Team Black before that," I said with a guilty smile.

The champion threw a quick jab, but the challenger easily dodged it. Aoi responded with a combination of quick strikes that made Fushiguro flinched. He stumbled back, but stayed upright. He threw a wild right hand, but the challenger blocked it with his forearm. The challenger took the opportunity to launch a flurry of jabs that Toji dodged like a master. Aoi continued entering her field, causing Toji's back to hit the fence. He threw one last desperate right hand, but Todo dodged it and responded with a left hook that sent the champion to the ground.

"¡No!" I exclaimed upon seeing the knockout.

"Too bad…" Sukuna mocked me.

After my champion couldn't get up easily, the referee ended the fight. The challenger had won the fight with a monstrous knockout. The crowd roared and Todo raised his arms in victory as he ran around the octagon. He had defeated his legendary opponent and became the new champion of the heavyweight division.

"First words after defeating such an important rival?". The interviewer asked Todo as he celebrated with his team supporting him behind him.

Masterlist.

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