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vypressuh · 8 months

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louder than bombs | y.h

summary : You and Yunho’s relationship was a complicated one. But not as complicated as the relationship you both shared with Choi San, your “ex” and his ex-best friend. After ending things with him years ago, you and Yunho embarked on a situationship of your own, however things between you begin to spiral out of control putting your relationship in danger. Will your feelings for each other help you salvage what you have? Or will you lose him forever?

pairings: jeong yunho x fem!reader

tags: MINORS DNI, nsfw, smut warning, unprotected sex, asphyxiation, guided masturbation, domxsub, creampie, violence, blood warning, vulgar language, sensual language, sex talk, rough sex ♡

*DISCLAIMER : This story is mainly for entertainment purposes. This is not a representation of the artists themselves or their actual personalities and is only created to be a work of fiction. Their actions are only for storytelling and literary purposes.*

[ AVOID SPOILERS — READ PART 1 HERE ] ㋛㋛㋛

[ User Tags: @simeonswhore @hopetiger10 ]

word count: 13K

——

Regret was like a vicious toxin. Eroding you from the inside out until there was nothing left other than the thought of what could have been. Desperate clings to the paths you chose not to take prior. Ever since San, you lived with many of them. You wished you never met him. You had a desire to rewind time and make it so he was never a part of your life to begin with. You were tired of being tangled in all of this pain that his selfishness had caused you, but you loathe yourself for letting it get this far.

Now to add onto the declaration list of your compunctions, you stood in disbelief from what you just let slip out of your mouth to the man you had previously shared a piece of your heart with.

“I…I think I fell in love with Yunho.”

The sentence looped in your head; echoing like bats trying to echolocate their way through a dark cave. Those were words that you never thought you would ever utter to yourself, let alone anybody else. You swore free from the spell of “love” or whatever those feelings meant to you, and kept them under a stiff lock and key even from Yunho who you had grown into this semi-functional situationship with. The two of you, however, had a deal. You both were aware of what you were stepping into when you decided to share a bed that night—making it clear that feelings would never be involved in what you had. It kept things from being complicated between you— the one barrier that protected you both from one another, from the disappointment that could be brought on from any physical adventure— had been ruined because of you.

Because you decided to fall in love yet again.

Your heart was thumping so roughly against the cage of your chest that it was beginning to pierce skin. Your forehead was moist with beaded sweat. You wiped it away, curious to know if it was from the immoral activities the two of you had just finished, or from the anxiety you felt at what his response could possibly be. The silence was too much for you to bear so you cleared your throat, hoping to subtract from the awkwardness.

All you could hear was his rough, ragged breath intermingling with your broken sighs. You were too scared to look at him, afraid of what might reflect back at you if you did. The sudden need to explain yourself arised, feeling it to be your responsibility to mitigate whatever hurt you had just caused. But what could you possibly say to fix everything? Words weren’t enough in this instance.

Your brain finally cleared from the high you were on, giving you full autonomy over your thoughts. “San I-” You stammered, but a hand and a low tone hushed you within moments.

“You… love him?.” His voice was calm, but his words were harsh. Deserved at the least. “So, why did you kiss me? Why did we just do anything that we just did?”

The last thing you ever though you would do if you saw him again was fuck him the first chance you got. You believed that it was the guilt of knowing that you could never love San the way he wanted you to. Engulfed in the inability to properly explain what it was that you felt with words, you said with action. Though, it may have been the wrong action considering the circumstances. The realization that the two of you never shared a real emotional connection and could only communicate through physical means was the main source of your confusing relationship with him. One thing you learned however was that sex didn’t always mean love or an invitation into something serious. Sometimes sex was just that. Sex. Sometimes it was a physical love letter. Sometimes it was a goodbye.

You wished you would have discovered that sooner rather than now.

You swallowed a clump of saliva in your throat and moved away from the door that you both were propped up against. “I’m sorry. I can’t give you what you want, San.”

San scoffed at that comment. “You can’t? Or you’d rather give it to someone else?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, running your fingers over your forehead like you were trying to make sure your brain was still there and functioning. “This was a mistake.”

You paced the bathroom floor. The words sounded more heartless and cruel leaving your mouth than it sounded in your head.

You fetched your phone and purse that clattered to the floor and tucked them underneath your arm, striding over to the bathroom sink to fix whatever damage your look had undergone.

Your lipstick had smudged a bit because of the inopportune display of affection, and you quickly fixed it with a facial wipe that was tucked inside the depths of your bag. You readjusted yourself; affixed your dress straps back into place and refluffed your hair until you looked a little better than you had moments ago. It wasn’t the same but it would do for now. The final touch was just masking the scent of sex that was practically etched into your skin with the perfume that you always carried with you. Your hair would hide the light bruise on your neck that San left from canvassing your flesh with his mouth.

“Wow.” He sounded hurt. You could not blame him. “ A mistake, huh? So, you're saying you still felt something for me— was that a mistake too?”

“Look, this is too complicated for either of us. It always has been, and I think we have collectively had enough complicated relationships to last us a lifetime.” You inhaled with a sharp breath. “Let's just end it. Once and for all—on a good note this time.”

“No, this isn’t complicated for me.” San stood to his feet now, tugging on the dress shirt he had on to straighten it back out again. “This is complicated for you.”

“I don’t want to fight about this, San. Just drop it.”

He continued anyway. “Am I wrong? You’re confused. You don’t know what you want! Who you want.”

You didn’t bother to look at him directly, only stared at the silhouette of his figure in the corner of the mirror. There was a noise rising in your throat, breaking through your closed lips and out into the air. You started to laugh.

“What? You wanted me to choose you? After everything you put me through.” You chuckled again. “You’re out of your damn mind. I’d rather be with someone who actually knows how to love me.”

“Love you?” San snickered. “You don’t know Yunho as well as you think you do, if you believe he’s actually capable of loving you. Believe me when I say, he’s not the guy you think he is.”

You almost gave yourself whiplash from the force of the twirl as you turned to look at San, shooting an incredulous look at him. What was that supposed to mean? You’ve spent years being around Yunho and he was just as sweet and gentle as he had always been. He was caring and open and.. you wanted to believe that the stream of affections that he had shown you came from somewhere deep down. Came from him possibly loving you. At least you hoped.

“And you think you’re better? You think you know everything, San, but you don’t. We didn't want any of this, it just h-”

“Happened. Right?” He finished your words like they were his own.

The two of you stared at one another. You could feel the heat rising to your face, your skin– although burning with the anger that was manifesting– felt cold.

“You say you love him and he loves you, blah blah blah, but what do you think he’ll do when he finds out what happened between us?” San said with a sneer.

All you could do was stare at him for a moment. Your eyes darted around his figure wildly, trying to reveal whatever secret meaning was behind his words. Or was it a threat? You tried not to think of that possibility as you turned back to face the mirror, focused on the goal that you were trying to achieve. You heard some minor shuffling from behind you, but paid no mind to it. The bathroom door squeaked open with a shrill, and you awaited the moments that the door closed, telling you that San was gone, but it never came. There was the loud chatter from outside where the rest of the party was, and the classical music being played from the live band.

Then he spoke again. “I was really hoping things would be different between us this time, but I guess you chose the wrong guy to love, again. Right?”

You paused for a moment, sitting on the last words that San left you with before he walked out of the bathroom— leaving you completely and utterly alone. Again. That simple word stung you more than you were willing to admit; feeling almost uncomfortable in your own skin as the sentence dug deeper into your flesh causing you to writhe and shift in place. However, he was right.

What did you really know about love anyway except the part of it that hurt the most? How would you know if Yunho was really even the right one to love you in the first place? What if you couldn’t love him as you say you did? Stuck in the perpetual cycle of pain all over again because of an inadequacy that you lacked within yourself. You loved San once, didn’t you? Wasn’t everything you put yourself through with him for the sake of love? Or was it something else? So many questions clouded your brain, it was overwhelming. You could not answer them all at once, for the answers never offered themselves to you in the first place.

Everything you thought you knew, came crumbling down in a matter of seconds, leaving a wake of unregistered feelings and unsolved emotional turmoils.

You spent the better part of the last four years in anguish over San. That night you found him in the arms of another woman, haunted you. The words “I love you” hurt you more than they healed you, carving a wound so deep in your heart that you felt it would never mend itself. You despised those words, and could never bring yourself to say them. Questioning yourself on what love really is all over again.

플래시백

You loved Seoul Forest Park. In fact, other than Namsan, this was the park you visited more frequently. It was more peaceful. Your sacred place. However, this is the first time you came with someone else, and the atmosphere was just as calm and serene as you had left it months ago. The trees dance in a contemporary style swaying elegantly in the wind, telling a story of their place in this reserve. The leaves shuffled against one another, forming the instruments for the performance; since it was coming upon the Spring, they were just as bright and healthy as you could have hoped. The sky was a pale blue, brushed with sparse, but fluffy clouds overhead. The sun hid its blinding rays behind the tufts of white that passed over it, protecting both you and Yunho from the unforgiving heat.

The two of you were sitting at the pond, surrounded with beautiful stone tablets. Some of them even crossed the water like a small bridge. Yunho was skipping rocks that he found nearby, while you watched a family of ducks run across the stone with its brigade of ducklings. One of them fell into the water clumsily. You smiled more happily than you usually would have at the sight as the other babies attempted to stick their stout beaks into the water to help their sibling up. The mother took notice and tried to see what the commotion was about. You giggled a bit to yourself, but possibly louder than you thought. Yunho perked up and followed your gaze to find the source of your laughter.

“Have you ever had a duck before?” He asked you, quite randomly.

You turned to him with raised eyebrows, but readjusted to engage in the sudden conversation. “No, not as a pet, but.” You thought about it for a moment, trying to recall your childhood. “Since I used to live by a bigger lake, we saw a lot of ducks come and go. My dad and I used to feed them together.”

“They’re funny little things, but they always seem to be on the move— never stay in one place too long.” There seemed to be something that Yunho wanted to say, but he wasn’t sure how to say it. So, he continued. “I used to have one named Oli. I feel like he only used me for my bread, but he was a real pal. I think I missed a Summer seeing him since I was inside playing video games most of the time, and he was probably expecting me to come and feed him, but I forgot… never saw him again after that. I wonder where he is now.”

You closed your eyes and sighed, shaking your head in that same disappointed manner you always did and laughed against your will. “Maybe those are his kids.”

Yunho grinned and laughed, considering the possibility. “Maybe, but those ducks don’t have his feathers.”

You chuckled and sighed all in the same breath. “It feels so easy for animals to just pick up and move on after being disappointed. I’m jealous of Oli.”

Yunho smiled at you for a moment. His gaze shifted towards the grassy slope you both sat on, twiddling with the blades at his side. “Yeah, I probably really let him down, but I don’t think it’s that easy for them to move on. When you spend a lot of time in one place, you get accustomed to it. If I was Oli, I would like coming home to that nest or that pond everyday, but then have to pick up and move again every winter? That’d be so bothersome. So, if I was used to getting fed at one house and then have to find another? I’d be pretty pissed.”

You thought about his words, piecing together whatever analogy he was trying to prove in your head. You looked over again at the family of ducks only to find them now swimming in the pond together.

Yunho spoke up again after clearing his throat. “What I’m trying to say is: moving on isn’t easy for anyone or anything. It’s a process, and it takes time. Maybe Oli was disappointed in me for not being there, but overtime, I know he found something else. He never stopped moving just because he was hurt by someone.”

Your eyes stayed latched on the duck family that paddled around the lake in a circle. Always moving and still enjoying it. You let a deep breath escape you. “Moving on can be lonely sometimes, though. At least they have each other.”

Yunho nodded, looking out at the vast sea of green grass and trees on the other side of the lake. “It can be. Nobody said you always had to do it alone, though. Birds and ducks and things like that, they're not always alone when they move down South. They always have people that love them by their side, so why can't we?”

You glanced over at Yunho, looking at the small squint in his eyes as he gazed up at the sky; trying to shield himself from looking directly at the sun that was beginning to peak from behind the clouds. His once pink hair had now faded into a light blonde, blowing messily across his forehead. He caught your gaze and stared back at you. That goofy grin pulling at his lips as you turned away shyly; the both of you sharing a brief laugh.

“What?” He asked. “You were staring at me first. I can't look at you?”

“It’s not that.” You chuckled, pulling your lips into your teeth for a moment. “Just trying to figure out when you got so philosophical.”

“There’s a lot of things about me you don’t know.” He started moving closer to you. His hands reached up towards your face and used the knuckle of his finger to brush a stray piece of your hair from your forehead.

You only watched him, being sure to not make any wayward movements. His eyes searched your face intently, trying to glean some kind of answer from you. “The one thing you should know though, is that I’m always going to be here with you.”

His fingers caressed down your cheek, stopping at your chin. That same, singular finger tilted your head upwards and pulled you into a soft kiss. Your relationship with him was still confusing, but you never questioned it. It was merely yours. No one else's. No one had to define what you were. You just… were.

Your lips curled up into a smile once Yunho backed away from you. You brought your knees up to your chest and hugged them, rocking yourself over to the side until you landed flush against Yunho. Your head tucked just underneath his chin. He adjusted himself closer to you and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, planting a kiss on the top of your head.

The two of you didn’t say anything else while you sat there engulfed in one another. Ever since that night the two of you shared, Yunho had not left your side. Of course, he would still give you the space you needed, but when the two of you were together. It really was just the two of you. When he held you like this, you took in the comforting fragrance he had on— smelling similar to apple— and would fall into him with ease. Yunho always possessed this calming energy about him and that's always how you felt. You loved and cherished every moment you spent with him.

There was a warmness growing in your chest. That deep, bleeding, gash that San left on your heart slowly began to close.

계속하다

You had to find Yunho. Your mind slipped the fact that he had miraculously disappeared into the thicket of the party. Jamie also had to be confused as to where you went, considering you had been gone for almost twenty minutes with no correspondence. You checked your phone as you exited the bathroom, hoping for something. Jamie had texted you asking where you were and you quickly responded, telling her that you simply got lost in the magnitude of the hall. But nothing from Yunho.

I’ll undo the lie later. Sorry, Jamie. You said to yourself, clicking off the device and stumbling back into the party. It was just as lively as you had left it, but urgency filled the air instead of the fun you were promised. All you wanted to do was find Yunho and get out of here, and put this whole shit show behind you. So, you continued your search. This time, you called out for him.

You searched the perimeter first. You only found big wigs with their companions sitting at round dining tables with their share of dinner and drink. The ballroom floor was not as crowded now as many had found seats to sit in and were engaging in conversation elsewhere, giving you enough space to trek forward without bumping into anyone.

“Yunho!” You called out, fruitlessly. No answer. You searched amongst the semi-sparse group in the area. Seeing no familiar faces yet. The live band was drowning you out this close up. It would be impossible for anyone that happened to be out of earshot to hear you.

But then a voice called out to you. “Hey! Over here.”

You spun around quickly, a few groups away was Mingi. He raised his drink high in the sky so you could see him and his black and blonde streaked hair, and you sighed in relief. Happy to see a friendly face, even if it wasn’t the one you were hoping for. Beside him were Hongjoong and Seonghwa, Yeosang, Jongho. Wooyoung and Veronica were missing and- Your heart caved, but rose again from the elated feeling as your eyes landed on the tall blonde.

“Yunho.” you murmured softly.

You quickly made your way over to them, saying your pardons to those who were in the way and squished yourself between the rather large group of men that you had come to call your friends. “Hey everyone. It’s good to see you, y’all look great.”

“So do you. You look like you’ve been running a marathon, though.” Seonghwa said, looking at the guys.

“Yeah, are you alright?” Yunho cooed softly, more concerned.

No. “Yeah! I was just um… Yunho. I’ve been looking for you, everywhere. We think we’re going to head out.”

“Already?” Yunho looked at his watch. “Why? Did something happen?”

“Well-“

“I hope y’all aren't skipping out so soon!” A voice chimed a little bit away from where you stood. “The party’s just getting started.”

A hand clapped around Yunho and Yeosang’s shoulder suddenly and his head jerked to the side to see San rounding around the man’s tall figure. Wooyoung in toe with a jovial grin on his face. Everyone in the group, including you, shifted uncomfortably where they were standing. They were fine when he was with them earlier, laughing and joking like everything was peachy, but that changed now that you were with them. They all knew.

You and Yunho exchanged brief glances before he rolled his eyes, folding his arms across his chest. “San.”

He sounded agitated; trying to mask it behind that smooth and cool voice of his. You never really questioned him about his relationship with San. Nor did you ever ask him. You knew he always hung around the guys regardless of if he was there, but the only thing you knew about their situation was that Yunho had moved out with Yeosang a few months prior and San, Seonghwa, and Mingi all lived together now.

“Good to see you, buddy! It’s been a while. You look good. Nice suit.” San almost sounded believable, if it weren’t for the fact that you knew he was pissed at both of you.

Yunho looked at you again, and you stared back at him practically mortified. He squinted at you looking for answers.

Is he the reason you wanted to leave? Yunho seemed to ask through eyes alone.

San didn’t even seem to acknowledge your presence yet, but he knew you were there. He only looked at Yunho, who was trying his best to ignore him. Seonghwa stepped forward towards San, placing a hand on his shoulder like he had done Yunho, and spoke low into his ear, trying to tug him away at the same time. San brushed him off almost instantly.

“Nah, Nah, Nah. Wooyoung and I already had a drink. Three, actually.” He said, trying to recount the number in his head. “Oh! I saw Jamie over there too. She did not look happy to see me. Didn’t even say a word. I would have loved to catch up with her. We were friends once, just like Yunho and I. Right bud?”

He smacked him on the back, and Yunho only shifted slightly in his spot. He chewed on the inside of his mouth, annoyed. Upset. The others looked amongst each other, confused at what was going on, but they knew better than anybody.

“Alright, that's enough.” Yunho said, straightening himself, rising to his full height as he shrugged out of San’s grasp. “You’re drunk.”

“Maybe we should get out of here too.” Yeosang chimed up, trying to keep that happy smile he usually possessed. “We have something to do tomorrow morning anyway.”

The group all spoke in agreement with the statement, trying to shift out of the group with San, but he resisted. Suddenly, another body joined the commotion. You looked beside you to see Jamie looking wary of the situation. She looked to you and then Yunho, seeing the visible distress on your faces.

“Where the hell have you two been?” Jamie’s voice was almost in a whisper. “What’s going on?”

“I’ll explain later.” You reached out to Yunho and grabbed the crest of his arm. “Yunho. Let’s just go.”

“It would be really nice if we all had a chance to catch up, really.” San continued. He seemed happy, but his face was just flushed with red and his eyelids lower than before. It was clear that he had drunk much more than he said. But he was coherent enough to cause problems as always.

San finally looked over at you and shivers ran down your spine. He smiled, “You and I did enough catching up. Don’t you think?”

Your stomach turned. Yunho glanced over at you and then back at San. “I think it’s best if you listen to the guys. You need to go.”

“Tell him. We had a lot of fun catching up a little bit ago didn’t we?” San took a step towards you and Yunho quickly intervened. His frame towering over the both of you, and all you could see was the way he glared at San.

The vein on the side of his neck wriggled beneath his skin. San did not shy from him though. Whatever liquor was running through his system had made him brazen and unafraid. The smile that lined San’s face had dwindled like the flame of a candle at the end of its wax. He took one courageous step up to Yunho who kept his eyes on him the entire time. Hongjoong and Seonghwa tried to pull him back. Jongho told him it wasn’t a good idea and encouraged him to leave, but he shrugged off all resistance. Yunho was unwavering in his defense. You anxiously looked between the two of them and your body moved before your mouth did.

“Yunho. Come on, let’s just go home.” You tried to reach out for him again, but Jamie pulled you back, catching you by the arm.

You looked back to see her sternly shaking her head. The people beside you were beginning to gawk in your direction, whispering to each other about the sudden fuss.

San stepped up to him again until they were mere inches apart. “Yunho. Yunho. Yunho.” He mocked. “Everybody just thinks you’re the greatest guy. Jeong Yunho: can’t ever do any wrong. Can he? But they don’t know, do they?”

Everyone looked around nervously. Your palms were beginning to feel moist with sweat. Your heart pounding against your chest; out of its usual steady rhythm. Jamie even perked up at the comment.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Yunho snipped.

San’s hand came in contact with Yunho’s shoulder and he pushed him back with just a few of his fingers. Yunho barely budged, his shoulder falling out of its original place before stiffening back. San took another step. “Tell them.”

Hongjoong stepped in, gripping San’s shoulder. “San, man. Don’t cause a scene.”

San ignored him, shaking free of his hold. “Tell them, Yunho.” San had more bass in his voice now. He pushed him again. The look in his eye was almost evil. He pushed Yunho back again, this time Yunho took a step behind him as he did.

San tried to press him again, but Yunho wrapped his large hands around his wrist, stopping him in midair. You could see the pain lurch onto San’s face for a moment as his nose twitched. Yunho bared his teeth and got closer to him, squeezing his fist around his arm. “Touch me again, and I’ll break your fucking hand.”

“Tough guy. Then you’re brave enough to admit that you’ve been fucking the girl I loved behind my back. All of our backs.”

Yunho looked over to you for a moment. There was a brief panic in his eyes, but he hid it well enough. You wanted to help him, but San was relentless. Still, Yunho said nothing, standing firm against San’s sudden aggression.

“So what if I am?” You shuddered. Everyone’s eyes turned to you suddenly. Including Jamie. You could feel her green eyes burning a hole in the side of your head.

“What?!” Jamie said, “You two- is he serious? Is he telling the truth?”

You turned to her, tears beginning to line your eyes. You couldn’t bring the sound out, so you mouthed “I'm sorry.”

Yunho threw down San’s hand. Seeing him reeling for a moment. “Happy now?”

He started walking away from him, seemingly unfazed, but by the look on his face you could tell that he felt bad for putting the both of you on the spot. Neither of you wanted it to come out this way mere moments from being in your arms again.

San smiled. “Don’t feel too bad, bud. We’re not the only ones who fucked someone else behind someone’s back.” He turned to look at you this time. “Isn’t that right?”

Yunho looked back at him, following San’s mischievous gaze directly to you. Fear overtook you. Your face fluttered with shame as you watched the realization hit him on what happened. He knows. A tear streamed down your cheek.

“Let me tell ya’. She tastes just as good as I remembered-“

A few heavy gasps filled the room. Shocked and frightened shrieks left you and Jamie’s mouths as Yunho’s fist cracked across San’s jaw. Completely knocking him off balance. He was so fast that you hadn’t even noticed Yunho lunge at him in the first place. Before you or the guys could scramble to stop either of them from retaliating further, San was already recovering from the punch. He spat out blood that had gathered in his mouth from the sudden appearance of a cut on his lip. He turned on his toes, dealing back the same blow to Yunho’s face despite his size. The hit was much more vicious, sending crimson spattering across his cheek. But he did not stop. He swung blind again. Yunho was fast but San was faster. He stepped back just in time. The crowd backed away as well, scared of the fight ensuing.

“Guys, enough!” You screamed out but they hadn’t heard you, or they did but just didn’t care.

The two of them were scrapping like they were in the streets. One punch more lethal than the last. The once beautifully polished floor was now ruined with the droplets and spatters of their blood. And they didn’t stop, despite the efforts of their friends trying to pull them off of one another. Yeosang and Jongho grabbed desperately at the back of Yunho’s suit. Seonghwa and Mingi tried to grab San. Wooyoung was in the middle and tried to pull them both apart with the help of Hongjoong, but they didn’t budge. It was chaos. They were yelling and the people were screaming, but drawing closer to see the fight while others fled. Somehow Yunho had toppled over San. He straddled him, dealing blow after blow. San tried to fight back but to no avail. You couldn’t watch this anymore.

You fought out of Jamie’s hold on you and rushed into the middle. You moved Hongjoong aside just in time before Yunho cocked his hand back.

Both of your hands latched around his forearm and you pulled. “Yunho stop!”

Yunho quickly craned his neck back to see who had grabbed him. He was completely blinded by rage that he hadn’t even noticed it was you for a second. His cheek had been cut and was bleeding. His bottom lip was also split and there was a small cut above his eyebrow. His hair was a slight mess, leaving a few strands dangling in his face, stuck to his forehead from sweat.

You reached out to touch his face, brushing across his cheek lightly coming in contact with the blood that was dripping. “Please.”

His vision slightly began to clear as the scowl he had on his face diminished and his breathing slowed. Someone came pushing their way through the crowd at that moment. You were sure someone called the police, but it was a lone woman in a long, gold ball gown style dress. Dark hair fell down her slender shoulders and there was a look of annoyance on her face.

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!” Veronica boomed.

She looked down at San who was sputtering and laughing all the same, Yunho who was pulling himself off of him, standing beside you weakly. And then over at you. Veronica’s eyes sparked between yours for a moment and you could see understanding in them. Not empathy, but a realization that this was somehow your fault, which wasn’t too far off in hindsight. All you didn’t calculate was that they would start fistfighting in the middle of the ballroom. Veronica moved over to San, dropping even elegantly, beside him to see how badly he was hurt.

Yunho wiped the blood from his lip with his own thumb before turning to Veronica. “Nice party.” He said before slinking away into the crowd that parted ways for him.

You looked down at San who also watched him leave, trying to sit up slowly on the floor with Veronica and Wooyoung’s help. Bright red bruises were all over his face.

“You were so tired of being miserable alone that you had to bring everybody else down with you. Well, congratulations, San. Now we’re even.”

Jamie rested a hand on the side of your arm, pulling you back the way Yunho had gone. “Come on, he isn’t worth it.”

“Yeah… he isn’t.” You and Jamie followed after Yunho, sure not to lose him again this time.

You had never seen Yunho so angry before. You’ve never seen him snap like that much less hurt anyone in the process. Especially someone he once called a friend. He simply just exploded. Your mind was beginning to run with everything you had heard about Yunho up until this point; trying to comb over every moment you spent together to see if you missed something—anything— that could make his impulsive aggression make sense.

There’s a lot of things about me you don’t know.

Believe me when I say: he’s not the guy you think he is.

Did you really miss something? You shook the thought from your mind and continued to chase after him, following his figure as he made his way outside. Jamie called after him, but he didn't stop. His current state was earning him some terrified sideways glances from passersby who were curiously heading inside to see what all the racket was. Yunho had not stopped his trek until he reached the valet who rushed off as soon as he came.

Yunho was pacing back and forth in the still night. The heels of his shoes clicked across the stony pathway as his hands rubbed across his face. You could see now the red marks that were on his knuckles. Some were minorly scraped, but most of them had dark wounds on them. If they would have undergone any more damage, they would have started bleeding even worse. You were happy that you stepped in when you did.

“Are you okay?” You said in a soft whisper as if you were afraid of awakening a beast of some kind.

“I’m fine..” His voice was almost as soft as yours, but without emotion.

“M-Maybe we should go to a hospital or something. Those cuts can get infected.” Jamie suggested.

You nodded your head in agreement. “Yeah. Yeah. Maybe that’s best. Are you sure you're-”

“I said I’m fine.” He snapped. You and Jamie instinctively took a step back. He had never raised his voice at either of you and you could tell that he instantly regretted it, but the anger was still there so he didn't think to apologize for any of it.

“This is my fault.” You spoke up, putting your face in your hands as you plopped down on the steps of the hall. “This wasn't supposed to happen. I’m so stupid.”

Jamie went to comfort you, rubbing her hands across your backside.

“I wasn’t supposed to find out, you mean?” Yunho interjected, his words accusatory.

Lifting your head from your palms you looked at him. He had stopped pacing around now, only stood gawking at you. He looked extremely disappointed, hurt, angry. At you. At San. Probably the world. You deflated on the steps.

“No.. that’s not what I-”

“Do you still love him?” He asked suddenly.

“No!” You said defensively. “No. Of course not.”

“So, you just had sex with him for old times’ sake? Jesus..” He rubbed his hand across his forehead. You sank further.

“Yunho, calm down.” Jamie said. “Let's just hear her out.”

“I’m not hearing anything worth listening to.” Yunho scoffed in disbelief at their current circumstance. “I can't believe this..”

“We just ran into each other while I was looking for you! Everything happened so fast, I wasn't thinking. We were talking, and things got heated, and-” You slowed yourself, trying to gather the right words. “and it happened. I wanted to tell you myself, but I didn't think he would blow up like that after I-”

“After you what?”

Yunho and Jamie had given you their full attention. They were looking at you expectantly, waiting on the next part of your story. Something that would be the final puzzle piece to the mystery of how this whole thing started in the first place. Your eyes found Yunho’s; wet with your tears. You tried to blink them away, but they stung as they fell down your cheeks. You licked them off with your tongue, tasting the saltiness of them.

“After we were done talking… I told him about us.” You said, your voice cracking under the weight. “I told him that I didn’t love him. I couldn't.” Your eyes dropped from Yunho’s, looking into your lap while you toyed with the fabric of your dress. “Because I’m in love with you.”

Both Yunho and Jamie looked at you, eyes wide. Yunho appeared like he was going to speak, but was stopped by the valet who pulled up in his vehicle. The man walked around the car and hesitantly handed the keys to Yunho and stepped away back to his post. Yunho fuddled with the keys in his grasp and tossed them over to Jamie who fumbled them for a moment, but righted herself.

“Why are you giving these to me?” She tilted her head to the side like a bewildered puppy.

“I need to clear my head. You two can head to the house. I’ll pick the car up later.” His tone was more commanding than anything. He started to walk away and you stood to your feet.

“Yunho, come on! We can just talk about this at home.” You pleaded, sounding more desperate than you wanted to, knowing that his leaving was your fault.

“We’ll talk later. Maybe.”

He walked without another word around the line of cars that wrapped around the building. The darkness engulfed his figure until he was completely out of sight. You felt a pain form in your chest; having to catch yourself to breathe through the discomfort. The feeling you felt was similar to someone snatching a stool out from underneath your feet when it was all you had to keep you balanced. A sound louder than tearing metal as you heard your heart shatter into pieces—the same heart that he had helped you mend, had also been destroyed by him. If it weren’t for Jamie who held onto you dutifully, you would have collapsed right there in the dirt. Physically and emotionally exhausted from the night.

Jamie softly touched your arm and motioned for the car. “He’ll be okay, let’s go home.”

The car ride was silent for the most part other than the late night radio that played at a considerably low volume. Your head rested on your arm whilst you stared out the passengers’ side window, letting the wind from outside brush against the dry tear stains on your cheeks. The buildings you drove by whipped past, their shapes melting into one another. Their lights were only blinding for a moment, but it was better than staring down at your phone and hoping that you would get a message from Yunho.

Occasionally, Jamie would peer over to look at you. Maybe afraid that you would take your previous jokes of jumping out of the car in the middle of the freeway more seriously this time. Though, it wasn't something you hadn’t considered. There was so much that you wanted to say to Jamie, but you didn’t know where to start. You knew she was curious, but she didn’t press you for information even against her better judgment.

“Hey.” She started. “About… what happened back there? I hope you don’t blame yourself for all of that. You can’t control people’s actions ya’ know.”

“It was my fault anyway. I provoked San. I… slept with him. What happened between them is because of me.” You admitted, your gut wrenching at the words.

“You didn’t know he would try and pick a fight with him though. Plus, he was drunk. I don’t even think he’ll remember any of it. Well, with the way Yunho left him, maybe he will in the morning.” Jamie sighed, stopping briefly at a red light. “Look, I don’t know how you feel right now in great detail and maybe I’ll never get it, but don’t let this bury you. I’m sad that you felt like you couldn’t come to me with this— believe me I’m shocked, but not as shocked as you think. I just wouldn’t have figured that everything with you and Yunho had gotten as far as it had. I knew he liked you from before San, but-“

You perked up. Turning around to face Jamie in your seat. “He what?”

“He didn’t tell you? Whoops..” Jamie gritted her teeth and inhaled sharply. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Well, you kind of already did! He liked me before San?” You prodded for more information.

“Look, hey! I don’t know all the details, but I was friends with Yunho before you, so naturally we told each other everything. Then, when you came along, he didn’t say much, but he told me he liked you. A LOT. Then when you met everyone else, including San, well… the rest was history.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” You blurted.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were having sex with him?!” Jamie bit back.

You slinked back into your seat. “Fair point. I’m sorry about all of this Jamie. I really wanted to tell you everything from the beginning. It was just so much to unpack, I didn’t know what to say.”

Jamie let out a soft breath through her nose, gearing up the car again as the light changed to green and continued driving down the street.

“I’m not mad at you. More left out, I guess. Trust me, I don’t need to know that two of my best friends were bumping uglies and how or where, but a little heads up would have sufficed.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry…” You reached your hand out towards Jamie’s hand and grabbed ahold of it. “You’re my best friend. You always have my back, and I’m grateful for you.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m not going anywhere. So, what are you going to do about Yunho?”

“I don’t know. I feel like he hates me now.”

“He could never hate you. Maybe he just needs time for now. Don’t give up on him, that boy can’t live without you.”

You nodded and turned to look out the window. “Yeah..I hope so.”

계속하다

Two months later…

Work was just as tedious as always. The boss was getting on your nerves about some paperwork you had already filed a month ago, but he never bothered to check and probably lost it. It was getting late now, you and a few of your other co-workers had been the last stragglers and all you wanted to do was finish up the work you needed so that you could get home. You and Jamie had planned to meet up for dinner at a local tteokbokki spot that you had yet to try, but she was still stuck in Jinju for business. So, you decided to pick up some extra hours at work as well.

You clicked away on your keyboard; unmotivated and robotic in your approach to the case file you were working on. You took steady sips of your energy drink, which was probably a bad idea in the grand scope of things but that was how you got things done nowadays. You barely slept ever since that night, and you couldn’t work well otherwise so you depended on energy shots and caffeine to keep you alert.

Your phone chimed suddenly and you almost knocked over your tumbler cup trying to retrieve it. You scrambled for stability, dropping your head as a relieved, but anxious sigh exited your mouth. Righting the cup, you hurriedly checked your phone only to see a message from some clothing company you shopped at before text you about a new sale. Disappointed, you went to your other message threads, scrolling to his name, which wasn’t far down. Tapping on it, you saw all of the messages you had sent him over the last two months since that night, but there was never an answer. Some of the messages in the beginning were paragraphs, some short and some long. You apologized to him over and over wanting to explain everything. Some were you lashing out in frustration over the fact that he wouldn’t answer you or give you the time of day. The lengths of your text to him dwindled over time. You messaged him about festivals in the area, movies that were coming out soon, or video games you think he would be interested in. You sent texts wishing him well. Texts asking how he was. Still nothing.

Jamie tried to keep you hopeful, telling you that he was just busy traveling or work got in the way, but you knew the truth: he was done with you. Your last message to him was a week ago.

I’m really sorry for everything, Yunho. I wish I could take it back, but I can’t. I want to fix it. I miss you, but if you don’t feel the same then…I don’t blame you. I’m sorry again, but I don’t think I can go without you anymore. I guess this is goodbye.

Just reading it again felt like someone was using your heart as target practice and you quickly swiped out of the message. You didn’t expect him to forgive you for what happened, at least not right away. But you had not expected complete radio silence either. The way you two had left things wasn’t ideal, and you desperately wanted to fix them with him, but he just wouldn’t let you. Like you said before, you couldn’t blame him for the way things were now. You just wished they were different.

You finished up the last of your work and printed everything out, stuffing it in a manila folder and depositing it in the mailbox on your boss's door for him to check in the morning. You gathered your things and tidied up your workspace. You could do your timesheet later when you were home, you just wanted to get out of here. Saying your goodbyes to your coworkers, you stepped out of the office and took the elevator down to the base floor.

The security guard was mainly the only one in the area, watching over the front desk. The two of you said your goodbyes as well as you stepped out into the night air of Seoul. There was a small trickle of rain, but you weren’t bothered by it too much. You jogged to the end of the street corner and raised your hand for an oncoming taxi to take you home. Once he stopped for you, you climbed inside and let him drive off, telling him your desired destination.

You followed your new set routine with Jamie and let her know that you were leaving work and heading home. Since you two were primarily separated these days for work, it was a good update strategy. She answered within minutes.

제이미

Be safe. Wont be home until tomorrow! Know you didn’t eat anything so I ordered you food. Should be outside by the time you get there. enjoyyyyy ♡

You smiled down at your phone and thanked her. You don’t know what you would do without Jamie. She was probably your only constant in this ever changing world and you loved her for it.

The ride lasted another fifteen minutes and you were outside of your apartment building. You slid the driver cash and thanked him before getting out of the car. The rain was starting to pick up, so you placed your bag over your head and ran to the entryway. You punched in your apartment code and the door buzzed, granting you entry into the nicely decorated and warm foyer. There was a large front desk where two people sat watching monitors. A single overhead chandelier illuminated the space around you in a bright orange, and there was a white carpet that stopped just halfway info the center of the room. The ones at the front desk greeted you kindly as you passed, slightly damp from the oncoming storm, walking further into the building where the first four sets of elevators were for your wing. You pressed the button to go up to the tenth floor and waited as the elevator came down from its last stop. When the machine chimed, the doors opened and a few people stepped off leaving you to enter the elevator alone, which you didn’t mind.

You just had another large space to yourself. The elevator rose higher and higher and you watched each floor change one after another. Finally, the tenth floor came and you skipped off of it. You walked down the hall, spotting your door, which was just in the center. The stairwell was not far from it, and you were reminded that you should start using the stairs more often. There was also a man leaning over the railing, jet black hair blinding you from his face. He had on a dark coat and rings, and looked like he was in deep thought, letting his thumb toy with his body lip. You didn’t really pay him any mind, but you didn’t recognize him either. Probably just another tenant. You came to stop at your door where a bag of food was laid at the foot of the wood. You bent over to pick it up and punched in the alarm lock pin. The door’s mechanism whirred and disjointed. You pushed down the handle to enter and stopped at the sound of your name. Startled, you whipped around. The man had turned around to face you, an anxious glance in his eyes. Your irises adjusted on his face for a moment and your heart dropped into the pits of your stomach.

“Yunho?” You almost had not recognized him without his blonde hair. It threw you for a moment, but more so that he was at your front door. “I didn’t know it was you, you look different.”

“In the flesh..” He straightened himself and cleared his throat, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Can we talk?”

Irritation grew in you. “Now you want to talk to me?” You spoke roughly. You didn’t mean to give him an attitude, but a part of you wasn’t sorry for it. He had ghosted you for two months and now he wanted to talk about that night?

“Please.” He said. It sounded more like he was commanding you, than requesting you even in that soft voice of his.

You stared at him and sighed, defeated. You couldn’t be upset at him, no matter how angry you were deep down. You turned and opened the door, setting your things down on the table in the hall and motioned him to step in. He did so without hesitation, walking slowly into the apartment like he hadn’t been here a thousand times over. The both of you kicked off your shoes and you closed the door behind him, letting the air thicken with the sudden tension. It was so thick that it was almost impenetrable. You felt uncomfortable walking around your own home.

You offered him something to drink, but he declined. He instead took off his thick coat, revealing a black short sleeve shirt with some design on it that you could not fully make out. A gold chain was hidden behind the collar that went up to his neck and now glimmered in the light overhead. You walked over to the kitchen island and leaned against it, Yunho sat on the back of the couch, rather uncomfortably due to his long legs, but stayed there anyway.

“I’m sorry for popping up unannounced. I should have told you, but..” He folded his arms. “I had just come off a flight, and it would have been rude if I didn’t answer everything else you sent.”

So, he did see them.

“You ignored everything else anyway. It wouldn’t have made much of a difference.”

Yunho nodded. “I deserved that.”

“So you’ve been traveling this whole time?” You asked, slightly unconvinced.

Yunho shrugged. “Not the whole time, but for most of it. I was in the US for work.”

“I see.”

“Look, it may not mean much now, but I’m sorry. I just didn’t know what to say to you after everything that happened. I really tried to, but I couldn’t express what I was feeling well enough. I’ve never been good at that stuff. I read everything. Even the last one. It took a lot for me to come see you to say this, but I’m not here to hear you apologize anymore. I’m here to apologize.”

You listened to him, swallowing the thick clump of saliva that was stuck in your throat. “Why now?”

“Because it was wrong of me to leave how I did, twice.” Yunho said. “I tried to forget about you. I was so upset and confused by everything then, and what you said to me only confused me more. I didn’t know what to think. As time went on, I realized that I wasn’t even upset that you and San… you know. I mean I was, for a while, but the more I thought about it, it wasn’t just that. It was because I thought I lost you to him, again.”

“Lost me to him?” You stopped yourself to think. The conversation you had with Jamie in the car coming back to you in waves. “Because you wanted me before he did.”

Yunho’s eyes flickered up to you. “How did you know that? It was Jamie, wasn’t it?”

You nodded. Yunho laughed and shook his head. “Yeah. I wanted to ask you out. He knew it, but he swooped in. The rest well, you know. I have always hated that son of a bitch since then, but for the sake of the friendship, I buried it and the feelings I had for you.”

“So, did you plan to sleep with me that night as some kind of revenge or something?”

“No. Same reason you slept with him: it just happened like that.” Yunho said confidently. It was a dig for sure and you felt it, but he wasn’t wrong.

“I deserved that.” You stared down at the ground, admitting your wrong in the situation.

“I hate to say that I read your last message a little too late. I should have just taken some time and gathered my thoughts and talked to you, but I was being childish, selfish. I didn’t consider how you felt at that time. And I’m really sorry.” Yunho moved off of the couch and started making a beat towards you, slowly. “But I don’t agree with what you said.”

Your eyes returned to his. “What?”

“You said you think this is goodbye. It’s not.” Yunho was only a few steps away from you now. You tried to mesh yourself with the kitchen island. “It can’t be because we’re not saying goodbye.”

Yunho was looming over you now. His size alone was intimidating. The way he gazed down at you through the strands of his dark hair was enough to send a tingle down your back. You had to completely look upwards in order to see him.

“Maybe we should.” You didn’t even believe that, but with everything that had happened between you. Maybe San was right. Maybe you didn’t know him as well as you thought. Maybe you didn’t love him. Maybe he didn’t love you. “We don’t need anything complicated anymore .”

“I don’t want anything complicated. I want you.” Yunho placed both of his hands on either side of your body, locking you in the center of the counter. Past images flashed in your head. His scent. That same familiar scent wafting against you. Those eyes that stared daggers into your soul. The way his lips felt against yours. The way his hands caressed over your body like they were searching for something important. “I want to hold you when I want to. Kiss you. Touch you. I don’t want to sneak around with you anymore. I don’t care about anything that happened before. I just want you.”

You shut your eyes for a long moment as he pulled you into him with his words alone. He was so close to you that you were almost afraid to breathe, scared that if it took you too long to think that it could be the very end of this moment entirely. You didn’t want it to end. You wanted Yunho— you wanted to be with him.

“What if I’m not right for you?” You muttered.

“You’re perfect.” Yunho rested his forehead against yours and spoke softly as if he were pleading with you. “I need you, baby. Forgive me.”

You felt yourself unravelin his hands. Your convictions held no weight against the feelings that were churning inside of you again just from being in close proximity with him. The days and weeks without being with Yunho had blended together in a messy, and misconstrued mixture that you had lost track of time. Four years ago, San had stopped the clock on your existence, but Yunho had made time move again. You felt alive with him. Your heart pumped with enthusiasm and longed for your next meeting. Your hand reached towards his face that was now free from the cuts and bruises that you remembered. You ran your thumb over the spot just below his eye, feeling the tenderness of his skin. Traveling down to his lip, remembering where the thin cut was.

“I forgive you..” You whispered back to him.

Yunho did not want to waste more time and neither did you as he took the opportunity to erase the small gap between you. Especially with his wing span, he had no problem scooping you into his arms and crashing into your lips. Your feet had left the ground in a moment’s notice, and you were clinging to him for dear life with your legs flung haphazardly around his small waist. But with his hands gripping onto your ass, you felt stable enough to continue. His lips were exactly how you remembered them. Sweet and soft, fluffier than before, but that fiery passion was the same. Though the kiss was deep and filled with longing, it was only obvious the hunger that underlined every blissful embrace. Yunho carried you off somewhere away from the counter, but you were unaware of where he was headed considering you were handling other matters.

For a moment, your back collided gently with a wall. Yunho pinned you against it, while your fingers entangled themselves in his hair. His tongue pressed against your lips, asking for entrance before you parted them, letting his snake-like appendage traverse the depths of your mouth. You delightfully sucked on his tongue, The sloppy, wet kiss deepening with each go. You mewled approvingly and then suddenly you were on the move again. Yunho kept you steady against him as he pushed through one of the two bedroom doors in the apartment, hoping that yours was the right one.

“God, I want you so bad.” You cooed breathlessly, breaking the kiss for just a moment.

“Don’t worry baby, you’ll have me real soon.” His words were smooth, and you felt a twinge between your thighs.

Yunho walked a few more steps into the bedroom. Yunho tossed you on the bed and you laughed slightly as your body bounced from the impact. He was on top of you again in seconds, caging you inside his arms yet again; his fingers digging into the fabric of your linens. His lips collided with yours again, every peck more calculated than the last. One of Yunho’s hands cupped your face, before sliding from your cheek down to your jaw and clasping around it, holding you still while his tongue dived deeper into your mouth. He had a naturally gentle nature, but he could also be controlling when it came to the bedroom and you loved it. He gave you enough power and control for him to instantly take back when it suited him. With his lower half laying flush in between your thighs, he ground himself into you slightly. You moaned quietly against his lips, feeling the stretch of his jeans pressing against your folds. The friction sent waves of sensations through you and you could feel moisture trickling beneath the layers of your clothing.

Your hands scavenged across his body; feeling his biceps, his broad shoulders, the wideness of his back contrasting with his regularly slim build. You fisted his shirt, pulling the fabric free from it being tucked inside of his jeans, feeling the light pop in your palms once it was free. Yunho broke the kiss for a moment, still straddling you beneath him and sat up into the air, removing the bothersome piece of clothing from his body and tossing it away. The true length of him was free. His abs like ripples against the original build of his skin and you couldn’t help, but touch them. Licking against your own lips like you had come across a new meal to divulge in. The only thing that remained were his pants and that singular chain that laid lifeless against his collarbone. Yunho stared down at you the whole time, keeping your attention focused on him.

“This has to come off too,” he commanded, nodding towards your work shirt. You looked down and watched as Yunho fit a single finger into your shirt and popped every last button like it was nothing. Your chest now exposed to the cool breeze, revealing your black bralette. A sigh escaped Yunho’s lips. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

The tip of his fingers grazed against your neck, running down just where the dip of your collarbone met the lining of your breasts. Your skin bristled at his touch. His hand opened and clasped around your throat; thumb digging into your skin just a bit with the applied pressure on your jugular. He pulled you up to him, even though you were a quarter of his height sitting down, and he kissed you again. You shook yourself out of your long sleeved shirt and tossed it aside as Yunho had, not sure where it landed in the room, but you didn’t care. The hand around your throat unlatched suddenly, almost hesitant, and it was already sliding into your hair, grabbing a handful and pulling. You whined out to him, but he didn’t care. It felt good to you, like a juxtaposition to the sweetness of the kiss, and you wanted it to stay there, just a little while longer. You wanted to stay here with him forever.

The next thing you knew, you were undoing the clasp in his pants. Fiddling with the belt strap until you felt some give. It had been so long since you felt him—you wanted to have him devour you from the inside out, digging so deeply inside of you that he may strike gold. To call his name like he was too far away to hear, for him to claim you like you were his. You wanted him. You needed him.

You kissed him harder, erasing the softness from before, but dousing your kiss in hunger and desperation. Through frustrated grunts, and Yunho’s help, you managed to undo the latch on his pants, tugging them off of him. Yunho kicked them off haphazardly, keeping his focus 100% on you.

He grinned between kisses. “You’re so desperate for me to fuck you, aren’t you?”

There was a throbbing between your legs as he said this. A beat that was calling out to him, and you were aching more and more. You nodded, looking up at him pitifully.

He pushed you back against the bed, the look in his eye darker than before. Your breath hitched in your throat as he crawled back on top of you. You searched his face wildly, wondering what he was going to do next.

“Did you miss me?” He asked you softly. His hand copied the same motion as before, caressing your face first, then your neck, your chest, rubbing circles around your breast before he came to your stomach. You winced slightly, not from pain, but a slick ticklish feeling— your stomach caving under his touch.

“I missed you everyday.” You responded.

Yunho seemed to like that answer because a large smile tugged at his lips. He looked down to follow his hand making sure it was going in the right direction then back at you. His slender fingers fit right between the space in your pants and your groins, running over the mound that was concealed to him. You shifted in his grasp and sighed softly. The pad of his finger came in contact with your clit and you jolted slightly, sliding down to feel the wetness ruining your panties. He rubbed there for a while, watching you squirm and writhe beneath him.

“I can tell. You’re already soaking and I barely even touched you yet. You were always such a pretty little whore for me.” Yunho pulled his hand out and brought them up to his lips, tasting your secretions and groaning in approval of the flavor. “You taste so good, baby.”

The sight must have reached something deep in the pit of your stomach because you were even more turned on than before. You wanted him to take you right there. Not feeling embarrassed to show how much you wanted him to fuck you. For Yunho, however, that fact was obscenely obvious.

“Please Yunho,” you begged. “I can’t take it anymore.”

Yunho chuckled at your pleas, readjusting himself at the foot of the bed now. “I guess I spoiled you too much before.” He reached down and dug his fingers on the inside of your work pants and tugged you towards him, you yelped as you slid against the framing of the bed, your pants loosening from around your waist and exposing your panties. “You’re such a brat when you’re horny.”

He swiveled your pants off of you completely, raising your hips so that it could help him more. He stared down at you, looking at the wet spot in your panties and the fragility of your body. His tongue swiped across his bottom lip and he smiled, dastardly. Like he was thinking of something. You on the other hand were growing slightly impatient. Your inner walls were pulsating like crazy. Your mind was whirring with all the possible ways that he could fuck you and how horribly you wanted him go do so. The feelings you felt were agony, and you knew he felt them too with the hard-on forming beneath his boxers. You watched now as he rubbed himself dutifully, caressing his size beneath the fabric; you felt a moan coming just from watching him. You went to touch yourself as well, but Yunho smacked your hand away.

“Not so fast princess. You only touch yourself when I say so.” He almost seemed like he was going to bite you the way he spoke so roughly. It did not deter you, but you could see he was irritated. It made you want to press him further.

“So, why don’t you touch me?” You asked in a coy voice.

“Punishment. I may not be mad at you, but it’s the least you deserve for now.” He said, finding the smile in his words again.

“You’re cruel.”

Yunho shrugged. “It’s the way the world works. Since you want to touch what belongs to me so badly, go ahead, but when I say stop. I mean it.”

Your eyes sparkled. Watching Yunho as he freed himself from his boxers, never taking his eyes off of you, who followed the bounce in his girth. It had been so long since you saw his mass, you wondered if he had grown. He looked bigger than before. Your cunt pulsed again. You spread your legs and slithered your hand down to your panties and pulled the moistened fabric aside, letting it crumple between your inner thigh. You ran your hand down the center folds, watching Yunho intently. He was completely in a trance watching you fondle yourself. You played with your clit, circling your fingers around it and moaning softly. Yunho ran his hand along his shaft, pumping himself, eyes locked on your body. You imagined his hand there touching you again, your juices pouring out from you and onto the bed sheets; overflowing like a running sink.

“Shit..” he mumbled under his breath. “Keep touching yourself like that. You look so sexy..”

Per his command you continued, sliding your fingers inside of yourself now and listening to the squelch of your insides. Another hand played with your breasts, grabbing and circling around each of them, giving Yunho a full show, which he seemed to utterly enjoy more than he thought. The two of you stayed like that for a while. The sensation was too good, you thought you would make yourself cum right there in front of him. You shut your eyes for a second and moaned out to the sky, calling for whatever powers there may be, but a hand stopped you from going forward, stealing your pleasure from you.

“You’re such a good girl.” Yunho said in an exasperated voice, “Now it’s my turn to make you feel good.”

He grabbed one of your legs and pushed it back towards your shoulders as he laid himself into you. You only had a brief moment to adjust as you felt Yunho rub his thick member between your bottom lips, and he watched your face as he did so. He knew you were still sensitive from how you touched yourself just a few moments before and was using that to his advantage. He knows your body too well. He knew what made you tick and that’s what made him dangerous when he was in control. He smacked his girth against your wetness a few times before slipping into you without resistance.

“Oh my god,” Your brow furrowed. Eyes rolling towards the ceiling as the pressure inside of you built up all over again.

The moan you pushed out was loud. Too loud. You thought about the fragility of the walls around your apartment, knowing they weren’t thick enough to contain your passion. You absentmindedly apologized to them, but Yunho didn’t seem to care nor had he ever. He continued pushing himself deeply inside of you, grunting and trying to hold back his own moans. You gripped onto Yunho’s arm that was locked by your head, your nails scraping across his skin.

“Fuck, you feel even better around me than I remember.” He spoke, his voice more scratchy and gravely now.

Then he started to move. His strokes were fluid, but monstrous. Like he was doing push ups inside of you, but letting his pelvis do most of the work. His arms held him upright, bulging as he came down inside of you, plus with him holding the weight of one of your legs on his shoulder as well, he was not sparing a single motion to ensure you felt everything.

“Yun-ah..” you tried to call his name but it fell short with the moans falling through your lips.

“Look at me.” He growled, grabbing your jaw like he had earlier and forcing your gaze to him while he fucked you. “My pretty girl.”

Your eyes were locked on his, but would occasionally be distracted by the gold chain that was bouncing in your face as well. It was hypnotizing, but liberating in the sense that this was your reward for all of your efforts being good for him.

“You feel so good… fuck.” You pleaded, wrapping your other leg around his waist to deepen his strokes.

“Yeah? You miss me fucking you like this?” He asked.

You nodded weakly.

“Use your words baby.” He said with a sly grin, moving his hand from your jaw to your throat and squeezed. “Speak.”

The grip he had on you made you lightheaded. You couldn’t think properly with the way he was fucking you, more less form an intelligible sentence. Suddenly, a small but searing pain rose in your cheek as you glanced back at Yunho who had slightly popped your cheek, forcing you to pay attention to him again.

“Don’t make me repeat myself baby. Talk to me.” He said.

“I missed feeling you inside of me. I feel good with you in me.” You managed to speak through half breaths.

Yunho continued to work his magic, digging himself deeper and deeper inside of you to get you worked up. Your pussy gripped and released him, trying to keep up with his pace; gushing with the juices that he fucked out of you. Your body responded to him so well as if he was the one controlling it. He swiveled his hips and kept his strokes in a wave like motion, whilst he pounded into you, sending bursts of his aggression through your needy cunt and out through your mouth in the form of guttural moans. You held him close, clawing at his back muscles with your nails. Yunho grunted from the pain, but took it anyway. Fucking you harder than before.

Your stomach pulled. You were almost at your limit. The room was filled with the raunchy sounds of your sex, sounding like music to your ears, but probably like a fight to others. Yunho was relentless, pumping into you everything he had without mercy.

“You take me so well, like a good fucking girl.” He huffed, slamming into you forcefully. The jolts could have sent you slamming into the mattress, but they felt good.

Yunho hissed as his pace was beginning to falter. He gritted his teeth and dropped his head on the side of yours, rutting himself into you. You held him still, fingering his hair to calm him as the two of you belched your moans. His skin felt damp to the touch, but so did yours. The heat clung to your bodies from the overexertion. He was starting to sound more desperate. You were hanging on a thread of insanity. Feeling like you were going to burst at any second.

“Yunho, I’m close..” You murmured.

“Hold it, baby..” He struggled to say. “I want us to cum together.”

You nodded, trying to force the feeling down for just a little more. You didn’t want it to end, but you weren’t sure how much more you could take either, which wasn’t much at all. Yunho rolled his hips against you, sliding in out of your bundle with ease. His pace quickened for a moment and you jumped as he cursed out in your ear.

“Fuck!” He bellowed through nashed teeth. He pumped himself a few more times. “I’m about to cum. Cum with me.”

You did not hesitate to listen this time. With unleveled and shaky breaths, your eyes roll closed and you ride out the rest of his orgasm on his dick. The two of you rocking back and forth until you finally burst. You climax on him, and Yunho fills you to the brim with his cum. His groans were muffled as he hid himself in your neck, gnawing at the flesh there like it was something to hold onto. You could feel him flowing into you, covering your insides with his seed. You tried to catch your breath, letting your juices intermingle with the others. You breathed heavily together. Yunho’s back rose and fell in a broken rhythm for a moment before righting itself. He placed a kiss on your neck and sat up, still hovering over you. Your head fell back from the exhaustion.

Yunho brushed your hair from your face and looked down at you with a tired smile. There was a new found glimmer in his eye, and it sparkled much more than the chain around his neck in the light. He said nothing, only stared at you like there was nothing else in the room.

“What?” You asked softly.

He shook his head, softly caressing your hair and face before he spoke. “I love you.”

Your heart skipped a beat for a second. The two of you exchanged glances and a large, and loving smile was shared between you both. For the first time since you heard those words being said, your heart felt free. No longer locked in the cage you had put it in so long ago as you finally and confidently could mutter those same words back to someone else.

“I love you too, Yunho.”

“I think we should name our kid Oli.” He said suddenly.

You rolled your eyes and groaned, hitting him in his shoulder.

“Ow what?! I’m just saying.”

“You’re so unserious.”

534 notes · View notes

novlr · 4 months

Note

Do you have tips on writing a character who hasn't eaten in a while?

Hunger is more than a mere rumble in the belly; it is a powerful human experience that intertwines emotion with the physical, influencing a character’s actions and shaping their decisions. Whether it is the gnawing emptiness of a missed meal or the desperate ache of long-term deprivation, hunger can be a compelling force in storytelling.

Behaviour

Persistent thoughts of food

Increased irritability or lack of focus

Hoarding behaviours

Overprotective around food

Frequently visit places where food can be obtained

Partake in activities that distract from hunger

Eager to accept food-related invitations or tasks

Unusually willing to consume foods they normally wouldn’t

A gradual decline in energy or enthusiasm

Show obsessive behaviours

Interactions

Easily agitated in social situations

Conversations frequently divert back to topics of food

Bartering or trading items of value for food

Impatient when waiting for food in group settings

Feel shame or embarrassment when their hunger is noticed

Increased generosity when they have food, knowing what it’s like to be without

Reluctance to share food or an obsession with equal portions

Withdraw from social interactions to avoid exposing their hunger

Probe others for information about potential food sources

Relationships could be strained or strengthened through the sharing or withholding of food

Body language

Slumped or listless posture due to low energy

Stomach clutching or other physical manifestations of hunger

Fidgety, restless movements or a loss of coordination

Fixation with watching others eat or staring at food

Slow, lethargic response to stimuli unrelated to food

Exhibit rapid eating behaviours when food is available

Frequently licking lips in anticipation of eating

Increased response to food-related stimuli, like smelling food from afar

Distracted gaze, as if looking for food opportunities

Display physical signs of malnutrition, such as physical weakness, hair loss or sallow skin

Attitude

Pessimistic or short-tempered

Single-mindedness focus that prioritises food

Impolite or a lack of social graces

Increased risk-taking behaviour through desperation

Manipulative

Fluctuating moods

Sense of hopelessness

Heightened sense of gratitude for any food received

A less discerning perspective on what is considered ‘edible’

Reevaluating personal values and priorities

Positive story outcomes

Lead to resourcefulness and problem-solving skills

Strengthening of relationships through shared experiences of scarcity

Hunger may catalyse a character’s personal growth or shift in perspective

Lead to communities coming together to support each other

Characters might discover new talents or skills in their quest to find food

Act as a motivator for a character to overcome obstacles

May lead to intense moments of satisfaction or relief when resolved

Build an appreciation for the simple things in life, including basic sustenance

Show how hunger can become a catalyst for social or political change.

Can be the driving force behind a character’s ultimate success story.

Negative story outcomes

Chronic hunger can lead to physical and mental health decline

May push characters to commit acts they would normally consider immoral

Show the breakdown of social order or relationships

Result in a character’s loss of dignity or self-respect

Can have a debilitating effect on a character’s ability to achieve their goals

Character development might take a dark turn, showing a descent into obsession or madness

Tragic endings, such as starvation or conflict over resources

Expose societal inequities and drive wedges between groups

Illustrate the loss of innocence, as characters are forced to confront harsh realities

An insurmountable barrier, leading to unfulfilled potential or unfinished journeys

Helpful adjectives

Ravenous

Starving

Famished

Hollow-stomached

Craving

Unfulfilled

Pining

Empty

Desperate

Gut-wrenching

Aching

Parched

Gaunt

Gnawing

Consuming emptiness

Insatiable

Malnourished

264 notes · View notes

depravitycentral · 10 months

Text

Yandere! Feitan Portor NSFW Profile

Yandere! Feitan Portor x fem! reader

Tw: mentions of non/dub-con, stalking, masturbation, kidnapping, spit, drool, lots and lots of cum, Feitan is gross and icky and comes in your conditioner I'm so sorry, seriously this one is pretty gross I apologize now, bondage, ropes, blood, period sex, consumption of period blood, Stockholm Syndrome, a few mentions of reader having pubic hair, mentions of premature ejaculation, Feitan has intimacy issues, a touch of sadomasochism, dry humping, blindfolds, begging, edging, overstimulation, there's a lot going on, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 12K (oh my god)

HABITS:

Even amongst the Troupe, Feitan is particularly emotionally stunted.

Of course, he knows about relationships, about the intimacy that ensues - he’s never personally fucked anyone, but he knows how it goes, what it’s like (at least, in theory), how it’s supposed to feel. He’s just never wanted to - his libido is actually quite low, and although he’s spent nights tossing and turning in bed, cock throbbing and aching for attention, he’s never felt the urge to find some random woman for a fun, stress relieving night.

Sure, he’s jerked off more times than he can count, and he’s been to more strip clubs with Phinks and Uvogin than he’d care to admit. He’s been around it his whole life, even from a young age as a child in Meteor City - so yes, he knows about sex.

He’s just never been able to tolerate someone long enough to consider sleeping with them, much less actively wanting to sleep with them. And yet, once you step into his life, Feitan finds himself uncomfortably aroused by the idea of letting his hands wander your body, of seeing the way your pretty face would scrunch up in pleasure, of hearing your little moans and yelps when he kisses you and sinks his teeth in just a bit too hard.

Once his obsession with you forms and he begins moving past some of those initial mental barriers, Feitan finds himself beginning to crave you intimately, physically, sexually. And, just as the rest of his feelings for you, he hates it at first.

He hates how just a simple thought of you has his body growing hot, the collar of his jacket uncomfortably tight as he shifts his weight, trying to ignore the way blood is steadily rushing south.

He hates how just a simple look from you, with your eyes all innocent yet sultry, makes him gulp a bit, his fingers twitching at his side. He doesn’t like how he can’t control his body’s reaction to you, but it’s not like he can help it - it’s instinctual, primal, carnal, as if his body is recognizing that you’re the chosen one for him to fornicate with, as if you’re the only one worthy of his sexual attention.

Feitan doesn’t like this change in developments much, but quickly he finds himself at a crossroads; he can spend nearly every night staring at the black of his ceiling, laying in bed and glancing down at the massive tent in the sheets centered around his crotch, or he can give in and get working, letting his hand run along the length of his cock all with you on his mind.

He doesn’t feel guilty about masturbating to you, per se, but there is this weird sense of embarrassment that sits heavy in his chest as he exhales shakily and spreads the bead of precum along his shaft. There is this weird feeling like he’s doing something bad, something naughty, as if you’d be disgusted if you were to ever find out.

It makes him feel strange, but he almost likes it - it’s a thrill he gets, particularly to the knowledge that you’d probably be disgusted to know he wrings himself dry (often more than once at a time) nearly every night, all with the mental image of you naked, writhing and stuffing your fingers into that warm, wet, oh so fucking tight cunt of yours.

He’d never admit, but he’d give anything to be your fingers, to feel the sensation of being inside you, even if it was only for a few moments. (That’d probably be enough to make come the first time he fucks you, anyways.)

Once he gives in to getting off with you in mind, Feitan finds himself fucking his fist frequently, frantically, his hips thrusting into his hand faster and rougher the longer he goes on, the longer the image of you crying his name and clenching down around his cock plays behind his eyelids.

He wraps his hand around his girth and immediately starts violently pumping his fist up and down, until he’s eventually stuttering your name and coming, sending spurts of cum flying up onto his chest, the white staining his pale chest. It feels good, or at least good enough to satisfy him for the moment, up until he ends up palming himself through his pants the next night.

It’s a never ending cycle, and frankly it leaves Feitan frustrated – it’s just not enough. The thought of you is more than enough, really, to functionally get him shooting ropes of cum out of his swollen, needy tip, but there’s this part of him buried deep inside that needs more, something to make him feel like it’s really you he’s touching and fucking.

It’s not enough to be the one touching himself, when he knows it would feel different if it was your soft hand, your warm lips, your tight walls. He needs something more, something more intimate and personal and you in order to really get himself off, to really feel connected to you in the way he craves.

And so, Feitan makes a discovery one evening that changes everything; he has a penchant for sneaking into your room after you’ve fallen asleep, the dismal security of your apartment something he’s simultaneously grateful and irritated with you for. He likes to just watch you sleeping, those dark eyes taking in every detail about your unconscious form, all exposed for his viewing pleasure without you even knowing it.

He always shuffles closer the longer he watches, his feet taking just a tiny step every once in a while, just because he can smell you better when he’s closer, see more detail in your skin and features, and it’s only after he’s crept his way right up to your side that he notices it. He should be disgusted, he thinks, when he sees the bit of drool slipping past your lips, your slumber deep enough that you haven’t noticed the wet pool of it against your pillow.

He should be grimacing and scooting away, revolted by something so gross, but instead Feitan finds his eyes getting caught on the way your lips are just slightly parted, the wetness against your chin shining ever so slightly in the pale moonlight.

He doesn’t really know why he does it, but soon his fingers are reaching out, lightly brushing against your lip, a sharp inhale audible as he feels the warm wetness of your saliva against his fingertips. He’ll retract his hand, staring with narrowed eyes, before slowly, carefully bringing his fingers to his own mouth, slipping them past his lips, letting his eyes flutter closed because he’s tasting you.

It’s euphoric, your spit sweet and leaving the perfect tang on his tongue, and suddenly Feitan’s reaching into his jacket pockets, frantically searching for the vial he keeps on hand, just in case he needs a bit of blood from a victim or enemy. He gulps when he finally pulls it out, wiping at it to rid it of any remaining blood, before carefully bringing the glass up to your face, positioning it right below your chin so that the next bit of drool to drip out of your mouth lands in the vial rather than on your pillow.

It’s a slow process, filling it up, but Feitan’s committed, spending every night sitting beside your bed, watching you sleep and seeing the glass slowly fill with your drool, collected all for him. And when he finally has enough? Well, it’s easy to transition from slowly dipping his fingers in the vial and letting his tongue glide over them to letting the spit cover other areas of his body, even if the mere idea makes him scoff while a blush settles over the bridge of his nose.

It’s not until one night, though, that he finally takes the plunge, crossing a line he can never recover from. He’d been particularly pent up, his cock absolutely swollen, aching and desperate for release, and his fist was just not enough. Even as he pounded away, biting his lip and furrowing his thin brows, the pleasure just wouldn’t come.

His eyes wander from his ceiling down to his dresser, zeroing in on the glass vial sitting so innocently, so provocatively, practically taunting him to come closer. He’s snatching up the glass before he can really think, sitting back down and tearing the top off, his fingers moving faster than he can process.

Soon, he’s dipping them in, swirling them a bit to make sure they’re really covered, but instead of bringing them to his lips, his hands travel south - gripping onto his cock, the wet coolness making him hiss through his teeth. He brings his wrist up, your saliva slowly smearing along his shaft, leaving it wet and twitching in the cold air of his bedroom, visibly throbbing as he runs his thumb over his slit, making sure to absolutely drench himself with your spit.

His eyes slide shut, head rolled back slightly as he moves his hand at a steady, painfully slow pace, trying to calm his heart rate because this is so very different from before. It’s different, if only because it’s you - your saliva is letting his hand move smoother, your saliva coating his skin, you helping him to get off. It makes him feel dizzy, the familiar coil in his stomach appearing embarrassingly quickly as he speeds up his fist, images of you playing behind his eyes.

He can’t help but imagine you on your knees before him, staring up at him with those pretty eyes, all wide and glassy and yearning, with your hands tied behind your back and your lips parted, pink tongue lolled out and waiting for him to fill that tight throat of yours. He grunts, squeezing at his tip, digging his fingers back through the vial to refresh the supply of your drool, and in his mind he’s slowly tracing your lips with the head, smearing his precum along your skin as you clench your thighs together and hum, practically begging him to facefuck you.

Feitan hunches forward slightly as his wrist moves even faster, hand flying up and down his shaft, wet noises accompanying every jerk all caused by the excessive wetness he’s coated himself with, the feeling of your spit exactly what he’d be feeling if he was actually stuffing your little mouth, dark hairs tickling your cheeks and nose as he pushes your head all the way down, so that his tip is nestled down your throat.

He lets out a guttural groan at that, a strained noise that makes him grimace, but he can’t help it - his orgasm is approaching, and he can’t help but listen to the wet squelching noises and imagine your gags and sharp breaths accompanying them, his toes curling. It feels so good, a building warmth in his naval that only grows bigger, stronger, more insistent, and all too soon he’s imagining the way you’d present your face to him when he pulls out and strokes himself over your face, cum spurting from his tip and landing in rivulets all along your cheeks, lips, nose, even getting into your hair.

You’d look so good, all messy and out of breath and covered in him him him, just as he is you.

He bares his teeth as he feels himself right on the edge, his fingers clutching onto the vial so tightly he nearly shatters it, his cock bobbing and throbbing, balls clenching as he curls in on himself, small chants of your name mumbled under breath and then he’s coming, cum spraying everywhere as he gasps, hips bucking involuntarily into the air, chasing after his fist with every pump, aching to be releasing inside you, where it belongs.

He takes a moment to come down from his high, chest heaving and eyes wide, staring down at the vial in his shaking hand, the weight of his orgasm shocking him. He’d never come so hard, like every muscle in his body was spasming, the pleasure nearly overwhelming. His eyes flick over to the clock, and he splutters, seeing the time.

3:08, meaning only three minutes had passed since he’d snatched up the vial, feeling your spit against his skin, feeling you against the sensitive skin of his cock.

His eyes close, his breath finally evening out, before he’s carefully setting the vial aside, recapping it and laying onto his back, trying to process why the hell he’d come so fast with something as grotesque as your spit to help him. He’s not sure, but then the images return of you on your knees for him, face still covered in his release and telling him that you want more, please Feitan, will you give me more?

He groans as he feels his softening cock suddenly begin growing once more, his hips twitching as he reaches down to lightly grope at his balls, swallowing and deciding whether to dip his fingers into the vial yet again - he only has a limited supply, after all, and he’d be needing it again tomorrow night when he inevitably lets his mind wander to thoughts of you tied up and begging for him.

He grumbles, a strained sort of sound, before getting to work once more, spitting into his hand and letting a small, barely there smile grace his lips, the slight flush still high on his cheeks. He’d have to get some more, he decided, because this?

Well, fucking you was surely better, but Feitan would be a food to not capitalize on this new discovery - and when he’s painting his chest with ribbons of cum again a few minutes later, he decides that he’ll never go back to not having something of yours to aid him while he gets off.

It’s just more intimate this way, better, like you’re really there - like you’re really naked and ready to fulfill every need, desire and fantasy of his.

Like you want him.

FAVORITE BODY PARTS:

Your face

In general, Feitan thinks you’re attractive. He’s hesitant to say beautiful or pretty or really anything of the sort, if only because the way he feels for you is a bit more complicated than that.

You’re not just pretty; you’re alluring, someone that always seems to catch his eye no matter how hard he tries to stop it.

You’re not beautiful; objectively, there’s nothing about you that he hasn’t seen in hundreds of other women, whether it be your hair, your lips, your figure, or anything else. (Except maybe your eyes, or maybe your smile - things that are just so unapologetically you, things that Feitan thinks he could recognize with his eyes closed.)

You’re nothing particularly special, physically speaking, and yet there’s something about you that he just can’t shake, some involuntarily thing that motivates him to always have his eyes on you, his body unconsciously facing you, his senses just so very aware of you. And because Feitan spends so much time simply watching you, he’s become extremely well antiquated with your features, with your pretty face that always seems to pull him in, like a moth to a flame.

He’s memorized the way your lips curve, the soft skin puckering and moving with every word you say, and he often finds his gaze flicking down to watch while you talk, eyes sitting there idly as he lets his mind wander to what else you can do with those lips, what other shapes they can make.

He’s studied every slope of your nose, the shape seeming to fit your face perfectly, and he even finds himself turning his lip when he sees models or celebrities with the same nasal structure - it doesn’t look nearly as good on them as it does you.

And of course, your eyes - he’s spent more hours than he can count looking into them, unwilling to break the eye contact as he stares, fascinated with the color, how they shine in the light, how sunlight seems to make them glow, making you glow.

So while there’s not any particular thing Feitan can say makes you attractive, you just are - enough so that he’s found himself seeing flashing images of your face late at night, when he’s unable to sleep and polishing his weapons, letting his mind wander and inevitably stumble into thoughts of you. He’ll relive the way you look when you smile - your grin is wide, teeth exposed, the pretty skin of your lips all stretched to accommodate your joy.

You look good like that, and all too soon his innocent thought process of you is slipping into something sinister, something dirty and risqué, because now he’s imagining the way you’d smile up at him when he’s got you underneath him, your pretty little pleas and desperate begs for him to touch you making his skin tingle and his throat feel stuffy.

He’s imagining the way you’d lick your lips when he tells you to get on your knees, his cock mere inches from your face as he strokes himself, the eagerness and hunger in your eyes making him rush forward and bury himself down your throat in one go.

He’s imagining the way you’d look when he’s got you creaming on his cock, face pressed against the mattress and a mixture of tears and drool slipping down your chin, the pleasure just too much, even while your hips grind back on him, wanting more more more.

He just likes your face, finding it oddly pleasing, and when the two of you are intimate, he finds himself eagerly searching out your facial expressions as often as possible - it’s the way he knows what you like, if you’re enjoying what he’s doing to you, if he’s doing a good job.

So really, exaggerate the expressions, make it clear exactly what you’re feeling, and Feitan will be over the fucking moon - pounding into you with a new vigor, a sudden resolve to get you coming at least twice before he’s done with you. You’re just too attractive for him to resist, and he’s only a man, after all.

His hands

In general, Feitan is a fan of showing his feelings rather than articulating them, and even then only to an extent.

There’s only so far he’s willing to expose his vulnerability, and it just becomes easier and less scary to just show you, to let his actions speak louder. And despite it taking a very, very long time for him to grow comfortable enough to actually act on this philosophy, one of the first ways that he’ll settle into touching you is with his hands.

They’re rough, the skin calloused and scarred, pale fingers just the slightest bit off in certain spots, evidence of the multitudes of times he’s broken them. His fingers are lithe, nimble, quick and dexterous, evidence of his abilities with swords and the various tools he uses for work. And so, once he turns his hands onto you, you’ll notice all these things.

It starts small - a fleeting feeling of his fingers pressing against the small of your back, merely a ghost of a touch that leaves you wondering if you really felt anything at all.

He’ll reach out to flick at your forehead if you do something dumb (something endearing, but dumb), glaring at you and telling you to stop it, though his fingers are tingling where they made contact with your skin.

He’ll lightly lay his hand on your hip, or on your thigh, keeping it there for a few moments before snatching it back to his own side, his hand flexing and the muscles tightening up because god, did you like that? Did you like it when he touched you?

He gets in his head way too much about how you react to his touch, but the truth is that Feitan is incredibly touch starved, particularly when it comes to any sort of positive or romantic touch.

He’s a criminal and has grown up in horrible conditions, and he’s simply never cared. But now that you’re here, someone for him to live out all those cliche, stupid romantic tropes? Well, he can’t directly ask for your affection, but you’ll notice the way his hands lay on your body for just a beat too long, just enough to make you wonder whether that touch was really as innocent as he seems to think it was (it’s not, at least not as much as he wishes - every time his skin brushes yours, this spark of electricity dances up his spine, making him gulp and tense up, because while the feeling blooming in his chest is warm and good, it’s still foreign, still something he hasn’t quite gotten used to yet).

And even once he reaches the stage where he’s grown comfortable enough with the concept of being intimate with you to actually touch you, he still relies heavily on his hands. Particularly, Feitan grows an affinity for fingering you - he loves the way your cunt just seems to suck his fingers in, as if your body is begging for more and more of him, craving his touch and the pleasure only he can give you.

He’ll experiment a lot with you at first, curling his fingers or scissoring them, dark eyes appraising your face and checking for any changes in expression that could hint at what rhythm or area you like.

(You’ll wonder where he learned some of the motions he tries out on you - he’ll never admit to watching porn to learn some ideas, nor that he practiced them before trying them out on you, his hand sandwiched between two pillows as he diligently curled them, perfecting the ‘come hither’ motion or letting his thumb practice rubbing tight, firm circles against the cotton. No, he’d rather die than have you learn that - you can’t know how badly he wants to please you, after all.)

He likes to watch his fingers dipping inside you, the way they emerge all wet and glistening, a ring of white sitting right above his knuckles and filling him with pride.

(Often, he finds himself idly staring at his fingers after you’ve fallen asleep, your body sore and exhausted after the fucking he’d put you through. He’ll spread them, staring from all angles, remembering the feeling of your wet heat around them, how your walls clamped down on him, even how your lips and tongue flicked across them when he’d shoved them into your mouth earlier. He’ll bring them to his lips, idly sucking on them, trying in vain to get every last drop of you off of them, so that he can taste you for just a moment longer, just to satisfy himself for as long as he can.)

He’s a late bloomer and it will take him a long while to reach the point of being willing to touch you sexually (though he wants to from pretty much the get-go, much to his embarrassment), but once he does, you’d better get used to the feeling of his hands against your skin - after all, he’s insistent, and you do not want to reject his touch. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll just moan and sigh and tell him it feels good, because Feitan is just so much more agreeable when he’s happy - you’ll get to come that way, too.

DRIVE:

Generally speaking, Feitan’s libido has never been especially high. Sex has never been a priority for him, and even once his days as a Troupe member begin, this doesn’t change. He doesn’t see the attraction to sleeping around, to fucking random women just for a few minutes of fleeting pleasure.

It’s just so much work to be around others, to have to communicate and hear their complaining when he doesn’t put effort into making them feel good – it’s just not fun, not something he wants to spend his time with. And so, while Feitan is certainly no saint, he doesn’t actively seek out sexual partners. And he especially doesn’t seek out touching another person, letting himself be touched, becoming vulnerable in any possible way.

So, once you step into his life, this self-inflicted celibacy doesn’t really change all that much. Of course, the idea of touching you is significantly more attractive than it would be to touch a random stranger, but Feitan is still not especially eager to fuck you once his obsession develops.

He’s a bit of a late bloomer, taking a while to let his emotions warm up to you. In doing so, it takes a long, long time for his sexual urges towards you to appear, because Feitan prides himself on having good self control. But once he fully gives in to the fact that he wants you, in a way that’s entirely new and scary and foreign to him, the urges begin appearing.

The idly thoughts wondering what you’re wearing, what you’re thinking about, if you’re in the mood… He’s still not as horny as some of his fellow Troupe members, but Feitan begins regularly imagining fucking you, the thoughts seemingly popping out of nowhere and completely unannounced.

Frankly, it’s irritating; why is he imagining you without a shirt on when Phinks is telling him about the latest job Chrollo had paired them up for? (It’s a pain in the ass to hide the slowly growing tent in his trousers from the blond - he always just seems to know, and Feitan would rather die than be subjected to the never ended teasing.)

Why is he imagining the way your lips would feel wrapped around his cock when he’s slicing off that man’s head, the cut clean and clear yet the only thing he can think of being how your cheeks would hollow as you suck?

It’s annoying, and although he tries to fight it at first, he eventually gives up. There’s only so much he can stop himself from imagining, and as his obsession grows deeper, the perverse fantasies he holds towards you only grow more numerous, more pronounced, more longed for. He finds himself actively wanting to be intimate with you, and while he won’t act on that desire for a very long time, it’s left to quality sit, festering and brewing inside him until one day it’s all just too much, a dam bursting that forces him to finally take that last step, to let himself rest a hand on you or brush his lips against your cheek or graze his finger along your nipple.

He doesn’t move very fast, but Feitan’s in no rush - after all, you’re stuck with him for the rest of your life, and he’ll be the only other human you’ll ever interact with. By the time he’s ready to progress your relationship forward, you’ll likely have come around, desperate enough for human contact that you’ll want him to touch you, that you’ll want to touch him back.

Just the thought makes him gulp and flex his fingers, excitement and anxiety settling into his stomach, his cock growing half hard even as his mind winces.

However, because he has so many issues surrounding intimacy and vulnerability, Feitan will likely never actually force you into anything.

Because you’re likely to come around and develop Stockholm Syndrome by the time he’s ready to touch you, you’ll be more than eager to let his hand rest on your waist, or to let him stand behind you so that your ass is pressed against his crotch, the tent in his pants more than apparent. You’ll be ready, but until he’s ready, he has to find alternatives.

Because he’s still frequently experiencing sexual urges towards you way before he’s willing to act on them, Feitan finds himself quite sexually frustrated. He has all these dirty thoughts, all these possessive, insistent feelings urging him to just take you, to stake his claim on you by stuffing you full of his cock and cum, and he has to release them somehow.

And so, he falls back on a method that he isn’t necessarily proud of, but does find some sick, twisted sense of pride and amusement from. That is, because he’s the one supplying literally everything to you once you’re trapped under his roof, it’s not so hard to tamper with some of the ingredients of your essentials.

Your conditioner, for instance; he buys you the brand you love (something he tells you is coincidence but most certainly isn’t), and as he opens the cap and smells it one day while you’re asleep in the next room over, he can’t help but notice how creamy it is, how thick and how white it is.

It make shim gulp, and after quickly making sure to lock the bedroom door you’re trapped behind, Feitan shakily returns to the bathroom, exhaling deeply. It’s just a coincidence that the conditioner resembles something that he produces, right?

It’s an amusing twist of fate that your favorite conditioner (with the scent he can only describe as you) looks almost exactly like his cum, right?

Feitan thinks so, and as his mind wanders back to the little stunt you’d pulled earlier in the day, he finds himself settling onto the closed toilet lid, reaching into his pants and pulling out his cock, already drooling precum and sensitive to the touch.

You’d been laying on your bed, blanket barely covering your body as you slept, the skimpy pajamas you’d fallen asleep in in disarray on your figure. Your shirt had bunched up, letting one pert, supple breast slip out, your nipple on display, not even the blanket managing to cover it up.

(He’d froze when he noticed, slowly creeping closer, licking his lips and unable to stop staring.)

And those damn sleeping shorts, always getting moved around and never quite sitting right on your hips when you wake up, were twisted a bit, the holes for your legs angled just right so that if he looked the right way, he could see the very edge of your cunt, one lip covered with pretty pubic hairs, looking soft and warm and so fuckable.

You were asleep, and somewhere in Feitan’s mind he knows you weren’t doing it on purpose, but it’s hard not to blame you for being so indecent, for hoping to tempt Feitan into giving in. You’re such a fucking minx, all teasing and daring to show off your assets, and how was Feitan supposed to react to this? How was he not supposed to immediately grow aroused and flustered, unable to tare his gaze from your vulnerable body?

Eventually he’d managed to, shutting the door behind him and taking a few uneven breaths, trying desperately to not replay the image of your breast over and over in his mind. It’s no use, however, and as he splashes his face with cold water in the bathroom, that’s when his eyes land on the conditioner bottle.

His hand moves fast as he fucks his fist, hissing under his breath over and over as he steadily gets closer, driven forward by the idea of lewd it will be to have his cum in something as personal as you conditioner.

He can’t stop thinking about how you’d have no idea, waltzing around with his cum soaked into your pretty hair, maybe even making you smell like him - He’s groaning, the thoughts pushing him closer and closer to the edge, his orgasm hurtling forward as he imagines the way you’d lather it in your hands, humming and making sure every square inch of your hair is covered in it, covered in him.

He imagines the way you’d bring it up to your nose and deeply inhale, sighing because it’s your favorite scent, wondering why it smells a bit more musky than you remember, but not minding. Maybe you’d even like the new scent, and just the thought of that is enough to push him over the edge, a sharp growl slipping past his lips as he aims his cock right into the bottle, cum spraying all over the conditioner, the white colors matching perfectly.

He’s breathing hard, a seemingly never ending series of spurts coming from his swollen tip, and once he thinks he’s done, he grasping his length and lightly shaking it, lodging any loose bits of cum out, coaxing them to join the pile. Once done, he’ll gulp, letting a small smirk slip onto his lips as he closes the bottle, shutting the lid tight and shake the bottle, making sure to thoroughly mix it.

He won’t tell you about his little ‘gift’, of course not - but you’ll know something is up when he’s standing stiff as you exit the bathroom, towel wrapped around your body and wet hair having been marinating in the special mixture he made for you, and when he’s eagerly sniffing your head every chance he gets after that, you’ll have to realize something is amiss.

When he’s asking you if your hair feels particularly soft, you’ll have to know he’s trying to get at something, some layer underneath the surface that he’s really speaking about.

It’s enough to satisfy him for the time being, his possessiveness over you quelling ever so slightly because even though it’s not in your cunt, where it belongs, at least he’s got his cum somewhere on you - and until he’s ready to fuck you properly, that’ll have to do. It’ll become habit, and one day you may even stumble upon him midway through the process, your conditioner bottle an inch or so from his tip as he frantically tugs and pulls.

(He’ll freeze, unable to process that he got caught, and frankly, he’ll just try to ignore that you ever saw it, not willing to broach the topic - and you won’t be either, because what the fuck?)He just really, really desires you, and Feitan is a resourceful man - so I hope you like the smell of musk and a bit of iron, because you’ll be smelling like it for weeks.

MAIN THREE KINKS:

Orgasm Control

In general, Feitan has to be in control in the bedroom. It’s not that he’s particularly onto any dominant or submissive roles between the sheets, but more because he doesn’t like the feeling of vulnerability that accompanies letting other people pleasure him. Something about being at the mercy of someone else’s touch or whims makes him nervous, an unpleasant feeling blooming in his stomach that leaves him fidgety and jumpy.

And so, every sexual interaction with you will see him starring as the dominant role, always calling the shots, and nothing exemplifies this sentiment quite like the way he treats your orgasms. Despite not having a huge amount of sexual experience prior to his infatuation with you, he’s very obviously aware that both partners are capable of orgasming in any given sexual interaction, that it should be expected and achieved regardless of methodology.

With other women, Feitan wouldn’t care in the least – he’s selfish by nature, and if he were to ever have sex with anyone other than you, in no way, shape or form would he pay any mind to their pleasure, only chasing after his own release.

But with you, this sentiment is a bit different; he wants to get you off, if only because seeing the way your body responds to him, shaking and shivering and moaning and clenching, gets him harder, his breath more ragged, his palms sweatier. There’s something incredibly pleasing about seeing the way your body is sensitive to his every touch that makes him giddy, an odd mixture of power, arousal and eagerness filling him.

He wants to make you a mess, to get you gushing and creaming and whimpering as he fingers you, as he shoves his cock inside you, even as he tongues at your clit (eating you out isn’t something that happens often, but when it does, Feitan expects you to come from it). He likes the sight of you falling apart for him, and consequently, that desperation for power and control comes hurtling back – so that he is the one in control of your orgasms.

He wants to be the one choosing when, how, and why you’re coming, every one of your movements a result of him.

He tends to rely heavily on edging you, enjoying the way you squirm and beg for him to keep going. He’ll have two slender, nimble fingers buried inside of you, curling and scissoring, the stretch a bit painful but in a pleasure-tinged way, making your toes curl and your bottom lip catch between your teeth.

His thumb will rub consistent, steady circles at your clit, the little nub sore and swollen, and he’ll keep his ministrations up until you’re breathing heavier, your stomach and thighs clenching, the telltale signs that you’re nearing your high.

(He’s very, very good at reading your body when it comes to your sexual pleasure – he’s spent so long stalking you that he’s seen you touching yourself more times than he can count, and while watching the way your cunt takes the toy is very, very difficult to tear his eyes away from, he’d made sure to study every other part of your body, too. He’s watched the way your face morphs as you get closer, your brows shooting up and your lips parting a bit, your eyes fluttering and threatening to close as the pleasurable knot in your gut grows tighter and tighter and tighter. He’s watched the way your legs shake, the muscles in your thighs visibly twitching and clenching, trying desperately to close and clench together, prompting him to imagine how they’d feel around his head, around his waist, around his cock. He’s even noticed your breathing, how you sound, the way your voice gets higher and more breathy, your moans increasing in intensity until you let out this sudden, strained gasp that gets him swallowing harshly, a thick pearl of precum dripping from his tip from the mere sound.)

He’s constantly observing you even while he's intimate with you, those dark eyes never wavering from your form, and he’ll bring you right to the edge, noticing with a tightness in his throat that your legs are starting to tremble, that your voice is climbing up, that you’re starting to get all gaspy and your abdominal muscles are clenching, and god, you’re squeezing around his fingers so damn tight –

The confused, desperate whine you let out when he suddenly pulls his fingers out of you makes him smirk a bit, the way your watery eyes blearily blink up at him, half clouded in lust and disappointment making him reach out to pinch at your pebbled nipple. Not yet, one more time. He’ll tell you, laughing a bit as you whine and gulp, chest heaving and your fingers twitching. He’ll make you wait, maybe even reaching down and jerking himself off a bit, making a show of hissing under his breath and making sure that you can see him, hearing the wet noises as he flicks his wrist and imagines it’s your sweet little pussy wrapped around him rather than his own fingers.

He’s embarrassingly sensitive when he does this, his own touch making him buck his hips as he stares down at you, spread before him, underneath him, where you belong. He’ll make sure to give enough time that you come down from your sensitivity, before resuming his ministrations, making you gasp and bite your lip.

He’ll keep doing this over and over and over, denying you of your orgasm some five or so times before he finally, finally decides that you’ve behaved well enough, that you deserve to feel good. (Often, what finally gets him to cave in is the fact that he too is very close, and while it’s cliché and stupid and a bit pathetic, he really likes it when you both come at the same time, your orgasms matching up so he can feel like you’re doing it together.)

He’ll work you through it, not stopping his motions, which brings up another aspect of how Feitan likes to tease you and assert his control over you – he doesn’t like overstimulation quite as much as denial, but he’s not shy about going faster, harder, his motions seeming almost frantic as you start whining and shaking, going on about how it’s too much, Feitan it’s too much I can’t!

He’ll just growl and shut you down, slapping (not too hard) your clit and seeing you way you jerk, telling you to shut up and take it, you’ve done it before. He likes seeing your eyes get all teary, your body spasming and shaking even harder, the overstimulation making you cry out his name with a renewed fervor.

(He’d never admit it, but that’s one of his favorite parts – he never pegged himself to be a fan of loud moans, but there’s something about the way that you do it, when it’s his name you’re moaning, that makes him throb, his cock twitching without any stimulation. You sound so destroyed, so wrecked and utterly desperate for him that it makes his head spin, his chest filling with pride and lust and satisfaction because you do need him, and your body is just proving that.)

He’s cruel, often pulling three or four orgasms from you every time he touches you, those dark eyes staring unblinking down at you, almost studying you as you fall apart on his cock, on his fingers, on anything he chooses. It makes him feel good to know that he’s in full control, that he can choose when you come – it shows his place above you, helping him to justify the fact that he’s pleasuring you, that he’s taking the time and effort to make you feel good when he really doesn’t need to.

He’s just being generous – you should be grateful he even cares about your pleasure at all.

(Say thank you to him as you orgasm and he’s gone – cum is dripping down your skin or out of your pretty hole before you can process what’s even happening, the man above you gasping and heaving, trying desperately to make sure you don’t see the slight red staining his cheeks.)

He wants you to follow his commands, so just let him do as he pleases – you’ll come eventually, most of the time.

Bondage

Tying into his preferences for holding control in the bedroom, Feitan has a certain affinity for seeing you restrained.

There’s something about the way your body is presented to him when you’re all tied up that gets him feeling hot, his hands twitching and yearning to reach out and touch you. He’s not picky about what he uses to bind you – the tried and true rope is never displeasing, and the variety of pretty knots and positions he can force you into this way leave him nearly drooling at all the different sexual fantasies he can carry out with you.

He’s particularly fond of tying you up in ways that are just the slightest bit humiliating, positions that make your neck and cheeks feel hot, embarrassment eating away at you because god, everything is exposed.

He likes when your legs are spread, a bit of rope keeping your calves firmly pressed to your thighs while your pussy is exposed to open air, the perfect amount of space between your legs for him to slip into. He likes when your breasts are free, jiggling and bouncing with every thrust, the rope digging into your sternum or ribcage as you moan and writhe.

(He also likes when the rope crisscrosses over your chest, digging into your nipple and making you whine in pain and pleasure, and when he undoes the ropes, he loves the way your nipples are so sore and swollen, a much darker color than they normally are and practically begging to be pinched at, to be twisted and pulled on until you’re a sniffly, moaning mess.)

He’ll often tie your wrists together behind your back, rope connecting from your waist to the back of your knees, keeping your legs bent while he forces your ass into the air, mounting you from behind and absolutely destroying you.

Rope is his favorite, if only because there’s something so familiar, so comforting in using it – of course, he never desires to fuck any of his victims, but he knows how to manipulate the material in order to get you bent the way he wants you to be.

And while he has no desire to do anything to you that he would to those he tortures, there’s something oddly sexy and taboo about the fact that he’s using the same kind of rope on you as he did to the man the other day. It’s dirty, sinful, if only because this is as close as he can come to mixing two of the things he loves most – you, and his job.

You’re safe this way, not liable to be cut or maimed or anything of the sort, but you’re still utterly at his hands, vulnerable to every whim or desire he wishes to enact on you. He likes how helpless you are when you’re tied up, unable to reach out or take control of your own pleasure, entirely reliant on him to do everything for you – something as big as stretching you out on his cock, or as small as pushing away a stray piece of hair in your face as he fucks your throat.

The power trip is insane, and while he won’t hurt you, just the knowledge that he could makes him harder than he’s ever been. He’s a fan of other alternatives to rope, too – handcuffs are fine, a bit too mainstream for him to use regularly, but in a bind it’ll do.

(Especially if he’s grown more comfortable with you, willing to show a more vulnerable side, because handcuffs give him less control and allow you to actively participate in your pleasure, letting you grind back against him or wrap your legs around his waist or any number of other things that can signal that you want him too.)

Silk ties are fine, and on days where he’s feeling a bit more sentimental or emotional, he’ll prefer to use these because there’s less chance of you bruising or getting any burns or rashes. (Plus, there’s something so fitting about you being shrouded in silk – you, who’s so weak and soft and dainty, matching perfectly with the fabric. It makes him snort a bit, because you always look like such an angel when you’re all tied up for him in this way – like a beautiful, naïve little angel just begging to be destroyed and tainted by his hands, a feat he’s more eager and impatient to accomplish than he’d care to admit.)

He’s even willing to use clothing to get you restricted – maybe the shirt you’d been wearing (his shirt, one he let you borrow, the one he finds adorable on you even if he’d never tell you) will get tied around your wrists, keeping them firmly above your chest as he sinks into you and squeezes his eyes shut, biting back the moan that threatens to tumble at his lips because you’re just so damn tight.

He’ll use your panties as a gag, though he doesn’t do this often because he really does like hearing your sounds – especially when they’re any sort of praise or his name.

(Often, after he’s stuffed the panties you’d been wearing past your lips, he’ll steal them back afterwards, sneakily storing them somewhere for later, for late at night when he’s standing over your sleeping form and breathing shakily, staring at you and rubbing the material – wet with both your spit and your slick – all over his cock.)

His preference is always to have you restrained in some manner, and it’ll only be once he feels as comfortable as possible with you that he won’t tie you up. To have you free means letting himself be vulnerable to your touches, and even your rejection of his touch, and just the thought is enough to get him nervous, having to wipe his slightly sweaty hands onto his jacket.

He’s had fantasies about fucking you without any restraints separating you before, but the moment it happens, you’ll notice that he’s oddly sensitive, his breath coming out harsher and more labored at touches that would normally leave him largely unaffected. It’s just so emotional for him, so scary and frightening, and he’ll stay inside you much longer than normal after he’s come, relishing in the warmth and wetness of you while your fingers maybe brush over his shoulders, maybe even running through his hair. It’s the sort of fantasy he’ll never, ever tell you about, though – and for now, he’ll stick with tying you up so that you’re easily accessible, provoking and arousing to stare at, and in no position to argue when he manhandles you into doing exactly what he wants.

Dry humping

While he has sexual, lewd thoughts about you from pretty much the moment he truly accepts his feelings for you, Feitan takes a very long time to begin acting on those feelings.

Even more, it takes him a long time to get comfortable enough to be naked in front of you, much less actually fuck you. And so, while this hesitancy persists, he finds himself using other routes to sate his growing desire to be intimate with you – routes that are less invasive, less opportune for embarrassing accidents (like coming too fast, or facing your rejection).

And while it still feels awfully pathetic, Feitan finds that the simple act of grinding on you is enough to satisfy his desires, at least for the time being – there’s just something oddly enticing about it, something arousing and the pleasure just dull enough to thwart him from coming within three or four minutes of touching you.

He doesn’t like initiating it, though, finding it a bit too pathetic, even for him, even for the way he feels for you. Instead, he holds his breath, hoping that every time you brush against him (normally by accident, your whole body freezing up the moment you realize what you’ve done) that you’ll do it again, because even just a single bit of friction between your (fully clothed) bodies is enough to get his neck feeling warm, the ghost of an erection springing to life in his pants.

He’s just so, so touch starved, and so as time goes on, he’ll start subtly trying to get into positions where you might accidentally grind on him, sometimes without you even realizing. He’ll make you pick something up off the ground, then choose the exact moment that you’re bent over and your ass is in the air to walk behind you, letting his hips just barely graze against you.

He’ll manage to hold back the little strained noise he makes, but at some point you’ll notice that it’s happening much too often to be a coincidence, and you’ll eventually realize that the strange hardness you feel when he does this is actually him.

He won’t ever just grab you and rut into you, but god does he want to, especially when he sees your hips swaying, or when you’re sitting down, the fat of your thighs splayed out and your hips looking wide and full and perfect to grab onto.

He’s embarrassed by his own thoughts, but eventually you’ll probably realize what it is that he wants – you’ve felt the way he tries to subtly make it happen, and while you were at first confused and shocked (you’d had no idea Feitan wanted anything sexual with you, as he’d never made a mention of it or acted in a way that would suggest it), you eventually start getting a bit brave, too.

You don’t love Feitan, far from it, but you’ve been trapped with him for enough months to start craving any form of human contact, and so you’ll pounce – Feitan can’t help but sharply inhale when you grind back against him one day while you’re bent over, the feeling of your ass moving against his cock making him struggle to breath.

He’s not sure what you’re trying to do, too pessimistic to let himself believe that you’re the one grinding on him, but one day you’ll find yourself sitting next to him on the raggedy old couch, the TV playing some mindless horror movie that Feitan had thrown on, and your hand will just sort of move on its own, slowly, carefully placing itself very lightly over his thigh. He’ll tense up at the sensation, dark eyes flicking between your hand and your face, your own gaze nervously set on the TV in front of you.

It’s silent for a moment, but when he doesn’t move your hand, you’ll get braver, turning to look at him and asking in a soft, unsure voice if you can sit in his lap. Feitan doesn’t know how to respond, simply staring at you with narrowed eyes, wondering if this is some sort of trick – but eventually he’ll nod, telling you to be careful, don’t try anything.

You’ll position yourself so that your ass is pressed against his crotch, his thighs on either side of your hips, but you don’t lean back, even when you hear Feitan inhale slightly, having leaned forward to smell your hair. It’s a good twenty or so minutes later when you begin moving your hips slowly, nervously, listening to hear for any displeased noises or harsh commands for you to stop your movements.

Feitan is frozen behind you, staring at your hips and trying to understand what you’re doing – he likes it, but he doesn’t like the way his body is reacting, blood slowly starting to head south at the slight friction, at the way you’re so damn close to him, at the way he can smell you and can feel the heat radiating off your body.

It’s all too much, and suddenly he’s telling you to get off me, before quickly storming out of the room and locking himself in his bedroom.

His cock is in his hand within minutes, memories of how you’d felt against him, even with layers of clothes separating you still fresh in his mind. You’ll be left to believe he didn’t like it, that you’d totally misinterpreted his actions, ashamed and a bit afraid for how he’d respond moving forward.

Except, there’s no grand punishment, no mocking you for your actions – instead, the next night he turns on a new movie (still horror, gory and full of screaming and killing) and looks over at you expectantly.

His legs are spread this time, leaving a space between them, and for a moment you’re confused, unsure of what he wants. He just raises a brow at you, unwilling to articulate what he’s wanting, hoping you’ll understand it without him needing to say it.

You’ll shuffle closer, still staring at him, but soon he’ll just grumble, a hand reaching out and pulling you down to sit between his legs before you can even realize what’s happening. You’re stiff and unsure, unwilling to relax, and Feitan doesn’t like this. He wants you to move like you did last night, and after a few minutes of you sitting stone still, he’ll hiss into your ear do it again.

You’ll start slow, testing the waters, and you nearly jump when you feel Feitan’s hand ghost over your waist, setting his fingers against your shirt as if wanting to fully touch you, but not quite letting himself. He’ll occasionally tell you to go faster, the movie still playing in the background, the feeling of his cock digging into your tailbone making you a confusing mix of scared and aroused.

Eventually, he’ll let out this strange, unusual little sound, something like a grunt but much higher and strained, and you’ll feel something warm and wet pressing against you. Don’t mention anything, because Feitan doesn’t want you to say a damn word, not wanting to admit that the feeling of you grinding on him for roughly seven minutes has him coming in his pants, cum covering his cock and getting him all sticky.

He’s embarrassed, but it will become something of a ritual between the two of you – every time he turns on a movie, it’s your place to sit in his lap (eventually you actually will sit in his lap, fully on his lap, not just pressed against him, though this takes some time) and to gyrate your hips at that certain rhythm he likes, all up until you feel him tense up beneath you, seeing his fingers clutching at the couch cushions at your sides.

It’s a slow buildup into any sort of sexual activity between the two of you, but Feitan likes this, something about the intimacy making him extra sensitive, the feeling of you actually touching him (even peripherally, with clothes separating the two of you) making him feel lightheaded and airy. He likes it, and this will be the jumping off point for him to begin getting bolder, to begin letting himself actually fuck you, to finally do what he’s been craving for months.

And once you become aware that he likes it, please start imitating it – give him look and ask if you can um, sit in your lap?

He’ll almost always say yes, even if he’s in the middle of doing something, even if there’s not even a chair or couch nearby – he'll rush (not running, but very, very nearly) to the nearest surface, swallowing hard and staring at you, growing impatient when you don’t move fast enough for him.

Often, he’ll already be half hard, and while he prefers when your back is facing him, if you were to climb into his lap so that you were straddling him? Well, Feitan finds it much harder to look you in the eye, because now it’s your cunt grinding down on him rather than just your ass, and that’s much different, isn’t it?

Even once he’s progressed to stage of actually being willing to touch you, of being willing to let you touch him, Feitan still enjoys when you hump at him. And he particularly enjoys humping you, though he’s only willing to do this in the dead of night, when you’re fast asleep, your body ripe and vulnerable for him to touch, to explore, to use.

He doesn’t want you to be awake and see the way he crumbles when he drags his cock along the curve of your ass, if only because he doesn’t want you to see how pink his cheeks get, how he starts mumbling under his breath, how his every muscle is flexing and straining because he wants to go faster, needs to go faster, but he can’t risk waking you up.

It’s his dirty little secret, so you’d better start working on your stamina for grinding onto him – sure, he doesn’t last long, but he expects it often, and you can’t exactly refuse him.

Or else.

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:

Begging

Feitan likes knowing that you want him. He feels so inferior and weak for having developed such strong, scarily dependent feelings for you, and it makes him feel good, satisfied, justified when you beg for him, all whiny and desperate for his touch, for his body, for his cock.

While he’s not particularly vocal between the sheets, he likes when you are - your voice is sultry when it gets all airy and gaspy, your little praises and pleas for him to go faster or please don’t stop making him double down and go harder, his desperation to please you driving him forward.

He won’t ever explicitly ask you to beg for anything, but you’ll be able to tell that he likes it.

You’ll see the way his eyes widen just a hair, the way his dark bangs settle over his forehead as he dips his head down, the exertion of moving his hips or wrist faster making him squeeze his eyes shut.

You’ll feel the way his thrusts get more insistent, hips slapping against yours while his balls clap against your ass, the sound lewd and only getting faster the more you beg.

You’ll be able to hear it in the way his breathing starts getting ragged, no amount of stamina adequate for hearing you beg for him, for him to touch you and pleasure you.

He wants to feel needed in the context of your sexual pleasure, as if you can’t get off without his help, as if you’re incapable of bringing yourself to orgasm when he so easily manages it. It’s unrealistic and he knows it, but he’s able to immerse himself in the fantasy of you wanting him when you’re begging him, able to delude himself into believing, if only for a bit, that you’re just as frantic for his love and affection as he is yours.

If you really want to get him going, a surefire way to have his cock springing to life and his heart lurching into his throat is to praise him a bit, then following it up with a plea for him to keep going. Tell him that it’s s’good, you feel so good Feitan, please don’t stop, just like that, fuck!

Tell him that you belong to him, that you’re his, that your cunt is his cunt, that you want him to come inside, that you need more more more. He might tell you that you’re greedy, grunting out something about you being a greedy slut, but the twitching of his cock inside you and the way his fingers tighten their hold on you will show you that he isn’t as unaffected by your words as he’d like to pretend.

He really just likes knowing that sex affects you just as much as it affects him, so please, please beg him - he’ll almost always do exactly what you want, almost like it’s a reward.

(After all, just getting to touch you is reward enough for him.)

Sensory deprivation

Because it takes Feitan so long to grow comfortable with letting himself be truly vulnerable with you (especially in the context of sex), he finds ways to get around this mental roadblock, so that he can experience everything he wants to without giving up any of his control.

And one of his favorite ways to do that is to limit your senses - specifically, Feitan loves to blindfold you. He doesn’t really want you to be looking at him during sex, too nervous and awkward and embarrassed, because once he gets inside you, his control over his facial expressions, his bodily responses, his everything is severely limited.

It takes all his will power to stop himself from coming prematurely, especially towards the beginning of his sexual relationship with you, and he’ll be damned if he lets you see the way his face crumples when he slips inside your wet heat, his dark brows drawing together and lips parting, eyes squeezing shut while he wills himself to calm down, to take deep breaths and not let himself get carried away.

He doesn’t want you to be able to look at him, but he wants to be able to see you - he wants full viewing pleasure of your body, and while this method does block seeing your eyes get all glassy and pleasured, it’s better this way.

This way, he gets to stare at the way your tits bounce as he fucks you, the soft fat jiggling and practically begging to be groped and squeezed at.

This way, he can stare at your ass he pounds into it, grabbing a handful of cheek in each hand and kneading the fat, spreading them apart and taking a peek at your pert, cute little asshole, seeing the curve and arch of your back.

He can let himself relax more this way, allowing his face to present every emotions and sensation he’s feeling, and he can let himself indulge in some of his more embarrassing urges - like reaching out to cup your hips when your bodies are facing each other, his fingers never quite brushing your skin but awfully close.

He’ll lean in close as if to kiss you, letting his breath fan over your lips but never actually closing the distance, just indulging in the smell of you and the idea of kissing you. He’s still very reserved, but this way he can do all the things he fantasizes about when he’s alone at night, his mind wandering to you and his body growing cold and lonely.

Plus, Feitan gains a certain amount of control this way - he gets to choose what happens to you, and because you can’t see anything, you’ll have no idea what’s coming next.

Will it be his hands, a vibrator, his cock?

You won’t know, and Feitan likes it that way - he wants to keep you guessing, to leave you unsure and awaiting his next move with baited breath.

He just likes how dependent you are when he’s got the black blindfold tied around your eyes, so you’d better get used to it - he’s not good at compromising, after all.

BIGGEST FANTASY:

While Feitan doesn’t harbor any desire to hurt you, there’s a certain allure that blood holds for him.

Of course, he doesn’t want to actually draw blood from you (the thought of you being in pain because of him makes any boner of his die immediately), but he discovers - by accident - that there’s a solution to mixing the two.

There’s a way to combine the two things that turn him on most - you, of course, and the slightest bit of blood - in a way that is safe for you yet still arousing, still enough to get him panting and his trousers feeling uncomfortably tight.

That is, Feitan discovers that he absolutely loves getting intimate with you while you’re on your period. It doesn’t matter if you get horrible cramps, mood swings, or are even totally unaffected - you’re sensitive, body needy and practically begging to be mounted and fucked, and who is Feitan to deny you?

Once he grows comfortable with intimacy, you’ll never be able to pull him away from you once the blood shows up in your panties. He’s obsessive, tracking your period for you, making sure that he knows the exact days that you’ll be starting and stopping.

He likes the way you respond to his touch so easily, your pretty pussy all messy and red and puffy, even the slightest touch making you buck your hips and gasp his name.

It’s euphoric, and when he slips inside you it becomes incredibly difficult to not immediately orgasm - you’re just so wet, so warm and wonderfully lubricated, and the sight of blood staining his cock when he pulls back to thrust back in makes his head spin.

You’re perfect when you’re menstruating, and you’ll notice he’ll be in a much better mood once you shyly report that it started, could you pick up some more pads for me? (He toys with the idea of actually collecting your blood, investing in one of those menstrual cups that you can remove once it’s full, just because the concept of drinking it is enough to make him fidget, the thought taboo and dirty and so very enticing.)

You can’t really say no to him normally, but you especially can’t deny him when it’s your time of the month - you will be getting fingered, fucked, even facefucked, if only because Feitan needs you, your pretty blood and pretty body making him go crazy in a way he didn’t think possible.

You make him go crazy in ways he didn’t think possible.

“Feitan, I - we can’t, not tonight.” You tell him, averting your gaze away from his as his hands grab at the old t-shirt and short you’re wearing. Unconsciously, your hand travels to your stomach, laying idly and making Feitan’s eyes narrow.

“Why not?” He asks, his voice clipped and suspicious. You didn’t often tell him no, and although there’s a bit of doubt swimming in his chest, he wants to know why you’re suddenly not welcoming his touch. You’ve reached the point of leaning into his cold, harsh hands, so why’re you suddenly being so standoffish? He doesn’t like it, and his hands stay idly resting on your shirt hem.

You’re embarrassed, he can tell, but he doesn’t drop the issue. Instead, he lets the silence sit heavily over the two of you, waiting for you to fill in the space.

“Well, um, you see…” You start, before squeezing your eyes shut and squeaking out, “My period started yesterday and it’s too messy.”

Feitan blinks at you, unsure what to say. Your period? You were bleeding?

“Okay, and?”

Your eyes peel open, daring to sneak a glance at your captor, who only stares at you, unimpressed. “Well, I mean, it’s going to be messy and gross and it probably smells bad and -”

“Shut up, we’re doing it.” He cuts you off, hand yanking at your shirt to bring it over your head. You grimace, already nervous for him to take off your shorts, because although you’re sure he knows what a period is, you’re sure he’s never actually been around a woman menstruating. Or at least, not sexually.

Actually, you’re pretty sure he’s never been with a woman sexually in any capacity.

He’s yanking at your shorts next, pulling down the material even as you voice your protests, but one scowl from him has you shutting up, embarrassment pricking up your spine as he grabs your thighs and manually spreads them, the scratchy blanket covering the bed biting into your ass.

He’s staring, dark eyes a bit wider than normal, and you feel yourself shrinking in on yourself, the embarrassment eating you alive. Why was he staring? Why wasn’t he doing anything? Why wasn’t he saying anything?

“Feitan..?” You mumble, biting your lip and letting your arms cover your bloated stomach. He doesn’t respond, but you feel his grip on your thighs tighten, to the point where you think you might see bruises tomorrow.

His eyes slowly, painstakingly, drag up from your exposed cunt to meet your face, and to your surprise you see the slightest dusting of a blush on his cheeks, as if he too was embarrassed. But before you can say anything, he’s rushing forward, lips pressing against yours in a messy, clumsy kiss, full of teeth knocking against teeth and too much spit. You’re not sure what’s gotten into him, but just as soon as he rushed in he’s pulling back, instead moving to bring his face level with your leaking hole.

Feitan can’t stop staring - there’s blood everywhere, and while he’d normally be thrown into a state of panic at seeing so much of your own blood staining your skin, somehow this is different. Somehow the sight of it staining your pussy, the red color all along your inner thighs and part of your asscheek making his mouth water, his cock already painfully hard. It’s so pretty - red against your skin, your lips visibly swollen, your little clit engorged and peaking out. You look good, like something he wants to taste, and before he knows what’s happening he’s diving forward, tongue licking a long stripe up your slit.

You taste like iron and musk and something oddly sweet, and immediately he’s diving in to taste more, tongue lapping at you like some dog in heat as he keeps his fingers firmly digging into your thighs. He can barely hear your sound of shock at his actions, too overwhelmed by your taste and your scent.

“F-feitan, stop!” You manage to force out, eyes squeezed shut as your hips shake and stutter. “It’s too much, I’m too sensitive, I can’t!”

Feitan stops at that, pulling away from your body with blood smeared all over his lips, chin and nose, staring at you with a look in those wide, dark eyes that makes you shiver. He looks like an animal like this, something primal and carnal - and when your eyes peek down to see his cock - throbbing, bright red and stiff against his stomach - you can’t help but feel as if you’re some sort of prey caught in his jaws.

“Not too much, you will survive.” Is all he says, before he’s resuming his actions, bringing a finger up to prod inside your walls while his tongue gets to work on your clit. His fingers curl and rub, but you’re so damn tight, your walls impossibly clenched, and it makes Feitan grunt against you. You’re even wetter inside than normal, the blood practically running down his hands in copious amounts, making it remarkably easy to slide his fingers in and out. Almost too easy, it would seem.

You’re blabbering his name, the stimulation hurtling you towards your orgasm much quicker than normal, your heightened sensitivity and emotions turning you into a moaning, whimpering mess. And Feitan loves it - those dark eyes are peering up at you from over the crest of your pelvic bone, blood tinging his cheeks and visible to you.

When he angles his fingers to press against the spongey, sensitive spot he knows you love, you suddenly gasp, a hand flying to tangle into his hair, the other gently pinching and rolling at your nipple.

“Feitan, oh fuck Feitan ‘m gonna, I’m gonna come-!” You’re squealing, something that makes Feitan cock a brow, the pure desperation in your body as you squirm under his touch making him feral, his hips beginning to rut against the bed before he can even think about it. You just look so sexy like this, with your nipples swollen and sensitive, your cunt all warm and wet and sweet, and he’ll watch with wide eyes as you orgasm around him, your walls clenching down so hard that they force his fingers out, his tongue and the circles he’s drawing on your clit the only thing grounding you. Your back arches fully up off the bed, tits thrust out into the air, and Feitan bites back a groan as his own pleasure hits a peak, the blanket ruined as cum oozes from his tip and seeps into the fabric.

You’re shaking, literally fucking shaking, and Feitan finds himself trembling too, his hands not as steady against your skin. If he’d known you would taste like this, how sensitive you’d be, how easy it is to get you orgasming while on your period, he would’ve done this long ago.

You’re out of it, blinking up at the ceiling and heaving uneven breaths, but even as sensitive as he is from his last orgasm, Feitan is quickly shuffling to his knees, grabbing the base of his cock and sinking into you, face contorting into something between a grimace and a gasp. You’re so damn warm, and he groans lowly as he sees the way his cock has pink slick all over it when he pulls back, a mix of your blood, your slick and his cum decorating his length.

Fucking you is heaven, the way you clutch at him and writhe, nearly screaming his name as you come on his cock, and Feitan can only grit his teeth and go harder, spurred on by the way your walls are caressing his length, massaging and gripping like a fucking vice.

It feels good, and by the time he’s emptied himself inside you, he’s already made a mental note to mark down when your next period will be - just so he can get ready, so that he can get prepared. So that he can prepare you, too, because you won’t simply be allowed rest after the first night.

God no, not if you’re like this the whole time.

#yandere hxh #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere feitan #yandere feitan portor #hxh smut #_lee's profiles #_hxh #_feitan portor

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elryuse · 7 days

Note

Hey can u write a story of 5 stepsisters (IZTY) who r obsessed with their younger brother y/n with mommy kinks.

Stuck With The Cold Princesses

ITZY OT 5 X MALE READER

Y/n flinched as a chorus of giggles erupted from the living room. ITZY, the five K-Pop idols who had become his stepsisters just a month ago, were sprawled on the plush rug, a chaotic mess of limbs and laughter. They were a far cry from the cold, aloof stars he'd seen on television. Here, in the sanctuary of their shared home, they were a terrifying whirlwind of possessiveness and affection.

Their arrival had been a shock to his system. Lia, the eldest, with a voice that could melt glaciers and eyes that could freeze them solid, took charge of the kitchen, her playful jabs about his meager appetite laced with a hidden venom. Yeji, the leader, a human algorithm with a heart of barbed wire, meticulously planned his schedule, ensuring every minute was filled with "approved" activities. Ryujin, the brooding rapper, spoke in grunts and glares, but her silent protectiveness was a suffocating cloak around him. Chaeryeong, the quiet dancer, was an enigma, her gaze a pool of swirling emotions that only flickered into life when it landed on Y/n. And Yuna, the maknae, was a whirlwind of sunshine that could turn into a hurricane with a single raised eyebrow.

Their initial hostility, a barrage of snide remarks and playful (or not so playful) shoves, had been a terrifying initiation. But then, the accident happened. A late-night drive back from a concert, slick roads, a missed turn – and the world turned upside down. The car flipped, a sickening screech of metal, and then silence. Y/n, miraculously unscathed, had pulled them from the wreckage, his voice a beacon of calm in the chaos.

That night, huddled together in the sterile hospital room, a horrifying truth emerged. ITZY weren't just a collection of talented idols; they were survivors of a tragedy so profound it had forged an unbreakable bond. Years ago, their parents, a famous musician couple, had perished in a similar car crash. The girls, left alone, had navigated the treacherous world of the entertainment industry together, a fortress built on shared trauma.

The revelation changed everything. The teasing stopped. The playful hostility morphed into a fierce, possessive protectiveness that bordered on obsession. Their new family dynamic was a terrifying masterpiece, painted in shades of control and affection.

Lia, ever the cook, fussed over his meals, her playful jabs about his appetite laced with a possessiveness that sent shivers down his spine. Yeji, the strategist, took charge of his schedule, ensuring his days were filled with activities she deemed "appropriate" – activities that kept him isolated from anyone but themselves. Ryujin, the taciturn one, claimed his bed every night, her silent presence a physical barrier against the outside world.

One afternoon, while walking home from school, Y/n bumped into Hana, a girl from his class. He hadn't realized how starved he was for normal social interaction until her easy smile and gentle conversation ignited a flicker of warmth in his chest. Their conversation, however trivial, felt like a lifeline thrown across a vast ocean of isolation.

Unbeknownst to Y/n, a pair of cold blue eyes watched from a distance. Yeji, ever vigilant, her gaze a predator tracking its prey. Back at home, the atmosphere was thick with a chilling tension. ITZY, usually a cacophony of chatter, sat in unsettling silence. The air crackled with unspoken threats.

"We saw you with Hana today, Y/n," Yeji finally spoke, her voice low and laced with ice.

Y/n felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach. "It was nothing, just… talking."

Ryujin slammed her fist on the table, making him flinch. "We don't like her, Y/n. She's not good for you."

Lia, who had always played the voice of reason, purred, a sound devoid of warmth. "Don't worry, darling. We'll take care of it."

The next day, Hana vanished. Y/n, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs, searched for her everywhere. The police, notified by her frantic parents, offered little comfort. The girls, their faces devoid of any emotion, simply offered empty platitudes about "missing persons" and the "inefficiency of the authorities."

Days turned into weeks, and a horrifying realization dawned on Y/n. Hana wasn't missing; she'd been silenced. A single red rose, its petals the color of fresh blood, lay on his pillow one night. A chilling note, penned in Chaeryeong's elegant handwriting, accompanied it: "We only want you to be happy, Y/n. And happy people don't need other girls."

His gaze darted to the five girls, their faces illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the window. They weren't the vibrant idols he saw plastered on posters anymore. Their smiles were predatory, their eyes devoid of the playful glint they used to hold. In their place was a terrifying possessiveness that made them look like cornered animals guarding their territory.

Y/n understood then. Their love, born from shared trauma and isolation, was a twisted vine that had suffocated them all. They weren't just his family, they were his captors. The fear that had coiled in his stomach since Hana's disappearance now clawed its way up his throat, choking him with a raw terror.

He tried to reason with them, to appeal to their dwindling humanity, but his words were met with chilling silence. Lia, the once playful cook, spoke in a voice devoid of warmth. "You're safe here, Y/n. You don't need anyone else."

Ryujin, the brooding rapper, materialized beside him, her hand finding his wrist with a bruising grip. "We're all that you need."

Desperate, he pleaded with Chaeryeong, the quiet one who spent hours lost in her art. "Don't you see this isn't right? Hana… what did you do to her?"

Chaeryeong stared at him, her eyes pools of swirling sorrow. A single tear traced a path down her cheek, a stark contrast to the chilling smile playing on Lia's lips. "She made you happy," Chaeryeong whispered, her voice barely audible. "And we can't have that."

Yuna, the maknae, broke the chilling silence with a high-pitched giggle that sent shivers down Y/n's spine. "Don't worry, oppa! We'll make you happy. Forever."

Their twisted affection pressed in on him, a suffocating wall built from fear and devotion. Y/n knew then that escape wasn't an option. He was trapped in their gilded cage, a prisoner of their warped love. Days bled into weeks, and a horrifying routine unfolded.

Gone were the playful interactions. The girls became his constant companions, their possessiveness suffocating. Excursions outside the house were rare, and always under their watchful eyes. Their smiles became strained, their once vibrant personalities dulled by the weight of their actions and the growing paranoia that consumed them.

One night, as Y/n lay awake, staring at the flickering shadows dancing on the ceiling, Ryujin, usually a stoic presence, spoke in a voice thick with raw emotion. "It's getting harder," she confessed, her voice a ragged whisper. "The whispers… the dreams… they're getting louder."

Y/n didn't dare ask about the whispers or the dreams. He knew they were the ghosts of their past, the trauma that bound them together while slowly tearing them apart.

One stormy night, the tension reached a breaking point. Lia, usually the picture of control, broke down, her facade crumbling as she sobbed uncontrollably. Y/n, hesitant at first, reached out and offered a comforting touch.

"We didn't mean to hurt you, Y/n," she cried, her voice cracking with grief. "We just… we just wanted to be happy family again."

Something in her desperation resonated with Y/n. He saw in her the same fear and loneliness that mirrored his own. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance to break free. A chance to heal, not just for him, but for them.

"Then let me help you," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Let's get help together."

A flicker of hope sparked in Lia's tear-filled eyes, a fragile ember in the vast darkness of their situation. But before they could discuss it further, a scream tore through the house, a chilling sound that echoed throughout the night.

The bedroom door slammed open, revealing Yeji, her face contorted in a mask of rage. In her hand, she clutched a phone, the screen displaying a news report of a missing girl – a girl with striking green eyes and a familiar smile. Hana.

Y/n's frantic pleas for Hana's safety were met with chilling silence. The girls, their expressions a terrifying blend of relief and possessiveness, huddled closer to him. He saw not rage, but gratitude reflected in their eyes. They had won.

The police investigation, fueled by Y/n's fabricated story of a random encounter and abduction, hit a dead end. Hana – a name that would forever prickle his conscience – simply vanished. Freedom, a word that once held so much promise, now tasted like ashes in his mouth.

Life within their opulent penthouse became a twisted parody of family. Gone were any aspirations of college, of escaping the suffocating cocoon they'd woven around him. His days were meticulously planned – movie nights featuring only their chosen films, meals cooked under their watchful eyes, outings that kept him firmly within their grasp.

Their "therapy" sessions morphed into chilling confessionals. They poured out their childhood trauma, the raw pain of their parents' death, the fear that had solidified their bond into an unbreakable chain. Y/n, a captive audience, offered empty words of comfort, all the while knowing his sacrifice had become his prison sentence.

Nights were the worst. Their sprawling bed became a battlefield of suffocating affection. Lia, the one who used to tease him about his appetite, now fussed over every morsel he ate. Yeji, the strategist, ensured his every need was anticipated, before he even knew he had it. Ryujin, the taciturn one, clung to him with a silent possessiveness that spoke volumes. Chaeryeong, the quiet artist, would sketch him endlessly, her eyes devouring his every feature. And Yuna, the maknae, her once infectious laughter now held a tinge of hysteria, showered him with childish demands for attention.

Slowly, the defiant spark in Y/n's eyes dimmed, replaced by a hollow acceptance. He became a puppet, his emotions dulled by their suffocating love. He no longer fought against the endless movie marathons, the repetitive board games, the constant stream of childish questions.

One day, as they sprawled on the floor, giggling over a particularly silly game, a news report flashed across the screen – ITZY, the K-Pop stars, taking a hiatus to focus on "personal growth." A humorless chuckle escaped Y/n's lips. Personal growth indeed.

He looked around at the five faces, their gazes filled with a possessive contentment. They were no longer the vibrant idols plastered across magazines, but his captors, their smiles tinged with a touch of mania.

Y/n, trapped in their gilded cage, had become their ultimate trophy – a reminder of their triumph, a living testament to their twisted love. The "Mommies," as they insisted he call them, had won. His desperate sacrifice had not saved Hana, but had condemned him to a lifetime sentence in his own personal horror story. He was a prisoner, not just of their warped affection, but of his own guilt-fueled decision. The outside world had faded away, replaced by the stifling sweetness of their twisted love, a terrifying lullaby that lulled him into his own living nightmare.

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lizziesblueberries · 2 years

Text

She’s in Your Mind

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,835

Warnings: Mommy Kink, Mommy!Wanda, Bottom!Reader, praise kink, slight mind control/invasion, there are fingers involved, Dark!Wanda, mention of murder?, multiverse of madness spoilers, I’m new at this don’t judge, smut, |minors DNI, 18+

Summary: Instead of whispering “run” in the MoM scene at the Kamar Taj, (y’all know what I’m talking about) Wanda reads your mind and sees that you are attracted to her. She uses a different method instead of fear, to make you submit to her, and it definitely does not involve running. I feel like we all combusted when we saw that scene…Let me know what you think.

Several students gathered around the courtyard, raising their arms to form shields, listening for the Supreme Sorcerer’s next orders. You weren’t the greatest at magic, still learning as a student with the mystic arts. So even though there were many others like you in Kamar Taj, ready to defend the temple against a great threat, your confidence was not very high. Especially when said threat, was the mythic Scarlet Witch, who is written in script to be more powerful than even the Sorcerer Supreme.

While that was shocking enough, you were even more surprised, when, in a storm of clouds, the Scarlet Witch arrived, red surrounding her and gracing your eyes with the most beautiful women you had ever seen. She was floating high above all of you, talking with Strange in what appeared not to be a pleasant conversation. And yet you could still see the vibrant green of her eyes from where you stood, her hair flaming red, and the sun illuminating her red armor and what looked like a fitting crown. You were mesmerized to say the least, and couldn’t help but stare as she spoke to the other sorcerer.

The sudden movement of Strange backing away from the witch snapped you out of your trance and reminded you of why she was here. A poor girl, named America Chavez, was being hunted for her powers by the Scarlet Witch, wanting to take them for herself which would kill the girl in the process. You were all for protecting young, innocent, supernatural, teenage girls. Murder wasn’t right in your moral standards after all, but you could also understand why the witch was after Chavez’s powers. A mother’s love was no joke and hearing about Wanda losing everyone she loved…it-it was understandable, wrong, but understandable. Strange flew back down to Wong, leaving the Scarlet Witch looking furious after attacking the shield held up by everyone and failing to break through. She threw bright red blasts of her power, shaking the temple, (and a few sorcerers in their boots) but luckily your effort to join forces with one another made the barrier strong enough to withstand her. You felt a sense of victory when she stopped, knowing that she couldn’t break through, but that immediately went away when you heard Strange tell Wong that she was going after your minds instead.

“Fortify your mind!” Wong warns to everyone. You weren’t sure how to exactly do that, but you knew you weren’t a person to scare easily, feeling assured of yourself since you were always fearless and confident when you did dangerous or scary activities. So, preparing yourself for any sort of intimidation or invasion of your mind, you looked toward the Scarlet Witch. Only when you did, she was already looking right at you. You tried not to gasp from the look in her eye, she looked so focused on you and then…interested. You straightened your stance, solidifying your magic more and tried to keep yourself from giving anything away.

Too focused on keeping a strong front and watching her for any movement, prepared for her to possibly scare you or take control of your mind. You were not prepared however, for the sudden presence and warmth you felt from behind you. Feminine curves pressed along your back and soft lips brushed against your ear, you then heard a low beautiful voice whisper.

“I know what your thinking, your thoughts are very loud little one.” Strong arms wrapped around from behind you, delicate hands tipped with black splayed themselves against your stomach, holding you almost possessively. It certainly felt secure. You couldn’t move, not sure what to do, Wanda was still in the air above you, looking at you with dark eyes. You knew she was in your head, that what you were feeling was all in your head. Yet it felt so real and, you hated to admit it, she felt so good. What was she trying to do? You weren’t going to just let her control you, make you give up your magic and run. Letting your defense down would make everyone else lose their defense as well and as nice as she felt you wouldn’t give up that easily and fail everyone.

You tried to move forward a bit, to get out of her hold, but that plan failed miserably when she merely moved her hands down, grabbing you by the hips and pressed you flush against her, hips slotting against each other. This time you couldn’t contain the whimper that left your mouth and you felt her smile against you ear.

“Your a little fighter aren’t you?” She said with amusement. You tried not to show how much she was making you flush, but knew you failed when you felt her hum from behind you.

“I know how you feel about me, you can’t hide it, not from me. This feels good, doesn’t it? Don’t you want to feel more? You want to know what it feels like to be my good girl and let go don’t you?” Her lips skimmed down to your neck as she said this, placing a gentle kiss right below your ear. “Your doing so well already, look at you, such a sweet girl letting me hold her. You feel so good against Mommy.”

An uncontrollable shiver racked through your body at her actions and you had to bite your lip to contain the moan you wanted to let out at her words. You wanted to feel more, you already wanted to please her, but you knew it was wrong. So many people were counting on you to hold your ground, to stay strong. You didn’t want to let them down, but your resistance was crumbling and she knew it. She moved her hands up from your hips, up to your stomach, nails scratching upward through your clothes, then stopped right under your breasts, making you tremble. She nuzzled her face into your neck, taking a deep breath of your scent and moaned right into your ear, effected by your smell.

“Oh, baby girl, I can smell you already. You smell so good, all ready for Mommy to taste you. I know you don’t want to fight me anymore, it’s hard isn’t it? Having to think all those hard thoughts, making big decisions, trying to please all these people who don’t even know you.” She moved her hands up and finally cupped your breasts, without thinking, your back arched into her, her warm hands started to slowly massage them as a reward. Whispering in your ear, “But I know you, I know your just a sweet girl, one who just wants to be loved and cared for. You just want to please Mommy don’t you? Let Mommy make all the hard decisions and let me take care of you.” Wanda suddenly slides her leg between yours from behind, barely adding friction to where you’re so badly aching. She places her mouth back on your neck and starts to suck, and in between each slow mark she lays, she continues to speak. “It’s ok my little one.” Another kiss, “Don’t fight me anymore.” A soft bite, “I promise it will all be ok, I will take care of everything.” (She doesn’t mention, that she’s also means everyone.)

At this point your panting, your so close to just letting go. There is nothing else but Wanda. Wanda looking down at you gently, her body molded behind you, holding you safely in her arms, her soft melodic voice surrounds you, her hands caress your body in intoxicating ways and they won’t stop. She’s in your head, and now almost has your heart, you’ve forgotten what it was you were trying to fight, to resist. How could you fight her, why would you want to fight her? All she has been is sweet to you so far, why not just let go? You look to the right of you to see if any other sorcerers are aware of what’s happening, to see if that would remind you of your reason to resist. That thought is quickly shut down however, when instead of seeing a fellow sorcerer, you become face to face with striking emerald eyes, the pinkest lips you’ve ever seen, and high cheek bones that you just want to place your palms over and hold cherishingly. All attached to this stunning women who holds you gently like your her whole world. You’re caught in her gaze, her pupils are blown wide, taking you all in as she leans closer, her lips are just barely grazing against yours when she does. Warm breath caresses your lips when she finally decides to say the one thing you needed to hear to let go.

“Such a Good girl”

You moan, loud and wanting, sinking in to her and giving up all resistance, and Wanda’s eyes light up at the sound, at your giving in. She grabs a handful of your hair and pulls you to her, smashing your lips together. Her lips are even softer than you thought, and you thought of them pretty soft from just looking at them. Her nails scratch the back of your head lightly, sending pleasant shivers down your spine and you moan, opening your mouth. Wanda uses this as her way in past your lips, her tongue sliding in smoothly, curling against the roof of your mouth, completely devouring what feels like your entire being. She grabs both the sides of your face for better leverage, and presses her front against yours. Chests heaving against each other as you both practically breathe in one another. Sucking on your tongue as she pulls away, you whine. She laughs, it’s a short laugh, low, soft, and sweet. Your instantly addicted to it. She moves her head down to your neck, and you can’t control your breathing or the noises she’s pulling from you. Nipping and sucking all along your throat and you begin to move your hips against her.

“Yes, that’s it, good girl, give yourself to Mommy. Let me see all of you. Such a sweet girl, giving in and letting Mommy take over.” She slides her hands down your body, one going to your ass, the other slyly finds it’s way into your pants. You gasp when you feel deft fingers caress your covered pussy. Your completely soaked, through your panties and all. You try to act unembarrassed about this, but Wanda has other ideas.

“My my, look at you baby girl, dripping all over just from a kiss. Does Mommy make you feel that good? Or do you perhaps like the idea of everyone seeing you being completely taken by me? Letting them see what a little slut you are for the Scarlet Witch. Do you like it when Mommy shows everyone just who you belong too?” Her fingers continue to move up and down over your covered pussy, but it’s not enough. Too much clothing and not enough attention to where you want her. Your dumbly humping her hand now, and you whimper from frustration. She pulls back a little, her hand that was groping your ass, swiftly moves to your throat, holding you there. She looks at you with her teeth slightly bared, so close to your mouth you can almost taste her.

“Answer me my pretty girl, do you like it when Mommy claims you in front of all these people? You want me to make you cum right here on my fingers for everyone to watch? Answer Mommy when she asks you a question and my good girl will get a sweet little treat.” Her fingers have moved to the sides of your folds not even close to your clit, creating a V shape with her fingers, teasing with how close she is to where you need her. Your absolutely ruined at this point, arousal dripping down your legs. Your so desperate for her to touch you, to give you your release, so with a blush that won’t seam to leave your face and neck, you nod quickly and do your best to give her a coherent answer.

“Y-yes, I want you M-mommy, please mommy let me cum, I’ll be your good girl, let them to see what you do to me, make me yours.” Delighted with your answer, Wanda smiles, it’s dazzling and your stunned by her beauty all over again. You don’t have much time to dwell on that though because the next moment, she’s pulling you in to her by your throat, kissing you so deeply that you don’t notice her fingers slipping past your underwear until a finger is dipping into your tight pussy. She sinks her finger in all the way at the same time her tongue delves in your mouth, nearly reaching to the back of your throat with her hot tongue. She moans at how wet you are, and starts to slowly move her finger in and out of you, her tongue synchronizing with her finger. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, you’ve never felt so taken, she’s consuming all of you and it’s absolutely mind numbing. With her hand that’s still holding your neck, her thumb starts to caress the column of your throat, you don’t know how someone can completely devour you and still be soft and dominating at the same time. She starts to move her hand faster against you and soon you need more.

“Mommy. Please, I need more.” you gasp out. Wanda pulls back from kissing you and hums.

“We’ll since my good girl asked so politely.” With out any other warning, you feel her add another finger. With dark eyes never leaving your face, she eases both her fingers in, you let a choked moan and you stare at her with wide eyes never moving from hers. Addicted to the way she watches you, she takes note of every sound and reaction you make and you love it, love the attention and care. It’s this look, and the way she moves her thumb to rub tight circles on your clit, pumping in to you at the same time that brings you close to the edge. Wanda can sense your close, the way your cunt clenches around her fingers, gripping them so tightly. The way your hips starts to move erratically against her. She groans at how wet and warm you are, going crazy with the way you look at her, with pleading and near tears in your eyes. You don’t know if you can go for much longer so you try to tell her.

“I’m gonna-mommy please I’m gonna cum.” You gasp out.

“Shh, shh, I know baby girl, your doing so good, such a good girl taking mommy’s fingers so well. I want you to cum now, be my good girl and cum all over my fingers.” The thought of getting her black tipped fingers messy with your cum makes you groan. After this, she adds a third finger, curling them, pumping them so deep in you, hitting spots you’ll never reach yourself and your release finally washes over you. You feel like your exploding. Arching into her, arms wrapped around her neck holding tight, eyes closed shut because your literally seeing stars. She’s watching you closely, holding you up because your legs stopped working since before you came. And now she’s just breathing you in, whispering praises to you and slowly moving her fingers to prolong your pleasure. You finally come down from your near heaven experience, calming your breathing into her neck as you hold each other. She rubs your back, holding the back of your neck, keeping you close, until she pulls back a little. You try to stop the whine that slips out, but she hears it.

“Don’t worry little one, I’m not leaving you. Your mine now, and I take care of what’s mine.” You feel warm and content at her words, knowing she wasn’t going to just use you and then leave you… why would she use you and leave you… wasn’t there something you were doing? Oh.

Suddenly, she’s not holding you anymore. You finally come back to the real world, and look up. The Scarlet Witch looks back down at you, and she smirks. You sink to your knees, letting go of your hold on your magic. You can’t believe what just happened, what felt like hours, was only just a couple seconds in your mind. The Scarlet Witch invaded your mind, taking over every part of you, and you let her. The barrier breaks down around the temple, and your comrades start to attack. You don’t, instead you feel scarlet wisps gently lift your body off the ground. As your being moved to safety away from the chaos, Wanda demolishing the temple and its sorcerers, you can’t seem to bring yourself to help or care. It may have been in your mind, but Wanda owns you now, and what a good girl she owns.

Part 2

@cthulhus-curse

Y’all let me know what was your favorite part! I’m desperate to talk about Wanda. 😭and I’d love to hear what you think.

#wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #mommy! wanda maximoff #dark!wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x reader #multiverse of madness #wanda maximoff smut

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pianokantzart · 1 year

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Something I love about the Mario movie is how is basically squashed any kind of ideas of Luigi being jealous of Mario from the get go that fans have come up/theorized throughout the years.

The whole “Luigi is jealous and tired of living in Mario’s shadow” has no leg to stand on when it comes to this movie.

In fact, Luigi is actively the one singing praises towards Mario, he knows that his brother dreams big and has a big heart, he knows his brother is amazing and he loves him for that.

Does he have low self esteem? Absolutely. But there is absolutely not a single bit of jealousy/envy towards Mario, Luigi loves and adores him far too much to ever be jealous and angry at Mario, someone who means the absolute world to him.

Oh don't you get me started.

Too late, I’ve gotten started. YOU ARE SO RIGHT. The movie did to theories that Luigi's “bitter and jealous” what it did to theories that Mario’s an antisocial asshat.

There are two things I can point to that are to blame for the theories that Luigi is bitter and jealous:

The description of his Negative Zone final smash from Super Smash Bros. Brawl:

"Luigi's final smash. As exotic music plays, he performs a dance befitting a sorcerous incantation. A barrier envelopes him, negatively impacting all in his area. Random effects include getting launched, sleeping, moving in slow motion, tripping, fainting, and losing attack power. This technique is a reflection of the dark side he embraced in his brother's shadow."

2. His characterization in Paper Mario

But there’s like… almost 40 years of games to glean from. You can literally pick and choose whatever you want to form any sort of theory (like a certain internet man did when arguing that Mario is an animal abusing sociopath). But 99% of the games show about as much evidence that Luigi is bitter as they do that Mario is a bad person– none at all. Quite the opposite, in fact.

As for Paper Mario, it's the only time Luigi is directly characterized as envious... NOT jealous. He still loves his brother and sees him as worthy of the praise he gets, but he feels bad being stuck at home, and desperately wants to be brought along for the adventure– to have his opportunity in the limelight. But Paper Mario is kind of its own thing, established to be a separate universe from the mainline Mario games. In the Super Mario Brothers RPGs– which delve deeper into the bros character while remaining more aligned with the classic "canon"– the dynamic is quite the opposite! Mario dives headfirst into danger while Luigi desperately avoids it unless there is no other choice. In Super Mario Brothers Superstar Saga he tries his darndest to not be taken along for the adventure, confident that his brother can handle the task.

But one consistent across the Mario games is Luigi being the underdog of all underdogs; unlucky and clumsy, the butt of the joke, and constantly undermined. Naturally this causes people to get defensive of him– get angry for him, and project their feelings onto the character himself.

But tHEN WE HAVE THE MOVIE!!!!

Nintendo is given a chance to craft Mario and Luigi into fully fleshed-out characters with motivations and backstories, not just plucky videogame personalities for people to project themselves into, and boy oh BOY did they knock it out of the park.

While Mario is still a headstrong hero with a never-say-die attitude and a heart of gold, everything he does is for his brother. Mario has insecurities about feeling small and wants to prove himself to his father, but in the end his love for Luigi is his main motivator. Mario can handle being threatened, made fun of, and told he’s crazy, but if you want to truly hurt him, tell him his actions are hurting his brother. Try hurting Luigi directly, and Mario will tear you a new one.

In return, everything Luigi does is for Mario! Lu’s not the willful ball of determination and gusto that his brother is– he has always been nervous, softhearted, and sensitive, which is why he lets his brother lead the way. Luigi’s not living in Mario’s shadow, he’s thriving off of his confidence! He recognizes Mario as his best friend and greatest source of strength, and will follow him absolutely anywhere.

There is no sense of Mario being treated like the beloved star of the show while Luigi gets the short end of the stick. They are both downtrodden, both learning, and both dependent on each other. It's not just Super Mario, it's the Super Mario Brothers, who equally inspire each other to be the best version of themselves.

#not art #Mario Movie #Super Paper Mario #Mario #Luigi #Fun fact this was originally twice as long and went into fifteen other directions #this is me holding myself back #Long Post #Mario Commentary #super mario bros #super mario brothers

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pedgito · 2 years

Text

𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 pt. iii ✧ ˚ · . 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary: through the days and weeks that pass after, your friendship becomes more complicated, imploding in on itself. fortunately, eddie wasn't going to let you go that easy.

cw: 18+ (minors dni), virgin!reader, phone sex, mutual masturbation, oral (f receiving), fingering/sex/all that jazz, babes, brief use of cuffs, innocence!kink, mentions of hard relationship with parents (reader), lots of teasing and some cheesy angsty with a spice of fluff. if this is all over the place, i'm sorry.

word count: 8.8k — part one, part two

Your parents start to ask about the wild-haired kid who constantly picks you up for school every morning now; it was something Eddie insisted on after realizing that not only did you not ride the bus or bike to school, you’d been walking for the past few years, school more than a mile away from your home–you’d been lying to him for a while about it, but it was harder to ignore now. You didn’t have the luxury of a car or parents that could drive you to school every morning. Eddie was having none of that, even despite your pending graduation, he wanted to make an effort where it counted the most—even with the littlest things.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” You complain to your parents, almost on a daily occurrence, watching as they eye the suspicious change in attitude and demeanor. You were happier, more carefree—it wasn’t completely one-eighty, but it was noticeable, “He’s just a guy I play Dungeons and Dragons with—we’re in the same grade.”

If that wasn’t already problem enough; the constant bickering and complaining from them about how bad of an influence that game was on kids—it was harmless, but the media had created quite the frenzy around it and your parents sucked it right up, spewing it back at you.

Eddie was never just some guy, either, and you wanted him so badly it pained you—it changed gradually, over the past few weeks he’d somehow charmed you even more. It started with the rides, sharing snacks with you at lunch, spending more and more time together after school at his designated smoke spot, watching quietly as he partook in the activities you chose to sit out on, despite how quickly he had begun to corrupt you and nightly phone calls had soon become a ritual.

They were truly sacred.

Eddie’s almost unhinged, the way he speaks to you now; the barrier of the phone giving him all the courage he needs to say what he feels, the deepest and dirtiest thoughts he holds back, always too terrified to say them to your face. It’s not like you cared (even if you totally did), you two weren’t a thing—whatever you had, it wasn’t special, but it was needed.

It made things easier now, having explored each other’s bodies to a certain extent; you could picture him, his hands, everything. You never had an orgasm now that wasn’t caused or led by Eddie, in one way or another. Eddie didn’t need you to confess that to him, it was pathetically obvious.

“Is that what you’re thinking about?” You wonder, voice high pitched and breathless, fingers buried deep inside your cunt, working tirelessly toward your own orgasm. “Want me to suck you off, Eddie?”

He groans, low and guttural—the harsh and filthy word leaving your lips was so unlike you; it always made Eddie feel some type of way. He wasn't sure how far you were willing to go, but he was learning more and more about you each day.

All the nastiest fantasies that you thought about—wanted him to do to you.

“Fuuuck,” He drags out, pussy clenching around your fingers at the sound of him desperately tugging at his dick over the receiver, phone resting lazily on his chest, moving with every staggering breath he took, “gotta get you on your knees, staring up all innocent and shit, those fucking eyes—“

He grunts, squeezing at the base of his dick.

One thing about Eddie, he enjoyed the edging. It was almost a game to him, how quickly he could bring himself to the brink, forcing himself into a full stop, still managing to maintain enough composure to help you toward your own. He almost never came before you. Almost.

“You fall apart so pretty,” You coo, gasping at a particular curl of your own fingers, before pulling the soaked digits out to drag over your swollen, sensitive clit, “love watching you come, Eddie.”

He mumbles a small ‘uh huh’, his mind momentarily elsewhere, mind hazy with thoughts to force himself from releasing too fast.

“Wanna know what you taste like,” Eddie nearly chokes at that, “it’s only fair, right? I mean, you’re the one that got to have all the fun last time.”

“You taste so fucking sweet,” He grits out, continuing his quick, harsh flicks of his wrist, gripping himself to the point of pain, nearly, “like honey, shit’s addicting.”

One taste and he was hooked; it was a drug.

“Gonna come, Eddie—wanna hear you.” You beg, voice broken and needy, fingers rubbing quick circles over the squishy bead, forcing your hand over your mouth as you nearly yelled, that pleasure high sneaking up on you quickly, orgasm hitting you with full force.

And it’s the best sound you’ve ever heard, how easily he just decides to let go, groaning openly into the phone. You can’t help but blush, knowing very well that it was all you—he couldn’t get enough.

“Oh, fuck,” He whines softly. You can hear the soft jingle of his leathered, chain bracelet as it rattles against his skin, milking his dick for all it’s worth. Eddie always makes a huge mess, having learned from his past mistakes that it was much easier to do this shirtless, “I don’t think I’ve came that hard in a while.” He admits after a long silence, still trying to catch his breath.

You giggle softly into the phone, adjusting and pulling the covers of your bed over you. He’s rustling around on his end, cleaning up his chest with, probably, another random article of clothing—then lets out a loud ‘oof’.

“Good to know I’ve still got it.” You joke, smiling wide, despite the fact that Eddie would never see it.

He only wanted to make you happy, it was a crime that he couldn’t see how easily he was capable of doing it.

“Sweetheart, I don’t think you ever lost it.”

You make a small noise of indifference, “I can only work with so much—since I’ve never had sex before.”

He doesn’t comment on it, at least not audibly.

Eddie’s thought about it plenty, but doesn’t harp on the fact as much anymore. It used to be a big, lingering thing between you both—but eventually it faded into the distance, more about how much you both enjoyed each other and the company you kept, how easy it was to indulge in what you wanted; no worry or shame.

“I aced Kaminsky’s test, by the way,” Eddie adds, a familiar flick of his lighter on the other end, speech mumbled by the cigarette tucked between his lips, “then he tried to accuse me of cheating.”

“Eddie—you did,” You laugh, remembering how he begged you for the answers, though, the payment was definitely worth it; Eddie really enjoyed going down on you, “and you’re welcome.”

“Hey, I put in some work,” He defends feebly, “You came twice.”

“Okaaay,” You interrupt, knowing that if you continued down that path, it would be hard for both of you to stop, and you were too exhausted to keep things going, “I’ll see you at school tomorrow. Goodnight.”

Eddie couldn’t wipe the smug smile off of his face the rest of the night.

—

And despite Eddie’s vehement protests, you were becoming just as bad of an influence as he was. It’s exactly why he cancels Hellfire the following Friday, making up some lame excuse about how Wayne really needed his help with something; it was important and Eddie couldn’t do that to his uncle—aside from the fact that Wayne didn’t need him at all.

Eddie was on a high that day, particularly naughty for no reason at all—the quick touches to your waist, lingering fingers his hand rested against the back of your neck, or he’s undying need to press himself up against your back as he passed through the busy hallway—he was at least semi-hard almost the entire school day, doing everything he could to drive you absolutely mad. Unfortunate for him, it had.

“Huh uh,” You shook your head, shoved into the dark confines of the theater room—the others still had a while before they would arrive, but you were determined to not let him slide, not this time. Your hand is fisted in the front of his worn Hellfire Club shirt, his back crowded against the wall, “You’re going to tell them to go home.”

“What?” Eddie balks, eyes wide and hands thrown out to his side in disbelief, “I can’t do that!”

He was still willing to put up a fight.

“Fine,” You say, releasing your steady grip on him. His face quickly morphs to puzzled as he watches you grab your bag, slinging it over your shoulder.

“Wait, you’re leaving?” He asks, hand wrapping around your bicep gently. “Sweetheart…”

His words linger, the words he needs to say never coming to fruition. You smile sickeningly sweet, running a finger over the wide expanse of his rings.

You nod, staring down at his fingers as they gripped you tighter, “Actually, give me your rings.” You say suddenly, eyes glancing up to him. You half expect him to refuse, but he doesn’t. Eddie hands them over so easily that you’re a little stricken by it, but that wasn’t going to deter your efforts.

You grasp the chunky rings in your palm and pocket them.

Eddie watches closely as you lean toward him, all sense of personal space out the window, lips barely grazing his own, “Now—I’m gonna go home, put these on, and fuck myself with my fingers until I’m coming all over them.” Eddie pales at the admission.

“So, rain check?” You smile innocently, “And I’ll bring these bad boys back to you in a couple days?” You pat at the stuffed pocket.

Eddie would have to wait the entire weekend and that just wouldn’t do.

“You’re so fucking evil,” Eddie complains, the slightest hint of smirk crossing his face. He enjoyed the game, whether he wanted to admit it to himself or not. You’d become increasingly more relaxed, willing to bend the rules—though, he was really regretting it now. He tosses you his keys in defeat, “Go start the van.”

You giggle proudly, catching the keys.

Fortunately, the group didn’t care much about Eddie canceling.

—

Eddie still had an edge to him the moment you arrived at his trailer. He wasn’t angry, or mad—but definitely frustrated. The lingering tension between you had been growing by the day and it was finally coming to a head.

Eddie bites at the inside of your thigh in warning, causing you to squeal out in response, shoving gently at his head. “What the fuck?” You ask, vocabulary becoming more and more colorful the longer you hang out with him. “That wasn’t nice.”

“You want nice?” Eddie asks teasingly, face so close to your cunt, just a inch forward and he’d be there, mouth buried against you. It was a dangerous game of back and forth you’d both been playing that day, both of you determined to come out on top. ‘Nice like how you made me cancel Hellfire today?”

You try to interrupt, but Eddie pulls your thighs wider, bordering on slightly uncomfortable. The dynamic between you both was—-well, tense, at times. It was either perfect and quaint and just a means to relieve tension, but other times; it was a dangerous game of cat and mouse, one of you bound to lose miserably.

You gasp softly, eyes following his intense gaze, “Nice like how you made me walk around all day half-hard, knowing that I couldn’t do anything about it?” There’s bits behind his words, mostly frustrated with himself, rather than you.

“Does that seem nice to you?” He asks.

“And you think it’s okay to touch me the way you do?” You ask carefully, eyes wandering to the fingers wrapped firmly around your thighs, digging into the soft flash, “In front of everyone?”

He knew people were watching, that was the problem. It felt like he was making a spectacle out of you; not that it was a bad thing, but you enjoyed the secrecy and privacy within your friendship. You didn’t have to explain anything to anyone—who cares if you liked to mess around with your best friend? It wasn’t anyone’s business but yours—but when eyes started to wander and pry, that’s what was harder to deal with.

You were both entirely too pent up with frustration, but also undoubtedly riddled with sexual tension, ready to jump each other at any moment—still, you weren’t ready. You couldn’t bring yourself to cross that line.

It wasn’t because you were scared or worried—you knew the moment you agreed or caved, it became real, and you couldn’t handle the idea of being in love with Eddie, having such a strong relationship with him, all for it to fall apart because of one silly little encounter that could make or break your friendship. This wasn’t just sex for Eddie—even when he was frustrated or annoyed, he still managed to have all the amount of tenderness one could hold.

“Just—stop,” You sigh, forcing yourself away from him, sitting up in his bed, “I’m not in the mood anymore.”

Things had ramped up quickly since the night at the lake—which wasn’t only Eddie’s fault. You both shared the blame equally, but it was starting to catch up to you; you didn’t know how to handle it.

Eddie reaches out gently, rubbing your knee with his fingers. Even his touch burned, but not in the way you liked. It was all too overwhelming right now, you wanted to hide. “Hey, I’m sorry—I thought we were playing into it, you know?”

“Being mean to each other?” You ask, brows furrowed in confusion. “Teasing, maybe. But, I was never trying to be mean—you remember when we agreed not to tell anyone about this?”

Eddie nods slowly, hands still glued to your knee—you wanted to push it away, but you also never wanted it to leave.

“People watch us all the time—you make it worse when you touch me the way you do.” You breathe through your nose, “Friends don’t touch each other like that, Eddie.”

“Who cares?”

Eddie was on a completely different wavelength, so blinded by how much he cared for you, that it didn’t matter who was around.

“I do.” You didn’t understand why it wasn’t clicking—why he couldn’t see how much it bothered you. That’s why you tried to mask it so hard at school, play it off like a game. Even if Eddie felt the same way you did—which was impossible, because it was. It just was. There wasn’t a need for explanation. You were his friend, but you were also a convenience, at least that’s how it felt.

Despite how kind Eddie was, friend or not, this was bound to end horribly.

“Then what—do you want to stop?” Eddie asks, the smallest hint of surprise in his tone; he didn’t understand where any of this was coming from. He couldn’t understand what he did wrong.

“Not stop,” You explain, “Maybe…take a break?”

Like this was a relationship; you were very well aware that it was not.

Eddie chews on his bottom lip thoughtfully, quiet for longer than you’re used to, trying to absorb everything you were saying. He felt terrible, like he’d pushed you too far. But the truth of that matter was, he just couldn’t help himself—he wanted to be around you as often as possible, as much as you would let him—but you weren’t ready, and even if he wanted you to be, he wasn’t going to force you.

He’d wait as long as it took for you to realize.

“Okay,” He agrees, his voice soft. “Did you want me to take you home?”

And truthfully, that’s the last thing on your mind. You just wanted your friend, without all the complicated strings attached. Just Eddie.

“No,” You shake your head slightly, “Can we just—-lay here for a while, maybe?”

Eddie always provides just the right amount of care you need, it’s a deep reminder of how special he was to you. Regardless of everything else, he was the only source of comfort you had right now.

You never go home that night and that’s what starts it all.

The fight with your parents the next morning is entirely your fault; nothing but a simple mistake to some, but to your parents—it was an atrocity, Eddie never stopped apologizing, even after they rarely let you leave the house—a month, two months; school, Hellfire, then home.

Your situation with Eddie dwindled quickly in the aftermath.

—

Eddie doesn’t call as often either, not for more than a few minutes—sometimes it’s questions about his campaign or questions for homework; it’s almost like none of it ever happened. You can’t blame him, though—your tone is so miserable that he starts to believe that he’s the problem.

You start walking to school again, as much as Eddie hates to watch. But, he knows your sense of pride—you weren’t going to ask him, not after how badly things went with your parents. You never talked about it and he didn’t ask—he couldn’t.

And you seemed like a different person, most of the time. Though, you still smiled at his jokes—he was calling that a win. And you did get to see him everyday, which was nice, but it wasn’t like before—it would never be like before.

You try desperately to ignore how badly you want to be around him, with him, surrounded by him. It’s the kind of feeling that eats away at you and makes you feel small. There were times when you wanted to reach out and grab his hand, just hold a part of him—but even that felt foreign now.

So when it does happen, it’s a shock to your system.

Everyone’s saying their goodbyes before the illusive Winter Break, talking about their big plans—but none of it really matters to you.

You parents always go on some big extravagant getaway around their anniversary—which you didn’t mind, it was actually sweet, seeing two people that were still so head over heels for each other; sweet enough to make you sick, in some regards. But, it meant you spent most of your time cooped up alone in your house, with nothing to do, no one to hang out with—it was lonely and you hated it.

“Princess,” The word tugs at your heart, a flood of memories hitting you at once, “any big plans for the holiday?”

You huff a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Not a single one.” You tell him, watching as he leaned his shoulder against the wall beside you, leaned closely into your space—not enough to make you want to back away, though you’re not sure you would even if he did move closer. “Just a big, boring, empty house to myself for two weeks—my own personal hell.”

“That’s the perfect time to throw a total rager, you know.” He’s joking and it does make you laugh, but he can still see that something is clearly off.

“What about you?” You ask curiously, “Did you and Wayne manage to put the Christmas tree up before Christmas Eve this year?”

“Surprisingly—yeah,” He says through a short, chortled laugh. “Right after Thanksgiving, actually. You’d be proud.”

Your smile is forced, pulled together in a tight line.

He doesn’t ask, doesn’t even think twice, before pulling you to his chest, your arms wrapping him out of instinct, tugged snugly underneath his jacket, the warmth of his skin radiating through his thin raglan shirt.

“I’m sorry.”

Eddie apologizes too much and it’s a horrible habit.

“It’s okay, Eddie.” You say softly, squeezing him just a bit tighter, forcing yourself to remember this moment; it was the only recent memory you had of being close to him, you weren’t going to let yourself forget it.

It’s the first time he’s heard you say his name in a while; less condescending than usual, more endearing and genuine. He knew you meant it—he knew you were okay, but it still didn’t help that he was fighting every day to not just admit everything to you—it wasn’t what you needed, not right now.

Besides, he wasn’t sure if you would even care. It had been so long, why would any of it matter now?

—-

And by now, no one ever calls you but Eddie. So when the phone rings, it’s an automatic: “Yeah?” Through a voice sick with last night’s sleep, the rising sun peeking through your window.

“Are you busy today?” His voice is incredibly chipper for as early as it was—which, you weren’t even sure of the time.

“Eddie—what time is it?” You ask slowly, rubbing at your eyes, blurry with sleep.

“Seven.”

“In the morning?” You ask incredulously, head slumping against the pillow. “If it’s about the campaign, you can call me later.”

“No, no,” He rushes out, feeling the impending click he was about to receive, thus ending his chances at saying what he wanted to say; the whole reason he had even called in the first place, “It’s not that.”

It’s been two weeks since he’s talked to, seen you, it all felt too strange. The jackhammering beat of his heart behind his ribcage is enough to scare him out of saying anything, but he knows if he doesn’t get it out now, he’ll never be able to.

And maybe he should’ve called later, regretting having woken you up—and always lessen the time he had to feel dejected if you actually rejected him; he couldn’t tell where your head was at anymore, not that he really could before.

The silence that lingers is enough of a clue, triggering you to speak before Eddie does, “Did you want to come over?” You ask suddenly—it dawns on you that he’s never even been in your home. You knew the inside of his trailer like that back of your hand—it was cozier than your own home, more personal. The endless wall of mugs that Wayne loved to talk about, the littered baby pictures of Eddie strung around the place, always being held by a much younger Wayne—there was love there; complete opposite from what you felt at home.

Old you would’ve been terrified out of your mind to sneak a boy into your home—but at this point, you can’t be bothered to care. It’s almost like your parents were asking for it, leaving you alone like this; and if this was how you went out, you’d be content with it. Though, they were several miles away, so, there was no harm in trying.

“Uh, yeah—yeah, sure.” Eddie tries to reply calmly, lamely hiding his immediate eagerness.

“Good,” You smile, “Bring snacks.”

Eddie spends almost twenty minutes fighting an internal battle over Twizzlers or chocolate, because for the life of him—he can’t remember which one you like more. He buys both.

—

When he does finally arrive, he’s standing at the door with his trademark grin, bags held out beside his head and it’s almost like none of all that bad shit ever happened.

“There any Twizzlers in those bags?” You ask suspiciously, almost like he’d lose his free pass inside if there weren’t

“I knew it!” He laughs, gently tossing the bag in your direction. “I also got those little chocolates you like, the tiny ones wrapped in foil and—“

A kiss on his cheek is the last thing he’s expecting, before being promptly pulled past the threshold of your front door.

He’s confused, eyeing you like you’d grown a second head.

“A kiss for the kisses, right?” You say coyly, “I’ll still pay you back, don’t worry.”

“Oh, no—no, it’s fine.” Eddie says, very adamant in his refusal, “It was just pocket change, I’m not worried.”

A silence settles over you both, leading him to the large couch in your living room. He’s never been in a house so spacey, not squeezed and filled to the brim with furniture.

“I won’t say no to kisses, though.”

It was so easy to settle into old habits.

You laugh to yourself, placing the snacks on the small table set in the center of the room. “All out of those now too, unfortunately.”

Eddie’s dressed so casually it almost shocks you—a secondhand sweater that was definitely Wayne’s at one point or another, worn at the collar and a muted black that has been run through the washing machine one too many times, despite the tag's insistent warning to hand wash only—matched with a pair of ripped black jeans and his favorite Reeboks. But now he’s just standing there, shuffling from foot to foot awkwardly.

He wouldn’t let anyone else catch him like this. They’d be dead the moment they saw him. Especially with the way he tucked his hair behind his ears, you could swoon at the sight—but you knew well enough to keep your composure.

And comparatively, you were dressed in something similar, opting for sweatpants rather than jeans, choosing to be huddled up on the couch by the fireplace tucked in the wall of your living room—Hawkin’s winters were brutal.

“Sit,” You motioned toward the couch, shoving a continuously replayed copy of Risky Business into the VHS player, “stop acting so weird.”

He quirks any eyebrow at the movie choice, toeing off his shoes to rest his feet atop the table, arm slung over the back of the couch, “That one, really?”

“Oh, fucking can it, Eddie.” You warn, tossing the cardboard cover to the ground and starting the movie.

Eddie huffs a short laugh, his gaze following you until you’re placed opposite of him, pointedly putting enough space between you both—neither of you needed the mixed signals.

Though, you were the one that invited him over in the first place. There wasn’t any real reasoning behind it—you missed him, that was it. It didn’t matter that you were desperately in love with the boy.

He hits the side of your foot with his own sock covered one, tossing you the bag of snacks. Stubbornness be damned, you were still going to enjoy the sweets he bought for you.

When he sneaks his hand into the bag of chewy red ropes, you almost gasp, watching as he brings the candy to his lips and pulls, yanking off a small piece.

“What are you doing?” You ask, watching Eddie’s eyes peek over at you.

This man has never touched a Twizzler in his life and decided to start now?

“Eating?” Wasn’t it obvious? He takes another small bite. He’s clearly putting some force behind the swallow.

“You hate Twizzlers.” You remind him, pulling the candy from his hand.

“But you love them.” He offers, like it’s a cure all.

“Oh, sweetheart,” You chuckle fondly, shoving the bags to the side, “I have popcorn and drinks—you don’t have to put yourself through that much misery to hang out with me.”

The smile that Eddie cracks is a win for you.

“Thank god,” He sighs in relief, “Would you mind?”

After all is said and done, he’s sitting even straighter, digging into the bowl of popcorn like a man starved. You try not to think about it; how easily he would’ve suffered through something so easily fixed, just to be around you. And he could’ve easily bought something for himself, but he was so focused on what you’d wanted that he forgot entirely.

—

Candy forgotten, you’ve both got your hands shoved into the bowl of popcorn, eating absently through random questions:

“What about Tom Cruise?” Eddie asks curiously, going down his long list of compiled men that he knew you had to be attracted—at least one.

“Mmm, no.” You disagree, shaking your head furiously. He chuckles at the face you make, mocking the way your nose scrunches up in disgust.

“Yeah, I didn't think so.” He agrees. “Doesn’t seem like your type.”

“My type?” You ask, curiosity peaked. “Oh, honey—do tell. What is my type then?”

If Eddie is bothered by the endearment, he doesn’t show it.

He shrugs; not wanting to answer the question outright. He was the one who brought it up, so of course you were going to press him on it. You couldn’t recall ever having a type—aside from Eddie, but that had nothing to do with how he looked, not that he wasn’t already beautiful in his own right, but you can remember a time you’ve ever felt so pulled toward someone because of the way they looked; it was impossible.

“Uh, guys with long hair, you know.” He explains, hands moving animatedly as he talks, motion at his own hair. “Really good at guitar, killer music taste—“

You see what he’s trying to do, but you’re not letting him off that easily.

“Oh yes—Eddie Van Halen is pretty cute, now that I think about it.” You make a thoughtful face, bottom lip jutting out as you pondered, but the only person you really had in mind was your Eddie.

And Eddie has those sick, puppy dog eyes at the sudden admission, thinking you’ve missed the point completely.

“But, I guess my Eddie isn’t so bad either.”

It doesn’t immediately register with your own brain when you say it, a mindless thought slipping through your mouth unfiltered.

His eyebrows skyrocket to the ceiling, watching your cheeks blush the deepest shade of red. You face feels hot, your body feels hot, and you really can’t believe you just fucking said that.

“I mean—“ You fumble through your words, deciding on a lame, “You know what I mean.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything, grin growing wider on his face—savoring in your slip up.

“Shut up.” You shove him, placing both your hands against his chest in an effort to throw him—wipe the stupid smile off his face, “Shut your face up right now or I swear to—“

Eddie’s hands grip the length of your wrists, wrapping around loosely, but it’s enough to keep him from falling back; unfortunately, it pulls you closer.

“Swear to what?” Eddie presses, watching you with those mesmerizing brown eyes, even you couldn’t pull your gaze away.

“Eddie,” You warn him, pulling gently at the hold he has on you. He doesn’t budge, “let go.” And still, your voice is too unconvincing.

“Do you really want me to?” Eddie asks.

No. Fuck, no. You want to say the memories flood back to you, but they’ve been there the entire time; your entire friendship with Eddie had been built on trust—trust in each other that there was never any judgment, even before everything got complicated, he was still, very much, the only person you could rely on and regardless of what happens here or after, he was never going to be out of your life, not really.

“Whatever’s going on in that head of yours,” He speaks again, realizing how distant you were—he could see how hard your brain was working to come up with something, anything to get yourself out of what you really wanted to say, “just say it.”

“We can’t.” You tell him. Eddie doesn’t need to be a genius to figure that out, but nevertheless, his grip still remains. “Is that why you called earlier?”

“It feels weird not being around you,” Eddie confesses, “and I fucking hate it.”

He hates that he can’t get you out of his head, as hard as he tried. This was all his fault anyways; turning nothing into something. It all started as a game—and Eddie never really expected it to go as far as it did, but it left him wanting more and more, until he just wanted you. He didn’t want you as a friend, he wanted you as everything that came with that, but more.

He wanted to hold you when you were upset, but still be offered the same sentiment. He wanted to kiss you in front of his friends, without you constantly fearing the judgement—he wanted to introduce himself to your parents properly, and then maybe they wouldn’t hate him so much. Eddie wanted you in every way conceivably possible. He’s never done relationships, they weren’t his thing; but for you, he wanted it.

And what started of as a silly, stupid little crush he had on you in the beginning, even before he made those choices on the phone, it was always there—but, it had grown out of control.

“I know,” You reply quietly, “I miss you—it, everything.”

You don’t elaborate, but Eddie knows.

“I’m sorry my parents hate you,” Eddie watches the way you talk to your hands and his grip loosens, hands settling on the side of your thigh, where your leg rested against the couch, tucked between the both of you, other foot planted against the cushion, knee up near your face, “and I’m sorry that I was so scared of it.”

“Of what?”

“Being with you—I know that’s what you wanted.” And it’s the first time you feel like you can breathe, Eddie however, is now feeling just as small. “And the problem is—I hate how long I’ve wanted it too.”

Eddie wants to say something, but the words are stuck in his throat. His hand squeezes at the squishy flesh of your thigh, a comforting gesture, still quiet as he tries to find the right thing to say.

“And I mean like, being your girlfriend—not just being with you, physically.” You reach for his fingers, intertwining them with your own. He still got his chunky rings on, the jewelry like an extension of himself. “Not that I don’t want that either—I just, I don’t even know where I’m trying to go with this anymore.”

Fortunately, Eddie does—and to put you out of your endless misery, not knowing how to make the doubtful thoughts stop, he kisses you.

It’s not long or drawn out, either—it’s short and sweet and exactly what you need in that moment.

“I’m not asking you to label anything,” Eddie explains, “I just want to be able to kiss you whenever I want, even if it’s in front of people we know.”

And it shouldn’t make you laugh, but it does.

“Or hug you, at least. We haven’t been friends for a while, princess—I think that’s pretty fucking obvious.”

Blatantly, in fact.

Eddie didn’t care about labels. He cared about you.

—

He does kiss you square on the mouth the first morning back at school another couple weeks later, for all of your friends to see—and you really can’t help yourself either, going back in for a second kiss when you realize just how mortified they all look; maybe it wasn’t all so bad. Your parents however, that was a different situation.

It was another obstacle to tackle at another time—maybe never, if it was up to you. Either way, it’s put on the back burner for the sake of your sanity, because there was no other outcome in sight aside from literal house arrest—it was exactly what happened last time.

And while you could easily disagree and pull the adult card, it was easier to ignore it for now. You enjoyed the blissful ignorance for what it was, no need to ruin the one good thing in your life.

“Are we still on for tonight?” Eddie asks, jacket tossed over his shoulder lazily. You nod, a cheeky grin spreading across your face.

“They think I’m spending the night with Robin, so we’re in the clear.”

You owed Robin for the rest of fucking eternity for this.

“You know, you could just tell them.” He offers, like it’s the simplest solution in the world. Tell them, risk being disowned, grounded until graduation—all out of love, they promised. But really, it was just another way to control you. It was never that simple.

“You’re so cute,” You reply, patting softly at his chest, “but no.”

And things fall back into place easily with Eddie, spread out over his lap on the old couch in his trailer, knees bracketing his hips. He’s playing with the front of your shirt, pulling at the tacky design that was falling from the cloth—

He thinks the first glide of your hips is a mistake, adjusting yourself on his lap more comfortably, until you do it again. And he’s been so deprived that he can’t find it in him to stop you, hands falling to your waist in defeat, gripping loosely.

“Don’t stop,” He breathed out, head falling against the back of the couch, mouth hung open partly as his eyes connected with the spot where your hips were working tirelessly, “please, don’t stop.”

You don’t know what brought it out of you; maybe it was the lack of physical touch for so long, or maybe you had just been lonely—regardless it’s the type of pleasure you find yourself getting lost in, barely in control of your own body.

Reaching for his hand, you guide him to cup over your clothed cunt, the barely there press of his palm enough to drive you insane. “Want you to fuck me, Eddie.”

“You serious, princess?” He asks softly, eyes half lidded but still locked on you, on your intertwined hands where they rested against your body. “We don’t have to—you know I’ll always wait until you’re okay with it.”

“I wouldn’t be telling you that if I didn’t want to.” He’s so precious it hurts, the way his smile stretches across his face; the same type of smile he has when he’s two blunts in and gone for the night, it’s a similar high, being with you.

—

Eddie closes the door to his bedroom with a soft click, immediately bounding for the bed, crawling his way toward you until he’s right over you, forcing himself between your legs carefully, swinging them up and over his hips until you’re clinging to him.

He kisses at the side of your stomach playfully, biting the tender flesh. You gasp softly, surprised by the nip. “Wanna try something?” Eddie asks suddenly, the idea popping into his head before he can force it out.

“Should I be worried?” You ask quizzically, watching as he pushes away from you, leaning toward the metal cuffs hanging from his wall. Your eyes widen in disbelief—and it’s not like you didn’t know he had them, they stuck out like a sore thumb, but Eddie also never made it a point to talk about them. Your innocent mind always assumed it was just decoration; odd choice, but you weren’t in any place to judge.

“Hey—only if you want to,” Eddie reminds, placing them in your hand for your own curiosity. They’re definitely real, cold and hard to the touch—you pull at the long chain that connects them, “it’s safe and I can always take them off if you don’t like it.”

And you couldn’t help how badly you wanted to see what it was all about, handing them back to Eddie with an eager nod. Eddie’s smile is warm, his touch gentle as he binds your hands in the contraption, leaning you back until your arms are resting over your head—your panties come next, lifting your hips in assistance as he slides them down your bare legs.

“This seems counterintuitive,” There’s too much slack to your wrists, a little constrained, but still moveable—it defeats the purpose.

“I usually don’t use them like that,” Eddie points out, a smug look on his face. He doesn’t want to elaborate, mostly because talking about other sexual encounters in the midst of another didn’t seem like the best idea, but they way your face widens in embarrassment, cheeks flushing a light shade of pink—it almost makes him want to explain, “I guess I’m trusting you to keep them up there for now—no touching, yeah?”

You giggle softly, watching Eddie crawl backwards until he’s settled between your legs, hands gripping the back of your thighs to push them apart and wide—and god, he’s missed this.

The first swipe of his tongue is long, hot, a trail of saliva up the seam of your pussy. You’d never get over how easily Eddie could work you up. He sucks delicately at your sensitive clit, using the grip he had on your legs to force you to squirm a little, his thumbs digging into the apex of your thighs.

The chains jingle slightly, instinctively spreading your arms apart at the motion. “Hey, not fair.” You gasp out, savoring in the way Eddie laughs against your cunt, mumbling a muffled, “That’s the point.”

Either way, it effectively shuts you and your rambling thoughts up, moaning unabashedly at the way Eddie worshiped you, the squelching sounds of your wetness the last thing you were worried about. His fingers rub along your folds teasingly, causing you to tense slightly. Eddie senses your nerves, pulling away to look at you.

“I’ll go slow,” He assures you, “Just be vocal with me, alright?”

Words—yeah, those were good. If only you could come up with some.

And the first dip of his finger is light, barely a pressure as he rubs it into your slick, wetting his finger. And it’s not like you’ve never had a finger inside of you before—they had been your own, of course, and that was precisely the problem. His middle finger slides in easily, not much resistance, but the stretch is nice.

He’s slow and attentive, watching the way your face scrunches in pleasure when he crooks his finger a certain way or rubs his tongue against your clit teasingly; he’s trying to drag this out, give you the time you need, but you really can’t handle it.

“More,” You beg, too aware of your lack of being able to touch him. You wanted to bury your hands in his curly mess of hair and press him into you; force him to give you exactly what you want, “want more, Eddie.”

The second finger is surprising, his so much larger than your own. “Are they?” Eddie asks suddenly, pulling you from deep concentration, not realizing you’d even spoken out loud.

“Fuller,” You note, hiccupping at a curl of his fingers, hitting something so deep inside of you that it’s almost a shock to your system, “bigger, definitely bigger.”

It seems to spur Eddie on, watching you thrash and moan, desperate as you fuck yourself against his own fingers, letting you chase your own pleasure at your own pace. “That’s it,” He encourages, the soft noises that escape you are enough to have him rutting against the bed, but he’s really struggling to control himself, “wanna watch you come on my fingers, princess.”

All over his rings, he thinks—just as you had teased him before. He takes the moment to tease you in return, “Never gonna take these fucking things off as long as they’re covered in you.”

“Eddie,” You whine out softly, begging, “just want you inside me, please?”

“Yeah?” He asks, his thumb ghosting over your swollen clit, small circles causing you to keen forward, hands struggling desperately now against the metal barrier, “Think you can take it, sweetheart?”

You nod desperately, moaning loudly at his assault on your sensitive bud, orgasm crashing over you like a wave. “Off, take them off.” You pant through the downfall, swinging the cuffs over your head. Eddie works quickly, using the resistance of the chain to pull you upright toward him, letting you out of them easily, like he’s done it a million times before—or practiced, at least. You pull him toward you in an instant, shirt yanked over his head in the process.

“Condom.” He reminds you, fumbling anxiously with his belt and pants. He nods toward his bedside table, “Grab it.”

Eddie’s still struggling with his pants even after you grab the small foil package. He’s just as unprepared and nervous as you are; it’s entirely too poetic.

“Hey, calm down,” You console him softly, looking up at him where he’s knelt in front of you, “we’re okay.”

And he wants to laugh at how stupid he feels—why did you need to be the one calming him down?

“I just don’t want to fuck this up for you.” Eddie admits.

It’s the last thing on your mind.

—

Eddie presses himself against your folds, dragging through the wetness slowly, a gentle, occasional rock of his hips, the tip of his cock sliding up against your clit each time. It took him a while to shut his thoughts down, but once he had you laid out before him, looking at him so wantonly, he was done for.

“Eddie.” It’s a plea, desperate and raw.

It’s met with a kiss; deep, meaningful, the press of his lips distracting you from the sting as he presses into you with the firm, ruddy tip of his cock. The gasp you let out against his mouth is obscene, but you can’t deny how good it feels to be stretched open by him. He gives a small, shallow thrust—a small nod of your head, then another, until he’s nearly bottomed out inside of you.

“Fuck.” You curse, lips sliding against his own in a mess fight of tongue and teeth.

“You okay?” He asks cautiously, pulling back to check your expression. You don’t realize how intimate it all is until you’re staring him down, his eyes scanning you carefully.

“Yeah,” You assure him with a soft smile. “You don’t have to be so careful, you know?”

Eddie lets out a small snort of amusement, rising on his legs until he’s upright, adjusting your legs until they’re skin securely over his hips, the weight of them resting in his palms. “Wasn’t planning on it, sweetheart.”

Eddie knew your limits and exactly what you were capable of—even sneakier than himself, sometimes. So he kicks it up a notch, spewing all types of lewd, filthy sounds out as he fucks into you steadily, hands resting against the tops of your thighs firmly, using the leverage to pull you back against him with every snap.

And it feels too fucking good.

“Thought you wanted to ruin me,” You snarked through the show he’s putting on, not that you weren’t enjoying it. He wasn’t faking in the slightest, absolutely wrecked by the sight of you stretched out over his cock, he’s never been so distracted in his life, “what happened to that?”

“I ruined you a long time ago, princess.” He says through bated breath, hips snapping harshly. “The moment you met me.”

You can’t argue either. It’s all true.

“Some pretty babe like you, wanting to fuck a freak like me?” It’s a redundant question, but the twinge in your heart hurts. Eddie was one of the most self-deprecating people you knew and it was unfortunate, because he was oblivious to just how good of a person he was; regardless of how he carried himself. “Feels fucking amazing.” He comments off-handedly, eyes locked on the point of connection, watching the way your cunt gripped him so shamelessly.

“Stop—stop talking about yourself like that.” You insist weakly, mewling at the pace he’d set, hands moving higher to rest along your hip bone, his thumbs pressing into the top of your pelvis, like he was trying to hold you there—not that you had any thought to move.

“Fuck, you feel that?” Eddie asks hotly, leaning forward so your knees are nearly pressed to your chest, creating an angle that’s almost unbearable.

You nod desperately, gasp ripping from your chest as he starts a rhythm of slow, deep thrust into you. You find something to hold, settling on the solid chain of his neck, watching as the pick bounced against your hand steadily. “Eddie, I’m gonna—“

“Yeah?” He eggs on, a smile splitting across his face, “you want to, huh?”

Never more in your life than right now, actually.

“Look so pretty this way,” He says, tone flooded with adoration and lust, “like you were made for me.”

You nod dumbly, willing to agree with anything now, so drunk on your own selfish pleasure that he could coerce you into just about anything.

“It’s so special, don’t you think?” Eddie asks, failing to keep his voice steady. He’s a mess of grunt and groans, so close to your face you can feel the breath from his mouth, his lips barely grazing your own. “No one’s had you—had you like this except for me.”

“Only you.” You agree, reveling in the groan that Eddie lets out into your own mouth, his grip fumbling to maneuver you closer, less twisted up as your legs fall to his hips again, letting him chase after his own orgasm, your body just another means to an end—though, it wasn’t ever going to be that for Eddie. “Fuck, Eddie.”

“Want you to come with me, baby.” He tells you, guiding your own hand between the two of you, skin against skin and every touch felt like a shock to your body, a live wire of sexual current as it pulsed through you. You wanted to hear him say it again. Baby, baby, baby.

His hands find your face, gripping the side of it gently, slotting his own mouth of yours, tongue delving into uncharted territory. You weren’t sure if you enjoyed being kissed—or just being kissed by Eddie. He was never halfway about anything, forcing everything he had into whatever he was doing.

It’s the best, most heartbreaking feeling in the world—that he feels like he may lose you, even after all of this.

“Eddie.” You cry gently; it’s the only word you can cling to in moments like this.

“You’re okay,” He soothes, leaning back to lock eyes with you. You want to hide, shrink away into nothing, his gaze so intense and strong that it makes you full body blush, cunt ceasing around him in pleasure, “look at me.”

And you do, face squeezed gently between his hand as he holds you, watching you fall apart beneath him.

“Wanna watch you,” He murmurs against your lips, pulling back at the exact moment you feel yourself lose whatever control you thought you had, moaning lewdly into his mouth until you’re a shaking, mumbling mess, “fuck—I’m close, baby.”

Eddie uses it to urge himself on, grip tightening on your thigh as he pumps into you one last time, harsh and deep, coming with his face scrunched, eyes squeezed shut by how hard the peak of his orgasm hits him.

When you both finally come to, it’s a miracle; a soft exchange of laughs as the realization hits you. Eddie smooths the wild hair out of your face, kissing the very tip of your nose—it feels intimate, a flood of emotions hitting you all at once. You didn’t like this boy, you loved him; it scared the hell out of you.

—

“Cuddling?” You ask, watching as Eddie slings his arm over your middle, pulling you as close as possible. “You’re such a fucking sap.”

Eddie rubs his freshly showered face into the crook of your neck, wet hair slapping you in the face. “Does it bother you?” He laughs, leaving small, lingering pecks along the line of your neck, up behind your ear and into your hair, also wet.

“No.” You smile softly, turning your body until you’re fully snuggled into his shirtless chest, pressing your lips to the jugular notch of his neck, just between his collarbones.

“Good.” He says quietly, fingers winding into your hair, caressing the back of your neck.

Sleep hits Eddie quickly, or so you thought, the soft rumble of his snores like white noise, chest rising and falling rhythmically.

And the words hang on your lips, something you’ve thought over and fought with for weeks, months, the entirety of your friendship—you couldn’t help but love him, and even if you weren’t ready to say it to his face, you could say it to yourself, to this small space between you both, huddled against his resting body.

“I love you.”

It’s so quiet you don't even hear yourself say it—until you realize that it wasn’t you. You peer up at him, eyes still closed.

“I have for a while,” He admits, startling you further. He peeks an eye open, smiling at how mortified you look, “but I didn’t want to scare you—“

“I love you.” You say before you can talk yourself out of it, “I love you, too—and not just because of this, Eddie. I need you to know that.”

He does.

And he feels the impending ramble coming, but silences it with a kiss—so deep and intimate that you want to cry, pulling back with tear brimmed eyes.

“You don’t need to explain anything to me.” He reminds you, his voice hushed and quiet in the small space shared between you, “I’m always going to be here, no matter how you feel about me or how I feel about you.”

Eddie senses your anxiety, soothing the worry from your face, thumb smooth over your furrowed brow in a successful attempt to calm you.

“You’re stuck with me,” He tells you, full intention to never lose you, “for life, sweetheart.”

And if that was the case, it was fine with you.

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #my writing #1kfic

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