#“the dark will teach you lessons the light never could” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

imyourbratzdoll · 6 months ago

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𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒚 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒔

🕊️a whore's farytale masterlist🕊️

summary - the town's beauty (you) finds herself bargaining her life for her fathers, will the cursed beasts go easy on her? or figure out that she's the one who can break their curse?

warning - smut, monster-fucking, choking, blood play, oral, creampie, name calling, being restrained, biting, refused orgasm/edging, foursome (sorta), being passed around, swearing, death, forced voyeurism, obsessive man, grabbing, groping, trapped, held hostage, slight angst.

18+ only please, the gifs I use aren't mine, header created by me.

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

The story began with three brothers, they were the same in personality but so different in looks. But the universe had other plans for the pompous Princes, the night of their party was the night a certain witch decided to teach them a lesson, one that would not only make their personalities the same, but also their looks. The sound of music and chatter could be heard from outside the castle with how loud it was. Ari, Logan and Geralt– the Princes, are dressed exceptionally well. Only the finest of clothing fits their bulky forms, expensive jewels decorate their body. Ari and Geralt both have their hair tied back in a slick ponytail, one longer than the other. A silky silver matches Geralt’s light gray suit, while Ari wears a silky blue, matching his darker blue suit. Logan has his hair slicked back, although slightly messier with a few strands falling in front of his face, the look doesn’t make him any less handsome. He wears a silky black suit, the colour looking almost devilish on him.

The brothers split from one another, Ari strides toward a beautiful blonde, twirling her as he pulls her toward the dance floor. Logan stalks off to the bar, glaring at anyone that gets in his way and Geralt heads toward a group of women, already flaunting themselves at him. The party is wild as the guests enjoy themselves, none aware of the storm brewing outside. An old woman trembles as she stands before the large doors, her wrinkled hands shake as she knocks, the sound echoing throughout the room, stopping the party momentarily. The three brothers turn, looking at the door and then to each other, a scowl on their faces, wondering who dares interrupt their party. Logan head tips back as the alcohol slides down his throat before he slams the glass down, his other two brothers express their deepest apologies. All three head towards the door, it may seem a bit extreme, but the three never go anywhere without each other. The only thing that they didn’t do together was share a woman.

Ari’s hands wrap around the handles, flinging the door open and they scowl down at the ugly old lady before them. “What do you want?” The men stand there, their bulky builds taking up the whole doorway.

“P–Please, may I come in for some shelter?” The old woman shivers, her nimble hands trembling and she clutches three roses. She offers them to the three princes, “I offer these roses for your kindness.” Her lips quiver, the cold seeming to get to her.

Logan scoffs. “God, no. Find somewhere else you wretched old hag.” The other two nod, not hiding their disgust. A shriek escapes their lips as suddenly the ugly hag magically shifts into a beautiful woman. “What the…”

Her face is set in stone, a harsh glare in her eyes. “Despicable. You’d think Princes like yourselves would be kinder. But, alas you have failed the test.”

“What? What test? You are welcome to come in, Miss.” Geralt stumbles, shamelessly checking out the Enchantress. Her lip curls as though she can see the dirty thoughts swirling around in his mind.

Her head tilts, the three roses suddenly being encased in three glass domes, the beautiful flowers floating in the centre. “No. For the curse to be broken, you will have to find someone that will want you, all of you.”

Ari scoffs. “Please. We can have anyone want us, are you blind?”

The Enchantress smirks. “What I mean is for them to want all of you in your true forms.” Suddenly magic swirls around the men and their bodies begin to grow and shred, thick luscious fur replacing flesh. Sharp claws replace nicely kept fingernails, eyes turning a bright golden-yellow. Growls begin to fill the air as canines spurt from their gums, replacing their human teeth. The usual men now beasts stood at eight-feet, towering over the witch and before they could strike, she disappeared. Her words rang in their head. ‘If you do not find someone who truly wants you before the last petal falls, you will be stuck as beasts forever.’

Years pass and nearby in a small village, a beautiful young woman named Y/n-Belle hurries through the town. You greeted people as you passed by, a warm smile resting upon your lips. You hurried over to your favourite store, which happened to be the bookstore, a giant grin appears as you push the door open and stumble through, the excitement vibrating throughout your whole body. Y/n-Belle was a very strange, but smart woman, you were the only one in town that got excited about books and reading, causing you to become an outcast and lonely within the people. But you didn’t mind, you were quite content with living in your fantasies.

The bookstore owner heads over to you, a smile on his face as he hands you one of your favourites. A book that you’ve read a thousand of times, yet would never tire of reading it. You smile, a dreamy look appearing on your face as you peer down at the book, your soft hands grabbing it gently, fingers stroking the cover. “This is my favourite! Far-off places, daring sword fights, magic spells, a prince in disguise…” You pause, your imagination flashing before your eyes as you play out the words in the book. You blink, coming back into reality and you give the man a smile. “Oh, thank you very much!”

You spin, your blue and white dress swishing around you. You rush outside, the book already opened and your eyes flickering over the words as you walk. Your head was stuck in the book, not noticing the town's most handsome hunter heading straight for you. “Y/n-Belle!” You were hoping that if you ignored him that he would go away, but that did not seem to be the case. He stopped in front of you, nearly causing you to topple over. Gaston chuckles, “the whole town’s talking about you! It’s not right for a woman to read,” He shakes his head, chuckling as if the thought alone was funny. Yet, you had somehow figured that he’s never picked up a book in his life, his small mind proving that the more he talks. “It’s about time you got your nose out of those books and paid attention to more important things— like me!” He boasts, puffing his chest out like he is the most desirable thing to live and breathe. Truthfully, none of the men in your village caught your fancy. You were more into, well… Beasts.

You desperately try to get away without being rude, not in the mood to deal with a petulant child. You could see your escape, but as you opened your mouth to leave. Gaston’s “friend” joined, beginning to insult your father without much of a hello. Your brows furrowed and your lips pursed. “My father is not crazy! He’s a genius, but you are too stupid to realise that!” You blow up, letting your anger consume you without thinking properly. An explosion interrupts the men from responding, the sound coming from your cottage where your father is currently working on something. Without much thought, you take off running.

You arrive at the cottage, finding your father. Gaston’s words replay in your head, you sit on top of a barrel that is in your front yard. “They think I’m odd, Papa.” You play with your fingers, picking some dirt from underneath your fingernails.

“Don’t worry, Y/n-Belle. My inventions are going to change everything for us. We won’t have to live in this little town forever.” He says with a giant smile, one that used to give you hope to his dreams. But they slowly begin to dwindle as his inventions haven’t gotten any better, but you don’t want to ruin his dreams by voicing your concerns. You watch as he mounts your horse, Philippe, setting off for the fair with his new invention. “Goodbye, Y/n-Belle! Don’t worry about what others say, you will go places!”

Maybe you did still have hope, especially when he gives you another one of his smiles and a wave. You return it, watching as he goes. “Goodbye! Good luck, I believe in you, father!”

Still at the cottage, you don’t know that your father got lost on his way and the events following would eventually lead you to your future, whether it be good or bad. But it would definitely be strange, and full of twists and turns.

You sit inside, your head in your book again. Even though you had read it many times, it would still be your favourite. You are pulled out of your fantasy world as you hear a knock at the door. You get up, slowly opening it and sighing as you see Gaston on the other side. “Gaston! What a… pleasant surprise!” You force a tiring smile on your lips.

Gaston strolls in, taking his shoes off, exposing his dirty and very used socks. He takes a seat at the head of the table, placing his dirty feet on top of your favourite book, causing it to become dirty. A scowl appears upon your face at the disrespect of this man. “Y/n-Belle! There’s not a woman in town who wouldn’t love to be in your shoes. Do you know why? Because I want to marry you!”

You huff silently, knowing that the only way you could get out of this is if you politely decline and make it seem as though you weren’t worthy of him. “Gaston, I’m speechless!” You gnaw on your bottom lip, hating that this disgusting pig of a man won’t leave you alone. “I’m sorry, but… but…” You swallow, knowing you will have to force these words out. “I just don’t deserve you!” You force back scrunching your nose in disgust, watching as humiliation falls upon his face.

Without a word he stumbles out, hastily putting on his shoes causing him to trip, slipping into some mud. You peeked out, placing a hand over your lips to cover the giggle that threatened to escape past them, watching as the villagers gathered around, hoping to see some sort of wedding or at least a celebration. Only to witness their friend and fellow villager fall into some mud, causing Gaston to feel even more humiliated than before. You’d hope that would at least knock his ego down a few pegs.

You waited until everyone had disappeared from your home before rushing out to feed the chickens. You hear something causing your head to whip around and you find your horse, Philippe, alone without your father. You head over to him, checking for something, anything. “Philippe! What are you doing here? Where’s Papa?!” He whines anxiously and you immediately rush to the house to grab your cloak before running back to him and climbing onto his back. You feel frightened as you think of all the possibilities of what could’ve happened to your father. This feeling pushes you to return to the mysterious forest, allowing you to find a castle that looks like it has been abandoned for many years.

You try and steady, Philippe, brows furrowing when you spot something on the ground. With swift movements, you dismount your horse and move toward the object. A soft gasp passes your lips as you recognise your father’s hat. Without a second thought, you hurry toward the gloomy castle, pushing past the heavy doors and deciding to wander the vast deserted corridors. Your main focus was to find your father, no care of what may happen to you. “Papa? Are you here? It’s Y/n-Belle!” You were met with silence, you continued your search not knowing of the objects that are alive because of the curse within the castle walls.

You stumble along as you finally discover your father locked away in a cell. You gasp, having to kneel as the only opening was at feet level. “Papa! We have to get you out of here!” Suddenly you felt as though you were being watched.

“What’re you doing here?”

“You shouldn’t be in our castle, Little one.”

“Leave now!”

Your eyes widen when you hear three different voices coming from within the shadows. “Please, let my father go! Take me instead!”

There was a scoff filled with curiosity from the shadows. “You would take his place?”

“S–step into the light please…” You asked. Your expression morphed as you stared horrified at three huge, ugly Beasts– well, they weren’t ugly… But you wouldn’t let them know that between your thighs you felt yourself clench around nothing. You gulped, you didn’t want to be anywhere near these monsters, but you agreed to take your father’s place. “I–” You swallow the saliva that gets stuck in your throat. “I would. I will take his place.” Your words left no room for argument, you were putting your foot down. You didn’t know that you signed up for forever with the three Beasts.

As the words left your lips, one of the Beasts grabbed your father from his cell and dragged him throughout the castle, once outside he was thrown into a carriage that would take him home. The other two begin to walk, causing you to follow behind nervously. The third joining immediately, you let your eyes wander. Taking everything in, it felt like one of those books you always had your nose buried in.

Your voice cuts through the silence, sounding as though it echoes through the dark halls. “D–do you three have names?” As I don’t want to continue calling you Beasts in my head, you think the last bit to yourself. Knowing it would be rude of you to voice out loud.

“Ari.”

“Logan.”

“Geralt.”

They growl out, hardened eyes landing on your tiny form. Ari steps toward you, towering over you as you shiver, your eyes wide and you try to shrink into yourself. “Our castle is your home now, so you can go anywhere you like…”

Geralt cuts in. “Except the West Wing.”

You stare back, innocently asking. “What’s in the West Wing?”

Their bodies tense and they glare as Logan growls out. “It’s forbidden!” Geralt opens a door to your new bedroom and pushes you in.

“You will join us for dinner. That’s not a request.” Ari stares you down, stopping you from protesting. They shut the door and stalk off, separating to different parts of the castle. You lie down on the bed, burying your face into the pillows. You knew you would never escape this prison, nor would you ever see your father again. Maybe you should’ve married Gaston, at least then you wouldn’t be stuck with Beasts.

The disgusting truth though was how much you weren’t disgusted by their forms. Their behaviour. It was definitely something out of those books you read, just less romantic and more animalistic. You huff, shaking your head of those thoughts. You will in no way let them find out about this. It was something different than other women would fantasie about and you didn’t want those… FREAKS! To judge you.

You refused to go to dinner when the time came, knowing you wouldn’t be able to contain yourself if you stayed in the same room as them for too long. Oh, how your father would be disgraced by the woman you’ve become. You had grown bored and hungry and had decided to wander the castle in hopes of finding the kitchen. With quiet footsteps, you exited your room and tiptoed down the halls, peaking your head around corners and stopping whenever you heard the slightest of noises.

You were no fool, the Beasts had been mad when you refused to dine with them and if one of them were to find you wandering the halls in search of food. Well you fear you may become theirs instead. Though, you wouldn’t mind them… No, you couldn’t let your thoughts wander for too long.

A small squeal passes your lips when you finally stumble upon the kitchen, happily making your way over to the fridge before a voice interrupts, causing your heart to drop into your stomach.

“You know… If you had come to dinner. You wouldn’t be so hungry now.” The voice was deep, a growl slipping through with each word. You spin, eyes wide as they land on Logan, how had you missed such a big figure? You squeak, not knowing what to reply with. Logan raises a furry brow, “Cat got your tongue, Little one?” He moves fast, now towering over you. “Or should I say Beast?”

Your thighs press together, a whimper slipping past your lips and your wide eyes stare up at him. “I–I…” Stupid, why the hell would you try to speak when you’re in this position? Your voice would give you away, you daft bimbo. You scowl at yourself, how could you be so dumb when you were the only one to read in your village? You gulp as he leans in with a smirk. You don’t know that their senses had heightened with their transformation, you had practically given yourself away since you broke into their castle.

“Hmm? No words?” Your hunger forgotten and replaced with something else. You notice how his hand, though actually a paw, comes up, a lit cigar between his clawed fingers, bringing it to his lips, puffing on it as he stares into your eyes watching as you follow his movements. “Ya know, my brothers are angry with the fact you ignored their invitation.”

Your eyes roll and you scoff. “Well, excuse me for not wanting to dine with those that are keeping me hostage.” His brow raises again, not expecting so many words to pass your lips. You gulp, where the hell did that come from?

“Huh, so you do say more than four words.” He leans closer if that was even possible, “Better watch your tone with me, Little one or else I’m gonna have to do something about it.” With those words, he disappears and you whimper. Fantastic, the only pair of knickers you have on you and they are completely drenched. You wouldn’t be surprised if the other two could smell you wherever they were.

You shakily prepare a small meal, hurriedly eating it so you don’t have another run in. When you finish, you swear you hear someone speak. But looking around, you find no one. Your brows furrow, are you finally going insane? You begin to get up when you hear it again.

“Excuse me, Miss.” You look around again, what the hell? “Down here, Miss.” You look down and let out a small squeak of surprise, there stands before you a small clock that seems alive? He blinks up at you, a smile on his face? “Hello. I am Cogsworth. I am sorry for frightening you.”

“I–it’s f–fine.” You clear your throat. “It’s fine. You didn’t frighten me, just a bit startled is all.” You try to smile, “Have you been here this whole time?” You hoped he hadn’t, you wouldn’t want to know what an object thought of the previous events.

Cogsworth shakes his head. “No, Miss. Master Logan ordered that I escort you back to your quarters. He doesn’t want you wandering about… In your condition.” His eyes squint, as though he understands yet how could you know he would? You had no clue that the alive object was once a person.

“Oh, okay.” You stand, smoothing down your dress about to follow but you stop. “Actually, Cogsworth. Would you mind giving me a tour of the castle, please?”

He looks at you for a few seconds, as though he was hesitating before he nods. “Okay, follow me. Miss.” You spend most of your night getting acquainted with your new home before you stop underneath a dark staircase. Noticing how Cogsworth seems to want to hurry past it without acknowledging it.

“What’s up there?” Your curiousity seeps through your words.

Cogsworth practically shakes as he answers. “Nothing, absolutely nothing of interest at all in the West Wing.” Your interest piqued as you heard West Wing. You watch as he’s too busy focusing on ensuring the two of you don’t get caught, especially near this staircase. Allowing you to escape unnoticed, racing up the staircase and into a long hallway lined with broken mirrors.

“Well… That’s bad luck for many, many years.” You wet your lips as you cautiously opened the doors at the end of the corridor. You enter the dank, filthy room strewn with broken furniture, torn curtains and grey, gnawed bones. Your eyes wide, taking it all in before they land on the only living object or should you say objects. There behind a glass dome were three shimmering roses. Entranced, Y/n–Belle lifted the cover and reached out to touch one soft, pink petal. You were so entranced that you did not hear Ari enter the room.

“I warned you never to come here!” He advanced on you. “GET OUT! GET OUT!” Your daze had been broken, desire now replaced with fear. You became terrified of his rage, causing you to turn and run. You run out of the room, down the stairs and past Cogsworth and a candle? You didn’t have time to stop, you needed to leave. Not even your lust for your fantasy to come true could stop you. Your feet had taken control of your body.

“Promise or no promise, I can’t stay here another minute!” You flee, finding your horse and taking off. You gallop through the snow until you are met with a pack of fierce, hungry wolves. Your eyes widen, mouth opening and closing as you don’t know whether to scream or breathe. Through your terror, you forgot about the horse you sat upon. He reared, causing you to fall to the ground, tumbling into the snow below. They were advancing on Philippe, so with quick movements, you found a large stick and defended your horse.

“Stay back!” You swing, swiping at them. Hoping and praying that they would leave. Their attention moved from your horse and you would’ve sighed of relief but instead you choked up, the wolves had now turned on you. Their canines bared as they snarl. Oh no, no no no. You thought, brows furrowing as worry fills you. Well, at least they are no longer after Philippe.

You shriek as they pounce, about to rip you apart until suddenly a large paw pulls the animals off of you. It was Ari and you notice Logan and Geralt standing behind him. Anger evident on their faces, you knew it was directed towards you for leaving and now nearly getting yourself killed. You struggle to your feet, stumbling into a pair of arms as all you can do is watch the wolves turn and strike Ari and Logan, fierce growls filling the cold air. The wolves were no match for the two, being torn off and flung as a ferocious howl escapes the Beasts, surprising the wolves before they flee into the night.

Logan grunts while Ari stumbles, collapsing into the snow. Wounded. The brothers attention now focused on him, Geralt’s hold loosening and this could’ve been your chance to escape. But what did you have at home? And when you looked at the fallen Beast, you knew you couldn’t leave him. Even though he had his brothers. Logan and Geralt pull Ari up, arms wrapped around him as he leaned against them. He was not the fighter of the two and not even he knew why he didn’t let Geralt fight in his place.

The Beasts barely spare you a glance, they began to walk away, expecting you to get on your horse and leave. But you didn’t move, with a heavy heart you watched them walk from you. Did your chance slip through your fingers? Philippe nudges you, looking at you with those big eyes and you sigh. He nudges you again, gesturing you to look and when you do, your mouth opens. The three Beasts had stopped, as if they were waiting for you and without a second thought. You grabbed your horse and raced toward them, offering your horse for Ari to rest on and to get to the castle faster so you could tend to his wounds.

Back at the castle, you cleaned Ari’s wound. “Thank you… For saving my life even though you didn’t have to.” You whisper, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. “I… I hope you can forgive me for running.” You look up from his wound to his face, not knowing the feeling he feels when you look at him like that.

His paw covers your hand, “There’s nothing to forgive, Beauty. I’m the one who should apologise for scaring you.” You shake your head, his gaze gets distracted by the way your hair frames your face and how the light of the sunrise hits your skin, causing you to glow. “Do you think I’m okay enough to walk for a bit? I have something I want to show you.”

Your brows furrow, looking between his wound and him. His face makes it hard for you to say no, but you also didn’t want him to hurt himself by moving too much. You look up again, being met with puppy dog eyes which makes it harder to resist when he’s not exactly human looking. “...Okay! Okay, but only for a little bit. I don’t want you hurting yourself and ruining all of my work.” You assist him as you help him up, allowing his arm to wrap around you. Which is quite difficult seeing as there is a massive height and size difference. Oh god, you begin to think what else is huge… How would you be able to possibly fit it inside of you? You shake your head, ridding yourself of those thoughts, hoping that the Beast wouldn’t catch on.

Ari leads you through the halls before stopping upon two large doors. He leans forward, opening them and you both walk inside. Your eyes widen and your mouth falls open. “Oh my god!” You look around, a gasp escaping your lips. “This is so beautiful! I’ve never seen so many books in all my life!”

Ari had smiled a real smile for the first time since he was a child. “Then it is yours.” You look at him in disbelief, you could’ve dropped to your knees right then and there.

…

Okay, so you did. You fell right to your knees, not caring that they scraped against the carpet or that a squeak of desire left you as you finally gave into your desire. Ari stared wide-eyed down at you, his mouth wide open as shock filled him. He was not expecting that, if he had known all it would take was giving you their library, he would’ve done that from the beginning. “What… What are you doing?”

Your eyes widen, finally reality hits. “Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry!” You go to stand, but his paw stops you, keeping you in place. You could feel your knickers dampen. Not the same ones, they had mysteriously gone missing when you went to shower before tending to Ari. But you were thankful to whoever laid out new clothes for you.

“I didn’t say you had to get up. I just have never seen someone drop to their knees so fast.” He felt himself harden, his cursed body did come with an added bonus. He was now much larger than his human self, he wasn’t small before. But now it was monstrous.

You watched with wide and lust filled eyes as his pants expanded, stretching to the point it looked as though the seams would break. “Can… Can I?” You gesture to his bulge, looking up at him with large, doe eyes.

“Fuck.” He nods, growling. “Go ahead, Beauty.” His golden-yellow eyes stare down at you, canines digging into his bottom lip as you press your hand against the bulge, feeling it, squeezing it. Your hand is tiny compared to him, causing a whimper to slip from your lips and a growl from his. “You gonna play with it or suck it?” He growls, frustrated. You squeeze your thighs together, grabbing the waistband of his pants and pulling them down. You let out a moan as his member springs free. Nearly slapping you in the face with how big it is.

You lean forward hesitantly, kissing his weeping tip before bringing it into your mouth and sucking. Your eyes slip closed as you moan around it, it felt so perfect against your tongue. It was a struggle to get the whole tip in your mouth, right now you could only get a small bit in. But you were going to make this work, you didn’t know when another opportunity like this would present itself. Ari watched from above as you struggled to fit him inside, groaning at the sight.

Your tongue flicked over the slit, collecting the pre-cum that leaks out. You let out a whimper as you slowly move further down his cock, taking more of him inside of your mouth. You can feel yourself dripping onto the floor with how wet you are. Ari’s paw slams down on a nearby bookshelf, his growls fill the room, echoing throughout the castle. You rest your hands on his furry thighs, gripping them as you force more of him in, mouth stretched as wide as it can, sucking him in. One hand moves to the rest you can’t fit in, no matter how much you try and force it to. You wrap it around the base, twisting and jerking while your head bobs up and down, tongue swirling and tracing his veins, causing more sounds to escape the Beast.

You don’t notice the two brothers that hide in the shadows, watching you suck off their brother. They felt themselves become filled with hope and desire, knowing you were the one that would break their curse. Ari grips your head, holding you down as he cums down your throat, watching it overflow and drip from the sides of your mouth, trying to swallow everything desperately like the good girl you are. When he pulls his cock free from your mouth, all three Beasts take a sharp breath at how good you looked covered in cum, your eyes glazed over with a need to be fucked.

After the events in the library, everything began to change. Throughout the month, you would find yourself suddenly pushed up against a wall, lips attached to any exposed flesh, hands beneath your dress or groping your breasts. You were so sexually frustrated, the Beasts would rile you up only to leave you wanting more. They would never let you cum, they weren’t even trying to get themselves off. You began to spend your time with them, always sitting on one of their laps, never straying far. If one found you reading or even just simply existing. You’d suddenly be under them, at some point you had cried, begging them to fuck you.

That evening you were sitting on Geralt’s lap, your lip pulled between your teeth as he gently grinds you down on his bulge. Stopping whenever he felt you were too close. Logan lounged across from you, a cigar dangling carelessly between his smirking lips as his dark eyes watched you. Your gaze was pulled from Logan when Ari leant behind him on the chair. “Are you happy, Y/n–Belle?”

You hum, a bit dazed and distracted by the tingles zapping between your thighs. “Yes. I am very happy, I only wish I could see my father and know he made it home safe. I miss him very much.”

Ari hummed in response, turning as if he’s searching for something. Geralt continues his torture on you, making your head fall back as you near your orgasm again, whining when he stops, taking it away. “There is a way.” You blink, trying to focus on what Ari is saying. He moves toward you, handing you a magic mirror. In it, you see your father being locked away as the town gathered around, lit torches in their hands as they chant about killing the Beasts and saving you. An unhappy look crosses your face as you see Gaston leading it. “If you need, you may go if you like.” The Beasts didn’t want you to leave.

You shake your head, “There is no point. There is a group already heading this way, it would be stupid of me to leave now.” Stupid Gaston always ruining your peace. Why was the man so adamant on marrying you? You stand, “I am going outside for a bit of fresh air, is that okay?” You could not think straight when in the same room as them, it was like all common sense flew out the window and the only thing you wanted was for them to use you.

Ari nods, Logan and Geralt scowl when they hear about people coming to their castle. Geralt had seen the look on your face when seeing that man appear in the mirror, a plan forms and he decides to share it with his brothers. Who wouldn’t love a live show?

Your coat flows around you as you exit the castle, cold air immediately hitting you. You wander over to the blooming rose bushes, gently brushing your fingers over the petals. A sudden squeal escapes you as someone grabs you, putting their arms around you and whispering into your ear. “Hello, MY Y/n–Belle. So far from home, why not come back, huh? Come back and I’ll forgive you, Y/n–Belle, come back and we can marry.” Gaston’s voice caused unwanted shivers to roll through you, his was not the voice you wanted to hear nor the arms you wanted around you.

“I will never marry you! Why can’t you get that through your thick head?!” You struggle against his grip, teeth clenched as your words come out rough. “You have gone mad, Gaston!”

Gaston grinned evilly, “Good thing I don’t care, Y/n–Belle. Once I have killed the Beasts, you will be MINE.” You watched as the villagers tore through the castle’s doors, the sound of shouts and a fight breaking out can be heard over the howling wind. “Come. You shall take me to the Beasts, so that I can rid of them and claim you as my own.” His grip on your arm is bruising, dragging you past everyone and up the stairs. You didn’t know why he had chosen this direction, the castle was huge, there was no way he’d be able to find them so quickly… Unless he had been watching, waiting.

“Ah huh! The Beasts! You are not as terrifying as her lunatic of a father said you were!” He pulls you closer to him, three sets of growls ripple through the air as they watch your face become pained. “I shall kill you at last, so that I can claim Y/n–Belle as my own.”

“There’s three of us and one of you. What makes you think you can take us?” Geralt growls, his eyes firmly set on Gaston’s. You shivered, you didn’t know whether it was from fear or horniness. You felt yourself throb and nodded to yourself, definitely the latter. “I suggest you let go of our HoneyBelle.”

Gaston chuckles, pulling a gun from. Well you don’t exactly know where? It was definitely not in his hand or anywhere really when he grabbed you. “This. I am the best hunter there is. I shall have all three of your heads mounted on my wall by morning.” It was a wonder how his head never exploded from how big his ego was. It was almost as big as well… Your mind began to drift again and you had to shake your head to try and rid yourself of these thoughts, it wasn’t the time.

The Beasts smirked, they had learnt to read your body well. Their Little one, Beauty and HoneyBelle was thinking inappropriately at an unfortunate time. You had come out of your daze in time to notice the designs on the wall come to life. Like a snake, the marble vines slithered across the floor and wrapped around Gaston’s leg. “What is this?!” He tries shaking his leg, letting go of you from the distraction. You squeak as arms pull you toward them, you look up to see Ari before he places you behind him. Gaston snarls, seeing you had gotten away. “You freaks! You think you can defeat me?! I AM THE GREAT GASTON!” He roared, but he was no match for a Beast's roar.

Having shrunk into himself as Logan roared back, it allowed the vine to pull him into a room that was conveniently set up. It dragged him over to a chair placed in the middle of the room, the arms had strangely been taken off. Gaston was harshly placed down onto the chair, the vines wrapping around him and the seat, securing the angered hunter. “I will escape this foolishness and take Y/n–Belle as my own!” He struggles against the vines grip.

The three Beasts stalk into the room, pulling you gently, but possessively along. Logan pulls you to stand in front of them, from Gaston’s perspective. You looked so tiny before them, you didn’t even look that tiny next to him and he was the tallest in the village. The Beasts towered over you, looking menacing to everyone but you.

“You will see who she belongs to. Won’t he, Little one?” Your thighs press together, feeling yourself throb between them and you nod. “Take off your dress.” Your hands move shakily as you lift your dress over your head and gently toss it to your side, Gaston’s eyes widen as he finally gets to see what he’s been wishing for. Maybe the Beasts are going to let him have a taste before he kills them. He smirks at that thought, becoming cocky once more. Logan moves toward you, staring at the hunter as he grasps your breast, squeezing it before rubbing your hardened nipples. “You see this? See how she reacts to our touch?” He growls, everyone in the room watches as you whimper, eyes watering and thighs pressed tightly together.

“Why don’t you go and lay on his lap, Little one.” He tells you, “On your stomach, no touching.” He glares at Gaston as he says the last part. Knowing in some way that the hunter would try and possibly slip through those vines like the slippery git he is. Logan’s paw hits your arse, pushing you forward with a slap. You squeal, timidly walking over to the bounded man, laying across his lap, the vines seem to welcome you instead of digging into you.

You bite your lip as you watch the Beasts stalk forward, coming closer. You whimper as Ari kneels between your legs and Geralt stands above your head. Logan stands directly in the middle, staring down Gaston who greedily stares down at you, his mouth opens and everyone knows he’s about to say something, but a vine slithers up and covers it before he can speak. Wrapping itself around until he’s gagged and bound.

“Such a pretty sight, Beauty. Are you ready to cum after all of this waiting? Hmm? We know we’ve been depriving you of it.” You moan at his words, not being able to respond or place your head down because you were too focused on the giant bulge in front of you. You throb at the sight, you could never get over how large they were.

“It seems she can’t reply at the moment, Ari. Our girl is a bit dumbstruck.” Geralt tilts his head, looking at Gaston. “Whores, you understand right?” His golden-yellow eyes narrow as his gaze turns back to you. “Why don’t you take my cock out, HoneyBelle. Show this human what you prefer.” You whine, squirming in Gaston’s lap as you reach your hands out quickly, the Beasts chuckle at how desperate you are.

You had only seen Ari’s cock, none of the other Beasts would give you the pleasure to see theirs. It felt like such a punishment when you could feel them, but you weren’t allowed to see. When you saw Ari’s you thought he was the biggest that you’ve ever seen, obviously you were wrong. Geralt seemed to at least be an inch longer, maybe more. Your eyes flickered over to Logan’s clothed cock, wondering if he was bigger than these two.

Geralt moves your head back to him, your mouth falls open as he guides his member inside, forcing it in unlike Ari. Speaking of, the other Beast dives between your thighs, lapping up your arousal like a man starved. Your eyes roll to the back of your head at the intense pleasure that shoots through you. Your moans vibrate around Geralt’s member, causing him to tilt his head back and let out a roar. He holds your head in place as he begins to thrust back and forth, fucking your mouth like it’s his own personal fleshlight. You drool from being used, allowing him to thrust in and out easier.

Ari palms your arse and thighs, holding you close as he devours your sweet cunt. His tongue thrusts in and out of your glistening hole before switching to lick and suck your puffy clit, taking the little bead between his sharp canines. A giant grin appears on his face as your squeals can be heard around his brother’s cock, your squirms become frantic and your toes curl. He laps your sweet juices up, knowing he would never let you go after having tasted you.

Gaston grunts, becoming disgusted with himself as he hardens at the sight, his growing bulge pushes against your stomach. Twitching as you continue to squirm against him. Logan’s glare sharpens as he notices.

“Stop.” Everything ceases and you whine, tongue hanging out of your mouth, eyes crossed and cunt tingling as you wonder why the pleasure had been stopped. He waves his paw, gesturing for you to be pulled up. You squeal as Ari pulls you up, his large bulge presses into your back, quite close to your shoulders with how tall he was. “Are you getting off on our Little one?” The growl echoes throughout the room and goes straight to your cunt.

Logan pulls you from Ari’s hold, holding your hip with one paw while the other pulls his pants down, releasing his thickened member. You feel it slap against your body and jolt, a gasp escaping you. You had a guess that he definitely was the biggest between the three. He grasps his throbbing member in his hold, stroking it as he directs his leaking tip against your sopping cunt. Logan holds eye contact with the defenseless hunter as he thrusts into you, stretching your walls wide. Your head falls back into his chest, no sounds escape your opened mouth as you are speechless. You swear you could see colours with how delicious the stretch felt, you had never felt so full before.

The Beasts and the hunter gulp as they see the bulge appear on your stomach, it slowly disappears as Logan pulls out slowly only to thrust back in. Your arms flail about as you try and find something to grip onto, your hands grab onto his biceps, arms and fur as he begins to pound into you. Growls fill the room as Logan picks up his brutal pace, slamming in and out of you like a wild animal. His grip on your hips tighten, canines bared as he lowers his head down to your exposed neck.

“Logan!” His brother’s eyes widen as they go to stop him, but it’s too late. Logan latches onto your neck, sinking his canines into your flesh and growling as your warm blood seeps into his mouth. Your eyes roll back as your cunt clenched tightly around the Beast. Your back arches, nails digging into his flesh as you scream, cumming around him repeatedly.

“Logan!” A different shout comes through. Not his brother’s, but yours. You cry his name as he continues to pull orgasms from your small body, fucking into you harder and faster until he pulls away from your neck and roars, thick ropes of cum shoot out of his thick, angry tip and coat your walls. Filling your tiny cunt to the brim, possibly even making its way into your stomach before it drips out, coating your thighs white. He suddenly feels weakened as he pulls out of you, he stumbles back and falls. Ari catches you as they stare at their brother wide-eyed.

“The curse! It must be the curse!” The brother’s exclaim, looking at each other before looking at you with wide grins.

“Are you ready for more, Beauty?” You nod rapidly, already feeling desire take over as you think about these Beasts using you again. He pulls you over to the hunter, pressing you into the side of the chair, your breasts pushing into Gaston’s face, back arching as Ari grips onto you and you grip the chair tightly as he guides his throbbing member into your used cunt, his eyes roll back at the feel of how tight you are. “Fuck, Beauty. So perfect for us.” He leans forward, flattening his tongue against your wounded neck, licking up your blood before sinking his teeth in as he begins to pound into you, pushing you into the desperate man. Gaston is forced to suffer as your bare breasts press into him whilst you get fucked by another man. Ari towers over you, covering your whimpering form. His cock slides in and out of your fluttering hole with sharp thrusts, already feeling his end nearing. He slides his paw to your stomach, pressing on the bulge before continuing to travel down to your puffy clit and plays with it.

You jerk, mouth falling open as your walls tighten around him and your juices flow out, coating him as you cum, your toes curl and your moans fill the room. Ari follows quickly behind, stuffing his cock deep inside of you as he lets go with a roar, filling you with his cum alongside his brother’s. You feel your stomach filling from a weird angle, as he slides out of you, you look down to see your stomach bulging a tiny bit. You whimper, your cunt pulsates as you move toward Geralt, looking up at him with wide eyes. Desperate to be filled again. Not noticing Ari slumping against the wall, his body draining.

Geralt growls, gripping your throat between his clawed fingers. “You want more, HoneyBelle?” You nod, pouting. Your eyes glazed over. “What a slut you are.” He tuts, “I want to test something out first.” His golden-yellow eyes narrow as he slides his cock deep into your used cunt with one quick thrust. Watching your eyes roll back for possibly the twentieth time that night, he was surprised they hadn’t gotten stuck. He stills and you whine, clutching him, your hips move as you bounce yourself up and down his cock. His grip around your throat tightens. “I want you to watch, HoneyBelle.” You pout, looking at him before he turns your attention to poor defenseless Gaston.

Your eyes widen as you watch the vines slowly remove themselves from his body, you clutch Geralt tightly as Gaston blinks, he slowly stands and with a vicious growl, he pulls out a dagger and launches himself towards the two of you. Your cunt tightens around the Beast and with wide eyes you watch as Geralt swipes his paw that isn’t gripping your throat, his claws dig deeply into the hunters throat, large slashes appear as Gaston’s body drops. His face permanently set in a shocked expression. You whimper, feeling yourself drip around Geralt’s member.

You blink, looking innocently at his face as he smirks. “Just what I thought. You are a very nasty whore, HoneyBelle.” You clench around him, the paw that is marked with Gaston’s blood comes up and grips your face while the other moves down to hold onto your thighs. You felt so dirty, but in a good way. You don’t notice him moving you over to a wall, the vines from before slither over, wrapping around your wrists and ankles as they hold you open for all to see. Geralt grins, sliding his bloody paw down your body, leaving a trail of blood that mixes with your own. “I’m going to fuck you now, HoneyBelle. So.” Thrust. “Fucking.” Thrust. “Hard.” With his last word, the Beast begins to pound into you, splitting you open.

You scream and moan, your nails digging into your palms. You can’t help but struggle against the vines, wanting, NEEDING, something to hold onto. Your head hits the wall as your half–lidded eyes watch Geralt ruin you, fucking you like the wild Beast he is. His golden-yellow eyes never leave yours. Not until he leans forward and digs his canines into the very same spot Logan and Ari did, reveling in the taste of your blood, the feel of it flowing into him, dripping down his chin.

The feeling of his cock splitting you open and his canines ripping through your flesh cause your vision to go white as you cum, squirting all over the Beast. Your arousal coats him, dripping down his thick member. Geralt growls, slamming into you harder and faster, his head now out from your neck, eyes watching you before he buries himself inside of you. Cumming deep into you, his gaze flickers down and he watches as your stomach bulges a bit more from being filled by three different types of cum. He grins, slowly thrusting as he emptied himself inside of you before pulling out and falling to the ground like his brother’s.

The vines don’t pull away, you hang against the wall. Your eyes flutter as your mind is dazed. You swear you see gold swirling around the three Beasts bodies, causing your brows to furrow as you try and blink away the cloudiness. You were saddened that in place of your Beasts were normal human men… You broke their curse.

The three brother’s groan, slowly dragging themselves up from the floor. Their eyes scan each other before looking down at themselves, seeing their human selves. “Finally. The curse has been broken and I am no longer bound as a Beast.” You whimper, causing their eyes to shoot toward you.

Ari moves over, hands skimming your soft body. “Hello, Beauty.” You frown.

They were handsome, you weren’t blind. All three of them looked different to each other and their animal form. Ari with medium length brown hair and pretty blue eyes, a bushy beard covering some of his face. Logan with short dark brown hair that somehow had styled small horns on top and hardened blue eyes, a slight beard covering his face. Then there’s Geralt, different from the two with his long white hair and golden eyes, a five o’clock shadow rests on his face. You stared at the brothers. They were gorgeous for humans, somewhat god-like but deep down, you desired the Beasts within them. Somehow, it made them… More.

Geralt smirks at his work. “I am not going to lie, I will miss being a Beast.” Logan grunts at his brother’s words. The vines finally unravel from your wrists and ankles, allowing Ari to catch you and carry you over to the bed.

You would later learn that the men wouldn’t stay just men, the Beast still lived within, especially when they tasted your sweet blood before the curse was broken.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

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paperdice · 5 months ago

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Hi can I’m have a platonic request of the ancients cookies x child reader who posses the soul jam it called the light of innocence reader it a huge cheerful adorable ball of sunshine that see the all positive in earthbread reader cuteness it so much not even the monsters have courage to attack them istead they protect reader from the cookies of darkness and dark enchantress cookie too they smile bright anyone day anytime at all headcanons please

𝐀𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐱 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝐣𝐚𝐦 (𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬)

"The impact this child has on everyone needs to seriously be studied.."

⋆｡˚♡•ᴗ• There was only five soul jams, the five that did more than enough to protect earthbread and the cookies that lived within it. Yet, the secret of another lying around in an unknown cookies possession was exposed.

⋆｡˚♡•ᴗ• Pure vanilla was one of the few who was anxious at the thought of a cookie that they didn't know was holding a soul jam. The possibility of it being used for evil was the biggest worry, though the name "Light of Innocence" sounds heroic. If placed in the wrong hands, it could lead to terrifying dangers.

⋆｡˚♡•ᴗ• Though that was the past, now pure vanilla is babysitting the soul jams holder. The Light of Innocence landed on the brightest child there is, pure vanilla was the first to be smittened by the ball of sunshine. You radiated this positivity around yourself that affected everyone near by, or at least that's what it felt like.

⋆｡˚♡•ᴗ• The fact that nothing is willing to hurt you is very shocking. He gets it of course but even animals and cookies of darkness such as dark enchantress cookie herself wouldn't dare to touch you with any negative attachments in mind. His reaction to seeing you, a small wee child, hugging and petting a huge beast like it was a house pet for the first time. He almost had a heart attack

⋆｡˚♡•ᴗ• Pure vanilla would open his eyes often when around you due to knowing that you like his heterochromia eyes. He loves seeing you giggle at his pretty eyes, he doesn't understand why you laugh but as long as you're happy he doesn't mind. You're such a ray of hope in pure vanillas perspective, always looking in the good in times of fear and danger.

⋆｡˚♡•ᴗ• Loves to take you to his garden, he swears that every time you walk past the flowers, they begin to rise and glow at your presence. At times it looks like the flowers are trying to reach you with the way they lean towards the direction you're in. When you're in the garden the plants look their best, the most alive they've ever looked.

⋆｡˚♡•ᴗ• As if pure vanilla didn't shine his own light, when the two of you are together its like a second sun on earth. It's even joked by other cookies that nobody can look directly at you both because it's too bright! Cookies know if the duo are making their way towards them because the infamous glow gradually gets larger. It's so cute!

⋆｡˚♡•ᴗ• He protects you with everything hes got, though pure vanilla is a healer and never fights, he still will use every bit of his dough to shield you from any risks. Which means check ups are fairly common, of course he knows you're okay every time since nothing ever wants to hurt you. But it's better to be safe than sorry!

⋆｡˚♡•ᴗ• Walks with pure vanilla are common too, he likes to do a quick stroll in the kingdom with you to lighten the air. The flowers stand at your attendance, the grass's green pops, clouds that hid the sun backs off and the wind refreshes all in a hitch. Pure vanillas walks are always made the better when having you by his side. You can also save the trouble of everyone dealing with your morning hyper by having the walk cooling you off.

⋆｡˚♡•ᴗ• Pure vanilla cookie takes great care of you, he protects you, looks out for you plus spoils you in every way he can whilst teaching you important life lessons and morals. This grandpa's heart is big enough to fit you in it, but sometimes it feels as if you took up too much space with how worrisome he can be when he knows nothing happens. He's your main babysitter for a reason! He loves you!

⋆˚ ౨ৎ ˙˖° Brace yourself for a hug cause it's coming in hot! Hollyberry cookie is very affectionate towards you, how could she not?? Just look at your cute lil face! The holder of the unseen soul jam was like family in holleyberrys eyes. Unlike pure vanilla cookie who was more in the role of your babysitter, she was like a mother figure to you. As she was to all cookies

⋆˚ ౨ৎ ˙˖° Mother hollyberry cookie here laughed her head off when she saw a small lamb being a soul jam holder! Oh how the worries of it being in the wrong hands was nothing but a joke now, a frail fresh cookie was protecting the gem with their newly baked life. Hollyberry cookie applauses your bravery,, you've been under her protection ever since.

⋆˚ ౨ৎ ˙˖° She likes to tell you her stories with extra exaggeration to see your reactions, she'll even give you sweets and a warm drink to go along with these tales. Of course she's a busy cookie herself so she can't always spend every moment with you, but that's why she always has to treat it with specialty being with you.

⋆˚ ౨ৎ ˙˖° She tells wildberry cookie to keep an eye on you whenever he gets the chance, he too is as much as your guard as he is hollyberry cookies. He's an observer for your soul jam, making sure it's always in your possession in case you get too distracted with fun. Hollyberry cookie can't help but smile at the sight of "big scary wildberry" towering over the happy go lucky child for safety measures.

⋆˚ ౨ৎ ˙˖° She thinks your wonderful for anyone to be around! You can be a shield yourself you know, with how loving everyone automatically gets when it comes to you, nothing can get passed you. Oh how she loves to pick you up and show your glimmer self to her kingdom, making any stops you wish to make then meeting all kinds of faces.

⋆˚ ౨ৎ ˙˖° Hollyberry cookie likes to hand you popular children's drinks from her kingdom, if you like a specific type expect her to toss mountains of it on you to drink no not literally ouch. The same goes for sweet delights, she'll suggest her personal favorites when she was your age!

⋆˚ ౨ৎ ˙˖° This queen can read you like a book! You think she's not paying attention when you're off picking some berries when she's conversating with another cookie, till one day she hands you a basket filled with berries. Remarking when she saw you trying to gather berries but due to your size you couldn't get many. Next time just ask her for some berries!

⋆˚ ౨ৎ ˙˖° Being with hollyberry cookie is basically you doing whatever you want, she's so laid back and free spirited if anything she'd support your ideas and actions. However that doesn't stop how she can get protective of you. Yes she knows even the wildest of beast will roll over for your touch, but she will hold you back if you start feeling obliviously bold.

⋆˚ ౨ৎ ˙˖° She shields you from many things, always making sure you don't have your mind cluttered up with any negativity. Her words of encouragement are always smoothing, you don't understand it now due to age but soon you'll realize why she always wanted you to just be yourself.

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡⟢ His face never showed how truly worried he was to knowing there was a secret soul jam, as well as how shocked he was to know who you were. You were in the very last of his expectations, dark cacao sighed away whatever thoughts he had before meeting you and introduced himself along with his friends.

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡⟢ Seeing such an optimistic holder that felt nothing but positivity and was so free of doubt, to be fair yes you are a child but even children are aware of the evil creeping up on earthbread. He's not complaining, not anymore no.

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡⟢ Before all the ancient cookies decided to protect you, dark cacao had a heartwarming moment with you. Or that's what his heart felt like, he was watching you pick at the buttercup flowers since nobody was around to do it instead. Making sure your safe from any soul jam robbers.

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡⟢ You called over to him and asked a question that made him show no reaction but he had little interest, "you know if you put a buttercup under your chin it'll glow? But,, it only works on some cookies!" No he didn't know, so when he saw you call him down to your level he followed. He knelt down and you hovered the flower under his chin, it didn't work, the small cookie laughed then showed him how it works on them not in a teasing way

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡⟢ While you were speaking he noticed how his soul jam started glowing, the purple illuminating in a way he's only seen once before. You noticed it too, so you went closer with curiosity til you noticed how bright it got when you did. Dark cacao cookie looked vaguely surprised, however when he saw you getting all giggly he finally noticed that you had this radiation of positivity, a glow. No wonder the soul jam beamed at your presence, he couldn't help but smile.

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡⟢ Pure vanilla the babysitter, hollyberry the mother figure and now dark cacao the personal guard. He clearly has a soft spot for you, when the ancient cookies were thinking of protecting you instead, the others could tell you were already working on dark cacao. He was all agree than disagree which was not the way he was before.

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡⟢ You seem to have grown an interest in what dark cacao thinks of things before you act upon it. You know how kids get when they look up to you and wanna see if you like something they like as a form of confirmation? Same with the new holder and dark cacao cookie, of course he knows this. He could be peacefully walking behind you then you point out how pretty the sky is later turning to him and ask what he thinks.

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡⟢ He'll either agree with you or just quietly say whatever he thinks, he knows you care about what he thinks, even so, dark cacao is a humble man. He feels a bit idolized that you look up to him and in a way he sometimes cares about what you think too. He doesn't wanna scare you off or seem crude, he lays off his stoic face a bit and tries to be careful with his words to not sound harsh.

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡⟢ If you take interest in his hair, wishing to play with it, he probably won't know what to do. Will he allow it? Just for a bit, if it gets too much he'll softly end hair play. If you take interest in his kingdoms snacks/foods he'll give you a warning to its bitterness or lack of taste before you choose to take a bite.

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡⟢ He truly does care about you, you just need to be a bit patient with the old man, he's not good with showing emotions. He's a kind man at heart, we all know it, towards you he'll especially try his best to be more forward as well as safeguard you. Whether beasts protect you or not he's on standby for anything that comes your way.

ִ ࣪𖤐 What could one of the things be missing.. Hmm.. Oh duh, the rich aunt! When she saw you she laughed alongside hollyberry cookie, the kinda laugh, if done to a child, couldn't tell if they were being made fun of or they really were just joking around. Rest assured you found out very quickly that's just how her radiance is.

ִ ࣪𖤐 When your tiny eyes followed up and down her appearance, you paid extra attention to her wings. Your eyes are in awe at its beauty that you hadn't realized you just grabbed it with no announcement! She turned a bit offended but mostly shocked with how brash you were. But when she saw you smiling in admiration, she knew, she was going to love you.

ִ ࣪𖤐 Have all the cheese your little heart desires, she'll give you finest she has in store. The face you made when you took your first bite fills golden cheese cookie with pride and joy, well of course she knows it good I mean cmon now, what really sold her was your eagerness for wanting more. You were so stuffy by the end, pure vanilla had to remind her that sometimes too much care can be, well,, too much..

ִ ࣪𖤐 Fancy her gold? If you stare too long wanting a closer look at the gleaming golds and treasures she holds, she'll let you take a closer look. Like the shining necklace in that shop? Well lets go in she'll let you observe and take in all the bling! Though she will keep an eye out if she spots any fakes around, your eyes deserve the finest, realest jewels there is! Greed is a good thing in her kingdom after all.

ִ ࣪𖤐 A secret that the both of you share, is one nobody can find out, not like she cares, she just doesn't wanna deal with defending herself in future disagreements. The secret being golden cheese cookie flights! It started off small for awhile, tosses in the air slowly getting higher and higher. Slowly beginning to fly off land a bit further, till of course cookies told her not to for safety reasons, that broke your little heart.

ִ ࣪𖤐 But why would it be a secret if you guys stopped? Because you didn't, sure you were sad for like a second till you found good within it like always and yet she remembered how much you laughed. It's not like shes not careful no, your treasure to her, that's why she trusts both herself and you to keep flying, just keep it under wraps yeah?

ִ ࣪𖤐 She knows whenever it gets too hot out cookies feel discomfort, melting under the sun ain't exactly the most pleasant experience. That's why when she knows it's feeling a bit much out, she'll shade you using her wings, no way is some heat going to disrupt your enjoyment.

ִ ࣪𖤐 The cheesebirds love you too! Sometimes you find yourself carried away accompanying them rather than golden cheese cookie, they're just too cute not to talk to. Birds your size that can talk, bonus being that they love talking to you, sometimes golden cheese cookie has to remind you that you're hanging with your aunt today.

ִ ࣪𖤐 I have a sneaky feeling shes not as chill as the other ancients (aside from pv) when it comes to beasts getting close to you. Pure vanilla tries to avoid beast interactions, hollyberry cookie laughs knowing nothing will happen and dark cacao is always on standby. Golden cheese cookie,, she either does one or two things, tries to get your own beast army as a joke or tells you to stay away.

ִ ࣪𖤐 Golden cheese cookie loves your innocence, you have no idea how much power you hold in your mini hands, but she will teach you how to rule the cookies. How to be a monarch yourself in the future, till then, she has a lot of playtime with you before you reach that age.

⋆˚✿˖° Her shock to you wasn't really much of a shock, it was more like a long pause. The repeated question flooded her head like a broken record, "how did you find the soul jam?". She also questioned if you ever knew how to use it, these thoughts were never her doubting you, okay but who wouldn't.. from what it seemed to look like, you knew what it could do.

⋆˚✿˖° The soul jam fitted you perfectly in her mind, the light of innocence held by the personification of light with a mind of innocence. It seemed like fate in her eyes, so if it was, she has nothing to worry about. Her body mellowed while she softy and ever so quietly laughs along with hollyberry cookie and golden cheese cookie.

⋆˚✿˖° You were just the cutest surprise, after the decision was made to look over you, white lily cookie was like an older sister. Shes always quiet and determined to find any peace left in earthbread. Because of this, in your childs mind, she's a little scary. Not in the intimidating way no, you looked up to her.

⋆˚✿˖° She was like your older sister in a way because of this if you ignore the sibling fights n all that stuff, you were the little sibling that wanted to have your big sis's attention and her love. Though she didn't push you away, she always caught you staring at her at times in a shy way. She really wanted to talk to you, the way the other ancients did.

⋆˚✿˖° Yes you're the cookie that sees good in everything, not a single negative trait was in your heart or dough. So why was it you felt shy towards her? Cause you loved her! The whole time while she was thinking of reasons for your actions, you were secretly planning the perfect first impression! No where near shy as she thought you were no, you were just hoping to make less appearances to make "the first meeting" perfect!

⋆˚✿˖° You surprised her by having other cookies your age pretend to attack her, of course she didn't feel threatened, they were using toys as weapons and their acting was goofy. It didn't take long to find out why the cookies were messing around with her, you jumped in with dramatic flare, showing off your soul jam to the "evil cookies" and warning them to back off.

⋆˚✿˖° Ever since you "saved" white lily cookie the two of you have been the cutest duo! You love to try and braid her hair the way she does it, she taught you how to braid hair when you caught her doing her own hair. It was a bit tricky for your youthful brain, although, once you got a hang of it, you never let go. Always asking white lily to let you braid her hair when it's already been braided. It warms her heart.

⋆˚✿˖° If white lily cookie noticed you liked her staff, you can get the privilege of holding it for a bit. She admires your innocence, how was it not even once did you ponder knowing more? It was like you were living life on easy mode, no thought behind those eyes unless it's joyful thinking.

⋆˚✿˖° One day, a cookie taught you how to make flower crowns, so you asked white lily cookie to let you into her garden. You told her your plan of making her a white lily flower crown, it did hurt a little seeing the flowers getting picked but she was happy with the end result. She wore it for a bit after that.

⋆˚✿˖° White lily cookie can't do much but she tries to keep an eye out on you, her heart would break into millions of pieces if she were to ever find out something bad happened to you. She'll give you loads of words of wisdom so nothing like that can come of sort.

I hope you enjoyed these, I think I passed out like two times while writing but I'm glad it turned out just fine. If you're thinking of rolling again you're welcomed back anytime!

#cookie run x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader #pure vanilla cookie x reader #hollyberry cookie x reader #dark cacao cookie x reader #golden cheese cookie x reader #white lily cookie x reader #headcanons #fluff #I keep overdoing thingsaaaahhhhh #gn reader

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romugh · 1 month ago

Text

CRIMSON DESIRES - NR

ROMUGH’S KINKTOBER

october 1st — knife play, gun play, blood kink

DAY ONE || kinktober masterlist || 2024.

pairing- avenger!natasha romanoff x fem!villain!reader

cw- 18+!!; dom!top!reader, sub!bottom!natasha, blood kink, knife play (and kink lol), gun play, strappie (n rcv), blowie (r rcv), daddy kink (oops?), humiliation kink, praise kink, filthy rough sex, bondage (light), carving (no pumpkin, sorry...), spanking (light), knife in a mouth??, natasha passing out!

wc- 12.702k :o

a/n- first kinktober fic (ever!!) :p beware of the warnings!! this is so long, purely because of the insanely descriptive style i have- SORRY. this is filthy, borderline crazy (imo. pls send help) now, in the name of the father, the son, and the holy strap-on, aWomen. have fun reading, dirty hornballs.

prompts- blood kink, knife play, gun play

synopsis- natasha makes you fail a mission. no matter how many times you've messed with hers, you never made her fail one. you're keen on making her understand what it's like to mess with you.

taglist?- @lost-mortemanghel, @idkwhatever580, @elliecoochieeater, @left-and-right-up-and-down

The door creaked as you stepped into the safehouse, the heavy thud of your boots echoing off the concrete walls. The dim light cast long, wavering shadows, flickering like dying embers, but it didn’t hide the figure sitting at the far side of the room. Even if she were wrapped in darkness, you'd recognize her anywhere. Natasha Romanoff—Black Widow—standing utterly still, her gaze like a blade, sharp and piercing, tracking your every movement.

She wasn’t surprised you’d found her. Maybe she’d wanted this, led you here on purpose. It didn’t matter. You weren’t here to figure out her motives.

You were here to teach her a lesson.

Your fingers danced with dangerous ease, twirling a knife in one hand, while the other lazily spun a gun around your knuckles. You moved with a slow, deliberate calm, every motion designed to remind Natasha who held the cards now. She could feel it, you knew she could. The tension in the room was thick, suffocating, wrapping around the both of you like a noose.

Still, beneath her stony exterior, there was something—a faint flush on her cheeks, the tiniest hitch in her breath when the cold metal gleamed in your hand. For someone who had been the cause of your mission’s failure, Natasha didn’t seem scared. If anything, she seemed… intrigued.

“No matter how many times I’ve screwed with your missions, I never made you fail one,” you bit out, voice low and simmering with restrained anger. Your eyes were dark, burning with an unspoken fury, the remnants of battle still fresh on your skin. Blood—yours or someone else’s—clung to your knuckles and dripped down your arm, staining the blade you spun so casually.

Natasha’s lips quirked into a smirk as you locked the door behind you, the soft click resonating like a loaded promise. Her eyes didn’t leave yours, even as they flitted between the weapons in your hands. The glint in her eyes wasn’t fear—it was something much more dangerous. Amusement. “You look like hell,” she muttered, leaning back against the wall with that familiar, infuriating smirk. Her tone was smooth, almost too calm, like she was the one in control here. Like you weren’t the one with a knife in your hand and a gun in the other.

"Rough day?"

The muscles in your jaw tightened. Her casual tone only fanned the flames of your frustration. “You made sure of that.”

Still, her eyes held yours, daring you to come closer. The defiance in her gaze made your pulse quicken with something dark and dangerous. She cocked her head, that smirk deepening, and for a split second, her confidence wavered, just a flicker, as her gaze dropped—briefly—back to the blade.

“I’m still standing, aren’t I?”

You took another step, narrowing the space between you, fully entering the room now. The air was electric, buzzing with tension, thick enough that every breath you took felt charged with the weight of it. She didn’t flinch, even as the knife twirled in your hand, its sharp edge catching the light as it arced through the air. But you didn’t miss the way her chest rose just a fraction faster, or how her eyes flickered toward the gun once again.

"You seem pretty pleased with yourself for someone who had to run to a safehouse." Your voice was a dangerous mix of sarcasm and venom, low and tight as you stared her down. "Maybe you were waiting for me. You’ve always been a little slow.”

Natasha’s lips twitched into that same cocky grin, eyes flashing with mischief. “Maybe I was just waiting for you to catch up.” The bite in her voice was enough to cut through the tension like a knife, but the bravado was slipping. She wasn’t as composed as she wanted to seem. Not with the way your knife danced in your hand, inching closer.

Before you knew it, the gap between you had closed, so close that you could feel the heat from her skin, smell the faint traces of sweat and adrenaline lingering on her. She tilted her head up, defiance still sparking in her green eyes, lips curled in a half-smile, daring you to do something, anything.

"Slow?" you echoed, voice soft, almost a whisper as you lifted the knife to her cheek, the edge of the blade grazing her skin with a featherlight touch. Natasha tensed, just for a moment, her bravado faltering under the cold kiss of steel. "Are you sure about that?"

Her breath hitched, barely perceptible, but you noticed it. She swallowed hard, the smirk slipping just enough for you to see the doubt flicker in her eyes. It was brief, but it was there.

"If you were any faster," she said, voice tight, "maybe I wouldn’t have gotten away so easily." Her words were laced with arrogance, but the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her. Her eyes stayed fixed on the knife, even as her mouth continued to push, to test your patience.

You leaned in, letting the blade dip lower, teasing at the soft skin of her throat. The warmth of her pulse beat beneath the steel, and you could feel the way it quickened under your touch. Her breath hitched again, and this time, she didn’t hide it.

"Maybe you wanted to be caught." Your voice was a soft murmur, your chest brushing hers as you pressed in closer, the knife trailing a delicate line down her throat, leaving the faintest scratch. Just enough to leave a mark, a lingering reminder of the unspoken control that hung between you both.

Natasha's smirk faltered, her lips parting as her breath came quicker, the tension palpable. "Maybe," she whispered, her voice cracking, betraying the confidence she so desperately clung to.

Before she could even react, you moved, fast as lightning, arm snaking around her neck, turning her around and yanking her back against your chest. The knife hovered at her throat, the cool steel pressing just hard enough to keep her still, your other hand pressing the gun against her temple. Her body tensed, muscles coiling like a spring, but she didn’t resist. Not yet.

Her breathing was shallow now, chest heaving, but she didn’t break. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, smirking even through the rapid beat of her pulse. “Is this supposed to scare me?”

You chuckled darkly, the sound low and dangerous. The gun pressed harder against her temple. “It should.”

Natasha’s breath hitched, but she kept pushing, her voice turning playful, bratty even, as she tilted her head, lips brushing your jawline as she whispered, “I thought you’d be more creative than this.”

Your jaw clenched, and in response, the knife pressed into her skin just enough for a thin line of blood to bead against the blade. Natasha gasped softly, her lips parting, a flicker of something like excitement flashing in her eyes. Her bravado cracked further, but she still had the nerve to smile up at you, that infuriating grin tugging at the corners of her lips.

"Guess I’ll just have to try harder," you whispered, a slow, deliberate smile creeping across your face.

The room’s atmosphere thickened with a tension that bordered on palpable as you held Natasha in place. The edge of your blade still kissed the smooth skin of her throat, a faint, thin line of red left in its wake—a promise of what could come if she pushed too far. Her pulse fluttered wildly beneath your touch, betraying her composure despite the defiant smirk still tugging at the corners of her lips.

Her body was taut, wound tight like a spring on the verge of snapping, but she didn’t move. She could fight you. The Black Widow wasn't a woman who accepted submission easily. It wasn’t in her nature to yield. But here, in this moment, you could feel it: the battle waging inside her. The tension between defiance and desire, the need to prove she wasn’t under your control warring with the subtle pull of something darker.

“You think I’ll break?” she breathed, her voice still carrying that cocky bravado, though there was a tremor beneath it now. Her gaze flicked back to the knife, then to your eyes. The bravado was wearing thin, the cracks showing through her facade.

You didn’t answer. Instead, your grip tightened around her, your arm a firm anchor across her waist as you pressed her body harder against yours. She gasped—soft, involuntary—but still, she didn’t pull away. Her lips parted slightly, the breath catching in her throat as she tried to steady herself. For a moment, she was silent, her chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths.

"Natasha," you murmured, your voice a low, dangerous whisper against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. “You’ve always been so stubborn, so hard to crack. But deep down, I think you want this.”

Her smirk faltered, the weight of your words settling heavily between you. Her breathing quickened, and her gaze flicked up to meet yours again—this time, there was something different in her eyes. A flicker of uncertainty. And something darker: anticipation. But she fought it, even now. Her lips parted as if she were going to speak, to throw another biting retort your way, but you moved before she had the chance.

In one swift motion, you shifted the knife away from her throat and grabbed her chin, your fingers firm as they dug into her jaw, forcing her head to tilt back against your collarbone. Natasha gasped, her eyes widening, but she didn’t resist. Her breath came in short, sharp bursts as your thumb brushed over her bottom lip, the pad of your finger grazing the softness there before pushing between her lips.

She tensed beneath your touch, her body rigid as you applied pressure, coaxing her mouth open. “Bite me, and you’ll regret it,” you warned softly, your voice laced with menace.

Natasha’s eyes darkened, a silent challenge in them as her teeth grazed your thumb—just a light, teasing scrape. She wouldn’t bite. Not yet. But she wanted you to know she could.

You pulled you thumb back, only to force two fingers past her lips, pushing them deeper into her mouth. Her eyes fluttered for a brief moment before they snapped back to yours, wide and startled. Her tongue twitched beneath your fingers, her breath hot and shallow as you pressed further in, nearly to the back of her throat. She gagged slightly, her lips closing reflexively around your knuckles, but she didn’t pull away.

“You’re going to learn how to submit,” you murmured, your voice low and commanding as you curled your fingers slightly, pressing them against her tongue. “And you’re going to do it on my terms.”

Natasha’s eyes blazed with a mix of defiance and something else—something primal, instinctual. She tried to hold your gaze, to maintain that air of control, but the way her body twitched beneath your touch betrayed her. She didn’t pull away, though. Her lips stayed wrapped around your fingers, her tongue swirling against them involuntarily, and her chest heaved with shallow breaths.

The battle inside her was visible now. The part of her that fought for control, that craved power, versus the part of her that wanted—needed—this. To let go. To give in. The struggle was written in every tense muscle, every quickened breath.

But you weren’t going to give her a choice.

"Open wider," you commanded, your voice firm as you pressed your fingers against her tongue, feeling the warmth and wetness of it as she obeyed, her lips parting further to accommodate you. Her breath hitched, and you could feel the slight tremor in her body, the way her chest rose and fell with increasing rapidity.

Her mouth stretched around your fingers, her teeth grazing the skin but never clamping down. She was fighting it, but not hard enough. And you knew—knew—that the more you pushed, the more she'd cave. You could see it in the way her lashes fluttered, in the faint flush creeping up her neck. Natasha was balancing on the edge of giving in, and it wouldn’t take much to tip her over.

“Good girl,” you whispered, the praise dripping from your lips like honey, thick and saccharine, just enough to make her shiver. Her eyes flashed, the defiance cracking just for a moment as a faint moan escaped her, muffled around your fingers.

She hated that. You could see it in the way her body tensed, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. She wasn’t supposed to like this—wasn’t supposed to want it. But the truth was undeniable, written in the way her body reacted, in the way she swallowed hard around your fingers, her lips trembling as she fought to regain control.

But you weren’t going to let her.

You pushed harder, curling your fingers slightly as you pressed them deeper into her mouth, her tongue pressing helplessly against your palm. Natasha’s eyes squeezed shut, her breath coming in quick, shallow pants through her nose as she gagged again, her body instinctively trying to pull back. But your grip on her chin was firm, unyielding, and she had no choice but to take it.

“Relax,” you commanded softly, your voice low and soothing despite the roughness of your actions. “You can take it.”

Her eyes fluttered open, a mixture of anger and desperation swirling in those green depths as she met your gaze once more. Her body was trembling now, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she breathed deeply through her nose, her chest heaving as she tried to adjust, to comply.

Slowly, you withdrew your fingers, watching as her lips clung to them, a trail of saliva connecting her mouth to your hand as you pulled away. Natasha’s breath came in ragged gasps, her cheeks flushed, lips swollen and glistening in the dim light. But even now, even as her body betrayed her, she refused to admit defeat.

“You’re enjoying this more than you’re willing to admit,” you murmured, your voice low and dangerous as you traced her bottom lip with the tip of your thumb. Natasha’s eyes flashed again, but she didn’t respond. Her breath was shallow, quick, and her chest rose and fell with each ragged inhale.

Before she could recover, you grabbed her wrist, yanking her to her feet. Natasha stumbled, her knees weak from the sudden movement, but you held her firmly, spinning her around and pressing her chest against the nearest wall. She gasped, her palms flat against the cold, hard surface, her breath hitching as you pinned her there, your body flush against hers.

You leaned in close, your breath hot against the nape of her neck. “You can fight all you want,” you whispered, your lips brushing her ear. “But we both know you’re going to submit.”

Natasha’s breath came in short, shallow pants as she pressed her cheek against the wall, her body trembling beneath yours. Still, she fought—her muscles tense, her hands clenching into fists against the wall—but it was a losing battle. You could feel the way her body responded to your touch, the way her breath hitched with every word, every command.

Your hand slid down her side, fingers tracing the curve of her waist before dipping lower, gripping the swell of her hip as you pressed her harder against the wall. Natasha groaned softly, her breath ragged as she tried to maintain control, but you weren’t giving her the chance.

Your gaze trailed down the length of her body, admiring how the tight black combat suit clung to Natasha's every curve, perfectly tailored to fit the lithe, muscular frame beneath. The material stretched across her hips and thighs, emphasising her toned legs and the soft, subtle curve of her backside. Even in her defiance, she was a sight to behold—dangerous and beautiful, an intoxicating combination.

You shifted your grip on her, pulling her back slightly from the wall as your free hand skimmed down her waist, fingers brushing the zipper of her suit. Natasha’s breath hitched, her body stiffening as you toyed with the idea of unzipping her. But that would be too easy—too merciful. No, you wanted to make this slow. Draw it out. You wanted to see her squirm, to hear her breaths come quicker with each deliberate slice of control slipping from her grasp.

Slowly, methodically, you brought the knife back up, letting the cold steel trail lightly over the smooth fabric stretched taut against her waist. Natasha flinched, her muscles tensing at the touch, but she didn’t pull away. Her breaths came in shallow, rapid bursts now, her heartbeat racing against the pulse point in her throat where the tip of your knife had hovered minutes before.

"Don’t move," you ordered softly, your voice low and dangerous. The blade glinted in the dim light as you brought it to the zipper of her combat suit, hovering there for a heartbeat—a silent threat.

Natasha swallowed hard, her breath catching in her throat as her eyes darted down to the knife, then back up to meet your gaze. There was a moment of hesitation, a flicker of something vulnerable behind her defiant stare. But she stayed still. Good.

You smirked and dragged the blade down the zipper, the metal teeth parting with a soft, satisfying sound as you revealed a sliver of skin beneath. The cool air hit her exposed flesh, and Natasha shivered involuntarily, her breath hitching as the coldness kissed the small curve of her abdomen. But this was only the beginning.

Carefully, with agonising slowness, you trailed the knife lower, pressing the flat side of the blade against her skin as it skimmed over her hip bones. The material of her suit parted easily beneath your touch, splitting open inch by inch to reveal more of her body—taut muscles and soft, pale skin beneath the rigid exterior of the Black Widow.

You paused just below her navel, enjoying the way her chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths, the anticipation building in her every movement. Her hands, which had been clenched into fists moments before, now lay flat against the wall again, fingers twitching slightly as she tried to control the growing tension in her body.

"Is this what you’re afraid of?" you murmured, letting the edge of the blade trail lower, dangerously close to the seam between her legs. "Losing control?"

Natasha didn’t answer. But the way her body trembled beneath your touch told you everything you needed to know.

With a swift flick of your wrist, you brought the blade back up, slicing through the thin fabric of her suit along her thighs, cutting it open with precision. The sound of the tearing material echoed in the room, sharp and satisfying. Natasha gasped, her breath catching in her throat as the cool air hit her skin, now exposed in the open slits you had created along her thighs.

The suit peeled away easily under the knife’s edge, and you were slow—so, so slow—as you tugged the fabric apart, watching as the tight material that had once encased her legs fell away in pieces, leaving her bare and vulnerable beneath you. You could feel the tension in her body now, the way her muscles coiled tight with each deliberate movement you made, the way her breath quickened, betraying her growing anticipation.

"You wear this like armour," you whispered, pressing the tip of the blade lightly against the curve of her inner thigh, just enough to make her feel it without breaking the skin. Natasha shuddered beneath the pressure, her breath coming in ragged bursts. "But it’s nothing more than a disguise, isn’t it? A way to keep people out."

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t, not with the way your touch burned through her defences, peeling away layer after layer of the carefully constructed walls she had built around herself. The suit that had once made her untouchable, impenetrable, was now nothing more than a shredded pile of fabric at her feet, leaving her exposed to you in a way she had never allowed herself to be before.

Your free hand slid between her legs, fingers brushing over the bare skin now exposed to you. Natasha gasped, her body jerking slightly at the contact, but you held her firmly in place, your grip tightening around her waist as your fingers pressed harder against her inner thigh. Her skin was soft, impossibly smooth beneath your touch, and you could feel the heat radiating from her core, could feel the slickness gathering between her legs.

You leaned in close, your breath hot against the back of her neck as you whispered, "You’re soaked."

A choked sound escaped her throat—something between a whimper and a gasp—as your fingers slid up, tracing the line of wetness that had already started to pool between her thighs. Natasha’s body tensed beneath you, her head tilting back slightly as she let out a ragged breath, her chest heaving as she fought to keep control.

But she was losing. Fast.

Your knife trailed up her side now, pressing lightly against her ribs as you leaned in, your lips brushing the shell of her ear. "What are you trying to hide, Natasha?" you whispered, your voice a low, dangerous growl. "What are you so afraid of, then?"

Natasha’s breath hitched, her eyes squeezing shut as she bit down hard on her bottom lip. She was trembling now, her body betraying her in ways she couldn’t control, couldn’t stop. And you knew that despite her defiance, despite the stubborn refusal to submit, there was a part of her that craved this. Craved the loss of control. Craved the freedom that came with letting go.

With deliberate, measured movements, you brought the knife back up to her chest, the blade grazing the soft swell of her breasts through the torn fabric of her suit. Natasha gasped, her breath catching in her throat as the cold steel pressed against her skin. You could see the way her nipples hardened beneath the touch, straining against the ruined fabric of her suit, desperate for more.

“You’ll submit,” you whispered, your voice thick with promise.

Natasha’s breath came in ragged gasps, her body quaking beneath you as you stood back, admiring your handiwork. She was beautiful like this—vulnerable, exposed, but still defiant, still fighting the inevitable. Her chest heaved with every breath, her skin flushed and glistening with sweat, and her eyes—those green, fiery eyes—were still locked onto yours, a silent challenge burning within them.

But she couldn’t hide the way her body responded to your touch, couldn’t hide the slickness that coated her thighs, the tremble in her legs as she stood there, stripped almost bare before you. She was teetering on the edge now, her control slipping with every passing second, every deliberate touch you made.

The room was thick with tension, the weight of it pressing down on Natasha as she stood before you, stripped of her combat suit and left bare, her breath ragged, her body trembling with a mix of defiance and need. You could see it in her eyes—the internal battle waging inside her. She wanted to give in, to let you take her, but the fear of losing control, of submitting entirely, gnawed at her, pulling her back from the edge.

Her fists clenched and unclenched at her sides, and you knew she was slipping. The insecurity, the fear—it was creeping back in, threatening to overwhelm her again. But you weren’t going to let that happen. You had her right where you wanted her, and you weren’t about to let her slip through your fingers.

Without warning, you gripped her arm and spun her around, pressing her back roughly against the wall. Natasha gasped, her body jerking as her back hit the cold surface, and for a moment, her resistance flared again. She pushed back against you, her muscles tensing, trying to reclaim some semblance of control. But it was futile. You were stronger right now, more determined, and you could feel the tremor of hesitation in her movements.

Her struggle was brief but intense, her instincts driving her to fight back even as her body betrayed her, melting under your touch. You could see it in the way her hands pressed against the wall, the tension in her shoulders, the way her legs trembled beneath her—she was fighting, yes, but she was losing.

"You want to resist?" you murmured darkly against her ear, your hands tightening around her wrists, pinning them firmly against the wall. "You think you can fight me?"

Natasha growled low in her throat, her breath coming in short, ragged bursts as she tried to twist out of your grip, her body writhing against yours. But the harder she fought, the more control you took, your grip tightening, your body pressing harder against hers, until she was trapped—helpless beneath your hold.

"Get on your knees," you commanded, your voice a sharp, authoritative growl.

For a brief moment, she hesitated, her defiance flaring up once more, her jaw clenched as she stared at you with burning green eyes. But the hesitation was all you needed. With a firm push, you guided her down, forcing her to her knees before you. Natasha stumbled slightly, her hands hitting the floor as she knelt there, panting, her chest heaving with the effort of resisting you.

But even now, on her knees, there was still a fire in her eyes—a stubborn refusal to submit completely, despite how her body reacted to your dominance. She wanted this. You could feel it, but the mental battle within her raged on, pulling her back, keeping her from surrendering fully.

You knelt down in front of her, gripping her chin firmly and tilting her head up so her eyes were locked onto yours. Her lips were parted, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps as you leaned in close, your thumb brushing over her bottom lip again before slipping the same two fingers into her mouth once more.

Natasha’s eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, she tried to pull back, her instinctive resistance flaring again. But you were quicker, firmer. Your fingers pressed deeper, forcing her mouth open, and you could feel the tension in her jaw as she struggled to push you away, the conflict between her mind and body tearing at her.

"Submit," you growled softly, your voice dark and commanding as you pushed your fingers deeper, forcing her to take them. "Stop fighting me."

She whimpered around your fingers, her eyes squeezing shut as she struggled to regain control, her hands gripping the floor beneath her. But you didn’t give her the chance. With a sharp tug, you pulled your fingers free, leaving her breathless and trembling before you.

“You can’t hide anymore, Natasha. Not from me.”

Her breathing was ragged, her body still tense with resistance, but it wasn’t enough to stop you. You could see it now—her insecurity, her fear of losing herself completely in this moment. She was trying so hard to keep control, to keep some part of herself guarded. But that was about to change.

Without a word, you stood and moved to the side, pulling a length of rope from the drawer nearby. Natasha’s eyes followed you warily, the tension in her body rising again as she realised what was about to happen.

She shook her head slightly, her breath hitching as she tried to push herself up, her muscles coiling as if to fight back once more. But you were on her before she could even fully rise, your hand gripping her shoulder and pushing her back down onto her knees. She let out a sharp gasp, her eyes wide, her body trembling as you loomed over her.

"You don’t get to decide anymore," you said, your voice low and dangerous, as you looped the rope around her wrists, binding them tightly behind her back. Natasha’s breath came in quick, shallow bursts, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to process what was happening. She pulled at the bindings, testing them, but there was no escape. You made sure of that.

And somehow, she absolutely loved that.

Her breathing became more erratic as the reality of her situation set in, and you could feel the tremor of anticipation racing through her body as you secured the knot, leaving her bound and helpless at your feet.

"You think you can fight me?" you taunted, stepping back slightly to admire the sight before you. Natasha, the Black Widow, knelt on the floor, her hands bound behind her back, her chest heaving with every ragged breath as she tried to regain control. But there was no control left. Not for her.

Her eyes flicked up to yours, wide and filled with something raw—something vulnerable. She was still fighting, still trying to hold onto that last shred of defiance. But it was slipping, fast.

You crouched down in front of her again, your hand gripping her chin roughly, forcing her to meet your gaze. Her lips parted, a soft whimper escaping as your thumb brushed over them, teasing her, taunting her.

"Let go," you whispered, your voice softer now, but no less commanding. "I want to see you submit."

Her breath hitched, her eyes squeezing shut as if to block out the overwhelming sensations coursing through her. But there was no escape from this—not anymore. You could feel the way her body responded to you, the way her thighs clenched together, her breathing growing heavier as she teetered on the edge of surrender.

You leaned in closer, your lips brushing against the shell of her ear as you whispered, "I’m going to take everything from you, Natasha. And you’re going to beg me for it."

Natasha shuddered, her body trembling beneath your words. You could see the cracks forming in her resolve, the walls she had built around herself starting to crumble. She was on the verge now, teetering between defiance and submission, and it was only a matter of time before she fell.

Your fingers slid down her neck, trailing over the curve of her shoulders as you admired the way her body reacted to every touch, every word. She was beautiful like this—vulnerable, exposed, but still fighting, still trying to hold onto that last piece of control.

The room felt charged, the air heavy with anticipation as Natasha stayed put before you. Her body trembled as she struggled against her instinct to fight. But you were far from done with her—if she wanted to resist, you'd give her something to truly surrender to.

Without warning, you got up and drew your knife again. The glint of the blade caught the low light, reflecting in Natasha’s wide eyes as you crouched back down in front of her. Her gaze locked onto the knife, a flicker of both wariness and something else crossing her face. She was trying to hide it, but you could see it—the way her lips parted, the slight tremor in her hands as they rested, bound behind her back. It was a desire.

You smirked, the weight of your control sinking in as you brought the flat side of the blade to her lips, pressing it gently against her mouth. Her breath hitched, her chest rising and falling erratically as her eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment, as if trying to escape the reality of the cold steel against her skin.

"Open," you ordered, your voice low and commanding.

She hesitated, her eyes flicking up to meet yours. There was still a fire in her gaze, a last vestige of defiance she hadn’t yet let go of. But the sharp edge of the knife against her lips was enough to make her submit, even if just for a moment.

Slowly, tentatively, Natasha parted her lips. You pressed the flat of the blade further into her mouth, forcing it between her teeth. Her jaw tensed, and for a brief second, she tried to pull back, but you held her firmly in place, your hand gripping the back of her head as you pushed the blade deeper.

"Stop fighting me," you growled, your thumb brushing along her cheek as the cold steel glided against her tongue.

Her eyes fluttered shut again, a soft whimper escaping her throat as she surrendered to the weight of the knife in her mouth, her lips wrapping around the metal. You could feel her hesitation, the way her body tensed as if ready to pull away at any moment. But the control was yours, and she was helpless against it.

"That’s better," you murmured, dragging the blade slowly out of her mouth, watching the way her lips quivered as they followed the movement of the steel. Her eyes opened again, dazed and full of conflict, but the fire was dimming. The battle within her was fading.

Without another word, you tilted her chin up once more, forcing her to meet your gaze. Her breath was shallow, her pupils blown wide with a mixture of fear and lust. You could see the cracks forming, her resistance weakening with every second that passed.

"Still think you can fight me?" you asked, your tone sharp as you pressed the knife’s blunt edge against her neck, just enough for her to feel the cold sting of the metal.

Natasha’s breath hitched, her body freezing under the blade’s pressure. Her lips parted, but no words came out, only a soft, choked sound as her eyes fluttered, her pulse quickening beneath the knife. The weight of your dominance settled over her like a heavy cloak, and she could feel it wrap around her like a warm blanket, bit by bit.

"You don’t get to decide anymore, Natasha," you whispered, your voice laced with dark intent as you trailed the knife slowly down her throat, the blade dragging over her skin, leaving a burning trail of sensation in its wake.

Her body shuddered, her knees trembling beneath her as she struggled to stay upright. But the fight was leaving her. You could see it in the way her shoulders slumped, in the way her head tilted slightly to the side, exposing more of her neck to the blade’s caress.

You leaned in close, your lips brushing against her ear as you whispered, "I could take everything from you right now, and you would beg me for it."

A soft, broken sound escaped her throat—a whimper, barely audible, but enough to let you know you had her. Completely. The Black Widow, kneeling at your feet, bound and trembling, her body reacting to the dangerous game you were playing. But it wasn’t just the fear driving her anymore. It was the thrill of surrender, the overwhelming pull of submission that she had fought so hard against.

You slid the knife down her body, over her chest, the cold steel cutting through the air between you. Natasha’s eyes followed the blade, her breath ragged and uneven as you brought it to her collarbone, then lower, teasing the edge against the soft skin between her breasts. She gasped, her head tilting back slightly as if offering more of herself to you.

"You don’t get to resist anymore," you murmured, your tone dark and commanding as you slowly dragged the knife lower, grazing it along the curve of her waist. "Not with me."

Her breath came in short, sharp bursts, her entire body trembling under your touch as you continued to tease her with the blade, her skin quivering beneath the cold metal. Her mind was racing, you could tell—fighting the urge to pull away, to reclaim control. But the deeper you pushed, the more she yielded, her body surrendering even if her mind hadn’t quite caught up yet.

Natasha’s chest heaved with every breath, her bound hands twitching behind her back, desperate for any semblance of control. But there was none to be had. She was at your mercy now, and she knew it.

"On your knees, helpless, and still trying to fight me?" You chuckled darkly, the sound low and menacing as you brought the knife back up to her throat, letting the blade rest there, the edge pressed just enough for her to feel it, the danger of it sending a shiver down her spine. "Maybe I should take things a step further… make sure you can’t fight anymore."

Natasha’s eyes widened slightly, the fear and excitement clashing in her gaze as she swallowed hard, her throat bobbing against the cold steel. She was so close to breaking now, so close to letting go completely. And you were going to push her over that edge.

“You need something stronger to keep you in place,” you murmured, your voice low and commanding as you looped your belt around her wrists, binding them together even tighter. Her breath hitched as it bit into her skin, the bindings firm and unyielding as you secured them in place.

Natasha’s muscles coiled, a faint tremor running through her body as she tested the new added restraints, her hands pulling slightly against the bonds. But there was no escape. Not like she’d want to, anyway.

You stood there for a moment, admiring how Natasha knelt at your feet, bound and vulnerable. The weight of your dominance filled the room, every breath she took betraying the fact that she was barely holding on.

Crossing the room, you opened the drawer of a hidden compartment. The safe house had been your sanctuary before, a place where you’d kept everything you might need for a situation exactly like this. And there, tucked away in the drawer, was a strap-on.

But this wasn’t just any strap. This was one of the largest you owned, the kind that had pushed your limits even when you’d tried it before. The moment you brought it out, you felt a dark satisfaction at the way Natasha’s eyes widened, her gaze locking onto the sheer size of it. Her body tensed, the restraints around her wrists tugging slightly as if her instincts told her to pull away. But she didn’t.

"You know what’s coming," you murmured, securing the strap around your hips, adjusting the buckles with precise, deliberate motions. "And you're going to take it."

Natasha’s breath quickened, her eyes darting from the massive strap hanging between your legs to your face, a flash of doubt crossing her features. Her lips parted as if to protest, to resist, but she knew better. Deep down, she wanted it. Needed it. The mere thought of being filled, stretched beyond her limits, was enough to drive her insane. Yet, she hesitated—her instincts to fight back were hard to shake, and that moment of resistance only fueled your anger.

The second she shifted backward on her knees, you saw it. That flicker of defiance, the last remnant of her bratty nature daring to challenge you. And it made your blood boil. You were tired of her fighting, tired of her constant need to push your buttons.

Without thinking twice, you reached behind you, pulling out another gun you always kept at your side, a cold metal reminder of who held all the power here. Natasha froze instantly, her eyes wide, her breath halting in her throat as you flicked off the safety, the unmistakable sound echoing through the room. You placed the gun’s barrel against her forehead, pressing it firmly against her skin.

"Don't you dare," you growled, the sharp edge in your voice leaving no room for argument. "You’ve been pushing me all day, testing my patience. I’m done playing nice."

Her lips trembled, her eyes wide and filled with a mix of fear and arousal. The cold steel of the gun against her forehead sent a shiver down her spine, grounding her in the reality of the situation. She couldn’t fight anymore. She wouldn’t. You’d made sure of that.

"You're going to take everything I give you," you whispered harshly, your fingers tightening around the gun’s grip as you pressed it harder into her skin. "And you're going to show me how much you like it. Understand?"

Natasha swallowed hard, her eyes flickering with a desperate need for your approval, for your permission to submit completely. She nodded, a soft, broken sound escaping her throat as her resistance crumbled. The fight was gone.

"Good girl," you muttered, your lips curling into a dark smile as you lowered the gun from her forehead, dragging the cold barrel down the side of her face, over her cheek, and across her lips. She whimpered, her body trembling beneath your gaze as you continued to trace the gun over her skin, using it to remind her just how helpless she was in your hands.

The massive strap-on swayed between your legs, a tangible symbol of what was to come. (she was lol) Natasha's eyes drifted back down to it, her breath catching as she realised there was no escaping it now. The size of it loomed over her, taunting her, daring her to submit completely. She shuddered, her bound hands twitching behind her as she tried to steady herself.

"Open your mouth," you ordered, the gun resting against her lips once more.

For a moment, she hesitated again, her mind racing with the sheer impossibility of what she was about to take. But you weren’t having any of it. You pressed the gun harder against her lips, the cold barrel pushing them apart slightly as a warning.

"I said, open."

With a trembling exhale, Natasha parted her lips, her eyes full of conflicted desire as she let the tip of the strap brush against her mouth. The size of it made her hesitate, her breathing ragged as she felt the weight of her submission in every inch of the massive toy.

"You think you can handle it?" you teased, leaning in close, your voice dripping with mockery as you pressed the strap-on closer to her mouth. "You better make sure you can, because you’re going to be filled with this until you can’t think straight."

Natasha whimpered, her lips stretching around the tip of the strap as she obeyed, her tongue tentatively brushing against the silicone. She tried to control her breathing, her bound hands clenching into fists as the reality of what she was about to endure sank in. The weight of the strap was overwhelming, but the presence of the gun kept her compliant.

You smirked, pushing the strap deeper into her mouth, watching as her lips stretched wider, her throat tightening with the effort. The sight of Natasha, kneeling before you, bound and gagging around the oversized strap, her face flushed with both shame and arousal, sent a rush of power through you.

But that wasn’t enough. Not yet.

Leaning down, you brought the gun to her cheek, the cold metal grazing her skin as you angled her head to look up at you. Natasha’s eyes fluttered, her lips quivering around the strap as you gently tapped the barrel against her face, a not-so-subtle reminder of her place. Her chest heaved with laboured breaths, her body trembling as she took more of the strap into her mouth, her teeth grazing the silicone.

"That’s right," you muttered, pressing the gun against her cheek as you slowly pulled the strap from her mouth, watching the way her lips glistened from the mixture of saliva and lust. "You’re going to be filled up so much tonight, you won’t even remember your name."

Natasha whimpered softly, her eyes glazed over with anticipation. She wanted this—despite every protest, despite every fight. It was the thrill of being conquered, of having no control. And you were going to give her everything she craved.

The gun pressed harder against Natasha's cheek, the cool steel branding her skin as a sharp reminder of the control you held over her. But as much as you towered over her, there was a silent understanding between you both: no matter how much you threatened her with the barrel, no matter how many times you flicked off the safety with that deadly promise in your eyes, she knew. She knew you wouldn’t pull the trigger.

And you knew that she knew.

It wasn't a matter of power, but trust—twisted, dangerous trust that she gave you, had dreamed of giving you when she was sent to spy on you. The loaded gun may have been real, but the trigger was a bluff. Natasha’s eyes, though wide and filled with the tension of the moment, flickered with a glimmer of understanding. She knew exactly where your limits lay. But that didn’t stop the thrill that coursed through her as the cold barrel grazed her skin.

You smirked as you saw the flicker of defiance still lingering in her gaze, the slightest hint that she was daring you to push her further. It made your blood hum with excitement. The challenge was always there with Natasha—she never fully gave in, even when bound and at your mercy. And you loved it. She wanted to fight, even if it was a losing battle.

"Think I won’t do it?" you murmured, dragging the gun down her cheek, tracing it along her jawline as you slowly pulled the strap from her mouth. Her lips parted, slick with saliva, trembling slightly as she struggled to catch her breath. You angled the gun under her chin, forcing her to meet your gaze.

Natasha swallowed hard, her throat tightening as the strap bobbed between your legs, teasing her just inches from her face. Her breathing was ragged, her body quivering under the weight of your dominance, but her eyes never left yours. There was fear there, yes—but not of the gun. She feared how much she wanted this.

"You won't," she whispered, her voice barely a breath as her tongue darted out to wet her lips, still swollen from gagging on the oversized strap. "You could... but you won't."

A dark smile spread across your face as you pressed the gun harder beneath her chin, lifting her head slightly so that she had no choice but to hold your gaze. She was right, and she knew it. You wouldn’t pull the trigger. But it wasn’t about the gun—it never was. It was about her submission. The game of trust you played, where each bluff, each threat, pushed her deeper into surrender.

"You think you’ve got me all figured out, don’t you?" you hissed, leaning in closer until your breath ghosted over her trembling lips. "Maybe I don’t have to pull the trigger to make you beg, hm?"

Natasha’s breath hitched, her body betraying her as her thighs shifted slightly, the heat between her legs undeniable. She wanted it. No matter how much she fought back, no matter how much she resisted, she loved this—this raw, desperate need to be at your mercy.

You straightened up, pulling the gun away from her chin and letting it rest lazily at your side. The tension in the room was insane, her body tense and ready for whatever came next. The real threat wasn't the gun—it was you. And you had something much bigger in mind.

You tossed the gun aside, the clatter of metal on the floor echoing through the room, but neither of you cared. The gun had served its purpose. Now, it was time to show her what real power felt like.

With one swift motion, you forced the strap down her throat again before pulling it free from Natasha's lips, watching as a thick string of saliva clung to the oversized toy before it broke and dripped onto the torn remnants of her suit, barely covering her chest. Her breath was ragged, uneven, and her wide, glassy eyes locked onto you, lips parted as if she still craved more. Despite the tremors wracking her body from what had just happened, she knew you weren’t done with her yet. Not by a long shot.

“Turn around,” you commanded, voice low and dripping with authority. Natasha blinked, her breath catching in her throat, but she didn’t move quickly enough for your liking. The hesitation only stoked the fire of your frustration, a simmering anger at her bratty defiance. You reached down, grabbing her shoulder roughly, and with a sharp tug, you spun her around to face the floor.

She gasped as you manhandled her into place, but before she could react, your hand was on her back, forcing her down. Her knees dug into the hard floor as she braced her upper body against the surface, her shoulders supporting herself against the surface while her hips remained raised in the air. The position was humiliating—her ass up, hands bound behind her back, face pressed to the floor, utterly exposed and vulnerable—but it was exactly where you wanted her, in a position of complete submission.

Her combat suit, torn from the knife earlier, clung to her in ragged strips, the fabric stretched and ripped across her hips, barely concealing her curves. You leaned down, tracing a slow, deliberate line from her shoulder blades down to the curve of her lower back, your fingers grazing the places where her skin was visible through the torn material.

“You were made for this, weren’t you?” you murmured darkly, your breath ghosting over her as you loomed above her. Natasha shivered at your words, her body trembling as she instinctively arched her back, a silent plea for more. Her mind may have been fighting back, but her body had surrendered long ago.

The thick, intimidating strap hanging from your waist brushed against her inner thighs as she squirmed in place, her bound hands flexing as if trying to find some sense of balance. But there was none to be found, she was at your mercy. All she could do was lay there, exposed and vulnerable, the toy hovering just out of reach.

Gripping the thick base of the strap hanging from your waist, you let the weight of it rest against her ass, the length of the toy brushing against the slickness between her legs. Natasha whimpered, her breath hitching as the pressure of it teased her, not entering her yet, just taunting her with the size of what was to come.

“Pathetic,” you hissed letting the tip of the strap graze her entrance without pushing in. “Look at you. On your knees, soaking wet, begging for something you haven’t earned.”

"Look at you," you continued, your voice full of mockery as your hand found her hair, fingers tangling in the red strands. "Begging for something you’re not even sure you can take. You pretend to fight, but here you are, on your knees, waiting to be filled."

Natasha’s breath hitched at the words, her body jolting every time you teased her with the toy, her slickness coating the length of it as you slid it between her folds. She pushed her hips back instinctively, desperate for more contact, but you quickly tugged on hair, yanking her head up sharply so she was forced to look ahead at the empty space.

Natasha let out a soft whine, her body trembling, abs flexed as she struggled to keep herself upright. She knew what was coming, and her body was betraying her—her hips involuntarily kept pushing back, her slick thighs glistening with the proof of her arousal.

“You want this?” you purred, pressing the strap against her soaked entrance again, the thickness of it stretching her just enough to make her squirm.

Natasha gasped, her hips twitching instinctively as the pressure increased, but she didn’t say anything, she remained silent, her defiance hanging on by a thread.

Without warning, you delivered a sharp slap to her ass, the sound echoing through the room. Natasha choked on her breath, her body jerking forward from the impact, but she stayed in position, her knees digging harder into the floor as she pushed back against you again, almost instinctively seeking more.

“You like that, don’t you?” you taunted, your hand coming down again, the sound of your palm connecting with her bare skin sending a thrill up your spine. Natasha’s moans grew louder, the defiance in her eyes faltering with every strike as you worked her into the space between pain and pleasure. Each slap left her breathless, her body quivering with a need she could no longer deny.

You smirked, watching the way her skin flushed pink beneath your hand, the slight tremors of her thighs betraying how much she craved what came next. It didn’t matter how big the strap was—she was going to take it. You’d make sure of it, and she knew that.

In one swift motion, you reached down and grabbed the gun again, the cold, unyielding metal pressed against the back of her head as you leaned in close, your voice a low, dangerous whisper.

“Beg,” you demanded, your breath hot against her ear. “I want to hear you say it. I want to hear how badly you need this.”

Natasha shuddered beneath you, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts. She was fighting with herself now, you could see it—the desire to give in clashing with her stubborn need to hold on to some semblance of control. Her bound hands flexed behind her back, fingers clenching and unclenching as she grappled with the command.

But the press of the gun against her head—cold, unyielding—was the only thing grounding her as she teetered on the edge.

“I…” she began, her voice shaking as she tried to form words, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it.

You clicked the safety off the gun again, letting the sharp sound echo through the room.

“I said beg,” you growled, your voice dark and full of promise. “Or do you need me to remind you who’s in control here?”

Natasha let out a soft, broken whimper, her body trembling under the weight of the power you held over her. She knew—she knew—you wouldn’t pull the trigger. You’d never do that, it was an unspoken understanding in the weird relationship that had formed over the years. But the sheer threat of it, the danger and dominance dripping from your voice, was enough to send shivers down her spine.

“I need it,” Natasha finally whispered, her voice barely audible as her head dipped to the side in shame. “Please…”

“Louder,” you barked, yanking her hair back again, the gun pressing harder against her skull. “You can do better than that.”

“I need it,” Natasha repeated, louder this time, her words dripping with desperation as her bound wrists strained against the restraints. “Please, I need it. I need you inside me.”

A slow, satisfied grin spread across your face as you watched her crumble before you, her pride shattered by the weight of her own desire. This was what you wanted—her on her knees, bound and begging for you to take her.

Without another word, you lowered the gun, tossing it aside with a casual flick of your wrist, your full attention now on the trembling woman beneath you. Your hands gripped the thick base of the strap, positioning it at her entrance once more, the tip just barely pushing inside as you leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“Such a good girl,” you purred, relishing the way Natasha whimpered at the praise.

With a firm hand on her lower back, you guided the thick strap between her legs, the tip pressing against her entrance as Natasha’s breath hitched audibly. Her body tensed beneath you, her muscles taut with a mixture of anticipation and nerves as she braced herself.

But just as the head of the toy began to stretch her again, you stopped.

A low, frustrated moan escaped her lips, her hips shifting back in a desperate attempt to push herself onto it, but you kept your hand firmly on her back, keeping her in place. You weren’t going to let her have it that easily.

“Not yet,” you giggled darkly, leaning down so that your lips brushed against her ear. “You think you deserve this just like that? After all that brattiness? After fighting me every step of the way?”

Natasha whimpered, her forehead pressing into the floor as she squirmed beneath you, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She wanted it, and the fact that you were teasing her—denying her even though she was laid bare before you—was driving her insane.

Gripping the base of the strap firmly, you pulled the tip out again and rubbed the length of it against her soaked folds, letting it slide along her entrance without pushing inside again, taunting her with just enough pressure to make her body ache with need.

“You think you can handle this?” you murmured, your voice low and dripping with sadistic pleasure as you pressed the toy harder against her, just barely breaching her before pulling back again. “I don’t think you can. I think you’re going to break before I’m done with you.”

Her whimper turned into a desperate moan, her hips pushing back against you, seeking more friction, more contact, anything to relieve the burning ache between her legs.

Grabbing a fistful of her hair, you yanked her head up again and to the side, forcing her to look at herself in the reflection of the nearby window, her face flushed, her lips swollen and trembling. “Look at you,” you hissed, pressing the strap against her entrance once more, letting her feel the weight of it. “You don’t even know what you want, do you?”

Natasha’s eyes fluttered shut as her body quaked beneath you, her breath ragged as she submitted to the overwhelming sensations—the teasing, the threats, the promises left unfulfilled. She was at your mercy, and you revelled in it.

But you were done teasing.

With one swift, powerful motion, you thrust the strap deep inside her, the thick length stretching her to her limits as Natasha’s breath caught in her throat, her entire body tensing beneath you as she was filled to the brim. Her bound hands flexed behind her back, her fingers curling into fists as she struggled to accommodate the size of the toy, but you didn’t give her any time to adjust. You pulled back and thrust into her again, harder this time, setting a relentless pace that had her knees buckling beneath her.

A choked moan escaped her lips, her face sliding from side to side over the floor as she struggled to adjust to the size of the toy inside her. But you didn’t give her time to catch her breath. You pulled back, only to slam back into her, setting a relentless pace that had Natasha gasping for air.

Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure and pain coursing through her body, the weight of the toy inside her overwhelming as you took her without mercy, each slam of your hips against hers driving her deeper into the floor. Her ass was high in the air, the angle perfect for you to hit her deepest spots with every slam of your hips against hers, the sound of skin on skin filling the room in time with her breathless moans.

Natasha forced her forehead against the floor, holding her up just the tiniest bit as she gasped for air, her body trembling uncontrollably as you thrust into her with a punishing rhythm. The sheer size of the strap was too much, too thick, stretching her wider than she ever thought possible, but she couldn’t stop herself from wanting more. Every thrust sent her spiralling deeper into submission, her body betraying her mind as it craved the brutal pace you’d set.

“Is this what you wanted?” you growled, your fingers digging into her hips as you pulled her back onto the toy, forcing her to take it all. “You begged for this, Natasha. Don’t forget that.”

Her only response was a choked sob, her breaths coming in uneven gasps as she tried to hold herself together. But you could feel it—the way her body trembled, the way her thighs quaked as the overwhelming pleasure built inside her. She was close, and she knew it.

But you weren’t going to let her have it so easily.

With one final thrust, you buried the strap inside her, grinding your hips against her ass as Natasha let out a loud, desperate moan, her entire body shaking with the force of it. You held her there for a moment, your hips grinding the toy deeper inside her, savouring the way she clenched around the toy. Natasha’s breath was ragged, her forehead pressed into the floor, her knees trembling beneath her as she barely held herself up, teetering on the edge of release.

She needed you to move, needed you to continue, but you stayed still.

You weren’t done with her yet. Not even close.

Without a word, you pulled out slowly, dragging the thick strap along her slick walls, making her whimper as she clenched desperately around the sudden emptiness. Her body was trembling, begging for release, but you had other plans.

You leaned down, your lips brushing the back of her neck as you whispered darkly, “Don’t move.”

Natasha’s breath hitched, her bound hands flexing behind her back, the ropes tight against her wrists as she tried to hold still. Her muscles were taut, her body on edge as you pressed your hand against the base of her spine, pushing her harder against the floor. You could feel the way she trembled, her skin flushed and slick with sweat, her pulse racing beneath your fingers.

Slowly, you reached down to your thigh holster, retrieving the knife you had put back a few moments ago. The glint of the blade in the dim light sent a shiver down your spine, the weight of it familiar in your hand. You twirled it lazily between your fingers before tracing the cold, sharp edge along her lower back, right above the curve of her ass.

Natasha sucked in a breath, her body jerking slightly beneath you at the sensation. She didn’t know what to expect, and that uncertainty had her on edge, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps as you dragged the blade along her skin, just enough pressure to send shivers down her spine.

“You’re mine,” you whispered, pressing the flat of the blade against her skin, just below the waistband of where her combat suit had been. "And I’m going to make sure you never forget it."

Natasha tensed beneath you, her breath catching in her throat as she felt the tip of the knife dig into her skin, sharp and unforgiving. The metal bit into the softness of her flesh, a slow, deliberate drag as you began carving the first letter of your initials into the pale skin at the base of her spine. Blood welled up immediately, crimson droplets beading along the thin line as you carved deeper, each movement precise and controlled.

Her breath hitched, a soft, choked gasp escaping her lips as the pain bloomed through her body, sharp and intoxicating. You watched, captivated by the way she trembled beneath you, her body both resisting and craving the sensation all at once.

“That’s it,” you murmured, dragging the blade slowly through the second letter, watching as the blood flowed freely from the wound, staining her skin in rich crimson. “Take it. You’re going to wear this forever.”

Natasha’s body jerked involuntarily, her breath coming in shaky, uneven gasps as the pain mingled with the overwhelming pleasure still coursing through her veins. You could feel it—the way her body reacted, the way her muscles tensed and relaxed, the way her hips shifted slightly as if seeking more.

She loved it.

And you knew it.

The moment you finished carving your initials, you leaned down, dragging your tongue along the fresh wound, tasting the metallic tang of her blood as she let out a low, desperate moan. Her body was trembling uncontrollably now, her mind teetering on the edge of submission as you kissed the carved letters, your lips warm against her searing skin.

“Now, beg me for it,” you growled against her ear, your hands gripping her hips tightly as you positioned the strap at her entrance once more. “Beg for me to fuck you like the brat you are.”

Natasha’s breath was coming in short, ragged gasps, her hands bound tightly behind her back, the ropes adn your belt cutting into her skin as she fought against the overwhelming sensations. The sting of the fresh wound on her back, the lingering threat of the knife still held in your hand—it was all too much. She was slipping, her mind crumbling beneath the weight of it all, her body aching for release.

“Please…” she whimpered, her voice broken, barely audible as she pressed her forehead into the floor. “Please…fuck me.”

You smirked, gripping her hips tighter as you pushed the thick strap against her entrance, teasing her once more, not giving her what she so desperately craved.

“I didn’t hear you,” you hissed, your hand reaching up to grip her hair, pulling her head back completely so she was forced to look at you, her eyes glassy and unfocused. “Say it like you mean it.”

Natasha let out a soft, broken sob, her body trembling beneath you, her bloodied back arching as she kept trying to hold herself together. But she couldn’t. Not anymore.

“Fuck me,” she cried out, her voice hoarse, desperate. “Please, please, just fuck me. I need it. I need you.”

A satisfied grin spread across your face as you finally gave in, slamming the strap deep inside her with one brutal thrust. Natasha gasped, her entire body jolting forward as you filled her completely, the thick length stretching her to her limits once again. But this time, there was no teasing, no holding back. You set a relentless pace from the start, driving the toy into her over and over, her blood-slicked back arching beneath you with each thrust.

“Is this what you wanted?” you growled, your hands digging into her hips as you pounded into her, the slick sounds of her arousal mixing with the wet slap of skin against skin. “This is what you begged for, Natasha. Don’t you dare forget it.”

Natasha’s cries filled the room, her body shaking with the force of each thrust, her bound hands straining against the restraints as she tried to hold herself together. But it was impossible—the overwhelming pleasure mixed with the sharp sting of the wound on her back, the lingering burn of your initials carved into her skin—it was all too much.

Her mind was spinning, her body on the edge of breaking as you drove her higher and higher, each thrust sending her spiralling closer to the point of no return. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but feel as you took her completely, owning every part of her.

“You’re mine,” you growled, leaning down to bite the tender flesh of her shoulder, your teeth sinking into her skin as Natasha cried out, her body convulsing beneath you. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” Natasha sobbed, her voice barely coherent as she pressed her cheek into the floor, her body trembling uncontrollably. “I’m yours. I’m yours…”

With one final, brutal thrust, you buried the strap deep inside her, seeing how every inch of her clenched tightly around your toy. You ground your hips against her ass, relishing the sensation of being completely buried within her as Natasha let out a piercing scream, the sound raw and desperate, echoing off the walls of the safe house. Her entire body shuddered violently as she finally came undone, the tension that had been coiling tightly within her exploding like a dam bursting.

You could feel her muscles spasm around the strap, gripping and releasing in a frantic rhythm that would have driven you wild if only you could feel it. Her bound hands clenched into fists behind her back, the fabric of her combat suit wrinkling under the pressure. The blood that had dried on her back glistened in the dim light, a stark reminder of your earlier marks, and the sight sent a surge of satisfaction coursing through you. She was completely at your mercy, and you were more than happy to take what she offered.

“Natasha,” you breathed, your voice low and filled with awe as you watched her writhe beneath you, her body shaking uncontrollably with the force of her orgasm. The intensity of her release rippled through her, making her legs tremble as she fought not to completely melt against the hard fllor, her breath coming in harsh gasps that filled the air with a desperate need.

Her back arched beautifully, the muscles tightening as the pleasure overwhelmed her. You could see the way her skin glistened, every inch of her exposed to you as you leaned forward, relishing the sight of her vulnerability. The way she surrendered completely, her body responding to every thrust, every grind of the strap as you picked up the brutal pace. You were relentless, driven by the need to push her beyond her limits, to take her where she craved to go.

With each powerful thrust, you pressed deeper, seeing the resistance coming from her walls enveloping you in a way that made your own pleasure build alongside hers. The sounds she made were music to your ears—choked sobs and breathy cries that spilled from her lips, each one urging you on, pushing you to claim her more completely.

“Please,” Natasha whimpered, her voice thick with emotion, raw and tinged with exhaustion. “Don’t stop, please. I need more. I need you.”

You obliged, your hips snapping forward with a primal ferocity, driving the strap deeper still, grinding against her soft flesh as you imagined feeling her walls flutter around you. Each thrust sent waves of sensation surging through her, her body responding instinctively, craving more, seeking the high only you chased give her. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you in this moment—lost in a sea of pleasure, pain, and complete submission.

You could see her face, flushed and filled with a mixture of ecstasy and desperation, her eyes glazed over as she teetered on the edge of another wave. The beauty of her submission, the way she let go of everything, made you feel powerful and alive.

“My good girl,” you growled, the words slipping from your lips like honey as you pressed down against her again, forcing her to feel every inch of the strap stretching her open. “You’re such a good girl for Daddy.”

Natasha’s breath hitched at the words, the praise and your self proclaimed title igniting a new fire within her. The sound of her gasping breath filled your ears, mixing with the wet, lewd sounds of your bodies connecting. Her ass pushed back against you, instinctively trying to draw you deeper, wanting every last inch as she moaned, “I’m yours, Daddy. Just yours.”

“Then let it all out, baby,” you coaxed, your voice a low rumble as you continued to rock into her, the rhythm never slowing. “Let me hear you.”

With another thrust, you drove her to the brink once more. You could feel the tight coil of pleasure building inside her again, a wave crashing closer and closer, ready to pull her under. Her body quaked, trembling under the pressure as she gasped out your name, the syllables falling from her lips like a prayer.

“Daddy! Please!” she cried out, her words choked with desperation and need.

And with that, you thrust deeper, pushing her over the edge, flooding her with sensation as she screamed your name. Her body convulsed, waves of pleasure coursing through her as she came hard, her cries echoing in the confined space as you held her against you, the world around you dissolving into nothing but the two of you.

She rode out the wave of her orgasm, her body shaking, the sensation overwhelming and exquisite, each pulse sending aftershocks that rippled through her. You kept thrusting, chasing her high, your own pleasure mounting as you watched her succumb to the bliss that only you could give her.

“Such a pretty girl,” you murmured, your voice thick with satisfaction as you continued to fill her, seeing her clench tightly around you with every aftershock of her release. “You did so well, baby.”

As the last echoes of Natasha’s cries faded into the silence of the safe house, you felt a mixture of satisfaction and something deeper—something that tugged at your chest as you looked down at her. She lay sprawled on the floor, utterly spent, her body still trembling with the remnants of her orgasm. Her skin glistened with a sheen of sweat, the darkening lines of dried blood decorating her back, marking the territory you both shared. The sight of her—so vulnerable, yet so beautiful—made your heart swell with an unexpected tenderness.

You pulled out before kneeling beside her, brushing a few errant strands of hair away from her face. Her lips were slightly parted, her breath coming in soft, uneven puffs. There was a delicate peace about her in that moment, and it stirred something within you. Forgiveness hung in the air between you, a silent understanding that she hadn’t just surrendered physically; she had opened herself to you in a way that transcended the mission you had been so focused on before. (that’s a lie, actually. you had completely forgotten about that.)

You couldn’t help but smile at the thought. Perhaps she had fucked up your plans, but if this was the outcome—if this raw connection was the price for her mistake—then you would gladly take that risk again. The thought of it excited you, igniting a flicker of anticipation for future encounters.

With gentle care, you scooped her up into your arms, cradling her against your chest in a bridal carry. The softness of her body against you felt right, a perfect fit. You moved slowly, mindful of her injuries, your thumb grazing over the fresh marks you had carved into her skin—your initials etched into her, a reminder of the bond you now shared. The corners of your mouth lifted at the thought, a wicked satisfaction curling in your chest.

As you carried her to the adjacent room, the softness of the bed beckoned, a stark contrast to the cold, hard floor where you had claimed her. You laid her down carefully, making sure she was comfortable. She looked so serene, her chest rising and falling rhythmically, and you couldn’t help but linger for a moment, studying her.

But as you gazed at her, you felt a pang of something deeper—a sense of ownership mingled with affection. She was yours, and you were hers. And in that quiet moment, you understood the weight of that connection.

You leaned down, brushing your lips against her forehead, a whisper of a kiss that spoke of promises unspoken. “Rest well, my beautiful warrior,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. You hoped she would remember this moment, the way she had submitted to you, the way she had let go of her walls.

But before you turned to leave, something compelled you to leave a reminder of your bond. You retrieved your knife, the blade glinting softly in the low light, and set it down gently on the bedside table. It was more than just a weapon; it was a symbol—a reminder that you were intertwined, each of you as dangerous and vulnerable as the other.

As you stepped back, taking one last look at her peaceful form, you felt the thrill of anticipation for what was to come. You were drawn to her, and the thought of exploring this connection further filled you with excitement.

“Next time,” you whispered, more to yourself than to her sleeping form, “I’ll make you beg for it again.”

With that final thought lingering in your mind, you slipped out of the room, leaving her behind to recover, the sound of her soft breaths echoing in your ears as you walked away. You knew this wasn’t the end—it was only the beginning.

#romugh slays #romugh writes #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff reader #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #romugh's kt '24 #kinktober #kinktober 2024 #smut #wlw

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skelliko · 5 months ago

Note

Hey skelli! could u write random hcs about rindou and ran as tn's best friends using school theme? If u can, of course nd thank u!

Rindou & Ran Haitani |-° being your best friend's

• being best friends with the Haitani brothers means no one will attempt to bother you. They're basically your protectors/ escape card in almost any situation involving another person

• encourages you to ditch class and roam around the hallways and other places that they had discovered on school grounds

• in some classes ran is forced to sit at the front of the class because of his poor eye sight, other times he has to peek over your desk to copy down what's on the board

• being best friends with the Haitians means constant trips to detention and constant complaints by the teachers cause of skipping detention.

- if something is done behind the teachers back and no one snitches, the teach immediately assumes that it's one of you three even despite trying your best to prove that it wasn't. half of the time y'all are framed

• the Haitians are actually pretty educated, majority of the times their calm in class and it's just that their gang fame and title that always makes them be perceived as a stereotypical 'delinquent that doesn't do well in school'

• rindou somehow always knows the drama that goes on between everyone, every week he always has something new to add on to the previous information that he had gotten or something completely different about a person that you wouldn't expect

• friendly banter but also be prepared to somehow get humiliated either way

• Rindou secretly keeps one earbud in his ear in lessons to listen to music. he has his wired earphones inside of his sleeve and his hand against his face where he then hides the earbud under his hand/hair

• notes will be thrown onto your desk in the middle of class, thinking that something would be written in it you'd open it but instead there's just a childish drawing of you that ran did whilst he was bored

• you have a crush on someone in school? don't worry cause you have ran and rindou to either help you with getting close to your crush or completely ruining it.

• despite ran being practically engaged to his bed and always sleeping- he still complains how tired he is in the mornings and trust, that guy is not a morning person so he gets pissed off at the loud annoying kids that are already running in the halls.

- ran is a fast paced guy whereas Rindou likes to take his time with romance, so asking ran for advice he'd probably tell you to immediately ask them out. but with Rindou he'd tell you to do something that's easier said than done "just talk to them"

- whereas for Rindou despite him being sleep deprived from his lack of sleep routine, he complains the least in the mornings and just goes along with the mornings. though the darkness under his eyes are certainly there under some bright light

• due to the Haitians being popular among the people, there's definitely some thirsty people for them. meaning you'd hear many different stories on how obsessive someone got, how they broke someone's heart, and how much privilege they get. sometimes you even get to read confession letter before they do.

- but cause of your connection to them, you'd be asked favours for other people in terms of "can you tell rindou/ran..." "does rindou/ran...?" "do you know if he...?" ect.

• they always got some sort of insult to say about the teacher, but it's okay cause no one likes them. their insults are pretty creative too, makes you not want to know what they'd say about you if y'all never got along

• ran sometimes purposely 'forgets' his money/food just to steal you's and rindou's lunches instead

• the threatening jokes about telling everyone an embarrassing story about either of you circles around you three on a weekly baisis

• you had a failed relationship? your ex will definitely wish they had done better. it may seem like a good thing but anyone inside of the school that knows your friendly relationship with the haitani brothers; it'll cause some people to avoid you and not in a good way, guess thats a downside.

• the best way to get rindou annoyed immediately would be if you get his glasses dirty by simply pressing your finger print against the lens. its better when he's not wearing them cause it's be easier to smudge them due to him having good reflexes when it comes to people getting too close to him

• little play fights here and there in the hallway that makes the three of you to dash it down the halls and get complaints from the teachers from how loud your echoed running is. it's not often, but when it happens it's hilarious and it usually starts off with some teasing.

• if you're not smart in a subject that they're smart in then be prepared to be teased whilst you copy down their answers of the work you didn't do, cause of their comments you gotta concentrate real hard and ignore their comments to copy the work down, but then one of them would playfully move their book/page across to irritate you

• their handwriting fluctuates a lot in school, sometimes you gotta ask what kind of curse are they trying to write down in their note book. but outside of school where they're not rushed or bored out of their mind- it's pretty neat

• sometimes fights break out between the Haitani brothers and some other delinquents trying to aim for the top, meaning your either pulled/pushed away from the scene or you manage to join in but that's only if it's in a large amount (2 Vs 20) but if it's a small amount (2 Vs 5) then itd be over within a minute and yall go back to doing whatever you were doing before

- it sometimes does ruin some plans that you guys have made causing some shared complaints and irritation

♡---

#tokyo revengers #rindou haitani x reader #ran haitani x reader #rindou haitani #ran haitani #haitani brothers #tokyo revengers haitani brothers #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers fluff #rindou haitani fluff #ran haitani fluff #haitani brothers headcanons #tokyo revengers headcanons #rindou headcanons #ran headcanons

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word-wytch · 3 months ago

Text

Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 17

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 17/? 19k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ Finally alone, tensions come to a head and feelings erupt.

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Chapter CW: smut (18+ nsfw), emotional first time, heated conversations, hurt/comfort, love confessions, heavy petting, dry humping, body worship, unintentional edging, nipple play, cock stroking, piv sex (protected), aftercare

✏︎ For reference, here is a bingo score card map of Teach's apartment

✏︎ Special thank you to @the-unforgivenn @munson-blurbs @rip-quizilla @ladylilylost for holding my hand behind the scenes and rekindling my light with your own on a daily basis.

It was nothing like you had imagined.

In your countless daydreams involving Eddie’s van, it was always things like the breeze gusting through a cracked window, or the bones of his knuckles as they stretched between yours that drew your focus. The details were always fuzzy. Staring into the open passenger door, they were coming into full view now under the yellow interior light. Cigarette butts crowded the ashtray beneath the radio. A nest of candy wrappers cradled naked tapes in the center console. McDonalds bags littered the seat that would soon be yours. Eddie crinkled them into hasty balls beneath his fists, arcing them over his shoulder to clatter against a cymbal somewhere in the back.

“Sorry, I uh, wasn’t expecting company,” he said with a shameful shake of his curls. Bracing the seat cushion, he reached toward the floor before chucking two empty Mountain Dew cans into the rear abyss. French fry crumbs clattered to the weather mat with a brush of his hand against the plaid fabric. Coyly glancing from under his lashes, he sat back in his own seat and gave the space a final look. “Ok, should—should be good now.”

Like an open maw of caramel leather, it could have swallowed you. Securing your thumb under the strap of your bag, your boots left the salty pavement and found the ledge, lifting you out of the darkness and into the dim chaos. With a gracious smile, you slid into your place beside him. The seat was a comfortable cradle at your back; spacious and sturdy. Sliding your bag between your knees and feet, it found a home on top of the fry crumbs and other mysteries you decided not to entertain.

You sat there for a beat as the details enveloped you; the scent of old cigarettes and leather, the stale hint of fast food, the exhaust on the cold night air wafting in through the open door. It squealed on its hinges when you shut it, sealing you behind its jaws as the light above you faded to black.

Then it was just you and him. Just you and him in the dark leather cavern with nothing but the light from the dashboard and the soft floodlights making a halo of his frizz. Nothing but the engine rumbling idly, and the rush of your pulse in your ears. Nothing but short bursts of breath, and eyes that roamed with cautious amazement.

It was strange for Eddie to see you here. You, in the passenger’s seat of his van. Out of your usual context. Surreal, like a dream he’d woken into.

“Thank you,” you muttered into the silence, “for the ride.”

Eddie blinked hard, snapping from his trance. “Yeah—yeah. Sure thing.” Chains rattled against the zipper of his sleeve as he shifted the gear to reverse. Reflexively, his right hand braced your headrest, peering over his shoulder as he slowly backed out. “So uh, where are we going?”

His scent sucked the words off your tongue — the acrid remnants of grease on his fingers, the warm musk of his leather-clad wrist. Tearing your eyes away from his tendons flexing inches from your face, you eked out a response. “Oh—just make a left onto Randolph.”

With a nod, he hit the brake, removing his hand to shift forward toward the parking lot exit. Tail lights caught the soft glitter of snow as your small white sedan faded in the ample side-view mirror. There was a view from up here, like the van was swallowing the pavement as it careened out onto the road. Like you were seated in a leather throne, watching traffic below surge like a sea of subjects on the rush hour wave.

Eddie tapped his hands against the wheel to a nervous rhythm before one of them reached toward the stereo—which might as well have been a button labeled detonate—because the thundering sound could have blasted you both back into 1984.

“SHIT—” he screeched with a manic twist of the volume dial, a stray curl wavering in his ragged breath. “Sorry.”

A laugh bubbled out of you. A wild, cackling thing, as if you were a toy wound up by nerves and the noise had released the crank. It was absurd—surreal—watching traffic lights change from the passenger’s seat in Eddie Munson’s van as Iron Maiden squeaked out the quietest guitar solo you’d ever heard.

Eddie’s shoulders slacked in relief, hand relaxing against the wheel as he breathed a chuckle. The stoplight painted his cheeks even redder, and your spinning world stilled to a single focus as you gasped for air: his wild eyes, glimmering with soft bewilderment like you were an angel or a ghost he’d picked up along the road. Like he was struggling to believe you were real. Like he was struggling to believe you were here.

And just like that it was quiet again. The van rumbled idly beneath your seat, kicking up a smokescreen of exhaust. His soft lips parted and twitched. Straightening your shoulders and dipping your chin, you prepared to receive any words he had to offer. You even thought a soft smile might encourage their release, but nothing came out. The light turned him green, and with a sharp sigh through his nose he shifted his attention back to the road.

Smoothing your hands across the wool in your lap, you chewed at your own stubborn words as you did your bottom lip. But they were too big to make it out. Too loud, even with the rumble of the engine. Instead you cast your attention over your shoulder with a heavy sigh. Lately it was rare to find yourself out past dark. Even rarer that you looked past your own pained reflection in the glass. Passing below you like a panorama, Christmas lights wrapped stout bushes and glowed under a fresh blanket of snow. Plastic reindeers and light-up Santas crowded lawns amongst nativity scenes. Bright colored bulbs wrapped porches and rooftops. Through these dirty windows, you could almost call it beautiful.

“Straight?”

You blinked out of your daydream. “Mhm, until Chester, then make a right.”

Eddie gave a single nod, keeping his eyes on the road. Typically by the time he made it past Melvald’s he would be fumbling in the pocket of his coat, pinching a cigarette out of the box and feeling for his lighter on the dash while his knee kept him out of a ditch. Today he had precious cargo. Chin locked dutifully forward, he still couldn’t keep his eyes from staying, from catching the lights as they danced across your holy form. You were watching them intently, lost in some daydream he could only speculate about. It was a vision he could get used to. Secretly he hoped you’d stay distracted, just a moment longer. Long enough to snap a mental polaroid, to shake it and save it for later. Tension splayed his hands on the wheel, and he firmly adjusted his grip with a slow exhale.

Shifting against the leather beneath you, your fingers found the stitching, running nervously along the smooth piping, filing it somewhere deep in your memory. It was good like this. Cruising like a tall ship above the sea of cars as Eddie palmed the wheel. Feeling his presence in the seat next to you; solid and stable like a captain at the helm. It was better than a dream. Absent of clasped palms and open windows, but rich in realness.

Tin cans rolled hollowly in the back as the van veered right, and you wondered how many other lucky people had been given this place of honor after shows at The Hideout, or parties on the weekend, or long summer nights that bled into day. You could almost picture him pulling up to a gas station; the smoke wafting out of the doors as they opened, the crinkling of Snickers wrappers and cracking of pop cans, the laughter over the roar of the stereo. You were surrounded by remnants of good times past. Closing your eyes, you imagined for a moment that he was taking you somewhere else. Somewhere fun and exciting, somewhere you would surely leave behind remnants of your own.

When the van passed the baseball field and approached the tidy row of lights outside of each apartment door including yours, you wished he would just keep driving. Way out past the farms and forests, straight into the stars. You wouldn’t even look back.

“This lot here,” you gestured as a crushing feeling crept into your chest.

With a solemn nod, Eddie did as he was instructed. He braked and cranked the wheel, drove all the way to the end—to the last apartment on the single-story strip—and pulled into the empty spot in front of it.

You sat there for a moment, idling as the large headlights illuminated a single red door, the number 8 beside it. Suddenly it was like you were a child again, being dropped off at home after a weekend with Janet. It was the same sinking feeling. With a slow exhale, you worried your lip between your teeth.

Eddie killed the engine. His hand splayed the wheel, brows pinching as his thumb dug into the leather with a heavy sigh. Your eyes connected, and the staring match began. It sucked the moisture from your mouth. All you could taste anymore was your heartbeat. All you could see were those eyes—dark and brimming with a million words behind them, almost loud enough to hear. Let me in, they begged. Please, I’m so close.

The door was right there, glowing and red. All it needed was for you to unlock it. Only you could do that. Words wrestled on your tongue. They grappled with each other, flung each other from the ropes and into the ring. You can come in, one side said. Help me find a mechanic. The angel—or was it the devil—pulled that voice into a headlock, gritted thank you, goodbye in a voice that sounded an awful lot like your mother.

Goodness was a mantle. A weight that kept your shoulders back, your lips pressed tight. In the end it was goodness that moved your hand, grabbed the leather from between your legs and slid the heavy burden onto your lap. It was goodness that placed your fingers on the cold plastic handle and pulled.

“Wait—”

There was a sparkle in your eyes. It flickered in the darkness as you turned over your shoulder.

“We need to talk.”

Your fingers left the handle as you settled back into your seat with a sigh. “I know, we do.”

“Like, now.” It was loud and insistent, much more than he intended, but it just leapt out. “I want to talk to you now,” he repeated softer this time, thumb digging into the leather of the steering wheel.

“Okay, yeah. Yeah—no you’re right.” Your stomach did a summersault at the admission.

The knot in Eddie’s gut released slightly. He chewed his lip for a second before continuing. “I mean, we could talk out here I guess but it’s like, twenty degrees out and I’m running low on gas.”

Your front door glowed in the halo of his headlights. He didn’t have to spell it out. You weren’t going to make him. But it had to be him who was asking, because all your lips had space for were four words, pinning their opposition to the mat, buying just enough time to sneak out. “You can come in.” It was quiet, but clear as you tugged the plastic handle, nodding over your shoulder for him to follow.

Eddie’s eyes grew wide, and in an instant he was throwing off his seatbelt, fumbling his keys into his pocket, and scrambling out the door into the cold.

It was like your fingers were moving through molasses, like they’d never held a key before, less found the right one on your keychain, placed it in the slot, and turned. It didn’t help that he was watching so intently, that you could feel his breath in clouds over your shoulder. Still, despite your churning nerves and roaring conscience, one of the voices—whether it was the angel or the devil, you hadn’t decided—rose up in hope as you turned the handle and pushed in.

It was nothing like he had imagined.

Then again, he wasn’t really sure what he had imagined, just that there was something—some sign of life—like posters, or paintings, or something that suggested you even lived here. Instead as you flicked on the lights to the narrow hallway, he saw nothing but white walls. He froze for a moment, glancing down at his boots weeping onto your clean white carpet. He was struck by the impulse to remove them, to preserve the cleanliness of such a sterile environment, but when you kept on walking, the impulse was greater to follow.

In a few strides he was passing a kitchen to his left; plain with a small formica table and chairs. He couldn’t get a glimpse of much else before the hallway emptied into the living room. This space looked slightly more lived in, but barely. There was a crocheted afghan in shades of brown draped over the cream floral couch. A remote and papers on the coffee table. A TV in the center of the room. In the corner by the sliding glass doors were few cardboard boxes labeled with words he couldn’t make out. Even the Christmas tree beside them was bare. It was amazing to him how much nothing there could be in a place somebody lived, how it was even possible. The only piece of furniture that seemed to hold some fragment of personality was the long record cabinet pushed up against the wall to his right. On top there were even a few records leaning between the speakers and the record player. It was hard to make out what they were from the track list on the back, not that he had much time before you turned around.

Eddie Munson was standing in your living room. Right behind the TV. You had to blink a few times to believe it. The dark, broad angles of his shoulders jumped out against the stark wall behind him as if he was a cardboard cutout. Out of place, out of time. He was moving though; stuffing his hands in his coat pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels as he chewed his bottom lip.

You’d really done it now—invited a wolf inside your den. And now you were alone with him. Truly alone. Hidden from the outside world behind a door you’d locked yourself. You could say anything—do anything—you wanted. Fingers moving to the top button of your coat, they froze just as they did when you passed the front closet. As if removing it would render you vulnerable, would encourage him to do the same, encourage him to stay. Goodness drew your fingers from the plastic, tucked them safely inside your pocket.

“Thank you for the ride, I really appreciate it.”

“Yeah, no problem.” He took a step forward, and a knot began to twist low in your belly. “Look, I’m sorry about what I said last week. About it not being a big deal,” he began with a slow, deep breath. “It was like, really fucking stupid a-and just—god,” he pinched the bridge of his nose, “insensitive of me and I’m sorry.”

You could tell he’d really thought about it. By the look in his eyes you were sure it had eaten away at him ever since you’d left him in your classroom. “Thanks, I appreciate the apology.”

His shoulders relaxed a little.

“I’m sorry too, honestly. This whole situation is…” you shook your head, breaking his gaze with a bitter sigh, “a mess. I never—” you sucked your teeth, searching for the words like they were stones on a dark path through the woods. “This is my fault.”

Eddie blinked in disbelief, offering a hollow laugh. “No, it isn’t.”

“No, it is.”

He rolled his eyes, unable to mask his annoyance. “What, like I didn’t ask you out? Ask you to smoke with me? Ask you to kiss me?” The last question lingered in the air between you, hanging for a second before you cut in.

“I should have said no,” you doubled down. “It’s my responsibility—”

“Stop.”

“I never should have put you in this position—”

“STOP.”

“No, it is my fault, Eddie. I’m your—”

“What, you’re my superior?” He strode forward, spitting fire like a volcano. “What like—like I’m some helpless child?”

“No—”

“Then talk to me like I’m an adult, because I am.” He was yelling now. Suddenly it felt like you were shrinking, dwarfed by his imposing silhouette. He must have seen the fear flicker in your eyes because he doubled back, raking his hand through his hair with a ragged sigh. “I’m twenty years old,” he leveled. “I’m twenty years old and still in fucking high school for some reason.”

Folding your arms across your thick coat, your lips twitched but nothing made it out. It was swallowed by the emptiness of the room, by the silence he left you in, by his dark eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t come here to argue, I—” he balled his fist and lowered it with a sharp breath through his nose. “I’ve barely been here five minutes and I’m already fucking everything up.”

Tentatively, your boot met the carpet in front of you, approaching as if he were a wounded animal. “You’re not,” you soothed.

Eddie took a deep breath, eyes smoldering like coal. “I hate this.”

“Yeah, me too,” you stated quietly.

“I hate that has to be like this. That I’m like this and you’re—” he gestured toward you, hand falling dejectedly as if the next word was too painful to speak, “that I can’t—” he swallowed the wavering threatening his voice, “can’t be with you the way I really want to be.”

The heat in his voice could have melted you—leaked you out of your coat, and your boots, and your blouse until you seeped into the carpet. Until there was nothing left but the puddle he had rendered you. “I know,” you breathed. “So do I—”

“Then why don’t we just—?” He stepped forward, a hunger growing in his eyes like he’d glimpsed his first meal in days. Like he wanted to devour you.

And you wanted it. More than you cared to admit. The heat creeping up your neck didn’t lie, but your feet were far more self-preserving, treading backwards on the carpet. “It’s dangerous.”

He took a deep breath, straightening his shoulders with a frustrated sigh. “You know what, how ‘bout I just drop out?”

“Eddie—”

“No, really. As soon as we come back from break.”

You shook your head, pulse pounding in your temples. “I can’t let you do that.”

“Why not? It would solve the problem, wouldn’t it?”

Your coat was suddenly suffocating, the room closing in like the narrowing space between you as he encroached with another step. “No. I’m supposed to be helping you a-and now I’m just getting in the way.”

Eddie fumed, nostrils flaring. “Getting in the way of what, some stupid piece of paper? I mean what the fuck do I need a diploma for anyway?” He gave a hollow laugh. “W-what you think I’m gonna be like, a doctor or some shit?”

His words were like daggers, aimed at himself but they sank into you. “It’s important to you. I know it is because you would have dropped out a long time ago if it wasn’t. I’m not gonna let you throw that away. Not when you’re this close. Not for me.”

The anger was rising again, building like steam in his chest. “Then what do you want me to do? Stay in school, risk your job?”

You paused for a moment, eyes flicking back and forth over the carpet. “Even if you did drop out, how do you think that would look to this whole town? You suddenly drop out of school and then… what? We just happen to start dating? You don’t think that would raise a few eyebrows? Most of my coworkers know that I’m tutoring you. It’s easy to put two and two together. People talk.”

Eddie heaved a sigh, glaring at the tidy stack of papers on your coffee table, the neatly folded afghan on your couch, suddenly swallowed by the order, the evidence of both of your positions. “Then what should we do?” He felt like he was on trial, like you held a wooden hammer, like he was waiting for it to fall.

In the end, all you could offer was your honesty, like a hollow whisper. “I don’t know.”

It sunk like an arrow in his chest, shocked him with the depth of its sting. “Why not?” The words just shot out, and the pinch in your brow let him know where they landed. “I’m sorry—I mean of course I know why not—like practically speaking but—” His retort was drying up on his tongue, pounding feebly in his chest. “I just thought that, I mean we both—we both have feelings for each other.” A tangible pain flickered in his eyes. “Don’t we?”

“Yes, but—” The words caught in your throat at the sight of him. Those enormous almond eyes that haunted you whenever you closed yours. The way his lips twitched and trembled and begged you to capture and still them. And those hands, capable of so many things. Under stage lights they were sure and nimble, plucking complex melodies with ease and precision. Under fluorescents they fumbled carelessly, left everything they touched either bent, broken, or beaten. Did you trust them to protect you? Trust them with your career, your reputation, your heart? Did he know what he was truly asking you? When you finally collected the words, they came out low, and quivering. “You could ruin me.”

He wasn’t sure what hurt more, the fear in your eyes or the sting of your mistrust. Eddie took a step forward, placing a hand on his chest in earnest. “I would never do that.”

Anger startled you as it rose up, clawing its way out of the grave you buried it in when you slammed your car door shut outside the pawn shop. “I’ve known you for four months, Eddie.” Your lips formed a hard line, tears threatening behind your eyes as you gestured to the boxes in the corner. “I knew him for five years.”

Eddie seethed, a fury rising in his chest at the man who’d hurt you, at the whole situation. “I can’t change that,” he snapped. “I wish I could. I wish I could just-just wave my hand and make it all better. I wish—” he breathed a hollow laugh, “that everything was different. That we’d met at some bar and I was some—some… I don’t know, just some guy instead of some fuckup who needs your help with his chemistry homework.” His voice betrayed him, fracturing the last few words. He swallowed, tears welling behind his eyes. After a deep breath, he finished. “I wish I could change a lot of things, but I can’t. All I can do is ask for you to trust me because the only thing I want in this world is a chance to show you how much I love you.”

The words bloomed in your chest, stung behind your eyes, hung like the aftershock of a bomb in the space between you. All your life you had wanted so many things. All of them ended up stored in boxes, sitting in drawers, held in secret daydreams. Remnants collecting dust. Fantasies no one would ever know. Eddie Munson stood there in your living room and told you that he loved you, and never in your whole entire life did you want something as badly as you wanted to believe him. To tell him that you loved him too. To crash into his arms and never leave. But fear held its icy grip, kept you frozen in place. Tears burned behind your eyes but you buried them too. “Those are big words, Eddie,” you whispered.

Molten feelings churned in his gut, came spewing out before he could stop them. “I’m not illiterate,” he snapped.

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know what this probably looks like to you,” he wavered hotly, nostrils flaring as his mouth became a thin, hard line, though his eyes were welling and wounded. “That—that I’m just some young, reckless guy who has the hots for his—” the last word caught in his throat.

“I don’t think that,” you whispered.

“Then what do you mean?”

The pain in his voice fractured the ice around your heart. “I just...” You breathed a deep sigh, searching for the words in the carpet before meeting his gaze again. “I just need to make sure you mean them, like really mean them, because—” your voice snagged. Through the hot blur, you glanced at your full moving boxes. Your empty Christmas tree. Your empty walls. Empty as the day you left Indianapolis. Empty as the day you moved in. “I can’t do this again.”

The crack in your voice could have shattered him, much less the image of you, shrinking in your stiff wool coat, swallowed by the sparseness of the room. You, trembling like prey, smaller than he’d ever seen you.

“I mean them,” he uttered hotly. “I can’t do anything about your position, or mine, or your past, or how difficult this is for both of us. But…” he drew a deep breath, treading his words like rocks on a river. “I want you to give me a chance. A chance to be like—like a real person with you. Someone who can take you on a real date a-and—” The rest of it snagged in his throat, eyes welling as he swallowed back tears. He clenched his hand into a fist. Steadying himself with a deep, convicted breath, he continued. “I promise you will never have to worry—at least about how I feel—because I love you. And I mean it.” He let it hang in the air for a moment, straightening his shoulders. “All I’m asking for is a chance to show you.”

You closed your eyes, tears cascading down your cheeks as you stifled a sob. When you opened them to a blurry room, Eddie was standing there, waiting for you. In your whole life you could count on one hand all the truly bad things you’d ever done. This, by any technical account, would be the worst of them all by a long shot. But when you searched your heart for the right answer, all you could find were fragmented dreams of the wind in your hair, and your feet on the dash, and his hand clasped in yours, and the wild open road, and every soft, quiet want you had ever locked away. When you finally opened your mouth, all you could manage were two words—broken, half-whispered, terrifying, and true. “Show me.”

Swiftly, like a summer wind, Eddie crossed the room in two quick steps, snatched your face in both his hands, and kissed you. And just like that you were swept away. Stunned and breathless and whole all at once. Crushed between his hands and mouth, hot tears pinching through your lashes to cascade over the rough pads of his thumbs. You blindly grasped for him, fisting the leather of his coat to keep him from evaporating, to keep you from floating away. An exhale shook from both of you—wet and shuddering—as he parted just a fraction, just enough to capture you again. You melted there against his lips, wept like melting snow into his palms, dripping toward the carpet as his thumbs swiped the remnants from your cheeks. It was sniffling and sloppy, messy and real, and here—in the absence of bells, and desks, and lights that made everything wrong—it was the rightest thing that you had ever known.

With both his agent hands, Eddie kissed you for every time he wanted to but couldn’t. A thousand fervent daydreams pressed against your lips. One for every time he saw you in the hall, every time you’d brushed against his arm, every time you’d looked at him with kindness when everyone else saw a freak and a waste of their time.

“I love you,” you whispered against his lips. A shallow sob escaped through the corners of his mouth and you kissed it away, thumbs soothing over his wet cheeks. “I love you.” Kiss. “I love you.” Kiss. “I love you.” And you meant every word.

Eddie stilled against the bridge of your nose and sighed, eyes closed, relishing as the words washed over him like a balm. Your breath mingled in soft pants as you rocked against his forehead, swaying to a rhythm only the two of you could hear. As if on cue, you opened your eyes together and were swallowed by two massive brown spheres.

His thumbs gave your cheeks another swipe before dropping from your face, and yours did the same. You both took a moment to reset yourselves, wiping your eyes and noses on your palms and sleeves, soft chuckles escaping through giddy, disbelieving smiles at one another. His lashes were wet and clinging in a way that made him impossibly more beautiful.

Until now, your touch had belonged to the shadows. A timid trek across the ridges of his knuckles under the cover of a desk. A fenced exploration over the landscape of his ribs in the dark outside The Hideout. Now—in the gentle glow of the lamp beside your couch—you boldly cupped his face with both your hands.

He was real, all of a sudden. The oval face that shot you smirks in the hallway and haunted your waking dreams, now here in the palms of your hands. Dragging your thumbs over the apples of his cheeks, they dimpled with a smile. Warm and flush in the golden light, softer than you’d ever imagined. Every subtle angle of his face, drawn together to make him—the ridge of his jaw under your fingertips, the phantom brush of stubble as you traced it. With gentle awe, your thumbs grazed over the crinkles in the corners of his dark, roving eyes. Real. Here. Yours. Now.

“I read your assignment,” you softly admitted.

Eddie’s eyes widened with a gentle puff through his nose. “Oh yeah, how’d I do?” he murmured playfully. “B minus? I mean I didn’t exactly finish so it’s probably more like a—“

You silenced him with your lips. After a breathless, five second eternity, you parted with a heavy smack and looked him dead in the eyes. “A plus.”

Eddie melted between your palms. Trailing your hands down the soft contours of his cheeks, jaw, and neck, they flattened against his chest for a moment as it rose and fell beneath his black hoodie; steady and strong. He glanced down at your hands through gentle lashes, and then back up at you. With a coy flick of your eyes, you slipped up and over his shoulders, fingers diving under the silken liner of his coat. With both palms, you traced the strong angles, guiding the leather off of them until it thudded to the floor.

There was a single beat before he kissed you. Hard. Drawing the air from your lungs and the sense from the rest of you. When his tongue asked for admission there was no hesitation. You let him in, parting your lips to accept his wet heat, swept away by his current—breaking and cresting over and over. Hands hanging limply at your sides, he captured and devoured you, drawing you into his maw with every slip of his tongue against yours.

Your chest lurched forward as he tugged the buttons of your coat, working them from the thick wool eyelets with an urgency that bordered on frustration with the garment’s existence. His lips parted slightly as he glanced down, noses still touching, panting into the fractional distance as the eagerness of his fingers threatened the strength of the thread. Your mantle fell to the floor in a heap, and his hands—greedy and splayed at your waist—pulled you close.

His kiss came in waves, taking you under, again and again. It was the most delicious thing, to drown. To go slack and let the slick heat of his mouth take you under. You were learning to love drowning. Learning to love the darkness and the lack of air, the crushing of his body, the lapping of his mouth—bringing you to surface just enough before plunging back in. It was safe, to drown with him.

Both hands twisted into his hair, tugging with fervent desperation as need rose up in you like a bubble that had been trapped at the bottom of the ocean, so sudden and consuming. Your teeth dragged along his bottom lip, tugging the plush membrane with a boldness that earned you a groan, a tightening of hands around your waist, a warm, wet tongue which you eagerly accepted. Yours danced against the gummy muscle, tasting everything—the hint of acrid smoke, the wistful sighs that echoed in the cavern of your mouth, the satisfied fulfillment of being truly alone.

His hands were burning through your blouse, splayed open at your waist like he was trying to make contact with every atom, pulling you so close it stifled your breath. There was a whole landscape here, a hill under your soft red cardigan where your back dipped toward your spine. He trekked it with his fingers, up and over, back and forth, feeling the muscle bend to his touch, and the subtle arch in your back when he did.

A feeling prickled through him. Up through his fingers, low in his belly. Desire—so familiar, and yet foreign as it ignited in a way that satisfied this time. There was something else too, rippling through his chest, seating somewhere in his sternum as he dipped his fingers—just the middle and ring—beneath the wool barrier of your skirt. The zipper grazed his knuckles, and he tasted something even sweeter than the strangled moan that ushered past your tongue:

Power.

He did it again. Pressing his fingers into the curve of your spine, splaying beneath the wool and pulling back in a firm grip around the muscle of your lower back, letting his fingers drag firmly over your skin like he was trying to claw through the cotton.

It burned in a slow, delicious way. Burned in a way that made you dizzy, made your pulse jump from your throat and thrum in that low, forbidden place, beating life into a space that could no longer be ignored. You clenched your thighs together, arching your back at the demand of his touch, dipping your tongue into his sopping mouth as a helpless sigh escaped you.

He lapped it up eagerly. Again, fingers splaying, clawing, burning. Like a sorcerer weaving a spell through the fabric—drawing you nearer, making you pliant. He met your sighs with approving hums. Bright, like the timbre of his voice, but the color was deeper, thick with a coaxing desire. They slipped down your throat like water in a desert, leaving you thirsty for more.

There was an animal in you. Eager and starving. Pawing at his chest as his lips slid between yours in a rhythmic cadence. His hand burned at your back, clawing with insistence, warring with the few remaining shreds of his decent will. You obeyed with a cant of your hips, more than was proper, more than was chaste. Your rational mind flickered in for a moment, but the throaty, approving hum it earned you and solid mass of his waist molding and conforming to yours hushed it quickly.

Eddie nipped at your bottom lip—testing, eager. A tingling rush flooded your core, tugged at your wrists like marionette strings, draped them over his shoulders and around his neck. Do it again, you begged with an arch of your back, pressing your chest to the contours of his. Eddie obliged with a drag of his teeth.

There was an animal in him too. Stirred by rocking of your hips, taunted by your boldness. It was like a waking dream, more unbelievable than any fantasy he’d ever had. You, draped around him like a doll, begging him to play. Boldly, he splayed his hand, starting between your shoulder blades and dragging firmly down your soft cardigan as he traced the length of your spine. You, bending like a string on a guitar, molded by his touch to sing the sweet release of your sigh. It ghosted hotly on his tongue, swirled in the pit of his belly. What other melodies were locked inside, waiting for his hand to be expressed?

Boldly, he breeched the barrier of your skirt, palming past the ridge of rough fabric, down, slowly down, over the mound of your rear. He rested there, grabbing with the full spread of his hand. It was sinful, how taught and plump the muscle was, how he’d watched it move for countless days from his station in the back of your classroom, eyeing how it shifted as you leaned on tired feet, etching words onto the board while he memorized your figure. Eddie tightened his grip, drawing upward, letting the swell of it pinch through his grasp.

Music—in the gasp of your mouth against his, the quick suck of air hushed by his lips, relinquished in a sigh. Guiding you closer, rocking you into him with the strength of his wrist, repeating the motion, reveling in the waves he made with every grapple of his palm.

The ice in you was melting, tingling to life like a limb half asleep, radiating through the pinch of his hands to that dormant place again. He was using both of them now—spreading and massaging as his tongue probed deeper. Your arms relaxed, limp on his sturdy shoulders, eyes closed, letting him do as he pleased—mold you like putty in his palms. Letting him lead you with the dance of his lips. Letting him sway you to his own silent rhythm. Letting him, letting him.

It was like a waking dream to feel him in this way. To feel the angles of his body rock into yours, timed with the rhythm of his mouth. Such sensual movements coming fromthe man whose heated glances often gave you pause to wonder. It was a fantasy you could get lost in. Words—as they had been since you had met—were too bold, too brash, too loud. But here, you could tell him anything you wanted. So you told him, whispered the deep desires of your heart with a slow grind of your pelvis. He answered with a moan—sticky sweet, rippling across your tongue and down your throat.

Your arms released slightly from their seat atop his shoulders, unable to mask your delight in the softness of his curls against your wrists and fingers, how the ringlets slipped through them like silk. How desperately you’d longed to touch them. How suddenly evident that was.

It felt so good to feel him with the wholeness of your hands—free now to wander wherever they pleased. Possessed by the animal stirring inside you, they padded up the ridges of his neck, tangled in the hair at the nape and tugged.

Eddie groaned into your mouth, surprise and delight ghosting hotly on your tongue. It jolted in the space between your legs, aching alive with every movement of his body, every sigh and sound. It ached for more, curious about what else you could coax out of him. Breaking from his lips, yours traveled south, over and under the ridge of his jaw, delighting in the barely-there brush of sandpaper stubble as you tracked it, the way he tipped his head to expose the pale column of his neck.

His scent was so present here—concentrated, rich, and sweet all at once, clinging to him in the delicate oils of his skin and hair. It spoke to you in a silent language, one that the animal in you was fluent in. Heady and intoxicating with green lights, and safety, and irrepressible desire. You pressed your lips to his neck, inhaling deeply as his pulse thrummed with life beneath them. It was a chaste and reverent gesture, honoring his life-force with your mouth as you trailed slowly down.

Eddie sighed at the contact, closing his eyes, presenting his neck to you like a feast. It occurred to him here—in the fuzzy, swirling mush his brain was becoming as the blood rushed south—that he had never been kissed like this before. So reverently and lovingly, as if you painted worship with your lips.

Tendons rippled as he swallowed, and the animal in you stirred to gather a taste. Starting with kitten licks, innocent flicks of your tongue peppered between kisses against his beating flesh, so salty and musky and sweet. His chest dipped in a sudden exhale against yours. Tightening your grip in his silky curls, you angled him to you, jaw unhinging with a mind of its own before swiping a long, greedy trail up his tendons.

“Ohh—” The sound leapt out of Eddie’s throat, surprising even himself. Not that he would have wanted to catch it. He wanted to let you know, wanted to ensure that you continue.

You tasted the velvet vibration under your tongue. Felt the release of his hands, the warmth at your waist, dipping under your cardigan to feel you as closely as he could. Buried in the shadow of his hair and scent, you continued your trek—licking and kissing while his palms pressed you closer.

Eddie was turning to putty by the second, all logical thoughts escaping out his rushing ears like steam. The animal was stirring below his belt; stretching and yawning, tingling awake. Suddenly he was clawing at the starchy cotton barrier, digging up the fabric from where it was secured beneath your skirt.

The air was cool all of a sudden there, tingling from exposure but quickly soothed by a clammy warmth. The animal in you preened, arched into his touch, dizzy from the contact with your skin. It bared its teeth, dragging them slowly along the column of his neck with the next pass of your lips.

“Oh fuck,” Eddie groaned, unsure in his haze whether it was from the rush of your teeth or the bareness of your flesh under his fingers. Finally. Lids twitching as his eyes rolled back in his head, a memory flickered in—a bustling, crowded hallway. You, standing front of his locker clutching books in your arms. Him, ushering you forward. The first time he’d ever touched you here. He had stored the memory away safely, memorized the dip of your waist under his palm, played it over and over until it wore out like an old tape. Your skin was alive under his fingers now—smooth and warm and real and reacting.

With one hand resting on his shoulder, your other twisted deeper into his hair. Silk between your fingers, nails grazing up the back of his skull. You mumbled nonsense into the wet trail of his neck, nipping and kissing and licking, tasting his swallow as his hand splayed across your skin. There was a whisper of perspiration at his hairline as the room became incredibly hot all of a sudden.

You were reacting. Arching under his fingers, growing bolder and bolder with every pass of your mouth across that incredibly sensitive spot. It made him dizzy, stupid. Absolutely set his blood on fire. With a slow, upward swipe, his hand climbed the column of your spine—up, up, up—until his fingers grazed the clasp of your bra. Jesus Christ. It was hardly the first time he’d touched a bra, but it was your bra, and you were the one reacting beneath it.

Eddie was reacting too. He could feel himself unfurling in his boxers, rising fully to attention. God damn it, Munson. It’s just a bra for crying out loud. But there was no hope of taming it now, not when your teeth were grazing that sensitive spot that made his entire body flush with heat. It throbbed as your tongue dipped below the collar of his shirt, your hips so dangerously close. He wasn’t exactly ready to give you an anatomy lesson, fearful it scare you with its realness somehow.

But you were gone, lost in the smoke-acrid scent of his clothing, in the salt of his skin yielding under your tongue, in the hiss of his breath as it left his lungs. Lost in the warmth of his hand sliding down your bare spine. Pressing raw, wet kisses to the humming stretch of his neck, you concluded that you couldn’t feel nearly enough.

You captured his mouth again, and this time the kiss was open and hungry, sweeping and led by your tongue. Hands breaking from around his shoulders, you trailed over the firm swell of his pecks, down his ribs, around his waist. You pawed down his back with a slow, greedy swipe, admiring the firmness of his muscles under the thick cotton, the way his hips tilted from the pressure as you neared his belt. You did it again, more pressure this time, trekking your pelvis upward across the landscape: stiff denim zipper, steel belt buckle, and—

A hard jab to the hip.

Eddie gasped into your mouth and drew back in horror, lips gaping and sputtering the beginnings of an apology. “I—um—”

Your eyes flicked down at the tent in his jeans, unable to stop yourself. “It’s—it’s ok, we were just—”

“Yeah I know, but—” he swallowed, face like a roaring furnace under your gaze. His hand twitched with the impulse to cover himself, but he redirected it behind his neck, wringing it through his hair with an embarrassed laugh. “I got a bit carried away.”

Your eyes shot back up to his and you fought to keep them level. “No, it—it was me. It’s ok, we can stop—”

“I don’t want to,” Eddie blurted out.

Your eyes widened, lips parting as the gravity of his words set in. It was suddenly quiet enough to hear the clock ticking in the corner, the heat rushing through the vents in the floor.

“I think that’s um,” he sucked his lip, glancing to the side before meeting your gaze again, “kind of the problem.”

The look in his eyes was darkly threatening, brimming with a wild heat. A feeling stirred deep in your core, something like fear but it fluttered and trembled like yearning.

“We can if you do though—want to stop, I mean.”

It was suddenly so real—Eddie Munson standing in your living room, offering himself to you in this very bad way. You wanted to think you’d be good, but as the words left his kiss-swollen lips, all you could think about was how badly you wanted to know how it felt.

Eddie just stood there, forcing his shoulders back against the fear closing in around his heart as he awaited your possible rejection. He followed your eyes as they slowly scanned his form, flushing under your gaze, suddenly so aware of himself. It was a look he’d never seen on you before, a heat that simmered beneath curious amazement.

He wanted you to look.

In all your years of discipline, there had always been a series of events in between you and a moment like this. Coffees, dinners, chaste kisses outside the door of your apartment. It was a long time before you let anyone in, and even still, it had only been one man. One whose cues and advances had become familiar. Predictable. Monotonous. Boring.

You wondered what he looked like under there; that forbidden line protruding under denim, attentive and alert, made ready by your touch. An offering to you, if you would have it. You thought about his skin under the bulk of that sweatshirt as his chest rose and fell, how good it would feel pressed to yours in the dark. How you ached to feel him move in that way. How badly you wanted to know. So terribly bad.

Finally, you whispered the truth. “I don’t want to stop.”

Eddie’s eyes widened, face falling in near disbelief. Suddenly he felt like a dog that caught a car.

Show me, your voice echoed in his mind as the carpet, and your records, and your tree came into focus. Show me, as the lamp beside your couch painted your features with soft anticipation. Suddenly, a dam broke, flooding him with images of Fs thrown face up on a small desk in front of him. Of folded arms and disapproving glares. Of a corner somewhere with his back to his classmates as they played with blocks and snickered as he sulked in time-out.

Show me.

The memories coiled in his belly like a serpent, struck him with a fear that if he did, you might be disappointed. But the way you were looking at him—like a virgin on prom night with your wide eyes and fingers tangled in a knot in front of you—made it all subside.

Slowly, he closed in, umber eyes flickering with a blended hue of want and trepidation. His hand came to your cheek, delicate fingers tracing your jaw as if you would disintegrate beneath his touch. When you didn’t, his thumb grew bold enough to swipe across the apple, palm sure enough to cup your face, angling it upward to meet his lips. It was chaste. Reverent. Different, somehow, than any other kiss you’d shared. His exhale mingled with yours as you melted against his mouth, hand snaking around your waist to pull you close. Every angle of you against every angle of him. No gaps.

And then he showed you. Open mouthed, tongue scooping in a desperate rhythm with yours. The kind of kiss that left you bruised and breathless. You tasted every aching unsaid word between you, cupping his face to capture all of them. Tasted the power of his want, the demand of his tongue dancing against yours. The taste was deep, heady and complex with the knowing where all of this was heading. He showed you with his palms, clawing at the fabric of your blouse, bunching it up to slip his eager hands beneath it.

He showed you with a roll of his pelvis, hardness pressed against your hip, splitting your mouthes into a shared sigh from the satisfaction of the friction. It rippled through every dormant part of you, blooming deep and low. Heat raced to your cheeks, heart thumping in the cage of your chest. It occurred to you then, how deeply love and fear were intertwined. How tangled fascination was between them. How desperate you were for him to show you. Desperate to feel every inch of him. Desperate to experience it all. You responded with a tilt of your hips, reveling in the feeling of his length as it dragged, in the delicious sin of it all. And his touch transformed you, made that deeply-buried need rise up in you full-force.

You kissed him deeply. Eyes closed, swaying under the direction of his palms, tongue dancing in time to his rhythm. How good it felt to just be led, how satisfying his leadership tasted. Abandoning all thoughts, listening only to the soft desires of the animal in you. Yes. Good. More, it whispered. You arched your back, grinding your pelvis sinfully along his length, lost in the feeling.

Eddie was gone. Consumed. Possessed. Directed solely by the need to feel that delicious friction spark and soothe. He braced you, tightly gripping your rear, guiding your movements just how he wanted. Suddenly—as if something snapped in his brain—he was pivoting you in a 180 motion to trade places. Lips breaking only to glance where he was going, he backed you into the wall shared by your kitchen.

“Mmnh!” The noise was pressed out of you as your back met the solid surface. Eddie descended on you, lips locking with your neck, pelvis pressing you firmly to the wall. His hand wandered down your right leg, hiking it up around his hip for better leverage. And you just let him. Pliant like prey, encouraging his savage nature with your sounds.

It was a position you had never been in before—skirt pooling at your hip, thigh-high stockings and panties exposed like a scene from a book you’d gotten in trouble for reading back when you were in high school. It was something you’d resigned to fantasy, to dog-eared pages illuminated by a flashlight under your blankets. Suddenly you were on the cover—chin tipped toward the ceiling, head dragging against the plaster as Eddie trailed a dizzying path down your neck. He pressed you into the wall with a grind of his pelvis, dragging his stiffness along your most intimate seam. You groaned, eyes rolling into the back of your head as the last remaining shred of goodness dissolved. What was left spoke only the language of desire. A language that felt native, yet foreign, like one you learned before words. Before rules and desks and pencils and report cards and curfews and diplomas. Before your goodness forced you to forget.

It almost hurt, in the best way though—his fingers digging into your thigh, the muscles threatening to cramp as you squeezed your heel under his ass to hold your position, sweat tingling the back of your knee. A fair price for how good he felt there. Even under the barrier of the stiff denim, you could feel the way he tapered off, the fat ridge of his cockhead as it rutted over your mound. Firm and insistent.

There was a fire in you—alive and insatiable. Stirred awake with every pass of his hips, by the look on his face when you met his eyes—savage and dark, pinching in pleasure, mouth hanging open like he wanted to devour you. His curls were a curtain between you and the light, a shadow both of you could hide in, swaying in his ragged breath. You snaked a hand over his shoulder, tangled it in his mane and gripped hard at the back of his head.

The sound he made was somewhere between a purr and a whine, thick and desperate as he met flesh below your ear again. It rushed through every cell of your body—dizzying, pulsing through the veins in your hand as you raked your fingers across his scalp. You arched against the wall, straining to present your neck to him.

It was almost too much. You, in his clutches, writhing under the drag of his teeth, the scent of your skin and clothes, the tingle of your nails against the base of his skull. Eddie’s hand wandered down your thigh, swept up in the current of that doughy flesh and the mound of your cunt with only cotton and denim between you. He broke from your neck to get a look at you—stiff blouse disheveled, wool skirt rumpled, skin sinfully exposed, that heavy-lidded, fucked-out look you wore better than all of it. All by his doing. Your breaths exchanged in silence for a moment as his pelvis kept the pace; slow and undulating. His mouth became a gaping O, brows pinching as he reached the apex of his movement before drawing back again.

There was a scent hanging in the air between you. Warm and heady. Deep and complex. One you recognized surely as your own. It was emanating from under your skirt, from that slick, throbbing place. Heat burned your cheeks as Eddie inhaled deeply through his nose, eyes pinching, mouth parting in recognition.

You. So warm and rich and you. Even through the barriers he could feel a slickness, a non-resistance as he thrusted upward over your mound. It drove him absolutely crazy, made the part of his brain that spoke only the language of friction and pheromones take over, made him tingle and twitch and clench with that tell-tale sign of immanent conclusion. Eddie had to brace the wall, close his eyes, collect himself before he lost all sense of control.

“Oh Jesusfuck—” he panted, “I—ohgod—mmm-hmm-hmm—” Eddie trailed off with a crazed and slightly nervous chuckle, biting his lip as he mustered every fleeting ounce of self-control to draw back from the edge. His cock protested, weeping furiously at the denial. Blood was racing through him at an alarming rate. Sweat tingled his forehead, his chest, his hand still locked under your knee. The animal in him was chomping at the bit, pleading for him to unlatch his belt, undo his zipper, push aside those white cotton panties and slide home. He stiffened his jaw. Clawing into the wall, he hung his head with a sigh. “I want you,” he gritted. “You want me?”

The words throbbed. Buzzed. Ached. You looked up at him fuzzily and responded without a second thought. “Yes.”

“Here?” he breathed before sobering to his own suggestion. “Fuck—sorry.”

The lewd heat of his question sent a pulse deep and low, a question that the animal in you had no qualms about answering. But the human in you wanted so much more.

“Forget I asked that, I’m just—hah.” He lowered your leg with a deep sigh. Delicate curls clung to the sides of his neck, tingling from perspiration. He cleared them with a wring of his hand, chest heaving beneath a sauna of clinging cotton. “Just need to cool down.” Suddenly he was tugging up sweatshirt from behind his shoulder blades, pulling it up and over his head. It hit the floor with a thud. His shirt went with it.

He stood there for a moment, filling the silence with his breath as you drank him in; a landscape of smooth, pale skin. You swallowed a rush of feelings coursing through you at the prospect of his bareness. A whole new world to your eyes. Ink mapped the space under his collarbone. Delicate curls dusted the valley between his pecks—subtle hills which plateaued to rows of heaving ribs. You followed the trail of dark hair below his navel until it disappeared beneath his belt. A breathtaking vista.

His skin drew you in like a magnet. Stepping into the sphere of his radiant heat, you traced the swell of his pecks with your fingertips, flattening your palms against the smooth, warm terrain. His heart pounded beneath them. Living, breathing, and bare. With a coy, tentative finger, you traced a path over the ink beneath his collarbone, offering a soft chuckle at the cartoon zombie there.

“I think he likes you,” Eddie joked, mentally kicking himself the moment he said it. But your smile only grew.

“That’s good, I think I like him too,” you offered playfully, tracing the lines of its wispy hair as your teeth caught your bottom lip.

“Good, ‘cause uh,” Eddie snaked a hand around your waist, eyes crinkling warmly, “he’s not going anywhere.” His words were so suddenly earnest, trailing to almost a whisper.

You melted, eyes flitting to his with a foreign but effortless sultriness as your fingers walked the ridge of his collarbone down into the valley between his pecks. You raked over the delicate curls dusting the path, nails dragging bluntly against his skin. A wonder to explore.

Eddie’s expression darkened at the gesture, filled with a sudden awareness of his own body, his own solid strength reflected back at him through your eyes. Carding your fingers through the whisper of hair, you flashed him a glance before trailing lower. The sensitive skin of his stomach rippled softly under your touch before you hopped the ridge of his navel, entering new territory.

Thick, dark hair spread between your fingers—down, down over the swell of his belly, following the trail until it disappeared below his belt. There was a hesitance, a coyness that colored your pause before you tucked them curiously beneath it, feeling soft curls against your knuckles. Eddie swallowed thickly, eyes growing wide with anticipation, flitting to yours like a dare.

A strange, thrilling darkness coursed through your hand, gripped his belt buckle and tugged. You were mesmerized by the flex of his abs, by the buck of his hips in response. His nostrils flared, and a sharp puff ghosted over your arms. The tip of his cock almost grazed your palm, flexing against the black denim, perfectly outlined, flooding you with that darkness again. Pulsing deep and low, it bared its teeth and purred its next command.

You obeyed, dropping your hand to the space between his legs. Eddie’s breath hitched, hands freezing in flexed position at his sides. The denim seam stretched out like a runway beneath your fingertips, bulge heavy and round on either side, hot and humid. It was sinful, the way his balls drew upward under your touch, how clearly you could feel their outline, their weight. It filled you with that irresistible darkness, a badness that swelled as your hand trailed upward. His anatomy was evident even through his jeans—roughly six inches, stiff and thick, veering off to the side to seek space inside the tight cage. The ridge of his tip plumed under your palm, fat and damp as your fingers trailed behind. You swallowed, throbbing at the realness of it all.

Eddie hissed, rapidly disintegrating as he watched your hand trace his cock like it was the most mesmerizing thing you’d ever seen. And it was. Watching him fall apart as your fingertips reset themselves under his package, as they drew slowly across every aching inch. The way he twitched as you neared his leaking tip, the strangled sound trapped behind his bitten lips. You pressed against him firmly, dizzy from how sinful this all was, from the ridge of his tip so evident under the denim, from how badly you ached to feel it raw, feel it sink between your thighs and fill you. A purr rippled in the back of your throat as you offered him another slow stroke, pausing at the tip to draw a slow, firm circle with your thumb.

“Holy fuck—“ he breathed, tipping his head back toward the ceiling as his most sensitive nerve endings wept alive. He was desperate—for you, for your touch, for any friction you could offer. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he should stop you. But that voice was distant, tiny, barely a whisper. What was louder was the rush of satisfaction emanating from under your thumb.

The darkness was growing in you—coiling in your abdomen and stretching through your fingers as you watched his Adam’s apple bob with a thick swallow. Fluid seeped through the denim, and your contact with it flooded you with feelings that made you want to rub harder, faster, to draw other things out of him.

A strangled groan caught in the back of his throat as Eddie tried to tamper down the feelings rising up in him again. The ones that tightened deep within his body, made him twitch and buck his hips to seek your hand. The friction was delicious, overdue, a feeling he was both desperate and fearful to chase.

“Mmm, yeah?” you purred with a voice you almost didn’t recognize, sliding your thumb right under his heart-ridge where it met his shaft, rubbing up and down in short bursts.

“Yeah,” he choked. It was his favorite spot. The one that sent fireworks straight to his brain, made his brows pinch and knees turn to jelly. He closed his eyes, lost in the feeling, drifting away until the sudden absence of your hand had his eyes snapping open. He whined, flooded with equal parts relief and disappointment.

The rise and fall of his stomach had your body suddenly—violently—crying out for the warmth of his skin against yours. Fumbling with the top button of your cardigan, you slipped it free, working the others until it peeled off of you to join Eddie’s sweatshirt on the floor. Heart hammering with eager anticipation, your fingers met the starch of your blouse.

“Wait—”

You froze over the top button.

“I wanna do it,” he uttered.

Hands falling to your sides, you granted him permission with a dip of your chin.

Slowly, delicately—as if sudden movement would cause you to flee—he feathered the stiff collar with his knuckles, brushing it back to expose the slope of bone beneath it. Tracing the stitching down to the first button, he padded the bone-white plastic, ushering it through the slit with his trembling thumb.

You swallowed, heart pounding under the intensity of his gaze as the V in your shirt grew deeper. How soft his eyes were—wide and alive but dipping in a way that could only be described as reverent.

He worked the next button free, exposing a pink satin bow at your sternum, breath fanning the skin beneath it in awe. Like a pearl in the shell of your blouse, nestled between two heaving cups. Unable to help himself, he brushed it with the ridge of his knuckle, smiling as his chocolate eyes lit up.

It was beautiful to watch—the subtle twitching of his cheeks, the angles of his working hands, the curious amazement hiding under his lashes as he exposed you. Such careful movements from a man who could destroy you.

It was nothing like he had imagined. In his countless daydreams involving him taking your clothes off, he’d failed to capture the subtlety in it. The shy dip in your eyes, the rippling of your heated skin as it met the cool air, the brush of peach fuzz hair under his knuckles as he slowly worked you free. So alive. So real.

When he was finished, he stepped back and admired his work, checking in with a meeting of your eyes before continuing. With a warm brush of his hand, Eddie slipped the stiff fabric over your shoulder, exposing your bra and the soft, forbidden slopes of it all. You shrugged off the blouse like a shell you’d outgrown, let it fall from around you till it crumpled at your feet.

You stood there a moment as he drank you in, a sense of power rising in your stillness like a statue at a shrine. With a dip of your eyes, you granted him your divine permission.

Eddie traced the strap with his finger; a shimmering runway of elastic. He’d seen it once before, stored it safely in his memory—black and daring like caution tape, taunting him at a distance as your lips popped from a bottle in The Hideout. Here it was baby pink, rising and falling with the swell of your breath as your lashes dipped shyly toward his roaming hand. He tucked a finger beneath it, impossibly soft skin gliding against his knuckle as he ushered it off of your shoulder.

Your smile was unstoppable, puffing softly through your nose at such an innocent gesture, the way it made his eyes light up with boyish wonder as the straps yielded to his touch.

Eddie swallowed thickly, heart racing as his fingers walked along the underwire ridge, across the well-washed pilling satin under your arm and around your back. He located the clasp, eyes dipping down into your cleavage with anticipation as he pinched you free.

The cage fell, straps trailing down your arms until it landed on the ground between you. The chill of the air had you reacting; puckered and alert as you bravely drew back your shoulders.

Eddie’s mouth fell open.

There was a coyness in your smile that surprised even yourself. A sudden rush of girlishness watching his hungry eyes roam your figure. Not because it was the first time a man had seen you like this, but because it was the first time a man had looked at you like this. Flickering between boy-like awe and man-like heat, you realized that you had never felt more beautiful exposed.

They weren’t the first pair Eddie had seen. Between all the magazines under his bed and the few real girls that had been desperate or curious enough to show him, he had seen all shapes and sizes. Yours were different. Yours he had memorized from the back of the classroom, dreamt about with his elbow propped against the small desk. Yours had existed as only speculation from stolen glances in the small chair next to yours, as a fantasy just out of reach.

Jesus.

Christ.

Eddie blinked hard and swallowed. The details were mesmerizing. Holy in their you-ness. The pebbled skin which puckered into hardened peaks, their unique color, the soft flesh around them. Full and round. Rising and falling with shallow, anticipating breaths. Impossibly real. Impossibly you. You, who he adored from far away, trusting him enough to bare yourself up close.

Tracing a featherlight knuckle along the soft underside, Eddie flicked up to your eyes with a heat that could have melted you. All you could muster was a fluttering sigh, and he took his cue. Cupping your breast with his whole hand, he drew his thumb upward across your nipple, watching the peak of it bend to his touch and pop from underneath it. Mesmerized. On the downstroke he captured it against his forefinger, pinching and rolling the sensitive peak.

A soft hiss escaped you, strangled and desperate to escape. His touch sent a jolt that buzzed through your whole body. All rational thoughts were just noise now, fading away as the angles of his hand came into focus. His hand. There was a roughness to it, a calloused graze that sparked pleasure with every pass. Timid at first, but growing bolder. Through the thickening haze, you watched him watching you—those lust-blown eyes under heavy lids, his features pinched in reverent disbelief. A look he wore unspeakably well.

Eddie swallowed. It was absolutely brain-blanking—the soft, supple skin yielding to his thumb as he cupped that forbidden curve. How your back seemed to arch as though you were a puppet and he held the strings. How your chest—your chest—rose and fell to a rhythm of his making. So much power in a single digit. He extended it in tight circles, studying you, committing every atom to his memory. But watching you slip between his fingers was nothing compared to the look on your face. Your pinching brows, your bitten lip, your begging eyes. A puddle, rendered by his touch.

With sudden animation, both his hands splayed wide, palms clamping over your breasts to grapple in a firm squeeze. Your skin dimpled like dough between his slowly tightening fingers. He did it again, relishing in your fullness, watching with rapt attention the way they yielded to his digits; heavy, soft, and round. Licking his lips, he removed his hands, hovering just above your nipple to rasp a question. “Can I kiss you here?”

“Yes,” you managed, struck with a sudden pang for the fact he even asked. Your answer barely faded out before he descended on you, pressing his pillow lips around your peak, flicking out his wet tongue, taking you into his furnace mouth. You heaved a deep sigh, eyes rolling back into your head. It tingled like a limb that was asleep. You hadn’t known it though, not until he’d kissed you there. It occurred to you—in the thickness of your haze—just how many parts of you had been sleeping. For how long was uncertain, but as you thawed under his touch, the rest of you begged to know what it was like to feel awake.

Eddie lathed his tongue around the peak, pressing his hands to your back to draw you closer, as if he couldn’t possibly be close enough. A hunger had arisen in him, one he’d suppressed on a daily basis since he first laid eyes on you. It coursed through his veins as he latched, surged into his fingertips as he dragged them down your back. His lips locked tight, tongue flicking over that attentive bundle of nerves, sucking it. He was gone, lost in he arch of your back, the heave of your breast against his chin on your sharp inhale, the reward of your moan on your exhale. And just like that, he devoured you. It was sloppy, careless, and yet somehow deeply reverent. The unhinging of his jaw, the way he dragged his whole tongue across your nipple as his bottom lip trailed behind, lathing and sucking again and again until he’d had his fill of one and transitioned to the other.

You’d never had a man consume you in this way; devour you like he was starving. No desire had ever possessed you this badly. But for him, you were a willing feast, and it had never felt so good.

Your nipple left his lips with a pop, eyes darting darkly to yours as he panted through the hanging O his mouth became. This sparked a hunger in you; a fierce desire to taste him again, to feel his bare skin against yours. As if both of you shared the same thought, your bodies collided, slotting at the hips like a puzzle as his arms coiled around your waist. You captured those puffy lips again, delighting in the wet heat behind them. They pressed fervent wishes to yours, ones too bold to utter but distinctive in their taste. His mouth found a rhythm, ferocious and insistent, tongue sliding home against yours, in and out.

Excitement turned his body to a live-wire at the feeling of your bare curves pressed to his, animated with a sudden urge to rid you of the rest of your clothing, to drag you to the bed and make you his. Images zapped through his brain at lightning speed, raced through his blood with every pump of his pounding heart. Suddenly his lips were at your collarbone, lathing a hot trail up the ridges of your neck as the heat sung through his veins. It came out as a mumble against the skin below your ear. “Bedroom?”

It was one word. His voice. So heavy and colored with lust that it tingled through your entire body. A million images shot through your head, rippled and throbbed with the want to experience every one. Eddie paused there for the answer, breathing hotly against the skin of your neck, pressing insistently into your hip. It was a sobering word, and yet the weight of it clouded all logic. The clock ticked on in the corner. Your pulse hammered in your ears. The animal in you responded, met his eyes, took his hand, and led him down the hallway through the door on the left.

It was dark in there. Between the glow coming in through the cracked door behind him and the street lamp shining through the slats of your blinds, Eddie could make out the shape of a dresser, a desk, a bookshelf, the rectangular mass of a bed against the wall to the left. And you—a soft silhouette—stopping in the center of the room to look at him.

There was a small part of you that still could not believe you were about to do this. That Eddie Munson was standing in your bedroom, shirtless and heaving his breath as the faint hallway light made a halo of his frizz. He shut the door behind him, leaving you both in near darkness. There was a pause. A space filled with both your anticipating breaths for just a beat until he descended on you, and then there were no thoughts anymore.

Suddenly it was like you were drunk at a party. Between the wet smacks of his crushing lips, you could almost hear the thud of the bass from the living room, the din of voices bleeding into one outside the door. Every party you had never attended, every bad thing you had always craved to do—flashing behind your eyelids as his kisses intoxicated you.

You surrendered completely. To the fantasy, to desire, to him—parting your lips, receiving his tongue, giving in to the rush of his skin pressed to yours, the waves of him taking you under, his crushing arms around you. In the dark, all hesitance dissolved, all trepidation vanished. His mouth was hot and insistent. His hands, completely in charge. A whine escaped your lips, one that you had never heard before. It was needy and desperate and only stoked the fire in his kiss.

Desire spoke plainly, simply. A language you were learning with each pass of his demonstrating tongue. Soft syllables of “yes” and “good”. Sounds that transcended meaning, reverberated in your chest and throat, distilled down to its essence—love. Pure and true. Rising with each breath. Singing in your veins. You were learning to listen. Learning to forget all you had been taught. Learning to remember. When all was dark and there was nothing left but desire, there was so much to hear, so much to feel, so much to learn, and he was a masterful teacher.

Desire spoke volumes through your fingertips; clawing across the thick muscles of the back of his neck as you collided. It spoke in verses in the breath exchanged between you. Soft stanzas in the rush of skin-on-skin. It moved in daring undulation, a dance laid dormant in your bones, sparked to memory by the soft hair below his navel, by his strong arms around you.

In the dark, there were only feelings. The tangle of his curls around your fingers, the angle of his jaw between your palms. The friction of your dewey bodies pressed together, nipples dragging against the sparse hair of his hammering chest. The muscles of your hands and mouth burned with desperate heat. Every nerve heightened. Every cell aware.

Eddie lead the dance with his hips, his tongue, his impatient fingers—free to seek and roam. It was like every fantasy he’d ever had about you was coming to life beneath his palms. In this one he didn’t need to imagine. It could have been any of them—backstage in a dressing room after a sold-out show, at a hotel somewhere along a desert highway, right here in your bedroom just being real people. There was a boldness that came over him, an agency the darkness provided, one where he could be the sort of man he always dreamed he was. One where his hands were sure and stable, never fumbling. One where he impressed you with his prowess, rendered you awestruck and proud.

Breaking to kiss his neck, you savored the oily sweetness of his skin, the richness of the scent emanating from under his arms—musky and spicy and so indescribably him. You’d caught it a few times in the past when he’d propped his head in his hand on the desk, or stretched toward the sky against the stiff wooden chair. It made you dizzy, filled you with a pang so deep you had to bury yourself in the textbook to sober you human again.

Presently, all rational thoughts were clouded by the tightening of his biceps around you, the tendons rippling under his skin as he swallowed. You flicked out your tongue to taste them, pawing down his smooth back, dragging your nails over his shoulder blades, down, down, down over the dip in his spine, the muscles of his lower back.

In the dark, only the animals in you remained; ferocious and insatiable. Yours felt like nipping at his jaw, his clawed impatiently at the zipper of your skirt, yanking it down, working it free to pool at your feet. You stepped out of it like an old skin, kicking it toward your dresser. Feeling for the zippers on your boots, you steadied yourself on Eddie’s shoulder, tugging them down with a few clumsy hops before toeing them off. Tossing them into the darkness, they clattered against your dresser before thudding to the floor. The same with your stockings, which landed somewhere by your desk.

Eddie’s kisses became sloppy, erratic, barely a split second before his sweaty palms descended on your rear. They clung to the thin cotton fabric—one at each cheek—and dragged slowly, tightly upward. The burn was delicious, stoking the fire in you as the delicate cotton bunched under his palms to expose you.

“I have a condom in my wallet,” he mumbled into your neck.

The words struck you dumb, dizzy, rippled up your spine to loll your head backward. He reset his hands, fingertips raking over your naked flesh, clawing into you like dough. All you could respond with was a thick, fuzzy laugh as your cheeks splayed under his touch—back arched, chest sparking against his, brain quickly turning to putty.

There was no masking his delight as he clawed the cotton fabric, spreading your cheeks like dough under his palms. How pliant you were. Eager. A willing landscape for him to explore. His fingers trekked lower, dipping under your cheek until they brushed a hill of wet cotton. Eddie choked on the sound leaping out of his throat, zapped senseless with need. Snaking his arm around your back, he swiped his fingers slowly over your mound. You were saturated. Soaked through to slick between your thighs. For him.

The thickness in his breath could have rendered you to ash. You arched your back like a cat in heat; fluttering open, throbbing with emptiness. The sound that came out of you was unrecognizable, rising from that deep, foreign place to purr against his neck. You were learning how much you liked this position—like a ragdoll in his arms, eyes closed as his finger dipped under the seam of your panties, as it slipped against your folds. You loved the way he explored you—heated but tentative. Loved how it made you feel—desired, craved. Loved most of all how it made him react, his breathless cursing, how now two of his fingers were spreading and sliding, parting your folds, exploring your heat. It felt unbelievably good. You spread your legs a little, hoping to encourage one of them inside you.

But he didn’t. Instead, his hands retreated. Eddie sucked his fingers, eyes pinching as he savored your tang. They left his mouth with a pop. “I need you, now. Like—like right now,” he wavered thickly. Metal jingled, leather snapped against his palm. There was a pop of a button, the sound of a zipper, a sigh of relief that ghosted over your face. He shoved his jeans down around his ass before pausing with an irritated huff. “Fuck, my boots.”

“Let me,” you offered, crouching down until your knees met the carpet. You felt for the laces, padding around his ankle to find the loops, impatiently digging your nails into the tight double knots to work them free.

It was all he could do just to look at you. You, kneeling before him, fumbling and cursing and so incredibly real. When you finally pried the boots off his ankles, you stood up on your knees, eye-level with his open zipper.

The moonlight bleeding in from behind your curtains made his pale skin glow, accenting the dark trail below his navel. It looked delectable—the swell of his belly before it tapered off to dip below the waistband of his boxers. You pressed your lips to it, nuzzling into the hair before your teeth caught the swell of fat under his navel. It flinched against your lips with his gasp.

You couldn’t help yourself anymore. Your fingers—so trained in good behavior—were suddenly behaving very badly; moving on their own, dipping between his legs to cup his balls. They lurched against your hand, sliding up on either side of the humid cotton. Show me, you begged with your hand as it tracked slowly upward. It felt so bad, in the best way bad could feel. The carpet burning into your kneecaps, the jagged metal zipper grazing the backs of your fingers as you traced upward, the burning stretch of his hardness underneath the cotton, the soaked plume of his tip. So unbelievably bad. Your eyes darkened, and your nose dove into the checkered fabric without a second thought. All remaining fragments of your rational mind were melted by his musk into a fuzzy haze that only understood one thing. It spoke in flutters and wet, aching throbs. Your hand returned beneath his package as you began to track kisses up his clothed, attentive length.

Eddie’s breath hitched, belly ripping in your peripheral as your lips met the ridge of his tip. You pressed a lingering kiss against the soaked cotton. “Fuck,” he hissed, tipping his chin toward the ceiling. He gasped when he felt the warmth of your tongue bleed through the fabric. “Oh—ohhhmyfuckinggod.”

His whine was almost enough to unravel you. Dragging your fingers coaxingly under the weight of his sack, your tongue got acquainted with his tip, flicking up under the fat, heart-shaped ridge, tasting the slick reward which you lapped through the fabric. It was bad. So terribly bad, yet nothing had ever tasted as satisfying or sounded as sweet as the ragged sighs your bad behavior earned you.

You purred, giving him a couple generous pecks before your fingers wedged under his waistband.

Show me, you said as your cool fingers met his molten skin, and Eddie found the strength to open his eyes and look down at you. You, from a thousand aching fantasies kneeling before him with heavy lids and mouth agape as you peeled down the fabric to free him.

It was a proud thing. Holy in its him-ness. Like a singular painting, the motifs were consistent; a collection of lines and shapes that came together to make him. In the plume of his tip you could almost glimpse echos of the wide, pink bow of his lips, the ball of his nose. It curved attentively upward, bobbing with his breath as you admired it with equal parts reverence and heated curiosity until your hand closed the gap.

There was a breath you both let out together, a silent oh breathed in unison at such intimate contact. Eddie had to bite his lip, close his eyes, tip back his head toward the ceiling as your fingers—the ones he’d ached to touch a thousand times—so intimately explored him. He assumed he was not the first man you’d touched in this way, but the way you were grazing with such delicate wonder gave him pause to consider.

Desire flooded your entire body, heightened and exhilarated, tingling with curiosity. Fingers trailed over velvet veins, eyes alight as your knuckle swiped upward along the underside, testing its weight and reactivity until it met the dimple of his weeping ridge. A whine left Eddie’s downturned lips; a guttural plea to continue. Obliging, you gripped him, tightening as he bucked into your hand, velvet skin gliding under your firm grasp. “Mmmm,” you purred on an upward stroke, a darkness rousing in you from his complete undoing.

Eddie half-buried his face in his hand, fingers raking across his scalp as your thumb breeched the ridge, padding over his most sensitive spot before circling his slit. “Ohh fuck,” he moaned. “Jesus fuck.”

It wept under your thumb, sticky and gushing another wave of arousal as you squeezed. “You like that?” came a voice you’d never heard before but liked the sound of.

“Ahhhh-hah,” he breathed a crazed laugh as his balls twitched from the friction and the sound of your voice saying that.

His tip was soft and rigid all at once. Slick and inviting to your thumb. You couldn’t stop yourself from rubbing it, from delighting in the way he bucked and melted and breathed under your touch. Your other hand dipped curiously, zipper scraping your knuckles, hair so soft against your palm as you cupped his sack—heavy and actively tightening against his body.

Eddie’s eyes rolled back into his head, heaving a breath from the pressure mounting inside of him. The animal in him was desperate to chase it—to clench, and spill, and explode—but he wanted to be good for you. Good like he always imagined. He wanted to make your back arch, your toes curl, to drill you till your claws drew down at his back until you howled with your own release.

Mesmerized by his display of pleasure, you pumped your hand, twisting slowly at the top, delighting in the way he rutted into your grip, how effortless his hardness slid within your grasp, the way his breath hissed from behind clenched teeth.

It felt so good. Ungodly good. Too good. Biting his lip, he sent a silent prayer toward your popcorn ceiling, searching for something—anything—in his bank of horrible memories to bring him back to Earth. But as your thumb settled into the spot that had him seeing stars, a sudden wave of fear crashed over him. “Stop,” he barked, hand clamping tightly on your wrist. “I’m gonna—hah—oh fuck.” Eddie hissed a long breath, drawing himself back from the edge with every last ounce of his will.

“Sorry,” you breathed, releasing your grip. His clammy grasp lingered a second before letting go.

“No, don’t be sorry, fuck, I just—” he released a slow, steadying breath through pursed lips before continuing, “I just don’t wanna totally ruin this. Know what I mean?”

You did, and you imagined it for a second; pumping his cock, feeling his balls twitch against your palm as he exploded to paint your chest white, how it would cream under your fingers as he painted the ceiling with the colors of his voice. It drove you mad with wanting, but the throb between your legs was more demanding.

“Don’t get me wrong, it—it feels really good. Just… a little too good,” he said, wringing a hand behind his neck.

With a sensual flick of your eyes, you tugged his jeans and boxers down until he was able to step out of them. Eddie extended a chivalrous hand, and you rose to your feet. Effortlessly, as if they belonged there, your lips found his in the dark, drawing his face between your palms and planting a kiss that lasted a whole breath. His lips parted, tongue seeking yours as his fingers found the waistband of your panties. He looped them through the leg hole with a pointed tug that had you stumbling into him.

“Mmm?” he mumbled against your mouth.

“Mmhmm,” you sighed.

He peeled them off of you, leaving a wet trail that clung to your inner thighs as they passed your knees and ankles. Breaking the kiss, you kicked them aside.

There was a single beat as you both stood naked in the darkness, just breathing as you drank each other in. Bathed in moonlight, stripped away to reveal the truth of what you had been all along: simply a man and a woman. Then, suddenly, as if a trigger snapped in both of you at once, there was a collision. A smashing of lips, a tangle of arms, a slotting of hips as you entwined.

Your whole body came alive at once, zapping with life as his velvet length pressed to your hip, zinging as his lips tracked down your jaw to seek your neck. It was bliss to come undone, to loll your head back and just give in. To let him lead the dance toward your mattress. To let his hands cup your rear, spread your legs and wedge his thigh between them. To let him do whatever he wanted. The sparse hair of his leg sparked along your delicate flesh. It had you clawing at the muscles of his shoulders, arching your back, grinding your pelvis in a way that would have put the novels you kept in your nightstand to shame.

Eddie propped his foot against your the boxspring of your mattress, kneading his hands against your ass as he made a meal of you. The wet trail you left against his thigh had his brain short-circuiting, leaving nothing but the animal in him to grapple with the living fantasy of you, naked in his arms. He could not possibly touch you enough. There was not enough flesh on his palms, nor nerves in his whole body to feel you in the million ways he wanted to at once. All at once, every fantasy he’d ever had, crashing like a tidal wave as his hands steered your hips in real time.

It felt better than you’d ever imagined; the rush of his bare skin under your palms as they glided down his back, the estranged pleasure mounting where his thigh met your most intimate seam, the friction of his teeth against your neck. You were drowning in the most delicious way. Drifting toward some place on the horizon that spoke only the language of heavy palms and panting breaths. Letting him carry you there.

You whined when he lowered his leg—quickly replaced by his hand, spreading and exploring, breaking from your neck to watch it happen as his mouth became a silent, hanging O. There was a fire in his blood that was mounting, throbbing in his temples, blinding him with need as his fingers parted slick hair, carded through your folds, slipped against your eager entrance. Every inch of you. The fever broke, and the sliver of his brain that had urged patience snapped silent. Now, a much deeper voice barked. No more waiting. No more wanting.

Your calves hit the edge of the mattress, sending you tumbling backwards onto the chilly comforter. Eddie was quick to pounce, climbing on top of you, prying your legs open with his. You fluttered eagerly, melting into the heat of his chest as he pinned you to the bed—trapped in the sweetest cage of his arms.

In the course of your relationship, it was always your position that had wedged itself between you. Yours, behind the big desk. His, behind the small one. Your position—a thing at risk of being lost. A mantle. A standard for you to uphold. This one defied them all. Wrong, by all technical accounts, but in all your life, nothing had ever felt so right as your position beneath him.

You breathed together for a moment, chests expanding into one another, foreheads pressed together, exploring the bridge of his nose with your own. Thighs splayed open, heart beating rabbit-fast, completely at his mercy. A faint terror whispered in the back of your mind at the prospect of his bareness, at the ways he could ruin you. And yet you ached for ruin all the same.

Eddie’s tip kissed the wet heat of your lips and the animal screamed from the base of his brain to push. But he caught the hitch in your breath, the way your hips flexed backward in response. He bucked reflexively but stilled, biting his lip with a pained huff. “I’m not—I’m not gonna, I just…”

A soft sense of trust flooded in as Eddie drew a deep breath, dragging himself through your folds. It was a delicious sort of torture, the ache enough to drive you mad. Empty and thrumming with anticipation at the prospect of fullness so near. Drowning in the fantasy of him sinking deep, of feeling him leak from you later. You whined, drawing your fingers down his back as his hips rolled slowly. So dangerously close.

It took all of his strength to hold his position, all his control to keep from sliding in. He liked how it felt; you beneath him, writhing in the cage of his arms. He liked the little sounds you made, how evident your wanting was, how he could feel you almost take him in, how his cock would dip ever so slightly against your entrance like you wanted to. He was stunned by it, delirious from the rush of sensation. “Hmm—” he winced after a few more agonizing seconds, “fuck, I can’t take it anymore.” Peeling himself from your body, he shifted off the side of the bed with a creak of the mattress and into the darkness.

You laid there on the comforter, staring dazed at the ceiling as he padded across the room. Lifting your head to glance, it struck you just how real this was, and yet more startling than his naked form making his way across your bedroom was how comfortable you felt with all of it. How at peace you were as his belt buckle jingled from the darkness, as his pants returned to a heap on the floor, as his wallet snapped shut.

It was suddenly all very real—the cool sheets under his knees as you drew back the comforter, the condom wrapper crinkling between his fingers as he felt for the jagged grooves, the anticipating silence filled with both your breaths. The soft metal split, and he fished the rubber from the package with a trembling finger. Tossing the wrapper into the darkness, he felt for the nub that indicated the tip, the ridge that indicated which direction it should roll. He’d done this enough times to know by now but for some reason it felt like a foreign object; clumsy, slippery in his hands as he grasped himself. Finally, he got it; pinching the nub to roll it down over his flinching tip, he unraveled it until it was flush with him.

You watched his silhouette quietly through the frame of your legs, heart kicking up with a sudden, surprising nervousness as you felt the warmth of his hands on your knees. He resumed his position, settling between your thighs, propped on his elbows. The return of his warmth was a welcome thing; comforting and soothing, familiar and indescribably correct. You both laid there a moment just breathing. Just being. Sobering to the tickle of his bangs against your forehead, the sweat beneath them as you rocked against it, the tang of salt when you captured his lips.

A sudden wave of nerves coiled through his belly as his tip kissed your entrance again, how it gelled with the rush of desire, the fire licking through his veins. His arms trembled under his own weight, the anticipation, the now-ness of it all. “Ok,” he breathed, “you want me?”

You swiped down his face, clearing the stray hairs that clung to the sides of his mouth and sweaty temples. It was easy to answer. Easy to admit. “I want you.”

It soothed him like a balm, washed over his trembling shoulders, his hammering chest. Imbued him with an urgency that had him splaying his knees, rocking his hips, and inviting himself in.

There was a pressure at your entrance—a filling of that aching space that had you seeing stars. When he asked for admission there was no hesitation. You welcomed him with open thighs and hands that tracked the muscles of his back as you received him in one slow thrust. Your inhale stuttered at its crest, caught in your throat before hissing from your lips as you ached alive, ached awake. Finally, with no resistance. Only the sparks of ineffable pleasure as the emptiness inside you was filled at last.

A shudder escaped both of you at once, something closer to a sob. Yours directed toward the ceiling, his ghosting over your neck. You stayed like this a moment—locked, seated, stunned by the pleasure of your joining.

Eddie hung his head with a groan, curls waterfalling around your face as he rutted impossibly deeper. He could have died here, buried himself and made you his tomb. He was crumbling, coming apart, actively deteriorating from the warmth of your body around him, from the all sensations of you, from the stunned satisfaction flooding through every inch of him. Finally, it cried. Finally, finally. The edge was close, a few pushes away. He could feel the components preparing, desperate for release, begging the rest of him to push, push, push. His whole world was spinning, threatening to collapse in on itself. Dragging himself away from the edge with a deep breath, he reeled in the parts that threatened to unravel at at the way you accepted him. How effortless it was, how tightly you hugged him, both inside and out. How your palms gripped his shoulders, soft inner thighs like a cradle for his hips. He swallowed thickly, blinking hard to open his eyes up to you, beneath him, around him like a home he’d been missing his whole life. Finally, he allowed himself to relax into the feeling, to let his weight fall against your belly. Flush with every angle, gasping into the soft crook of your shoulder.

You drew him impossibly closer, tucking your ankles under his rear, raking your fingers across his scalp as he settled. The fullness was ecstatic, the stretch so deep it was like he was burrowing behind your navel, radiating dull pleasure from the space he occupied. It was a perfect fit. Tailor-made to reach the points that pined for pressure in both of you. So full you felt like you could burst. So full it prickled at the corners of your eyes, exited your downturned mouth in a gasp—a silent prayer, a thank you toward one that was answered. One you had asked for in secret, pressed into the folds of linen napkins, whispered into the ceiling of The Hideout as the stage lights touched your face. You could have stayed like this forever, merged and crystalized. Deliriously, you prayed you would, and yet you ached to feel his love animated. To be battered by it. Bruised by it. Bullied by his fierce, frenetic love. By an energy you had glimpsed in stolen moments, witnessed him harness on stage, tasted in the smoke on his tongue.

Eddie raised his head to look at you, admiring the shading of your features in the near darkness, the bliss painted across your lips, your heavy lids. A waking dream. You tipped your chin, feathering his mouth with yours; sensual, playful, eager. He brushed against your parted lips, twin breaths mingling in soft pants before an urge arrested him. It was loud and all-consuming, shouting from the base of his brain, seizing his hips to draw back and roll forward. It had both of you seeing stars, grunting soft exclamations into the fractional distance between you. The sound and the friction gelled like a gas to feed the fire coursing through him, igniting a fierce urge to move, to show you, to deliver his promise.

And just like that he was gone. Possessed. Arrested by a driving need that had him hunkering forward, rocking his hips to a rhythm older than either of you could imagine. Familiar, ingrained, and almost involuntary. The pleasure had him drilling down to chase it; open-mouthed, eyes pinched, swept away by the current of his own making. He was dizzy with it. Lost in it. Fisting the sheets as his hips met your thighs with quick, heavy smacks. Desperate and frantic, hurtling toward his edge at a terrifying speed.

A moan was punched out of you—guttural, gasping. One that had your neck craning against the pillow as your chin reached toward your headboard. And you just held on; winding through his hair, dragging drown his back, drowning in feeling. Tight ripples of pleasure radiated from every thrust, stirring something so deep you had forgotten you had buried it—the fear that you would go your whole life and never feel this way. It bubbled up through your sternum, burned at the corners of your eyes, surfaced in strangled sounds at the back of your throat.

The friction roared like wildfire between you, and a tightening deep in his body warned him with flashing lights that looked red but felt green. A blended hue of pleasure and fear coiled its way through his abdomen, but he was consumed by you—warm and wet and tight around him. Gasping to his rhythm, making music that he’d never heard before. He harmonized with it, quickening his pace with grunts through gritted teeth. His mind was a swirling mess, forearms burning and trembling, sweat dripping down his neck, but none of it even registered in the wake of blinding pleasure. So good. So fucking good. How badly he wanted to show you, to hear those sounds escalate to screams.

You sobbed a moan, splitting at the seams as time and sense slipped away down the current. Unraveling like a spool of thread rolled down a hill. Becoming blissfully undone after a lifetime of being wound so tight. Pleasure sparked through your channel, tears flickered in the corners of your eyes. It felt as though you might break open. “Eddie,” you whined, clawing into his shoulders as you arched against the mattress.

It swirled between his ears, rushed down his spine to throb in that deep, low place. His name, your voice, this way. There was a kick inside. A switch that flipped. An urge that he was helpless but to follow, unable to control. His heart rate quickened, breath heaving as he spiraled down a tunnel with nothing to brace but the mattress. “Oh fuck, oh god, oh no, OH—”

It was the moment right before the release that was the sweetest. The tingle he could feel radiating from deep inside like a big yawn. He drew a deep breath with a skyward tilt of his chin, and for a few precious seconds there were no thoughts; no guilt, no shame, nothing at all in the midst of his blackout collision with pleasure. Eddie fisted the sheets, lurching forward as he slammed into you.

Colors. Vibrant and rich. Painting the air between you with each shallow gasp. Escalating in pitch toward a spectacular display. It poured out of him. Every ounce of frustration, every bottled feeling, every unlived fantasy, erupting all at once. He buried it inside you. Hips pressed flush against your thighs, burrowing deeper with every pulse. Wave after white-hot wave. Crashing over him, coursing out of him with open-mouthed gasps. Waves of relief so good it threatened tears.

It was breathtaking—the hue of each pitch. Sharp inhales through gritted teeth that melted into deep grunts on the exhale. Each twitch ignited inside you—sparks that had your eyes rolling back, had you drawing your knees toward the mattress to take it all. You grappled his shoulders, nails bluntly dragging down his sweat-kissed skin, grazing up the back of his neck as his moans faded to soft whines. So full.

There was more. Still more. Coming out in dribbles now, petering to heaves with nothing left behind them. The spasms sent sparks inside you, and you fought to savor them—spreading wider, tucking in your ankles under his rear to draw him deeper. Finally, he collapsed, ragged with relief. He stayed like this a moment. Spent. Deflated. Chest expanding into yours as sharp pants dulled to steady breaths.

Slowly, Eddie raised his head from where he’d hung it, sobering to the clock on your nightstand. It mocked him with glowing red numbers, of which he hazily calculated that only three had passed since he’d put the condom on. A surge of guilt rushed into the vacuum that pleasure left behind. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, I couldn’t—” he winced, hips jerking in the echoes of his climax.

His words almost didn’t register through the fog of your bliss. “Sorry?” you breathed, blinking back into the room.

“I—” he flinched again, fisting the pillow beneath you. “I came like, immediately. And you didn’t.”

“Oh—oh no it’s ok,” you soothed, running a hand down his back. “It felt unbelievably good. Like… the best I’ve ever had.”

Eddie heaved a sigh, overtaken by a strange mixture of shame for himself and pity for you. Suddenly he felt like he was back in your classroom, like you were ignoring his spelling mistakes, praising the C he got on his chemistry test. He shifted his weight, becoming increasingly aware of his chest sticking to yours, of the hair clinging to his neck, of the rubber around him straining with his own fluid, tight in the midst of hypersensitivity.

He was quiet. A tense sort of quiet you’d seen from him before. Slowly, gently, your fingers found his temple, stroking away the sweat, tracking down to cup his jaw, settling just under his ear as your thumb busied itself with his soft cheek. “Eddie,” you whispered.

It was soothing. Attentive. The kind of touch a hurt child might receive. A touch he’d craved for longer than he cared to admit, yet in this context, it was the last way he wanted to feel. “M’ gonna make it up to you,” he mumbled. Drawing on his quickly waning strength, he peeled himself from your body to sit back on his heels, still inside you.

It was almost a shock—how chilly you felt in the absence of his weight. How bare and vulnerable. A soft cry escaped you, arms drawing around your body to shield against the cold creeping in.

The sound stirred him, dredged up and compounded the gnawing disappointment in himself. The nagging sense that he was fucking this up too, just like he did everything else. Desperate to hear something more satisfied, his fingers found your clit, drawing tight circles there. But you were still reeling in the pain of his absence, could still feel the shame radiating from him, and it dulled any chance of good feeling.

“Stop, Eddie—” You grabbed his wrist. Eddie sighed sharply through his nose, stilling his hand.

It was flooding in now, that hot tingling feeling he’d felt countless times under the fluorescents. How he’d fucked it all up, how he was making it even worse now. He could feel himself start to go soft, the condom becoming loose, sticky and uncomfortable. He drew back his hips to exit, but your knees locked around him.

“No, please—” The tears were close, right there. Stored from moments before in the height of your pleasure, just waiting behind your eyelids. You took his hand and tugged it gently toward you. “I just want you.”

There was a twinge in his chest that burst at your words, at how they wavered and threatened to crack. At how honest they were, how they felt to hear coming from you. Lead by your hand, he gave in—to gravity, to exhaustion, to a weight he’d carried for so long it seemed to be a part of him. Settling on top of you, resting his cheek against your sternum as heart thrummed steadily in his ear. The pain in your voice still echoed there, the thought that he’d caused it, unbearable. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

You shushed him, stroking over his temple, clearing the hairs that clung to his face. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Your lips found the crown of his head, pressing a long kiss there, inhaling the soft scent that filled you with an indescribable warmth. “I love you,” you whispered. “I love you.”

The words reverberated through your chest into his ear, softening the clench in his jaw, the tightness in his shoulders. Eddie took a shaky breath through his nose. “I love you so much,” he wavered thickly, “I just—I just want to show you—”

It nearly broke you; the pain behind his words, the sudden realization of where they came from. You shushed him again, thumb soothing over his cheek. “You have.”

A knot released in his chest, undone by your careful fingers, exiting as a shallow sob he’d been harboring for longer than these last few moments. For longer than he could remember. The weight of it shook you, but you still remained. Solid, tangible, real as he collapsed into you, a haven for his tired bones to rest. It was all ebbing now—the adrenaline pounding through his veins since the moment you got in his van, the heightened sensations across every inch of his body, the sudden rush of pleasure, crashing all at once. Softening everywhere. A numbness settled over his limbs, all doubts ushered away by your thumb.

And then it was quiet. Absent of even the hum of the heat through the vents. Engulfed in a protective darkness with nothing but the sound of your own steady breathing—slow and soothing. Chests rising and falling against one another, lulled by a rhythm only the two of you could hear.

His hand found yours in the dark, trailing across your wrist, sliding up your palm to lace his fingers between yours. The bones of his knuckles filled the empty space with a comforting stretch. Just like he’d done a dozen times in the shadows, like he’d done a thousand times in your daydreams. You squeezed back tightly, and for a still, silent moment, there was no separation. No gap to close between what you had and what you wanted.

It was good like this. Alone. Together. Stroking his temple, feeling the crinkle of his smile against your palm, the cadence of his breath as it slowed nearly to sleep. Drifting off to some place on the horizon where neither of you had been before. Who knows where it would take you, what perils awaited out over the edge, when the sun eventually rose, when the halls filled once more with the echos of a hundred voices watching. But for now, there was only the soothing sound of your breaths, the rhythmic thrum of your two tired hearts as you drifted there together.

______

Taglist: @mermaidsandcats29 @toxicjayhoo @ooo-protean-ooo @jadequeen88 @wroteclassicaly @kissmyacdc @raccoonboywrites @storiesbyrhi @trashmouth-richie @carolmunson @keeponquinning @blueywrites @alottanothing @bebe07011 @alizztor @godcreatoreli @ethereal27cereal @munsonsgirl71 @mrsjellymunson @emxxblog @siriusmuggle @sidthedollface2 @dollalicia @lma1986 @catherinnn @eddiemunson4life420 @readsalot73 @big-ope-vibes @3rriberri @princess-eddie @nightless @eddieswifu @thew0rldsastage @chaoticgood-munson @hanahkatexo @eddiemunsonsbedroom @beep-beep-sherlock @averagemisfit03 @vintagehellfire @haylaansmi @sllooney @lunaladybug734 @callingmrsbarnes @ajkamins @mimsthebannished

There will be a celebration hosted by the lovely @teddiemunson86 and @ladylilylost on their discord server next Sunday, Sept. 1st at 2pm EDT where I will be talking about the chapter and what the future has in store for our forbidden lovebirds! If you're interested in joining, the link to the server is here. I also frequently post snippets and memes in the discussion channels. Hope to see you there!

📝 MASTERLIST ⎮📖 AO3 ⎮☕️ KO-FI

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson older reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x teacher!reader #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson angst #don't stand so close to me #dssctm #eddie munson hurt comfort

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rainerioun · 4 months ago

Text

𝖶𝖧𝖠𝖳 𝖳𝖱𝖮𝖯𝖤 𝖥𝖨𝖳𝖲 𝖸𝖮𝖴𝖱 𝖥𝖴𝖳𝖴𝖱𝖤 𝖱𝖤𝖫𝖠𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭𝖲𝖧𝖨𝖯? | 𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝖺 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖽.

— Hey there! In this reading, we'll explore which romantic/writing trope might fit your relationship with your future spouse best. Some of these themes can get pretty deep, so if you're not in the right headspace for that, perhaps come back another time. <3

ORIGINAL DATE POSTED : APRIL 15TH, 2024.

HOW TO CHOOSE A PILE : The outcome may vary based on whether you receive clear messages visually or intuitively. If you resonate more with selecting a pile visually, trust that inclination. Personally, I believe the notion that 'looks can deceive,' so I prefer to take a deep breath and close my eyes, allowing the pile I'm meant to connect with to come to me. You might see the color of the pile, sense or hear a number, or simply feel its overall vibe.

Please don’t redistribute or edit my content.

MUST READ + MASTERLIST | KO-FI

PILE ONE

ENEMIES TO LOVERS. | RIGHT PERSON, WRONG TIME. | STAR-CROSSED.

Romance Trope? Knight of Wands [Reversed]. | Ten of Wands [Reversed]. | The Hanged Man [Reversed].

For some, a person from your past might resurface. Either way, there will be a separation. When you first encounter your future spouse, one or both of you may be going through a dark time. I should state that this connection will never become manipulative or deeply toxic, which nobody should accept or endorse.

Nonetheless, this connection won't be smooth sailing in the beginning. While serious hatred will not arise, there'll be a struggle to understand each other, which stems from inner wounds. Seeing reflections of yourself in them, and vice versa, leads to frustration because neither of you has fully healed yet. Stubbornness on both sides leads to drifting apart. Impulsive actions worsen the situation, causing you to dislike each other.

Initially, I wasn't quite sure how to define the relationship because y'all aren't really enemies, just two hurt people.

Expansion. Community. | Hostilities. | Anxiety.

Your future spouse might come into your life through a friend or an acquaintance, perhaps in a familiar setting you visit often. The connection between you both sparks a profound realization, which leads to heightened anxiety and tension. It might feel like you weren't supposed to meet this person, but in truth, you were destined to cross paths. Because when you reunite in the future, you'll love each other through the toughest times and cherish each other even more during the best moments. You're meant to teach each other lessons that no one else could, guiding you back to where you're meant to be in the end. I definitely see sleepless nights, though. — You might find each other again in the place you originally met.

What Energy Will Your Future Spouse Embody? Dolphin : Innately Intelligent, Healer, Light Blessings. Bear : Waking From Spiritual Slumber. Beginning Anew.

When you reunite, both you and this person have undoubtedly grown. It's a chance to begin anew with them at the right moment. Your future spouse has a knack for making people question themselves, but with you, it's particularly intense. While it may have caused hurt in the past for both of you, now you can work through it together.

While pulling the cards, I heard a distinct and amusing cackle, almost like a 'dolphin laugh,' even their giggles could be a loud and funny.

Insight. Hermit — Light : Seeks solitude to focus intently on inner life. Serves personal creativity. Shadow : Withdraws from society of others. Refusing to help those in need. Father — Light : Talent for creating and supporting life. Positive guiding light within a tribal unit. Shadow : Dictatorial control. Abuse of authority. Fool — Light : Fearlessly revealing emotion. Helping people laugh at absurdity and hypocrisy. Shadow : Using humor to wound rather than liberate. Denial of your emotional truth.

Your future spouse will always have an introverted nature, but before change occurs, they are extremely reserved, perhaps to an unhealthy extent. They could be overly engrossed in work, other projects, or family matters, possibly taking on a leadership role for their siblings, which can be stressful even if they don't live together. Beneath the surface, they have a playful side. In the past, both of you might have been a too naive, but you'll reconnect when they emanate this strong fatherly energy. I'm hearing, 'Young, Dumb, and Broke.'

Additional. Soulmates : Soul Connection, Partnership, Agreement, Soul Contract. Coffin : Endings Bring New Beginnings, Growth, Change, Liberation, Transition. Separation : Sadness, Missing You, Thinking About You, Yearning, Unsure of Future. Clock : Need Time, Takes Time, In Time, Cycles, Time to Heal, Progress.

There might be a bit of a chase for a while, whether it's conscious or not. When you make efforts to understand them, they might pull away, and the same goes for you. As much as it feels strange to say it, the label of twin flames could suit this connection. However, you'll eventually overcome this phase. It's possible you were only meant to learn the lesson of self-betterment from each other in this life, but both of your paths took unexpected turns, leading you to find each other despite it all. You both will make up time from not only your younger years, but previous lifetimes.

When everything falls into place and you seek forgiveness from each other, this connection becomes truly extraordinary. It's profound and complex, holding such true beauty. Eventually, it settles into something steady, providing the stability and fulfillment you both crave. Life together feels as close to perfect as it can get.

Take A Walk : Passion Pit. | Salad Days : Mac Demarco. | The Blower's Daughter : Damien Rice.

PILE TWO

FORCED PROXIMITY. | WORKPLACE.

Romance Trope? The Emperor. | Justice. | Four of Pentacles.

You and your future spouse will be drawn to each other no matter what, as if fate itself is pulling you together. You'll find yourself in situations where you encounter your future spouse frequently. I suspect this could be through some form of work. It's possible they might hold a higher position than you, maybe even a boss, though it's not necessary. They could simply have a lot of influence and trust. In some manner, this person plays a role in ensuring your financial stability.

Expansion. Angel of Strength. | Cornucopia. | Man Holding A Coin.

Once more, this person holds a certain sway over you. For some, this influence might stem from them being your client. They control your actions because they requested them.

It all depends on your current profession or your future plans. If you're primarily self-employed, even if you have a 'boss', this person might approach you as a client or possibly someone seeking work. However, if you're in a more corporate environment, they could be your boss or a colleague.

What Energy Will Your Future Spouse Embody? Dragon : Seeing One’s Most True Self, Balancing The Ego. Bat : Darkness, Letting Go, Death Leading To Rebirth. Lizard : Instinctual, Sensitive to The Subtle, Dreamer.

Your future spouse isn't really the bossy type. They can be assertive but are generally understanding and flexible. I don't see a power struggle whatsoever. They could be a natural leader, yet I believe their compassionate and accommodating nature prevents them from being cutthroat or overly blunt. Their work is very important to them, but they also recognize the humanity in their co-workers.

Insight. Healer — Light : Passion to serve others by repairing the body, mind, and spirit. Ability to help transform pain into healing. Shadow : Taking advantage of those who need help. Failing to care for oneself. Thief — Light : Sheds light on the potential wealth within you that can never be stolen. Shadow : Stealing money, creative ideas, affection or other powers you think you lack. God — Light : Benevolence and compassion. Recognizing the eternal force within yourself and others. Shadow : Despotism and cruelty. Using power to control people.

As I mentioned before, this person will play a role in guiding your career somehow. They'll have things to teach you, just as you'll have things to teach them. You might notice an increase in financial opportunities or wealth around the time you meet this person, probably because of their doing, but maybe not!

Additional. Karmic Relationship : Fleeting, Turmoil, Resentment, Lessons, Letting go and Loving you. Camera : Reminiscing, Keepsake, Perception, Learn From the Past, Make Memories. Girl Talk : Time with Friends, Moving On, Happily Single, Living in the Moment, Having Fun. Palm Tree : Stability, Security, Permanence, Growth, Endurance, Flexibility.

Before anyone gets worried, let me clarify that I didn't take the Karmic Relationship card too seriously. I interpreted the message as affirming that this relationship will involve significant learning and growth. Not everyone will end up parting ways with this person, but everyone involved will gain valuable insights from the other. This connection could help both of you avoid repeating past mistakes. — As an alternate message, I'd like to add that it's time to let go of past relationships. Your future partner wants you to embrace self-love and believes in your ability to find happiness within yourself. Mastering contentment while single will not only attract them sooner but also teach you a valuable lesson that's ready to be learned.

Your future spouse will stand by your side and do everything in their power to support you. They aren't just interested in your safety and stability; they'll actively work to make sure it happens. Their actions speak volumes in this regard.

Partition : Beyoncé. | I Will : Mitski.

PILE THREE

SECOND CHANCE. | FORBIDDEN LOVE.

Romance Trope? Two of Bows/Wands [Reversed]. | Seven of Vessels/Cups. | Two of Vessels/Cups [Reversed]. | The Green Woman. | Ten of Bows/Wands.

For many of you, I don't believe this is just an ex. I sense a third-party element at play here. Pinpointing a main scenario is too tricky; it varies for everyone by a lot. Perhaps you meet this person through a friend with whom you'll later drift apart with. Maybe your future partner happens to be a sibling of a friend. The possibilities are numerous. Nonetheless, there's someone who acts as a bridge between you both, influencing the connection. You might even have someone in mind already as you read this.

Regardless of the circumstances, I don't think your future spouse is the cause of this temporary 'separation', which might end up being a lack of communication for a short period of time until the situation resolves itself. I can't see a time where your future spouse was previously unkind or unpleasant to you, but rather it's more likely that the mutual person between you two played that role. If there are any rumors circulating, your future spouse will likely discern who's at fault and support you.

Expansion. Angel of Love. | Fifth Chakra : Archangel Gabriel. | Magician and The Mirror.

At first, your future spouse might assume they're to blame for the fallout and feel guilty about it. This uncertainty might delay the reconnection, even though they're fully committed to being by your side. They'll struggle with how to initiate fixing things, but eventually, they'll gather the courage to try. This reconciliation could happen online, if that resonates.

The forbidden aspect of this connection might originate from parental expectations, like qualities they require in your partner. Remember, you always have a choice in this matter. If not, it's not necessarily wrong but might be viewed with disapproval, such as getting involved with a friend's ex-partner.

What Energy Will Your Future Spouse Embody? Tiger : Lunar Force, Ease in Darkness, Feminine Energy. Raccoon : Talented, Shadowy, In Hiding. Hawk : Watchful, All-Seeing, Messenger of Divinity.

Your future spouse is incredibly passionate and generous in their relationships and friendships, and this will shine even more when you two reconnect. They'll be open and sincere about their love for you once they emerge from hiding.

Insight. Addict — Light : Helps you recognize and confront addictive behavior. Shadow : Compromises integrity and honesty. Allows an addictive pattern to have authority over your inner spirit. Avenger — Light : Desire to balance the scales of justice. Righteousness on behalf of society or oneself. Shadow : Resorting to violence in the name of a cause. Seeker — Light : Thirst for wisdom and truth wherever they are. Shadow : Inability to commit to a path once found.

After reconnecting, your future spouse will become more righteous, not just in relationships, but in all aspects of life. They won't stand for their loved ones being mistreated and will seek truth in murky situations, sharing their insights to keep you informed. They'll be honest about areas needing improvement while maintaining their patient and kind nature. By this time, they will understand how to be straightforward yet gentle.

Additional. The Butterfly : Relationship Evolving to the Next Phase, Healing the Inner Child, Growth. Boat : Receiving What You Need, Progression, Arriving, Moving On, Closure Issues. Girl With a Snake : Empath and Narcissist Paradigm, Being Charmed or Used, Enable Boundaries. Heartbroken : Deeply Hurt, Sad, Separation, Breakup, Feeling Lost, Grieving, Mourning.

Reconnecting with you will be a healing and transformative experience for them. It will bring closure to their past, and you might need to reassure them that your aren't going anywhere. It's a bit odd, but lately, I've been watching Supernatural, and this person reminds me of Sam Winchester. They have a strong desire to protect you, but sometimes they might overextend themselves trying to provide for you. Which isn't your fault at all, they just need a reminder to relax and slow down.

Killer : The Ready Set. | She Looks So Perfect : 5 Seconds of Summer. | Holding Hands : The Magic Lantern.

PILE FOUR

FRIENDS TO LOVERS. | SOULMATES.

Romance Trope? Six of Pentacles. | Seven of Cups [Reversed]. | Three of Wands [Reversed].

Although it's one of the sweetest piles, it's also a tad messy. Not everyone will relate to this aspect, but take what resonates.

This person could be from your childhood or teenage years, or maybe someone you've recently met, or have yet to meet. Anything really. However, I feel for the majority it's someone you know. You have to figure this part out for yourself. But regardless, they're incredibly generous toward you, whether it's with money, affection, or understanding. However, this connection isn't without its challenges. Despite being very supportive, you'll have to navigate obstacles together. There might be setbacks or delays, but ultimately, your bond will grow stronger and develop into a romantic relationship.

Expansion. Strategy. | Storm Warning. | Healer of the Ages.

This part might only apply to a few, but I don't necessarily see it as your next relationship. Why? Well, because there are cards here, and later in the reading, that hint at some kind of breakup, which your future spouse helps you navigate through.

What Energy Will Your Future Spouse Embody? Elk : Stable, Resilient, Headstrong, The Father. Turtle : Ancient Soul, Grounded, Trusting, At Home in the Self. Crocodile : Resting, Submerging, Collecting Energy, Cooling Off.

Your future spouse will always carry the aura of a caregiver, being nurturing and extending their kindness towards both loved ones and strangers alike. They have a natural inclination towards being giving but possess a discerning eye when it comes to where and who they invest their energy. Their actions are consistent, and they seem calm and collected.

Your future spouse really embodies the ideal father figure and likely connect effortlessly with children. Patience and wisdom are strong in their nature, further enhancing this energy. They're like a true teddy bear until provoked.

Insight. Student — Light : Humility and devotion to knowledge. Openness to lifelong learning. Shadow : Arrogance in the pursuit of destructive knowledge. Unwillingness to translate knowledge into action. Prince — Light : Romantic charm and potential for power. Shadow : Using power for self-aggrandizement. Companion — Light : Loyalty, tenacity, and unselfishness. Shadow : Betrayal by misusing confidences. Loss of personal identity.

Think of your ideal "prince charming" - that's precisely who your future spouse is, whether in appearance or mindset. Gender doesn't limit this; it's about their energy and attitude. They have boundless curiosity, always eager to explore life and learn. Their fascination with you extends to wanting to know every detail, so they can envision and arrange everything in their mind. Loyalty and romance are ingrained in them, qualities you'll surely cherish. They're very charming.

Even in friendship, your future spouse exhibits a strong protective instinct, perhaps even a hint of possessiveness. You might not even realize your love for them until something sudden strikes. It's really like something out of fan fiction, where a seemingly random spark is actually the culmination of a slow burn. This realization may dawn on you when your future spouse defends or stands up for you in some manner. Suddenly, all the signs they've been dropping will become clear, and even the glance from them afterward will convey everything you need to know.

Additional. The Phoenix : New Phase, Rekindle, Renew, Transformation, Growth, Changed Mind. Stabbed in the Back : Heartbreak, Pain, Separation, Deception, Shocking Attack. Palm Tree : Stability, Security, Permanence, Growth, Endurance, Flexibility. Mask : Not Showing True Feelings, Hide, Personify, Pretend, Delude, Gaslighting. Sunglasses : Watching, Looking, Stalking, Gaslighting, Perception, Focusing Out. Keys on a Ring : Many Options, Decision, Unconventional, String Along, One Night Stand.

For those it applies to, I'm revisiting my earlier point about being in a relationship and your future spouse's good sense of judgment regarding character. If this doesn't resonate, feel free to skip and check out the songs instead. Thank you!

Your future spouse had already secretly admired you for some time. Aware of your existing relationship, they struggled to suppress their feelings. Amidst the chaos in their mind, they couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right with your partner. They wanted to reach out to warn you out of genuine concern, but you dismissed it as an overreaction. There's a chance your partner at the time suspected something between you two, leading to a sudden end to the relationship [Although, I don't think there was anything actually happening.] They might have harbored resentment for a while. But fear not, your future partner comes to the rescue. Whether they witness the breakup or support you afterward, you'll come to realize that your true feelings lay with them all along, but you were blinded by the allure of another. With too many choices before, you failed to think clearly and see what was right in front of you.

Like That : Jack and Jack. | Somewhere Only We Know : Keane. | Little Person : Matt Maltese. | Boyfriend : Dove Cameron. [Update: Forgot to add a song, sorry!]

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sanarsi · 3 months ago

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stepfather!reed richards x reader who is also a student of his in the uni PRETTY PLEASE. ANDDDD THEY'RE LIKE DOWN BAD FOR EACH OTHER BUT CAN'T DO ANYTHING ABT IT TYPE OF TENSION AND THEY SNAP BY THE END, LIKE- "I'm sick of pretending I don't love you but I do" SKSKSKSK PLS

Physics in Practice

stepfather!professor!Reed Richards x student!f!Reader

Summary: You accidentally discover that your stepfather has a shameful soft spot for you. Reed has to deal with everything you decide to serve him after that. Warnings: +18, MDNI, age gap (reader is in college, Reed is her professor, so idk, 20y), angst, sexual tension, arguing, friends to family to enemies to lovers trope, STEPFATHER!dom!Reed, pussy eating, unprotected PIV Wordcount: 5,6k An: That was a hot one. Thank you so much for the idea anon! I immediately woke up with the desire to write this. I hope you like it! Music I worked with: Falling to Pieces - Two Feet

Masterlist

For as long as you can remember, Professor Richards was your idol. You did everything to get into the department he headed. You did everything to become his best student.

You always came to extra classes. You always passed all the tests flawlessly. You were always the first to raise your hand to answer his questions.

Reed saw potential in you that no other student had. You were young and smart. You wanted to learn everything he could teach you. There was no better combination than a young mind full of enthusiasm.

That's why after your first year of college, Reed started giving you private lessons. Sometimes at his house, sometimes at yours. And as fate would have it, he and your mother decided to unite their lives through marriage.

Did it hurt? No. You were happy that your mother had found a decent and loving man. And you were even happier to have Reed every day.

You were a happy family. The perfect family.

Until one Saturday night.

You came back way too late from your friend's birthday party. Later than you promised. But all the lights in the house were off. You were relieved to find that your mother was probably asleep already so you would avoid the quarrel.

You slipped into the house as quietly as you could and winced at the click of the lock, which you turned as gently as you could. You took off your purse and coat, hanging everything on the hanger.

Why did everything suddenly make such loud noises?

You carefully took off your shoes placing them perfectly straight next to the men's shoes. How on earth did your stepfather have such big feet? You shook your head in surprise because you had never noticed it before.

You tiptoed through the hallway and up the stairs where you almost fell. Yeah, alcohol stopped being so great when you had to keep your balance.

You stopped at the top when you noticed a streak of light under the bathroom door. Your heart pumped adrenaline into your veins which made the alcohol lose its control over you.

You had to hide and wait. You didn't want your mother to come out of the bathroom just as you were sneaking into your room.

You took a step down the stairs when a muffled groan caught your attention. You glanced towards the door, recognizing that it wasn't your mother in the bathroom. Another groan made you involuntarily step closer to the door. You put your ear to it, frowning as a quiet gasp pierced the silence.

"Fuck yes, baby."

You opened your eyes wider hearing his growl and then you realized what was happening behind that door. You immediately decided to back away but before you could take a single step your heart froze.

“Y/n.”

Your name fell from his lips with a moan of pleasure. You stood staring into the darkness as your world collapsed in a split second. Blood roared in your ears as your legs led you to your room. You closed the door behind you and leaned against it with your full weight.

Finally you were able to catch your breath which almost made you choke. An unfamiliar feeling flooded your entire body as you began to realize what you had witnessed. You covered your mouth with your hand as a groan of terror escaped your throat. Tears of helplessness welled up in your eyes.

He was your stepfather. He was your family. He was your mother’s husband.

So why did your name fall from his lips in the middle of the night behind closed doors?

Why did your name fall from his lips when he came?

What happened that night changed everything. You weren't able to look at him the way you used to. Every time he came closer to you, you tried to pull away. You watched everything he did carefully. Even how he ate his fucking breakfast. You constantly watched his behavior, trying to notice something that could give him away. Anything.

Because maybe you were stupid from the very beginning and didn't see the signs he was giving you? Maybe all his glances hid a second meaning? Maybe all the times your hands touched weren't accidental?

But nothing changed.

It was the same as always.

Normal.

Perfect.

You never again witnessed anything that could indicate that your stepfather had deeper feelings for you.

And that's what made you start provoking him. It started innocently. You started hugging him more, touching him more. You sent him more innocent smiles and giggles. But it didn't work.

So you went further.

More make-up and more flirtatious glances. More sitting in front of books until late at night with him. More accidental thrusts of your hips in his direction. Still nothing.

Several months of hard work didn't work. It made you angry. So you took a different tactic.

First, he caught you smoking cigarettes after class. He didn't say anything to your mother but he forbade you from doing it ever again. Truly fatherly behavior.

Later you started partying more. You spent weekends with friends at the bar than with him explaining the next puzzles from your textbooks. That was the first reaction. Your first serious conversation about whether something was going on in your life. Pathetic.

Then, you started skipping studies. Getting worse test scores and skipping classes. It worried him enough that he started paying more attention to you than before.

You were his best student. You were his future. He wanted you to be even more successful than him in future. But it seemed that you stopped wanting the same.

The atmosphere at home was tense. But only between you two. Your mother still had no idea. She thought you were just growing up and Reed hadn't mentioned what was happening at college so she was really blind in this situation.

That was your problem. Or at least that's what he thought. Your relationship with your mother was still the same. Only something had gone wrong between you two. He didn't know what. He didn't even know when everything started to fall apart. When you stopped being his five-star girl.

Like every morning, you went down to the kitchen all ready to take your breakfast with you.

"Mornin," you said and gave your mother a quick kiss on the cheek, who was frying bacon in a pan. She smiled at you in response and put breakfast on a plate in front of Reed.

You grabbed an apple from the basket on the counter and bit into the red fruit. You leaned back against the counter, staring at the shopping list on the fridge.

Reed was sitting at the kitchen island reading a newspaper and drinking coffee when his gaze fell on you for a moment. He looked down at your body and hid behind the newspaper again.

"You should button your shirt higher," he said indifferently, catching your and your mother's attention. You looked down at your cleavage, just like the woman next to you.

"I like it that way," you replied just as indifferently. Reed closed the newspaper and put it on the counter, looking at you intensely.

The silent fight of glances was interrupted by your mother's voice. "Your dad is right." She smiled gently but you didn't even look at her for a moment.

"He's not my father," you said dryly looking deep into his eyes.

Silence fell over the kitchen. The heavy atmosphere between you was visible to the naked eye. Your mother was in such shock that she didn't even know what to say. But you didn't even give her a chance to, leaving the kitchen.

"We'll be late," you threw casually passing Reed. You started to get dressed making far too aggressive movements.

"I'll talk to her," Reed's muffled voice reached your ears and right after that a kiss on the lips.

Your stomach twisted unpleasantly at the fact that this man was showing feelings to your mother. You didn't know when it started. But you couldn't look at the way the woman's eyes sparkled at the sight of him. You couldn't stand the sight of them together.

For the first few minutes of the journey, there was a tense silence between you. His gaze fell on you every now and then but you were unmoved.

"Will you tell me what's been going on with you lately?" he asked finally breaking the silence. You rolled your eyes hearing the concern and nervousness in his voice.

"Nothing," you mumbled without even looking at him. He glanced at you, clenching his jaw tighter. He stopped the car at a red light and was silent for a moment.

"Is it about studies? Did I push you too hard?" He tried to guess but that only caused you to snort dryly.

"It's not about studies."

"So what?" he asked immediately. The car started moving.

You were silent. What were you supposed to answer him? Definitely not the truth. That's why your silence was prolonged.

Until you felt his hand on your thigh. You tensed under his warm touch and began to stare intensely at his hand.

"Baby girl, you know that-"

“Don’t call me that,” you interrupted him, making him immediately fall silent in shock. “And take your hand away,” you added dryly.

A nervous snort escaped his lips as he obediently withdrew his hand and clenched it far too tightly on the steering wheel.

“Okay,” he nodded as if he himself needed to come to terms with what you had just said to him. “No nicknames or touching.”

You clenched your thighs, feeling a strange current flow between your thighs, and moved as far away from him on the seat as you could. This didn't go unnoticed by him.

He clenched his jaw tighter and his knuckles turned white. Reed didn't know how to approach the whole situation. Your dislike for him had appeared overnight and he honestly had no idea how he should talk to you.

He had never been a father so he decided to talk to you like an adult to an adult. You weren't a child and even less so his daughter.

"Listen," he began seriously, "you're right. I'm not your father." His words caught your attention but you didn't dare look at him. "You don't want me to be? Okay, I won't. But I'm your mother's husband. Like it or not, as long as you live with her, you live with me too. We'll run into each other, eat in the same room and use the same bathroom."

His last words made your pulse quicken and bile rise in your throat. You glanced at him but he was staring stubbornly at the road.

"We'll live together in the same house so we can maintain neutral relations with each other. No rude comments or disgusted looks," he glanced at you expressively and held his gaze on you a little longer than he intended. “If you don’t want to get along with me like we used to, then we can get along for your mother,” he suggested, slowing down the car as you pulled into the parking lot at the university.

“Did we really ever get along?” you muttered under your breath with a snort as he parked the car. Reed frowned, turning off the car.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, but you had already gotten out of the car and slammed the door shutting him off. He leaned out of the car, shouting your name, but you ignored him. You didn't want to look at him any longer, much less talk to him.

For the first time in a long time, you spent a whole day at the university. You were in every class, which gave you a pleasant feeling of nostalgia. Despite the stormy morning, you finished in a good mood.

That's why you decided to even take Professor Richards class, not wanting to give him any more reasons to pick on you.

He didn't even notice you, when you sat down in the last row. He had already gotten used to not seeing your face during his classes. Watching and listening to him lecture, you felt a stab in your stomach.

You remembered the times when you had just met him. How he looked at you with pride when you showed him that you could learn anything. Why did he have to ruin it? Why did he have to plant a strange seed in you, that grew around your body like ivy?

Now, when you looked at him, you felt something strange. Your stomach clenched unpleasantly, making you want to throw up. You knew it was hatred. Or at least that's what you told yourself until his gaze met yours.

He got stuck in the middle of the lecture but quickly regained his composure. He continued to explain the notes on the board but this time he glanced in your direction every now and then.

This time you felt heat in your stomach.

Finally the lecture ended and the students started to leave the room. Some approached professor to ask the last questions, which he quickly answered so he could catch you.

The last students were leaving when your name rang out around the room. Some gathered at you with amusement seeing you roll your eyes. Everyone had noticed that your relationship with your stepfather had recently deteriorated.

The door to the room closed so only then you turn to him.

"What?" you asked casually frowning.

"I think we need to talk," he announced crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yeah, I don't really-"

"Sit down," he ordered seriously nodding towards the nearest bench. You clenched your jaw tightly maintaining eye contact with him for as long as possible. But this time he won.

You sighed heavily and threw your bag on the ground then sat down on the bench. He didn't comment on your childish behavior and slowly walked towards you.

"We'll talk like adults now," he began seriously. You wanted to roll your eyes but you held back.

He stopped in front of you, looking at you intensely as if he was trying to find the answer to his questions in your eyes. But apart from dislike for himself, he found nothing. He sighed heavily and rubbed his face with his hand.

"What happened?" he asked directly. You opened your mouth to answer but he interrupted you. "What went wrong between us?" He looked at you with a strange pain in his eyes. You fell silent. You couldn't answer his question.

"Nothing." A typical answer he'd heard from you a few hundred times. Nothing. Nothing was wrong. Everything was fucking fine.

"Nothing," he repeated, nodding.

He was silent for a moment but suddenly his face became serious.

"Do you think I'm a fucking idiot?"

Your whole body tensed up hearing the tone he'd never used with you before. He was furious. He'd never been angry at you before. Well, he had been, but not like this.

"I asked you a question."

“No,” you denied obediently.

“So what’s the problem? What did I do wrong to make you treat me like your enemy?” he asked, spreading his hands helplessly. You swallowed the lump in your throat seeing him in such a state.

Helplessness.

“What did I do to make you not want to spend time with me? Don’t want me close?”

You clenched your thighs tighter feeling those strange waves of electricity again.

"Nothing."

"Don't fucking lie!" he shouted. You looked at him in shock feeling all your muscles tense painfully.

He shouted at you.

He was so broken that he shouted.

"Answer me why you don't want me anymore," he added more quietly.

You blinked a few times feeling your heart pounding in your chest.

"I…" you started in shock but quickly shook yourself off frowning. "What?"

Reed was breathing heavily trying to calm the emotions boiling inside him. And only when he saw your face, he realize, he had said a few too many words.

He fell silent trying to find a logical explanation for his words.

"I..."

"Is that why you said my name back then?" you asked mindlessly.

And then you both fell silent staring at each other.

Shock, surprise and then understanding flashed across your faces.

Your breathing quickened when you realized that you were right. You had been blind from the very beginning.

"How long have you known?" he asked in a low voice that sent cold shivers down your spine. His jaw clenched tightly as he finally got the answer to why you had changed so much lately.

You knew.

And you hated him for it.

“A few months,” you admitted honestly because you saw no reason to lie anymore. Everything was out. All the thoughts that had been swirling in your head for so long finally straightened out like a thread.

His gaze was heavy as he nodded in understanding. He took a few steps back, running his hand anxiously over his stubble. He snorted nervously, looking around the lecture hall.

You watched him closely as he began to pace until he was standing by his desk. He snorted again, shaking his head.

“Fuck!” he shouted, throwing all his things to the floor. You flinched at his sudden outburst. His shoulders rose quickly as he tried to calm down.

“Why-” your voice trembled, so you swallowed hard. “Why did you marry my mother?” you asked uncertainly. He glanced at you over his shoulder and remained silent. You really wanted this to turn out to be some unfunny joke.

But his gaze wasn’t fake.

His helpless snort wasn’t fake.

“Because you were too young for me,” he replied with contempt for himself.

He looked away from you, leaving you with your heart in your throat. Your breathing quickened so much that you felt like you were about to have a panic attack. You jumped off the bench on shaky legs that almost gave way under you. You grabbed your bag and practically ran out of his lecture hall. And he just watched as the door closed on you and sighed heavily.

That day your private hell began.

A whole month passed. There was a strange atmosphere in the house and even your mother felt it. But she didn't say anything.

You stopped arguing with her husband and became more than obedient again. But this time you were also silent, scared.

You ate Sunday dinners with a trembling hand and then you ended up in the toilet throwing up everything. You went to university with him but you sat in the back seat staring stubbornly at the view outside the window. You sat locked in your room from the moment you crossed the threshold of the house. You didn't even want to go to the toilet, just so you wouldn't fall on him.

You felt like you were in a cage with no way out. You spent almost every night thinking about everything that had happened. About who Reed Richards really was.

And you were disgusted by the conclusions you came to.

Because the only conclusion you took from it was his name, which you moaned every time you came.

And it wasn't as shocking as the way you started looking at him. You replayed in your mind all the moments when you were alone. The way he smiled at you. The way he praised you. The way he inhaled your scent when he cuddled up to you.

And suddenly you started looking at everything differently. Everything started to have a different meaning. Everything he did, started to have a romantic basis.

The way he looked at your lips just to kiss your mother.

The way he looked at you with delight just to compliment your mother.

The way he spent half the night with you and books just to go fuck your mother.

Your view of him changed dramatically. And only during his lectures, you allow yourself to look at him shamelessly. You didn't take your eyes off him for even a second. Your notebook was lying on the desk without a single sentence written on it. And he didn't miss your burning gaze.

The entire lecture he tried not to look in your direction but he couldn't help himself when all the students were focused on taking notes and only you were sitting with your head held high. Then and only then, he allowed himself to just stand there and look at you.

Thousands of unspoken words flew between you in that short moment. And Reed saw the way you looked at him changed. The sparks that flew between you couldn't hide.

So every day he woke up hoping that maybe he hadn't destroyed everything. That maybe you had decided to understand him.

Until finally one day everything went back to normal.

You started laughing in his company again. You started spending movie nights with them again. You were able to talk to him over dinner again. But only when your mother was around.

When you were alone, you were silent. You didn't even look in his direction. It made him realize that nothing had really changed. You had simply decided to act normal around your mother.

He respected that. He didn't try to force you to be able to even look at him again.

Not until you were back in that damned lecture hall.

Then everything ceased to exist. The world and problems outside of the university ceased to matter.

There were just you two.

A young and talented student and her professor.

But a few months in this mode were starting to take their toll on his psyche. He couldn't stop looking at you more and more often. He barely took his eyes off you during dinners. He deliberately dismantled the back seats in the car so you could sit next to him again. He even started to miss your rude teasing.

It all took its toll on him so much that when you stared at each other during lectures, his cock quivered in his pants.

Every time.

And every time he ended up in the bathroom, releasing tension.

He couldn't even remember the last time he had sex with your mother. Luckily, she was going through menopause, so she didn't even notice.

Your life turned into the worst possible game. And there were no winners in it. You both always ended up moaning each other’s name.

Until the day came when your mother went to visit her family for a few days. Leaving you two alone.

And that was the beginning of the end of everything.

All it took was for the door to slam shut behind her back.

“Can you explain to me what we're doing?" Reed asked immediately as you poured yourself a glass of juice. You looked up at him and snorted, rolling your eyes.

"I'm going to make dinner. And you? I don't know," you shrugged, which only frustrated him more. He was sick of this cat and mouse game you were playing.

"I'm fucking serious," he said, entering the kitchen with a confident step. You watched this, sensing an increasing threat.

"I like you like that the most," you mumbled and put the juice in the fridge. His hand tightened on your arm as you tried to leave. You looked at him, frowning. There was something about him that you hadn't seen before. He was hellishly determined and frustrated.

"I've had enough of all this bullshit."

"Then divorce my mother." You shrugged embracingly, to which he frowned, his gaze wandering into your eyes.

"Is that what you want?" he asked seriously. "Do you want me to divorce her for you?"

There was silence. Your heart was beating so loudly that you both probably heard it.

"What? No," you denied and yanked your arm away from him.

"So what do you want? What do I do?" he asked desperately. You didn't know. You didn't know what you wanted from him. You got used to how everything looked between you two.

"I don't want anything from you."

"Don't lie to me."

You fell silent, staring at him. He was on the verge of a breakdown. These past few months had destroyed him more than he wanted to admit. Your closeness was starting to wear him down, and the lack of - killing him.

So in the end it turned out that he was the one who was in a losing position.

"Fuck, please, baby," he groaned, approaching you and placing his hands on your cheeks. You blinked a few times as he bent down to the height of your face.

He was walking on thin ice, and honestly, on the lack of it. He was drowning.

"What should I do? Tell me and I will," he said desperately. And in that moment you could use all of his weaknesses. If you wanted, you could do anything with him.

You could break him.

"I'm tired of pretending. I'm tired of you not saying a word to me. I'm tired of not being able to touch you. I am sick of not being able to show you that I love you."

Your heart sank. You stared at him in shock. At the desire and regret with which his eyes stared into yours.

But you remained silent. You were unable to think straight, much less respond to his confession.

"Please, from the very beginning there was only you. I thought it would pass. I thought it was a temporary desire. That you're just a fantasy," he continued, stroking your cheeks with his thumbs. "But you're real. You're the realest thing in this whole world," he smiled helplessly and you still stood there in too much shock.

This wasn't supposed to happen like this.

"So tell me what you want. I'll divorce your mother. I'll take you away from here. Just say the word and I'll do it."

Your breath hitched as you finally decided to answer. But then the sound of the door opening echoed through the house.

Reed pulled away from you in a split second and you immediately reached for your juice, drinking half the glass in one go.

Your mother entered the kitchen with a wide smile.

"I forgot the cake," she said amused and reached into the oven for the tray with the chocolate cake. Without looking in your direction she headed for the exit again. "Bye, I love you!" she shouted before the door slammed shut behind her.

You put the glass down with a bang and began to breathe deeply as your mother pulled out of the driveway.

It took a second for your eyes to meet again. And even less for Reed to be by your side again, pressing his lips tightly to yours.

You moaned in shock when he pressed you against the counter with his body. His hands immediately tightened around your waist, sending shivers down your spine. His lips kissed yours hard and almost aggressively. But you kept up with him without a problem.

Because you were just as thirsty as he was.

Even though it was so fucking wrong.

Even though you cursed yourself for it in your mind every day for the past few months.

This was what you dreamed about at night. These were the lips that kissed your heated body. These were the hands that explored every inch of your skin.

That's why you submitted to him without protest. His moans of pleasure mixed with relief carried waves of electricity. You intertwined your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. You moaned when he pushed his hips towards you and his tongue immediately intertwined with yours.

Without waiting, he grabbed you for your thighs and pulled you up so you sat on the counter. He was immediately between your legs, tightening his fingers on your thighs. You sighed into his mouth when his hands slowly started to move up to your shorts. His fingers crept under the material and tightened on your hips. He moaned feeling your delicate skin.

"Let me and I'll do anything with you," he breathed into your mouth. He didn't have to repeat it twice.

"Yes," you nodded without hesitation, to which he moaned with pleasure.

That was enough for him to pull away from you and, not so gently, pull down your shorts along with your panties. You barely took a breath as he knelt down in front of you, pulling your hips closer to his face.

You looked down with parted lips when his gaze met yours and his tongue ran from your wet hole to your clit, on which he sucked. You moaned, tilting your head back and involuntarily spreading your legs wider.

He groaned with pleasure, licking your arousal and kissing your clit passionately until your legs began to tremble. You squealed, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling hard, causing him to growl. He bit your sensitive spot gently in retaliation until your vision went dark.

"You're so fucking delicious."

You moaned in response only to come in his mouth a moment later. You began to pulse on his tongue as it continued to work, prolonging your orgasm and licking up everything that came out of you.

You were breathing heavily when he pulled away from you and wiped the moisture that was left on his stubble with his thumb. You looked at him not being able to think straight but you didn't have to, because he was already pressing his lips to yours. He tasted like you.

His kisses had taken up all your attention from what he was doing with his pants. It was only when you felt something soft and warm right at your entrance that you woke up. His moan died in your mouth when he slowly pressed the tip of his cock into you.

"You feel better than I dreamed," he whispered sliding deeper into your pussy.

A broken moan left your throat when he pushed his hips all the way in.

"So tight and warm," he purred with pleasure and kissed your neck. He tightened his fingers on your skin and slowly started moving his hips. He didn't even pull out of you halfway, not wanting to leave your insides.

Your moans echoed throughout the house. You wrapped your arms around his neck and supported yourself with your other hand on the counter behind your back. His cock entered slowly but firmly until the very end, taking away your ability to breathe.

"Tell me, baby, is this how you imagined it when you touched yourself at night?" he whispered into your neck and then left a mark of his teeth on it.

"No," you moaned which was met with his harder bite.

"And how?" he growled, tightening his fingers and thrusting harder into your pussy. You almost screamed, throwing your head back.

"I thought you'd be more gentle," you gasped and he just laughed into your neck and straightened up. He smiled, panting heavily when you locked eyes.

"Yeah, your mother said so too," he said and not giving you a chance to react, he sped up his hips.

Moan died in your throat as he thrust into you like madman, taking away the feeling in your legs. He watched with satisfaction as the overwhelming pleasure painted across your face. You felt your orgasm approaching with each thrust of his hips. His cock brushed perfectly against the spot that was hidden from your reach.

"Come on baby," he growled thrusting into you over and over again. "Give it to me," he began to pant heavily feeling like he had to hold back so he wouldn't come himself as you began to tighten around him. "Yes, yes, just like that," he praised you with a smile as you watched him helplessly until finally the orgasm took over your body. You moaned loudly clenching painfully on him and then his brakes gave out. He stopped, coming inside you, moaning every time another wave of cum flew out of his cock.

He rested his head on your shoulder, panting heavily as you continued to moan quietly from your slowly receding orgasm. His lips found their way to your neck, planting a series of wet, delicate kisses until he reached your lips. Your tongues immediately joined in a lazy kiss as you both continued to calm your pounding hearts. His hand found its way to your jaw and his thumb gently stroked your cheek.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked quietly. You pressed your lips into a line and shook your head in denial.

"I can't hurt mom," you said in a whisper.

Reed sighed, resting his forehead against yours and closing his eyes. He was silent for a moment, tangling his fingers in your hair.

"You'll finish your studies," he began, looking at you. "And then I'll take you out of here," he assured you seriously.

You looked into his eyes uncertainly.

"Have you ever been to Europe?" he asked with a smile on his face. You pressed your lips together tighter as his smile began to infect you and shook your head in denial. “So Europe,” he nodded and captured your lips in a deep kiss again.

#reed richards x you #reed richards x reader #Reed Richards y/n #reed richards smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #sanarsi fic

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bulgingforbucky · 4 months ago

Text

Tied to the Inexplicable

NSFW

Warning: Physical Hurt, Degrading, Death Threats, No Aftercare, He's Mean, He might be psychotic

Summary: You chose the Jedi over Qimir and he will make sure you stay loyal to him by punishing you.

I kinda hurted my own feelings with this one :)

Your feet are running in the forest as you pant trying to get away from the brutal murders your master is committing. As you're running you look behind you seeing no one there stopping to catch your breath. You start walking in the dark part of the woods before he appears in front of you looking at you as his dark hair dangles in his face. You let out a scream falling backward at his appearance, his face scrunched in anger as he stares you down.

You scramble to your feet hearing his saber turning on as you turn your back running in the opposite direction. He flips his lightsaber as you run further away from him making him more anger. "You can't run from me!" He yells at the top of his lungs before he raises his other hand using the force to stop you. You try to fight against his hold moving your body but mentally you know that you can't. His footsteps are heavy as he steps on leaves breaking them with every step he takes.

Your back is to him and you can feel his negative emotions as he gets closer with his heavy breathing as his lightsaber hums. Once he gets near you can't see him, you can't even turn your head as you think about what he's doing you hear a hum on your right side along with a red light on the side of your face. Tears immediately start to fill your eyes, "Qimir wait I'm sorry-" you try to say before the saber touches your arm burning you as you scream in pain.

That was a warning.

Sniffles come from you as sharp breaths are taken. It takes all the force for him to not slice you to pieces, to make you suffer in ways you wouldn't even imagine, but at the same time, you are weak, of course, if something sounds good to you you'll jump on board. That's still no excuse for the fact he took you in when no one wanted to, taught you things, made you feel things, and this is how you repay him.

He hears your cries as he huffs turning you around so you can face him as his eyes meet your teary ones as he glares at you. "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you right now along with the Jedi you wanted to be with so badly." Your bottom lip trembles in terror as you try to speak, "Because I regret it, I really do master and I learned my lesson to not choose anyone but you." You breathlessly plead making him softly scoff.

"I don't believe you learned your lesson because if you actually listen to me when I teach you, you wouldn't be in this position. Would you?" He slightly mocks you while you try to get your point across. "No... I do listen-" Qimir shakes his head huffing, "Right, since you listen so much you should be an astonishing expecting apprentice standing by my side right, and not betraying your master praying on his downfall." His tone sounds sarcastic, but you try to go with it anyway.

'No! I never prayed on your downfall!" You say shocked but Qimir isn't having it. "What did you expect to happen when you sided with the ones who want to kill me?! I could have died and that would've been your burden to bear in that already weak mind of yours."

"Your mind is so weak and fragile that it doesn't take much for you to give up and break down. That's why I've been training you, pushing you hard to the point you've built a wall in your head, to the point not even a crack would appear. I'm starting to think you're a waste of time, just another dead end in my plan, a spot on a canvas." He talks down at you making you frown in shame.

"You doubt me."

He's right if I was loyal to and trusted him fully, I wouldn't have doubted him. Doubt led me to choose the enemies, them persuading me, planting their seed knowing I would turn against my master. I was a chess piece, on the Jedi's side and on my master's but at least I'll have free will to choose which one I'll fight for.

"Master I've realized my mistake, please forgive me. I'll work harder to earn your trust and work beside you again. My mentality will strengthen, so the rivals won't use me as a pawn against you." You plead to him, his shoulder drop slightly from them being tense and you take this as a good sign as you hear a heavy sigh from the man.

"I just wanted someone for myself, someone to train to make them the best. You are such a disappointment, I had a feeling this wouldn't work out." Qimir says lifting his lightsaber as your eyes widen.

"Master I'm sorry please forgive me. Please I know I don't deserve to be forgiven." You beg feeling humiliation and regret making Qimir nod in agreement. "You're right, you don't deserve to be forgiven, you deserve to die." Qimir says before he focuses the force on your head squeezing making you cry out.

"Qimir please have mercy! I'm so sorry! I'll do anything please Master! I'll serve you I swear I'll never betray you again please!" You beg and beg until you feel relief on your skull as you fall to the ground whimpering in pain from the pressure that was put on your head.

"Get up." Qimir demands as your body is now weak struggling to stand on your two feet, knees wobbling while you gain your balance as your slightly blurred vision and feeling out of place like your soul was separated from your body is starting to disappear. Qimir turns off the saber which makes you feel a little bit of hope.

Standing up you slightly bow your head to make yourself "smaller" than him, considering he's your master he's already above you. Hearing him grunt makes you look up at him, "Get on your knees." He demands as you give him a questioning look making him narrow his eyes. "Did I stutter?" He asks in his deep voice as you make your way onto your knees before him. You look up at him waiting for his directions before you feel his hand on your jaw. "Just do what you normally do, instead your life is on the line." He threatens in a sweet tone.

"Does that comprehend through your weak skull?" His finger taps in the middle of your forehead. You nod your head, "Yes I understand." You nod wanting to do anything that will help you redeem yourself. "Pull down my pants." He instructs before you hook your fingers in his waistband pulling his pants down to his thighs as his hard, thick, swollen cock with a bead of precum on the tip bounces in your face. You hesitate slightly as you avoid eye contact with his cock as you never pleasured him in this state.

Your hand makes contact with his cock softly before he protests, "Don't act all shy now, if you want me to accept you this is the only way, if not..." He says before he flips the lightsaber pushing it against your forehead. "I can turn this on and you'll have a hole in the middle of your head as the edges of it burn to a crisp as your body hits the ground, considering I killed everyone no one will be here meaning you will rot here like you're nothing, you wouldn't want that would you?" Qimir threatens as you shake your head and tremble feeling the heat from the saber on your skin. "Then suck my cock like you normally do."

Your hands shake before you stroke his cock, you can hear the slick on your hand as moves back and forth, he's so thick you have to use two hands. You can feel him looking down at you before you move your head closer opening your mouth as you take him in. The tolerable salty taste clouds your taste buds as you hum around his cock.

Your warm tongue swirls around his tip before you suck on it. His length twitches in your mouth before you tug on his balls pulling a moan from him. His hand is placed on the back of your head pushing you more on his cock resulting in you gagging. Oh does God know you hate your head being pushed down? You place your hands on his thighs trying to keep yourself still.

"If I find out you're trying to use teeth I'll cut your head off before it can happen." He threatens while a whimper comes from you pulling off. "I would never do that-" you say offended before he cuts you off. "At this point, I don't know what you'll do." Qimir says bluntly looking down at you glaring at him. "Don't push my head down and you won't have anything to worry about." You say expressing your problem.

"Just suck my dick." He says bluntly making your head spin in anger but you lean forward putting his length back in your mouth anyway. You start to bob your head on him gagging softly. Qimir moves his hips as soft moans come from him. "Your mouth is so warm on my cock, keep sucking you're doing good." He praises which gives you confidence sucking harder making him gasp.

He nods in encouragement as he grabs your head holding it. His thighs shake slightly under your grip as you focus on what makes him feel better. You stroke the rest of the length that's not in your mouth as your other hand tugs on his balls making his hips jerk from the action.

"I bet you're wet from sucking on my cock hm?" He observes your legs squeezing together. You just look up at him as you continue to nurse on his cock before he pulls you off. "Answer me." He demands to which you nod. "That's not an answer." He says before he grips your hair making you wince. "Yes, master." You answer in a low-toned voice but he still isn't satisfied with your answer.

"Yes master what?" He edges onto your sentence, in which you reply with his help. "Yes, master I'm wet." Qimir tugs on your hair hard as that's still not what he was looking for. "Correct it." He says with a huff as you sigh, "I'm wet from sucking your cock master." You say hoping that this is what he wanted, which it is as he approves with a nod.

Are you serious? All I did was add a few words to the sentence and now you're happy with it? He better let me go, but my chances seem small considering he still hasn't put the saber that he is gripping tightly hoping I make a mistake.

Qimir can sense your anger and frustration as he lets out a small laugh. "You're not in the right predicament to be feeling so angry, just do what you're told and you'll be fine yeah?" He guides your mouth back on his cock. "There you go, just suck it and make me cum." You almost immediately start putting your mouth to work. His tip hits the back of your throat every now and then as you gag slightly.

You pull off sucking on his sensitive tip making Qimir suck in a breath. Flatting your tongue you lick his slit that's leaking precum into your mouth as you slightly want more of it. Desperately you start to suck slightly harder tugging on his full sensitive balls. Qimir holds the back of your head supporting you through your sexual actions.

Before you know it you hear a groan before a warm liquid fills your mouth gasping in surprise around his cock. "Shh swallow it, c'mon do it." Qimir eggs on as you feel him grip your hair, listening to your master swallowing as instructed. He pulls himself from your mouth as he hums in approval before he runs his thumb on your jaw.

You look up at him hoping he can forgive you for what you've done, but he doesn't say anything about the matter. You watch him as he puts himself away turning away from you. "Follow me." Qimir instructed before he started to walk off. Immediately you get up off your aching knees following your master hoping for the best outcome as you two walk deeper into the forest in silence.

#qimir #qimir smut #qimir star wars #qimir the acolyte #manny jacinto #manny jacinto smut #the acolyte #tw death threats #star wars smut #star wars x reader #anakin skywalker smut #dom qimir #star wars

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littlereddream · 3 months ago

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Biomimicry, anyone?

Reader is gn in this one, little coffee shop meet cute with Jason and reader. I didn’t even know biomimicry was an actually major prior to looking a few things up for this fic. The more you know!

Click.

Scratch.

Nope, no good.

Riiiippp.

One more try.

Scratch.

Pause.

Shhhhk!

With a groan, you fall back in your seat at the booth, hoping the paper you’re glaring at can feel enough of your frustration to suddenly supply you with all of the answers to your problems. It wasn’t like you wanted to be sitting in an empty cafe close to midnight working on homework for a class you don’t even take. You thought you’d be done hours ago, the assignment seeming so easy when your friend initially begged you to do it for her so she could attend her sister’s wedding.

Said friend fully neglected to let you know that the assignment required detailed notes from the related four hour long lecture. The same notes she forgot to give you before apparently losing all signal that would allow her to send them to you.

So.

Teaching yourself the lesson from a class you’ve never even considered taking isn’t the easiest task. It’s time consuming, exhausting, and, most of all, boring. It’s what has you offhandedly doodling alternative ideas for your celebrity signature in the corner of your page. At least, that’s what you were doing before you pressed the pen into the page too hard and tore half of it apart.

The old woman who runs the cafe took pity on you ages ago, supplying you with an endless amount of white macadamia cookies while you work. On the house, she insisted. The green discoloration on the edge of the cookies told a different story of her reason for giving them away so easily.

You pick up the pen to try again, this time turning your attention back to the assignment directions sitting on your laptop screen, when a bell chimes into the otherwise quiet space.

The later the night, the fewer customers visit the shop. Most people don’t dare tempt the idea of walking this end of the city, especially not when it’s this dark out. The civilians feared the criminals, the criminals feared the Bats. It’s that same, seemingly endless food chain that has every sensible person who can help it steering clearly of nightly escapades.

Clearly, the man who just walked in has just as poorly sensible as you.

He’s the typical, shady Gotham figure. Thick jacket, hood turned up, hands stuffed into pockets, and head angled down. He’s either about to pull out a weapon to threaten Miss. Aublergine with or demand a pre-agreed upon payment from her.

Neither of those possibilities warrant the old woman’s response. It’s enough to ease your tension, the way she lights up entirely upon seeing him.

You’re sat close enough to hear most of their conversation, abandoning the tricky assignment in favor of listening in.

“You! I’ve been wondering when you’d stop by this week,” she scolds, pulling out a small paper bag from under the counter to drop fresh, warm chocolate chip cookies into.

You can’t really see the man’s face from where you’re sat, but you can make out the minute shrug of his shoulders.

“Got busy,” he says.

You can see him pull out a leather wallet, but Miss. Aublergine is quick to slap away his hand from dropping cash into the tip jar.

“I’ve told you, I don’t want your money. If you really want to pay me back, get the loner sitting back there out of my shop so I can close already.”

She’s leveling you with a knowing look, hands on her hips and a single brow raised, and you drop your gaze back to your laptop. Either you were too obvious of an eavesdropper or she had the eyes of a hawk. Probably a mix of both.

“Yes, okay, message received. I’ll head out now,” you mumble.

While you’re busy gathering all the papers in a neat stack, you can just barely make out the muted conversation happening some feet away. Not enough to understand what’s being said, unfortunately. A few seconds later, footsteps echo over tile to where you’re sat, and worn out boots enter your field of vision. Hoodie dude.

You look up, right into alert green eyes. Green eyes that are focused on the laptop still out on the table.

“Need any help?”

Huh?

Oh.

“Not unless you happen to know anything about biomimicry,” you huff.

He smiles, and what a sight it is indeed. “I do, actually. Mind if I…?”

Too late, you realize that he’s gesturing to the empty seat next to you. At your nod, he lowers himself down.

With his help, the missing lecture notes suddenly don’t seem all that important anymore, every gap in your resources filled by the knowledge he just happens to have. He seems engrossed in the work, hardly paying attention to you next to him as he explains everything. At some point, his hood comes down. At another, your shoulders relax.

Somewhere between both of those points, you’ve both inched a little closer.

No one else enters the cafe for the entirety of the time you and him are sat together. It’s like the world around you has gone silent, sound itself pausing to give the both of you space to breathe.

And then you’re shutting the laptop with a relieved sigh, paper written and assignment finished. Neither of you move right away, but soon enough you start to pack the laptop away with the rest of the papers. It gives him an opening to stand, and when you look back up, the hood is back on.

“Thank you,” you say.

He seems genuinely surprised that you’re still talking to him, enough for his response to take a second longer than it should.

“It’s no problem. Glad I could help.”

He steps back a little, giving you enough space to slide out of the booth yourself.

“You really did. I have no idea how I was gonna get that done myself. Before this, I had no idea biomimicry was an actual major.”

He angles his head to the side a little. “Not your homework?”

“Nope. Friend of mine needed help.”

He gives an understanding nod, and the two of you are thrown back into silence. With a glance outside, it seems the night’s only gotten darker.

“I gotta head out, thanks again.”

Slinging your backpack over your shoulder, you’re stopped by his hand around your wrist. It’s instinct to snatch your arm back, but by the look of his face, the way he’s staring at his hand like it doesn’t belong to him, he hadn’t even realized he’d done it.

“Sorry. I just- sorry. Um.”

Somewhere outside, far off into another block entirely, a car alarm echoes down the street.

“You’re walking home?” He asks.

To give the random, still suspicious stranger who helped you with homework the answer to a possibly identifying question, or not.

“Yeah?”

He looks uneasy at that, eyeing the street outside the glass windows like they’re personally whispering threats into his ears.

“It’s late.” He points out.

“I noticed.”

“Dangerous neighborhood.”

“Noted and confirmed.”

He sighs, rolling his eyes in a way that suggests he’s seconds away from dragging a hand down his face.

“I’m saying, you shouldn’t be walking alone.”

Suspicious, suspicious man.

“Walked here just fine, didn’t I?” You reply.

He gives you an unimpressed look. “At a much earlier time, I’m sure.”

Finally, you decide to do you both a favor and beat at the bush instead of around it.

“If this is you trying to walk me home, I think I’m gonna pass. I appreciate the offer and all your help, but I don’t even know your name and I’d rather take my chances walking alone.”

Too harsh? Maybe. Possibly. He did just help you. Should you take it back? Say something else to soften your words? He doesn’t give you the chance to.

“Oh, right. I got it, no problem. Sorry. Be careful, no shortcuts,” He rambles, sincere and apologetic. You almost feel bad, if not for the fact that Gotham’s taught you how much better it is to be safe than to be sorry.

Just as you’re about to leave, a cough rings out from behind the register. There’s the old lady, hacking up a storm and making odd flapping motions with her hands. What- oh. She’s waving you over.

It takes five seconds for you to cross the distance over to the counter and one second for Miss. Aublergine to pull you closer by the arm to where you can just barely hear her whisper.

“Jason has been coming here almost every week for the past few months. He always tries to tip me extra, sometimes comes in with his brothers or sister,” she trails off, taking a second to return to her original thought. “Point is, I know him. He’s a good kid, not a single bad intention in him. Let him walk you home,” she hisses.

You falter, looking behind you to where the man—Jason, apparently— is closely examining the specks of dust on a nearby table. His gaze lifts to catch yours, then immediately returns to the table. He’s as bad at hiding his eavesdropping as you are.

You trust Miss. Aublergine. You know she wouldn’t throw you to the wolves if she knew better.

One last encouraging look from Miss. Aublergine has you turning back and walking over to where Jason is now overwhelmingly interested in the marble tile. You stop in front of him, aiming for an easy smile.

“Still up to walk me home?”

With a matching smile, though it seems like it takes a little effort, Jason nods.

“Of course.”

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd #x reader #Jason todd the man that you are

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lady-ashfade · 1 year ago

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Hypocrite

—£ Slight!Yan!Alicent Hightower x Male!Reader.(Drabble)

—£ Plot: The youngest brother of King Viserys returns, only to cause chaos behind closed doors for years to come.

—£Warnings: S*xual Themes, Reader Being A Man, Slight Age Gap, Reader Going To brothels, Hidden Love, Cheating. Reader just wants to be in love but ends up caught in the crossfire.

It was hypocritical.

The first time you saw Alicent was when you had returned to kings landing from your travels around the world. Taking on many battles and wisdom for old blood and the new, many lesson that needed to be taught. Out of the three brothers you were the youngest, and that meant more freedom for you, the light shines less now that your brother was king and the other the commander of the knights watch.

The young girl was a few years younger then you but how you cherished her beauty and kindness, her smarts and welcoming smile had you weak. It was often that you two snuck off to the library to meet in secret and share each other’s company. She liked to have someone to talk to and let go for once and you were that. You loved making her smile and feel wanted, or in your case as a friend in secret. Of course the two of you noticed your shared interests but couldn’t do anything about it.

Years passed, she was a young woman now. And betrothed to your brother after the death of his wife.

It was like a blade cutting you open knowing that your brother stole the only woman you loved. But at least you’d still have her around even if the sight would make your stomach twist. Standing by her side when Rhaenrya wasn’t and you understood. No matter how much you felt betrayed you couldn’t leave her alone in this time. You watched from the sidelines as she walked down the aisle with a white dress looking as stunning as she always does. The only thing that kept you going that night was the wine and wondering off to a brothel.

Saying that Alicent wasn’t satisfied was a understatement. How she wished it was you taking her that night, how it could have been you slipping a ring on her finger. The gods were cruel at times. The first night shared with Viserys was like nothing she had thought, the books explaining it as a acted of love and passion. There was no feeling of that with him. But when she closed her eyes she could only see you and that lit a fire within herself. So she picture you.

After months of both of you pinning worse for each others touch she gave in to the desire to finally be loved. Taking her hips and pulling her close as your lips danced with passion, tugging at each others cloths as fast as you could. “Beautiful, so very beautiful.” You whisper in her ears as you tugged at the strings on her dress. “Make me feel good, you’re the only one who can.” She begged softly and pressed her body against you. After that night it never stopped. You two shared nights of passion each chance you got. Alicent was forever grateful and thought of you as a gift from the gods.

When Aegon was born everyone congratulated the king for his first born son, casting a shadow on rhaenrya. But you knew the truth when you held him, a mark on his back that resembled the same one you had. Of course it was hard to tell but you knew. Each of her children she bears you fathered.

The children grew up knowing as a farther more the Viserys but never knew the truth. So when the family became spilt from the bastards rhaenrya had it was almost laughable when Alicent shamed her. Had she forgotten who fathered her children? Or that she was unfaithful to her husband.

You tried so hard to teach them that her children were still their family but Alicent had her grip on them. War had many secrets that hide in the dark and you were apart of one.

So if it comes down to picking a side, you’ll just might tell the truth. For the woman you loved has forgotten the truth.

#yandere alicent hightower #alicent hightower x reader #alicent hightower #Alicent hightower x male!reader #yandere house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #yandere house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon x male!reader #aemond targaryen #aegon ii targaryen

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shesjustanothergeek · 4 months ago

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The Gods We Can Touch Chapter Four: Before the Storm

|Aemond Targaryen x Strong!Reader|

Masterlist of Series

Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.

What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the blackened darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?

Author's Note: Hello everyone! How are we doing after the last chapter? I went on a vacay and enjoyed some time with my family and dog, but now we're back to business. I wanted to say that I'm not a literary genius. Later in this chapter Helaena says some lines from a piece of work by Hélène Cixous called Love of the Wolf. I'm not taking credit for her work by any means, but I couldn't help myself not to add it. It was just too perfect. Well, anyways, thank you for reading!

Chapter Warnings: mentions of childhood SA and trauma related to it, sexism, bullying.

Birdsong accompanied you in your daily lessons with Septa Marlow, her parchment-thin flesh wrapped over her shaking bones as she pointed to the large map of what you assumed was Westeros. It wasn’t that you couldn’t identify the outline of your own country. You didn’t care. The tiny sparrow that decided to make its nest on the branch of an oak tree outside the tutor room window was far more interesting.

You could hear the sounds of swords clashing outside over the creature’s call, an added instrument into the melody of the Red Keep. There was no doubt your brothers and uncles were practicing their swordplay, Ser Criston teaching the pairs of children. How you longed to be out there with them, with your family, with your twin, learning of things much more exciting than what region of the country produced the most red wine.

You only wanted to see them and to be entertained. It wasn’t that you wanted to learn the sword, though you wouldn’t say no should someone ask.

But this resulted from the actions from the previous day when you disobeyed the Dragonkeeper’s commands. It surprised you when your mother failed to mention how your brothers and Aegon gave Aemond a pig, but you weren’t planning to go out of your way to tell on yourself and receive any more repercussions. You were already confined to the castle walls and forbidden from seeing your dragon for the next sennight. You couldn’t imagine what your mother would have done in response if she knew.

“Princess, pay attention,” the old crone’s wavering voice commanded, causing you to jolt.

You attempted to follow her instructions, rattling off the names of Houses and their most profitable exports, but metal clanging stole you from your duties once more. Why couldn’t you be with your brothers and uncles? You understood that today’s extra lessons were a punishment, but why couldn’t you join them? You and Jace were the same age, though you were a few moments older, and Luke was younger.

You could comprehend the importance of learning such knowledge, but your brothers were able to understand this and swordsmanship. Why could you not? Seeing as your mother had not learned it, you did not believe it was a skill you needed. This was the only thing that separated you from Jace, and you hated it.

Suddenly, everything went silent. The birds, the clang of steel, your mind halted into a noiseless silence, leaving the only sound of Septa Marlow’s droning, shaky voice. Screams you knew belonged to Aegon and the shrieks of your younger brother, Jace, briefly sounded, causing your feet to twitch in the direction of the sound. You knew your brother. That was not a noise of happiness but one of determination and fear, but once again, it plummeted into silence.

Then, it erupted. Shouts and thick, repeated thumps of what could only be skin on skin replaced the dull thudding of swords, only this time, it was of grown men.

Disregarding your Septa’s scolds of disobedience, you stood, rushing from the creaky wooden desk and chair with a soft wince from the pain between your legs. You ran to the window, face pressed against the glass, to see the situation unfold.

Ser Harwin kneeled over a man in polished armor you couldn’t see as he drove punch after punch into the man’s face. It was a member of the Kingsguard, judging by his attire as onlookers gathered around the two of them, attempting to remove Harwin from his victim.

Why would Ser Harwin be attacking a Kingsguard?

You pressed your face closer to the glass, fogging it with your breath. Soon, your mother’s protector was thrown off, revealing a bloodied, smug Ser Criston Cole, a proud smirk on his tan face as he spat viscous scarlet liquid. Ser Harwin spewed words of anger you couldn’t hear as you observed with wide eyes from above.

“Princess!” Marlow shouted, stomping her slippered foot in exasperation. “Return to your seat at once.”

“Ser Harwin is attacking Ser Criston!” you countered with a whine as you disregarded her demands. Without thinking of the consequences, you ran for the exit only to be met with the face of your sworn shield, halting you from seeing the commotion.

You were stuck. These were the repercussions of your actions, and now you had to sit in dull solitude with a Septa so old that your mother had her as wild possibilities ran through your head as to why Ser Harwin Strong attacked Ser Criston Cole.

Finding where your uncle Aemond spent most of his time was effortless. He was unlike the rest of you, who loved to be outside in the dirt, running about the gardens as you and your brothers played any game you could think of. Aegon and the trio of you teased Aemond for the fact that he was different in this way, your eldest uncle impressing the idea that his brother’s likes of science, math, history, and philosophy were weird for a child. You also enjoyed subjects similar to your uncle’s, thirsting for knowledge of everything related to herbs, flowers, and other plants, but you never brought it up. Aegon would undoubtedly tease you for it if he knew.

Aemond’s interests weren’t typical, but you didn’t see it as something to look down on him for. But since Aegon did, you had no choice but to agree.

The library in the Red Keep was a lonely and shadowy place, rarely visited by anyone, not even the servants. The absence of lit candles or a crackling fire contributed to the eerie atmosphere, creating a sensation of fear that seemed to grip your very core as you stepped inside, as though you were venturing into an endless void of darkness. Despite the unsettling ambiance, you summoned your bravery, clutching your cherished collection of fairy tales for comfort, and gained the strength to push open the library doors. The sound of metal clanging echoed in the silence.

Motes of dust swirled in the beams of light pouring through the windows as you combed through the towering wooden bookcases. Your search was targeted and honed on a particular individual who, besides Lord Lyonel Strong and the rest of the council members, was known to make regular visits to this room. It was just a matter of time before you laid eyes on him.

After the sixth tall hickory bookshelf, you found Aemond resting on a window seat filled with lush fabric cushions, the sunbeams casting him in a yellow glow. You took a step forward, hesitating as you thought about how your uncle would react to your goodwill gesture. Despite anticipating his initial skepticism and harsh words, you held onto hope that persistence and authenticity would eventually make him see you for who you are.

You wished for it to be true.

“Have you come to mock me again, niece?” Aemond asked, interrupting your indecision with his nose still in the pages.

You swallowed as your mouth became dry, stepping out to reveal yourself fully. “No, Aemond. I came to read,” you replied, taking a gasp of air and summoning courage, “with you.”

Your uncle’s attempt to mask his surprise was unsuccessful as his eyes widened in astonishment. He quickly glanced at you and returned to his book, hoping to conceal his reaction.

His usual scowl deepened, pulling down at his freckled cheeks as he interrogated. “Why?”

A lopsided grin scrunched your plump cheeks upwards to crinkle your eyes as you shrugged. “Because I want to.”

Aemond flipped onto the next page with a skeptical face, yet his violet orbs never moved from the same spot. You had his attention. Hiding a victorious grin, you stepped towards him before he could protest, plopping onto the pillows beside Aemond. He quickly recoiled in exaggerated disgust, as if you were no more than an annoying fly that landed on his arm as he slammed the tome shut and briskly left.

This was an expected outcome, and you hurriedly chased after him, your shorter legs struggling to keep up with your uncle’s pace as he fled around a corner from your attempted act of bonding. You understood this was not a simple task and already built the mental stamina to outlast Aemond’s antics as he jumped down the stone steps of the Keep two at a time.

Eventually, he managed to escape you, his notable mane of blonde hair disappearing before a crowd of courtiers in the courtyard.

You huffed a sigh as you observed the sea of people, sweat stinging your privy part, but you ignored it, standing on the tips of your toes to peer over the wall of the pale redstone landing above the yard.

Suddenly, you spotted him at the far end as he caught your gaze, violet eyes widening in horror as if he saw one of the monsters from your stories. He turned away. His confident walk soon turned to a worried jog as you ran as fast as your limbs could carry you, shoving your way through the throng of people. You were used to playing chase with your brothers. Doing it with your uncle was the same, if not more manageable, with the help of his iconic hair and green garbs.

As you reached the area where you spotted your uncle, he was nowhere to be found, and you turned, looking across the vast meadow of the court that ebbed and flowed like the swaying of a wheat field, focused on their afternoon destinations. None of them paid any attention to the two dragon royals, both more than a head shorter and too self-absorbed to care.

With a sharp yelp, you fell to the ground, soiling your gown and dropping your book on the packed dirt as you caught yourself with your palms. They ached at the impact, tiny rocks embedding into your soft skin as you swiftly turned to the person who shoved you and saw no other than your uncle Aemond staring over you with rose-dusted cheeks. His arms securely bound his book to his chest as he looked down upon you with his nose, catching his breath and taking three paces back before you righted yourself.

“Why are you following me?” your uncle shouted down at you as he attempted to make his voice sound like a grown man.

You huffed as you swiped the dirt from your turquoise dress, gritting your teeth to control your frustration. This was one of your nice ones! Of course, Aemond would ruin it. Your mother would surely scold you when she found out.

“I told you I only wanted to read!” you screeched with a stomp of your foot as your arms flew into the air, flailing wildly. “And now you’ve ruined my favorite collection! The spine is loose and the pages are dirty!”

Aemond said nothing as you studied the now-tattered book before you. Every night, Ser Harwin or your father read a short story from this as you sat atop their laps, drifting off into a restful sleep filled with dreams of nymphs playing in a forest creek. Your book, too, was ruined—another consequence of wanting to be kind to your uncle.

“What’s it about?” he suddenly asked, prompting your watery eyes to move to him. The blush that covered Aemond’s face deepened, now traveling to his ears and throat as he dug his nails into the leatherback of his tome. He looked almost pained to inquire about anything that had to do with you.

Your first instinct was to bite with sharpened fangs of hurt, but you stopped, remembering your goal as you batted your watery lashes in disregard. “It was a volume of different stories,” you sighed with disappointment, afraid that if you showed any other emotions, you would revert to your old ways.

“I see.”

You stared at Aemond expectantly, waiting longer than what was proper for him to continue any sentence or explanation. Still, he did not, only observing you with a calculating expression. The low murmur of bustling court members filled the long silence, the occasional gust of wind and rattling metal low in the background. When your uncle refused to proceed with the conversation, you opened your mouth to do it for him, but much to your chagrin, he turned away before you could, not speaking a word as he kicked pebbles with his boots.

You scoffed in response, stunned and appalled by his actions. For a brief moment, one that didn’t last longer than a blink, Aemond showed kindness to you. You felt like an idiot for believing in that small part that thought last night changed your standing with Aemond, yet a ray of hope still lingered in your chest like the flame of a burnt wick on a dwindling candle.

You sighed in frustration as you looked over the worn and tattered pages of the stories. The determination you once had dwindled, and you couldn’t shake off the feeling that you deserved this. Memories of mocking Aemond’s odd behavior of the pig and making fun of him with your brothers and Aegon weighed heavily on you, intensifying the shame. A soft sigh of defeat escaped your lips as you reflected on your actions.

Ser Harwin was leaving you. After his fight with Ser Criston in the training yard, he was stripped of his title as Commander of the City Watch and was sent back to Harrenhal the next day. You were devastated, fat tears running down your hot cheeks as he said farewell to you, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey before sleep.

Harwin had been with you since before you were born. He was there to help sort out quarrels between you and your brothers whenever one stole toys and refused to share. Harwin accompanied you to your lessons when your brothers were learning the art of swords or hunting. He taught you how to ride a horse when your father was out at sea with your grandfather Corlys and dried your tears whenever Aegon and Aemond were harsh. Ser Harwin was family as far as you were concerned, and returning to the Riverlands was akin to losing a member because Ser Criston claimed he cared too much about you and your brothers only to be a sworn protector.

You weren’t blind to the rumors surrounding your parentage and the resemblance to the Commander of the City Watch. It was all your uncles could do not to bring it up each moment they laid their Valyrian eyes on you. The word bastard haunted the now four of you wherever you went, a cloak of shame that threatened to devour your girlish body whole.

Jace often raised concerns about who your birth father was, but he was never brave enough to ask your mother about it. It was an open question of uncertainty that never seemed to find the correct answer, yet, no matter what, you knew that even if you were not of Laenor Velaryon’s blood, they could never deny that you were your mother’s. You were a Targaryen, just like your aunt and uncles, and that was something that could never change.

“Be good to your mother. I’ll visit when I can,” Ser Harwin said tenderly, kneeling before you, Jace, and Luke as your mother cradled Joffrey. He stood with a grunt as he observed the four of you, a misty look in his eyes that you could mistake for tears. “But that may be some time.”

Sobs stained the white cotton sleeves of your nightgown gray, sniffling as you wiped away more snot and salty water. You would miss Ser Harwin terribly, and he knew that, but that did not make this any less painful as you clung to Jace’s side and he, your mother.

“I will return. I promise,” Harwin expressed with a gravelly voice as he tenderly brushed loose strands of your hair that hid your wet eyes. You listened to the same voice as you sat on his lap, resting your head upon his chest as he read you and your brother’s fairy tales before bed.

Harwin would tell no more stories in that deep, rumbling tone that soothed your soul beyond measure, and you felt your heart crack more at the thought.

Harwin moved to say his final farewell to Joffrey and your mother, kissing the babe’s forehead as you buried your face in your brother’s neck. “You will be a stranger when we meet again,” he said to the bundle of fabric that cooed in your mother’s arms.

And that was true, not just for Joffrey, but for all of you.

Ser Harwin bid goodbye to your mother with a simple “princess” as they shared a long, meaningful glance with layers of emotion and scores of history behind them. He said no more and gathered his sword, swinging it over his shoulder as you released a cry, running to the comforting embrace of your mother’s bed. You could no longer watch Harwin as he left your life, a new wave of sobs taking over as you shoved your face into her feather pillows. It smelled of her, home, and happiness—fresh lavender and sage on expensive cotton sheets.

Despite your mother’s reassurance that you would see Ser Harwin again someday, you could not help but feel like this was a death sentence. As if you stood in front of his coffin and buried him beneath the dirt and worms yourself. He would no longer be the sworn shield he was when he left at this very moment, as you heard the sound of hurried footfalls exiting the room.

Luke followed you to the wide bed, tucking himself into your side and resting his temple on your chest as you both cried in an agonizing yet loving embrace. You could hear Jace talking to your mother outside the doorway, little Joffrey babbling as she softly bounced him in her arms. Whether it was to comfort your babe brother or her, you did not know.

“Is Harwin Strong my father? Am I a bastard?” you heard Jace ask. His fierce and unwavering inquiry only made you sadder. On instinct, you covered Luke’s ears as he hiccuped into your chest. He did not need to have doubt burrow into his mind at such a young age.

Your mother was silent. The only sounds coming were from you, the soft crackles of the fire in the hearth, and your little brother’s heaving breaths as you struggled to cope with the loss.

“You are a Targaryen. That is all that matters,” she finally answered, tone strong. Her words were rehearsed and practiced, and they did not quell the thirst for the truth in either you or Jace.

Your barely younger brother returned to the room. His thin lips downturned, and his head hung low as he sat on one of the plush settees littering the area. You could tell he was unsatisfied with your mother’s response, as were you, but he understood he would get the same reply should he push the matter. Your mother followed in soon after, observing the three of you with tired yet loving eyes.

The same question was on your lips, threatening to break free at any moment, lilac orbs landing on your brown ones as she stared at you with your newest brother still in her arms. She was not inclined to answer, and yet you knew. It was written plainly in the fine lines of her face, the slope of her nose, and how tears lined her lashes as your mother inhaled a fierce, shuddering breath. Much like her, you refused to say the words aloud, electing to bask in the grief-stricken sadness that enveloped your family.

The hour of the owl was upon you before you finally went to your chambers, unable to find rest in your kin’s arms. Your brothers choose to stay with your mother inside hers as their tiny bodies pressed against each other after the tears have long dried.

The halls and corridors of the Red Keep were noiseless as you trekked through them with keen eyes. The portraits of your ancestors you passed daily seemed to follow you with their purple gazes, their accusing stares boring shame into your soul and setting your hair alight.

Alicent’s warning rang through your head as the squeak of a rat sounded, her rich voice echoing inside until it was all you could hear. The end could not come fast enough as you shut the large wooden doors to your, Jace’s, and Luke’s shared quarters, swiftly hiding under your blue bed sheets, heart hammering in your chest.

Your bed was cold and safe, and your pulse calmed steadily. Now, more than ever, the uncertainty behind your birth was thrust before you.

It was always easier to deny the fact that you were most likely a bastard than it was to accept it. Those who accused you did not understand that they weren’t only saying your blood was not Laenor Velaryon but that you and your brothers were a sin, your very existence an insult to House Velaryon, the king, and to all those who dutifully suffered unkind marriages.

Bastards were not heirs. They were creations purely out of selfish lust and desire.

It called into question all four of your legitimacy of inheritance. None of you had claims to the thrones or titles you were set to receive upon the death of your parents, and no prospects would want to wed a bastard should you accept it.

You understood why your mother did not admit the words allowed in the confidence of the now four of you. If you spoke them into existence, it would only make them real. It left you no choice but to deny, deny, deny until your tongue withered and lips fell off. Living a life of refusal of admittance would be difficult. Still, it was the only way to ensure you and your brother’s places would be secured until the Stranger decided to take another companion.

The empty well of tears soon filled once more as you sighed deeply in surrender to the turbulent path ahead, tucking your hand underneath your pillow for the relief of rest, but unfortunately, it did not find you.

Your vanity mirror shined like a beacon in the darkness, reminding you of that night. You still needed to move it back to its original place and give your maids the excuse that you wanted to see what it would look like there. It was a lie.

The idea that Aegon knew of a passage into your rooms haunted you when you set foot into the space. You were scared, anxious, no… terrified that your eldest uncle would waltz into your bed chamber at any moment. The unknown was what frightened you—of what he would do. The notion that he could enter pushed you to rise from bed, planting the soles of your feet onto a maroon Myrish rug as you grabbed the legs of the vanity and pulled it back into place. You would have to think of another lie to tell your maids.

“Why is Uncle Aemond unkind to us?” a timid voice rang out into the once private space.

Nearly jumping out of your skin, you turned to see Luke with a wooden toy dragon curled into his tiny fist. It looked as if he had just awoken from sleep minutes ago, which you assumed was the case judging by his messy hair and crusted eyes. As you caught your breath, clutching the skirt of your pale gray nightgown, you disregarded any questions about why he was here instead of your mother’s room.

“I’m sure he doesn’t mean to be,” you answered as your racing heart calmed. “Why do you ask?”

“I saw him push you over in the courtyard,” he ardently explained, his dark brows rising against his pale skin. It reminded you of your father when he tried to speak earnestly with the three of you, yet Luke’s boyish voice had no similarities to his.

You sighed, recalling the now ruined book you hid in your trunk alongside your tattered dress. “He was angry.”

You did not want to tell Luke about Aemond’s rejection, as the embarrassment was still fresh. He would no doubt try to tell you how you were wrong for attempting to befriend him after the mean things he’d said to you all your life.

“He’s always angry, but we haven’t done anything,” Luke countered with a frown on his small lips, fiddling with his fingers at his sides.

You paused for a long moment, unsure of what to say. The three of you were not nearly as cruel to Aemond as Aegon was. Your mother raised you to be kind to your uncles and aunt no matter what they did to you, and while you were not perfect, any jokes or rude remarks were not made with the intent to hurt him. With a great sigh, you lead Luke in front of the gated fireplace, where a collection of your toys rests in the orange glow. He picked up a polished wooden horse, running his tiny thumbs over the varnish as you spoke.

“I think he believes we don’t belong here,” you said. The explanation was vague, and it irked you beyond measure. The truth of your words threatened to surface like an apple thrown into a barrel full of water.

“We live here. This is our family,” he replied in confusion, dark eyes so wide you could see the entire white. He wasn’t wrong, yet the truth of the matter clawed at your throat to become free.

“We don’t look like Targaryens. You must have noticed.” You could not stop the words from being said. You were such a good liar. Why was it impossible to lie about this?

“You mean our hair?” Luke questioned with a tilt of his head, scratching his scalp in confusion with one of the wooden toys.

You didn’t want to tell him and put the burden of knowledge onto your younger brother that you and Jace were cursed with, but it was something you understood would follow the now four of you for the rest of your lives.

Luke was still younger than you, yet his simple statement of your hair tested your last bit of resolve. “Our hair, eyes, and everything!” you exclaimed exasperated.

“But I have a crooked little finger like Mama,” he reasoned with the raise of his hand, showing his small digit. You deflated, sighing a drawn-out breath to calm your temper as you picked up one of your rag dolls from the pile.

“A crooked little finger isn’t enough,” you decided to say as you stroked the button eyes on your toy. Why couldn’t he comprehend that no matter how many similarities you had to your mother, the fact of who your father was remained uncertain?

“Well, if we aren’t Targaryens, where did we come from?” The sap inside the fire popped, startling you and your brother as you stared into the flames.

You were Targaryens. That much was obvious. You cannot fake exiting your mother’s womb. It was the matter of your father that sparked rumors, but you did not want to give Luke any more thoughts over the subject, coming to accept that he was not old enough to understand what your uncle was being mean about.

“We were born here. Mama is our mother, but there’s something else and Aemond knows it,” you answered obscurely, clutching your dolly into your chest as the night air howled outside the glass windows.

It felt like the Keep was listening to your conversation, the walls groaning in response to your words. The very castle you lived in understood the truth, and the pressure of it weighed heavily on your soul. Just like the paintings of your ancestors, the Red Keep knew of your shame.

“I do not wish to be different,” Luke confessed with dejection, too sad for your liking, as he stopped playing with the toys.

You didn’t want to cause anyone’s sadness, let alone your brother’s, and you frowned, taking Luke’s hand in yours and scooting across the floor to hug his side.

You loved your family more than words could describe as you held your younger brother closer. Jace, Luke, and now Joffrey did not deserve the torment they would face for the rest of their lives at the hands of your uncles and the court. As the eldest, it was your responsibility to protect them from things your parents could not, to take care of them and dry their tears, not to burden your mother or father, but this was something you understood you could not fix, yet it did not deter you from trying.

“Nor do I,” you finally spoke, holding Luke close to your heart and kissing him on his cherubic cheek. “So let us be good children and please those who love us so they may forget what we lack. Come. It’s time for bed.” Your mother would say that as you took your brother by the hand and led him to your bed.

If you couldn’t change what people said, you could at least change the contents they discussed.

You would excel in your place as the unspoken heir and accept your duties no matter what with your shoulders back and your chin held high. You would learn the history of your ancestors, the politics of your country, and whatever else you believed was dutiful to prepare yourself for the responsibility you would inherit after your mother. Not feeling the same fear you did earlier, now with your younger brother at your side, you pulled the covers over both of you as Luke snuggled into your side’s comforting embrace.

Aemond felt he lacked something compared to his siblings, niece, and nephews. Some of him believed that if a dragon hatched from his egg, or he claimed a living one, things would be different from how they were now. He would not be the subject of people’s taunts nor feel the prominent sensation of inadequacy that weighed on his soul, but it seemed as if Aemond was destined to suffer within the shadows of his family’s success no matter how hard he tried to step out of it.

His older brother possessed the skills of conversation and humor he didn’t have and constantly teased him for it, though Aegon was not without faults. His brother would tell him to stop being a “twat,” to get his nose out of books, and that he was dull, sullen, and far too severe for his age.

Because of this, Aegon preferred to spend time with Jace, Luke, and his niece, but it didn’t help that they were much easier company. His half-sister’s children seemed to have a bond closer than his siblings, each with dragons, which was the one thing he didn’t possess. Aemond would never admit he was jealous of his niece and nephews, for that would mean that he saw them as equals of comparison, which was something they weren’t. They were beings of lesser standing, though they thought themselves on par, as they had been raised with the same extravagance he was.

Aemond knew you would be looking for him the next day as he watched you skip to the library the following morning, your smile so bright on your face that it made him sick. Seeing how the joy fell from your face when you saw he was not there gave him a deep sense of satisfaction.

Did you think him stupid?

He could see the telltale signs of tears welling in your eyes as you realized your hidden plans of ridicule were foiled: the scrunch of your dark brows, rapid blinking to get the droplets at bay, and then the pursing of your lips. This time, you held firm and refused to let your emotions guide you. At least, that was what Aemond believed as he observed you exiting the library deep in thought.

He knew you would not give up so easily, and instead of taking solace in his usual places of inhabitant and risking you finding him, he chose to watch you. You could not see him if he was three steps ahead. Aemond was glad that you weren’t nearly as bright as you believed, and as long as he stayed out of sight, he could be sure you wouldn’t bother him. The irony of the situation that he would now be following you to avoid you didn’t matter, and he certainly wasn’t concerned about your well-being after what Aegon did, either.

You were as foreign to one another as Old Valyria; there was no reason for him to care. Aemond would do this every day for the rest of his life if it meant he would never have to spend a moment with you again.

“Brother, what are you doing?”

Helaena’s voice drifted through the halls like summer wind through tree leaves, startling Aemond as he watched his niece’s dark head disappear around a corner. Her fair blonde locks, a copy of her brother’s, were braided around the crown of her head, a tiny metal cage in her lithe fingers, and a curious expression on her visage directed towards him.

“You’re avoiding her,” Helaena declared with a resolute lilt to her tone, taking the insect out of its confines. “After what has been stolen.”

Aemond stared at his sister with perplexed eyes, quickly looking to ensure you had not heard the conversation and came to investigate.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Aemond said distractedly, wringing his hands at the pit of unease in his stomach.

There was no possibility that she knew what occurred during the night. Aegon would never willingly admit something like this, and you would undoubtedly keep what happened a secret, seeing as you refused to tell your mother in fear of punishment.

Helaena was silent as she observed the olive-and-brown grasshopper in her palm, petting it with her index finger before it tried to jump away. She held the open metal cage in the bug’s intended direction, and it landed inside, swiftly flicking the door shut before it could attempt to escape again.

“Tis our fate, I think, to crave what is given to another. If one possesses a thing, the other will take it away,” Helaena declared with the furrow of her blonde eyebrows, the insect thumping against the metal bars as she looked at her younger brother.

Her words were cryptic, and Aemond felt a bead of sweat run down his spine as he observed his older sister. He didn’t understand what she meant. She intensely focused on it, so he assumed it was about the grasshopper. Aemond wordlessly shrugged, disregarding his older sister’s vague observation as he peered anxiously at where he last spotted you.

“Tis not difficult for the ewe to love the lamb. But for the wolf?” Helaena began again, standing beside her brother with a soft swish of her satin skirt. “The wolf’s love for the lamb is such a renunciation, it’s the wolf’s sacrifice—it’s a love that could never be requited. This wolf that sacrifices its very definition for the lamb, this wolf that doesn’t eat the lamb, is it a wolf? Is it still a wolf?”

Aemond paid no attention to her now as Helaena spouted what he felt was nonsense and decided to push forward in search of you, ensuring with noiseless strides you would not see him once he got close.

Helaena was someone he felt was misunderstood like him, but now was not the time to go on with poetry and riddles.

“But sometimes it’s the wolf that falls into the jaws of the lamb. Out of love, the wolf falls backward into the circle of fire. It goes around fast. It so happens that the lamb catches the wolf,” Helaena continued, her voice soft like morning spring rain as she followed her vexed younger brother. She was inside her world, purposely or ignorant of her brother’s frustration.

“There is no greater love than the love the wolf feels for the lamb it doesn’t eat.”

Aemond groaned, losing his temper, which he rarely did in the presence of his sister. His niece had irked him, causing his heartbeat to quicken and his lungs pant.

“Helaena, will you please stop with this nonsense? I have important matters to tend to,” Aemond barked hushedly as a servant passed by, blocking the sun from the windows.

Any other day, he would allow his sister to speak for however long and about whatever she wanted, but this was not one of those times. You could happen upon him at any moment, and the prince did not want to risk the chance of a repeat encounter.

Helaena refused to listen to him as her musings became louder and sharper as if she was trying to convey a point without the proper words, no doubt alerting you and everyone else in the Keep to where he was. Aemond felt the blanket of defeat shroud his figure as the sound of light hurried footfalls sounded in the hall.

“The lamb loves its wolf. The wolf turns white and starts quivering out of love for the lamb. The lamb loves the wolf’s fragility, and the wolf loves the frail one’s force. The wolf is now the lamb’s lamb and the lamb has tamed the wolf,” his sister concluded, violet-eyed with an understanding she attempted to impart onto Aemond with the harsh squeeze of her digits on his arm.

He gasped, his brows arched in pain from Helaena’s sharp nails piercing through his tunic, and tried to wretch his arm free with a panicked grunt, but to no avail. Before he could blink, your pitched voice pierced Aemond’s ears, and he felt like they would burst.

“Uncle! There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” The loose strands of your neatly styled hair bounced with every step as you approached Aemond with a broad grin on your lips. “I was hoping we could read today. I chose a book I think you would like. I know you don’t enjoy fairytales.”

“Love blackens the lamb, leaving fire and blood to light their way,” Helaena whispered, her violet gaze directed towards the tall window as a bird flew past. She released Aemond’s arm as if she suddenly realized she still had it. She looked back to her grasshopper, wordlessly displaying it for you to see.

“Oh, is that a new one Helaena?” you asked with a bright curiosity in your tone. Aemond didn’t believe you truly cared about his sister and her bugs, curling his lip in disgust at what he thought were false niceties. “Where did you find it? We’ll have to go there sometime to see if there are more!”

You didn’t care about Helaena and her hobbies. You were more like Aegon and made fun of her for the bugs she collected. At least, that was what he had in his mind. Aemond felt conflicted as he watched his sister nod in agreement, asking when your punishment was over so you could spend time together again.

When he noticed Helaena’s faint smile as she left, grasshopper in tow, a warmth blossomed inside his heart. His sister only showed happiness when she truly felt it, not to be polite like most, and it caused Aemond to turn to you, his face pale. You were his annoying, spoiled, bastard niece who got anything she wanted, so why were you not acting like it?

It felt like butterflies were inside your stomach as you took another step toward Aemond, a book clutched to your chest like before. Aemond watched as his sister left the two of you alone without a word, like she was in a world of her own. He wanted to reach out to her to be not alone with his dreadful niece, but Helaena was gone as quickly as she emerged, leaving her younger brother with the girl he hated most in the world.

“I have a book I think we both would like today, uncle. It’s one about the warrior Queen Nymeria and her journey to Dorne,” you announced, a slight sway in your step as you tried to quell your anxiety.

Aemond huffed as he looked for a way out of this and sighed in defeat when he found none, clenching his thumbs inside his palms to control the ire that swelled in response. Your uncle didn’t want your pity or your friendship. He knew you were only spending time with him since you didn’t wish to Aegon and could not be with your brothers because they were in their lessons. You would have never done this if his eldest brother could control his impulses. It made him feel like a second choice, another painful reminder that he was always second to his kin, yet not good enough to be a spare.

Walking away in surrender, he led you back to the library, where no one would see the pair of you, and the sun provided the only light. He knew Aegon would tease him beyond what he could take if he saw you together, and after that night, Aemond did not want to see him anyway.

You set the book of Queen Nymeria’s adventures on a dusty wooden table and giggled as you fanned the air. Aemond was not amused, sulking in the chair beside you as he opened the leather back of the book. You sat next to him, shoulders touching, ignoring his reaction. He mockingly covered his mouth as if he smelled something terrible when he inhaled the citrus scent on your skin. This made you feel a bit upset, but you tried to hide it by tugging at your dark hair and avoiding his gaze.

You read the first page together silently. It stated how the queen looked, how beautiful she was with long, flowing, swarthy hair cascading down her waist with sturdy hips, her skin a smooth, youthful complexion with brown eyes to match. Yet still, she was a fierce warrior with an indomitable spirit who led her men into battle and took no cowards. You imagined you would be like her when you grew up, a beautiful warrior queen who ruled her kingdom with an unwavering though gentle and cunning fist, who people loved and respected her rule.

“Can I turn it?” Aemond asked dispassionately, cutting through the silence. You hadn’t realized you had been so lost in your daydreams that you had not retained a single word written on the page, but to not make your uncle perceive you lower than he already did, you nodded.

You leaned closer to the pages before you decorated them in elaborate colors of blue and red, studying the new page and picture. Aemond glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, unnoticed by you as you were lost in the vast expanse of your mind, your cheek right next to his.

He was surprised at how different you were, apart from the apparent fact of age and sex. His eyelashes were almost white and translucent, while yours were black, long, surrounding dark eyes that glistened with natural wetness that threatened to suck him into their depths if he stared for too long. Aemond’s skin was pale and dusted with sun kisses, yet yours was plain, flushed, and full of life, your lips more defined and moist than his. You possessed a pug nose matching that of your brothers rather than his aquiline one, a softer, more plump face than his, as Aemond’s was more defined even for his age. His hair, the color of Targaryen’s, the white you didn’t have a hint of and mocked you for, was visible proof of who your father was.

Though Aemond immensely enjoyed pointing out the idea that you were a bastard, he reluctantly realized that you weren’t unattractive, at least by Westerosie standards.

“I will be like Nymeria when I am queen,” you announced to Aemond, breaking the silence. He gave you a sidelong glance and sighed. It wouldn’t hurt if there were some conversation between you. It didn’t seem like you would be mean to him, and he supposed you were indebted to him after all.

At your hopeful expression, your uncle didn’t have the heart to tell you that neither you nor your mother would rule the Seven Kingdoms. Women were not fit to rule and carry such a burden. They were too gentle of creatures to make the harsh decisions that ruling required.

“Are you certain you’ll be a good ruler? You can barely get your brothers to listen to you. What makes you think the Lords of the realm will?” Aemond questioned with a trace of bitterness you couldn’t understand the cause of.

Turning to him with a face painted with a serious expression, your brows scrunched together and lips tight in a severe line as you took his hand. “Just as Nymeria burned her ships to prevent any cowardly men from fleeing, I will burn all those who try to hurt my family and oppose my reign.”

You stated the words with such a decisive coldness that it caused Aemond to shiver. He was shocked and in awe at your declaration, stunned into silence filled with momentary admiration. Aemond never imagined that would come out of your mouth. He always pictured you as soft-hearted when it came to violence, having seen you cower when Aegon would hit your brothers too hard when training.

“What would you do if they didn’t allow your mother to be queen? You wouldn’t have the power to do that,” your uncle reasoned, giving you a devoted attention he never gave before. It made you pause.

“Perhaps I was a bit rash,” you reasoned with the gentle tug of your hair, letting go of Aemond’s hand in nervousness. He swiftly snatched it back before you could think, a surge of excitement rolling in the pit of your stomach with the action. “It wouldn’t only be me, though. I would have Jace, Luke, and Joffrey when he becomes a rider. We would help our mother if anyone tried to prevent her, and I would have my husband, too. He would be my Mors Martell and help me conquer all of Dorne!”

You looked at Aemond with uncertain eyes as your gaze flicked from him to the open book the two of you barely read.

“You mean Aegon. Someone with a dragon,” he countered snidely, turning his flushed cheeks away from you.

“No,” you snapped quicker than you could have imagined. “I don’t want Aegon to be my husband.”

Aemond needn’t ask why.

You hadn’t heard your eldest uncle’s name since that night, and hearing it made something within you break. You despised Aegon for his actions. Did he feel entitled to mistreat you because of the betrothal plan? It filled you with blackened fury. You took a quick breath to calm yourself and looked to Aemond, who appeared remorseful.

“You don’t need a dragon to be powerful,” you explained with a gentle tone, but Aemond only scoffed.

“That’s easy for you to say when you have one,” he bit, causing the tips of his ears to grow pink in anger.

You attempted to hide your huff of annoyance at his sulking but failed, rolling your dark eyes as you answered him honestly. “I do believe you’ll have a dragon one day. There are too many around for you not to. You just need to find the right one, but even if you don’t, there are other ways to have power. You could ride with me and Gaeli, too, if you like? If you never claimed one.”

It was an offering of peace, of goodwill, telling your uncle without the words that you were sorry for having played all the jokes you did on him for not having a mount. You wanted him to know he was welcomed into the world of dragons without one, that you would still see him as an equal, if not better than you in some aspects. He was already showing prospects of being a fine warrior.

“Really?” Aemond perked, violet eyes setting alight with happiness you had never seen him show. He felt childish, but he couldn't help it. You offered for him to ride a dragon!

You giggled, unable to hold your joy back as you bobbed eagerly. “Of course, Aemond! As soon as Gaelithox is large enough to ride you will be with me. We can learn together for when you finally mount one!”

It was the first time you saw your uncle smile with genuine, untainted mirth, displaying a set of dimples you didn’t know he had. The pair of you fell into a deep conversation long into the late evening, causing your mother to pace with nerves until you returned, discussing thoughts of the future, of what dragons Aemond could claim, and how, if he never bonded with one, you would make him feel as if he was a dragon rider like the rest of your family.

The following days, Aemond rose with the sun, a sensation he had never felt before in the pit of his stomach as his servant dressed him in traditional green garbs.

Excitement.

He was filled with eager anticipation for the days ahead now that he had something positive to look forward to. It was something only he had now. In a way, though Aemond would never admit it, for it was such a horrendous thought that brought him great shame, he was glad that Aegon raped his niece. If he hadn’t, Aemond would never have gained one of the two things Aegon had that he didn’t.

First, he took the companionship of the only person who steadfastly supported his old brother. Next, all Aemond had to do was acquire a dragon, and finally, he would be equal to Aegon, if not better.

As Aemond traveled the halls, understanding full well that he could read within the privacy of his chamber, he went to the library to read ever since he and his niece shared words of the future. He met you in the same place in the library after your lessons, whether to read, chat, or enjoy the peace of the other’s company.

Though Aemond was proud that he took something from Aegon, he was afraid that his brother would see you together one day, but Aegon never ventured into the noiselessness of the library. The eldest son had never been much of a student.

You typically sparked conversations, and Aemond would answer back in kind. It made him feel better about himself—more of a man to have someone solely seek his attention and knowledge in a way no one else had before. Aemond always ended the day with a pleasant flutter in his heart and tingling in his fingers for what tomorrow would bring.

One night, as Aemond lay fast asleep with visions of the sun blinding his eyes, green scales, and a head of dark hair that flew in the wind, he woke with a start to the sound of his chamber doors opening. He feared it was Aegon and his nephews who were once again trying to make a mockery of him.

He rose within the lush emerald bedsheets, terrified, as the torchlight shone from the hallway, outlining the figure in the door frame. The person stepped forward with a loud creak of the metal hinges.

“Aemond?”

He heard the quiet mumble, the voice softer than that of the feather pillows he lay his head on at night. Aemond could barely see your silhouette in the darkness, squinting with sleep-clouded eyes to ensure it was you. He could hear your soft sniffles and quick breaths as concern hastened his heart.

“Can I sleep with you?”

You could hear your uncle shift on his bed, mind still reeling from being woken up from a deep slumber. The silence stretched long between you and Aemond, and you feared he might refuse your plea for comfort.

“What? Why?” he hissed with venom. There was no privacy from Aegon here. At any moment, his older brother could walk into his room and see you conversing. He didn’t need another excuse to be ridiculed. You had to leave now.

Your hiccups were loud at his rejection as you wiped at your tears, unable to form coherent sentences as sobs racked your lungs. “I…I had a dream. Ae-gon came… back. He hurt me again, and I… I couldn’t…” You cried, palms scratching at your scalp as you tried to speak.

“Go sleep with Jace,” he retorted, ready to return to bed. Spending time together privately was one thing, but this was invading his space, his place of solitude without siblings or nieces.

“I can’t! He and Luke have been sleeping with Mama since Ser Harwin left,” you babbled in despair, glancing over your shoulder as if the monster called Aegon would emerge from the shadows and devour you whole.

Your desperation stung Aemond's heart, and sympathy clouded his sense that the fear you felt was something he, too, experienced. After a long pause, your uncle shifted to the side, noiselessly lifting his sheets and making room beside him.

Breathing a loud sigh of relief that reminded him of a fish gasping for air, you closed the door, running to Aemond’s bed and immediately clinging to his side. He knew you to be affectionate, but he still carried concern in his mind. Yet how you trembled like a frightened fawn, told him this was not a rouse. You were sincerely terrified that your eldest uncle would return and no one would stop him this time.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I know you don’t like me,” you sobbed into your uncle’s green nightshirt, gripping the fabric so tight that Aemond worried it would rip. “Please, please, please don’t let him hurt me again, uncle. I can still feel it between my legs.”

Aemond froze at the sudden burst of intimacy, slowly wrapping his arms around your quivering body. Despite the context of the situation, having you so close sent a pleasant tingling down the base of his spine. He tried to focus on your breathing, waiting for it to calm down before he spoke again.

Though he was beginning to tolerate your presence, having you within his bed chambers was not something he wanted.

Aemond recalled the last time you experienced panic like this, a type too intense for your body to manage, ripping your hair straight from the root in response. He hated to realize he didn’t want you to suffer like that again, and unconsciously, he began to stroke the crown of your head.

It felt good to be needed, so desperately wanted by someone that they tried to crawl inside him, seeking protection, and Aemond felt an overwhelming urge to protect you how a wolf does its pup. He would shelter you from all monsters and people that sought you harm so long as you returned to him with the same wet eyes and arms full of love.

When you finally relaxed, no longer shaking like a leaf in the autumn wind, he spoke, praying that your exhausted mind would forget his confession in the morning.

“When I have a dragon he will not hurt you so long as you’re with me.”

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Oh, sweet prophetic girl. You know so much yet can do so little. Cursed with the knowledge of what will come and what has yet to be. Let's all pour one out for Helaena, besties.

I hope this chapter makes up for how sad the last one was. I love writing for angsty young Aemond. As always, thank you for reading!

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