#bold women's boots

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[neighbourscat]

𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐑 , father charlie mayhew

MAKING A WOMAN OUTTA YOU.

𓈒  ˙ ꪆৎ   ꣹  ۫  𖨂 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 . .. . priest!charlie m. X non-believer!black!fem!reader || second person ( you, yours, you’re ) + lowercase intended.

+ synopsis. for such are false apostles, deceitful workers, transforming themselves into the apostles of christ: and no marvel, for the devil himself is transformed into an angel of light: therefore it is no great thing if his ministers also be transformed as the ministers of righteousness, whose end shall be according to their works. - 2 corinthians 11:13-15

+ cw. grandma thinks reader is troubled and sexually active :: ‘G’ in ‘God’ is lowercased. use of ‘y/n’, brief mention of pregnancy and abortion, sacrilege / taboo, blasphemy, abuse of authority, feeding that fantasy / giving into obsession / scratching that itch , religious shame / guilt || pússy drunk father charlie, he’s so vocal — dirty talk, overstim, “angel” petname, choking, unprotected sex / charlie rejecting two condoms, multiple creampies, charlie & his standing positions.

+ nali’s notes; charlie mayhew & those blood red cowboy boots. writing gratuitous smut to breathe / did not expect to write this much. wordcount :: 6.2k+

+ to be played: family tree, ethel cain. || alternative: church, chase atlantic + numb, rihanna & eminem.

MAKING A WOMAN OUTTA YOU.

in two swift motions, you refolded the pamphlet and shoved it into the large pocket of your purse — letting the sleek paper crumble and tear. your grandmother norrice sat beside you, scanning through her copy of the same pamphlet and grinning softly. “you new adults are lucky,” the elder had said, removing her thin-wire, rectangular framed reading glasses, “it’s so good for young women to attend these type of things; to keep their hearts and minds pure. if i had such opportunity at your age, i would certainly have my life together.”

your relationship with the church had always been strained, and belief in god, at least the way your grandmother spoke about him, never came naturally to you.

annoyedly, “grandma . .. your life is fine.” norrice gave a small shake of her head and pushed her grandma-glasses back into place. “my life could be better. i would have done more,” she said in a wobbly voice. grandma norrice had fallen pregnant with your father at the young age of sixteen, and since her parents ( your greats ) were opposed to abortion, considering such action immoral, grandma norrice was forced to adult much quicker. “look. look. come look at this,” showing off the pamphlet, pointing a wrinkly finger over a bolded textbook — “start over. rededicate yourself as a virgin,” she read.

grandma norrice lowered the pamphlet into her lap. “isn’t that amazing?” you sighed deeply, swallowing down the hysterical laugh that almost left your throat. grandma norrice could feel the aggravation that seamed off of your body. “hey . ..” again, she pulled those thin-glasses off the bridge of her nose. she placed a cold hand onto your forearm and squeezed lovingly, “i’m only asking you for one. one session, hmm?”

and on: “you go in there and you listen. you show up for yourself, right?” grandma norrice reached and hooked a finger under your chin, tilting your head toward her. “you go in there and confess your defiance. you go in there and pledge yourself to be pure again in the eyes of the lord-“ there had been a misunderstanding between you and your grandmother norrice.

backstory: grandma norrice likes to keep her receipts. all of them. every last one. she had folders upon folders that divided her receipts by year and frequently shopped stores. she considers her an organizer, but she’s a hoarder . .. of paper. anyways, one day, way back when, she had read an advertisement in the town’s newspaper, that pretty much said: ‘good-day people of mississippi! make money off your receipts! one receipt for one penny!‘ the company had been active many years later, sending grandma norrice rolls and rolls of pretty brown pennies, but as the world aged and technology progressed — the company died.

and for some reason, even though she’s been told time and time again that that company had no longer been operating, she still collects and saves — waiting to reach her goal amount and cash in her receipts. she’s nearing a thousand receipts; it was like playing bingo and scratching lottery tickets for her. separating those receipts into their categories gave her joy.

and the short version of why you are here: as she was cleaning out a reusable shopping bag, she had seen a receipt. excited to store it where it belonged, her misty eyes scanned the slip of paper for a date. and though she found the date, she had also seen: CRYSTAL CONDOMS EXTRA VALUE , 4.99. a box of condoms was bought.

no, you weren’t sexually active . .. . but you were planning to be with this guy. and no, he wasn’t just any guy. you’ve been talking to him for a while now and he, surprisingly, has checked off every box in your ‘my type’ list. for the last four months it’s been cute dates and sweet hangouts, and after that makeout session last weekend, you were sure you were ready for it. you wanted to do it with him, badly. so bad that you started carrying two condoms in your purse, like a highschool kid, anticipating the next meet-up.

“-you must desire to re-purity.” you have not had sex yet. “you must desire to be clean.” hearing the low clacks of flat-heels, you turned from your grandmother with a low groan — the quick distraction needed. a woman, looking around your age, had been coming down the hall, giddy and with a greedy look in her blue eyes. her blonde hair, seeming freshly curled, had bounced up and down on her shoulders.

you let your eyes stroll downward; seeing the pamphlet. her copy a nice, pastel green color. a more recent edition. and then came another young woman, she too hurried down the hall with a copy of the pamphlet. “-you need guidance,” your grandmother norrice had still been speaking ( to herself ). “do not let your desires lead you astray.” and as more young women came filing down the hallway, she silenced herself.

“i believe that your time has come for a cleanse,” grandma norrice said, watching as the duos and trios of giggling, beautifully polished young women gathered at the large, double dark-oak doors. she patted your knee twice, telling you to hurry up and along. “i will be right here waiting for you, okay? right here. go on now, hurry in.”

the basement of the church was cold, even in the middle of summer. the pearly fluorescent lights gave the room an almost sterile feel, a stark contrast to the warmth of the sunday service that was held upstairs much earlier. the chairs were arranged in a tight circle, creating an intimacy that felt more like confinement. you made your way down the creaky staircase, stopping at the bottom landing and staring at the misguided women.

the air smelled like old books and faint incense, but none of it brought the comfort your grandmother said that the church would. if you turn back now, you could hide in the bathroom — since whoever was leading this thing wasn’t in yet . .. . but you would have to pass your grandmother to camp out in the bathroom.

you dropped your shoulders with a deep sigh.

you clutched the strap of your purse and eased into the light — careful and observant. you settled down in between two white women who were holding hand-held flip mirrors and fluffing their shiny hair. honey blonde and deep brunette. your gaze shifted then and your curious eyes landed on two other women; spanish women who were re-applying their gloss. the air was heavy, thick with an uncomfortable silence.

one session, your grandmother’s words echoed in your mind: “you need guidance. do not let your desires lead you astray.” maybe if you had had sex, this could be useful. if only she were here to see all of these women in their makeup and neat hairstyles and sitting so proper to show off what they have in the front — and as a slam sounded, the women jumped startled and readied themselves . .. . their heads bowed low in what looked like guilt or shame. fake guilt and fake shame.

“welcome back ladies . .. .” the priest, father charlie maydew, now stood in the center of the circle, his hands clasped in front of him like he was leading a sermon, but there was an edge to his presence that made your skin prickle. eerie, he was. “i applaud each of you for returning this afternoon. i applaud you for wanting better for yourself, and for trusting me to guide you through this process.” he was a tall man, with a face that was just on the edge of a smile, but never quite reaching for warmth.

his collar seemed to cling too tightly around his neck, and his eyes darted around the room, landing on each young woman, one by one; hungrily, before lingering on you for a beat longer than comfortable — his expression unreadable. but then, one corner of his lips tipped upward. the honey blonde at one side of you noticed and for a second, she considered tackling you. but she took a deep breath in and out. in and out.

“thank you for joining us this afternoon,” he said, his voice deep and smooth, his attention making you shrink slightly in your seat — wanting to disappear. father charlie fashioned a calming, slightly condescending grin on his face.

the other women turned to look at you, some with curiosity, some with attitude, but all with fake sympathy. “why don’t you introduce yourself?” his tone was warm, but something about it felt performative, rehearsed. the tall priest took two big steps back and gestured toward the center of the center.

you remained seated — shaking your head no. “i don’t plan on comin’ back, so . .. .” your fingers twisting in your lap, “i don’t think there’s a need to, y’know . .. . know me. know my name. why i’m here.” you finished with a shy chuckle. no one laughed with you. no one cracked a smile.

a bushy brow of his lifted a bit. he noted how sure of yourself you seemed after that statement. father charlie decided to try again: “please, come. introduce yourself.” all eyes were on you . .. . and you felt like a teenager again about to give a solo-project presentation. “i don’t . .. .” a scoff and another nervous chuckle. “there’s no reason for that. like i said, this is an in and out kind of thing for me.”

father charlie never had to ask twice. young women, such as those around him, moved whenever he needed something done. they moved as quick as possible, they never wanted him to lift a finger. any and every favor was complete without complaint or hesitation. though he never had to ask twice, for you, he’d give it a third go. “this is a safe environment. what is shared here will stay here. right in this circle. our small community.” as father charlie spoke, he stepped along said circle. the women smiled up at him as he passed, their hearts fluttering and their stomachs knotting.

when he landed, standing right before you, he held out his hand. “grab onto me . .. . and come forth.” his voice smooth, almost hypnotic. you felt the weight of the gazes from the other women — some surprised, their faces drawn in confusion and puzzlement. no one had ever hesitated to take father charlie’s hand. you could see the tension in their bodies, the way they sat stiffly, chests and shoulders leaned in, they were practically on the edge of their seats . .. . wondering if you’d keep denying the man or finally give into him.

but, they all swore that they’d rather be you right now; looking up at father charlie as he offered his beautiful hand.

“grab . .. . onto me.” fifth time.

you took a dekko at his hand — thinking.

and when your hand fell onto his, a collective sigh had gone up. father charlie clasped his other hand on top of yours and gave a pat; a pat that said: thank you, gorgeous.

you kept your hand in his as you took to your feet. father charlie’s palm felt nice in yours; surprisingly soft — he walked you to the circle’s center and released your hand, his fingers dragging against yours as he parted. “there is no need to be shy.”

you were annoyed.

“my name’s y/n, ‘nd, well . .. . i’m here ‘cause of my,” you cleared your throat, then trailed off abruptly, “my grandma.” the women stared amongst themselves for a second and then looked up at you again. you raised your chin softly, catching a glimpse of father charlie beyond you. not hovering, but towering perfectly. “it’s silly, really,” you had told the group, folding your arms over your chest protectively, “she does this thing . .. a-this weird thing, where she .. . like, keeps all of her receipts?”

you heard a soft hum come from behind your back. you wanted to look around, to look at father charlie, but you kept yourself from doing so. “it’s a long story . .. well, not exactly, no. it’s actually the shortest story in history, really-“ fast paced babbling. purely from the anxious energy that coursed and spun throughout your body. for some people, their brains lock up and they have trouble thinking of things to say. for you, being jittery filled your mind with thoughts, along with an urge to say them all. right now. as fast as you can. “-when she was much much younger and livin’ in mississippi, she was reading a newspaper . .. .”

and you rambled. and you rambled. and you rambled.

“‘nd she thinks that i’m having sex, which-“ you laughed at the thought, “-which i am not. i’m not.” directed to the women. “seriously, i’m not.” was directed to father charlie. “i’m here for no reason, honestly. i’ve been forced here on an assumption. a silly assumption. i’ve been carryin’ ‘round condoms, but that’s all-“ the embarrassing statement caught you off-guard.

with a hand, father charlie gestured toward your chair — clearly telling you to sit the fuck down. you hurried back. you dropped down and quickly kicked your purse underneath the seat; as if to hide the condoms that were already tucked in a zipper pocket.

“at least you’re having protective sex,” the brunette whispered over, not even facing you. you almost choked on nothing: “no, i’m not,” you answered too quickly. that didn’t sound right. “i-fuck. no, i’m not havin’ sex. but if i was, i would be protected,” you corrected. “that’s what makes this whole thing hilarious. i’m still a virgin.” the brunette looked at you. “then why are you here?” your shoulders slumped, “did . .. . did you not hear me?” you asked, pointing to the circle’s center. the brunette said no, “would you listen to yourself talk about your grandma collecting receipts? we all were falling asleep, sweetie. i was so tuned out, which never happens here.”

you shifted your weight a bit, turning your body toward her.

“wait, so why are you here, seriously?” she tilted her head.

you opened your mouth to speak and heard a finger-snap. “ladies . .. .” father charlie urged. he clasped his hands in front of him and continued, “you are here because of your struggle. each of you struggle. struggle with the desires of the flesh. desires that pull you away from god.“ he lifted a hand toward you, “she travels with condoms. can anyone tell me what that says about her?”

two arms had gone up and you so desperately wanted to leave.

father charlie called on tabitha, her loose waves pulled up into a high ponytail. her eyes sparkled. “it is clear that she is eager to engage in sexual intercourse with a man. it is on her mind and she is desperate for it. but if such dangerous thought continues to linger, she will eventually take action.”

you scoffed, “i am not ‘eager’ or ‘desperate’. i jus’ wan’a-“ father charlie raised a hand, shushing you from going any further. your lips shut, disappointedly. “that is correct, thank you, tabitha.” and she felt her bones rattled.

father charlie’s eyes slid back to you, his voice dropping into something softer, more personal. “these desires . .. these thoughts, like tabitha had stated, they are dangerous. but luckily, they can be controlled. with the right guidance.”

you felt the heat of his attention again, the way his words seemed to be directed specifically at you, though there were ten other women sitting in this circle. you lowered your gaze, trying to find comfort in your lap, but the room seemed to close in around you.

“lust,” he continued, stepping closer to where you sat, “is the most powerful weapon the devil has. it twists the human mind, makes you believe that these urges are natural.” father charlie had left the circle for a moment, their eyes following except yours. he had never left the circle before — he stuck there for every session. his hand rested on the back of your chair, and you froze. “but they are not. not one bit. they are sins. and we are here to free you from that temptation.”

“desires,” he said then, his voice dropping into a low murmur, “can be dangerous if left unchecked. they can consume you.“

a few of the women murmured, their voices barely audible. you remained silent, your heart thudding painfully in your chest. his fingers brushed against your shoulder, lightly, almost as if by accident, but you knew it wasn’t. the touch was deliberate, testing. father charlie leaned in more, pressing himself into the chair fully now. “god forgives,” his voice velvety, his hand lingering on your shoulder for a moment too long. “but only if you are truly willing to repent. to give yourself fully to him . .. .”

you stiffened, not sure if you were reacting to the feel of him or the fact that he was singling you out again.

you wanted to stand, to leave, but something kept you anchored to the chair. a combination of guilt, fear, and an unshakable sense that you should’ve never came.

father charlie moved away, continuing his slow pace around the group of beautiful women. he spoke about discipline, about submission to god’s will, about sin and repentance, but each word felt laced with something darker. something unspoken.

you glanced around the room, noticing the way the other women seemed to hang onto his every word, their eyes ogling and admiring how he carried himself. you weren’t sure what you expected from this session, but the way he spoke about desire — like it was something to be ashamed of — made you uncomfortable. sure, you had your own struggles, but was that really something that needed to be controlled like a disease?

this was something else entirely . .. . and it was confusing.

as the session dragged on, you realized that the shame you felt was from being here, in this room, where father charlie wielded his authority like a blade, cutting away at the parts of you that made you human.

at the end of the session, as the other women began to gather their things and shuffle toward the door, father charlie gestured for you to stay behind. you hesitated, but the weight of expectation pressed down on you, making it impossible to refuse.

you slung the strap over your shoulder and held the leather close, as if to comfort yourself.

and once the room was empty, he stepped to you, a smile creeping back onto his face. “thank you for sharing this afternoon. that was quite the story,” he said, his tone sickeningly sweet. “i know you said that this was a . .. . ‘one and done’, type of thing-“

you wanted to speak but nothing came out.

“but, i think we need to have a private conversation. just you and me. i can help you further. i would like to help you further, y/n.”

the bile rose in your throat, but all you could manage was a nod, the fear of what would happen if you said no silencing you. you quickly turned your back and left for the double doors.

you entered quietly, hoping not to draw attention, but the oak door creaked louder than you expected, making a few heads turn. you weren’t that late, just a few minutes, but it was enough to feel the shift in the room’s energy as you found an empty chair in the circle. the same chair you had been seated in last weekend. father charlie had made sure to leave it out.

“punctuality is important,” father charlie said smoothly, his voice breaking through the murmurs as he watched you take your seat. his smile was there, but it didn’t reach his eyes. you gave a quick nod of apology, shifting uncomfortably as you settled in, trying to brush off the feeling that all eyes were on you.

this time . .. . you were here by choice — you hadn’t told your grandmother norrice that father charlie had asked you to return. you knew that if you did, she’d throw a fit. she’d throw a damn superbowl party — it unsettled you, but at the same time, something pulled at you. maybe it was curiosity, or maybe it was the fact that you couldn’t stop thinking about how he had made you feel just by looking at you, as if he could see something in you that no one else could. whatever it was, it brought you back.

there was a distance between you and the women, a sense that you weren’t part of their world just yet. a sense that you were special, and far more important to father charlie.

“but, i am glad that you’ve decided to return.” you gave a small nod, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. “yeah, i . .. . i figured i’d give it another try,” you had said.

he nodded, as if he had expected nothing less. “good. very good.” father charlie smiled at you, but it wasn’t comforting. there was something behind it — something almost predatory in the way he seemed to hold his gaze on you, like he was sizing you up. then, he turned to address the group, but his words felt distant, again like they were just for show. you couldn’t focus on the session. your thoughts were too tangled, your mind too occupied with what he had said last time.

i think we need to have a private conversation.

“even if-when you don’t believe,” father charlie said, closing in behind your chair, his voice low enough that only you could hear, “god has a plan for you. you just have to let him in.”

you swallowed hard, fingers swiping along the smooth paint of your nails, unsure of what else to do. his hand found your shoulder for a second or three before he moved on, continuing his speech. the other women nodded along, their heads still bowed in what looked like submission.

as the session dragged on, you found yourself drifting in and out of the conversation, only half-listening. you weren’t here for the church, you weren’t here for god, you weren’t here for your grandmother, you weren’t here to be lectured about how your desires were dangerous if not properly controlled . .. . you were here for father charlie.

as the session wound down, the other women began to gather their things, exchanging quiet goodbyes. father charlie’s eyes followed them out, but he didn’t speak. he was waiting — waiting for them to leave, waiting for you. he caught your eye, giving you a knowing look. “stay . .. ?” he mouthed, the request felt more like a command.

tension.

when the last of the women finally left, the door closing softly behind her, the room seemed to shrink. the room felt different — charged. father charlie slowly walked over to where you sat, his presence looming larger now that it was just the two of you. his smile was still there, but it was different in this quiet space, more intense, more focused.

father charlie sat down in the chair right next to you. he scooted closer to you, grunting as he moved the chair with him — scraping it against the stone floor. his voice was soft, intimate. “i’m really glad you gave this another chance.” his dark eyes locked on yours with a strange intensity. “you know, sometimes the answers we are looking for are . .. . in places we wouldn’t expect.”

“like the basement of my grandmother’s church,” you had said mindlessly. father charlie gave you a gentle grin, showing you that he had been amused. barely. “yeah. exactly that. the basement of your grandmother’s church. but . .. . like i was saying-“ his hand brushed lightly against your arm, “-i think that you’re searching,” his voice a bit lower, like a secret was being shared. “-searching for something deeper, something that no one else can give you. i see it in you, the desire for connection.”

connection.

“i want to help you work through . .. . your urges.”

there was no mistaking it now — the way he said urges, the way his voice dipped, made it clear he wasn’t talking about faith or repentance anymore. “we all have them,” he murmured, his eyes scanning your face like he was looking for something, some sign of compliance or curiosity. “it happens.” his hand slid downward. just a little closer they went . .. . fingers grazing the back of your hand, subtle but deliberate. “i can guide you through it,” he whispered. “let me help you.”

your pulse quickened, a sense of alarm flooding through you, but there was also a need.

“you have to trust me. you have to let me in.”

“i don’t . .. know. i don’t think-“

father charlie’s smile deepened, his hand gently squeezing your forearm. “sometimes, we don’t know what we need until we find it. trust me. you’re here for a reason. god brought you back for a reason, right?”

his words hung in the air, heavy with a meaning that wasn’t lost on you.

“i don’t know,” you repeated yourself.

you tried to look away, but his hand reached out, his fingers lightly gripping your chin, forcing your gaze back to him — like he was trying to hold you in place, make you stay in this moment with him. “i know what you’ve been feeling. i know what’s pulling at you. you want to give in, yeah? to feel something . .. .”

“sometimes . .. . we’re not meant to fight it. sometimes, we’re meant to feed it.” he dropped his hand from your chin.

“but yesterday, you said . .. .”

he chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it, only a dark edge. “i know what you want. i know what your body wants, what it’s demanding from the world.” his hand moved, not to your arm this time, but to the small space between your shoulder blades. “and there’s nothing wrong with wanting and needing to feel pleasure. most times, we need personal attention to overcome and strive.

“i didn’t tell the others; but sometimes . .. . we have to allow ourselves to feel these things in order to rise above it. that’s how we control it.” his fingers slid down your back slowly. “desire can a gift — one that can bring two closer to the truth of who we are. allow me to help you feed it.”

. .. .

“are you going to let me help you now?”

. .. .

“yes.”

and he wasted no time bringing a hand up to grab the zip of your short-sleeved hoodie. he pulled down carefully, the plump cleavage of your breasts peeking. his other hand smoothed along your curly slicked back hair, “thank you,” he whispered.

and though you were prepared for something like this, the contraceptives in your purse went unused. when charlie had seen you flick it out — showing off the metallic dark green wrapper, the imprint of the condom bold — he refused, immediately: “no.” simple. flat and cold.

charlie plucked the packet from your perfectly-manicured fingers and tossed it across the floor, dark eyes boring into you. you looked at him as if he had lost his mind. just as you were about dig into the pocket for the other condom, charlie gripped your wrist; the pressure gentle but firm. “what do you mean ‘no’?” you asked — though you knew exactly what he meant.

“i have something real to give.” in other words, he would not be spilling his seed into some rubbery latex. there was no blocking him out. “i need you to feel everything. okay? you need to.” you couldn’t oppose him.

and here you were: holding onto his forearms. his arms had prodding veins for days. from his wrists to the tops of his large shoulders. he was so built, you weren’t at all expecting it. “. .. ready, angel?” you nodded down at him sweetly, hands sliding up to his flexed biceps. “wan’a be yours already. please ..” charlie had you right where he wanted you. there was something so nasty about the smirk that grew across his face, “god saved you for me . .. . wanted me to have you.”

“mm, think so?” came quiet and soft.

“know so,” charlie muttered, stroking himself messily. “i know so.” he reached down for you, carefully lining himself up with your heavenly entrance. “taste me.” his words are sweet, poison laced sugar. you kissed him, letting your eyes close as you did so.

and when he slipped inside, spongy and slimy, it was like his own personal hell. you were so much better than he could’ve imagined. charlie had gone completely silent, choking on air — like he was just punched in the gut. there’s no comparison, no feeling in the world . .. . he couldn’t form a single, coherent thought. you were gripping him just right, massaging his cock like you really were made to have him as your first. like he was made to stretch your hymen.

“fucking shhit,” charlie’s head gradually tossed itself back. he couldn’t keep his mouth shut, couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice, couldn’t keep himself from hiccuping and mumbling your name and calling you ‘angel’. “f-fuck. fuck, fuck, hang’on, f-please . .. hang on.” charlie had to pause halfway, huffing out an overwhelmed breath. he’s drooling — he couldn’t quite fathom how amazing you felt on the inside.

you sighed, and sighed again as his nose brushed your throat, as he guided your hips — slowly and tediously, pulling you up and down. your jaw hung open desperately, toes curling with each vein he gradually dragged so rigidly along your walls. “i’ve got y-you . .. . i promise, angel. i’ve got’cha,” you were taking him so well despite the pain, making it harder to resist the urge to pound into you.

your cunt readily accepting the priest’s dick as it oozed against your insides and spreads the flame of desire.

he’s making your pussy his own; shaping your cunt, molding you into the perfect cocksleeve. pretty much carving his name into it. and he was trying his best. trying so hard to be as gentle and as slow as he could possibly be, fighting every bad thought that so tightly pulled and demanded he go deeper. charlie did well, swallowing those thoughts down . .. but it was tiring.

it was exhausting. so fucking exhausting, especially when your desperate cunt keeps sucking and swallowing him in deeper after each and every pass. charlie kissed and licked at your neck, blankly trying to distract himself — which gave nothing. your cunt would not let up. nothing would give. not like this. there was no way. there was nothing in this world strong enough to pull him away from you and your warm cunt.

charlie’s guiding your hips so slow that it was painful. he’s trying to make every thrust connect — he’s groaning and struggling to keep his dark eyes open. you're smothering his entire cock with nothing but your slippery slick, hearing the filthy clicks ring from in between your sweaty thighs — he’s so lost in the sounds of you.

you are secured to him; fingers tangled into his brunette hair, gripping strands and raking your nails along his scalp, eliciting a satisfying moan to slip past his pretty lips. you blinked away, only for a moment, and stared down at his glossy lips. covered in his spit, your toes are curling. your tummy is doing cartwheels — butterflies no longer butterflies but pterodactyls.

“y-you’re .. . .. ‘t’s so deep ..” charlie gave a gentle smile, one hand slipping up and caressing the curve of your back. “i know i am. i know. i can feel it too, angel.” your sleepy gaze remained on his smiling lips. you licked at your own, almost leaning in to capture his. “i can feel everything . .. .” and you felt fan-fucking-tastic. “everything.”

you bit back a smile.

charlie winced lowly, his thighs starting to rattle. “hurts to .. to keep goin’ this slow ..”

it felt like he was worshipping you — that you are the sacred body here, two bright candles flickering in the corner — he’s worshipping you, you’re sure of it, with tongue and teeth and cock. it’s messy, and he’s not shy, those lips that could stir a congregation with their sweetness, his golden tongue .. . “nngh-wait,” you pleaded softly. “w-wha’?”

clenching around him so tight you could feel the outline of his prominent veins, the sensitive spots along his shaft. charlie’s brows furrow in clean focus, letting out a sultry string of words, “i .. i can’t.” he's buried nose deep near the crook of your neck. “i’m sorry, angel. i can’t .. fuck, i can’t.” he softly rasped as deep brown locks of hair stick against his shiny skin. “takin’ everything in me . .. i’m tryin’, fuckk, i’m tryin’ for you-don’t wan’ it to hurt . .. .” you felt his throaty pants trail against your skin, “but i’ve gotta go harder.”

with a sheepish smile, you met his chocolate-eyed gaze, moaning a soft: “okay ..”

“y-yeah?”

your weak arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, the pads of your fingers almost rubbing against a fresh scar, “mhmm .. . do it, please.” the ghost of a smirk. charlie’s thick fingers clasped at your waist; the decorative beads printing mini dents into your brown skin. effortless, he lifted your hips and fixed himself — the feet of the chair loudly scratching the cold, stone floor. “you’re the best i’ve ever felt, angel .. . s’hot inside. s’soft.” that deep, silky whisper has your cunt quivering disgustingly. and he’s driving his hips up, fast, drilling himself into your body.

“so fuckin’ wet-“ one hand cupped the side of your face, bringing you in. you’re both panting, quick and short, breathing hot and heavy air into each other’s mouths. “pretty hole sucking me in so good . .. .” your teeth nipped at your plump lower lip, drinking him in. charlie’s hot fingers slipped underneath your waistbeads, toying with the jewellery. “so good, angel . ..”

the gel slicking back your naturally thick hair put up zero match against the heat of this basement. edges once neatly laid, were puffing up — stretched curls lifting out of place and shrinking.

“fuck-never wanna leave.” your heart continued to race at his obscene words. and you caressed his face, whispering about how good he was making you feel. he mewled at your validation, wanting to please, needing to be the best for you.

and he’s so loud, so hungry for more. with the way charlie’s long lashes flutter and his hooded eyes droop, he was so visibly pussy drunk. already nearing the edge and trying his best not to tip over. balancing on a uni-cycle on a string of the cheapest of cheap dental floss.

he could practically taste the pleasure on his tongue — release is coming quick and there was no preparing himself for it. not enough preparation in the world. the pointed tips of his ears burn with intense, searing heat.

“oh my-! oh god!”

“no-“ charlie cursed under his breath and snapped a hand over your throat, all five fingers digging into your brown skin — “-no. fuck no. you don’t call on god. you-you don’t call on him. don’t. he’s not makin’ you feel good. i am. you call on me,” he ordered, harshly. and all you can is nod and follow his direction. “call for me . .. . do it.” you’re practically speechless, nothing left from your lips yet, all that could be heard was the constant slap slap slap of slippery skin.

and his hand tightened around your neck. “come on, angel . .. say my name.” charlie’s muscled chest heaved up and down, hard. “fucking call on me.”

your hands latched onto his wrist — this new feeling, you couldn't quite describe it. it was tasty and he was peeling you apart, layer by layer. “do it. who’s makin’ you feel good? huh? who’s breakin’ you in half? .. . who’s splittin’ you the fuck open?”

“charlie!” all you can do is choke out a shrill. “you are!”

what happens next takes you by surprise — charlie locked his big burly arms under your thighs and stood up, keeping himself plugged in; nice and snug. the new position, standing, had charlie’s head spinning. he grunted loudly, and it’s a sexy guttural noise. your legs kicking and dangling in the air as he feeds your cunt inch by greedy inch, again and again. “charlie .. .” you whined, pulling at his hair.

“shiit,” and as if a switch had been flipped, hot sticky ribbons shoot right into you, spilling way into your sweet welcoming womb. you gasped, nails scratching into his large shoulders — and the feel of him letting go inside of you has you cumming as well. his panting is deep and animalistic. he held onto your shivering body tighter, his hips never faltering.

beefy arms lifting your sticky body up again, he’s back at it — pushing and eager to reach another one. “a-angel .. .” his entire body hot and heavy. “gonna fill you up again-i’ve gotta.” his brown eyes continued to grow hooded and low.

you were still trying to recover. still coming down from your first orgasm and just barely adjusting to the feel of having his previous load fucked even deeper. “‘m gonna cum again,” he warned softly — cream tearing down his trembly thighs. he’s silently babbling out more whispers and moans of your name. “givin’ you all of me .. .”

you’re flustered right away and wanting to kiss him, hungry to. but as your leaning in, the heels of your feet knocking into the back of his thighs hard, he hoists your legs over his shoulders without so much as a warning. you’re scared to fall, but he won’t let you. he promised you through shaky moans, rocking you up and down.

and you’re gonna pass out, eyes knocking in the back of your skull. your legs bobbing from the movement, you’re trapped against him — and it’s even hotter. even messier and you can’t squirm at all. charlie’s watching your face contort and scrunch and there goes his ego; shooting through the church’s roof and into space. you’re barely hanging onto his big arms and he’s feeling so good about himself. “i can’t-can’t anymore,” you cried to him.

“but you can, angel . .. .” charlie snapped. “keep takin’ it .. and let’s finish together, ‘kay?” and every time you touched down on him, you squeal —

— “charlie . ..” you cooed, voice cracking cutely. your voice made his cock twitch and from the inside, you felt it all . .. . and it felt so nice. so sweet and so insanely intimate. “ch-charlie, pleaseee.” sickly, your voice bounces along the holy walls of the church’s basement.

lips parting as he tried to find his voice: “cum with me, angel-do it,” he pleaded. charlie felt every little reaction and spasm. every cute gasp and cry and moan sent a thick rush through his aching body. and you’re cumming again, holding onto him as tight as you can, clawing at his biceps.

and that’s when he lets go. pumping in yet another hot, thick load of his cum — you almost gag at the re-fill. his grip weakened, but charlie doesn’t let you fall. he told you that he won’t, so he won’t. he’s shivering, feeling a wave crash down onto him as he’s caving into his high . .. .

if this is sin — this beautiful, divine feeling — then what is the point of it all?

[kaleidoscopewritings19]

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Title: Ruin Me

Warning(s): language and SMUT! MDNI!!! If you are under the age of 18, you should not be here on this particular reader. I have warned you, and therefore am not responsible for what you’re about to read. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Prompt Credit are in bold and go to: @ rent-white, @ dumplingsjinson

—————

Slowly, you opened the door to your assigned house in Jackson, Wyoming. The freezing air made you shiver, and you kicked the snow off your boots.

You pulled your coat off and hung it on the hooks hanging by the door. You had made your home as cozy as possible with decorations you would find when out searching for supplies. Any time you walked into your home, you felt at ease and at peace. Another pair of boots on the floor caught your attention when you were taking off your own. “Joel?” You called out, and a creak on the floor board made you whip your head around.

The familiar pair of eyes made you breathe out a breath of relief, “You knew those were my boots, and yet you were nervous.” He said and you looked down at your feet.

“The last time I trusted a pair of familiar boots, I was kidnapped.” You said and Joel took a step closer to you. A while back you were taken by raiders; you never talked about it, and Joel understood that- he could only imagine what happened to you. “I would never let that happen. Not now, not ever.” He said as he pulled you into his body.

You were twenty years younger than him- gentle and fragile. The both of you had gone through the most fucked up things before finding solace in Jackson. When Joel had met you, he knew he had to protect you at all costs. Despite the hellish things you had been through, you were still kind.

You were far different from Tess and the women he had met along the way. It was a warmth Joel hadn’t felt since before the outbreak, and he was drawn to you. He didn’t trust anyone (other than Ellie and his brother), but he trusted you.

You were told of Joel’s past; he had murdered, he tortured people for information, and often times he would torture people to death. But just as he was drawn to you, you were drawn to him. He seen the ugly of the world, but you only found the good and the beauty in this world. Joel found it fascinating and you were addictive.

This little arrangement happened a year ago- the two of you would fuck each other to release built up emotions and stress, and that was it. But one of you was bound to get burned, and it just so happened to be you. You had fallen hopelessly in love with the ruthless and complicated man.

“What’s going on in the pretty little head of yours?” He asked, tearing you from your thoughts.

“Nothing.” You lied.

Joel pressed a kiss to your forehead- he was different around you. The man that was deemed as lethal, was gentle when it came to you. He was always the one to initiate things, but this time, you decided to be brave. You grabbed Joel’s hand and led him to your couch; he had lit the fire prior to even coming home, but you were glad he did.

Warmth filled the room, as you straddled Joel’s lap. Your legs were on the side of his, and he stared at you a gleam in his eye. His hands wrapped around your waist, and your shaky hands rested against the scruff on his face. No words were ever used when things would get sexual, both of you had agreed less talking was better, because this was nothing.

His dark eyes stared up into yours- he knew you wanted to take control, and little did you know this is something he had dreamed of. You had needs too, and he wanted you take advantage of him and these needs, but you were always too shy.

Joel did not want to rush you. Slowly, your face inched closer to his, and your lips brushed against his. His breath tickled your lips, and there was no time to be shy, so you pressed a kiss to Joel’s lips.

A few months back, the two of you agreed to allow kissing in these moments, but they were never filled with passion. They were just necessary to make things more steamy and to get things moving along. You pulled away from his face to see his expression.

He gave you a small smile, trying to encourage you to keep going- the waters were fine and did not need to be tested. You deepened the kiss and slid your tongue between his lips, and he pulled you closer to him.

Joel hummed in response to you, and he leaned his head against the back of the couch. His lips were puffy and a lazy smile made its way across his face, “Kiss me like that again and I’m gonna think you’re in love with me.” He said breathlessly, and you froze above him.

Joel noticed the look on your face and he sat up straighter, and before you could stop yourself, the words left your lips, “But what if I am in love with you, Joel?”

His breath hitched in his chest, and he (gently) pushed you to the side of him. “I’m gonna need you to stop right there. Don’t you dare bullshit me with that.” He gruffed, and he pulled on his boots.

He did not even bother to tie them, instead he turned to you. His finger pointed at you, “We promised each other that this wouldn’t happen.” His Texas accent was thick; it always was when he was angry, and man, he was angry.

You stood up from the couch and stood toe to toe with Joel. Being quiet and letting things slide, that was expected of you, but you couldn’t remain quiet anymore. “Yeah, Joel, we did. But it happened. What do you want me to do about it?” You asked as you looked in eyes for an answer, and when you didn’t find one, your hands rested on your head. “I can’t un-love you, Joel.”

Joel twinged at the word love, and he looked down at his feet. “You need to stop.” He said as he walked to the door, but you blocked him. You stood at the door with your head held high, “Y/N, move.” Joel stated and you shook your head.

“No.” You responded and Joel’s jaw tightened. “Move. Now.” He said again, and you folded your arms against your chest. “What’s stopping us from becoming more than this?” You demanded and Joel stepped forward.

He kept stepping towards you, until your back was pressed firmly against the front door. You held your ground, you stared up at him and he looked down at you. His face was emotionless- it was like chiseled stone, and with a monotonous voice, he responded to your question.

“You don’t want to love someone like me, Y/N.” Joel’s hands went to the side of your head, resting on the hard wood. He barred you in and he looked into your eyes, “You have no idea who you’re falling in love with.” He said, and his big, strong arms were making you weak in the knees. You gulped as his face was inches away from yours, “I have murdered people without a second thought, especially if it meant survivin’, and protecting Ellie.”

His eyes darkened, “I’m a dangerous man, Y/N. I’m not capable of love.” He said and you shivered underneath his gaze. But you remained steadfast, “I don’t care about that, Joel.” You said.

“You should.”

“You are capable of love.”

“How?”

His responses were quick, but yours were faster. “The way you protect Ellie. She’s no longer cargo. I know what you did to those fireflies when you knew what they were going to do to her.” You said and Joel pulled back from you. “How do you know about that?” He questioned.

You stared into his eyes, and you brought your hand to his cheek. “Because you talk in your sleep when you are able to sleep, Joel.” You said and he took a step back from you.

Joel turned around and he was looking at the ground, “You stay up and watch while I sleep. You protect me, Joel. You’re gentle with me, and I am fully aware of what you’re capable of.”

He remained silent and you remained against the front door. “You care about me, Joel. I think you feel what I feel too and it scares you. You are capable of love, otherwise you wouldn’t protect me and shield me the way you do.”

Joel turned back around and he hovered over you, “I am afraid to hurt you. Do you not understand that? I have this darkness that surrounds me. You’re like sunlight to me- somethin’ I have never experienced. I- I don’t want to… I’ll poison your light. I will ruin you.” He whispered and you looked into his pain filled eyes.

You moved out of his way and he opened the front door; tears stung your eyes, and you gulped back a sob, “Then ruin me, Joel. Because I can’t keep doing-”

The front door slammed and in one swift step, his hands were on your face, and his lips smashed into yours. Your hands gripped his strong arms, trying to steady yourself. His calloused hands held your face- making it impossible to pull away from him, and you didn’t want to pull away.

His kisses made you feel weak and dizzy; he knew that when your body swayed. He lifted you up off the ground and took you to the couch and laid you down.

Joel’s body hovered over yours, and his hand traced down from your neck all the way down to your waist. “Every time I touch you, it’s like I can feel ya unravelin’ under my hands.” He whispered before pressing another kiss to your lips, earning a moan from your lips.

You couldn’t wait any longer, you sat up and wrapped your arms around Joel’s neck, your legs wrapped around his waist, and you used all of your strength to flip him over. Now you were on top, and Joel was in shock.

His arms were resting well above his head, and he had a smirk on his face. He sat up and pressed a kiss to your lips, and you helped him shimmy out of his flannel. All that was left in your way, was his white t-shirt, and his jeans.

Joel removed his t-shirt, and then reached over and ripped open your button up blouse. Buttons hit the floor, and you began to work on his belt; Joel was letting you take full control.

He wanted to see this part of you, and when you got his pants off, he sat on the edge of the couch, and removed the jeans that clung to your legs.

As he pulled them down, he began pressing kisses from your navel, to where you wanted- needed him, and then pressed kisses all the way down your legs.

Instead of letting him do what he wanted to do, you pulled him up and pushed him back on the couch.

His back was resting in the cushions, and you pulled down his underwear. Joel’s eyes darkened as he watched you straddle him; your panties were black and lacy- he didn’t know how you got your hands on a pair like these. But he was glad you had them. He could feel how wet you were, and he wanted nothing more than to pin you down and fuck you. Hard.

You rubbed yourself against his length and he groaned into your shoulder, gently biting down on your warm skin. Joel couldn’t help himself; his finger traced down from your arm to your laced panties, and he hooked his finger underneath the thing fabric.

His finger slid between your wet folds, and he pushed the lace to the side. You were entranced by Joel- the way his rough finger felt between your legs ; it made you want to unravel right then and there.

Instead, you led his thick cock to your entrance, and slowly slid down until he was fully inside you. A moan left your lips, and Joel ripped off your bra, leaving you completely exposed underneath his gaze.

You were already cock drunk on Joel- he had this effect on you no other man has or could ever have on you. The hunger for Joel was insatiable, after he fucked you once, there was no turning back.

He thrusted his hips up into you, clearly impatient for you to come to your senses. His thrusts were slow and even, then you remembered, gentle. Kind. Fragile. That’s how Joel viewed you, and these slow movements were not longer feeding the need of him. You pressed a kiss to his lips, and leaned in towards his ear, and whispered, “Ruin me, Joel.”

When you pulled back to look at his face, he held your cheek. “Are you sure? Do you even know what you’re asking for?” He questioned. All you could do was nod as he continued to thrust up into you. His hand went to your hair, and gently pulled it back, “I need to hear you say it, baby.” This time you were moving yourself up and down his cock, “Joel, I want you to fuck me. I’m tired of you treating me like I’m going to break.”

This was all the confirmation he needed. Joel flipped you over and now you were laying on your back, staring up at him. He shoved himself back inside you, the sensation overwhelming your senses.

The sight of you made Joel thrust even harder. You fit so perfectly around him; your walls clenched around him. He leaned down to press a kiss to your lips, and you took this opportunity to wrap your legs around his waist.

Skin against skin, his hand hovered over your throat, and his thumb gently pressing into it. His hips snapped into you, and finally you started matching his thrusts. Joel was no longer holding back with you; his thrusts were rough and sloppy- not his usual slow and rhythmic thrusts.

His teeth grazed your bottom lip, making you moan at how sensitive you were becoming. A new feeling had taken over your body; Joel felt you were coming to the edge of breaking. His fingers went down between your legs and began rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Joel…. Joel…. Joel!” You were chanting his name like it was going to be the last time you were going to say it.

“I’m about come, baby girl.” He whispered gruffly in your ear. His thrusts became quicker and messier, the sounds coming from the living room were erotic. You silently prayed no one could hear the sounds your bodies were making, but then again, you didn’t care.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful— finishing all over my cock” he said as he pressed a kiss to your neck. “Wantin’ me to ruin you… You belong to me now.” Slowly he pulled his cock out of you and slammed back into you. “I want everyone to know who you belong to, Y/N.”

Small, love-bite bruises were forming all over your neck and collar bone, and with one finally moan of his name, “Joel!” You came undone on his cock.

Joel continued to thrust into you until he finished deep inside you. It took everything in him to pull out of you; your bare chest heaved trying to catch your breath.

He reached for the quilt on the back of the couch, and pulled it down to cover you both. You moved over to give him space, and then you rested your head on his chest.

Joel’s fingers ran through your hair and he pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. “I do care about you, Y/N. It’s hard for me to let my guard down, ‘cause when I do, it never lasts.” He said and your finger gently traced his lips.

“I’m not going anywhere, Joel. I promise.” You whispered and his lips locked onto yours. It wasn’t too long before he had you pinned down on the floor, and made love to you like it was going to be the last time he could love you.

————-

I hope you guys enjoyed that… I’m not the best at writing smut, but I am working on it. 🩶 kinda scared to post but oh well.

[pullhisteeth]

classified | eddie munson x reader

summary at your wits end, you put an ad in the classifieds for a special kind of tutor. Eddie finds it and takes you up on the offer. (nsfw) [13k]

contains smut (18+ minors dni!) – p in v sex, oral (f receiving), lots of praise, virgin!reader, fem!reader, hurt/comfort. eddie's a sweetheart, fluff, first time turned something more (?).

author's notes this one's a long one! the idea made me laugh and then it took on a life of its own. I want to say this is meant to be somewhat lighthearted and is not a suggestion that anyone should be having sex if they haven't already – your body's yours, baby, do whatever you want! no one should ever make you feel rushed into anything!!! anyway Eddie is an angel and I want one. bye!

-

Eddie's not sure why he's reading the newspaper. Boredom, perhaps; he's been waiting for Wayne to get home from his shift for over an hour. He's thought about calling the plant, but the walk from the couch to the phone seems to be the perfect amount of time to convince himself that he's probably on his way home already.

It's the Hawkins Post. It gets delivered by a snot-nose boy on a bike every week, thrown far too hard at their tin front door. Wayne reads it some weeks, others it gets used to wrap his lunch. Apparently this one he'd read it, flicked through the pages half-heartedly before leaving it open on a centrefold about the local elections. Trust Wayne to get bored of small-town politics, Eddie thinks.

So he picks up where Wayne left off, slowly pulling the pages apart, skimming stories about the endemic of teen pregnancy, or columns about the rejuvenation plans for downtown Hawkins. 

Finally, he reaches the only bit of the newspaper that Eddie has ever found interesting: the classifieds (and, on the back of the classifieds, the call-girl ads).

He skims them, eyes brushing past ads for cleaners, dog walkers, nannies. Finds the ones hidden at the bottom – the letters written in code, ads for attractive female friends and women seeking younger men. He's never actually interested in them, but they provide a glimpse into the underbelly of Hawkins, a small town that is, for all intents and purposes, entirely normal. But nowhere is ever truly normal, and Eddie likes to seize the opportunity to pry into the scandalous goings-on of his boring hometown.

He's reading one about swingers when the one beside it catches his eye. It's plain – whoever paid for it kept their costs to a minimum. All it says is:

WOMAN, 23, SEEKING FIRST TIME.

He stares at the bold ink, the statement in all caps that, despite being maybe the lowest cost ad in the whole paper – it's in a box about three inches tall in the very corner of the page – jumps out at him anyway. Underneath the title, it reads: young woman looking for judgement-free first time. Min. age 22, max. age 28. Must have experience. At the very bottom, in almost imperceptible print, is a phone number.

Eddie hadn't realised how close his face was to the page until he hears the familiar sound of Wayne's car pull up outside. He throws the paper down onto his lap and sighs before scrambling around to at least try to look casual, and not like all the blood has rushed to his face. In the few seconds he has between the sound of Wayne's car door closing and him coming up the stairs, Eddie tears the page out, folding it quickly and shoving it into the back pocket of his jeans as he stands.

The door opens just as he gets to his feet, and Wayne comes trudging in with his steel lunch pail and heavy boots.

"Hey, Wayne," Eddie says, breathless, trying his best to sound level. Wayne eyes him as he closes the door, before turning to dump his stuff on the table.

"C'mon, kid, you promised me a burger."

-

The piece of newspaper stays in Eddie's pocket for three more days.

Wayne had been late getting home – something came up, but Eddie wasn't listening too hard, brain on that stupid ad instead – so their weekly trip to Benny's had run until the early hours of Friday morning.

And then Friday was work and Hellfire, which Eddie still leads despite having graduated two years ago, and this time the kids kept him going for hours. By the time he got home he hadn't even thought about the page before crashing into bed.

And then Saturday is family day, as Nancy puts it. Eddie had woken up late, rolled out of bed into the freshest clothes he could find, and into his van to act as bus driver for the morning. His little gaggle of unruly teenagers crammed into the back of it one by one, laughing and teasing and shouting. Steve's home became louder and still, Eddie relished in that feeling of peace he gets once a week with all these misfits he calls friends.

By Sunday morning, the newspaper had been long forgotten in the pocket of his jeans that he'd left in a pile on his bedroom floor. He's laid on his back on his bed, head dangling off the edge, puffing mindlessly on a spliff he'd rolled for himself two days ago that had also been forgotten. The room's a little fuzzy round the edges, just the way he likes it, the sunlight creeping warm paws up his arms. It smells funny in here, he thinks, so he turns over, pushes himself off the bed, and reaches up to open his window. On his way back to his bed, he trips on something, landing with a huff as his ribs hit the corner of the mattress.

"Fuck," he hisses, reaching down to pull the culprit off the floor. It's just an old pair of jeans, so he throws them into the corner, out of the way, and resumes his position, splayed out across the bed.

From this angle, with his head hanging upside down, he spots something by the pile of denim he'd just discarded.

His brain's ticking over slowly under the haze of being stoned, but after a second he realises what it is, and clambers all too quickly off the bed and across the room.

Maybe it's that haze, coating his brain with thick fog; maybe it's the fact that, in the year since he graduated, he's had to settle for quick fucks behind the Hideout after a gig; or maybe, just maybe, it's dangerous curiosity.

Whatever it is, something motivates him to move through his room, down the narrow corridor into the kitchen. There's something hijacking his limbs, and it reaches up to the phone on the wall. With eyes on the page in his hand he spins the dial, listening to the tone as it rings, rings, rings.

The longer he stands there, the more convinced he becomes in his intoxicated miasma that this is some kind of prank; he's going to be met with a stupid kid on the other end, laughing at him for bothering to call at all. 

When he finally decides that this is just that, a practical joke, the line clicks. There's a low buzz on the other end, so low he thinks maybe the line just went dead, but then a voice.

"Hello?"

He's taken aback by the sound of it, but not so much that he doesn't notice the sleep coating it. Despite his stupor, he can't help but apologise.

"Shit, sorry, did I wake you?"

"Who is this?" You're sharper now, coming to, and he kicks himself for fucking this up already.

"Oh, shit, uh, sorry. I called about… I got this number, uh, in the paper."

"Fuck," he hears you whisper. He's not sure if he was supposed to hear it. He feels bad.

"Sorry, I'll go, this was-"

"Look, I put that age range in the ad for a reason. I'm sick of gettin' calls from middle aged men, I-"

"I'm twenty-three."

You're silent on the other end for a moment, but he can hear your breath hitch.

"Well, shit," you finally say. "Y'don't sound it."

He laughs an awkward, stilted laugh, unsure what to say.

"Sorry, I've had so many guys – men, old men – callin' me up, tryin' to flirt with me down the phone, I just… The ad was a mistake, clearly."

He likes the way you talk. You've got a pretty voice.

"Uh, thanks," you say.

Shit.

"Fuck, sorry, did I say that out loud?" Moron.

You laugh, the sound fizzing down the telephone line, and it eases some of his insecurity.

"I'm sorry," he says, starting fresh. "I'll leave you be, have a good-"

"Wait," you bite, and he can hear you shuffling around. "Wait just a sec, I- fuck, where the fuck is it? I… Sorry, can you just wait for a second?"

"Sure, sure," he murmurs, trailing off when he realises you've set the phone down. He listens to the faint sounds of you rummaging around and swearing under your breath. He must look like an idiot, stood in his kitchen, smiling at his phone, waiting for a stranger he found in the paper.

He hears you coming back, footsteps getting louder, before you pick the phone back up.

"Y'still there?"

"Yeah," he laughs. You speak to him like he's an old friend and it keeps catching him off guard.

"Okay," you say. "Here's the thing. I put that stupid ad in the paper because I was sad, and my life has been a misery since then, because literally every guy who's called me has been, like, at least forty, which some people are into I guess but I'm not, and- Sorry."

You're rambling, stumbling over your words even though he can tell you're trying to be professional or something. He stays quiet and hopes you'll keep going.

After a beat, you say, "I guess, 'cause you called, you'd be up for it?"

"Uh, well," he stammers. "That's kinda why I called. Care to explain what it is you want, exactly?"

He's not sure where the sudden confidence has come from; maybe the weed's wearing off.

"Okay, yeah," you breathe. "So, uh, my plan, I guess, was that I'd… You'd take, uh, my virginity."

You almost whisper the last part, like it's some kind of slur, and Eddie can't help but laugh on the other end.

You start to sound exasperated, frustrated, so he tries to claw you back.

"Sorry, sorry, it's just so… frank."

"Well, bein' all coy about it hasn't really worked out for me so far."

Can't argue with that logic.

"Okay," he says, trying to ignore the excitement bubbling inside him. You're a stranger, he's a stranger, and this whole thing is kind of weird. Shit, he thinks. Am I a perv?

"How do you want to do this?"

"Well," you start, sounding like you've got this part planned out. "First I need to know you're not gonna murder me or something, so I'll give you an address near my house but not at my house, and we can meet there whenever… and, uh, what year were you born?"

"What?"

"Just… So I feel a bit more sure you're actually twenty-three."

"Hah, okay. 1965."

"Okay, sweet. You got a pen?"

"Shit, yeah, one sec."

His eyes dart around the room. With the phone between his ear and his shoulder, he moves as far as the cord will let him, to a drawer by the front door. At the back there's an old pencil and some scraps of junk mail.

"Got it!" he declares, too enthusiastic but it makes you giggle so he laughs too.

"Okay," you start, and you tell him an address he vaguely recognises, closer to the nicer side of town, halfway between here and where Steve's house is.

"It's a park, kind of. It's pretty public anyways, so if you were, y'know, planning to kill me or whatever, don't bother."

"I'll take that off the to-do list," he tells you through a smirk.

"Very funny," you say, your sentence half-formed like you can't find the words to finish it. "Wait, what's your name?"

"Eddie. Munson."

"Okay, Eddie Munson," you say before telling him yours and deciding that you'll meet him later that day. You tell him it's easier that way, that you can't bear to have to wait all week, sitting on the nerves that might make you change your mind.

That's exactly what Eddie does all afternoon. You'd decided on six that evening, when it's still light but late enough that you both have time to back out, and so he sits, stoned out of his mind on both weed and the phone call, feeling something he's rarely felt before.

It's like cola in his gut, bubbling and frothing every time he tries to move. Is this what people feel when they say they have butterflies? Because it doesn't really feel like that; it feels instead like the madness inside him is floating upwards, fizzing around his heart, prodding and poking at it at uneven rhythms. His mind is reeling, too; he hadn't really thought this through at all. What if, even after that call, you're still planning on playing some kind of trick on him? What if this is an elaborate scheme to publicly humiliate him? Maybe you get a kick out of that kind of thing.

There's another thing, creeping around at the back of his mind, lurking. It's that horrid hopefulness, the what if that feels so far from likely that if he lends too much time to thinking about it, he feels stupid.

What if you're great?

He shakes himself out, standing up off his bed. He'd been lying there for the past two hours, sobering up, dwelling on every detail of the call, lingering in particular on your voice and your laugh and the way you say sweet so often.

He doesn't know who you are. He didn't recognise your name when you told him, even though you're his age. He didn't recognise your voice either, but he likes it, and he wasn't lying when he (accidentally) told you it's pretty.

He looks at the clock beside his bed. The red numbers flicker as they change to 16:52.

One hour.

-

He's early.

It's ten to six, and he's early.

The sun's low but not gone yet, and the park you sent him to is actually kind of nice. He's in his van, waiting until it's a socially acceptable time to get out and wait for you. What is the socially acceptable time to get out and wait for the girl you've got an agreement like this with?

Before he can decide, he sees someone. They're in jeans and a jacket, red Chucks and hair lifting up in the breeze.

Without thinking about it too hard, he opens the door and hops out, slamming it a little too hard. The person looks over, catches his mop of hair over the top of the van, and stops walking.

"Eddie?"

He hears you call his name over the sound of his boots crunching on the ground as he rounds the front of the van. He looks over to find you, the person he saw walking over, looking at him with your hand at your brow, blocking the sun.

You're pretty – really pretty. He still doesn't recognise you, but he has decided that's surely for the best.

You don't recognise him, either, but he's hot. He's not what you expected; truthfully, you really had expected someone older, lying about their age to get in your pants, someone you'd have to turn down in this very public space, going back to your apartment alone and unsatisfied. This is not what you had in mind at all, but you're not mad about it.

As he comes towards you, you watch the way he walks, chest-first like he's exactly where he should be. His hair's long and a bit wild but it matches his style – ringer tee, messy black jeans, obnoxious denim jacket. He's got his hands in his pockets but when he lifts one out to wave at you awkwardly, you see the rings and know you're a goner.

You wave back, laughing lightly as he nears you. He's taller than you so you really have to squint to see him against the setting sun.

"Hey," he says softly. His voice is even nicer in person; he does sound older than he is, and he has an air of maturity about him, like he's too sure in himself to be 23, but there's also a boyishness somewhere underneath that endears you.

"Hi," you reply. "You're Eddie, right?"

He looks around himself, head whipping back and forth.

"No, doll," he says, looking at you with a blank face. "I'm Keith."

"Oh," you say, trying to hide the flush in your cheeks and the way your face drops, but then he laughs and reaches out to hold your shoulder.

"Sorry, that was a bad joke." He squeezes. "Yeah, I'm Eddie."

You choose to ignore the overly familiar touch and the way it sends your knees all funny, and instead you laugh, a little awkwardly, and hold out a hand.

"Nice to meet ya," you say, firm.

He looks down at your hand as he drops his own from your shoulder. His eyes move between it and your face, but he shakes it anyway.

"Well?" he asks, and you watch as he smirks, staring you down, his hand still in yours.

"What?"

"Do I look like a serial killer? Scared I'm gonna murder you?"

With those final words he pulls on your hand, bringing you closer to himself. His confidence is only making that funny feeling in your knees worse, but what you don't know is that he's bluffing; before you stands a terrified boy struck dumb by a pretty girl.

"Hm," you hum, dialling up the dramatics to ponder his appearance. You take the chance to scan your eyes up and down his body, taking in the scuffs on his shoes and the pretty silver chain around his neck. From here you can smell weed and cigarette smoke, pretty aftershave and something deeper. "I don't think so."

"Damn," he quips, finally releasing your hand to run his own through his wild mass of hair. "I was really tryin' to look scary."

"You didn't do a very good job," you tell him, laughing softly, and he looks at you with a smile.

"Oh well," he says. "Maybe next time."

Ignoring the way that makes you feel, you take his hand again. It's your turn to pull him, dragging him behind you. The move startles him and he drags his feet for a moment before catching up, refusing to let go of your hand when you try. He swings them between your bodies theatrically as you walk him across the park, through a line of tall oak trees and onto the street on the other side.

"So," he says, drawing out the word. "We goin' to your parents' or somethin'?"

"No," you reply, shaking your head slightly with your eyes on the ground. You drop his hand and stuff yours back in your pocket. "I have an apartment, up by Main Street. This's just a shortcut."

"Oh."

You don't say much more after that. The walk is short; you were right, this is a shortcut to Main Street, one even he didn’t know about. It takes you past Steve's house, and Eddie prays he doesn't happen to be looking out the window at this precise moment.

You live above the pharmacy. You scramble with the lock for a moment, so he stands behind you, bouncing on the balls of his feet and looking around; it's quiet, the usual lull of a Sunday evening, the sun lower than before. He looks at the back of your hair and the way the light catches in it, hears the low curses under your breath as you struggle with the door. And then it's open, and you're inside in the dark, and he has to bring himself back down to Earth.

Your apartment is small. Behind the door there's a narrow staircase, and at the top another door. It brings him into your living space, which is cramped but clearly well-loved. You offer him a drink and step into the kitchen when he says yes.

He lets his eyes pass over the room. The ceiling is low, reminiscent of his own home, though the walls are more solid than the trailer. They're painted a muted, pale blue, a colour he's sure you didn't choose because you've covered as much of them as you can in things: paintings, framed photographs, postcards. The furniture is more to your taste, he assumes. It's all soft, rich greens and pinks.

You bring him a beer as he sits on the couch, sinks into the cushions, toes off his boots.

"Thanks," he says as you pass him the bottle and take a swig of your own. You take your own shoes off and leave them by the door, hanging your jacket on a hook there too.

"So," you begin, padding back over to him and sitting on the opposite end of the couch. "I don't know how this works."

"Well," he says, turning to you with one arm up on the back cushions, "I can talk you through it, but I need t'know where you're at."

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, how far have you gone before? How far do you want to go today?"

"Uh-" You shuffle, squirming into the couch, clearly looking for the right words. "I've never… This is as far as I've ever got."

He breathes a gasp though he's trying to hide it, trying to stick to the agreement of judgement-free. "You've never been kissed?"

You just shake your head and the way your face creases, brows turned down, makes him ache.

"Okay."

"And I want to go all the way," you say quickly, all in one breath, finding your words. "Not too far, no extra shit, like, kinky shit, but the standard."

"O-kay," he says again, smiling this time. "So you know it's not as easy as… As in and out, right?"

"Yes," you spit. He flinches. "Sorry, it's just… It's hard not to feel a bit, like, insecure about all of this. Makes me a bit defensive, I guess."

"It's okay," he soothes, and his tone really does make you feel better. "No judgement here. I'm not new to sex, but I'm just as new to this whole… situation as you are."

"Okay," you sigh.

"Why don't we just chat for a bit? I'm not in a rush if you're not."

"Yeah," you agree. Eddie is easy, you're finding; no dancing around the point, but you feel you're being handled gently. Exactly what you want.

"So did you grow up here?"

Okay, so maybe the 'chatting' suggestion was a bit of a façade for the fact that Eddie has found himself fascinated by you, even in the short time he's known you. Sure, it's only been ten minutes if you're not counting the phone call, but there's something about you that piques his interest. And, if he's honest, he's not sure why he wouldn't recognise someone his own age in Hawkins.

"No, no," you say, leaning over to put your beer on the table. You wipe your mouth quickly with the back of your hand. "I'm from Illinois."

"Why are you here then?" He takes your que and puts his own beer down too, deciding that being intoxicated probably isn't the best idea.

"I dunno," you say, sighing again. Your shoulders go lax as you let yourself sink backwards and look up at the ceiling. "I wanted to go somewhere new, but not somewhere big. And the middle school here was hiring a tech assistant, so I applied."

"And you got the job?"

"Uh-huh. I start in September, figured I'd just move here early, try to find my feet."

"How's that going?"

"Alright, mister questions." You laugh as you say this and sit up, looking at him again with a smile. "It's going okay so far. People are friendlier here, but I haven't exactly found my people yet."

He hums, nodding, and you say, "My turn."

He looks up at you. "Do your worst."

"Did you grow up here?"

"Kind of. Somewhere near here, til I was eleven."

"Why'd you move here?"

"Hah." He goes all rigid and awkward at your question, shrugging his jacket off with his eyes on the ground. You take note of the ink you can see crawling up to his neck under the collar of his shirt. There's something else there, too; something pale and stretched, like a scar.

"It's complicated." That's the answer he settles on, keeping his cards close to his chest. "But I moved in with my uncle when I was in middle school. Been here since then."

"Is that why you're still here? Your uncle?"

"Kind of, but that's also complicated."

"Wow, okay, is everything complicated with you?"

"It doesn't have to be," he says. It throws you for a loop, the way his voice has dropped, fried and kind of… sexy?

You find him looking at you, and suddenly he feels really close. You feel this urge to climb out of yourself, away from this situation that isn't for you; it's never for you. No one has ever wanted to get this close.

"You okay?" he asks, his friendly tone back.

You're grateful he seems to be able to read you so quickly.

"Yeah, sorry."

"It's okay. If you want to, y'know, stop this at any point, just let me know, okay?"

"We haven't even-"

"Will you?" he presses.

"Yes," you promise him. He looks back at you like he's waiting, yearning for something and you don't quite know what.

"Can I ask you something?" he says.

"Mm-hmm."

"Why are you so far away right now?"

He's gone soft, leaning forward toward you, his arm still up on the back of the couch. Your eyes flicker to his fingers and the rings on them, the way they're sparkling slightly in the dipping sun coming through the window.

It fills your mouth with glue. The combination of his proximity and the question leaves you breathless.

"I just…" he continues. "You're hiding from me over there."

He's got a sticky smirk on his face, like he knows the answer and knows you don't want to tell him. He shuffles forward ever so slightly, letting you breach into his space if you want to.

You do, you really, really do – he's a kind stranger, doing a kind thing for you, even if it is a bit odd. You want nothing more than to relinquish yourself to him, and yet you can't.

There's a momentary staring contest between the two of you. The couch feels miles long and yet he's closing in. You feel suffocated.

"I'm gonna come to you," he says after a minute. "Is that okay?"

All you can do is nod at him. It's like your body's on fire, affronted at the idea of being touched by him and yet harbouring some primal urge, deep under the surface, to let him do it anyway.

He pushes his jacket onto the floor with his elbow as he moves himself down the couch toward you. Your eyes follow his arms and the way they stretch, and then the way one of them lifts. He plants his hand firmly on your knee and it burns through the denim of your jeans. You can't tear your eyes from it, staring blankly at his fingers, the way the tendons flex when he squeezes.

"We don't have to do anythin' you don't wanna do, okay?" he tells you. He's watching you, how you're watching his hand, how your hair still lights up in the sun. You're sweet, and pretty, and most of all he longs to know more.

"I'm gonna talk you through it," he continues, "kinda like a teacher, if that's what you want."

When you don't reply, he calls your name softly, and says, "Is that what you want?"

You look up at him and nod again.

"I need to hear it, sweets."

You tell him yes, that is what I want, trying desperately to keep your voice as level as possible, not letting on that it kills you every time he uses a petname like that.

His fingers dance up your thigh and back down to your knee, a repeating pattern that sends you dizzier the closer he gets to you.

"Eddie?"

His hand stills and he looks at you.

"Yeah?"

When he responds, you feel his breath on your face. He's close enough, now; you can really look at him, at the crow's feet by his eyes, the freckles across his cheek, the bend in the bridge of his nose that looks like maybe he broke it once. His eyes are really pretty, browned sugar and syrup, flitting around as he tries to read you.

"I've never been this close to anyone before."

He's watching your eyes as they move over his face, admiring the slight sense of awe in them.

"That's okay."

There's a sudden absence on your leg where his hand leaves it and it aches, like the bone is realigning. You swallow a whine and close your eyes when his hand finds your cheek.

"I'm gonna kiss you now," he whispers. "That okay?"

You nod again and he lets the pads of his fingers smooth backwards into your hair where they take root, his thumb beside your eye. You feel him pull you in and his breath on your nose and then the strange sensation of his lips.

It's new but not unwelcome. He's soft with it, light as anything and quicker even, gone before you really know it's happened. Some kind of sudden urge takes over, though, because you don't like how quick it was, so you chase him. You plant your lips back on his, firmer than he had, your nose nudging his as you get the angle right. This one's longer and it startles him; you have to pull back when he starts laughing.

"Alright, alright, slow down," he says as you sit back, deflated. "You liked that, huh?"

You nod, giddy, desperate to feel it again.

"Can I show you somethin'?" His hand is on your neck now, burning its fires once more, and you can barely concentrate on him.

"Yeah," you breathe, a sigh of relief as he comes closer again. But as you close your eyes, expecting his mouth on yours, you can't help the whine that escapes when he misses, landing beside it. You feel him chuckle, a puff of air out of his nose, before he dots more kisses along your jaw. It feels nice, gentle and slow, like he's scared to break you if he goes too fast or comes on too strong.

The whine, lingering in your throat, moulds into something like a sigh – or even a moan – when he makes it onto the column of your throat. You swear you feel his teeth graze the skin there, lips following them over your pulse. His kisses turn hotter, heavier, and you can't help the way you keen into him. Without thinking about it, you paw at his shoulders and let your back arch as you breathe thick pants into the air of your living room.

When he pulls back again, you whine his name, gripping tighter where you've pulled his shirt into your fists. He laughs at you, head tipped back, as he smooths his hands up and down your arms; the gentle touch makes you relax and your hands unfurl.

"Good, huh?" His words are viscous, thick with want, but he daren't go too fast.

"Mm-hmm," you agree, nodding, breathing quick. Now that he's stopped, you have time to consider that, actually, you might be a bit overwhelmed; without thinking about it you sit back, returning to your comfortable distance by the arm of the couch, watching as his face falls.

"Sure you're okay?" he asks.

"Yeah, yeah, I just-"

"Yeah, take a second."

"Mm-hmm, just need a minute."

You watch him stiffen, awkward in the wake of the moment, and take the chance to admire him a bit more until you sense his eyes are back on you, and suddenly you feel very small.

"You alright?"

You nod, looking back at him, finding his face all soft and concerned, turned down so it makes you twinge.

"You're being so nice to me," you say. It comes out more as a breath, a string of words tied together with insecurity, all in the same exhale. You're not even sure you said it at all, but his face twists into something like shock.

"What do you mean?"

You sigh. "I dunno, I… You're just being very… kind. Are you always like this?"

He seems taken aback by the question. His hands are in his lap where his left fingers toy with the rings on his right. He looks away from you to stare instead at the beer on the table and the drop of condensation running a race down the neck of the bottle.

"You've really never done this before, huh?" he asks you, and now it's your turn to be taken aback.

"I'm not lying, if that's what you're getting at," you say with perhaps a bit too much venom.

"No," he responds, stern. "I'm just… Finding it hard to believe. I'm sure it's true," he says quickly when you open your mouth to fire something quick at him again, "like, I know you're not lying, but it's so surprising."

"How so?"

He sighs this time. He twists in his seat to face you, bringing one leg up under himself, the other dangling off the edge of your couch. "I'm gonna be honest with you right now, if that's okay."

"Okay."

"'Cause I feel like that's the best way to do this whole… thing, right? Nothin' in it for you, really, if we're not honest, or whatever…"

For the first time since you met him in the park, he's showing his nerves. It gets him all wound up, stumbling through sentences like the words are quicker than he can keep up with. It's endearing, really; nicer in some ways than confidence.

"When I saw that ad it obviously caught my eye, I mean, I called, but I just didn't know what to expect, obviously, and you're… Well, you're… normal? So far, anyway." He huffs the last three words out in a laugh, but you don't return it.

"What does that mean?"

"I just think I expected someone who puts an ad like that in the paper to be weirder, or something."

Your gut twists. Red flares of anger lick up your insides, popping and wheezing in your throat.

"What the fuck, dude?" 

You stand, backing away, feeling that familiar creeping isolation; distance, walls up, get away. His face has dropped to something wider, fear in his big stupid brown eyes and mouth agape.

"I didn't-"

"I'm not weird for being a virgin. And just because you think I'm 'normal' doesn't mean this-" you gesture between the two of you with both hands, "-should be surprising."

"No, shit, sorry," he pants, desperation oozing, "fuck."

"I think you should go," you finally say. Your arms are across your middle, hands gripping your forearms. You don't dare look at him, even when he says nothing.

You flinch when you feel him come nearer. He steps over the threadbare rug on your floor and over to the corner where you've parked yourself.

He calls your name and you despise the way you soften at the sound of it.

"I'm gonna touch you, 's'that okay?"

You scoff, turning away from him.

"Stop fucking patronising me, Eddie."

"I'm not patronising you. You wanted me to talk you through it."

"Yeah, that. Not this."

"This is part of that."

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is."

"Well this isn't getting me very turned on," you spit, turning back to look at him, your arms still crossed over your chest and the rising fire of anger flares when you find that cocky smirk on his face.

"Will you come sit down with me? Please?"

His hands are hovering awkwardly between the two of you, forbidden to come any closer but refusing to give up completely. You offer him an olive branch, dropping your own arms and taking his hand in yours.

He walks you back to the couch and sits beside you, turning your hand over in his on his lap. You both watch it, the way his thumb grazes your palm, tracing the lines up and over.

"Sex isn't just sex, you know," he says frankly. "Even when it's like this."

"I know," you whisper, eyes transfixed.

"It's about all the emotional shit too, and I'm gettin' the feeling there's a lot of that to get through."

"Mm-hmm." It irks you, the way he seems to know you without really knowing you. "You sound very wise."

He laughs at that, and you find yourself grateful for the reprieve, for the way the tension seems to lift just a little.

"I'm just being honest," he admits through a laugh. And then he turns to look at you, dipping his head to meet your gaze because you won't look up. His gaze on you is oppressive, unfamiliar, but you don't dislike it.

"You're really pretty, you know."

You just look at him.

"Hm?" he tries, dipping even lower to catch your eye properly. "It's true."

"A boy's never called me pretty before," you admit, words too quick for you to call them back. This is dire, this hole you're digging; after all this time, being honest is still so difficult, though it seems to come so easily to him.

"That's a crime" he says. And then he does that thing, the one you've read about in books, daydreamed about, thought about late into the night. He brings his hand to your face and holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger, a light pressure but enough to move you to look up at him, sat upright, with your mouth dropped open in shock.

It's just as electric as you'd imagined; more so, even. Two points of contact. Who'd have thought it?

"I'm sorry I said something stupid," he tells you. "It was dumb."

You giggle as his fingers shift across your skin. Soon enough he's holding you in his hand again and you feel yourself leaning into it, again.

"Thank you for apologising," you say. "I think I can forgive it for now."

"Good," he says. And then, more coy, the act dropped for a moment, "Can I kiss you again?"

"Yes, but…"

Just like before, the words stall in your throat.

"You can tell me what you want, you know. It's why I'm here." Christ, his voice is like honey when he's this close to your face.

You pull a long breath in through your nose and close your eyes.

"I have this… fantasy," you begin, and you hear (and feel) him chuckle.

"Go on."

"I guess it's not really a fantasy, just something I've always wanted to try…"

"That's the definition of a fantasy."

"Hey," you scold, opening your eyes and swatting him on the arm softly. "You wanna hear it or not?"

"Sorry, sorry," he says, laughing again. "Continue."

"Can I sit on your lap?"

"Is that it?" he asks, laugh lingering, threatening to fire up the heat in your cheeks.

"Yes," you say pointedly. "I wanna try it."

"Go for it, baby."

He doesn't miss the way you gasp at the nickname; in fact, he smiles, grins almost. He moves his hands down, leaving your face for now so he can hold your waist as you move onto your knees and lift one over him.

It's funny, you think, how hard all of this feels; really, this is a very normal thing for two 23-year-olds to be doing, and yet something within you makes it feel mechanical, intentional. Perhaps you just need practise.

"Okay," he says as you settle, your hips halfway down his thighs. "You gonna get any closer, or am I gonna have to lean over an' break my back?"

"Am I okay to get closer?" you ask, not taking much notice of how your fingers are dancing around his chest, toying lightly with the chain around his neck. Maybe it does come naturally after all.

"'Course you are, here-"

His big hands pull you in by the waist so that you're seated on him, hips to hips. Your faces are closer now, too, so you can admire those lovely crows feet again and the bend of his nose.

"Gonna kiss me, Munson?"

"O-kay," he says, smirking again. "I like the attitude."

"Oh, for fu-"

He shuts you up with a kiss, takes your breath away like they all say in the magazines; this kiss brings the fire up to the hilt, pulls on the smoke and the kindling and sets everything ablaze. His lips move against yours like molten gold, hot and rich and bright, quick but tender all the same. You feel the heat of his stuttering breaths on your cheek and lean inwards, arching your back slightly, until you feel him moan.

It's a sensation you could get used to, for sure. It's fizzy vibrations on your lips, makes them tingle, all electric. And then, before you can really know it's happening, you feel his tongue on yours.

You're not even sure when you opened your mouth for him. But it's there, the new feeling. It feels wetter, less familiar, but it pulls an involuntary moan out of you and you arch your back even more without thinking.

You get into it, into the rhythm, and let your mind wander to the friction between your hips and the pressure of his fingers under your ribs. They're skirting the hem of your top, his ring finger dipping beneath it onto the skin of your waist. And then you think about it too much, take notice of it too acutely, and you're pulling back and panting, looking down at where his hands are.

"All good?" he asks in a voice that's new to you; it's lazy, his words fuzzy, like he's just woken up. You look up at him and his eyes are hooded, lids low, and he's wearing a dopey half-smile.

"Yeah, just… Feeling lots of things," you say; it's all you can think of to explain this.

"That's kinda the point," he reminds you, and then he's doing that thing he showed you earlier, kissing slowly across your jaw and down onto your neck. It feels just as nice the second time; nicer, even, because you're letting him do it and you're letting yourself enjoy it.

His fingers venture upwards, more of them sliding under your top, until he pulls back and says the fateful words you knew would come soon: "Can I take this off?"

His lips are still on your throat, so he doesn't see the way you wince. When you don't reply he comes back up to look at you. You turn away.

"Hey," he coos, one hand leaving its treacherous territory to hold your head again. "What's up?"

You huff. "No one's ever seen me… naked before."

He smiles, which vexes you. "I'm here 'cause I wanna, baby."

The fucking nicknames.

"I know, I just… Can you just-"

You hold his hand in yours and move it away from your skin, hold it in both of yours to keep it away from you. He breathes an apology but you continue.

"This whole thing, me never doing this before or whatever, I think it's probably got a lot to do with me not really liking this-" you look down at yourself as you speak, "-very much."

You see him take this in, how it melts his features and widens his eyes.

"Okay," he finally says. "We can take this slow, yeah? You wearing a bra?"

"Yes, Eddie, I'm wearing a bra."

"So let's start there. Top off first, and you can see how you feel."

"Okay."

You let go of his hand and he takes your shirt in both. You close your eyes as you feel him lift the fabric, bunch it around your breasts, your que to lift your arms. You do it for him and he pulls up, tugs it messily over your head and throws it somewhere across the room.

"Shit," he hisses.

"What?" you say in a panic, worried something somewhere has gone horribly wrong.

"Look at you," he croons. "So pretty."

The insecurity evaporates, coming off you like a heavy mist, as he dips his head to kiss your collar bones and across the swell of flesh beneath. He takes his time, sometimes pulling the skin between his teeth but never for long enough to leave a mark. At some point he nudges you back and reaches over his head to pull his own shirt off; before he commits, he looks at you. You nod.

This is the most flesh-on-flesh you've ever felt before. It's nice; you're both warm, and he hasn't once mentioned the eighteen thousand different flaws you know are on your upper body.

His is covered in ink – pretty, often in swirling patterns and on his arm there are bats. But between them, there's confirmation of your earlier suspicions: he's got scars everywhere.

You trace them with gentle fingers.

"Don't ask," he says, laughing awkwardly.

"Okay."

You lean back in to kiss him. You’re a lot less confident than he is at initiating, but soon enough you get the hang of it, and he lets you. He doesn't take the reins; instead, he gives himself to you, lets you find your feet by yourself.

You attempt to copy him, kissing his jaw and then his neck, and you enjoy the way he sighs and relaxes under your lips.

As you move further down, teeth grazing his collarbone, he says, "you wanna move? Couch isn't exactly ideal."

You finish your work with a peck to the bump of his shoulder and say, "Sure."

There's some awkward shuffling, and standing in your bra and jeans is somehow more vulnerable than sitting on him, but nevertheless you take his hand and lead him through the door to your bedroom.

He doesn't have as much time to take this room in as the last one, because he wants you on the bed more than he cares to admit. When you flick on the bedside lamp, finally acknowledging how dark it's become now the sun's started going down, all he really notices is how warm the room is.

"Here," he says, manoeuvring you as he pleases. "Lay back, yeah?"

You do as he says, sitting facing him and pushing yourself back so you can lay down with your knees up. 

And then it happens: one of the many cataclysmic revelations of the evening.

"Good girl."

Again, you gasp, looking up at the ceiling.

"Good?" he asks.

"Really good," you tell him. You haven't really noticed that your hands have laid themselves across your chest, but he can't stop staring.

"That's it, see? Love when you tell me what you like."

One of his hands joins one of yours where it's fidgeting with your bra, and the other smooths down one of your legs, urging you to straighten them. You do, and again he says those fateful words: "Good girl. Gonna take these off, yeah?"

"Wait," you snap, sitting up and letting his hand fall so you can lean back with your weight on yours. "Can we do it together?"

"'Course."

"And can I… Can I undo yours?"

"Shit, sure you can."

You sit up and he takes your hands in his bigger ones, moulding them so you're tracing your fingers down the plain of his chest and stomach. You follow the dips and creases, the taught skin of his scars, and finally reach his belt.

He's mumbling nonsense at you, too caught up in everything to keep up the teacher façade, pinching your fingers between his so you can pull the leather through the buckle and get to his zipper.

When you unzip and brush something hard, he drops his hands and tips his head back in a sigh. It's an unfamiliar feeling under your tentative hands but it's not unknown.

"Wow," you breathe, not really meaning to say it out loud.

"Shit, gotta get these off-" He pulls back from your wanting grasp to shuffle out of his jeans, leaving his boxers in place for now. One step at a time.

"Your turn," he declares, smiling, jeans and socks gone. He reaches over to you again to return the favour, undoing buttons and the zip and his wide hand on your hip urges you to lift off the bed so he can pull the denim down your legs.

There's no turning back now; you can never again wonder what will happen the first time someone sees you (nearly) naked.

You've thought about this before, turned an infinity of possibilities over in your mind, but this was never one of them. Not one of them included a pretty boy, standing before you, just as exposed as you are, pawing at flesh and telling you you're beautiful.

His lips ghost over you, beginning at your shoulder and creeping lower. When he reaches the middle of your chest he looks up at you, the angle a little awkward. You nod.

"What're you doing?" you ask him, moving backwards again as he crowds you.

"I'm gonna take this off," he says, tugging lightly at the band of your bra, bringing himself level with you so he's breathing the words into your ear. "And then I'm gonna eat you out."

He may as well be a fire-breathing dragon. His words claw at your scalp like flames and fill your lungs with heat, pulling a sigh from within. You lean back, lying flat on the sheets, and let him have his way with you.

But he doesn't move, first admiring the way you respond and then waiting, lingering above you, too far away.

"What?" you hiccup, looking at him, confused.

"Need you to tell me this is what you want," he tells you.

"This is what I want," you repeat back to him. And then, taking the plunge, you add, "I want you to eat me out, Eddie."

You relish in his response, the way you can almost see him shiver, bare shoulders twitching and chest deflating with a shuddery exhale.

"Christ, yes, okay."

His fingers inch around your back so you arch it, letting him toy with the clasp of your bra. He gets it undone quicker than you expected, and you can't bring yourself to focus on where it goes once it's off because he's got his mouth back on your skin and now he's biting marks in places that would make your past self blush.

You feel his teeth on the swell of your boobs, first the left and then the right, and the rough pads of his fingers over your nipples.

"Shit," you hiss, and then, "no, shit, don't stop," when he halts for a second.

"Feel good?" he asks, muffled with his teeth grazing the stretch of skin across your ribs.

"Yes, yeah."

Gripping the sheets, you arch again, keening into him, chasing the buzz of his lips and the goosebumps they leave.

His fingers leave them, too, especially when they dance over your sides, that bit that makes you feel hollow if you drift over it the right way.

"Can I take these off?" he asks, lifting his head to look up at you from where he's sunk to his knees. You're staring at the ceiling, too preoccupied to meet his eye, and the sight makes him huff a laugh.

"Yes," you respond too quickly.

As you feel his fingers curl around the elastic, he says, "Okay, you're gonna have to give me a hand, alright? Tell me if it feels okay or if you want me to move. Or if you want me to stop, obviously."

"Yes, yeah, fuck, please Eddie-"

"Alright, alright," he laughs, pulling the material down over your knees and feet. At this rate, your bedroom floor must look like an explosion at the laundromat; dirty laundry everywhere, clothes all over the floor.

You're not sure why you're thinking about the logistics of tidying right now, though it doesn't last long, because the cool air on your core is a shock that jolts every limb.

Although he's wedged between them, you seem to have an instinctual reaction to the sensation of being exposed, your legs trying to close around him. His firm hands pull them apart, his fingers grasping the fat of your thighs, and then his lips.

They're on the softness between your legs first of all, nipping and pulling the skin between his teeth as he moves upwards. And then you feel them, the strange, wet contact. There's a feeling, something you think must be his tongue, licking upwards, before it makes contact with your clit.

The pressure is a thunderbolt to the centre, a shock that sends you arching off the bed with a gasp. Your grasp on the sheets tightens for a moment until you feel the roughness of his hair instead; without thinking, you've moved both hands to claw and pet at the crown of his head, earning a muffled moan when you tug ever so lightly.

He calls your name, pulling back, his words heard through cotton wool ears. "You're sure you haven't done this before?"

"Fuck, yes, Eddie I'm sure," you pant in response, desperate for the sensation of his mouth on you again. He obliges your unspoken craving, licking upwards again before settling comfortably at your clit. His firm hands dig deeper into the flesh of your thighs until one of them doesn’t, and before you can think too hard about it, you feel it just beneath his mouth.

The new feeling of his rough fingers on your cunt sends your eyes rolling back; you can't help but squirm and it's driving him wild, the way you're listening to him, the way you can't help but move, the way you're tugging at him without realising.

The gnawing tightness in your core nosedives when he slips, warm breaths replacing his mouth and fingers. You whine like a petulant child, making a noise you didn't know you could.

"I'm gonna use my fingers," he tells you, the distance between him and your cunt not enough to save you from the maddening huffs of breath as he talks. "Have you ever had anything inside before?"

It's funny, how nervous he sounds despite the fact he's knelt the way he is between your knees. His mouth was just all over you, and yet he's still a boy, turned stuttering by sex talk.

"No," you pant, "no, never."

"Okay, it might hurt, alright? You just gotta tell me to stop and I will."

"Okay," you agree.

He settles back into position, his weight rested on his elbows and his face and hand inching closer. You feel it, the stiffness of a finger, but the feeling is unusual and a little uncomfortable.

"You gotta relax," he tells you. "You overthinkin' it?"

"No," you bite defensively.

"It's okay."

You huff and lie back, dropping your shoulders.

"Do you ever…"

Another sigh.

"Do you ever touch yourself?"

There's a momentary flush of embarrassment, a conditioned response to being asked about this kind of thing, but you're here, in this position, naked, so you may as well be honest.

"Yes."

"Okay, what do you think about? When you do?"

"I, uh…"

"It's okay," he says quickly, "don't tell me. Just- just think about it now, right? Somethin' that turns you on."

Something that turns you on? What's turning you on right now is the handsome guy between your legs. His pretty inked skin, the stretch across his shoulders and the ripples in his back. His wide, firm hands, those obnoxious rings, the way he keeps telling you you're a good girl.

It swims in your mind, the vision of him cooing sweet praises, the fizzling memory of those words in his voice.

"That's it, you got it," you hear him tut, as though he can see inside your mind, read your thoughts. It pulls apart the tension in your core and across your shoulders, and then it's back, that feeling, the warmth and the fire, and you sink deeper into the pool of euphoria.

With one finger already half-way inside, he adds a second, his eyes trained on your face in case it's too much. But it's not; of course it's not. He knows he's good, but he doesn't think he's made a girl this happy in his whole life.

You feel it soon enough: there's a fizzing current that licks up from your cunt and into your gut where it lights your nervous system on fire. It runs laps around your body, pinpricks in your fingertips and behind your ears. You grasp at the sheets again, pulling, pulling, pulling, reaching for whatever you can to keep your body from floating away, because it really feels like that's about to happen; either that or you're going to implode, pulling the room and everything else with you like a black hole, hungry for more.

You barely notice the pants, your whiny moans and the repeated prayers of Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, before you're coming apart. He's still going, riding you through it, basking in the sound of his name as it crawls from your mouth. So far he's kept his composure, ignored the searing pain under his boxers, but he doesn't think he'll hold out much longer.

"That's it," he coos, slowing down, rubbing soothing circles into your hip. You're panting, your breath hot and skin even hotter, and you can barely hear him when he speaks. The words carry, though, somehow; his praises of you did so good, and you're driving me wild, and, worst of all with the way it slaps you silly when it comes, I need to be inside you.

You sit up at that, holding yourself up on wobbling elbows to look at him. He's still knelt between your knees, hands resting on them, looking back at you with eyes turned dark and glistening skin. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and it takes you a minute to understand that he's waiting for your answer.

"Right," you breathe. "Yeah, okay." You scramble to sit up and twist yourself so you're lying the right way but he laughs and it makes you go cold.

"Chill out, take a minute, yeah?"

His hand hasn't left you; it's on your ankle now, rubbing those same circles over the bone.

All you can say is, "That was insane."

He laughs again, a softer noise this time, and says, "It was, huh?"

"Yeah." You flop back, head in the pillows and eyes on the ceiling above you, your own fingers tracing up and down your stomach.

He watches you from the floor. You're all flushed, glowing something rosy and sprinkled with dewy sweat. And then he watches your fingers, their absentminded journey up from your belly to the dip between your boobs, and back down. You repeat it over and over, and though it's an innocent, repetitive stroke, it's not helping the pressure between his legs.

"I'm gonna take these off," he tells you, giving your ankle a comforting squeeze and tugging his waistband with his free hand. "That okay?"

It dawns on you, as you look at him, that not only are you lying naked in front of a stranger, but that you are about to see that stranger's dick. A stranger who responded to your stupid ad in the paper, who's agreed to this for some stupid reason, and who is stupid handsome and stupid nice.

"Uh, yeah, okay."

He says your name again and it sounds so pretty when he does, and then he says, "We can stop if you want, you know. You don't have to do anythin' you don't want to."

"No, I want to," you say. "I just… This is a lot."

"Yeah," he says with a smile, that one that drips with charm and tugs at your gut. "But you're all good. Done so well so far."

Your body keens at the praise, your back lifting off the bed and it's then that you notice the feeling of want biting ugly marks into the pit of your stomach. You look at him, and he looks back at you, and all you can feel is a gnawing emptiness, a need to be full.

"Let's do this," you declare, sitting back up on your elbows and watching him with needy eyes. He sees it, the darkness that has settled in your irises, the itchy fidgeting of your hands on your sheets.

"Yes, ma'am."

Slowly, he stands and tugs his underwear down his legs and onto the floor. It all feels very real, now that he's stood before you like this.

He laughs at your wide eyes, trained on the straining erection he just let loose. You've never seen a dick in person before, and to be truthful you're not sure you've ever really seen one in a photograph or a video – the adult section at the rental store isn't exactly somewhere you often find yourself – so you have nothing to compare this to, but objectively it looks quite big.

"Will it fit?" you say before you can stop yourself. It comes out a squeak and makes him laugh yet again.

"Yes," he tells you, "it'll fit. But thanks for the ego boost."

He's on his knees on the bed beside you now, moving towards you until he can use his hands to move your legs apart. He settles himself between them and sits back on his heels, leaving one hand on your left leg and using the other to take one of yours. He intertwines your fingers, squeezes, and pulls you to sit up.

"Here," he says, bringing your hand to sit flat on his ribs. He's controlling his voice as best he can, hoping it doesn't sound as desperate as he feels right now. He can't help but stare at you, at how you're looking at him. 

"I'm gonna show you how to touch me, okay?"

"Yeah," you breathe. His hand moves yours down until it reaches patchy hair and then he curls your hand around his dick, his own hand still holding yours.

It's a new feeling, sure, but you're mostly enjoying the short hisses of breath he's letting out. When you move upwards without his help he almost moans, and you decide you'd like to do whatever it takes to make him do it again, and louder.

"Shit, okay, wait. Here-" He brings your hand away and lays it flat, palm up. "Spit."

You look up at him and find his wide brown eyes looking down at you, waiting.

So you spit into your palm, and he brings it back to himself, and moving is easier now.

"Fuck, okay… Yeah, just like that, that's it, shit-"

He drops his hand from yours and leaves you to find your own way, so you copy his pattern of up and down, slowly, twisting your hand as you go.

"Here, move your thumb over the- Fuck-"

You do as he says, perhaps too eager to please, and watch in awe as the muscles in his abdomen tense and he leans forward, resting his weight on one hand planted right beside your hip.

"Okay, okay, that's enough," he says, taking your wrist and pulling you away, ignoring the way you whine.

When he says, "We can worry about me another time," you try to ignore the brief fluttering it elicits deep within your chest somewhere. Dwelling on things said in the heat of this moment isn't fair, you decide; he surely doesn't mean it.

With warm, now familiar hands, he helps you lay back down.

"You got condoms?"

"Oh." You don't, and the truth you're about to tell him is mortifying. "No. They all expired a few months ago."

"That's fine," is all he says, and the fluttery feeling returns when he doesn't ask any follow up questions. No judgement, as promised. "Just wait here."

His hand leaves you at the last possible moment. As he moves off the bed it runs smooth down your leg and over your foot, like he's scared that if he lets go you'll disappear. You watch him hop awkwardly across the room and into your living room, the sight a refreshing injection of humour, helping you relax into the mattress again. He comes back with his jacket in one hand, which he drops on the floor after rummaging in the inside pocket and pulling out a red foil square. 

He pulls it open with fingers that you realise are shaking slightly, and you wonder if he's really nervous, and if so, if he's as nervous as you are.

It takes a few seconds but soon enough he's rolled it on, breath stuttering and dry, and then he climbs back to you and his hands return to your body almost as quickly as they left.

He's hovering over you now, his long hair tickling the sides of your face and the tops of your shoulders, all the places the sun hits on hot days. You're too caught up in watching his every move, too keen to really realise what you're saying before you ask: "Will you kiss me again?"

He smiles and dips down wordlessly, letting his lips slip against yours. It brings back the fluttering and the fizzy feeling, the craving for him. As your tongues move as one, you feel his hand by your thigh, and when he pulls back he says, "You ready?"

You nod, and then, remembering what he said earlier, cement it in words: "I'm ready."

"Alright, I'm gonna go slow, okay? It's gonna stretch more than earlier, but you just keep me clued in, yeah?"

"Yeah."

There's a new sensation at your core, of wetness and something rigid. He's moving against your folds, finding no purchase in the remnants of earlier on, but then he nudges your clit and you jolt upwards and that's when he finds what he was searching for.

He nudges in quickly at first, enough to make you whine a pained sound. He matches it with a low grumble, a vibration right by your ear.

"You okay?" he's quick to ask, head rising to look at you.

"Yeah, yeah, just- slow, please."

"I've got you."

He doesn't move for a beat, eyes trained on the scrunch of your nose. He kisses it and feels you relax, so he keeps kissing, quick flashes over your forehead, your temple, your cheek. Each one brings new relief and as your back hits the bed again, he eases himself in a little more.

The stretch is definitely different; more. There's a burn, but it doesn't completely hide the wave of pleasure you get in the fullness.

"Gonna go a bit more," he tells you, and he does just that, going half an inch further, still watching for any sign of discomfort.

When you bring your knees up by his hips, he knows you're past the worst of it. He chants praise, telling you that you're doing so well, taking me so well as he keeps going, all the way until he's seated inside you, up to the hilt. You breathe in a gasp, filling your lungs, realising you'd been holding your breath for too long. And as you open your eyes, you find him staring down at you with concern and something else.

"You good?" he whispers with his face so close you feel the words as they settle on your cheek.

"Yeah."

"Good girl."

He punctuates this with a kiss, and then another, over the hill of your jaw and onto your throat. Your hands claw up his back, pulling him in until you're sure that if he were any closer, you'd fuse into one.

"Okay," he finally says, lips against the peak of your shoulder. "I'm gonna move. I'll go slow at first."

"Okay."

The feeling of him pulling out is new and nice, but it's nothing compared to the opposite. The combination of the two, the repetitive motion he picks up, is something you want to chase forever.

As he moves, he quickens, trying his best to keep his eyes open and attentive; it's difficult, though, when you feel this good.

"Christ, you're so fuckin' tight, shit-"

"Eddie, this feels amazing, uh-"

Your stomach twists into a coil again, quicker this time, and tightens as he picks up the pace. Above you he's all guttural moans and pretty groans, his lips grazing your cheek each time he moves, and soon his thrusts become too much. You're panting his name and he's panting yours, and along with the sound of skin on skin, that's all you can hear until he speaks gravel-churned words into your ear.

"Shit, 'm so close, fuck- Gotta get you there, baby, huh? C'mon, need you to come for me."

His words are joined by sloppy fingers between your bodies. They fumble in the dark, prodding your belly before finding slippery purchase on your clit. Sparks light up your body and all you can do in response is let it arch into him with a yelp of his name.

"You close?" he asks.

"Yes, yeah, shit, yes," you splutter back. It's like a chase, and you're catching up, quickly, quickly, quickly.

All of a sudden there's a white-hot flash that burns every inch of your insides. You tense, your body yawning open for him, wide and wanting; he doesn't relent, thrusts harder than ever, chases you in return as he feels you tighten around him. You release, the coil snapping, and he brings the pace down to see you through to the end.

There's cotton wool in your ears again but you make out his praises: "That's it, that's it, atta girl… C'mon, I've got you, you did so well."

When your breathing turns regular and your eyes ease open, you feel a warm knuckle on your cheek. He's still going slow, rutting in and out of you with ease now, and when you finally look at him he asks, "Gonna keep goin', that okay?"

You nod, throat closed for the time being so you make it as certain a nod as you can muster. His thrusts become quicker again, and the more he speeds up the sloppier he becomes. You feel sensitive, too warm but also too desperate to see, hear, feel him come undone inside you. It's not long until your wish is granted; soon his groans turn to whimpers and whines, and he calls your name as he shudders to a violent halt. It's intoxicating, experiencing this from underneath him; if this is what everyone's been talking about all these years, you understand why.

The room sways and whistles as he rests his weight on you. His breath, right beside your ear, is like a hot, damp rag, pulling at your sticky skin and the thrum of rushing blood. You hear him groan and then the uncomfortable feeling of him pulling out. The bed bounces gently as he huffs and flops down beside you, and, god, you wish so badly that you could keep those flutters under control because his clammy hand finds yours between your bodies and it's nice to feel the affection he's so devoted to giving you.

Sighing, he says, "Shit."

You laugh, scrunching your face.

"Yeah," you agree, "shit."

He squeezes your hand.

"Did you like it?"

"Yeah. Really liked it."

"Okay for your first time?"

"Yeah." You turn onto your side to face him, looking up at his face. There are a few curls stuck to his pretty pink face, and you admire the bob of his throat as he swallows and the squeeze of his hand in yours.

"You're really pretty," you tell him. You're not sure if this is the post-O haze the magazines talk about, or if it's some kind of clarity, or if it's just that you have this boy in the palm of your hand and you suddenly can't bear the thought of letting him go. Instead you want to plant anchors, heavy lines that will keep him right where he is.

He turns his head to look at you and you see him flush even more.

"So are you," he whispers, with another squeeze and a kiss to your forehead.

There are a few minutes of quiet after that. The light outside is gone for good, so he's glowing a low golden in the light of your bedside lamp. He kisses you again with a fondness that surely shouldn't come with this exchange, which you had rationalised as just that: a transaction, a mutual agreement to get something done.

You see him open his mouth, as if to speak, but close it again, so you reach a tentative hand up and brush some hair from his eyes and trace your knuckle down his temple, urging him.

"My friends," he begins, hesitant, "they're having a party, next weekend. Steve, he only lives round the corner, we passed his house on the way here... You wouldn't wanna come, would you?"

"With you?" you whisper into the fizzy darkness.

"Yeah." He smiles, eyes fluttering shut under your sweeping fingers. "With me."

"Is it a date?"

"It can be, if you want. Or we can just, y'know, go as friends, or whatever."

"No one's ever asked me on a date before."

He smiles, and it's soft and curled with an affectionate pity; one that says I'm sorry, that's not fair, it's nothing to do with you.

"Well, wanna come?"

"I'd love to."

He pulls your hand up and brings it to his mouth, where he kisses your knuckles. Goosebumps raise across your thighs and arms, and you realise you're cold.

He seems to sense your discomfort because you feel him shift beside you. He pulls you up with him and helps you climb off the bed on wobbly legs.

"I should pee," you tell him, heeding the warnings of girlfriends past.

"You should," he says, a little deflated.

You don't move, though. To move would be to acknowledge the end – the end of the transaction, of the favour. It's not something you want.

"I, uh," you begin, stumbling, "Don't- Do you want-"

"I can go now, if you want-"

"No, no, it's okay, I mean, you can go if you want, that's fine, I just-"

Your eyes are darting all over the carpet, skimming discarded clothes, so you don't notice him reach up until he's touching your face, holding it in his palm.

"I'll stay, if you want me to."

"Yes, please."

He smiles at you, sticky with fondness and you can't help but smile back.

"I'm gonna shower," you tell him, leaning further into his grasp.

"I'll be here."

-

"Munson! You made it!"

In the middle of the busy room, there's a tall guy, broad and burly, like all the jocks you went to high school with. He's startlingly pretty, with golden hair and honeyed skin, a wide, bright smile plastered across his face.

He steps on unsure feet over to Eddie, who is stood partially in front of you; you're cowering behind him, willing the courage to lift you and push you into the arms of strangers. For now, holding his hand will do just fine.

"Hey, Harrington," Eddie greets, meeting him in one of those boyish embraces. You look around, taking in the faces; it's not the level of the high-school parties you used to go to, and definitely not the circus of the frat ones you've sometimes found yourself at, but it's busy enough. Where the guy – Harrington – came from, in the living room, there's a circle of people who are all smiling in your direction.

"Who's this?" The guy is looking at you over Eddie's shoulder.

Eddie tells Steve your name, and then turns to you. "This is Steve."

"Hi," you say to him, smiling, trying your best to hide the cruel nerves.

"Nice t'meet you!" he beams back. It's infectious; your smile turns firm and genuine in return. "Here, come meet the gang."

"C'mon," Eddie whispers to you with a kiss to the crown of your head. He pulls you through the entryway, into the large living room, following Steve. He drops your hand to give and return hugs, saying hello to each person. You stand and watch, unsure of what to do, until one of the girls – the first one Eddie greeted – appears by your side.

"Hey," she says, perhaps a little too close.

"Hi."

"I'm Robin." She sticks her hand out and you shake it clumsily.

Eddie's back, with his hand in yours again, on your other side. He calls her Rob and tells her your name, and then does the same for each person – Nancy, Jonathan, Will, Mike, Max, Lucas, Dustin, El – too many for you to remember tonight, but you have a feeling you'll see them again.

"Hi, guys," you return with a wave.

Everything settles after that. You take a seat next to Eddie on the couch, legs up and over his own, making conversation with Robin who you like a lot. Nancy comes over and introduces herself again and you find you like her, too.

And then Steve appears, having disappeared twenty minutes before. He's a little drunker, and he hands you and Eddie a can each. You take it gratefully and open it, taking a swig.

"So," he begins, sitting on the opposite side of the circle to yourself and Eddie. "You from Hawkins?"

"No," you tell him, and repeat the story you told Eddie.

"Sweet! So how'd you meet?"

You turn your head to look at Eddie and find him having done the same thing. His eyes are wide, just as wide as you're sure yours are.

"Uh," you begin, drawing out the sound to buy yourself time. 

"I did her a favour," he says, to your surprise, turning back to look at Steve with a sickly smile. "Just somethin' she'd put in the paper."

"That's so cute," Nancy says from behind you, her words chased by Robin adding a sarcastic, "Adorable."

The conversation moves on after that, and you turn around to Eddie again. He's looking back at you, his face pink and a smile tugging at his mouth. Before you can stop yourselves you're laughing, bursting into happy noises, bent double giggling.

He gives you another kiss, on the cheek this time, and quickly you settle back into conversations. The night is long and for the first time in a long time, it isn't lonely.

-

Hello! This is SO long - it really did take on a life of its own. I considered splitting it but couldn't find somewhere to do it, so I hope you enjoy this absolute beast nonetheless. I love you!

[rafesgoldrings]

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy

Pairing: Cowboy!Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mutual masturbation, smut, light choking, reader rides Rafe, not proof read so i’m sorry if there’s any errors or this isn’t as good as usual😭, I’m almost positive that’s all

Summary: When you see that Rafe Cameron is looking for new ranch hands, you jump at the opportunity. You’ve heard the rumors about him being a cowboy casanova and plan on keeping it professional, but his blue eyes and thick southern drawl make it harder than you planned

A/N: First off @congratsloserr you’re literally a genius for this request and I hope I did it justice. Second, this isn’t the last time you’ll be seeing Cowboy Rafe🤭

You and Rafe had been going out for a few weeks, you’d started working at his ranch when you saw they needed some help. Everyone had told you about Rafe and how he was an incredible boss, but a major cowboy casanova so don’t get any ideas. Now that really was the plan, go to work, do your job, then leave, nothing other than that. But then he walked in, his big blue eyes looking directly into yours, he was wearing a light green button down, bootcut blue jeans, and cowboy boots and hat. You’ve heard people say they feel that spark at first glance, but believed it to be bullshit because how can you feel that connection from a single glance? This is how.

You tried so hard to be strong, really resist the charming smile he’d give you. The way he’d call you ‘darlin’ and ‘sweetheart’ with his thick southern accent, but it was becoming harder and harder. He’d been spending more time with you, insisting it was to make sure you’d settled in nicely and to help you out a bit, but then the flirting started. He’d greet you with a ‘mornin beautiful, how’s my favorite girl today?’ and walk you to and from your car each morning, telling you how lucky he was to have someone as incredible as you working for him. The resistance you’d worked so hard to build gradually falling more and more apart with each brush of his hand against yours.

And then he’d asked you. He’d asked you the question you tried so hard to avoid even happening. ‘Hey darlin, would you like to go out to dinner with me Friday night?’ it was inappropriate. He was your boss and a huge player who didn’t respect any of the women he met. It would be terrible to agree…

So here you are…several dinner dates later and in a semi official relationship. The most you’d done with him is give a small peck on his lips, maybe if you didn’t put out he would get bored and you could go back to just being his new ranch hand. But it didn’t seem to be working very well, he still asked you out and still placed his hand on your lower back as if he was claiming you. He still gave you a small kiss on the cheek when you’d part your separate ways at the end of the night, still greeted you with the same flirtatious things he’d always done.

And then, because why the hell wouldn't it happen to you, you’d been in his home instead of the usual restaurant you went to for dinner. Maybe you'd felt a tad bit more bold, or maybe it was because you no longer wanted to resist the temptation of him. He’d made you a very nice dinner and paired it with some fancy wine you couldn’t even pronounce. It was actually a nice evening, a night with just the two of you and nobody else around. Felt almost natural, he offered you the guest bedroom if you wanted to say and you accepted after a few moments to think. Was it a mistake? Maybe, but isn’t life all about making mistakes?

He was still wearing his cowboy hat, technically you could blame what happened next in the two glasses of wine if anyone asked, when you decided to kiss him. All the tension built over the last few weeks finally bubbling over. Your tongues battling for dominance until his took over. It made your head spin and you needed to pull away for air. Your lips swollen from the intensity, then you reached up and pulled his hat off of his head and put it on your own. Watching as he ran his hand through his messy hair and gave you a smirk.

“You know what they say about the cowboy hat rule don’t you sweetheart?” you shook your head no, a toothy grin on your face.

“Well,” he pulled his phone out and connected it to his home speaker before playing the song ‘Save a horse, Ride a cowboy’ “I think this song sums it up pretty well”

Giving him a small smirk, you unbuttoned his shirt and took a minute to admire his abs, and then undid his belt to pull his pants down. Once he was stripped, his boxers being discarded somewhere in the large living room, you pushed him onto the couch. The music blaring in your ears, alcohol running through your system, and the lustful gaze he had gave you a whole new level of confidence. You were so glad you wore a dress tonight, nothing too fancy but also nothing too casual. You slowly peeled one of the straps down your arm, and then the other, before sliding it down your body. Rafe was squirming from his spot on the couch at the sight of your bare tits and black lace thong on full display.

“Fuck darlin, you’re gorgeous” his voice full of adoration, eyes raking up and down your body just wondering how he was the lucky bastard that got to see you this way.

“Thank you cowboy” you gave him a playful wink, hands hooking into the sides and moving them around like you’d seen so many dancers do before, slowly turning so your back was facing him and bending over to take them off.

Your glistening cunt was on full display for him, perfect ass right in front of him. He wanted to keep you bent over like that and fuck into you until you couldn’t handle it anymore. But he stayed put, wanting you to go as far as you were comfortable with. You brought your hands to spread your cunt apart, smirking to yourself when you heard Rafe groan , before rubbing your clit with one hand. Your fingers rubbing your swollen bundle of nerves relentlessly, arousal leaking out of your hole and onto your thighs.

“You’re killin me over here baby” it was almost a whine, his head was thrown back against the couch and he had one hand stroking his cock when you’d turned your head to look over at him.

“Fuck” you let out a small moan, the visual of Rafe jerking himself off while you touched yourself turning you on even more.

You stuck two of your fingers inside yourself, giving your clit a break, and began pumping them in and out. A low whine escaping your lips as you picked up the tempo, the sound of mixed moans filling the room. His breathing hitched, a small chain of groans falling from his lips as he came all over himself, you followed shortly after. Moaning his name over and over again, moving one hand to the coffee table to balance yourself as you fell apart on your own hand.

“Alright darlin, you’ve had your fun. But now it’s my turn, bring that perfect body over here and ride my cock” his voice was much more firm now, you quickly did as you were told.

His hands gripped your hips as he guided you down into his cock, mumbling a small ‘fuck’ as your cunt slid onto his cock and clenched around it. You slowly began bouncing on it, circling your hips occasionally, trying to adjust to his size. He was much bigger than anyone you’d ever slept with, much more girthy as well. But it hit all the right spots inside you and made you see stars each time it brushed against them. The grip he had on your hips was firm enough to bruise, especially when you started going faster, but you loved it. His hat was still on your head which drove him wild. He had this pretty girl bouncing on his cock, wearing his hat, in his home. He was the luckiest man alive right now.

“You’re so-fuck-so big Rafe” a smirk took over his face at the compliment.

“Yeah? You’re taking me so well sweetheart, such a good girl for me. Your cunt feels so fucking good around me” he moaned out, moving to wrap his hand around your throat and pull you into a kiss. The both of you moaning into each other's mouth at the overwhelming amount of euphoria you were experiencing.

You weren’t going to last much longer, it was too much for you to hold off. That familiar feeling in your belly building up again, Rafe was close too. He could feel himself getting closer, opting to grip your hips and start moving you faster. Listening to the pretty noises that slipped through your parted lips, god he could come undone just listening to them.

“R-rafe, ‘m so close” you brought your forehead against his, the cowboy hat pushing further up on your head.

“I am too darlin, want to feel you come on my cock baby. Can you do that?” you weakly nodded, hair sticking to your face and bodies glistening with sweat.

“3..” his hips snapping into at a relentless pace.

“2..” your lips capturing his, the kiss sloppy but full of passion

“1..” the both of you falling apart. His lips moving to your neck as he claimed it as his, his cum filling up your tight cunt until it was making a prominent ring around his cock. The filthy sounds of your wet cunt filling the room as you came all over him.

He gave a few more lazy thrusts as you rode out your high before you slowly climbed off of him. You laid against the couch, legs spread and cum dripping out of you, mouth open and panting. His cock had softened by now, his head against the cool leather of the couch as he tried to catch his own breath.

“You’re something else baby” he chuckled.

You gave him a small smile before pulling his cowboy hat off and placing it on the table, slowly standing to go use the bathroom and clean up. When you walked back into the living room, he was dressed again which made you slightly disappointed. He watched in confusion when you grabbed your things and headed towards his guest room.

“Where are you going gorgeous?”

You turned around to face him, face slightly twisted in a confused expression. “To the guest room? I’ll leave by the morning I promise, we can just act like this didn’t happen if you want”

Was he done with you now? He’d gotten what he wanted and now it was on to the next poor girl that fell victim to his charm. You weren’t special, just another notch on his belt. He probably-

“What? Darlin, after tonight? There’s no way I'm letting you go, sleep in my bed with me. Want my girl next to me when I'm sleeping so I know I'm not dreaming” oh, well that was unexpected.

You assumed he’d throw you out, find someone new. Not want to keep you.

“Oh, Okay. Well i’m very exhausted,” you let out a small laugh “could we go to bed?”

“Course sweetheart” he grinned, standing up and walking to grab your hand before leading you to his room.

He threw you one of his shirts before going to his bathroom and taking a quick shower, walking out in just a fresh pair of boxers and joining you in bed. Your back was facing him and you gasped when you felt his strong arms wrap around you and pull you into him. It felt natural, like this was how it was meant to be in a weird way. Like he was meant to be like this with you, his player reputation being a bunch of baseless talks because he hasn’t settled with any of the girls. But he wasn’t the player you’d heard about with you, he was kind and gentle. He gave you his shirt to sleep in and wrapped his arms around you to hold you close, he called you gorgeous and darlin everyday, greeted you every morning, took you out to dinner.

But the one question played in your mind, what now?

“Rafe?” you heard him let out a small hum, “What are we? Like where do we go from here?”

“Well,” he took a deep breath, or let out a yawn, you couldn’t see him to know which one “I want you to be mine. So if you would like it, i’m asking you to be my girlfriend”

You couldn’t help the large smile that took over your face involuntarily. You felt like you were back in high school and your crush told you they liked you back. Like the young girl you once were that thought she found her prince charming because a boy asked you to marry him with a ring pop on the playground.

“I’d like that” your voice came out in almost a whisper, the sleep starting to take over you.

“Good, get some sleep darlin” a small kiss was placed on the top of your head, strong arms wrapping tighter around you.

Your arms wrapped around his and finally, your eyes closed. The both of you falling into an easy sleep, limbs tangled with each other like it was meant to be.

Tag List: @outerbankspov @sweetestdesire @dreamingwithrafe @congratsloserr @fulla02reads @madelynie

[queenofheartlessdreams]

Night of Firsts (Kaz Brekker x Reader)

Fandom: Shadow and Bone, Kaz Brekker x Fem!Reader

Summary: Kaz Brekker asks his most valued Crow to do the unthinkable, take his virginity.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: smut, Kaz's touch aversion, death, blood, touchy men, unprotected sex (p in v), creampie, etc...

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It was far too late for anyone in the town to be bustling about, any young woman or child should be sound in their bed, safe from the dangers of the night. Monsters lurked around every corner, man or beast, it was true, the freaks come out at night. 

The club, however, was still active, several games of poker still being played, dancers still upon tables and deals being forged. Music echoed from the walls as the crowded swayed, talkative and busy. The women who dared to be in the club at this time, were bold indeed. Among the drunken men, who wanted a good feeling, and all the thieves who could slit a helpless woman's throat, it was no place for a lady.

But Y/N was no lady. Belonging to the master of the Crows, Kaz 'Dirtyhands' Brekker, she had traded in her ladylike dresses a long time ago. As she nudged her way through the crowd, many men stole a glance, at the tightness of her leather pants that stretched across her ass, and the cut of her flowing shirt, but most importantly, the dagger that was strapped to her thigh, alerting any man who touched her, there would be consequences. Her black boots clicked against the tile ground as she hurried through the club, going up the stairs to her bosses office. The crowd parted as she walked by, staring at the young woman as she heaved open the doors, before slipping inside. Then knew her well, well enough as anyone goes, Y/N, the Fury, another one of Kaz Brekker's toys. 

As Y/N stepped into the office, her eyes scanned the room, which was nearly empty, besides the one and only Dirty Hands sitting behind a long desk. Y/N sighs, dropping the act as she heads over to him. To the public, she may be seen as one of his warriors, but in reality, she was one of his friends. Kaz himself, looked intimidating, stern look on his face, fashionable suit and high priced gloves. Y/N, also wore gloves, out of respect for the man who didn't like to be touched. She leaned against the tall desk as Kaz scanned her body, "Jesper said you needed something."

Kaz swallows, an action that portrayed fear onto his face, " Yes, I have a request."

Y/N brings her hand to the hilt of her knife, tightly strapped to her thigh, " Who do I have to kill?"

The man glances up, this time to her face, towards the gleam in her eyes, " It's nothing like that, it's a more personal request."

The Fury tilts her head. She wasn't used to this. Kaz and her did have a bond, but usually his personal requests went out to Jesper or Inej, the more long term members of the gang. She shrugs, shifting her weight to each of her feet, " Okay."

Kaz takes a deep breath, running a gloved hand through his hair, " Through consideration, I've been looking at my reputation as a leader. I'm 18, quite young, but that also means that I have to be intimidating. And I've come to the realization that a virgin is not intimidating."

The bluntness of the phrase takes a toll on Y/N's face, as she stutters out a response, "So then just lie. I mean, you can't touch anyone, and sex involves a lot of that."

Annoyance gleams in Kaz's eyes, along with something different, innocence. "I know. That's why I've called you here. I'd like you to take my virginity. If you'd agree to it." He adds as an afterthought. 

Y/N's jaw drops at the bold statement, before she regains her composure. He may be her friend, but he was still her boss. "Kaz..." she starts, but the words seem to get lost.

Kaz watches his Fury carefully. He saw the uncertainty in her body language, and heard the doubt in her voice. One thing was certain though, he wanted her. There was a way she made him feel that he hadn't felt in a long time. It was a tingling feeling, something that he only assumed would get better with his feelings being brought forth, but even now it was still there. Kaz looks down, maybe he was wrong. "You don't have to say yes. I just believe that I share a connection with you, and I may be broken, but I'd like to experience at least something. For all I know, I might die tomorrow, and no one wants to die a virgin."

Y/N doesn't meet his eyes, doesn't even speak up," I don't want to ruin what we already have. I care about you Kaz, but I don't want you to have to step up to this."

"I want it, " The boy whispers. He did, but he'd never done anything before. This craving, it was something deep inside of him clawing to get out.

Y/N nods, taking a deep breath before holding her head high once more, "Alright, stand up."

Kaz's head snaps up, "What?"

"You think I'm going to let you lose your virginity in an office? We're going to my bedroom." Y/N smirks. 

Kaz, follows her into a decent sized room,  one with a large bed in  the middle, draped with light blue sheets. As Y/N locks the door, Kaz stands at the foot of the bed, staring down into the sea of sheets. Sensing his fear, Y/N runs a gloved hand over his back, " Lay down."

Kaz moves over to one side of the bed, taking off his coat and shoes. He may be inexperienced, but he wasn't stupid. Sliding into the softness of the sheets, Kaz watches as Y/N takes off her boots, and crawls onto the bed, next to him.  A wave of nervousness strikes Kaz as he takes a deep breath, and another. The woman next to him, purrs, gently rubbing his back, "Have you touched yourself before?"

Kaz shakes his head, letting out a shaky stream of words, "No, I-I can't."

Y/N places a hand on his own, silk gloves meeting Kaz's leather ones, before pulling his hand down to place over the bulge in his pants. Kaz's breath shakes, as Y/N coaxes his hand to the zipper, "It's okay, I'm right here. Small steps, okay?"

Kaz nods, rubbing himself through his black boxers. It felt strange, a part of him wanted to repulse, scrub off his skin, while the other wanted to rub harder. This is what arousal feels like. Kaz thinks, as he shivers. Y/N coaxes him on, "I want you to take your cock and touch yourself. You can keep the gloves on, and you don't have to do it hard. If you want to stop, tell me, and I promise we will right away."

Kaz swallowed thickly, heart beating against his chest as he pulled down his boxers, taking his flaccid cock in one hand. He could wrap hand around it, not fully, but enough to feel something. He wasn't sure what he felt, how dirty he felt as his cock swelled in his hand, making him want to sob. But he wasn't doing this for him, he was doing it for her. With a reassuring glance, he began to drag his palm up and down his shaft, watching as it hardened against his finger tips.

Kaz laid his head back into the pillows with a sobbing whimper as is cock pulsed. He could feel everything, everything that made his forehead sticky and body tense. He could feel Y/N's body shift on the bed beside him, as he looked over with stinging eyes.  She smiled, "You're doing great, may I?"

Kaz groans, but Y/N understands the want in his voice. Carefully, she took a glove hand and placed it over his own, setting a pace as they stroked his cock. Moments later, Kaz took his hand away, leaving the cold satin of Y/N's gloves to drag against him.

Y/N watches as Kaz tilts his head back with heavy breaths as his hands clutch the sheets, twisted in his fingers. After setting a good pace, that Kaz seems adjusted to, Y/N began to pull, twisting in a slightly rough motion that caused Kaz to whimper. She continues, dragging her hand up his shaft and rubbing a thumb against the tip, where pre-cum had already begun bubbling there. Kaz's hips buck up instinctively, creating more friction as her palm rolled around his cock. 

Y/N looked up, to Kaz's squinted eyes, and open mouth, and down to his cock, how hot he looked in this disheveled state. "Kaz?" she groans, " Are you alright?"

Kaz moans, throwing an arm over his eyes. "Do you want me to keep going?"

"More," Kaz hisses, as Y/N rubs her thumb against his tip. 

He felt good, with her doing it, with her gloves rubbing against him. The filth was gone, for now, as he opened his eyes, feeling an emptiness on his cock. He watched as she slid off the side of the bed, and began to unzip her own pants. Fear coursed through Kaz's body, he wasn't ready for that yet. 

Y/N meets his eyes, sensing the fear, "Not yet, one step at a time. It's just hard to bend down in these pants." She says, slipping the leather down her feet, revealing her toned legs and a pair of scarlet panties. She unbuttons her shirt as well, leaving it open to reveal her matching bra.

Kaz scans her body as she comes closer to him, pulling her hair back as she does. In front of his cock, Y/N bends down, to face level. Oh shit, she was going to give him a blowjob. 

Y/N wiggles her ass from behind him, "Is this okay?"

Kaz nods, and Y/N begins to stroke up his shaft. He was a good size, thicker than her hand could fit around, and enjoyably long too. What a fool he'd been to keep this to himself for so long, how many people he could please with a body like his. As Y/N went down on him, felt the slickness of her inner thighs, how wet she was from her master.

Kaz groans, hips bucking into her mouth, as she gagged and hummed, taking as much as she could of his cock. This was different though, with this, his body was stimulated but his mind wasn't. His heart beat faster as he watched her take him in her mouth. Why had he made her do this? Why did he think this was a good idea? Fuck-

"Stop." Kaz groans tightly, a spinning sensation overtaking him.

Y/N releases his cock with a pop, looking up as tears form in Kaz's eyes. Kaz curls himself into a ball,  tears pricking his eyes, disgust raging through his body. Why did he think he could do this? Why would he ask her? Why would he ever be able to be normal when he could be the broken bitch of a man he was?

"Shit." Y/N curses, wiping the saliva off her chin and going to sit next to the boy. She rubs her hand against his back, in small, circular motions, "Kaz, what's wrong?"

A tremble racks through his body as Kaz looks up, "I'm sorry. I-I just can't do it."

Y/N smiles, "It's okay. No one was asking you to. If you want to stop, I'm fine with that. Do you want to tell me what was wrong?"

Kaz places his head in his hands, not wanting to make eye contact with her, "It felt good, when you were just... touching me. But then you were sucking me and I could feel you. It felt wrong, it felt forced. I felt dirty and it... it scared me. Then all these questions got into my head- why the hell did I make you do this- fuck- I'm so sorry."

Kaz takes quick breaths, matching the trembling of his body, and the whimpers that escaped from his lips. Y/N rubs circles on his back, " Kaz, it's okay that you didn't like something, I don't like blowjobs either."

For once, Kaz looks her in the eyes, his brown ones meeting her own, "Then why would you do that?"

Y/N sat back on her heels, " Because you asked me to."

Kaz shakes his head, another tremor running through his body, "No. I'm such an ass, making you do something you didn't want to. I didn't mean-"

"I know you didn't," Y/N interrupts, "I'm going to get a bath ready for you, I figured you'd want to clean yourself."

Kaz, lays out on the bed, looking down at his still hard cock. His body wanted this, wanted her, showed such a reaction, but his mind was like a steel gate, never wanting to get over his past. He'd tried, with Inej, by himself, and now with Y/N. They weren't Jordie, they were nothing like Jordie, but at the same time, everything about them screamed Jordie. Sometimes, he believed that he was only using the ones he cared about to keep afloat. "No, you don't need to."

With this, he tucks his hardened cock back into his pants, showing a very prominent bulge. He picks up his coat and shoes, not looking back into the room as Y/N stands there, half naked and shocked.

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Kaz's erection doesn't go away, not before Jesper finds him at the bar, drinking his consciousness away. Jesper knew something was going on with Kaz, even before he looked down to see Kaz's predicament. Ordering two shots, Jesper hands one to his friend, "Are you gonna tell me?"

Kaz gives Jesper a sour look before rolling his eyes, "I thought I could do something but it turns out I just made a fool of myself."

The gun master looked down, finally, and laughed, "You asked Y/N and it didn't work out. Was it you or her?"

Kaz swallows the shot Jesper placed in front of him, "Me, I fucked it up. I thought I could get over my fears but it turns out I can't. Not to mention that I fucking used her."

Jesper chuckles, "What makes you say that?"

"Are you deaf!," Kaz exclaims,"I made her screw me, well attempt to at least. She didn't want that, she only did it-"

"Because she likes you." Jesper blurts out.

Kaz turns to his friend, "What?"

Jesper smirks, " We're talking about Y/N, the fucking Fury. The girl who'll cut off a guy's dick if he even looks at her the wrong way. The girl who will follow you into the fire just to make sure you get out safely. She cares about you, not because you're her boss, I mean she really cares about you. She didn't do that because you asked, she did it because she cares for you."

Kaz stares at the empty shot glass, he had to apologize, do something at least. He rushes off, leaving Jesper alone, smirking into his drink.

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Y/N was outside the club, leaning against the back wall, bricks poking into her back. She watched the entrance as women came out of the club, making sure that no men were to come and take advantage of them.

Back in her leather pants and shirt, a cloak hung from her shoulders, and the hilt of her knife was rested by her hand. As a young woman with curly blonde hair and a very revealing dress exited the club, Y/N watched as two men followed her into the street. She could hear their filthy whispers as she stalked after them, keeping to the shadows. 

She watches for a moment as the men surround the young blonde, who looks very much in distress. Sneaking across the muddy street, Y/N pauses behind the men, "Excuse me ma'am, are you alright?"

The blonde looks at her, and smiles, " Of course, I was just telling these men to leave."

The man closest to Y/N had an eye patch, straggly brown hair, and reeked of alcohol, purred in her ear, "But we don't wanna."

Another one came over, and placed his bony hand on her ass, "We'd much rather have some fun."

The blonde looks over to Y/N's new predicament, before hurrying off in the opposite direction. That was what she was supposed to do, and Y/N knew it. Once she was out of sight, Y/N focused on the man who was rubbing circles on her ass, "You have 3 seconds to get your hands off me or I will hurt you."

The man with the eye patch chuckled, grabbing her wrist," Oh yeah, with what, princess."

Y/N smirks, brandishing her knife, "With this."

The bony one hisses in her ear, "You know how to use that, hot stuff?"

She turns her head to look him in the eyes, "Do you really want to fuck around and figure out?"

With this,she stabs the knife upwards, right into the crotch of the man's pants, leaving him howling in pain. As the other man tries to pull her close to him, she slashes his wrist, hard enough to slice it in two. He screams as thick blood pours from the stump, coating the ground where his hand lay limp. 

The man lunges at her, coating the front of her shirt with his blood,almost as filthy as he was. Y/N simply side steps him, as he falls forward, before she pushes into the grimy ground. She looked around the busy street to see if anyone had caught the commotion, but if they had, no one was speaking up about it. Across the street, she catches the eye of Kaz Brekker. He watches as she rushes off, and by the next passing wagon, she has disappeared completely.

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Y/N drew herself a bath, in a large, claw-foot tub. Bubble and steaming water reached the brim of the tub as she carefully placed herself inside. Her blood coated clothes were piled in a corner on the tile, giving off a faint metallic scent when she inhaled.

The water calmed her, as she thought about the events that had happened not even an hour before. Maybe she had taken it too far, had gone too quickly, or maybe she had just messed up. It was a pleasure though, seeing Kaz in that way, feeling his hips buck under her hands, watching his skillful hands clench the sheets. She could only imagine what those hands could make her feel, how it would be to have his hands dipping inside her.

Leaning her head back on the tub, she imagined Kaz's fingers in place of her own as she thrust them in and out. Saints, it made her swell even to think of him kneeling before her, in between her legs, just the thought of it made her want to -

"Am I interrupting something?" says a voice from the doorway.

Y/N's eyes open in surprise to see Kaz in the door frame, leaning against his cane. "Usually when a door is locked, it means do not open."

Kaz walks a few paces closer to the tub, shutting the door behind him. The metal of the cane clicks against the tile floor as he does so. " I had the key."

Y/N looks up to the man, who is much more composed now, " Is there a point to you being here?"

"I understand your mad at me but-"

"Kaz, why would I be mad?" Y/N interrupts, " Because you walked out on me? I'm not mad. I understand you needed space, it was a big thing for you."

Kaz leans against the counter, "I don't want to lose your friendship, or your trust. I just-"

Y/N begins to step out of the bathtub, water slicking her skin. Out of decency, Kaz turned around, feeling a slight blush on his cheeks. Y/N sighs as she puts on a nightgown, "What do you want?"

Kaz lowers his head, "I'd like you to take my virginity."

Y/N steps over to Kaz, turning him around. Kaz avoids her eyes, looking down, past the sheer nightgown she was wearing and to the floor. "Kaz?" Y/N whispers, bringing one hand to his face and forcing him to look at her.

The feared leader was shaking internally, heart beating  quickly as he repeated, "I'd like you to take my virginity."

Y/N smiles, pushing her forehead against Kaz's chest. Her hair was damp as Kaz ran a hand through it, water slicking the leather of his gloves. Looking up, Y/N stares into the man's dark eyes, "You think you're losing your virginity in a bathroom? Go, I'll meet you in my bedroom."

Kaz does so, once again standing above the blue satin sheets, fear coursing through his body. Slowly, he takes off his shoes, then his coat, and then unbuttons the first two buttons that seemed constricting on his shirt.  Then, he goes over to sit at the edge of the bed until Y/N comes into the room, slipping her hands into a black pair of satin gloves.

"No," Kaz says, leaning back into the pillows, "Leave them off."

Y/N tilts her head, but does what he asks, laying them nicely on the edge of the bed, "You sure?"

Kaz nods as Y/N leans between his thighs, undoing the zipper and pulling down his black boxers. With a reassuring look from Kaz, she takes his cock in one hand, slowly pumping it back and forth. Her hand was warm and textured as it moved along his shaft, Kaz leaning his head back. There was that same feeling again, the filth in the pleasure. He focused on her, as a whole, her hand dragging along him, the pleasure he could feel made his cock swell with pride. 

Y/N smiled at his erection, and dragged her fingernails along the underside of his balls. Kaz moaned as she massaged them in her hand, awed at the soft feel of him. Once again, she pushed her thumb against the slit, squeezing the head slightly so beads of moisture formed at its tip. Kaz groaned, his hands going into the sheets, gripping them tightly. 

 The softness of his cock was unimaginable, as it was thrust into her hand, as Kaz's hips arched up with every stimulation. She hadn't been with a virgin in a long time, but as she watched Kaz's simple actions, she was glad she was with him. Kaz groans, feeling the pressure building in his cock, getting worse as Y/N went faster, harder. She knew he was close to coming, on the way his back arched, and the way his eyes were shut tight. "Let go, Kaz." she says, still pumping him.

The thief moans loudly as he releases, hot and sticky cum spilling over his button up shirt, and over Y/N's hand. She continues to jerk him through the orgasm, leaving the man a painting mess. "Please." he moans.

This catches Y/N off guard. The most feared person on this side of the fold, begging for her. Y/N smiles, wiping her hand on Kaz's pants before unbuttoning his shirt. The pallor of Kaz's chest gleamed in the flickering lights as his pants too were taken off, leaving him completely naked, vulnerable.  The thought was at the back of his mind though, as he watched the goddess before him kneel over his body, "Would you like me naked too?"

He nods, too overwhelmed with nerves to use his words. He could feel the cold air on his skin, everywhere. The thought made him want to cry. But he could also feel heat, radiating from Y/N's body as she climbed on top of him, taking off the sheer nightgown. He watched as she smiled down at him, before her eyes went down further, to the plumpness of her breasts, the curves of her body, down to the nakedness of her cunt, that hovered above his erection. The curious man places his gloved hands over her hips as she positioned his cock under her opening, before slowly placing him inside her. Kaz's cum slicked his shaft as Y/N slid down, stretched by his thickness. She paused, resting an inch or so above his hips to look at Kaz. 

He nods again, digging his fingers into her skin, pushing her further onto him. Y/N begins to move slowly up and down, occasionally rolling her hips getting a moaning reaction from Kaz. Saints, she felt so good, how tight she was over him, how warm. He watched as her pace began to quicken, as her breasts began to bounce in unison, as sticky strands of his cum coated her thighs, rubbing against his own hips to create a white masterpiece. He moaned at the pleasure, but he needed more. He needed control. He needed to please her. He needed to fuck her until she screamed.

Sliding his hands over her waist, Kaz flips his Fury over, cock still inside her, but now he was the one on top. Y/N groans as Kaz begins to slowly thrust, picking up her legs to get a deeper angle. Saints, this was amazing, seeing her beneath him, having so much control over her like she was his pet. His cock pulsed inside her as her walls clenched around him and she released a loud moan, one that the inexperienced Kaz took as pain. He slowed, looking down at her, the sweat prickling her skin, taking it all in, " Are you alright?"

Y/N hums, lifting her hips to fit more of him inside her, " I want you to fuck me hard, Kaz. I want to scream your name. I want to be yours."

Kaz smirks, driving himself back into her cunt with enough force to bruise her cervix. Y/N's back arches as she screams in pleasure, toes curled as he continues to thrust, feeling the pressure build inside of him. Saints, she felt so good. He was going to burst. Once again, Y/N sensed this and whimpered through her moans, "Please, Kaz. Please cum inside of me!"

A few more rapid thrusts and Kaz spills himself inside the warmth of her cunt, groaning as he continues to fuck her through his orgasm. Y/N writhes underneath him as he pulls out, watching his seed drip from her cunt, coating the satin sheets underneath. 

There was silence for a moment, only heavy breathing filled the room, smelling of sex and sweat. Y/N hums as she rolls off the bed, already feeling the bruising of her cervix. Kaz's warm cum leaks from her, dripping down her inner thighs as she walks to the bathroom, pausing at the door to look at her lover, who was in what seemed to be disbelief. " I'm going to fill up a bath for you, okay?"

When there is no response, she calls out again, louder this time, "Kaz, are you okay?"

He nods, looking over to the naked girl in the doorway, "Come here."

Y/N smiles, walking over to him and kneeling alongside him on the bed, "What is it?"

Without hesitation, Kaz grabs Y/N's face in his hands and presses his lips to hers. Moments pass by as their lips glide together, before Kaz pulls back, face flushed, "That was my first kiss."

Y/N smiles, brushing a strand of sweaty hair from his forehead, "Tonight's a night of firsts I guess."

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

To Hunt a Silver Stag (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Knight!Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Fae Princess!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 6.9k

WARNINGS: Arranged marriage, talks of childbirth, traditional views of women & men in medieval times, talks of war, death, heavy religious imagery/symbolism, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You wore a crown of deer antlers atop your head. Charms were woven into the gaps between the tines, attached to golden thread; jewels of starlight strung like teardrops from the moon. Your feet, staying still on the hard stone of the Great Hall, are bare though attract no dirt or dust—it is as if the very ethereal aura that coats your gown of pure white repels any such thought of uncleanliness or corruption of this mortal plane. 

You are so very far from home.

Standing in the center of your soon-to-be husband’s court, your eyes seem not to be on the man himself, who watches you greedily from the throne of black iron, but instead behind him. Blank of any emotion, your long lashes blink in the direction of the stained glass windows with a horrible longing. Whispers from the multitude of court attendants go in one ear and out the other—useless to you. Their time would be gone in a blink, and yet here you would remain, immemorial. Their words were nothing, and their utterances would turn to dust faster than their bodies would.

You can’t help but wonder if those colorful depictions in that glass window, of God and his valiant angels, are mocking you as you blink at them slowly. Not only for what you are and where you now find yourself in the kingdom of your enemies but for being so full of the very qualities that would normally resign a woman of this age to the stake. 

Independent, confident, and curious, among others. 

A voice raises above the rest, and your eyes blink elegantly, the silver hue to them unnatural in all senses. Yet, you do not look away from the mighty white stag, its soldered bits of thin glass a patchwork of an overwatching Lord. Saint Eustace is there, staring at it, just as was told from generation to generation.

A pagan man converted to Christianity, the symbol of a cross set between antlers very much like the ones adorning your head. Humming under your breath, your eyes dip down, chin moving. Below the window, there stands a tall knight, and your gaze locks with his softly. 

“Today,” the King’s voice echoes over the crowd as brown orbs stare at you, blinking. “We are here to celebrate the joining of two great bloodlines!” He stands with a grand cape over his shoulders, falling to the floor as his boots stand at the top of the stairs to the throne. Yet, this knight holds your attention more than your Promised does as the cheering starts, loud; making your ears twitch.

At your waist, a golden belt is engraved with expert attention, stories woven into metal that even seem to move with the magic embedded into it. It seems to hum with an energy that makes your eyes narrow in confusion upon this stranger.

He had brown eyes, the knight, and the hues reminded you of brown that you could see in the trees of your home—those old beasts that grew still with the magic of your line and your gentle touch. Surrounding him, there was silver armor and a strip of red fabric that went over one shoulder, hanging beside the items of his station; a sword and a dagger on a brown leather belt.

Brows furrowing, your head tilts slowly, unblinking, as the eye contact persists. 

A bold man, it seems.

The knight’s eyelids slightly widen, as if realizing he had been staring, and his face swiftly moves to the side, his short hair close to his oval skull. You hear the faint clearing of a throat come into the shell of your pointed ears.

Sighing, your focus returns to the matter at hand, the crown’s adornments clinking together as your head rotates. The speech. 

King Michael spreads his hands out, a man far into his older years but still had the gleam of malice in his eyes. Those beady things. They remind you of a rat—a small creature, while intelligent, that cannot win unless through tricks.

“We all know that magic has slowly been disappearing from the lands,” the King utters, voice echoing off the walls. Your hands are holding themselves near your abdomen, grace embedded into your bones. Watching how he speaks, you can’t deny he was influential. But influence didn’t matter when you had no wife—no children. He has a dying line, and that means weakness…which is why you’re here, after all. “And in that time, our war with the Fae has fallen into a stalemate.”

Your expression sharpens, fingers twitching. Stalemate? There were humans in your lands—spreading their fires and swinging their defiling iron swords. There was no war here except the one that this King was perpetuating. 

But you held your tongue, even if your silver eyes narrowed in an ancient, bitter, anger. Your head raises itself higher, hanging gemstones swinging. The knight near the stained glass is back to watching you—his feet shifting from under him, hands behind his armored back with loose shoulders.

“...Today, myself and the King of the Fae have come to an agreement in confidence, and in the fashion of old, I am to be wed to his daughter, a princess!” Gasps, cheers, clapping. They spring up from all corners of the Hall, bouncing. Your body longs for nature, to be away from rock and metal, these suffocating walls that close in with the gaggle of wretched corpses walking. “Peace shall be beholden to all of us! Magic shall come back into my bloodline through our many children, and all will share in its wealth!” 

You had compared yourself to a broodmare when your father had given the news of your journey here. A womb to be filled until you could give no more; restrained to a bed—away from any privilege and right.

And you’d been sent here anyway. A price needed to be paid, your father had told you. A daughter to stop the war. A child to bring back mortal magic and keep the peace through generations. Was your head to be put to the block for that? Who was to say that children would bring peace? That there weren’t more conflicts to come?

This was a momentary sacrifice, and here you were wearing white.

You hum under your breath and feel shackles tie themselves to your ankles; tying you to this place. But what other option did you have?

Your ears listen to the loud rapturous cheering, the exclamations of love that mean nothing to you—you do not love these people, do not love their need for violence and their pride. You want to go home, to find where you can rest among glades and grass. Converse with the birds and the beasts to learn of their news of far-off lands; run your hands through clear streams and watch plants grow where you walk.

As your stone body stays still, silver eyes unblinking, the knight near the window is the only man in the room not gazing at you like he wants something from you. While Lords have their eyes filled with lustful envy of your age-less skin—your finery and wealth; the promise of strong children, the knight is the only one with an open expression. 

He only watches, handsome face holding the whispers of stubble and eyes that would make many moral women wish to be his wife. 

Admittingly, your attention keeps going back to him, just as his own is stuck on you even as he tries to look professional. Back straight, armor glinting, sword pommel fiddled with by long fingers. 

The King is walking down the stairs, one withered leg at a time. You don’t offer any help.

“My bride,” Michael licks his lips when he’s in front of you; but he’s more fixated on your stomach than all else. What it will hold for him. “My beautiful Fae bride. My wedding will be known through history for ages to come.”

My. 

The world holds its breath. The knight’s jaw clenches, though no one sees it. 

You take a heavy breath into your lungs to hold back your snapping tongue. As the words meet the air, they come out as unemotional as a wave at sea. Wind holding mist.

“Certainly.”

—

As it turned out, the castle itself was even less homely than the material that was used to build it. You walk slowly through the halls, hands behind your back and your crown glimmering—the trail of a thin and flowing gown making you look like a specter. One crudely carved window after another passes by your right shoulder, and you look out of every slit; seeing the silver shades of moonlight. In contrast, everything on your left was washed with firelight from the blazing iron sconces, your ears twitching to the pop of wood and fabric saturated in animal fat. 

Everything here was horrible.

A prison, you think, slowing near one of the larger windows in the hall. A cage.  

Staring outside, trying for only a moment to understand the disgusting castle and adjoined town you look at, there’s a faint noise from far down the corridor. 

Wasting no time, your head moves slowly to the side, blinking. There isn’t anyone to be seen, but yet again, your slightly pointed ears twitch. 

A firm heartbeat. 

Bump-bump, bump-bump, bump-bump.

Staring at nothing, you listen for a moment, taking it in as your visage fights with blue and red light, shadows littering the small cracks and the marks of stone—your hands slightly tighten, but you hold no fear. 

You refused to be afraid here; you would go to your spiritual death with a high head, and nothing less. 

“It’s unbecoming to stalk as if a wolf,” you call, voice smooth and even. A beat of bird’s wings. “Four-legged beasts have perfected it, yet, the same cannot be said of you.” 

There’s a lapse of silence—a swirling of slight tension that comes not from you but another. The heartbeat in your ear lightly skips. Startled. A shadow cusps one of the connected hallways, a gleam of silver armor. You blink slowly.

“Apologies, Ma’am.” The Knight. The one from the Great Hall. “I…didn’t mean to make you nervous.”

His lithe form doesn’t try to hide from your accusation, instead, his body moves to the middle of the stone floor and straightens—one hand going to his heart and the other behind his back; bowing. The darkness of his complexion seems to glow in the light, smooth skin besides the marring of small scars along the left cheek. Tiny things, only two lines.

For no reason at all, your body lightly turns towards him, watching.

“I’m not nervous,” you respond. “Please, stand straight.” 

He does so without hesitation, though his eyes are avoiding yours. A guilty pull is to his lips that you can’t help but quirk a brow at. Yet, you remain emotionless, and outside the shadows of flying birds shift past.

“What is your name, Knight?” You see his expression slightly tense at the question, but you continue easily. A test, perhaps, if this man was worth your time. “I recall your face.” 

“I can’t give you that, My Lady.” Brown eyes go to meet yours, and the silver flecks in your orbs glimmer. “My orders were clear.”

“And were those orders also to follow me?” 

He clears his throat, feet shifting. “...Maybe.”

You hum, moving your body slowly and walking forward to him. The man blinks in surprise, straightening even more but a firm set to his eyes. His attention never wavers, unless it’s to glimpse your crown and belt, perfect pieces of artistry lost to this section of humanity. No mortal craftsman could imagine making something as such. He liked them, you notice at the light impression of awe in his gaze.

Anyone with sense would.

Stopping just a few feet away, you tilt your head. 

It was common knowledge that you never gave your name to one of the Fae, your betrothed would have told everyone close to him to avoid doing so. Just as you would never tell your real name to anyone—not even under dire circumstances. Names hold power, and no person in this castle would make you even more of a prisoner than you already were. 

You know the names of beasts and plants, flora and fauna—they bend to you, let you manipulate them to your will, though you often find no need to. The animals from any land prefer your company, anyway. The castle’s hunting hounds have already become well acquainted, just as the messenger birds had. 

But mortals? No. No, there were no names that you knew besides the King himself, and even then it was a fake one. Second names and such, are common. 

“Your title, then,” you say to the Knight. “If you’re to be a constant face to me.”

“Gaz is just fine, I’d say.” He nods his head, a slow smile moving his cheeks. Your brows furrow. Strange fellow. “A pleasure. I really do need to say that I wasn’t following you for long—I was only concerned you might have lost your way.”

You stare. 

“Lost?” Owlishly, your head shifts.

Gaz makes a noise in the back of his throat, one hand coming up to rub at the base of his neck. “Yeah—lost. It’s, uh, it’s a big castle, My Lady—”

“Stag.” Wide eyes blink, this meeting is only awkward on his part and not yours. In fact, for how humans go, he was acting far better than most. Usually, there was iron being brandished by now.

“What was that?”

“My title,” you explain, your crown’s gems bright in the light. The fire crackles, popping. “Stag. I do not need my status stated. I know what I am, Knight.”

“Then I’d say the same,” your fingers twitch, liking the word game he plays. Inside of your sockets, the unnatural makeup of your eyes shimmers. 

“Very well,” you pause, picking your words. “Gaz. A strange choice to be sure.”

He chuckles, nodding in a very stoic-like way despite the nearly boyish nature of him. “Well, Stag isn’t exactly common, either.”

You hum in your throat, unblinking; staring. Your intrigue grows the longer the man talks. Just like in the Great Hall, his form attracts all of your attention to it, against all laws that you seem to know in your soul. 

“Pray tell,” you shift, moving back to the window with your feet not making a single sound. Gaz watches on, eyes flickering between the hanging gems and how you tread over the stone as if you had wings. Your form slips back to the window, and your focus once more goes outward. “Has the King told you to spy on me, Gaz?”

The title, even if not the one of his birth—not the one written on his soul like a brand—still made the air quiver with might. You were older than most of this kingdom, the Knight knew. Older than the oak trees of the nearby forest; older than rock and wind and air.

Power dripped off your tongue like water to a leaf. 

But it wasn’t your influence that made the man answer you. It was his own nature. 

“Yes,” Gaz says, taking a few steps to where you stand, watching a flock of birds dance above the courtyard, silver moon-drips illuminating white feathers. “But I wouldn’t call it spying. Officially, I’ve been put in place to keep you safe, Princess.” His dark brows crease when you don’t pay him any mind. “I take my job very seriously, yeah?” 

“I can see that,” you utter, eyes still on the birds. “The only thing I need protecting from is the iron ring on your right hand.”

He startles, blinking for a moment. 

“...Parden?”

Silver eyes pierce him, watching; waiting. 

Gaz looks down, locking on the hand that has been resting on the pommel of his sword. Cape swishing, he makes a noise in the back of his throat. His sigil ring—the one that had been given over at his dubbing ceremony sat on the first digit, the engraving of his King’s coat of arms glimmering back. 

A wolf; a snake caught in its fangs. 

Brown eyes dart back, and he sheepishly smiles, huffing a chuckle of sorts. 

“Comes with the job, unfortunately,” yet still, his other hand easily grasps and slips the thing off, tucking it away into the leather pouch swinging from his belt. “I thought that was a myth—the Fae being harmed by iron. Conjured up to give people something to cling to.”

“I can name a million things that men and women like you consider myth,” you mutter, starting at that pouch, deep in thought. You hadn’t expected him to give in that easily. Your shoulders loosen their rigidness, but your chin never drops its high pride. “Every story comes from somewhere—be it reality or wives’ tales. Who’s to say that the words don’t give them life in one form or another?” 

“Bloody hell. Not a discussion to take up with me, I’m afraid,” Gaz huffs a chuckle, smirking. While still hesitant around you, the conversation wasn’t anything that made him want to not be around you. Everyone deserved to have their character shown, and what he was seeing so far wasn’t ringing any alarms. “Sound more of a scholar than a Princess, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Your lips quirk. “I prefer philosopher.”

“And what’s a Fae philosopher doing out in the middle of the night, then?” A breeze wafts through the window, blowing on your dress and making Gaz’s cape flutter in its bloodish tint. The torches whip and dance. You take a low breath, bird chips coming closer. 

“Speaking with an old friend.”

A white dove lands on the stone opening of the window, fluttering wings coming to fold along its sleek form until it shakes and settles all at once. 

“Lysander,” you say in greeting, nodding your head. Gaz watches, barely moving as his lips part in astonishment. 

Your hand extends itself, bearing no rings or bracelets. All you needed was your crown. Tiny eyes blink as an angular head turns to the side, tiny coos sparking from a rounded breast. Pale feet grasp your perfect flesh, such a tiny weight settles before you lift effortlessly; wings flapping to keep balance. 

“What news, then?” You ask in a whisper, bringing the beast to your crown. Lysander settles on one of the tines, head dipping down as feathers puff. Into your ear, words take shape. 

You hum in answer, blinking at every clicked sentence; tapping talons. 

Gaz stares blankly, eyebrows pulled up on his head and unable to articulate himself.

So many stories about your people—he hadn’t thought half of them to be true. While he’d been stationed in many places during the duration of this war, he’d never actually encountered one of the Fae before. Gaz had been told they were like a plague; they came in when you weren’t looking, spoke magic into your ears, and forced you to come back to their home and live as mindless beasts. Cupbearers and entertainment. 

Of the countless knights he’d been in line with, he knew the true names of none of them. A precaution. Forethought. 

Yet…you don’t look dangerous. 

But the man is far from stupid. 

“He says the fires from your forges burn his eyes,” your voice snaps him back to you, and he straightens, fingers twitching. Gaz finds your face already turned his way, owlish in its movements. “The smoke makes his throat ache.”

“I,” he pauses, mouth opening and closing. Brown eyes dart to the sharp-beaked dove; the thing very much like you in the way it watches him. “I’m…sorry?”

Your lips pull in a frown, sighing with a shake of your head. 

I can never survive here, you find yourself thinking. I believed this is what I had to do, but if this is how I’m going to live…

“Tell me about your King, Gaz,” your body swiftly turns, feet carrying you down the corridor once more with long, even, steps. “If I’m to marry him, I will know of his nature.”

The man clears his throat and follows after, where you hear the clinking of silver and the scabbard against his thigh. He glances over at you, walking if not a bit behind yourself in proper fashion. 

“What do you want to know, Ma’am?”

Your unnatural orbs shimmer, and the bird on your crown hunkers down; puffed contently and eager to rest his wings from a long flight. 

“Everything. I will not be unaware of my fate.” 

“Well,” Gaz sighs, rubbing at his chin with his opposite hand. He licks his lips, mind running to answer the best he can. “You’ll not want for anything—finery and wealth will—”

“I do not care about mortal revelry. I need neither fine things nor wealth.” Your voice curtly moves along the open air. The Knight’s boots connect with stone while your bare flesh emits nothing. “His character, Knight. Is he fair—just?”

Gaz’s face tightens, glancing from you to the hallway as he takes a moment to think.

“My King has…become troubled with the turning tides of the war. I’m sure when your marriage is official, he’ll go back to how he was before.” He doesn’t seem certain, but loyalty is a trait that a knight knows well. You had been set as his charge, of course, not under the best of circumstances, but he would do his job how he believed would benefit all parties. Even if his guts were stiff at the thought of a forced marriage. 

“My Lady Stag?” He asks, and your heart jerks unexpectedly at the muttering of your title. 

Blinking in confusion, your hand coming up to rub at your collarbone like a willow branch, you almost miss the question entirely. 

“Where you come from, if I can ask, of course, what’s it like?” Your mind strays from marriage ceremonies and consummation—momentary peace slipping in on waves of this man’s smooth accent. 

Mouth opening, only to close once and open again, you decide to indulge this man with your answer. If only because he speaks of your home. 

“Green,” is the soft utterance of your answer to him. “It’s green. More trees and rivers than you can count in your lifetime. Animals each more fantastical than the last; all of which your people now call nothing but hearsay.” 

You can sense his attention, sucking up knowledge as if he had the years to know and understand it all. 

Lysander coos, shaking his feathers out, and you glance upward without moving your head. You chuckle like a blade of moving grass. 

Blinking, Gaz slowly begins to smile, cocking his skull to the side boyishly. “What’s so funny, then?”

Your high nose twitches. 

“He says you’re as if a Wyvern hatching. A curious thing.” Brown eyes drift to your companion, whose peaked eye pierces like black fire-stone. Gaz’s mouth releases a puff of a chuckle, chest jerking. 

“Hell, never thought I’d get insulted by a bird.” 

“Humans have not the ability to speak with beasts,” you ease out, walking on. “On that, I have to say you are at a sure disadvantage.”

“What?” Gaz’s amused voice is in your ear. “Minus the whole immortality thing?”

You side-eye him, visage calm with decades of understanding. “Not everything is built to last forever.”

A momentary silence falls between the two of you. Eyes locked, you both stare, legs carrying bodies across the unfeeling stone until the area Lysander had told you about takes form. You shift a slow right and exit into the inner courtyard, large stone walls making a small square of patchy green grass and dying plants. A fountain sits still. 

“If this is to be a game of equal exchange, Knight, I desire to ask the next question.” Your eyes take it all in, hand moving out to capture the blackened leaves of a Medlar tree. Frowning at the dead fauna, you hear Lysander take to wing, flapping until his ghostly form lands on the far-off fountain’s edge. 

“Alright,” Gaz nods, looking around at the dying place with a frown as well. He’d never come here before, but the state of things was…sad, really. “Ask away.”

“When you leave the castle—the town,” you let power move to your fingertips, and you feel the tingles of it running the lengths of your arms like ice and fire; taking a low breath. “What do you see? I admit, I’m not used to having company with humans. I know not how their souls feel.”

Gaz walks into the small enclosed space, humming as he taps the pommel of his sword. His shoulders shrug as his head tilts up, blinking at the stars. 

“I wouldn’t see it as you would, I gather.”

You look over your shoulder, amusement in your face mixed with a slice of intrigue. “That wasn’t my question. But, no, you would not.” 

“Figured,” he chuckles, nodding at you. Gaz articulates himself dutifully. “I see a place far more peaceful than the one here. Outside the stone and smog—it’s beautiful, truly. Calm. You can actually think above the noise, you know? I usually find myself wanting to get out more often, but my duty ties me here.” 

Your eyes soften slightly, thumb running the face of the leaf as you take in his words. Lysander stoops to take a sip of water. 

“You’re…” You lack the words, only humming and stopping yourself. 

“Why are we here, Princess?” Gaz asks you, gazing around. “I had only expected you to walk to the kitchens—the library, even. Don’t get me wrong, you can go as you wish, but I’m not sure this is the most…” He grunts. “Sightly place to end up. Everything’s dead.”

“Nearly,” you whisper, a tiny smile taking over your flesh. “Not quite.” 

Gaz’s frown is lost to you, as is his comment that he mutters, “Looks it.”

Leaning forward, you press your lips to the leaf you hold as if a precious object. Into its blackened and shriveled form, you whisper its name—its true name, one you had learned through years of patience and trust that bordered on an entirely trance-like state. A Medlar is a tough and stubborn thing, like the fruit it bears, it will hang on until all else is gone to dust. Its roots are strong, and from them, you had listened to the earth sing its songs one buzzing note at a time.

All things speak, you just have to know how to listen. 

There’s a surge of wild order, a dichotomy of will and freedom; the sing of an axe and the memories of young saplings just gracing their leaves to the sun. A circle of death and rebirth as old as the stars that still shone in a sky of black. 

You know many names, but those of the trees were the first to come to you, and it was only proper. Before anything, there were trees. 

The Medlar shakes, its leaves dropping down one at a time until they come in groups, in clusters—bare branches shiver like dogs do until creaking ballads move over the air. 

Starling, Gaz had taken a large step back, hand snapping to the handle of his sword, the blade half drawn. Lysander flies past his face, blunt talons skating the close-cropping of his hair before the bird grapples to your crown. Flinching, the knight watched with a mixture of horror and pure wonder.

The tree was sprouting new greens. 

You step back, and from your feet, the dead grass quivers, before the smell of groaning earth makes his nose twitch; fresh blades show themselves anew. The dove atop your crown jumps from one sharp tine to the next, dodging lines of gold—eyes glinting and wings flapping excitedly. 

Life is in the very air. 

You smile to yourself, silver eyes moving as a nearly ancient-looking spark flares to life in them—a long breath entering your lungs. 

Gaz’s face begins to heat as he watches, his heart pounding with something he can’t understand. He stares at your bright face before his fast-blinking eyes move to the grass growing all around; the bushes dancing, flowers opening up and turning to you. Birds gather on the edges of this verdant and fertile land, darting one by one to the fountain and to the trees. Singing.  

The knight steps back, feet dancing over the ground with an airy laugh stuck in his throat. 

“Holy hell…” he breathes, nearly panting. 

Wide eyes move back to you, expression open, innocent. This was a moment when you truly believed you’d never seen a face more bare than this; more giving. 

“You…” He laughs. “You’re tellin’ me you could always do that?” You chuckle, and it is a sound that could make roots grow in his heart, flowers bursting from his lungs. “I…I’m speechless, really. This is,” he laughs once more, turning a full circle, with his hand going to the back of his neck in shock. It was entirely new—all of it. Ivy climbed the stone, and the animals spoke and flew in the air; excitement something that transcends species. “This is extraordinary.”

You were something incredible. 

Chuckling, you raise a slow brow, feeling a foreign heat move over your cheeks. It’s a moment before you speak, taken aback by the reverency.

“My thanks, Knight,” your head nods his way, a simple dip of your chin and nothing more. “But this is only a small courtyard. A fraction. If I so wished, forests could grow from ashen ground.”

“How?” He asks you, eyes glittering more than the moon. 

Smaller birds join Lysander on your head, finches, perhaps, and sparrows. They tweet and chip, speaking their thanks. You reach up and let one move onto your finger, bringing it back to eye level as you move to softly connect your forehead to its own. Moving back, you hum and watch the bird fly off.

“Ages of practice,” you elegantly tip your head his way, careful of your cargo. ���Quite verbatim.” 

Gaz is speechless, unable to recall something in his life that had made him feel so special to be able to witness it. Magic to humans was a dying thing—you’d be surprised if he’d ever even seen it in this magnitude before. 

“...Amazing,” he utters under his breath, smiling like a fool.

For all of your Fae trickery, your games, you had to be honest. “I don’t believe I thought you’d be this moved by it.”

“Really?” He blinks at you, a boyish twist to his face. “How could I bloody not be, Love?”

Your air gets stuck in your throat, eyes minutely widening. 

Gaz quickly comes back to himself, straightening and clearing his throat as your face suddenly blazes in a way that startles you. Heart pattering like a horse’s hooves not only at the…different title but his awe at your magic as well. 

“Forgive me, My Lady,” you choose not to correct him. “I overstepped.”

His body bends forward in a deep bow, hand to his heart, resting over his armor as the cape drapes its crimson fabric to the now vibrant grass. 

It had briefly eluded you that you were to be married soon. A comment like that could get the Knight and his tree-bark brown eyes put to the sword. You hold back a long sigh, eyelids fluttering shut softly. 

“Is he kind?” Your question is small, but it moves like a knife.

Gaz stares hard at the ground, once dead and nothing but a reminder of nature. He clenches his jaw, a worry swirling in his gut. The man knows who you’re asking about, and he holds the same dread he did in the Great Hall as you were led like a sacrificial lamb to the altar. 

Maybe the Knight was broken, but even if he’d never met one of your kind before, he knew that no person deserved to be bartered for the illusion of peace—forced to give children like they were only objects. But maybe he was also just a man not meant for this lifetime.

It was the way of things.

Gaz swallows the tension in his shoulders. He will not lie. 

“...No.”

—

This tall knight had become a constant at your side. Officially, he’d been placed for your protection, but you knew it was because the King didn’t want you to cut and run. 

But unless there was a very good reason to, he should have known that you were not the running type. It was a battle of wits, and even into your marriage, you would always come out on top.

It started easy enough—Michael would invite you for tours of the castle ‘making it a home’ he’d said in front of his court. It was a power trip. 

He’d talk about his wealth like it would make you swoon; like you cared at all. You could only hide your sneer for so many hours, even with your infinite amount of patience. Time had mellowed you like the rocks of the ocean, but even they cracked when the storm was strong enough. 

Yet still, you considered yourself too intelligent for baseline insults.

“My palace was much the same, your Highness. Our towers rose high—nearly gracing the clouds themselves.”

“Oh, lovely, my King. Pray tell, do you also have pet dragons? Oh…unicorns, perhaps? My, I had the most lovely unicorn companion when I was just shy of my two-hundredth birth year. A little thing—all legs and neck. Beautiful creatures.” 

“Gorgeous little trinkets. Tell me, do you have a coffer for fallen stars? They create the most magnificent illumination for late-night reading.”

Gaz nearly lost his composure at times, even if no one else could tell except for you and your pointed ears; twitching at every breath that was fought to keep still. The over-the-lip huffs and chuckles. In fact, you found yourself perpetuating the back-handed insults just to hear those noises. Such small and meaningless things, in the grand scheme. 

You took…enjoyment from it.

Seeing the effect it had on the King was also a bonus—his raging eyes, snapping tongue held back for only his reputation and little more. He wanted to take you by the arm and shake you, you knew, yell in your face. 

Kind, King Michael was not. Gaz had been correct. 

In the nights, you would discuss with the Knight—sitting in the dense and growing courtyard with your body comfortable on the grass; Gaz’s on the fountain’s edge.

You have much of the same confidence in one another as you do tonight. 

“Do knights marry for love?” Your voice wafts out, petting Lysander with a single finger in your lap; itching at his neck as he coos. “Do they get to choose?” 

Gaz fiddles with his cape’s clasp, fingers dancing over the silver make. He has made a motion to always take off his ring when it’s just the two of you, easily slipping it away until he was forced to put it back on. He doesn’t know if you feel it, but he believes the two of you to be well-off acquaintances—perhaps even friends. 

The man enjoyed speaking to you. He reveled in the limitless knowledge that spilled from your tongue, your stories and tales. Gaz, unlike so many others, enjoyed your company not for the power that it offers in a physical sense, but for the words that you freely give. Often your sentences were like honey to him, seeping into his head.

A princess speaking with a knight? Unheard of. A Fae princess? Blasphemy. 

It was easy to forget that you were older than many generations of his family line. 

“No,” he says, glancing over. “All knights take a vow of chastity when they commit to service. None of those alive in this kingdom will wed unless they willingly break their oaths.” 

Your head tilts, crown resting comfortably a small distance away on a rock.

“That sounds lonely.”

Gaz smiles, “Worried about me?” 

You stare, eyes traveling the little deaths on his face—the lines, the scars. “If it’s what you wish to do with yourself, who am I to tell you any different?” 

The man’s face softens, lips pulling as his cheeks heat under the moonlight. “Figured you’d have some opinion of it.”

You hum, raising a brow. “It’s your life—it’s so fleeting. Tread it as if water between your fingers. Before you know it, it’ll be gone.” Lysander leans into your flesh, shivering. “Live it.”

“For someone who says they don’t know humans that well,” Gaz grumbles, though his chest is light. “You sure know a lot about them.”

“Intuition,” your mouth twitches in a smile. “And a bit of reality.”

Delicate looks are shared. 

You do admit, you liked these conversations with Gaz. The long nights and the feeling of grass under your flowing dresses; the horrid contraptions that your betrothed had tried to make you wear stuck far back into the wardrobe of your room. Heavy items—suffocating corsets, unlike the simple but elegantly sewn one you wear now. You could feel it trying to sneak in when the days drew on. 

Control. 

It was all becoming more and more apparent. You did not want to live like this. 

Your face goes troubled as the calm silence moves over the Medlar with its reaching branches. Fireflies hang like miniature stars as you take your crown and slip it back on; to feel the comforting weight of antlers. 

The knight pauses as he slips his cape off of his shoulder, blinking over at you in a slow confusion. You look troubled. He’d never seen that expression on your face before.

“Stag?” Your head swivels, as if in another world.

“Just thinking,” your voice moves into his ears, making them hum with energy. Gaz’s brows furrow, a frown taking over. After a second, he stands, moving closer on quiet feet. 

You watch him as he goes to kneel near you, one arm moving over the bent nature of his leg while the other holds fabric—letting it cascade over the earth. Brown eyes narrow, and a joking tease moves with the undertone of slight concern.

“I’m usually the talker, I know, but when you look a bit like that it makes me nervous.”

You frown. “Look like what?”

“Like someone’s got a sword to your neck, Princess.” The air is cool here, the deep throws of night taking you by the breath in your throat. A smooth smirk. “It’s my job to make sure that doesn’t happen, yeah?”

If you leave, if you find a way out of this…the war will never end. It will go on until stone cracks like glass and generations forget why it even started in the first place. 

But why were you put to the axe because of it? Why must you take the blade to the stomach—an object of greed? 

Gaz’s amused voice moves lower at your immobile lips, going serious. 

“Hey,” a hand outstretched to your arm, hovering. “Really, is everything alright?”

“Gaz,” you pause, voice still level despite your heated pulse. It’s like a snake curls itself in your guts, roots growing in your veins. The courtyard seems to shiver all by itself, leaves curling into themselves from bushes and trees. Lysander’s feet shimmy, head moving about. 

This knight had been kind to you as well as honest about his intentions. Chivalrous. Such qualities are hard to come by anymore.

“I don’t believe I want this.” It’s a breath more quiet than a lapping of waves. Gaz stills, fingers above your flesh twitching. “I can’t live in a cage. I refuse.”

Silver meets brown, holding it firmly. 

“I will not be a prize to be chained to a birthing bed.” 

The man’s face pulls at that, tightening. 

You don’t know what to expect. It isn’t fear in you—no, nothing like this could make you afraid. Apprehensive? Perhaps. Age made you cautious. At any moment he might flip his tune; run off to tattle to a King he, seemingly, likes just as much as you. Which is to say, very little. But there’s still the possibility, the knowledge stacked over ages and ages of strategy and mind games. 

A knight of a tension-ridden kingdom, swearing fealty to a King whom you’re betrothed to. You’d just expressed treason, in a way. It could put you to the sword; to the rope. To irons. Your mind runs through the millions of possibilities, not able to settle on a single one before—

A cape settles over your shoulders, startling you. 

Hand snapping to grab the front, your head snaps up, eyes wider than you can remember them ever going. 

Soft browns meet you, a thin smile. Fireflies buzz about, and a dove sits under your still finger, watching with beady orbs intently at the scene. A Medlar quivers. 

A stag and a knight breathe the same air. A godly creation and a saint ensnared in a song far larger than they intend, as the world shifts past all around them. Silver starlight leaves long reflections breaking from the hanging glory of your gems, but the patches of light on Gaz’s face capture yours in that instant far more than they should have. 

Impossibly so. Unnaturally so. 

Does this mortal have magic of his own, perhaps? You have to ask yourself. There was no other possibility. 

And when he speaks…it’s like whatever ice has been layered over your antediluvian heart breaks into fire. There wasn’t even a fight from him.

“Then tell me what you need.”

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

[mamasturn]

how many drinks? benny cross

pairing: benny cross x black fem oc (sennett aliah) summary: she's new in town and the infamous biker benny cross invites her for drinks. warning: suggestive themes. light language. tags: @faephoria @thetaoofzoe @turn-thy-paige @contrarybeliefs @qveendiorsworld @blukit04 @neewrites

She was in a new era of life. Single, childless, and without any burden on her shoulders. On her way through a town with whom she knew not a soul. It was quite bold of her, she had to admit. To trudge into a small town in the heart of Illinois with a smaller Black population than the spectacles on the bottom of her shoe, from a city in Georgia where everywhere she turned, someone looked like her. 

She was far from nervous or afraid. The most they could do was call her out her name, but who was she to get bent out of shape over misplaced anger and lack of intelligence? No one. 

So, she packed her car with her belongings, drove to Illinois, sweet talked her way into a small house for less than it was worth, and began to make herself at home. Home. As best as she could, she figured. 

She kept in contact with her mother and cousin, who both cursed her for going to Illinois, but praised her courage and determination. She’d done what they never would have dreamed of. 

After a long day of packing and sweating like a dog, she took a cold shower, shoved her legs into a pair of old Levi’s jeans, threw a distressed cropped shirt on, slipped on her boots, and hopped into her 1952 convertible. 

Her dark hair blew in the wind as she cruised down the street, no care for the speed limit sign. She glanced at the speedometer. 67 in a 25 wasn’t bad, right? Her fingertips drummed along the body of the car as she hummed along to the song playing through the static radio.

If you’re looking for trouble…you’ve come to the right place. 

She’d heard of a bar in town from a group of men at the gas station. Owned and oftentimes filled by outlaw bikers from Chicago. Dangerous guys, the men insisted. To stay clear of at all times. While she wasn’t easily scared, she wouldn’t do what her heart desired to do. She’d be on her best behavior; just get a drink or two, flirt with a man with a scruffy beard, and go back home to look for jobs in the paper. A solid plan, she thought. 

It seemed like the world grew silent when the door of her convertible slammed shut. All eyes were on her. By their facial expressions, she knew what they were thinking. Who the hell is she? An unfamiliar woman with an unfamiliar face. It didn’t phase her. She simply gave a raspy, “Hello,” and tried to brush past the lunkheads at the door who refused to make it easy for her to enter. 

“What’re you doing?” One of them asked roughly. Her eyes dropped and her lips straightened. The tough-guy act wasn’t threatening; it didn’t put the fear of God in her heart. Hell, she could have laughed at how their chests blew up like a balloon and their arms crossed over them. 

“I want a drink. Heard this was the place to be,” she said simply with a shrug. She stood on her toes for a moment to eye the scenery behind them. Men and women in the corners, bikers’ wives gossipping over cigarettes and cold beer, the sound of balls colliding against each other on the pool table. “So, can I come in?” 

The lunkheads glanced at once another. They were prepared to say no. She could see it by the way their tongues lifted against the roof of their mouths and their lips rounded. She rolled her eyes in frustration. What the hell did a girl have to do to get a drink around here? 

“You know what, forget it.” She threw her hands up in surrender and prepared to walk away. She spent hours driving and even more time unpacking, the last thing she wanted to deal with was a lunkhead rejecting her from the bar, especially when she had money she was willing to spend on a drink. 

Then suddenly, she heard a voice say. “She’s with me. Let her in.” Her head bounced like a spring. The owner of the voice stood behind the lunkheads. He nodded toward the entrance and she knew better than to think too long, so she smiled slyly at the men outside and brushed past them. “Thank you, boys.” 

This was the place to be, she noted. The smell of smoke and strong liquor burned her nose and she loved it. Her eyes closed as she inhaled deeply. Finally. She was brought out of her fantasy world when he asked, “Do you want a drink?” His voice was hardly above a whisper, but his blue eyes on hers forced her attention to be directed to him. She nodded. 

He led her to the bar which was crowded but they were swift to move out the way for Benny, she heard them call him, and some pretty thing from around the way. At that, she became the star of the evening. The men glanced at her like they wanted to eat her or kill her, and the women tilted their heads in interest as to who she was. She chose not to respond. Nothing would keep her from getting the buzz she so rightfully deserved. 

“Pick your poison,” he said, pointing toward the wall of neatly organized liquor behind Johnny, who took on serving for the time being. 

“Whiskey neat,” she told Johnny, whose eyebrows raised. The corner of her lips turned upward. “Need something strong.” 

Johnny chuckled, “You got it, darlin’.” 

The man, Benny, wasn’t a man of many words, she noticed. He only spoke when he needed to. She presumed he was a man of action. He had to be if rather than asking her a million and one questions at the door, he simply told the guards to let her in. Rather than asking her what she wanted, he told her to pick for herself. A man of action, she noted. 

He was incredibly handsome, too. She had never seen herself finding herself attracted to a man again after her split from her husband a year prior. But Benny, he was a sight for sore eyes. Dirty blonde hair styled messily, daunting blue eyes, and a scruffy beard. Lord, she was a goner for beards. 

She appreciated the dirt on his boots, rips in his jeans, and crinkled in his cut. A seasoned biker. She’d never been with a biker before. Was it worth what the women in here giggled and blushed over when their men walked in the room and gave them a wink? She wondered how bad she’d be for wanting to find out. 

“You’ve got a wandering eye,” he said after some time. He didn’t look at her as he said it. His eyes were trained on the liquid he swirled in his short glass. She should’ve been embarrassed for getting caught but she was far from it. “You stare at strangers often?” 

She smiled slyly. “Just the ones who get me a drink. Which, I appreciate, by the way. Haven’t been able to find a decent joint all day.” She thanked Johnny who’d handed her a drink and knocked it back in one go. That caught Benny’s attention. How she didn’t flinch when it went down her throat. How her full lips pursed just slightly, how a drop of whiskey escaped her lips and slid off her cheek down her neck until it settled at the valley of her breasts. He sighed deeply. 

“Look who’s starting now, Benny,” she teased. For the first time that night, Benny met her eyes. God, he was so beautiful. She’d grab him and lick the drop of whiskey right off his lips. He beat her to the punch. She was jealous of his lip; having the ability to be caressed by his tongue. 

“Never caught your name,” Benny said, not directly addressing her comment. He nodded at Johnny, who had filled both their glasses. “I’d assume it compliments that unique personality of yours.”

She tossed her hair over her shoulder, a smile spreading across her blood-red lips. “Sennett.” 

Benny nodded, intrigued. Sennett. She was something spicy. She moved without a care in the world. She was bold and free. He knew from the moment she strutted to the door after hopping out of her convertible that she was a force to be reckoned with. He wanted to reckon with it. 

“Sennett.” Her name tasted tangy on his tongue. Like a piece of sour candy that he knew would cause a tinge of discomfort before it got delicious. With his hands folded on the table, he asked, “How many drinks do you think you’re having tonight, Sennett?"

She shivered. “How ever many you’re willing to treat me to.” 

His eyebrow raised in interest, “Good.” 

-

She knew how to handle her liquor, but it didn’t mean that it didn’t affect her in more ways than one. Liquid courage was a beautiful thing. It had her pressed against a wall in a dimly lit closet filled with dust and cobwebs but she didn’t mind it at all. 

Benny was mysterious. So mysterious and so under the radar that she didn’t expect his boldness and assertiveness to boil over the way it did. He had his hand wrapped around her throat as he claimed ownership over her lips with a dominance and intentionality that knocked the wind out of her chest. 

Her red nails combed through his dirty blonde hair and tugged at the roots. Her body was on fire, lit up like a flame. She could feel the sweat gather at her forehead and droplets slid down the valley of her breasts. The throbbing between her thighs pounded like a drum. She was desparate to soothe the ache and used his thigh to rid the tension building within her. 

Benny chuckled against her lips, snaking his hand between their bodies. His calloused fingers caressed her stomach, his thumb and forefinger tugging at her belly ring. She winced. Then, they dropped to the crevice between her thighs. Her jeans were thick but she could feel the warmth of his fingertips grazing her clit and she jolted. “Benny…”

His lips fell to her neck and she moaned loudly. He nipped and sucked until her chest and collarbone were bruised. Against her skin he whispered, “Not here…not now.” She released a guttural groan of frustration. Sennett could appreciate a man with logic, but goodness, all she wanted to do was have him take her right then and there. 

“Why not?”

Benny broke away from her. His arm stayed wrapped around her waist with his hand stroking her backside. His right thumb swiped along the sides of her mouth to wipe away the remnants of their oral tango. “Cause contrary to popular belief, I’m a man of class.” His words were stoic but she heard the playfulness in them. “And uh, a closet isn’t comfy for anybody.” 

Sennett’s hand didn’t fall from his hair and his didn’t fall from her waist. She hummed and nodded once. “Well, we’ll see how many drinks it takes you to take me in a closet next time, yeah?” 

His eyebrow raised. A force to be reckoned with for sure.

[evillemons]

JUNGKOOK’S IDEAL TYPE (JK pt. 1)

~ a manifestation of his ideal girlfriend. Continuation into part 2 and part 3. Masterlist here.

• Jungkook’s ideal type has been the hardest for me to imagine out of all the members. He is such a curious and adventurous person and seems to lack a level of certainty in his life.

• Because I can envision Jungkook with completely dichotomous types, I’m going to approach his section a little differently than the other members. Here are the two possibilities:

The bad bitch

• ABG vibes. Sexy, mischievous, and a little naughty.

• Appears intimidating on the outside (like JK) and probably also has an intimidating personality (not like JK) (looks like they could kill you, would kill you).

• A little impulsive and a high sensation-seeker.

• May come across as cold to most people, but would show vulnerability around the people she trusts.

• The creative type. They might’ve met during a dance class or photoshoot.

• MBTI: ISFP. Adventurous, artistic, bold, and expressive.

• Her and JK would have a lot in common in terms of their styles and interests, but she would be more brazen and opinionated.

• He’s probably a little intimidated by her but finds her incredibly sexy and alluring at the same time.

• Her style consists of casual streetwear that’s a little edgy, and a love for tattoos and piercings (very Gen Z).

• Leather jackets, cargo pants, chunky boots, cropped t-shirts.

• Potentially a little androgynous looking with her slim figure and dark, baggy clothes.

The good girl

• A good-natured, smart, kind, patient woman.

• Sweet inside and out (looks like a cinnamon roll, is a cinnamon roll).

• While not necessarily a “career woman” like Namjoon's girlfriend, she might have a more traditional 9-5 life.

• She would be very mature and maybe a little older than him.

• He would admire her wisdom and life experiences (like the way he does with RM).

• Generally confident, self-sufficient, and knows how to take care of herself.

• Someone who is friendly and easy to talk to, but not overly loud or extroverted.

• MBTI: ISTJ or ISFJ. Ambiverted, respectful, caring, trustworthy, and dependable.

• They would likely meet by chance during a normal outing or through a mutual friend.

• Feminine and petite. Maybe also elegant and well put together.

• Big, sparkly doe eyes to match his own.

• In the office she would dress modestly and professionally, but would like to wear sundresses on the weekends.

Other notes:

• Like Yoongi, Jungkook is attracted to many different types of people and wouldn’t discriminate based on Race/Ethnicity. Being the youngest, he is quite well traveled and unbiased.

• Sexual orientation wouldn’t matter too much either, but I can see him being a little jealous or insecure if she has dated women or a lot of other men in the past.

• He definitely seems to be attracted to women with some sort of sex appeal. Not too audacious in their sexuality, but not too cute or innocent either.

• He is shockingly independent, and while he would want to feel like he can take care of her, he wouldn’t want someone who is overly needy or lacks self-sufficiency.

• Equally as competitive, perfectionistic, and hardworking as him.

• I do think she would be somewhat athletic or fit, as working out seems to be a priority in his life.

• Even though I can see JK being rather experienced in casual sex, I don’t think he would take choosing a partner lightly. When it comes to a relationship, he would be very picky and want something that is real, loyal would allow him to learn and grow.

[tanishark]

𝐴 𝐷𝑒𝑒𝑝 𝐸𝑥𝑝𝑙𝑜𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛:

𝑻𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒂 𝑪𝒉𝒐𝒅𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒊'𝒔 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒄𝒖𝒛 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏.

Introduction:

Tanisha Chōdhori (長泥 - 谷西砂, Chōdhori Tanisha) is a Human that is a Fullbringer with Shinigami powers, she is the former warden of the central great underground prison, notably the warden of Muken and the former 5th seat of the First Division Of the Gotei 13 under Captain- Commander Shunsui Kyōraku. She is the current Saikyō No Josei and 22nd head of the Chōdhori Clan. Tanisha is also the Chairwoman and former Vice-Chairwoman of the Saisei no Mori Medical Institution which was founded by her father, Raiten Chōdhori. She is also a doctor and a neurosurgeon. Tanisha is married to Sōsuke Aizen and they have three children named Kai Aizen, Aria Aizen and Silvie Aizen.

Apperance:

Slender and abundantly endowed, Tanisha possesses a complexion of light hue coupled with onyx orbs. Approximately fifteen years antecedent to Aizen's emancipation, she habitually dons the conventional shihakushō attire. Adorning her locks with a black headband, Tanisha arranges her jet-black hair that had dark blue layers into a slightly disheveled bun, secured by the sealed state of Kurisutaru no hōyō, manifesting as a resplendent amalgamation of blue and amethyst crystalline water lily ornament. Her attire is further accentuated by diminutive boots and ebony arm bracers.Three years antecedent to Aizen's liberation, during her tenure as an officer, Tanisha adopts a sleeveless variation of the shihakushō attire, augmented by a lengthy iteration of a scarlet haori, bedecked with the emblem of Mizuhanakagami, symbolizing the water lily emblematic of the Chōdhori lineage.

Subsequent to Aizen's liberation from the depths of Muken, Tanisha's luxuriant ebony tresses cascade freely, framed by curtain bangs framing her visage. While retaining the shihakushō garb, she accessorizes with a chain-bound belt, clasping the Muken Jūkyū no Kagi about her slender waist, complemented by thigh-high obsidian boots.One year post-Aizen's emancipation, Tanisha opts for a light azure blazer accompanied by coordinated trousers, occasionally donning her physician's coat during her sojourns within the human realm. Within the confines of her abode, she favors a resplendent silver robe, securing her tresses in a casual ponytail, occasionally embellished with sapphire droplet earrings, likely bestowed by Aizen himself.

Personality:

Tanisha is blunt as she can come off as stoic or robotic-like at times because she has the idea not many like her personality because of what she went through in her childhood, being silenced and scolded at. Criticism from those around her affected Tanisha deeply, having developed a mental detachment and mental exhaustion early on. Due to her early indifference to the emotions of others, she was quick to judge others and to think of ways she can bend situations to her advantages. Tanisha looks down upon anyone who's weak or someone she thinks of a rival, such as Sui-feng, whom she feels is inferior to her.

Tanisha was originally an extraverted, bold and ambitious personality and got along with almost anyone in the ranks of soul society or in the human realm. In her early days, she'd create conflicts and drama about the Gotei 13, which earned her some -what of a bad reputation and exasperation from Nanao Ise and many of the captains. Tanisha felt pressure to change from the Gotei 13, already having been berated for coming from the Chōdhori clan that has an infamous history of sabotaging the Shiba clan. This led to Tanisha shutting everyone off, therefore developing her mental detachment. However, she started reverting to her previous personality when meeting Sōsuke Aizen who lifted her condition through his influence.Like most other shinigami women, she is a member of the shinigami women's association. She's infatuated with Aizen and her loyalty to him is unwavering, she grew up hearing stories from her father of Aizen's manipulations and defection from the soul society, Tanisha grew up believing him to be a legend which drove her to her later ambitions.As Kyoraku's pupil and then his 5th seat, Tanisha treasured their time together. Kyoraku taught Tanisha many of her abilities she's most proficient in now, such as her mastery and knowledge over Kidō and all the spells in existence. However, Tanisha felt what she and Kyoraku had was nothing to what she could have with Aizen, thus freeing him when she was appointed the warden.

History:

Tanisha Chōdhori was born on November 3rd, 1998 as the daughter of Chairman Raiten Chōdhori and Journalist Shuhua Chōdhori in Kagamino City. Her brother Daisuke Chōdhori was born four years after her. Tanisha and Daisuke grew up in their family's Hidden Estate in their early years. Without notice, Tanisha would regularly visit her father's workplace, the Saisei no Mori Medical Institution which was situated on the outskirts of the city, approximately 10 miles away from the Hidden Estate. Since the Saisei no Mori Medical Institution is actually a refuge and clinic for exiled Shinigami to heal, Tanisha was exposed to spiritual power from the age of four, this led to her father coming clean about her background and heritage.

Her father would also teach her stories about the Soul Society. At the age of five, Tanisha and her family had moved to Karakura Town as Raiten believed this was a good move to expose Tanisha further to her heritage and where she can learn more about Spiritual Energy. Through her childhood and training with her father, Tanisha mastered Reiatsu control. Tanisha had fully developed her Fullbring ability, Shitai Asobi and was already developing her Shinku No Chinura Reta Ami and Midori No Kurisutaru Fukusen techniques as well.

After completing her education at the Mashiba J.H School, she also had enrolled in Karakura High School and took an internship in the Karakura Hospital under Ryūken Ishida as she aspired to be a doctor from a young age. Tanisha also had unlocked her Shinigami powers when Daisuke was attacked by a hollow, she manages to defeat the hollow and saved her brother with the assistance of her Zanpakuto spirit, Kurisutaru no hōyō.Around this time, a researcher of the Shinigami Research and Development Institute took interest in Tanisha's crystalline based abilities that were unfamiliar to the shinigami, the member of the Shinigami Research and Development Institute had experimented with Tanisha's DNA and remnants of hollowfication, creating a hollowfied and replicated clone of Tanisha who Tanisha herself had to beat by achieving her bankai, Kesshō Korosu Hakai as the clone shared merely the same shikai abilities as her, but not her bankai.

After this battle, Tanisha was taken under Captain - Commander Shunsui Kyoraku's wings as he saw her potential and she studied under him temporarily for twelve years until the age of twenty-seven. Tanisha had also been a subject of skepticism for her powerful yet innovative inventions in Soul Society.Tanisha eventually became the 5th seated officer for three years and a Kidō instructor at the Shin'ō Academy. Tanisha was bestowed the title, "Saikyō no josei," due to her unparalleled power and strength. She had also completed her medical studies and became a surgeon specializing in Neurology. Tanisha moved back to Kagamino City and started residing in the Hidden Estate once more, though alone as her parents and brother remain traveling the world. Tanisha also became responsible for managing the Saisei no Mori Medical Institution, initially as a Vice-Chairwoman and eventually as the Chairwoman in her father's absence as the Chairman.

TCACLOM Novel Plot:

Three years after Tanisha is discharged from her position of the 5th seat of the 1st division, she is appointed the warden of the Central Great Underground Prison, particularly the lowest level of the prison, Muken. Shunsui Kyoraku gives her authorization to the nineteen keys, the same keys capable of undoing Aizen's seals and straps placed on him. Initially, Tanisha felt excitement and a tinge of guilt for planning to betray Kyoraku, but nevertheless, she goes on with her plans.

The time Aizen and Tanisha first meet, Aizen is curious as to why he suddenly has gained a warden. Tanisha reassures him that the central 46 had passed a judgement to keep Muken secure, and they had chosen her as the warden through Kyoraku's suggestion.

However, Aizen, ever keenly observant, could tell Tanisha had a secret grand plan. Aizen is guarded against by Tanisha for an unexpected extent of 15 days. Those days, Tanisha would closely guard Aizen and question him about his fate, his plans, and his goals all while she is managing and overseeing correctional facilities; administering policies and procedures; directing security, housing, and facility operations; and supervising the central great underground prison to see if he aligns with the idea she had of him since she was a child, learning his manipulations and power over the Gotei 13.

On the fifteenth day, Tanisha snook into Aizen's cell, claiming she will free him and that he will achieve his redemption, as she firmly states no being like him should be pulled down to such a lowly place. Tanisha mused to Aizen how she'd give him a life hidden from the soul society, but on one condition; he must escape and elope with her. Aizen is taken aback before he regained his composure, agreeing to the deal they had sealed. Tanisha undid the nineteen keyholes on the ground with her nineteen keys, which she then bent and destroyed with her immense spiritual pressure.

Whilst leading Aizen out of the central great underground prison, they encounter Kyoraku and Shinji and they have a confrontation and fight. However, Aizen and Tanisha had the upper hand and won. Tanisha and Aizen make their escape and elope to the hidden estate, her later taking Aizen's name.Months later, during the births of Aizen and Tanisha's children, the newfound and inherited ability named, "Saimin Saikuru," (Hypnosis Cycle) was established within the Aizen family. This is due to Aizen being fused with his own zanpakuto, Kyoka Suigetsu. His children, Kai, Aria, and Silvie had all inherited the essence of Kyoka Suigetsu, thus inherited the Complete Hypnosis, "Kanzen Saimin" technique that Aizen's so well known for.

Inventions:

Chūsei Bakuhatsu (中世爆発, Neutrality Blast): This spell engulfs the opponent into a massive column of reiatsu in zero gravity, anyone who gets engulfed will be electrocuted and their energy is stolen.

Mon No Gādian (モンノーガーディアン. The Guardian's Gate): Tanisha had created Mon No Gādian from Bakudo-inspired barriers to design a barrier that is completely under her control to protect The Hidden Estate from infiltration.

Gyaku No Kanzen Saimin (逆催眠, Reversal Of Complete Hypnosis): This technique is basically a contra to aizen's shikai, so aizen's shikai doesn't work on Tanisha at all. Tanisha developed this technique as a way of stating her decision to free Aizen was her own, not through Aizen's hypnosis.

Kesshō No Hahen (結晶の破片, Crystalline Shards): Tanisha wears her Kesshō No Hahen up in her voluminous sleeves as backup. These shards are sharper and cut deeper than knives, they inflict major wounds at opponents with a mere strike.

Gomakashi Reiryoku (ごまかし霊力, Spiritual Power Subterfuge): This technique is capable of manipulating the Reiryoku within other souls, Tanisha is able to completely shut off the Reiryoku of her opponent so her opponent would not be able to power their attacks. Tanisha is also capable of inserting or extracting Reiryoku within a soul's body. However, Tanisha is only capable of manipulating the Reiryoku of a single opponent, meaning she can't use this technique on multiple opponents.

Modified Human Shell Gigai: Tanisha modified Kisuke Urahara's Gigai by adjusting the Gigai to include sensor blockers through an embedded Reiryoku matrix, meaning the Gigai now has a complex network of Reiryoku channels embedded within its synthetic flesh. These channels would be attuned to the Shinigami's specific spiritual signature and continuously reinforce their powers, making it difficult for the Gigai to deactivate the Shinigami's powers. This ensures the Shinigami in question would have no risk of losing their powers.

Equipment:

Muken Jūkyū no Kagi (無間十九の鍵, Nineteen keys of Muken): The Nineteen keys of Muken used to be hung from Tanisha's chained belt, the keys were evenly distributed along the belt, each hanging independently. The belt has a secure clasp mechanism, ensuring that the keys remained in place while allowing Tanisha easy access when needed.

Powers & Abilities:

Master Swordsman: Tanisha is master of swordsmanship, possessing flawless skills while being able to perform lethal attacks.Whip Expert: Tanisha's blade undergoes a shift into the form of a long whip that Tanisha can use for long range attacks. The whip is infused with an unfamiliar energy that is capable of exterminating attacks.

Whip Expert: Tanisha's blade undergoes a shift into the form of a long whip that Tanisha can use for long range attacks. The whip is infused with an unfamiliar energy that is capable of exterminating attacks.

Kidō Master: Tanisha has incredible skill and power in Kidō. She can cast several high-level spells in quick succession and has immense intellect in the art of kidō, having mastered all spells including Hado, Bakudo, and Kaido through her training with kyoraku, however having not yet mastered Hado 90 Kurohitsugi or Hado 99 Goryūtenmetsu. Tanisha became a common practitioner of Hado 78 Zangerin which she had adopted from Kyoraku. Tanisha taught her self-made spells, Chusei and Chusei Bakuhatsu to Sosuke Aizen. Sosuke Aizen had taught Tanisha Kurohitsugi and Goryūtenmetsu, thus establishing her reputation as the master of the kidō arts, having learned every spell in existence.

Hadō (破道, Way of Destruction): Tanisha is highly proficient in Hadō, having mastered spells graded on a scale of 1 to 99.

Gisei Hadō (犠牲破道, Sacrificial Way of Destruction): Having mastered forbidden spells such Ittō Kasō, Tanisha can sacrifice a certain portion of herself order to use it.

Kaidō (回道, Turn Way): Tanisha is proficient in restoring reiatsu in the patient's body, and she is capable of healing efficiently.Bakudō (縛道, Way of Binding): Tanisha excellent in the category of defensive spells which block/repel attacks.

Barriers (結界, Kekkai): Tanisha has shown efficiency in focusing her spiritual Energy formed into a solid form of energy as a barrier. She demonstrated this ability when she had created Mon No Gādian as a barrier for protection against the outside world.Seals (封, Fū): Tanisha is proficient in her sealing as her seals are usually unbreakable.

Hanki (反鬼, Reverse Demon): This technique is used by Tanisha in most her battles. It nullifies an opponent's Kidō by hitting it with a Kidō of perfectly opposite speed and energy. The technique can neutralize an opponent's movements.

Kidō Creation: Being well-versed in the branches of Kidō arts and knowing every single spell ranging from the scale of 1 to 99, Tanisha can create her own Kidō creations. She demonstrates this by creating original spells such as Chūsei Bakuhatsu, Mon Nō Gådian, and Gyaku Nō Kanzen Saimin.

Genius Intellect: One of Tanisha's prominent traits is her tremendous intellect. She is well-versed in the history, strategy, and tactics of Soul Society, and is privy to knowledge unknown to many, she is well-versed in the abilities and powers of her fellow allies and adversaries alike, knowing their hidden moves as she has memorized the information about their records, hidden strengths, and weaknesses through years of investigation since she was a mere child.

Master Strategist & Tactician: Tanisha is a highly perceptive fighter, almost immediately determining an opponent's attack patterns and weaknesses. She is a crafty tactician and an strategize on the spot.

Immense Spiritual Power:: She can exert tremendous levels of Spiritual Pressure that can be felt from a great distance, and it has the tendency to make people perspire in fear Her reiatsu is distinctly silver.

Shunpo Master: Tanisha's shunpo is extremely fast, as she and Sosuke Aizen were able to evade from Captain Shinji Hirako and Captain Commander, Kyoraku Shunsui during their confrontation after tanisha freed aizen from muken right away. Tanisha and Aizen managed to escape faraway estate hideout in the human realm due to Tanisha's shunpo matching the agility of Aizen himself.

Hakuda Master: Tanisha can take on average armed opponents or those that are many times bigger than her size, she can dismantle her opponents weapons and grab them with a mere finger.

Hiraizumi (平泉, Level Fountain): Hiraizumi is the hakuda technique the Chōdhori clan specializes in, the term evokes the calmness and stability within during the intense combat. Hiraizumi enables members of the Chōdhori clan to swiftly incapacitate opponents with pinpoint accuracy, exploiting their vulnerabilities with surgical precision in a calm state of mind and soul. Tanisha, as a Chōdhori, is able to perform this technique.

Immortality: Once Seishin no Eikyū is activated, Tanisha becomes effectively immortal. Her soul and life force are perpetually sustained by the crystalline energy within her, preventing natural aging and rendering her immune to death by conventional means. Even if her physical body is destroyed, her soul can regenerate a new body from the crystalline essence, ensuring her continuous existence.

Fullbring:

Shitai Asobi (死体遊び, Corpse Play): Tanisha's Fullbring grants her the extraordinary ability to manipulate and utilize any form of a body as an object within matter, she does this by utilizing either her or her opponent's bodies as the object on the receiving end. With a profound connection to the essence of life and decay, Tanisha can harness this power for nurturing, healing, or controlled decay—a practice that extends to both regeneration and reverse regeneration through crystallization.

Shinku No Chinura Reta Ami (深紅の血塗られた網, Crimson Bloodied Net): Tanisha injects crimson crystalline energy into her bloodstream, allowing it to intertwine with her blood. Subsequently, when her opponent inflicts injury upon her, causing her to bleed, the mingled crimson energy within her blood reacts upon contact with the opponent, transforming the spilled blood into a blood net that ensnares and induces decay upon the trapped target, effecting a reverse regeneration process.

Midori No Kurisutaru Fukusen (翠のクリスタル輸液, Emerald Crystal Infusion): By harnessing the crimson crystalline energy within her body, Tanisha is capable of transmuting it into vibrant green waves of crystalline energy. These waves flow through her body, serving to heal and regenerate her injuries, ensuring her swift recovery during combat situations.

Seishin no Eikyū (精神の永久, Eternity of the Spirit): After marrying Aizen and having a family, Tanisha was driven by a need to achieve Immortality to forever live with her husband and children, therefore, she developed this technique. Seishin no Eikyū, allows her to achieve true immortality by binding her essence to the crystalline energy within her body. This process involves the fusion of her soul with her crystalline powers, creating a self-sustaining cycle of life and regeneration.

Zanpakuto:

Kurisutaru no hōyō (クリスタルの抱擁, Crystal Hug): Kurisutaru no hōyō is usually depicted as a katana. Kurisutaru no Hōyō, in its sealed state, takes the form of a blue and amethyst crystalline water lily hairpin on Tanisha's hair, the stem is gold with embedded diamonds and carvings of crescent moons. In it's unsealed state, the blade takes the form of a Katana, the blade itself is a pristine crystalline structure, giving off a faint, ethereal glow. The hilt is wrapped in a luxurious deep green leather wrap, providing comfortable grip for tanisha when wielding. The only decoration is the tsuba, which is a hexagon. The two sides parallel to the blade are long, whereas the four sides above and below the blade are shortened, making it into almost a diamond or prism-like shape. It has a green handle. The tsuba, in harmony with the crystalline blade, features hues of silver and translucent greens, mimicking the colors found in natural crystals. The green handle complements the overall design, providing a subtle yet captivating contrast against the radiant crystal blade.

Shikai: It is triggered by the command, "Crystallize!" (結晶化する, Kesshō-ka suru) Tanisha runs her hand through her blade, causing the blade's hilt to turn silver and for the entire blade to become cold to the touch, embodying the essence of crystals that are naturally cold to the touch due to thermal inertia. With the release of the blade, a subtle jangling of crystals announces the use of the blade.

Shikai Special Ability: The special ability of Kurisutaru no hōyō is Kanzen'na Kesshō-Ka (完全な結晶化, Complete Crystallization); It can manipulate crystals and crystalline essence with endless possibilities, however it has seven main functions and techniques. Tanisha is able to perform offensive attacks or defensive barriers and structures, also being able to utilize the sound, temperatures, environments, reflections, glass, transparency, and illusions all at once through the manipulation of crystal elements.

Kyokushō Kesshō (極小 結晶, Miniscule Crystal): Kurisutaru no hōyō traps the air molecules in miniature crystal shards in the atmosphere of the skies and shattered the air molecules, causing all the force to repel to tanisha's blade as she uses this force to use her immense gold reiatsu to land blows fused with the impact of the force and reiatsu.

Tōmei No En (透明の円, Transparent Circle): Tanisha draws a circle on the ground beneath her using her blade, the circle radiates immense reiatsu when the technique is released, but the circle is outlined by transparent Crystals with fewer defects, impurities, or irregularities in their structure that make them transparent to the Naked Eye. The crystals are summoned and grow in the circle whilst being transparent, they repel to tanisha's blade's newfound chains hanging from the Hilt of her blade at her command. Tanisha utilized these transparent crystals into her offensive attacks by weaving the sharp shards of the transparent crystals into her slashes and blows against the Opponent that won't notice her transparent crystals hanging from a chain on the Hilt of her blade that manages to severe the attacks because the opponent can't see the crystal.

Han'ei suru (反映する, Reflect): Kurisutaru no hōyō is adorned with reflective crystals could deflect or redirect magical attacks. Tanisha as it's wielder could use these blades strategically to bounce spells back at her opponents.

Kesshō Sen (結晶鞭, Crystal Whips): Kurisutaru no hōyō is capable to take on the form of a crystalline whip, the whip appears as if it's crafted from fragile glass, when in contrast, the whip leave permanent damages and harsh wounds that are unhealable. The whip also branches out into multiple smaller whips, creating a cascade of strikes that overwhelm opponents as they experience the excruciating sensation of shattering glass coursing through their body, inflicting pain as sharp and piercing as shards of broken crystal.

Suishō no oto (水晶の音, Sound Of The Quartz): This technique utilizes Crystals that resonate with specific frequencies could be incorporated into Tanisha's blade. When swung, Kurisutaru no hōyō can emit powerful sound waves capable of disorienting or incapacitating foes or objects and Kidō. This technique's sound waves are so strong, they can break out of the hardest barriers or even Hado 90 Kurohitsugi's black coffin.

Kesshō no sakkaku (結晶の錯覚, Illusions Of The Crystalline): This technique of Kurisutaru no hōyō uses Crystals with illusionary properties that could create illusions or mirages during combat, confusing enemies about the real location and movement of the blade.

Hōkai Saisei (崩壊再生, Crystalline Disintegration & Resurgence): Tanisha taps into Kurisutaru no Hōyō's power to de-crystallize objects, imbuing them with a new animated existence. This technique allows her to selectively disintegrate crystalline structures, turning them into animated entities under her control. The de-crystallized fragments, now released from their rigid form, take on new life. The crystalline essence is transformed into animated entities, ranging from small constructs to larger, more intricate creations.The effectiveness of Hōkai Saisei is limited by the complexity and size of the original crystalline structure. Extremely intricate or massive structures may require more skill and concentration to animate successfully.

Bankai: Kesshō Korosu Hakai ( 結晶殺すハカイ Crystal Kill Destruction): It is triggered by the command, "Shatter, Kesshō Korosu Hakai!" (砕け, 結晶殺すハカイ) Upon uttering the release command, Tanisha infuses her blade with an overwhelming surge of reiatsu. As she runs her hand along the hilt, the katana undergoes a profound transformation. The blade extends into an elongated, wider version of its original form, emanating a radiant glow that casts a luminous sheen across the battlefield. The once compact katana transforms into a more formidable weapon with an extended and wider blade. The crystalline structure becomes even more intricate, reflecting the mastery of Tanisha's spiritual power. Five chains, each adorned with crystalline lanks, dangle from various points along the elongated blade. These chains serve as conduits for the crystalline energy and play a crucial role in Tanisha's ability to shape and control the metaphysical. In Tanisha's bankai form, she goes through a transformation. Tanisha's outfit is composed of a pristine white corset, an off-the-shoulder ruffled blouse, and a flowing skirt, all crafted from various delicate fabrics. She also wears a necklace. The structured corset, featuring vertical boning and adorned with silver buttons, creates an hourglass silhouette, while its scalloped, lace-trimmed edge adds femininity. The blouse's voluminous ruffled neckline and long, fitted, ribbed sleeves contrast with the sleek lines of the corset, extending into subtly flared wrists, complemented by soft white fur accents that evoke a sense of luxury. The skirt, made of lightweight fabric, features a high slit revealing a portion of the leg, lined with intricate lace that matches the blouse and corset. Expertly draped and ruched, the skirt enhances the body's natural curves with gentle folds and pleats, creating dynamic texture. She also adorns white thigh-high boots which compliments her outfit. The outfit's white color palette, with shades and textures of white, and silver details, emphasizes its pure and angelic theme. In contrast to the overall white theme, three crystalline rose ornaments adorn Tanisha's hair in a rose-shaped bun.

Bankai special ability: Tanisha gains the power to crystallize the impossible and metaphysical. She can create objects, weapons, or constructs of incredible complexity and imagination using her crystalline energy. Tanisha's crystalline energy holds destructive potential. She can shatter and disintegrate both physical and metaphysical barriers, rendering seemingly invincible defenses into fragments. Objects and weapons formed from crystalline energy materialize at Tanisha's will. This ability allows her to summon intricate structures, weapons of unique design, or even beings made entirely of crystalline energy.

Seitoshi no subete ga kesshō-ka shita kesshō hime no tamashī (生と死のすべてが結晶化した結晶姫の魂, The Soul Of The Crystalline Princess, Life And Death Has Been Crystallized): Tanisha gains the power to encase her opponents' souls in crystal, effectively immobilizing them and rendering their abilities useless. Additionally, she can channel the energy of these crystallized souls to enhance her own strength and speed, making her a formidable force on the battlefield. However, the true mastery of her Bankai lies in its ability to purify corrupted souls, restoring balance to the spiritual realm and bringing peace to both the living and the deceased.

Weaknesses:

Hearing Requirement : For the 5th technique, Suishō no oto to work, the technique should be used on opponents who can hear well. This technique will not work if the opponent in question is deaf.

Trivia:

Tanisha told Aizen she'd free him from Muken on one condition; if he'd marry her. This was because Tanisha being initially detached from emotions, hadn't felt emotion in a while until her meetings with Aizen whenever she'd guard against him and because Aizen would manipulate her feelings and desires, she felt clueless to navigate these emotions again, but she knew she'd be able to explore her feelings with Aizen if he were to stay by her side. In return, she offered him freedom and liberation from Isolation in Muken.

Tanisha nicknamed Kai by "Sosuke Jr." Aria the name, "Natori" and Silvie the name, "Cherine".

Tanisha was referred to be the "Warden Of Muken," more than "Warden Of The Central Underground Prison," as she was only guarding Muken, as the other levels of the prison were clear of criminals. This is also why Tanisha only carried the Muken Jūkyū no Kagi (無間十九の鍵, Nineteen keys of Muken.)

As a child, hearing stories of Sōsuke Aizen from her father, a younger tanisha would come to the conclusion of Aizen being a lonely individual that was lost in his pursuit of power, she claimed he sounds like a lost bear cub, therefore playfully nicknaming Aizen, "Mayoguma".

Tanisha's childhood role models were Ryuken Ishida and Uryu Ishida, who inspired Tanisha to pursue her medical studies and eventually, her career as a doctor.

The theme song chosen for Tanisha is 'I' by artist Taeyeon.

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Don't Call Me (SoldierboyxReader)

Summary: Reader and Ben have an altercation after an interview gone wrong.

Warnings: Cursing, Verbal Threats (Homicide), Sexually exploiting women, Jealousy, Anger, Angst

Pairing: Soldierboy x Jealous!Reader

A/N: Number two for @jacklesversebingo 2024! This one is based off the prompt: "Got something to say about that?" "No." "Well, you look like you do." Prompt is in bold. As always, edited as well as I can and this one has been proofread lol Criticism welcome, reposts, likes, and comments adored. 💕

Part Two is out now! It's titled "Payback".

My leg feels like it’s shaking a million miles an hour, electricity radiating down my arms. We had been sitting in Vought headquarters for the last three hours doing interview after interview with the flirtiest journalist. Her blonde hair bounced past her shoulders, her boobs on display no matter where she turned, and the sickly-sweet smiles she sent Ben sent bile up my throat every time. He was eating it up, of course, he always did. It didn’t matter how many times I let him fuck me, He always ate up these stupid interviews. They praised him, practically stripping themselves bare to please his ego. It was always the same statements, ‘You’re the world’s greatest hero, Soldier-Boy.’ ‘What would we ever do without you, Soldier-Boy?’ ‘What’s it like being the strongest man alive?’ ‘Do you want to sign my tits?’ Okay…that last one only happened once, but that doesn’t change the fact that they never have anything to say to me. If he had brought Mindstorm or Black Noir, hell even the twins, I’m sure this interview would be going a completely different way. The men are always front and center for these girls; Crimson Countess, Stormfront, and I are the last on the list, and the jealousy that boils in my veins at that knowledge is second to none.

                Of course, watching her throw herself at him wasn’t helping the situation. I can’t keep the little green monster at bay whether thinking about her ignoring me or about him wanting her. I always wondered if he thought of me when they were shoving themselves at him; I know the answer, but maybe in a perfect world he thinks of kissing my lips, of my hands on his body and his mouth on mine, of our bodies moving together and our minds melding as one when… “Hey! Hey! I’ve been yelling at you forever, Y/N!”  His voice snaps me out of my fog, and I turn to face him as he continues, “What? Have you got a dick up your ass? Pay attention!”

                The journalist laughs as I nod, rubbing a hand up his arm, and my eyes narrow, “Sorry, we’ve been doing this for hours and it feels like we’re getting nowhere. Are there any important questions left, Sweetheart, or are you just gonna sit here and keep theoretically sucking him off?”

                Her head snaps back and her jaw drops as she takes in what I asked, “Ex-excuse me?”

                “Do you have any important questions for me, or should I just leave the two of you alone?” I repeat slowly, “I’m getting a little sick of watching you two eye-fuck each other when I could be a fifth of Jack deep in my hotel room by now.”

                “I-I didn’t write down an-any questions for you.” She stutters out and flips through the papers in her lap, “I’m sure I can think of something though.”

                I roll my eyes and stand, “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got better shit to do than this.” Turning on my heel, I storm out of the room and down the hallway. I barely make it to the elevator before I hear Ben’s heavy boots behind me. “Got something to say about that?” I ask turning to look at him, his features cold. Arms crossed and jaw set, the little muscle there jumping as he breathes.

                “No.” He responds curtly, a slight shake of his head the only change in his demeanor.

                “Well, you look like you do.” I snap, stepping into the elevator as the doors open. He shoves in behind me and we ride down in silence.

Just before we reach the ground floor, he slams a hand down onto the Emergency Stop button and corners me into the back of the small area. His eyes are blazing, breathing ragged, and his hands blocking me in, the epitome of anger all rolled into one man.

                “What, Ben?” I ask annoyed, glancing at his forearms above my head, “I have places to be.”

                “What the fuck is your problem?” He cuts me off, the vein in his neck bulging as he glares down at me, “Do you think just because I fuck you that you get to be a bitch to everyone else that wants to fuck me, too?”

                “I don’t give a shit who gets in your bed.”

                “Yeah? It sure seemed like it back there.” He nods behind him and his frown deepens, “What the fuck is your problem?”

                I sigh and duck underneath him to start the elevator back up, but he snatches me by the hair and shoves me back into the corner, “I’m not done talking to you.”

                I shove him back, standing taller to get in his face, “Well, I’m done talking to you. Hell, I’m done talking about you! That’s all anyone wants to talk about.” My breathing begins to shake, and I can feel my eyes blazing as my voice raises, “Do you think all this came from having a sexual relationship with you? From me being jealous that other women are in bed with you? No, Ben! That bitch didn’t even have questions for me. If I have to be there to watch you flirt with these stupid women over and over, the least they could do is ask me something more than how uncomfortable my suit is if I gain a few pounds!”

                He rolls his eyes and takes a step closer to me, towering over me, “You’re seriously going to act like this over her asking the face of Payback a few questions? Get it through your fucking skull,” He spits, tapping a finger against my temple, “I am not your boyfriend. I am not your friend. I’m your boss, I use you for a good time and I leave. That’s it.”

                “Fuck you, Ben!”

                “You already did.”  He smirks and slides a hand behind him to press the button, “And you’ll do it again.”

                Shock reverberates through my body, and I can feel the electricity building in my palms at a rapid pace. I hate him. I hate his cocky attitude. I hate his stupid face. I hate that he’s right. God, I hate him. Unconsciously, I reach out to grab his arms, but he steps to the side as the doors slide open. A raise of his brow tells me that he knows just as well I do, he was a centimeter away from the shock of his life.

                “That would be the last thing you do, Sweetheart.” He whispers maliciously, “You’re a great lay, Y/N, but I’ll kill you before you can blink, and we both know it. That sweet pussy isn’t worth all this trouble.”

                I smile sweetly, a sudden surprising confidence taking over my body. I blink once, twice, and finally a third time before staring him dead in the face, “I’m still breathing.” Flipping him off, I step out of the elevator and head down the hallway, “Don’t call me, Asshole.”

If he’s going to kill me, I’m going to give him a damn good reason.

______________________________________________________________

A/N: This one was a little easier to write without a tiny human running around the house, I actually got it finished while she was in school. I have been so nervous since dropping that smutty fic yesterday, so here's a little angst and anger to make me feel better lmaooo

[psychics4unet]

What Your Shoes Say About Your Psychic Energy?

Ever wondered what your favorite shoes reveal about your spiritual vibe? 👠✨ Turns out, the type of shoes you wear can say a lot about your psychic energy and even your future! Heels? You’re channeling some serious boss energy, ready to take on the world. Flats? You’re all about staying grounded and keeping it real. Sneakers? You’re adaptable, always ready for life’s next adventure. Boots? You’ve got a strong, protective energy, ready to face any challenge.

Got questions or need some insight into your life? I'm here to help with personal psychic readings! For just $7, you can get answers to up to 7 questions! More info at:

Here’s a detailed look at what different types of women’s shoes might reveal about your psychic and spiritual energy:

Stilettos – 👠 Stilettos often reflect a strong ambition and drive for success. They suggest that you’re ready to face challenges head-on and climb the ladder of success with confidence and poise. 🌟

Ballet Flats – 👡 Ballet flats indicate grace, balance, and a down-to-earth nature. They symbolize a grounded and serene personality, someone who finds comfort in simplicity and elegance. 🌸

Ankle Boots – 👢 Ankle boots show a blend of practicality and fierceness. They often signify that you are both practical in your approach and ready to face challenges with a bold attitude. 🔥

Sneakers – 👟 Sneakers suggest versatility and adaptability. They indicate that you are always ready for new adventures and are adaptable to various situations, showing a dynamic and energetic personality. ⚡

Wedges – 👠 Wedges symbolize a steady ascent toward your goals. They reflect confidence and a strong belief in your abilities, helping you maintain balance while pursuing your dreams. 🏆

Kitten Heels – 👠 Kitten heels are associated with subtlety and elegance. They reveal a gentle and sophisticated approach to life, embracing beauty and grace without overwhelming others. 💫

Gladiator Sandals – 🩴 Gladiator sandals represent a warrior spirit. They indicate that you are prepared to fight for what you believe in and have a strong, determined character. 🏹

Loafers – 👞 Loafers reflect comfort in tradition and staying true to your roots. They signify a reliable and grounded individual who values stability and practicality. 🛤️

Thigh-High Boots – 👢 Thigh-high boots convey empowerment and a daring attitude. They show that you have a bold, confident personality and are not afraid to make a statement. 💪

Moccasins – 🥿 Moccasins suggest a deep connection to nature and inner peace. They reflect a person who values comfort and harmony and is grounded in their spiritual beliefs. 🌿

Platform Shoes – 👠 Platform shoes indicate boldness and confidence. They show that you stand tall in your beliefs and are not afraid to showcase your unique personality. 🌈

Mary Janes – 👠 Mary Janes are associated with nostalgia and simplicity. They reveal a love for classic style and a playful, yet straightforward, approach to life. 🌻

Espadrilles – 🩴 Espadrilles represent an easygoing and carefree attitude. They suggest that you embrace life’s pleasures and are in tune with the joy of living. 🌞

Mules – 👠 Mules signify open-mindedness and a willingness to explore new experiences. They reflect a person who is ready to take on new adventures with a positive outlook. 🌟

Chelsea Boots – 👢 Chelsea boots are linked to reliability and readiness. They show that you are dependable and prepared for any situation that comes your way. 🚀

Flip-Flops – 🩴 Flip-flops symbolize a relaxed and easygoing nature. They indicate that you go with the flow and are content with the simple pleasures in life. 🌊

Cowboy Boots – 👢 Cowboy boots represent independence and a love for adventure. They show that you have a strong, free-spirited personality with a taste for exploration. 🌵

Pumps – 👠 Pumps are associated with confidence and power. They signify that you are ready to take charge and assert your presence in both personal and professional settings. 🚀

Peep-Toe Heels – 👠 Peep-toe heels reflect curiosity and openness. They show that you are open to new experiences and have a playful, yet sophisticated, side. 🎉

Slides – 🩴 Slides suggest a laid-back and content approach to life. They indicate that you find joy in the simple things and have a relaxed attitude toward challenges. 🍃

Combat Boots – 👢 Combat boots symbolize resilience and strength. They reflect a person who is prepared to face any battle and stands firm in their beliefs. 💥

Oxford Shoes – 👞 Oxford shoes represent intellectuality and attention to detail. They indicate that you have a love for learning and are meticulous in your approach to life. 📚

T-Strap Heels – 👠 T-strap heels blend tradition with modernity. They show that you appreciate classic styles while also incorporating contemporary elements into your life. 🌟

Clogs – 🥿 Clogs reflect practicality and comfort. They suggest that you value a grounded, straightforward approach to life and find joy in simplicity. 🛋️

Sock Boots – 👢 Sock boots indicate a trendsetter with a unique style. They show that you are confident in your individuality and willing to stand out from the crowd. 💃

Slingbacks – 👠 Slingbacks signify precision and elegance. They reflect a person who pays attention to details and carries themselves with grace and sophistication. 💫

Rain Boots – 🩴 Rain boots represent preparedness and adaptability. They show that you are ready for any situation and handle life’s unpredictable moments with ease. ☔

Jellies – 🩴 Jellies suggest playfulness and nostalgia. They indicate a fun-loving spirit who enjoys the whimsical and carefree aspects of life. 🧩

Kitten Slingbacks – 👠 Kitten slingbacks combine sophistication with a practical approach. They show that you balance elegance with comfort and practicality. 🌹

Pointed-Toe Flats – 👡 Pointed-toe flats represent precision and directness. They indicate a sharp mind and a straightforward approach to life. 🗝️

Velvet Heels – 👠 Velvet heels symbolize luxury and sensuality. They show that you appreciate the finer things in life and have a refined, elegant nature. ✨

Boat Shoes – 👞 Boat shoes reflect practicality and a love for adventure. They suggest that you enjoy exploring and have a grounded, yet adventurous spirit. 🚤

Monk Strap Shoes – 👞 Monk strap shoes signify discipline and tradition. They show that you value structure and have a strong moral compass. ⚖️

Quilted Boots – 👢 Quilted boots represent comfort and security. They indicate a protective nature and a love for warmth and coziness. 🔥

Corset Heels – 👠 Corset heels combine strength with femininity. They reflect a focus on detail and a balance of power and grace. 💪

Espadrille Flats – 🩴 Espadrille flats suggest a laid-back vibe with a connection to nature. They indicate a love for simplicity and natural beauty. 🌻

Teddy Boots – 👢 Teddy boots symbolize warmth and comfort. They reflect a nurturing personality that values coziness and security. 🧸

Loafers with Tassels – 👞 Loafers with tassels indicate a playful yet sophisticated nature. They suggest a balance between fun and tradition. 🎩

Platform Sandals – 🩴 Platform sandals show confidence and a love for making a statement. They indicate a person who stands tall in their beliefs and style. 🌟

Over-the-Knee Boots – 👢 Over-the-knee boots represent boldness and a daring spirit. They show that you are unafraid to push boundaries and stand out. 🚀

Slip-On Sneakers – 👟 Slip-on sneakers reflect ease and comfort. They suggest a relaxed and casual approach to life, valuing convenience and simplicity. ☀️

High-Top Sneakers – 👟 High-top sneakers indicate a dynamic and energetic personality. They suggest that you are always on the go and ready for new challenges. ⚡

Espadrille Wedges – 🩴 Espadrille wedges combine comfort with a touch of elegance. They reflect a love for relaxed, yet stylish, living. 🌿

Brocade Flats – 👡 Brocade flats symbolize a taste for luxury and tradition. They suggest an appreciation for classic styles with a sophisticated twist. 💎

Lace-Up Sandals – 🩴 Lace-up sandals represent a free-spirited nature. They indicate a love for exploration and a connection to personal freedom. 🌈

Moccasin Slippers – 🥿 Moccasin slippers reflect a cozy, homey personality. They suggest a preference for comfort and a nurturing, relaxed environment. 🛋️

Pumps with Ankle Strap – 👠 Pumps with ankle straps show confidence with an attention to detail. They indicate a refined, yet bold approach to style. 💫

Glitter Boots – 👢 Glitter boots represent a love for glamour and sparkle. They show that you have a fun, outgoing personality with a flair for drama. ✨

Chelsea Ankle Boots – 👢 Chelsea ankle boots symbolize versatility and style. They suggest a person who is fashionable yet practical in their approach. 🌟

Platform Sneakers – 👟 Platform sneakers indicate a modern and trendsetting personality. They suggest that you are confident in your unique style and always ready to make a statement. 🚀

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Fashion History

for your next poem/story (pt. 2/2)

1950s

The 1950s were a time of large cultural and social change, which was reflected in the world of fashion. The Korean War began in 1950, followed by the introduction of the color TV in 1951. And in 1954, the modern civil rights movement began.

As the suburbs became popular, family and domesticity for women became a prominent force in society. Additionally, teenagers became fashion consumers and market leaders for the first time.

Due to technological advances, new fibers such as polyester, triacetate, and spandex are introduced. 

The prominent trend of the time was femininity, as shown by the prominence of Christian Dior's "New Look". Shape was emphasized by full swing skirts or narrow pencil skirts, as well as fitted bodices and a small waistline achieved with the help of petticoats and girdles. Elegant accessories and jewelry such as hats and pearls were popular at the time, and high heels were ubiquitous. Other trends included Peter Pan collars, tapered or capri pants, and the introduction of the bikini. 

1960s

The Beatles led the music and fashion “British Invasion,” influencing teenagers with their Mod aesthetic.

The Civil Rights movement led to the popularity of ethnic and African-inspired garments such as dashikis and caftans.

The 1960s were marked by eclecticism, both in fashion and society. A plethora of styles were fashionable at one time, ranging from space age fashions using vinyl and synthetics, to bold prints, colors, and disposable paper dresses inspired by Pop Art.

Mod fashion appeared on the London scene, with fashion designer Mary Quant as the “high priestess” of the style, and Twiggy as its supermodel.

Boutiques, a 1960s creation, began offering designer ready-to-wear collections, while easy-care fabrics were increasingly used by the general public.

Longer hemlines were dominant with maxi skirts and granny dresses, while hot pants and mini skirts were adopted by the younger market. These shorter hemlines popularized the use of pantyhose for modesty. As the decade progressed, chemise dresses that typified the dominant straight A-line silhouette became popular. Turtleneck blouses and sweaters were common, and sleeves were usually three-quarter length. Sleeveless tops were worn after the mid 1960s.

Jacqueline Kennedy became a major fashion icon, famous for her sophisticated style, pillbox hats, and pearls. Overall, hats in general experienced a decline in use, due to the popularity of high bouffant hairstyles.

Knee high go-go boots were popular, patent was often used, and low-heeled, square-toed shoes were common.

Popular accessories included headbands, bold jewelry, and matching shoes and handbags.

1970s

During the 1970s, the eclecticism of the previous decade continued, and influences from subcultures dominated fashion.

The Vietnam War ended in 1973, and the first Earth Day was celebrated in 1974.

The hippie subculture emphasized environmental awareness and social acceptance, translating into the popularity of natural fibers and earth tones, loose garments, blue jeans, and ethnic influences in dress.

Peasant blouses and skirts and psychedelic prints were popular, as well as historic revival styles.

In the late 1970s, music styles such as glam rock, disco, and punk influenced fashion and resulted in flashy, often shocking styles.

For the most part, clothing was loose and unstructured compared to previous decades. Skirts came in a variety of lengths — mini, midi, or maxi — although the mini and maxi were the most popular.

Unisex styles in clothing became a trend and were perpetuated by Diane Keaton’s character in the 1977 film, Annie Hall.

Trousers and blue jeans were worn by women more than ever before. Designer jeans arrived on the market, resulting in the birth of “licensing” for non-fashion products. Polyester was the other preferred textile for trousers.

1980s

With the rise of new media such as MTV, the 80s fashion landscape began to shift rapidly.

The televised wedding of Prince Charles and Diana Spencer caused a fashion frenzy, with "Lady Di's" elegant hats, tailored suits, and evening dresses making her a global style icon. 

The 1980s were known as the "Me" Generation, with an emphasis on logos and designer labels.

The decade also saw the rise of yuppie (young urban professionals) culture, and the introduction of the fitness craze.

In the world of high fashion, postmodernism and avant-garde fashion were vastly influential. With the introduction of yuppie culture, business attire and "power-dressing" with items like shoulder pads was a popular trend.

In light of the fitness craze, leg warmers, tights, and leotards were widely worn, and women accessorized with big hair, flashy costume jewelry, and bright heels.

In terms of undergarments, Madonna and Jean-Paul Gaultier inspired an underwear-as-outerwear trend alongside the popularity of Calvin Klein.

1990s

The 1990s reflected subcultures such as punk, goth, and grunge in fashion.

Hip-hop music became popular and as a result, urban fashion was popularized.

Unlike previous decades, the 1990s was notable for a more relaxed and casual look, as well as the introduction of technology such as cell-phones and pagers.

With the rise of globalization & technology, the fashion cycle began to speed up. 

1990s style was often considered "anti-fashion,"  with purposefully clashing or contradictory aesthetics.

Black, minimalist styles were popular, as well as vintage and 1970s style.

Many younger people sported crop tops, cargo pants, and blue jeans, and athletic wear in daily life. In terms of shoes, high heels, wedges, sandals, platforms, and sneakers were all widely worn.

More Notes: On Fashion ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References

[milliesfishes]

Would you ever write something where billy and his girlfriend get taken by rivals at the same time? They hurt her in front of him to get him to tell them what they need to know and he’s so angry.

౨ৎ꣑ৎboth you and billy are kidnapped౨ৎ꣑ৎ fem reader x billy the kid

Voices echoed through the expanse of the mine, making every word spoken sound like a haunted prayer. The only other sound was of water falling drop by drop from the ceiling, eroding Billy’s mind.

He shifted where he had been unceremoniously tossed to the ground, the ropes binding him fraying in a way that didn’t loosen them but dug at his skin. Maybe the reddened marks in their wake would fade with time, but the memory would remain.

You were in a similar state, if not worse.

Passed out cold, they had thrown you aside rougher than he, and you were caved in on your side, hair strewn over your face like the leaves of a willow tree. Every breath you drew was so faint that the strands didn’t even flutter.

Billy felt another wave of shame at the sight of you, the sorrow and guilt blinding him. He had been foolish, reckless to come back to you. But like a man dying of thirst stumbling upon an oasis, he had crept through your door and dropped to his knees, forgetting that he was covered in the dusty skin of the desert, and that he'd been on horseback for hours. All he knew then was you, reveling in your relief and happiness that he was home.

If you'd been plucked right out of Eden you wouldn't have been more perfect. There had never been a soul so sweet, and he'd never had a love so pure and untainted. You quickly became his center, his gravity that held the world in place. He had been so desperate to love in his earlier years, seeking women who made everything spin faster. That was how he thought it was supposed to be.

Instead of a whirlwind, a hurricane, you made everything stand still. And now all the horrors of living were overpowered by light. He saw all that was good and beautiful clearly. He saw that you were the best and most beautiful thing there was.

You, with your laugh like wedding bells and smile like gold. Billy always touched you as though you were made of butterfly's wings, as if you were a mirage that would vanish under his fingers. He was utterly devoted to you; the only way you should be loved in his opinion.

Though you opened his world to be clearer, it was still tumultuous. He was dodging the law at every turn, chin nearly permanently fixed over his shoulder. Normally he wouldn't have cared. But with you at stake, the most precious thing in the world? It was devastating.

You became his twilight lover; he only revealed himself to you once the sun's eyes were firmly shut. Days were spent in solitude, far away from his true home in a woman he selfishly thought he could have. Memories became gentle kisses in candlelight, caresses in hurried passion. Billy knew he should stay away if he gave a damn about your safety. The raw, desperate need for the feeling of you wrapped up in his arms overpowered that.

And now he'd gotten you into this. His reputation had dragged you to a corner of the earth he had hoped you would never know. Unable to tear his eyes away from your limp form sprawled across the ground, your dress ripped to expose your collarbone and shoulder, all he could think was of how bold it had been for them to take you both.

They had followed him. A rival gang with more boots than brains, still able to track him right to the doorstep of his sweet girl. Billy was aware of this possibility every time he came to see you, but he naively thought every time that the universe wouldn't punish two lovers during what little time they had.

Mere hours later he'd been hit over the back of the head, awaking to a pain in his crown and the sight of you beside him, listless. No gun at his hip, no way of knowing where he was. A panicked feeling had arisen in him. What had they done to you while he was out cold? What horrors had they inflicted on the only person he wanted to protect?

You hadn't screamed once. It was more eerie than it would have been if you had. The blood on his face was uniform at this point, and he wasn't sure if it was yours or his.

Leaning over, trying to shuffle through his bindings, he whispered your name hurriedly. Any sign of life out of you. Anything. Oh what wouldn't he give? "Baby...please..."

You were like a doe felled by a bullet, lying limp and broken. Billy twisted under the ropes, searching for a loose end. It was eating him from the inside, being so close to you when you were suffering and being unable to hold you.

He had always regretted your first kiss. It was the catalyst for all of this, for him pulling you down to the depths with him into eternal doom. You were the epitome of good and he was a guilty sinner. Of course a man like him would fall for you. It didn't matter how much he gave you. It didn't change the fact that your one fault was loving a man who didn't deserve it.

Bootsteps drew him out of his thoughts, and he instinctively shuffled closer to you. As if his body could do a single thing for you right now.

The leader of the gang- a mustached man- crouched to look Billy right in the eye. He quirked his eyebrows toward you, giving a low whistle. "Ain't lookin' so good, is she?"

"Let her go." The words flew out of his mouth against his own volition. Billy was well aware of how pathetic that made him appear. But his baser instincts were grabbing hold of him, chief among them the need to keep you safe.

Breathing a laugh that was more like a scoff, the mustached man shook his head. "You know the deal. Tell us where your buddies 're hidin' and you both go free."

Even though it wasn't the first time he'd heard these words in the past hours, Billy felt a pang in his chest. He looked up at the man with hardened eyes. There was no way in hell he was betraying the Regulators. Convenient or not, those men were his brothers. They'd fought against the tide of Lincoln County, forged a bond that couldn't be fabricated. He didn't care if they never found out it was him who betrayed them- he would know.

The mustached man seemed to read his mind. His lips turned slightly upward in an unpleasant way, and he got to his feet, dusting himself off. Grinding his boot in the dirt, he clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "Thought you'd be smarter 'n that, Kid. You ain't gonna like what you've done."

Before Billy could question him, the man bent suddenly, yanking you to face upwards, so your weakened eyes were facing him. To his horror, a knife was pressed to your throat as you struggled feebly, a pained whimper drawing from your lips.

Eyes widening, Billy's feet became a tangled mess as he tried desperately to get to you. "Fuckin'...bastard...you-!"

"All you gotta do is tell me where they are," the mustached man said calmly. His tone was too casual, too light. The knife made its way down your collarbone, past your breasts and down to your stomach. "D'ya think sugar's gonna spill out 'f her veins 'nstead of blood?"

Had his hands been free, Billy would have torn him apart limb from limb. Touching you, his girl with such intent was an unspeakable sin. Your dress was exposing your full left shoulder, falling dangerously close to your breast.

"Billy," you whispered, voice edging on a cry. Your hands were gripping the man's arm around your neck, chest rapidly rising and falling as your breaths became panicked. The sound of your voice made him nearly break.

Merely glaring at your captor, he kept his lips sealed. The chances of what he was doing being nothing more than threats were high. Your outline was shaky, and your lids squeezed shut, head turning to the side as you appeared to brace for the impact of the sharp blade against you.

The man grazed the knife along a torn patch of your dress, right against the exposed skin. He stared at Billy, as if with his eyes alone he could get him to confess. "Last chance, Kid. Tell me where they're hidin'."

He's bluffing. "No chance," Billy bit.

The awful sound you made as the man began to twist the knife against you would haunt Billy for the rest of his life. You clawed at the mustached man but he, numb to your resistance, paid you no mind. The image of you in pain sent a wave of alarm through Billy, and the tension built up in his body until he was saying, "I'll tell you!"

You were discarded to the ground, the knife clattering along with you as the mustached man swooped forward, eyes disgustingly eager as he nodded, encouraging Billy to continue. "Where?"

"The..." Oh he hated himself. "The house past the glen up north. A day's ride from here."

With a satisfied smile that made Billy sick, the man slowly rose. He kicked the knife toward him, saying, "Cut your binds. Ain't nobody gonna stop ya from leavin."

He retreated into the shadows briefly, and when he returned he was holding Billy's gun belt, revolver still sheathed in it. Holding it up tauntingly, the man said, "One last thing, Kid. If you or your girl ever come back to Lincoln we'll have a noose waitin' for ya." The words loomed threateningly over Billy's head. The mustached man tossed the belt in his direction. "If you know what's good for ya, you'll stay away."

With that final awful sentence, he turned away, engulfed by the darkness once more.

Billy scrambled for the knife, dragging it forward with his boot and somehow grasping the handle. The blade ate at the ropes, every cut injecting energy into his veins. He worked the knife upwards until his wrist was free, and then his elbow. Now he could reach the knots at his waist. Shrugging off those bindings, he made quick work of the ones at his feet, seizing his gun belt and slinging it haphazardly around his waist before crawling hurriedly over to you.

Touching you lightly, unsure what you would allow him to do, Billy waited with bated breath for any kind of response. "Baby...oh my sweet girl..." he carefully rolled you over, examining the mark the man had left on your stomach. It was bleeding, miniature pearls of blood beading on the slitted scratch. Even though it was hardly a wound, Billy still was horrified by it.

Using his sleeve to staunch the blood, he ran his other hand over you, checking for any other injuries. Bruises littered your skin, dust and dirt caked over your usually soft skin. Your eyes fluttered open as you weakly looked up at him. "Billy..." Soft though your words were, they held a world of hurt and pain. They hadn't even bound you...what had they done when he was out cold?

"Shh, I've gotcha," he whispered, carefully sliding his arms under your body.

You whimpered, shaking your head. "You...you told him where they are..."

"I didn't tell the truth," Billy said softly, looking into your eyes. He positioned his hands to support your body. "They moved from that spot a long while back." Your limbs reacted to his movements; arms sliding around his neck, knees bending slightly. "Alright...'m gonna stand up, mkay? Here we go..." Billy carefully got to his feet, taking care not to stumble and frighten you.

"What's happening?" you mumbled, face right against his neck. Billy rubbed your side, kissing your forehead.

"Shh," he murmured, beginning to move forward. "We're gonna get outta here. Gonna find somewhere safe where we can be together."

"Not going home?" you asked in a small voice. His heart broke in two, the strain of your obvious discomfort weighing on him.

"No," he admitted, squinting in the darkness. There was a flicker of light close at hand, and he pointed his steps in that direction, sure it was the exit. "We're gonna go somewhere else, darlin'. Somewhere safer."

You were too weak to argue, and so you settled for resting your head on his shoulder. He was glad you were resting at least.

Billy would rather dig his own grave and be buried alive in it than ever put you at risk again. You and him would be putting as much distance between the two of you and those who'd kidnapped you. Their malignity was sickening, and it cut into the divinity of holding you. Now he did it in a protective frenzy.

The dot of light turned out to be at the top of a crude stone staircase, and he climbed it carefully, mindful of you in his arms. The whole time he was wary of any attackers, but the space appeared empty.

When Billy ducked under the makeshift doorway, emerging from dusty captivity, he caught the last of the sun's rays sinking behind the rolling hills. Peering around for any sign of danger, he noticed a lone horse a few yards away, grazing. It was fully saddled, tied to the branch of a tree.

Boot and hoofprints in the dirt suggested a speedy exit. Billy hadn't even heard anybody leave- he'd been too focused on you. he wasn't sure if the beast left behind was an act of kindness or a warning to get away as soon as possible. He decided not to question it.

Billy spared a glance at you, making sure you were still lucid before he began to walk to the horse. He hoisted you up on the saddle first, hooking his foot in the stirrup and pulling himself up. You were positioned in front of him, nestled between his thighs, back against his chest where he wanted you.

In his element now that he held the horse's reins, Billy secured an arm around you, ducking his head to kiss your temple comfortingly. You turned slightly to look in his eyes, a look of fear and uncertainty combined in yours.

He held your gaze, determined to stay strong. Oh, how quickly he'd forgotten before. Billy lived for you. You were the lone reason he kept going, the only reason he had any hope of heaven. Throwing aside his previous regrets of loving you, he resolved that if trouble was going to follow him, and by circumstance, you, he would always get you out of it.

Billy smoothed your hair carefully, pressing a gentle kiss into it. The ineffable feeling overtook him, and he suddenly remembered why people fell in love. Even after danger's daunting shadow, he was set alight by the simple knowledge that you were his. He'd surrendered himself to you long ago, under the whim of your heart and soul.

Tugging on the reins of the horse, he spurred the horse into action, every new step a promise to you.

We're going to be okay.

[balkanradfem]

I remember back in the old days, when I first found radfems, I kept feeling it is inevitable that something will destroy them, someone will argue them down, shame them, point out that they’re doing something they’re not supposed to, and I kept reading on and on just waiting in fear, waiting for men to attack them and to humiliate them for speaking against the system.

But it didn’t happen. Instead, I found radfems arguing directly with men, over and over again, and defeating every single argument like it was nothing. Being raised in patriarchy, it was something I had never experienced before. I couldn’t understand the courage, the boldness and the dare to do it, I knew they were doing something dangerous, and I didn’t understand how was it possible that they couldn’t be shamed, couldn’t be guilt tripped, could not be humiliated or bullied into backing down.

They weren’t arguing with men for the chance they would persuade men to change their opinion, they were only showcasing for the other women, how to defeat those arguments, why are they wrong, why was it okay for a woman to fight back, to argue back.

I can remember the exact moment of reading one of those arguments, that reprogrammed my brain. I only wish I could find it again.

A woman was arguing against a man who kept saying things like ‘And how does this benefit us? Feminism is for everyone? You’re not helping anyone by being sexist and excluding men! What about the men who are abused, who are dying, traumatized, disabled? You’re uncaring and selfish **** and you should be shut down! You’re generalizing and demonizing half of the population! What about what we feel? What about our mental health? Men are victims too!’

And these arguments are something I’d heard so often I had them memorized, and reading radfem ideals, these arguments would constantly activate in my head, that we’re selfish and cruel if we don’t take care of the men in need, that compassion towards men is something we absolutely must have if we are good, normal human beings, that it’s only reasonable for men to despise us unless our movement is also proving useful to them, that they must have benefits too otherwise we’ll never get their support, never get anything done.

But the woman arguing back was having none of it. She asked right back ‘Why should you benefit out of it? Why should men get anything from a movement of women’s liberation? Do you only support women’s freedom and women’s rights if you directly benefit from it? Women are a half of a human population too, and you never once sacrificed anything to benefit us, yet you expect every single time that we sacrifice ourselves in order for you to get more benefits.

Why would I be uncaring and selfish if I don’t care about the men? You’re our primary predators, you are the number one cause of death in women, you are the reason we cannot go out safe at night, you’re the reason most if not all of our ancestors spent their lives in servitude, never getting to pursue their passions, never getting acknowledgment, money, land, legacy and matriarchal line of last names they deserved. You are shaming me like a wolf would shame a prey for running away from him, do you think a woman’s morality is to be questioned if she doesn’t feel compassion for a man who is holding a boot on her neck? Who is most likely to kill her? We have to put our safety before your feelings, for the sake of our own survival.

Why would men be what everyone and everything else must benefit? You think the rest of the world exists as resources to you, you believe we exist for you, to be used and violated and exploited by you, and you treat us accordingly, shaming us for having one place where we care about ourselves, and not you.

We have said nothing but the explicit, factual truth about the men, and if you find this demonizing, that’s on you. If mankind hasn’t oppressed and violated women’s freedom and lives for thousands of years, there would be no such facts to tell. If the truth reveals something rotten and demonic in you, that is not on us. We won’t shut up about what happened just because it makes you feel bad. Your feelings do not trump reality.

When men are victims, it’s primarily caused by other men, and in those situations, what do you expect us to do? Fight other men to save you, when we’d likely be killed? Fight for men, even though these exact victimized men are more than happy to go and victimize women, because now they have a great excuse of being victimized themselves? Men use everything, even their own victimization, against women. We do not have to feel compassion for those who have never, and will never feel it for us.’

-

It was while I was reading this, that I realized. I have been living all my life, until that moment, brainwashed to believe that I exist for men. That we all exist for men, that we’re around to make their life easier, that giving them whatever they want is mandatory, that we’re to be used. I believed my every word, action, thought, even appearance, has to be pleasing and approved by men in some way, or I would be shunned, punished, despised, and eventually, tortured and destroyed, for not being of use.

I believed that was reasonable, because men kept claiming it was, because they were arguing it loudly, with a threat of violence and humiliation for everyone who disagrees. I also believed it because I’ve never seen anything else. I’ve only ever seen women in servitude, acting like it’s natural to be so. All women in my family were servants of their husbands, almost all women in media were sexualized for men’s pleasure, almost every grown woman I’ve known was inclined to jump at male attention. Institutions, jobs, education, everything was favouring men, and we could have a try at it, but would ultimately be expected to be caretakers, or if we have a job, contribute money to men, to take off pressure from their responsibilities. We were supposed to believe they knew ‘better’ about what to do with money anyway. I’ve never dared to question it because the backlash was so hateful, violent, abusive and terrifying, I believed I would be a bad person if I thought otherwise, if I shut my compassion down.

But now, a handful of women online could argue it out without any fear of retribution because they were anonymous, they could not be touched, they could say anything, and no violence would reach them because it was anonymous platform. Men could rage at them but not touch them, never beat them. The power in that was unbelievable.

Realizing all this made me enraged, distressed, mortified, and determined to get free. From that moment on, I’ve not spend a second longer believing I exist for men. I never again considered if anything I wanted to do benefited them or not, or if anything that would benefit me would be well received with them as well. They never did this for us. They never took us into consideration when building the entire goddamn world. We do not exist for them. We are humans too. We are not selfish for not extending our patience and compassion to oppressors and predators. We are not responsible for troubles they create for themselves. And we do not have to sacrifice our rights for their convenience.