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insideyourminddddddd · 1 year

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closer | xavier x wednesday smut

summary: wednesday loses her virginity to xavier lol thats about it. this is the 11th part of my ao3 fic (here). if context is missing to certain dialogue it's because it's a longer series but it is still very readable when isolated. lmk<3 not enough wednesday x xavier smut on here!

Wednesday’s window was freezing cold against Xavier’s bare hands, sending a shock throughout his arm as he knocked twice. In a way, he liked the cold. It made him feel less warm all over, bringing his heart rate back down to speed.

“Come in.” She sounded far away.

Xavier pushed hard, making the circular window swivel and ducking his head under to gain entry. Wednesday’s room looked exactly the way it had when he was last here, asking Thing where she was. He appreciated everything about her side, and loved how much it contrasted to Enid’s. He assumed that Enid was at Ajax’s, that Wednesday had informed her roommate to leave for designated writing time. Or maybe she’d told her the truth, that Xavier would be coming here. Doubtful.

He imagined Wednesday on her first day, unpacking and putting everything in its rightful place, so organized like she always was. He wondered if she’d needed help with her typewriter. It looked heavy, and her hands were so small.

Wednesday was sitting on her bed, still in her school uniform. Xavier had changed into a long black coat with a fleece underneath. He felt overdressed.

“Hi.” Her voice was flat.

“Hey.” Xavier felt like he could barely speak. Wednesday’s eyes were like strings on a puppet, holding him up, controlling where he went and how he felt. He was practically immobilized by her stare.

“You’re so far away.” Wednesday said pointedly. Xavier had said that to her, in their dream.

He nodded, maintaining the bob of his head as he slowly walked toward her. He sank to his knees in front of her, letting her be the taller one, the person who got to look down. Just like their dream, except his hands were now in the pockets of his jacket.

Wednesday sighed. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t want to scare you.”

“It's not you I’m afraid of.”

Xavier blinked, his confusion clear. He took up so much room on her floor. “Your jacket is miles long,” Wednesday added.

“It’s not.”

“Take it off.” She wanted to see more of him.

“No. Tell me what you’re afraid of.”

“Take it off and I’ll consider it.”

Xavier said nothing as he slipped his coat off and threw it on the floor beside him. “What are you afraid of?”

Wednesday took a mental image of him, on his knees in her room in dark jeans and a white fleece and sneakers that were ripping at the soles. For now, she was bigger than him. For always, she was in control.

Afraid. What an awful word when she wasn’t the one bestowing such an emotion onto someone else, when she had to be the person feeling it, and she was. She was afraid of many things - of a person dying before her, of being taken advantage of, of trusting someone who made others lose trust in her, of being touched just to conjure a violent vision. To admit that to Xavier, to be so vulnerable before anyone, it felt like losing. What does it feel like? Tyler had said. To lose?

“What are you afraid of?” Xavier repeated. He reached out timidly, like he was grabbing an expensive glass he was afraid to break, wrapping his hand around her ankle. His fingers brushed the hem of her long skirt. Wednesday could feel the warmth of his touch, even through her socks.

Wednesday blinked once. Feeling his hands in any way, anywhere, lowered her inhibitions to a concerning degree. “I am afraid of being reduced to a pawn in someone else’s game.” She attempted to say this plainly, slightly swinging her ankle so that he gripped harder.

“In whose game?”

“Anyone’s.”

“Say it.”

“Tyler’s.”

Xavier nodded slowly, sliding his hand higher and beginning to move his thumb in circular motions against her calf. There was a flash of fury in his eyes, and she knew it was because she mentioned Tyler’s name. “And you were.”

“Yes, I was.”

“How did that make you feel?” Xavier’s hand was still moving, now resting upon her knee. It was making Wednesday feel woozy, like it wouldn't be so bad to tell the truth after all.

“Uncared for. His feelings were liquidated, falsified, all made up.”

Xavier was crawling closer now, his hand working his way onto her thigh. “That makes me very sad.”

Wednesday’s breath hitched. “If I couldn’t see it then, how could I ever trust anything?”

Xavier’s hand stopped moving, which Wednesday resented. “You have never been reduced to anything in my life. From the second you walked in it, you’ve only been amplified.”

Wednesday kept staring at him on the ground like he was worshiping some God. To Xavier, that’s what she was. She said nothing, silently begging him to keep touching her, to get closer to where she wanted him to be, erasing her thoughts, making her think of nothing but red. The room was silent, quieter than it had ever been. There was no sound of a cello, no dinging of Enid’s cellphone, no pattering of Thing, no clacking of a typewriter - just the white noise that Xavier was, his fast breathing, the space he occupied. Xavier took a deep breath shakily.

“And for the record, even if you think Tyler didn’t care, he would’ve if he’d gotten to know you. It’s impossible not to. And you want to know something else? If you let me in, if you accepted the offer that you know stands, I would make you feel so good about your life that you could see yourself that way too.”

“Then do it.” Wednesday snapped, pushing her body forward so that his hand was resting over her underwear, only beginning to ease the hungriness she’d been attempting to satisfy from the second he walked in wearing that damn coat.

“Do what?” He was almost breathless.

“Make me feel good.”

“Is that what you want?” Xavier began to withdraw his hand, which made Wednesday whine.

“Make it go away.”

“Say you trust me.”

Xavier Thorpe, drawing her perfectly in his sketchbook when she herself hardly knew what she looked like. Xavier Thorpe, buying his first all black cable knit two days after she started at Nevermore. Xavier Thorpe, laying on the floor in his room when she played the cello, closing his eyes so he could feel the sound of her better. Xavier Thorpe, always giving her the benefit of the doubt, the second chance she wouldn’t have had the pride to allow. Xavier Thorpe, shackled in the back of a cop car because of her and only worried that something could happen to hurt her. Xavier Thorpe, swimming across the hot tub, eyes greener than hell with a crooked smile created by cosmically connected dreams. Xavier Thorpe, tying a black bow around a black box holding a black phone for a girl, a girl who she was, who she is. Wednesday didn’t have to lie when she said, “I trust you.”

“Good, baby.”

Xavier’s voice had changed, growing rougher, lower, jumping to his feet and pushing her onto her bed. Her back was already arching when their lips meet, kissing for the first time in real life, and all he was thinking is yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.

All five of the human senses were often lost on Wednesday. She didn’t crave food, or a certain candle, or the sound of much aside from her cello. In this moment, she was obsessed with every sense she had. His mouth was her favorite taste yet, so good that she felt like she could get drunk off it. Hearing was favorable, because even the most timid touch of her hand against his back made him moan, which she wished she could hear on a loop. Sight might’ve been the best of all if it weren’t for touch, if it weren’t for the friction in his jeans pressing against her pelvis, if it weren’t for how hard he was and how she was already addicted to it.

It wasn’t like this when she kissed Tyler.

Xavier’s hand reached around her back and lifted her closer to him, which made her gasp. She was brought back to earth by the sudden recognition that was happening, this was reality, this wasn’t a dream. And she didn’t know what to do.

“I don’t know how to touch you,” she whispered.

“You don’t have to touch me.”

Wednesday was flustered, feeling inadequate. “What if I want to?”

Now Xavier was flustered, eyes wide at the thought. He lowered her back onto the bed, putting both his hands by her head so that he was entirely over her. He couldn’t believe that she was real in front of him, that he could reach out and touch her and she wouldn’t disappear. “Then I can teach you.”

“And it will be like archery, me better than you, without even trying.” She noted that she sounded nervous, which was a foreign tone.

Wednesday expected Xavier to scoff, to rebuttal. He just shrugged, laughing softly. “Probably, yeah. You’re good at everything.”

He didn’t wait for her to respond before leaning back in to kiss her, cupping the back of her head and lifting it up so that he could get rougher, deeper. When he bit her bottom lip, Wednesday threw her head back, and Xavier didn’t let go, only biting harder. She loved it.

What she loved more was everything that he was saying. Xavier’s sentences were the opening scene to the removal of another item of clothing, a step closer to the fulfillment of this endless spiraling of want that she felt. Her whole body was pounding.

“I’ve never wanted anything so bad in my life, Wednesday.”

His hands were under her shirt, pulling at the clasp of her bra.

“I think about you all the fucking time.”

He was pulling down her skirt, smiling against her cheek when he felt the lace edges of her black underwear. She tugged at his shirt as he did this, and he pulled it off entirely for her, smiling even bigger.

He was thin, but she liked it. Loved it, really. She could see his muscles and veins and could imagine what he looked like on the inside easily. She reached a hand up to his lower stomach, dragging her fingertips along his skin. This made him suck his breath in, hard.

Xavier couldn’t believe how perfect she was. All she had on was her underwear, and they were so her , which he felt dumb for noticing. I like your underwear, Wednesday, I like everything about you. Her skin was pale, and impossibly soft. He’d drawn her so many times that he was starting to feel like he knew her, but God, he knew nothing. He couldn’t imagine what was before him until she actually was, braids coming undone and cheeks flushed and her hands resting under her collarbones, covering her chest shyly.

He leaned onto his left side, laying next to her as she lay flat and moving his right hand to pull her underwear to the side. This act alone makes Wednesday moan, and she was embarrassed by it, but Xavier didn’t look smug. He looked wondrous, like he was figuring it all out for the first time too, even if he wasn’t. The truth was, it might as well be the first time, because it’d never felt like this before.

She was already incredibly wet, which makes Xavier feel like he was short circuiting, like someone turned him off and on again. “Tell me if you’re in pain,” he whispered, and he started with one finger, then two.

To Wednesday, nothing hurt. She noted a sensation similar to fire pooling low in her abdomen, and it intensified every time she looked at Xavier’s face, at how he was biting his lower lip, sweat beginning to pool on his forehead and above his mouth. She wanted to lick it off and taste the saltiness of it. Every time their eyes met he pushed his fingers further, and when Wednesday reacted, he felt like he was drowning in some unreal feeling, some degree of bliss.

Xavier bit back a moan. He wanted this to be about her, but it was actually hard not to finish this way, at the fact that his fingers were soaking and stained with Wednesday . He was beginning to feel carnal. The thought of doing anything other than this made him feel dismal. Next to her, with his hands inside her, watching her make strangled noises at his movements - Xavier felt as though this is what he was born to do. This is what he was put on Earth for, to right Wednesday’s wrongs, to make her feel better.

That very Earth stuttered on its axis seconds later, when Wednesday finished, when Wednesday realized, wow, so this is what the fuss was about . She was impossibly loud, arching forward because the convulsions were too much, and when Xavier tried to cover her mouth she bit him, because she wanted everyone to hear. Everything was static and she couldn’t focus on anything at once, at anything but the pleasure coursing through her body. For a second, she was convinced that she would feel this way forever. It was intense and jerking and it was Xavier who gave it to her, who she hoped would give it to her again and again.

“Xavier,” she whispered, feeling his fingers leave her, watching his chest heave. Just like hers.

He moved closer, nuzzling into the crook of her neck and kissing it. “Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey.” His voice was a murmur, barely audible.

“I want more.”

She felt him smile against her neck, which was a top-three sensation. She wanted him to smile against every part of her body. He reached his hand back down, but she caught his wrist. “More.” With her knee, she sloppily rubbed against his jeans, finding her way to him. Somehow, he was harder than before.

Xavier looked at her for a second, at how red she was. He’d never seen her with this much color. He wanted to, of course he wanted to. He just didn’t want it to be too soon. “Are you a virgin?”

Wednesday was flushed, meek in a way he rarely saw her. “I am.”

Xavier kissed her cheek, overwhelmed at the prospect of doing something with her that no one had gotten to do before. She moved away from him for a second, and he felt embarrassed. He didn’t want to make it a bigger deal than necessary, but it was. It was her first time. He wanted it to be special, to be memorable. He wanted her to feel special. “Are you sure?”

“I am sure.” Wednesday nodded to reinforce her sentiment, touching his dimple with her right hand. He looked happy, genuinely so.

“It may hurt.”

“Ideally.”

“You have to tell me if it hurts, and we can stop and go slower.”

“More.”

Xavier was awkward in his removal of his pants and underwear, shimmying them off. She couldn’t believe that she was getting to see him in this light, breathing in the air of his sweat and mouth and neck and body. Seeing him like this, practically dancing, smiling wide to lighten the mood, she almost wanted to laugh. Later that night, she would write in her journal; tonight we were young and happy and sweaty and disgusting and naked and we were people, in all definitions of whatever a person may be. She loved it. She fucking loved it.

When he got back on the bed, back on top of her, he wrapped both his hands on the respective sides of her underwear. He leaned down to kiss her stomach, right above her belly button, before pulling them off entirely, throwing them across the room. “There you are,” he whispered.

Here I am, she thought. Wednesday grabbed the top of Xavier’s head, yanking at his hair to pull him closer, to line him up with her. She was made frantic by the desire to feel him inside her.

“Be nice,” he said, gritting his teeth.

“Never.”

Xavier held her wrists above her head. She was entirely at his will. “Never,” he repeated.

He entered her slowly, gasping for breath. He was heaving so much she thought he might die, moaning like crazy and they were only just getting started. Wednesday wished she could record it. She was focusing on her new favorite song when she began to feel a sting, deep and tight, like a rubber band snapping. She gasped, different than before, but she wanted him to keep going. The pressure in her stomach, the pressure everywhere , it was building. But soon, it would break.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Xavier was kissing Wednesday’s forehead as he said, his right hand slamming into her headboard. “Fuck.”

It was better than okay. Wednesday loved the pain and the pleasure, the way they mixed when he was fully inside her, when he could pick up speed and thrust into her. Her bed was slamming against the wall, and she was impossibly loud, whimpering and saying Xavier’s name. He was swearing, and he was saying her name even more than she was saying his. She didn't care about the volume or the prospect of someone hearing. She didn’t care about Nevermore, or the world, or other people, or anything that wasn’t Xavier fucking her.

All these years, all the mysteries she’d been trying to solve, all the holes she’d been trying to fill to resolve that nothingness inside her - Xavier had had the key the whole time. She felt like he was putting together the pieces of her body, of her being, one by one. She brought her hand up to pull his hair, and relished in the sounds he made in response. “You’re perfect,” he said, going faster and looking pathetic and fantastic.

Xavier moved both his hands to the side of her face, and was reminded of how harshly he covered his ears in that first dream, where she was tied up. He imagined squeezing her skull, just as he once imagined bursting his own. Sometimes he felt like he liked her so much he could eat her alive. He knew now that even being inside her wasn’t enough to fully quench his desire. His obsession was never ending. Maybe if he crawled inside her, held her heart as though it was his, met her where no one had ever been, maybe then he’d be satisfied, somehow more so than he was now, fucking his muse.

He finished quickly, onto her stomach, and cleaned them both with a tissue from her bedside table. Wednesday couldn’t stop staring at the length of his body, the length of every part of him, missing when their bodies were merged even though that was mere seconds ago. Xavier pulled her blanket over him, calling her beautiful and hot and sexy and wonderful and perfect, perfect, perfect.

For the first time in her life, Wednesday could feel the moment around her slipping away like sand through her fingertips. How warm her body felt, how the sheets were coming off on the bottom left corner of the bed, how Xavier’s hands were still shaking as they touched her, pulling her back in to kiss her more softly than before. She hadn’t known how much she wanted this until it was happening. What else had passed her by, blurred by insecurities and faulted priorities? It was already over. And she felt so fucking alive.

She was sitting up, Xavier’s left arm swung around her lower stomach, and looking back over her shoulder to see him. He was laying there, his hair falling around him, eyes fluttering closed.

“Go to sleep,” Wednesday whispered, as if he needed her permission. Maybe he did.

“Are you going to be here when I wake up?” Xavier’s voice was small and tired. In this moment, everything about him had become smaller, like him opening himself up to her had made him more sizable. He was as big as ever, of course, his feet hanging off of the end of her twin bed, but it didn’t seem that way. Wednesday felt like a snake, wrapping herself around her victim just so she knew how to eat them, just so they could fit perfectly within her. He would be the best meal of her life.

“In my room, yes, I think I will be here.”

“You know what I mean. Are we real?”

Wednesday locked eyes with him, a dizziness coming over her. She knew what he meant, but said nothing, running her hand over his eyes to force them shut. He looked content, more so than maybe anyone she’d ever seen before. Wednesday thought about how he was just inside her, how their bodies were connected on an anatomical level, how his face had twisted in this gorgeous way and it was all because of her. That was beautiful to her, even if it would’ve embarrassed her to say it out loud. Stay inside me forever, she wanted to say. Be there always, so that I can be weak, so that I can want something so bad I’d kill for it, so I can bend at the will of anything other than my selfish desires, so that I can be a human.

#xavier thorpe smut #xavier x wednesday smut #xavier #xavier smut #xavier thorpe x wednesday addams #wednesday addams #wednesday #wednesday addams fanfic #xavier thorpe x wednesday #xavier thorpe angst #xavier thorpe jealous #xavier thorpe #wednesday show #wednesday netflix #xavier thorpe fanfiction #wednesday fanfiction #wednesday addams fanfiction

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respectthepetty · 2 years

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Hi! So, first off, I just want to say I really enjoy all your geniusly insightful thoughts about KinnPorsche! A few weeks ago, I read your post about how the use of English symbolizes deceit in the show, and that was such an aha moment for me because I’d been wondering about that for a while. So, I was pretty confused in the last episode when Vegas used English around Pete on two separate occasions: first, we have the very first line in the episode, “Do you know how sexy you are?”, and then, later on, outside Yok’s bar, he says, “I’m sorry” to Pete multiple times in English. These felt so weird to me because I have come to see English as this tool for deceiving others now, but neither of these moments gave the impression that Vegas was manipulating Pete. So I was wondering if you have any thoughts on why they used these lines in English?

First off, I want to say thank you for reading my ramblings. I truly feel like I'm finally putting my bachelor's and master's degrees in English and linguistics to good use with this show.

Before I answer the question, two other people have done excellent write-ups on this:

Vegas and English : a sociolinguistics analysis

Vegas speaking English in ep. 13

My answer (it's long, of course):

Pete speaks Korean. Both of the posts above mention code-switching, and I think Pete speaking Korean when he is drunk is a true moment of emotional code-switching. As a Spanish speaker, the less I'm "in my head" (aka inhibitions lowered), the more Spanish I speak.

I agree with both posts about Vegas using English due to an emotional response, but I don't see it as a subconscious code-switch. Vegas is intentional when he speaks English: "Who's a good boy?".

But what if he is truly code-switching? Then, I believe Vegas is code-switching when discussing a certain topic with Pete - emotions, rather than to express those emotions, and that's where the deception lies. Confused? Follow me - In I Want to See Only You (Kimi no Koto Dake Mite Itai) *which is a cute, uncomplicated four episode Japanese BL - SPOILERS AHEAD* Sakura has to translate phrases from English into Japanese. His friend Yuma shows up and tries translating a few with poor results, so Sakura says a sentence in English, and Yuma tries to translate it back into Japanese. However, Yuma can only figure out some words, not the complete sentence. Because of this, Sakura throws in this English sentence:

Once again, Yuma can only understand words in English, not the complete statement, so he guesses "love" and then his name "Yuma", but can't figure out the rest. Sakura repeats the sentence again, saying each word one at a time:

Yuma still doesn't understand, so finally Sakura says it in Japanese allowing Yuma to finally grasp the confession of love that Sakura has been using English to hide behind.

Sakura could've left the confession hidden since he intentionally said it in English, which Yuma couldn't understand. He could've continued hiding behind the language to conceal his feelings. He could've continued to distance himself from what he was saying, but instead, he moved into Japanese, where he couldn't hide the truth of what he was saying. And this is where Vegas is at. Thai is truth. English is deceit.

Just like Sakura, Vegas is concealing the truth of his emotions. Him speaking to Pete in English about his emotions is his way of creating a safety net for himself, so he can always have an escape strategy. How much English does Pete understand? Words? Phrases? Who knows? Vegas has no problem telling Pete he is an idiot in Thai, but when he compliments him, it's in English. As we saw, Pete's reaction was null when Vegas told him he was sexy (in English) compared to Pete being visibly upset when being called a fool (in Thai) moments later. Vegas has to shield himself as well as Pete from this (positive/real/new) emotion.

Unlike the two arguments above that Vegas, with heightened emotions, can't control his language use, I believe Vegas fully knows what he is doing. If he was emotionally code-switching, it would have happened when he thought Pete was going to kill himself, but it didn't.

Vegas does it when he tells Pete to shoot him. Previous to that, he was asking Pete WHY he wasn't shooting him, but he screamed the command in English -> he doesn't really want Pete to shoot him. The next time he speaks English is when he is saying sorry. However, the first time he says sorry, it's in Thai while Pete is facing away from him. The English sorry comes when he is looking directly in Pete's face. He has to acknowledge the pain he has caused, but once again, the safety net/barrier appears. Vegas is still guarded through English. The final sorry comes when he is looking down at Pete's hand. He is sorry, but English allows Vegas to distance himself from what he is feeling - remorse. When he was saying sorry in the safe house, he was doing it to stop Pete from harming himself and leaving, but here, outside the bar, he is truly sorry, and for a person who doesn't regret (as Pete pointed out), Vegas has to dissociate.

The deceit isn't targeted towards Pete, but himself. He is concealing how he feels when he uses English. He told Pete that Pete knew why he couldn't shoot him (implied that Pete loves him), but Vegas doesn't imply he, too, has those feelings, and he doesn't have to if he continues to separate himself from his words through language.

In the most unironic way, Vegas is having a Elsa moment, but instead of gloves, it's language - Conceal, don't feel, don't let them know.

#kinnporsche #kinnporsche the series #vegaspete #vegas x pete #vegas theerapanyakul #you're using my love as a weapon

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im-a-wonderling · 2 years

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Surrender ~ Peter Pevensie

Summary: When Miraz corners the Narnian army in Aslan’s How, Y/N has to do something.

Warnings: physical violence, war, self-sacrifice, Miraz being icky

Word count: 11.2k (this was originally only supposed to be a thousand words and the first draft was only 6.9k whoops)

My body was hosting a competition to see which would happen first: throwing up or passing out.

The moment the lookout alerted Caspian and the four Pevensies to the presence of Miraz’s army, the tension in Aslan’s How skyrocketed. Nobody was a fool; we all knew the odds. Not only were we surrounded, but the bloodthirsty Telmarine army was bigger, had more armor and weapons, and was led by a man that refused to compromise.

Caspian and I had more experience with that than anyone else here.

While the Pevensies were focused on gathering everyone necessary for a much-needed strategy meeting, Caspian pulled me into a secluded nook in the cavern hallway, leaving us alone completely except the distant clanking noises of the army preparing for war echoing down the corridor.

“Are we really going to go through with this?” Caspian asked, chewing his lip nervously, the flickering light of the torch casting shadows on his face. “Like, seriously, we’re going to just stand up in front of everyone and do it?”

I took a deep breath, trying to get my nerves back under control. I shoved my shaking hands into the pockets of my loose, roughspun pants. “Do you truly think this could work?”

Caspian shrugged. “You know Miraz better than I.”

“Which isn’t saying much,” I muttered.

“But you certainly know Peter better,” Caspian said. At my confused expression, he rolled his eyes. “I’m not blind, Y/N.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said shortly, but Caspian sent me a knowing look.

“Yes, you do.”

I ducked my head, staring at the rough stone underneath my feet.

He was right.

Since Trumpkin came to Aslan’s How with the Pevensies, Peter and I had been inseparable. We’d eat together, silently bind each other’s wounds, give the occasional touch that lingered too long to be innocent, and all manner of secret moments that had started out as friendly, but kept bringing us right up to the line between friends and something more.

The night after the attack on the Telmarine castle, Peter and I sat in one of the spots the lookouts used to keep watch, soaking in despair and watered down wine. The wine loosened our tongues and lowered our inhibitions, and there was only a little wine left in the bottom when a strange light appeared in Peter’s eyes. He said my name softer than it’d ever been said before.

He didn’t say anything more, and nor did I.

I’d known without asking that we were thinking the same thing: love had no place in war. But I also knew the heart’s desire burning in Peter’s gaze matched my own.

After that night, Peter and I started acting with renewed vigor, fighting for the freedom of Narnia, yes, but also for the freedom to see what could be.

Caspian’s plan could be the tipping point between losing and winning this war.

“If we do this...Peter is gonna hate me.”

Caspian didn’t disagree, which only made me more terrified of the consequences of what we were about to do. His weak smile—most likely intended to make me feel better—was so strained, it only capitalized on the desperate nature of the situation. “I think you’re the most important piece we can play.” My heart sank into a pool of dread, and Caspian caught my hand. “But if you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to.”

I could read the truth in his eyes.

He really was leaving it up to me. No one could really know what this plan would mean for me except him. If I said no, the plan would stop here, and he would never bring it up again, not even if we were all chained up in Miraz’s dungeon facing execution.

Personally, I preferred the dungeon.

But if I said no, and we lost?

I wouldn’t be alone in that dungeon. Nothing would break me as fast as seeing despair on all the faces of the people I could’ve saved had I been braver.

Doing this provided the advantage Peter so deeply craved.

But Peter would never see it that way.

Caspian squeezed my hand, bringing me out of my thoughts. “Y/N? Do you want to back out?”

I felt my heart speed up in my chest. This was an impossible decision. I needed more time to think it all through–

“There you guys are!” Edmund said, jogging up from behind Caspian. “C’mon, we’re meeting by the Stone Table.”

Caspian shot me a panicked look, but neither of us could say anything without being conspicuous and neither of us could linger without being suspicious. There was nothing left to do except trail behind Edmund.

As we walked through the carved corridors of Aslan’s How, my eyes lingered on the etchings depicting Narnia’s history.

Many of the carvings involved simple details, shallow etchings that made the picture stand out, and some of them were half as big as I was.

The earliest depiction was of Mr. Tumnus, the faun who’d invited Lucy for tea and later helped her escape in direct defiance of the White Witch. His bravery started a chain of events that led to the four Pevensie siblings bringing peace to Narnia.

Mr. and Mrs. Beaver were next. Without their guidance, Peter, Susan, and Lucy might not have made it to Aslan.

The nearer we drew to the stone table, the more embellished the pictures became. I saw the fox who saved the lives of the four kings and queens. I saw Father Christmas handing the horn to Susan. I saw Aslan bargaining with the White Witch for Edmund’s life.

Narnia’s history burst at the seams with examples of courage.

Indeed, the old Narnians had hidden from the Telmarines for centuries, waiting for the chance to take back their home. If I said no, if Caspian and I didn’t go through with our plan, my momentary cowardice might cost the Narnians everything.

Could I stand to have that on my conscience?

Everyone else was already in the cavern housing the stone table.

Glenstone spoke for the centaurs while Trumpkin appeared on behalf of the dwarves. As the only giant in the army, Wimbleweather was here too, though he hung back (he was much too shy to speak up in a meeting like this). The talking animals were represented by Reepicheep, Trufflehunter, and Patterwig, a talking squirrel that was perched on Glentsone’s equine back. Asterius, the minotaur, represented the darker Narnian races, the creatures who’d served the White Witch centuries ago. Edmund and his sisters were interspersed between all the others. Susan almost imperceptibly shifted closer to Caspian as he sat in between her and Doctor Cornelius.

Normally, I’d sit next to Peter, but he stood in front of the table, facing the group with arms tightly crossed and face tense.

Only once I sat beside Trumpkin did I realize I had far too much nervous energy to sit. I tried to keep my legs from bouncing up and down, but the effort didn’t last long.

“We know we’re outmatched,” Peter said as soon as everyone was settled. “I know I don’t have to explain the stakes, because we know what we all stand to lose. So we’ll discuss ideas, and at the end we all will vote.”

Not once did Peter’s voice waver as he explained his plan to challenge Miraz, use Aslan’s How in the battle, and send Lucy into the forest to find Aslan. He was not speaking as Peter Pevensie of Spare Oom, but Peter the Magnificent, High King of Narnia. The furtive shift between the two could be hard to discern if one wasn’t paying enough attention, as Peter showed leadership and integrity in both personas.

When he switched from Peter Pevensie to High King Peter, his gentle nature sharpened into gentility, his consideration to jurisdiction, and his courage to assertion.

No matter how much I pined over Peter Pevensie, he was not who Caspian and I needed for this plan. Peter Pevensie would veto it immediately, but perhaps High King Peter wouldn’t.

Caspian shot a furtive glance at me, reminding me that the decision needed to be made before Peter finished talking, and our window was rapidly closing.

I fought the lump in my throat to take a breath. If the Narnians won, I would be hardly be any worse for wear. If they lost…well, none of the scenarios that involved the Narnians losing was pleasant.

So what it came down to was faith. How much faith did I have in the capability of the Narnians, in Aslan, in Peter?

The answer was obvious: I trusted Peter to the ends of this world and every other.

I gave Caspian a subtle nod. He nodded back, sealing the deal.

The only question remaining, I realized as I anxiously waited for Peter to finish, was did Peter have the same amount of trust in me?

Peter spread his hands. “The floor is open. Anyone have anything they would like to add?”

Caspian immediately stood, drawing all eyes. “May I speak, High King?” Peter nodded, clearly expecting Caspian to present a united front by agreeing with the plan.

The Narnians still nursing offense regarding Peter’s sudden departure in the Golden Age respected Caspian, and the Narnians leery of Caspian’s Telmarine heritage respected Peter. The authority was stretched between them, so if they both agreed on the plan, it was bound to go through.

Caspian wiped his hands on his pants nervously, seeming terrified. I could hardly blame him as I was moments away from having an unfortunate accident myself. “I know how to get back the Narnian soldiers we lost in the battle on the castle.”

At the mention of that night, the room filled with whispers and mutters.

Peter’s eyebrows drew close together.

Everyone in this army knew how that painful defeat still weighed on him. In fact, when the two of us drank together, he’d confessed that he was willing to do anything to make up for it.

But right now, Peter didn’t say anything, which told me he smelled something fishy.

“Challenges traditionally have included conditions. As part of the challenge, we can make an exchange to get the hostages back.”

“What could we possibly exchange for forty hostages?” Reepicheep asked.

Caspian’s head swiveled to me, and with it, every other head in the room.

With knees shaking and blood running cold, I stood with the grace hammered into my since birth. “Me.”

“You?” Trufflehunter repeated, his badger nose lifting in the air, clearly smelling something fishy as well. “Begging your pardon, but why would they want you?”

“She’s a traitor, and Miraz don’t hold with no traitors,” Trumpkin said in his specially blunt way.

“I’m not just any Telmarine.” Every mite of my body resisted the words I was about to share, fighting to keep the secret that I’d kept for months. But now was the time for sacrifices. “My full name is Lady Y/N Glozelle.”

Patterwig’s tail puffed up. “General Glozelle is is is is is is your father?!” The habit of repeating words was common for talking squirrels, especially when they got overexcited.

I braced myself as best I could. “Yes.”

There was a beat of silence as everyone seemed to process this.

Then the room burst into noise, everyone talking over each other at once.

Trufflehunter covered his eyes with his paws. “This is insane.”

“What game are you playing here?” Trumpkin demanded, standing up to walk closer to me. “Are you a spy?”

“No, of course not!” I said, more sharply and defensively than I’d anticipated.

“This could work,” Edmund mumbled from behind me as Susan across from me crossed her arms with suspicion.

“She is a lady?” Reepicheep asked, crossing in front of Trumpkin to point a accusing finger at Caspian. “You said she was a sympathetic servant at the castle!”

To his credit, Caspian didn’t flinch.

Reepicheep rounded on me, more threatening than a talking mouse had any right to be. “Does the Telmarine believe we are untrustworthy?” He palmed his sword, which despite its smaller size could make me bleed just as well as any other sword. “If that’s the case, it speaks more to your character than ours!”

Murmurs swept through the room.

I stepped further into the center, taking great care not to look at Peter, for I knew my nerve would fail if I met his blue eyes. “None of you have ever had reason to question my allegiance before.” I made imploring eye contact with each person. “That shouldn’t change simply because of my heritage.”

Grumbling reached my ears, growing louder and louder. Caspian and I looked at each other helplessly, wondering how to proceed.

From behind me came one word.

“Quiet.”

The talking immediately ceased.

My response was instinctual, like Peter’s voice carried some sort of gravity. Before I made the decision to focus on Peter, I’d already shifted to face him.

His face spoke of the face of High King Peter, eerily calm with unruffled authority. But his knuckles spoke of the knuckles of Peter Pevensie, clenching the hilt of his sword so tightly, they whitened.

Fighter versus diplomat.

Actions versus words.

King versus man.

High King Peter met my gaze. “Forty hostages for one member of nobility is uneven. They’ll never make the trade.”

We’d known someone would point that out eventually.

“Y/N?” Caspian prompted, waiting for me to explain.

I opened my mouth, but my voice failed.

I didn’t know what expression I bore, but dread wove through Peter’s features. He leaned back, resting his weight on the Stone Table, like he was praying Aslan’s strength would course through him. “What is it?” he asked. “What else is there?”

I couldn’t tell him, not when his face was like a slab of stone. I looked to Caspian for strength, and he nodded encouragingly.

“The night Miraz’s son was born,” I began, my voice shaky, “he was thrilled. He’d wanted a son for years, and now that he had one, he wanted as many as he could. But it took years for Queen Prunaprismia to conceive. She wasn’t likely to bear him another child, so Miraz decided he wanted to take a second wife.”

Suddenly the only sounds in the room were the noises that floated down the hallway. I wasn’t sure anyone in the room was breathing as everyone followed the train of thought through to its conclusion.

“You?” Peter asked, his voice breaking under the burden of the word. His mask had broken, and the whole tangled mess of Peter Pevensie’s horror and fury bled through.

I had to avert my eyes.

Fortunately, Caspian seemed to understand. He stepped forward, allowing me to step back. “General Glozelle offered Y/N’s hand in marriage, and my uncle accepted, under the condition that General Glozelle was to kill me in my sleep that very night.”

Trufflehunter turned to Doctor Cornelius. “You got them both out.”

Doctor Cornelius nodded. “I overheard the deal being made and moved quickly to get Y/N and Caspian out of the castle. We didn’t have much time because-” The doctor stopped, shooting me a glance.

I wanted to tell him it was alright, that he could share everything, but I was too overcome to get myself together.

“Miraz was eager to make the match. He talked of Y/N’s beauty and–” Doctor Cornelius paused, taking off his spectacles to wipe them with his tunic and then place them back on his nose.

My eyes slid to Peter, my hands itching to cover his ears for this next part.

“And?” Trumpkin prompted.

“And he started, urm, dicussing her, uh...apparent fertility.”

Peter’s right eye twitched. Everyone in the room cringed and shifted where they sat, the story sitting about as well as I’d expected. Peter faced the stone table, putting his back to everyone, clearly trying to hide whatever expression was on his face.

Guilt wrought it’s way through me, and I started wishing there was a way to have saved Peter from all this. But there was no time for frivolous things like wishes.

I stepped forward again, and everyone’s eyes fell on me. The air felt stifling, but I knew it was just the effect of the obvious pity filling the room. I shoved the unpleasant feelings aside. “Miraz wants me, and he’d be willing to do a lot to get me back, even return the hostages.”

Trumpkin shook his head. “You’re still a traitor. Even if Miraz didn’t know about your personal allegiances, you disappeared from the castle at the same time as Caspian. It’s not a leap to think that the two of you left together.”

For once, I was thankful for the dwarf’s confrontation, because while every one else in the room regarded me like a whimpering puppy, he was bringing the conversation back to the topic at hand. “What if I was a hostage? I wasn’t at the attack on the castle, and no one saw me leaving with Caspian and the doctor, so at least there wouldn’t be any conflict in my story. Beyond that, it’s just a matter of making it convincing.”

“What do you you you you you you mean by ‘convincing’?”

“All of us have old scrapes and bruises, and since rations have been low, we’re all a bit starved.” I shrugged. “With some fresher wounds, I would look the part of a prisoner.”

"Absolutely not,” Peter interjected. “We’re not doing this.”

Here it was, the part where Caspian and I had to be more convincing than the most influential monarch in the history of Narnia.

“Now, hold on,” Reepicheep argued, never one to back down from a fight. “Y/N is the one who has to risk it all here. If she’s willing to do it, so why shouldn’t we?”

“We don’t even know if those soldiers are still alive,” Asterius rumbled. A visible ripple cascaded through the room as the various people tried to work around the idea that the forty soldiers we lost were dead.

“If they aren’t, then we don’t make the trade,” Glenstone answered. “There’s no harm done.”

“Well,” Trumpkin approached the stone table to stand beside Peter, nonverbally declaring what side he was on, “what if Miraz decides to kill those who go with the challenge to take Y/N back instead of humoring the conditions of the challenge?”

“That is hardly the impression Miraz will want to make on the lords as a new king.” Caspian’s voice was steady and sure, showing he was every bit as much a leader as Peter. “Miraz must maintain his image. He must be fair, but if he doesn’t get Y/N back, if he chooses not to make the exchange, he will have Y/N’s father to answer to. Glozelle has just as many alliances as Miraz.”

“But if Miraz agrees to the duel, then why do we need the extra soldiers?” Lucy asked. “The conditions of the challenge state that whomever loses must surrender.”

“The Telmarines aren’t going to stick to the duel.” Susan’s voice was grim. “They’re itching for a fight, so we need to tip the scales in our favor however we can.”

Trumpkin frowned. “We don’t even know that she,” he jutted a finger at me, distrust lacing his voice like nightshade in wine, “cares about our cause! She could be playing both sides, perhaps using us as a means to an end.” The accusation stung, but I couldn’t blame him. Nikabrik’s betrayal affected him the most. It would be natural for him to see duplicity everywhere.

“Y/N is trustworthy.” Glenstone’s normally smooth tone sounded a bit uneven. “I know it.”

“If the noble centaur believes in the lady’s integrity, then I do too,” Reepicheep announced. “And if the lady is in the Telmarine camp, why, she can sabotage some of their weapons and armor.”

“Not a bad idea,” Edmund mused.

“But it’s too big a risk!” Trufflehunter exclaimed. “What will the Telmarines do if they find out she’s working against them?”

“Now is the time for risks!” Susan got to her feet, walking over to Caspian. “If we don’t take this risk, we risk losing.”

Suddenly everyone was on their feet, all arguing over every imaginable aspect of this plan. Some argued that it was moronic to try while others argued it was moronic not to try. Overwhelmed, I hung back, leaning against one of the columns for support as I tried to make sense of it all.

Only Wimbleweather the giant didn’t join the fray. His gentle eyes just took it all in. He hasn’t said a thing this whole time, I realized. What was running through his mind?

“Have you all quite finished?” Peter shouted, visibly losing his temper. All fell silent, the limelight shifting to him. He stood on the step of the stone table, elevating him a head above everyone else. His eyes blazed, and his fists were clenched. “We’re not doing this.”

“Peter.” I drew near, surprising even myself with my interjection. All the heads twisted in my direction. “It’s not your decision to make.”

Peter’s nostrils flared. “It’s not a decision at all.”

“Yes, it is.”

“If your safety in that camp can’t be guaranteed, then no, it isn’t.”

“You can’t guarantee I’ll be safe here either.”

Peter glared at me so fiercely, I was very nearly cowed. Only knowing we were being watched and my defense of this plan was being measured kept me from remaining silent.

“This move could be the difference between winning and losing."

“Not like this.” Peter folded his arms, resolute and unyielding. “We can’t win like this.”

I ached to reach out and comfort him, but I couldn’t, because I would only be comforting Peter Pevensie. I sent him as pleading a look as I could. “There are casualties in every war.”

“I don’t need you to lecture me on war.” Peter growled. “I helped win a war before your ancestors were even born!”

“If I may interject,” Doctor Cornelius said, walking to stand in between Peter and I. “High King, you started this meeting by saying we would take a vote.”

Peter paled, his lips parting in realization as he remembered what he’d said. Genuine fear flickered in his face for the first time since the meeting started. He glanced around at the people in the room, realizing that their opinions were about to rule one way or another.

“I believe the time has come to vote.”

Without instruction, everyone wordlessly returned to their sitting positions, turning to face the doctor.

“As the mediator and as a Telmarine, I will abstain from the vote. If you are in favor, say ‘aye’. If you are opposed, say ‘nay’. Majority rules.” Doctor Cornelius faced Peter. “High King?”

“Nay,” Peter said immediately, with a tone that promised repercussions for any who dared to say anything different.

“Prince Caspian?”

“Aye.”

“Lady Y/N?”

I couldn’t help but notice Doctor Cornelius’s use of my title. “Aye.” Peter’s eyes flicked towards me, and upon seeing them, I looked away, unable to face the storm brewing.

“Queen Susan?”

“Aye.”

“King Edmund?”

Edmund scratched the top of his head and let out a sigh. “Aye.”

Four to one. Three more votes and the ayes would have it. Terror seized my insides as I started to realize how close this plan was to going through.

“Queen Lucy?”

The young woman shook her head frantically. “Nay.” Caspian let out a frustrated sigh, but I knew Lucy’s compassion would never stand for putting me in direct risk, especially when she believed so fiercely that Aslan would intervene.

“Trumpkin?”

“Nay,” the dwarf replied with a look of deep distrust thrown in my direction.

“Trufflehunter?”

“I’m sorry,” Trufflehunter said, to whom I wasn’t sure. “Nay.”

We were tied, four to four.

“Reepicheep?”

The talking mouse drew his sword and crossed it over his chest. “Aye.”

“Patterwig?”

“My allegiance is with with with with with the High King.” Patterwig bounded over to Peter, coming to rest beside his foot. “Nay.”

Tied again.

“Asterius?”

“Nay.”

I sucked in a breath. Peter shot a glance at me, having done the math too. Six to five against. One more nay, and the nays would win.

“Glenstone?”

Glenstone’s eyes rested on Doctor Cornelius, then on Peter, then Caspian, and finally came to a stop at me. “Aye.”

Tied again.

All attention moved to Wimbleweather, who looked quite ready to run from the room.

“You’re the tie-breaker,” Doctor Cornelius said. “What say you?”

I didn’t know much about the giant—no one did as he preferred to keep to himself, being the only giant in the Narnian army. If he’d known before this that the fate of Narnia would very well rest in his hands, he might’ve declined to be a part of the meeting.

“Lady Y/N,” Wimbleweather said softly, “are you truly willing to make this sacrifice?” He held up a finger before I could say anything. “Don’t answer right away.”

“Y/N-“ Peter began warningly, but multiple people shushed him.

Wimbleweather’s gentle eyes did not stray or probe. He simply waited.

I glanced around the room, committing everyone’s face to memory as I reminded myself of what I was fighting for. Whatever happened, I would not remember these people as prisoners, slaves, or unmarked graves, but as determined warriors.

The one thing that gave me pause was the distress on Peter’s face. Strategic, detached High King Peter was gone. In his place was a scared young man, silently begging me with minute shakes of his head to back out of this.

“For Narnia,” I said, addressing Wimbleweather, “I’d do it a hundred times over.”

The giant nodded, seemingly unsurprised. “Then I say aye.”

For a moment, his reply seemed to echo through the room. No one said anything. Doctor Cornelius seemed speechless, but he likely saw no reason in declaring what we all already knew.

“The majority wins.” Edmund said finally, his voice loud enough for everyone but his face directed towards Peter. “We’re going through with it.”

Peter surveyed the people in the room with such an expression of complete betrayal, it made my stomach swirl with shame. I couldn’t even be happy that our plan worked, because getting the plan through was not the hard part of this plan. Similarly, it was not victory that shone in Caspian’s face, but resignation.

“Peter?” I said tentatively.

Without so much as a word, Peter stalked out of the cavern.

“Pulling your punches isn’t going to do any good,” I reminded Glenstone. “We’re trying to make it believable.”

Caspian and Doctor Cornelius were aiding the four kings and queens in preparing the challenge while the others took it upon themselves to spread the word of our plan.

I hadn’t seen Peter since he left this very cavern.

The centaur and I stood by the stone table, and I was doing my very best not to stall, even as my whole body trembled with anxiety. Glenstone raised his hand, and I flinched, shutting my eyes and waiting for the blow.

But the hit never came.

Glenstone dropped his arm and shook his head. “I can’t do this.” His hooves clopped on the stone floor as he backed away from me. “I can’t hurt one of my own people.”

Own people?

He considered me one of his own people?

My heart swelled, and I almost threw my arms around Glenstone for his words, but that would only make his task harder. “I’m sorry to be asking this of you, but it is necessary.” I tried to smile reassuringly, ignoring the thrumming where my stomach used to be.

Glenstone shook his head slowly before reaching out. Involuntarily, I jerked away from him, but he was only placing his hands on my shoulders.

“Sorry,” I said with an awkward laugh. “Just jumpy.” I squared my shoulders. “I’m ready now.”

I’d extensively prepared myself, and in that extensive preparation, I’d decided I was going to be silent and take every blow in stride. But with every trepidatious moment that passed, I got closer to bleating like a fearful goat.

Glenstone didn’t do anything for a long moment, just increasing his grip on my shoulders.

Then, without warning, he shoved me to one side, hard.

I lost my balance, raising my hands to catch myself as the ground rushed nearer.

Pain burst in my left wrist, so sharp and sudden, I let out a gasp. The vicious sensation that burned through the joint, felt new and different than pain I’d felt before. But then again, did pain ever grow old? Rolling onto my back, I clutched the wrist to my chest and breathed in time with the throbbing.

It didn’t help.

I squeezed my eyes shut against the instant regret, reminding myself of the situation.

Gentle hands helped me sit up, and I blinked to see Glenstone’s troubled face peering down at me.

“Halfway there,” he said lightly. It was probably intended to be encouraging, but being punctuated with dull stabs of pain, it only sounded ominous.

“Okay.” I struggled to my feet, facing Glenstone again. “Let’s go.”

Glenstone didn’t even give me the chance to breathe before his hand shot out, striking me in the face.

A cry of pain broke through my lips as the breath was knocked out of my lungs.

Glenstone hit me a second time, harder. His fist collided with my jaw, my bottom lip accidentally getting caught between my teeth. This time, the momentum sent me backwards, crashing into the stone wall behind me with such force,.

“Stop!”

Having slidden down the rock to sit on the floor, I lifted my spinning head, trying to see who’d shouted.

Before I regained my wits, a warm hand cupped my stinging cheek.

“Y/N.”

“Peter?” I asked blearily, blinking a few times to return the world to the correct orientation. When my vision stopped spinning, I saw it was Peter crouching beside me with such great affliction in his eyes, my heart ached more than any other part of me.

“Y/N,” he said so quietly and gently, it broke my heart.

“I’m okay,” I gasped. “I’m good, I’m good.”

Glenstone kneeled beside us as best he could.

“Can you give us a minute?” Peter asked the centaur without looking away from me.

“My king–”

Peter whipped his head around. “You voted for this.” The accusing undercurrent in his voice didn’t go unnoticed. “It was your right to vote,” Peter acknowledged. “But I’ll thank you to get away from her.”

“He doesn’t mean that,” I mumbled. “Thank you, Glenstone.”

Glenstone glanced at me with an expression that said ‘good luck’ and got up, lumbering through the doorway, leaving me alone with Peter.

I brought my wrist to my chest again, thanking Aslan that I didn’t have to face another blow. One look at Peter’s face, and I knew I wouldn’t be facing the High King either.

Peter’s eyes fixed upon the wall beside my head as he withdrew the hand that had been cupping my face. He didn’t straighten from his crouch nor lean away from me. I waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. He just stared, his jaw clenched tight.

“Are you here to join in the fun?” I finally asked.

“Don’t,” Peter said sharply, his blue eyes shooting to mine. “That’s not funny.”

I tried to get up, but I only managed to move about an inch before falling limp against the stone again with a pained groan.

“What did Glenstone do to you?” Peter murmured, his thumb gently touching the part of my lip that was starting to swell.

“Just what he needed to,” I replied as best I could. When Peter pulled his hand away, both of us stared at the bit of blood on his thumb. I ran my tongue over the wound, the salty taste confirming that my lip was indeed bleeding.

“How many times did he hit you?” Peter asked. “How badly does it hurt?”

I shook my head, which immediately I knew was a mistake as my vision spun a bit. “Doesn’t matter,” was all I said.

“What can I do?” Peter asked. “Lucy has her cordial, but–”

“–but that would defeat the point.” I tried for a laugh, but it sounded like a screech. “Glenstone would just have to hit me again.”

Peter stood, putting some distance between us.

“Peter.”

He stopped, only a pace away from the door. “What?”

“Don’t go.” He ran a hand over his face with such vexation, my guilt compounded. “I know you’re angry with me. That’s okay. Just be angry here.”

Peter braced his hands on his hips, his expression like thunder. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you were never going to like the plan.”

“You know perfectly well that’s not what I’m talking about,” Peter snapped. “Why didn’t you tell me about who you are?”

“Because that’s not who I really am. Come on, if anyone knows that, you do.”

“Do I?” Peter asked, his nostrils flaring in time with his temper. “Because now I’m not sure I know you at all.”

I sighed. I knew he didn’t mean it, but that didn’t keep it from stinging.

“I’m sorry.” Peter threaded a his hand through his hair, making it stand up in multiple directions “You’re right. I’m angry.”

“I’m doing what I think is necessary. If you were in my position, you’d do the same.”

Peter let out a quiet huff, coming closer. “You’re right.” He came closer, lowering himself to the ground to sit beside me.

We sat in silence, and it was in the silence that I realized how much pain I was in. My wrist, my cheekbone, my lip, my back, all of them stung from Glenstone’s strikes. Funny how attacks from a friend hurt more than attacks from an enemy.

Hopefully, there was enough time before the challenge for the bruising to show.

I chuckled.

“What?” Peter asked.

“I was just thinking how odd it is to be hoping for bruising and swelling.”

Peter didn’t laugh.

I didn’t expect him to, for I couldn’t imagine all the thoughts and worries churning inside that mind of his. Peter was a worrier, probably always had been. Whether that was the product of being the oldest, of his childhood, or simply was part of his personality, he was always fretting about something, and in wartime, there was no shortage of things to fret about.

Today had been particularly trying for him, which was at least partially my fault.

“It’s forty hostages for one hostage,” I said finally. There was no point in pretending like Peter wasn’t still mulling over the plan in his head. “That’s solid math.”

Peter jutted out his chin stubbornly. “I’ve always hated math.” He turned his head, looking at me. “You deserve better.” His voice was so soft, I nearly didn’t hear him.

“War doesn’t care about the deserving.” I looked down at my wrist. “And Miraz definitely doesn’t.”

“But why does it have to be you?” Peter asked, his voice still quiet, but with a demanding edge now. “I would give anything to–” He broke off, looking away from me.

If only he knew how much I would give for him to finish that sentence.

With things how they were, I couldn’t ask that of him.

As slow as I could manage, I leaned into Peter. When he didn’t react, I uncertainly rested my unbruised cheek on his shoulder. He shifted a bit, and for a moment, I worried he was uncomfortable.

But then his hand gently moved towards mine. When his fingers wrapped around my injured arm, moving my wrist towards him, a jolt of pain ran up the limb. I hissed through my teeth, causing him to pause. “How much does it hurt?” he asked gently.

“It’s fine.”

“A lot then,” he said, more to himself than to me. Then, he leaned his head down. Before I could ask him what he was doing, he gingerly pressed his warm, soft lips to the junction of where my hand met my arm.

“Hurts less now,” I managed to say, my voice high-pitched and breathy.

Peter let out a very satisfied hum, and something sparked in his eyes. He placed another feather-light kiss on my wrist, slightly further down my arm.

“If you keep going,” I said with a slight rasp, “you’re going to fry my brain.”

Peter chuckled, but straightened again, resting his head against the stone wall at our backs. “I don’t know what outcome to hope for,” he confessed lowly, gently running his fingers over my wrist. “Because if Miraz accepts, it means Narnia has a fighting chance, but...but I lose you.”

I shook my head, and the world spun less than it did last time. “You’re not losing me. I’m on your side, regardless of which side of the field I’m standing on.”

“But what if I lose? It’s bad enough that I’ll be letting everyone down, but if I know that man,” Peter shuddered, “is going to marry you and force you to have his children?”

“That will never happen,” I swore. Too late, I realized I’d spoken with far too much conviction.

Peter’s blue eyes rested on my face, and never had I been so examined by a simple look. “You’ve planned something.” I avoided looking at him, but Peter caught my chin, bringing it back towards him. “Tell me.”

I longed to, and yet, how could I? How could I look Peter in the eye and tell him that I would sooner fling myself off of a tower in the Telmarine castle than marry Miraz and bear his sons?

“There’s going to be a battle,” I said instead. “I can feel it in my bones. And I will fight until there is no breath left in me.”

Peter lifted his hand, gently covering my lips with his fingers. “Don’t talk like that.”

I dodged his hand. “I’d rather die as a Narnian than go back to be a stranger in my homeland.”

“I’d rather you live.”

Impatience curled in my chest, giving me enough energy to get to my feet. “I can’t believe you.” I stalked away from him.

“Wait!” I heard the sounds of scrambling as Peter leapt to his feet.

“Why are you denying me this?” I asked the wall, not wanting to look at Peter’s face during this argument. “I’ve fought in this war like everyone else. Why should my fate be different from theirs?”

“I can’t fight that duel unless I know that you’re going to live either way.”

I spun to face him. “Are you commanding me?” I asked. “As my king, are you ordering me to prioritize my life over everything else?”

The light from the torches caught on the mistiness in Peter’s eyes. “I’m not ordering,” he said softly, “I’m begging.” He stepped forward, reaching out to grab my uninjured hand. “And I’m not begging as your king.” He brought my hand to his chest.

At first, all I could feel was the rough tunic he wore, which was certainly not common garb for a king. Warmth seeped into my fingers from his skin. Every time I’d ever touched Peter, his skin radiated heat like a furnace.

Then I could feel his heart hammer away against my fingers at a rate equal to mine. The longer I could feel his heartrate, the more I realized why people referred to the core or center of things as the heart. To get close enough to the heart meant one was close enough to cause trouble.

It was an expression of trust.

Somehow, without even using words, Peter had somehow told me one of the most tender things I’d ever heard.

“Who are you begging as?” I whispered, even though I was sure I already knew the answer. I felt Peter’s chest rise as he took a large breath and then fall as he let it out.

“As a man who loves you.”

There it was.

Laid bare and complete.

I furrowed my brows, focusing on the hand still resting on Peter’s chest. “And if...” I swallowed hard, trying to gather my words. “If I were to ask you not to duel Miraz, and I begged as a woman who loves you...what would you do?”

Peter didn’t answer, and I nodded slowly.

“You are the high king of Narnia. As the high king, it is your right and your responsibility to duel Miraz.” Peter nodded grimly. I removed my hand from him, feeling much colder. “And it is my right and my responsibility to finish what I started.”

“You’re right,” Peter said after a beat. “You’re right.” He hung his head. “It’s not fair of me.” The defeat in his voice was a far deeper wound to carry.

For all our care and intentionality to avoid this very scenario—when our personal desires and our duty misaligned—we’d ended up here just the same, only with fewer moments to spend together.

I couldn’t figure out if desperation somehow made me feel braver or if it was simply a impulse, but I reached out to him, cradling his cheek, comfortingly running my thumb across his skin. Guiding his chin up with my hand, I saw that his eyes were wet with tears. I almost asked what was wrong, but that would be a foolish question, because everything was wrong.

“What are you thinking?” I asked instead, dropping my hand.

“I’m thinking I don’t know if–” Peter drew in a shuddering breath. “I don’t know if I’m going to be able to let you go, damn the consequences.” His eyes climbed my face, finally reaching some point beneath my nose. “And I’m thinking…I’d kiss you right now,” he murmured, brushing his thumb against my bottom lip, “if I wasn’t worried I was going to hurt you.”

My heart leapt. “I’m thinking you’d hurt me more by not kissing me.”

Peter didn’t react much beyond watching me. He searched my face for so long, I started to wonder if he was expected to find a rough edge or a seam that he could slide his fingers under and rip up a façade. But I could have no façade with him.

“This isn’t how love is supposed to happen,” I murmured. “It’s not supposed to make doing the right thing harder.”

A dead smile spread across Peter’s face, accentuating the lifeless look in his eye. “All’s fair in love and war.”

Perhaps for the first time, I fully understood that saying. It wasn’t a statement to excuse crimes; it was a bitter truth about life.

Peter pressed his forehead to mine, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m going to win that duel,” he said, his voice rough, his grip on the back of my neck shaking slightly. “I promise you.”

I gripped his arm. “Okay.”

“I’m going to win it because we, we need more time.”

I wanted to tell him that once this war was won, we had the rest of our lives, but I would not raise his hopes falsely. Not when we were fighting in a war. Not when I was leaving in the morning.

“We have tonight,” I whispered,

Wordlessly, he pulled me into him. He held me so tightly I knew what he was thinking.

It’s not enough.

I knew the moment I awoke that our time was up, for I felt too refreshed to have only slept for a few hours. Even so, I kept my eyes closed as I gently traced the arm wrapped around my waist, ignoring the pangs of pain from my wrist as my fingers dragged against the rough fabric of Peter’s tunic. This was worth it.

“It must be morning by now.” The drowsiness in Peter’s voice made such delicious assurances, I opened my eyes.

His hair stuck up in the front, and there were indentations on his left cheek from where he’d slept on his own arm. Even his eyebrows spoke of the natural unvarnished semblance that came from sleep. I lifted a hand to smooth them down, but when they were smoothed, I was too reluctant to move away.

So I traced the crooked lane of his nose. “Did you break your nose once?” I asked as my finger reached his soft lips.

Peter nodded. “My face was swollen for days.” His breath warmed my fingertip, causing goosebumps to erupt on my arms.

“How does my face look?” I asked, wishing there was a mirror to look in.

Peter wrinkled his nose. “Purple.”

“My favorite color,” I mumbled, tracing my fingers up his jaw to his earlobe.

“Is it?” Peter asked, and I nodded my head. “How did I not know that?”

“Well, the only colors that matter in this army are red and gold.”

Peter’s smile turned teasing. “Maybe I should change Narnia’s colors to purple.”

I laughed. “What a romantic gesture.”

He smirked. “I’m a romantic guy.” We laughed together as I followed the curve of Peter’s ear. “Are you going to eat breakfast?” Peter asked softly.

I buried my face into his chest, suddenly feeling shy. “No. I’m a hostage, remember?”

“I don’t know how Narnia does things now, but in the Golden Age, we fed our hostages.”

"Don’t start,” I warned, tapping his chest in admonishment. “What’s done is done.”

A moment of silence passed.

“I should get ready,” I said reluctantly, starting to sit up, but a hand settled on the back of my head.

“Stay. Just for a minute.” The hand started rubbing comforting circles onto my temple.

I conceded, pressing my cheek to his torso. “How are you feeling about the duel?”

Peter’s chest depressed underneath me as he let out a sigh. “It will be what it will be.” His fingers moved up my forehead to lightly brush my hair.

“Will it be too distracting for you if I’m at the duel?”

The hand froze. “I want you there. I want to see you and know that you’re okay.”

“Will it be distracting?” I repeated. Peter’s silence was louder than any admission. I lifted my head to press a cheek to Peter’s jaw, the closest part of him I could reach. “I’ll make up some excuse about being too scared to go to the duel.”

Peter frowned, but nodded.

I sighed. “Now it’s really time for me to start getting ready.”

Peter’s grip tightened, and I knew his instincts were fighting him harder than Miraz ever could. “I don’t think I can watch you leave.”

I sat up. “Then we say our goodbyes now.”

Peter sat up, looping his arms around me and resting his chin on my head. I shut my eyes tight. My future teetered between two outcomes. Shortly, I would walk into the Telmarine camp, masquerading as an underling to my enemies.

But I wasn’t there yet.

In this moment, I was with the man I loved.

And it was the best moment the Lion could’ve afforded me.

“We’ve decided that Edmund, Glenstone, and Wimbleweather will accompany the challenge,” Caspian said with poise. Without Peter there, Caspian was taking the lead with all the monarchs and representatives. “Remember, Miraz is tied by honor. As a new king, his position is unstable, and acting with dishonor does not instill the confidence he needs to solidify his reign.”

Edmund nodded with a very studious look on his face, and I remembered what the queens had told me about Edmund academic successes.

“When will they leave?” Reepicheep asked.

“As soon as Y/N’s ready.”

All eyes turned towards me. I gulped. “I guess that means I have to go get ready.”

Susan stood, holding the dress I’d been wearing when I fled the castle. “We couldn’t find your Telmarine shoes.”

“Barefoot it is then,” I said as brightly as I could manage, determined to keep my fear from showing.

I took the gown from Susan, looking down at it with everything incompatible with fondness. It had many a wrinkle and snag on it, but it didn’t matter much. I was trying to win a war, not score a marriage.

Apparently, I’d already scored one.

I left the room for privacy. Even though my time with the Narnians had been brief compared to my years spent in Telmarine court, I couldn’t help feeling like an imposter in my own dress. Deciding not to linger on it, I changed quickly and re-entered the room, where Glenstone stood, holding a rope and wearing a embarrassed look.

“Miraz will expect a hostage to be bound and gagged and possibly blindfolded.”

I swallowed, already imagining the rope burns I’d get from the coarse cords. “Alright then,” I brandished my wrists, “tie me up.”

“Goodbyes first,” Caspian said softly.

I shook my head. “No. No goodbyes.” I gazed around the room at all the Narnians here. Whether they’d voted aye or nay, I didn’t care, because they were still my family. I swallowed hard. “I will see you all tomorrow, after the duel.”

I walked up to Glenstone, holding up my hands.

While everyone watched, Glenstone looped the rope around my wrists tightly, giving me no room to separate my wrists, a fact that made my injured wrist smart. As my mobility was removed, the trickles of fear started.

This was really happening. I was headed back to the Telmarines of my own free will.

My breathing sped up.

“Hey,” Caspian said quietly, drawing my gaze. “It’ll be okay. It’s just for a day, the duel’s tomorrow morning. It’s just 24 hours.”

I nodded like a helmet being bobbed on a string. He was right, it was just a measly 24 hours. I could do anything for 24 hours. “I’m good, I’m ready.”

Judging by the faces of everyone around me, no one believed me.

“Wait!”

I spun in time to see Peter jogging into the room.

He breathed heavily as he walked solidly up to me.

“Peter?” I managed to ask before his arms came around me, his lips meeting mine.

My lip stung but it couldn’t compare to the searing pain in my chest, as if Peter was taking a red hot poker and pressing his brand onto my heart, not knowing that it was already marked as his.

Fearing I’d lose my balance and fall head-first into a bottomless pit, I rested my bound hands on his chest. Then Peter’s hand abandoned my face for the back of my neck, holding in me in place as he kissed me with enough care to make me slip at the edge of the pit.

Too soon, he broke away, brushing his fingers down my cheek. “You stay safe, okay? I’m counting on you.”

I wanted to tell him not to worry, but I knew he would. I wanted to swear up and down that everything would go as we hoped, but I didn’t know that for sure. We couldn’t make any promises or grand declarations to make the other feel better.

This was war.

“I’ll try my absolute best.”

I scanned his face, trying to memorize the soft gold locks, the nose that clearly had been broken once upon a time, the searing blue of his eyes, and the lips screwed up like he was trying not to cry.

“Pete, I have to go,” I whispered.

Peter shut his eyes, nodding.

Then, abruptly, he pulled away, like tearing off the bandage was the only possible way to part, and with his expression of deep pain and grief, I wondered how gaping his wound was.

He left the room, and only then did I remember the other people in the room.

I swiftly glanced at them, fully expecting teasing or grossed out expressions.

Instead, I saw there was not a dry eye in the room.

Edmund quietly cleared his throat. “Time for the gag,” he said. “Any last words?”

I couldn’t tell if the king was trying to be humorous or gracious. “Do what it takes to sell this, okay? Whether it’s kicking me around or shouting at me, just sell it.”

Edmund glanced over his shoulder at the doorway his brother had just exited through. “But Peter-”

“-will never know,” I finished. “Promise me.”

From the look on his face, he would rather eat his own foot than make that promise, but he gave one single nod, and that was enough for me.

He tied the gag before pulling a sack over my head. The limited air didn’t help me in trying not to hyperventilate, and no matter how loosely Edmund tied the gag, there was no way to feel comfortable with a piece of cloth preventing me from closing my mouth.

A hand rested on my shoulder, too large to be Edmund or Glenstone’s, so I assumed it was Wimbleweather guiding me as I walked. After some time, I felt the ground underneath my bare feet turn from stone to grass that made my feet itch like fire, and the heat of sunshine.

We must’ve been walking through the field between the Telmarines and Aslan’s How. After what felt like only a few minutes, Wimbleweather pulled me to a harsh stop.

I could hear Edmund verbally sparring with Miraz, but I couldn’t hear the specific negotiating of the terms of the deal. The bag over my head muffled everything. I didn’t know how far away from them I was. The only thing I could truly see or feel was the heavy hand on my shoulder.

But even if I couldn’t hear what he was saying, the sound of Miraz’s raised voice left a sour taste in my mouth. It was probably a blessing that there was no food in my stomach if I was about to see the unprincipled king again.

The heavy hand clamped around my upper arm, dragging me forward and pushing me down so hard that I legitimately fell to my knees.

“There’s another condition of the challenge,” I heard Edmund say.

I did not know what I was expecting when the sack was roughly pulled off of my head, but it certainly wasn’t what I saw.

The lords all sat in a tight u-formation with Mirax in the center, my father on his immediate right and Lord Sopespian on Miraz’s immediate left. Grating noises filled the tent as every noble pushed their chair back and rose to their feet, staring at my revealed face in horror.

My father let out a choked sound. “Y/N?”

“Dad?” I said, trying to sound on the verge of tears. The gag muffled my speech, but everyone knew what I’d said.

“Unhand my daughter immediately!” my father thundered. Lord Mollegim elbowed my father to be quiet, but Lord Sorgis grabbed Lord Mollegim’s arm with a warning look.

Within moments, all the lords were squabbling, and a meager rush of satisfaction coursed through me. They’d proven Caspian’s assertion true; my father had many influential allies, and Miraz had his work cut out for him.

“Stop!” Miraz barked, and all the lords except my father froze, looking between their king, Edmund, and myself.

“What did you savages do to her?” my father growled.

Edmund placed a hand on my shoulder, and I made a show of trying to pull away. “When she found out the army was here, she tried to escape.” Clever Edmund, giving a specific reason for my injuries that made me appear even more in line with the Telmarine cause. “The deal is clear. Give us the forty Narnians you have as prisoners and we will give you your woman back.”

Miraz smiled, but he was clearly on edge. “Well, I’m afraid we didn’t let those savages live, so you’re out of luck with that condition of the challenge.”

Suddenly, Edmund grabbed my hair with uncharacteristic harshness and used it to pull me to my feet, a real cry of pain escaping from my lips. “Then we’ll take her back with us.”

“Wait!” cried my father’s voice. “Don’t hurt her, you can have the hostages!” Miraz shot my father a dirty look, but my father was too focused on me to see it.

“Lord Glozelle, think about this,” Lord Mollegim said. “It’s not wise to–”

“That is my daughter!” my father roared back.

Edmund didn’t release my hair, waiting for Miraz’s move.

He wasn’t the only one.

All the lords were looking at Miraz, some craning their necks to see better, every one of them seemingly holding their breaths, waiting for the verdict.

“I accept the challenge.”

“With every one of the conditions?” Edmund pressed.

Miraz’s lip curled, showing his distaste for Edmund. “With…all the conditions,” he reluctantly agreed. “Bring forth the hostages.”

The sack was once again pulled over my head.

Edmund and I had agreed before I’d been tied up that the sack would be kept over my head as the hostages were revealed so the hostages wouldn’t accidentally expose me.

I heard lots of fumbling and activity, but through it all Edmund’s hand rested on my shoulder.

After a great deal of time, Edmund squeezed my shoulder and then his hand disappeared.

Immediately the sack was torn off my head, revealing my father who immediately untied the gag. “Y/N, my darling, are you alright?”

“Get this off of me!” I wailed, raising my tied arms.

My dad pulled a dagger out of his belt, immediately cutting through the bindings. “What did they do to you?” he asked, pulling me into his chest and cradling me. I covered my face with my hands, trying to create a buffer for my aching face.

“The Narnians must pay for this,” my father growled. I didn’t know whom he was speaking to, but there was a murmur of agreement.

“Do not worry,” Miraz’s voice said. “They will.”

My father led me to a nearby tent. “Stay here,” he said before quickly walking out of the tent, leaving me to study the contents of the tent.

A chestnut chest rested beside a cot, the dark pattern on the top tugging at my memory. When I was young, I’d once peeked inside and nearly gasped at all the weapons that had rested inside. A wooden tub rested in the corner of the tent, beside a full-length mirror.

I stepped up to the mirror, nearly gasping at the sight of my own face.

My right cheekbone, a deep purple that matched the dark circles under my eyes, was twice the size of my left. A red scab ran through my bottom lip. My face was also thinner than I remembered, which was likely due to the food. There were patches of dirt all over my visible skin.

I looked like a vagrant.

Strangely, the thought made me smile.

The sound of footsteps reached my ears, and I quickly dropped the smile, spinning to face my father and a young woman carrying a bag.

“Do you know how they injured her?” the woman was asking my father as they entered the tent.

“No.” My father stopped, gesturing at me. “That’s her.”

The woman came closer. “Where are you injured, my lady?” she asked.

“I think my wrist might be sprained,” I replied. “And my face hurts.”

As the woman dug around in her bag, I glanced up, just in time to see my father walking away again.

I furrowed my brow. My father hadn’t asked me any questions, given me any reassurances, or even explained what he was doing before he did it. It was normal, I realized. More than normal. How could I have forgotten what it was like to be treated like a piece of furniture instead of a person?

Apparently, the time away had both dulled my memory and sharpened this reunion.

“When you’ve bathed,” the woman told me, “I’ll bind that wrist.” She dug around in her bag, pulling out herbs of all kinds and making a poultice before instructing me to hold it to my lip. “Most of the swelling and bruising will go down on their own.”

“Thank you,” I said meekly.

She nodded and left just before a parade of servants entered, pouring pitcher after pitcher of water into the bath.

One of them deposited a tray of fruit, bread, and cheese on my father’s cot, and my eyes suddenly welled with tears.

It’s just food, I told myself. It’s just water.

Yet the emotions swirled around me like vultures around a fresh corpse.

Only one servant remained in the tent. “Are you ready to bathe, my lady?” she asked.

When I nodded, she helped me undress and ease myself into the tub. The warm water felt heavenly against my aching body. The servant made quick work of massaging the soap into my skin and hair, wiping away the dirt and blood.

However good it felt to wash the filth away, a filth of a different, heavier kind settled on me.

The servant didn’t look me in the eye once, as was appropriate for our stations.

But instead of feeling respected, I felt sad.

I missed my people.

I missed Edmund and Reepicheep’s witty banter, Trumpkin’s odd way of talking, Lucy’s compassion. I wanted to hear the sound of Caspian’s voice, see the serious expressions of the centaurs despite the energized talking squirrels and mice standing on their backs and shoulders while they ate.

As I eyed the large plate of food beside the tub, I even missed the tiny rations of Aslan’s How because of the friends that I got to eat with. Now here I was, alone. And no amount of food in my stomach could fill the hole inside me.

I got out of the tub and the servant speedily wiped me down with a towel, wrapping a robe around me before scooping my dirty dress off the floor and leaving the tent.

The flimsy fabric of the robe clung to my wet skin, leaving little to the imagination. I missed the practical outfit I’d worn when I was with the Narnians. When I wore the loose pants and tunic of the Narnians, I felt like an adult, and a powerful one, which was a way I’d never felt growing up in the Telmarine court.

Here I was again, dressed like a helpless little girl.

I heard someone come through the tent. “Dad?” I called, still tying the ribbon that held the robe around me.

“Try again.”

My stomach flipped as I whirled to face Miraz.

“My king.” I curtsied as best I could without causing my robe to slide and show too much. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“I want some information from you.”

“About the Narnians?”

“Yes.”

My heart faltered, like it was holding it’s breath.

“Where did they keep you?”

“They tied me up in one of the caves, your majesty.”

“Did they feed you?”

“No.”

“Did they give you water?”

“Yes.”

“Why did they hurt you?”

I hesitated. Edmund had already answered that question. “I overheard one of the soldiers talking about the army, and I knew if I could just slip away and get out, that I’d be safe.”

Miraz stepped forward, and I willed myself to stay where I was as he lifted a hand to touch my swollen lip. “Does it hurt?”

Another odd question. “Yes, your majesty,” I said slowly.

His thumb rested on my scab, not dissimilar to when Peter had touched my lip. I tried to stand still, even as my skin crawled.

Slowly, Miraz pressed his thumb into the scab, the pressure steadily increasing. I let out a strangled sound, trying to pull away. Miraz gripped my upper arm, holding me in place. “Your majesty, you’re hurting me.”

“I underestimated,” he said under his breath. “Foolish of me.”

I blinked, confused. “Your majesty?”

“I underestimated your dedication to the Narnian cause.”

My knees went weak, and my voice shook betrayingly as I said: “I’m sorry?”

“You weren’t kidnapped. Kidnapping isn’t my nephew’s style. I know you left with him willingly.”

My stomach seized with fear. “No, I didn’t! He took me–”

“Save it.” Miraz’s hand moved to my swollen cheekbone. “You’re not that good a liar.”

“No! Why would I leave?”

“Shhhhh.” I flinched as Miraz gripped my injured wrist. “It’s alright, dear thing, don’t worry, no one else needs to know you’re a traitor.”

I opened my mouth to deny it further when I caught sight of the look in Miraz’s eyes.

He knew.

Even if it hadn’t been true, when Miraz decided something, his stubbornness would never waive. My fingers itched for a knife or sword to end it all right now, but I didn’t have anything but my fists. And Miraz was much larger than me.

I swallowed hard and gripped my hands into fists to keep from shaking. “What are you gonna do to me?”

“Oh, nothing for right now. I can’t be seen to go against your father while he’s been my most faithful ally. But in the coming weeks?” Miraz’s mouth broke into a grin.

My skin tingled with revulsion. I tried to pull away from him, but Miraz dragged me closer by my wrist. I let out a cry of pain as he pulled on it, causing me to lose my balance and fall into him. “Guards!” he cried.

Two armored soldiers came into the tent, one of them carrying chains. I tried to struggle, but it was useless. Within moments, my wrists and ankles were bound, the already irritated skin of my wrists stinging under the weight of the cool chains.

Panic seized in my chest as the full weight of the desperate situation dawned on me. My injuries combined with the chains, I wouldn’t be able to stand, much less run or sabotage the Telmarines like I’d planned.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Miraz said when the guards stepped away.

The guards nodded. “No one will be allowed into the tent, my liege,” one of them said.

“Not even Lord Glozelle?”

“Not even him, your majesty.”

“Good.” Miraz came closer to me, and I forced myself not to flinch as he planted a tender kiss to my forehead, a tender action for the soldiers’ benefit which revealed nothing of the corruption within. “I will see you tomorrow, my dear, before the duel.”

“You’re going to lose,” I said through gritted teeth. “The high king is a hundred times better than you.”

Instead of looking afraid, Miraz grinned. “It matters not. My army is bigger than his, even with the returned hostages. The Narnians all die tomorrow.” He stood straighter, like his bloodlust was strengthening him from the inside.

“You’re underestimating them.”

Miraz sent a look at the two soldiers. “Poor thing, she’s been brainwashed by the Narnians.”

The soldiers exchanged a look, and I knew there was no hope of convincing them otherwise.

“If you truly want to kill all the Narnians,” I said quietly, “you’re going to have to kill me too.”

Miraz laughed. “Oh, honey, you can’t change blood, and yours is Telmarine.” He crouched beside me, lowering his voice. “That’s why I’m still going to make you my wife.” He reached out to lightly run the ribbon securing my robe in between his fingers. “And I will enjoy finding ways to make you surrender.”

And with that, he swept out of the tent, taking all my hopes with him.

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oonajaeadira · 3 years

Text

If You Will Let My Heaven Touch Your Stars (Ezra x f!reader)

Rating: Mature.

Pairing: Ezra (Prospect film) x f!reader

Warnings: FLUFFY SMUT. INSPIRED BY THIS. Non-explicit oral (m and f receiving). Formatting may be strange in certain Tumblr themes due to paragraph spacing with the poetry.

A/N: Okay, y’all. I was looking for another reason to write some Ezra. I got inspired by this naughty confessional post and felt the need to rise to the challenge, but make it a bit soft. You know I’m allergic to writing physical doings without some emotional yearnings. So it has come to this. And I’m not sorry.

Summary: Ezra runs his mouth over some poetry. You run your mouth over some Ezra.

TAGLIST: you can always request to be on the taglist for this or any of my work. If you’d like to be on taglists for upcoming fic, please sign up here –> TAGLIST

MASTERLIST

_______________________________

You know that sigh. It will be shortly followed by a gravelly, dissatisfied “hm.”

“Hm.”

Next will come the impatient flipping of pages as Ezra learns that the book he’s chosen from the stack he got in trade on the Pug is…”less than literary and more than malignant.”

“What’cha reading, Ez.” The main node on the electropulse generator blew during the last harvest and you’ve been doing your best to repair it for the better part of the scaling period. Better to keep eyes on the electrics than let them wander over to his bedroll where he’s stripped to his skivvies, propped up against a crate, reading.

The rotation of Ranakh-4 is almost sixty hours, and in the north hemisphere there’s always light. Should be perfect for prospectors to take shifts and get things done, but instead, it creates a scaling period--a good fifteen-hour window of intense heat and sunlight that’s too dangerous to be exposed to for long, causing lots of nasty side effects. Including skin scaling. Hence the name. So during that period you and Ezra hide in the cooled tent, sleeping, polishing gems, maintaining equipment, wasting time, and generally trying not to annoy each other too much.

That’s a joke between you. In the years you’ve known him, Ez has yet to get under your skin. Ezra’s usually up for a game of dice or five-stand during scaling period, and if you’ve got gear to clean or inventory to count, he’s good for a story. Or ten.

But after the third rotation he stopped playing games of chance with you and his stories got gradually less... crusty. He still had a lot to say, but he stuck mostly to mining anecdotes, weaving around salacious details and editing himself in the moment.

And you’re pretty sure you know why.

This isn’t the first posting you’ve had with Ezra.

There was the assignment on Phintreas. The job on TG-19. The second assignment on Phintreas--that one it was just the two of you. Just like this one.

There was a moment near the end of that run when you took a break from digging to stretch, arching your back in the dappled sunlight and pulling your arms up and back toward the thick foliage tops. There were singing insectoid creatures on Phintreas and you’d dropped your wrists to your head to listen to their song a little, closing your eyes and hearing in their hum the chords of a song you used to love.

It was just a few seconds, the warm air on your bare shoulders, the long thin trees--actually large grass--rising and swaying above. A pleasant stretch in your lower back. But there was something off. Your ears were full of insect song but there was something missing.

The sound of Ezra’s digging had stopped.

You turned to find him taking a break, leaning on his shovel, jumpsuit open and pulled down to a knot at his waist like yours. Dirt-streaked arms and undershirt, looking at you, staring with sad eyes, the long slopes of his mustache running into his patchy beard making him look like he was pouting more than he was. Probably. Totally lost in thought, his eyes slid down your torso. When he woke to the fact that you caught him using you as a backdrop for reverie, he didn’t even have the balls to be embarrassed. Just realigned his focus on his shovel and went back to digging, the veins straining out on his big hands.

“You okay, Ez?”

“As well as one can be, sweetheart. I feel we’re close. It is a fine day full of wonderments.”

You’d thought about that look in the days afterward. Didn’t really know what it meant for you. Until the final sleep cycle on that grass planet, the wind traveling through the fields making the grasses sing hollow and low in the night.

“What’cha reading, Ez?” You’d come to learn that it was a magic question, one that not only got you an explanation, but perhaps a chapter or two in his baritone twang.

And that night, as you packed your final bag, he swung the spine around to read out, “Papas Cordel, Love Verses.”

He didn’t ask you if you wanted to hear any. He just started to read.

Softly. Slowly. The words were innocuous on their own but their combination was sinful, his voice melting at the back of your brain, lifting the fine hairs of your neck, slithering down your spine before making an orbit to press upon your core and vibrate there.

He never said goodnight. Just read you a few poems full of worship and yearning in that sonorous voice of his, then rolled over and went to sleep. It left you in a panic, trying to control your breathing, in full understanding of what that look from a few days ago had really meant.

And for the duration of your next couple of jobs you spent some time in regret, wishing you’d decoded your feelings sooner or that he’d made his own clearer. You’d vowed that if you ever had the chance to go back and live that night again you wouldn’t hesitate to….what? To do what? You never got that far. Didn’t matter. Time doesn’t go backwards. After a while, it was easy enough to convince yourself that you’d just read too much into it, that you didn’t really feel anything and neither did Ez. He had just been tired and staring into space that day. And he’d just been aesthetically moved by the song of the grasses in the night wind. It was a trick of the light, and the more you rationalized it, the further the memory slipped into the realm of silly fantasy.

So when this assignment came, you’d had time enough to leave the fantasy behind and met Ezra as you always had--as a friend and a damn talented prospector you were happy to dig with. The man always got his haul and getting paired with him always meant profit.

It only took one scaling period to make you realize you were lying to yourself.

Scaling period means getting somewhere shaded and cooled and making yourself as comfortable as possible. Which means stripping down to essentials. All those dice games trying not to look at Ezra’s broad, bared chest, looking up from a hand of cards to find his eyes quickly darting away from you…. By the third rotation you’d noticed that neither of you could make eye contact with the other anymore and after that, Ezra generally spent his downtime during scaling periods laying on his bedroll in his skivvs, reading one of the dozen books he’d scavenged back on the station.

You weren’t sure if you were flattered or embarrassed or even injured that he wouldn’t move on whatever he was tense about. But, ultimately, this arrangement was easier.

Or so you lied to yourself.

A “what’cha reading, Ez” got you a few chapters of an old time-travel adventure or a philosophical treatise on the life of some forgotten pioneer while you mended a garment or recounted the supply of viable drill bits or tried to fix the damn faulty electropulse generator for the millionth time. Something rollicking and full of resonance to keep your ears busy and your mind distracted while you focused your eyes on anything but Ezra’s bronze skin and sable eyes and full lips and big hands and thick thighs and--

This time he clicks his tongue and runs a hand through his hair, humming a high note in a kind of frustrated laugh. “I won’t devastate your ears on this one, sweetheart. Not much of interest here but some poor soul ruttin’ and scraping for talent that eludes them. How this found its way into a thing to be bought and sold I will never understand.”

And yet, he keeps reading. Silently.

After a few minutes and another wire successfully cleaned and reconnected, you repeat yourself, taunting him.

“What’cha reading, Ez.”

“Mm.” He just flips through a few more pages, refusing to answer.

“Hey.” You chuckle into your work. “What’cha reading.”

You hear a huge intake of breath before a hold and a forced release.

“Wow,” you laugh. “Fine. Don’t waste breath on it. Just tell me which one it is so I can avoid it later.”

“Love and other Stars by Aeon Aido Raja.”

“I see. What’s it about?”

“Sadly, it is about a poet who cannot seem to make the match between words and sentiment; a volume of supposed amorous verse.”

“Amorous verse,” your hands stop working on their own. “Love...poetry?” There’s a sudden flashback to the sound of hollow reeds and soothing verses in the night. The words are a program in your brain, overwriting your inhibition and professionalism, pushing you to a deeply-coded goal to calm the flutter in your chest.

“So it claims. Although I fear it lacks full understanding of both--” His voice cuts out as he realizes you’ve stood and you’re moving toward him and his wide eyes lock to yours as you sit beside him on the bedroll. “Now what has gotten into you, sweetheart?”

You know exactly what’s gotten into you. The triggered wish of returning to that night, the built-up tension of dancing around each other in your underwear, trying to deny what’s going on, watching him purposefully respect you when you know he feels something, when he knows you do too--

What was it you were going to do if you had a chance to go back to that last night on the grass planet? Time to find out.

“Read to me.”

Ezra hesitates, unsure. “This?”

“Read it.”

His eyes flick down to follow the quick fold of your lips as you wet them with your tongue, unconsciously mimicking you, before fumbling his gaze back to the book and, with a regretful sigh, begins.

“I have never told you When your lips found my own I have never told you My dearest--

“Walking through the light of a moon in decline-- Can you blame me if I steal your kiss? If I call you to my side before it collides with the ground?”

When he looks for your reaction, you’re not sure if he’s pleading with you for permission to stop or continue.

Shit. He’s right. It isn’t great. But you’re here now, you’re going to make the most of it.

“That’s not...so bad.” And then you find out what you would have done that night--or at least how you’d start--by showing him your raised palm, lowering it slowly toward him. “Tell me if you want me to stop.” Your hand travels down through the air, just to the inch above his skivvs, waiting a moment in the aura of radiated heat there, before settling lightly over him. He never says no, never takes his eyes from yours, the only reaction coming from a small lift in his chest, the corner of his mouth curling just a fraction, and the fabric beneath your hand quickly becoming the only thing there to qualify as soft.

“Sweetheart, what you’re beginning here--”

“The only words I want from you are that poem. I want to hear you read. You stop, I stop.”

The heat hangs heavy between you, burns beneath your hand. And with a huffed exhale, Ezra starts again.

“I have never told you When your lips found my own I have never told you My dearest--

“Walking through the light of a moon in decline-- Can you blame me if I steal your kiss? If I call you to my side before it collides with the ground?”

Supporting him from underneath, you’ve begun running your thumb up and down him, and his breath hitches, bringing him to a stop. So you stop.

“You stop, I stop, Ez.”

“Believe me, gentle one, I do not wish the impediment of your affections--”

“Then don’t stop.”

In a beautiful panic, Ezra looks back to the poem. “You sure you want this one?”

You nod. “I don’t care how good it is. That’s the poem I want. Keep going. I've always liked your voice. I know you can make it pretty.”

He stares at the page a moment, and you push him--literally--gasping into a start.

“If ever I could tell you When my heaven touched your stars If ever I could tell you Beloved--”

You stop palming him when he stops to breathe, and it’s only when you trace his waistband with your fingertips that he swallows and continues, willing you to keep going--

“Waking in the night to the aching void of your embrace-- Can you forgive me if I plead your name? If I summon you to my body from wherever you are?”

Whether it’s the want in his voice or just getting further into the words, the poem is already getting better. His eyebrows begin to push together and arch, as you stretch the top of his underwear down, wrapping your hand around him. His words start riding the occasional groan which just resonate with you more and you rock yourself against the bedroll in time with your gentle, yearning pulls--

“You hold me adroitly With accurate proximity To keep your breath and my breath Two founts and one pool. To swim a in star-reflective stream of our holy recreation--”

He’s doing so well, the words wandering out deep and breathy, so beautifully controlled...until you lower your mouth to him.

Then there’s a strangled staccato grunt as he adjusts, takes a couple of quick breaths and continues--

“But your body is a.....wildfire Your lips a destruction And I give my everything over to your….cleansing devastation.”

Oh, his struggle is glorious. You can feel him trying not to buck, needing to blow out a breath between pursed lips here and there to concentrate on the print. He reads with intent, leaning into context and feeling, making a gift to you of every word.

“I have yearned for you to find me worthy of a spark An ignition... The rebirth of your combustible attentions.”

He pauses again to breathe, and while you allow him a small reprieve, he’s stopped a little too long and you abruptly halt. When you pull back to look up in reprimand, he gives you a soft smile through his panting, shaking his head in wonder. You know he’ll have plenty of praises when this is over, but he doesn’t seem to want to break the spell to say them now. When you return his little smile, he looks back to the page and continues, prompting you to return to your own administrations.

“How you draw from me each sweet effusion-- Every secret vein untapped-- Now yours in expert execution, Now open to your burning maw.”

He pushes through the poetry rather than into you, allowing you to hear him and match him. Your body begins to counter-react as you feel him brimming, turning on more need in you than you’ve felt in a while, and you show him just how well he’s doing by doing well by him.

There’s a shift in his voice as more breath enters in and nonverbal noises begin to punctuate the words; a shift in his body as his fingers tangle in your hair and grip tightly, suggesting a final rhythm--

“But within the fire An aperture of...divine precipitation Where those of us who live untouched Can go to drown To die To howl…..! To see the blessed face of eternity Or the….busting open….of a thousand….wretched….stars-- You-call-me-to-sinful-prayer You-invoke-my-abject-soul I find myself in debt…!...and thrall…!... to your superior…!...divinity--”

When he stops reading this round, you show mercy as he pounds his fist into the bedroll and makes his own additions to the poem, exclamations made up of your name and curses and calls to higher powers. You can only expect a man to expel from himself wondrously one method at a time, and Ezra’s earned his reward so beautifully.

Damn his opinion. The poem was perfect. You chose correctly. Either that, or Ez’s tongue really can spin any old refuse into gold.

But the book is still held high, and as you lift from him and guide him through his aftershocks with your hand, he breathes heavy though the final verse--

“This is how I love you from afar With agony and forlorn words While you hover forever in my purview A shaft of dazzling incandescence Shining down from your sun/star Through the glass of my desire Starts and restarts an everlasting blaze”

Then, setting the book reverently on the bedroll, he takes your face in his hands, dragging his thumbs across your lips, no longer needing the page for the last lines.

“If ever I could tell you And if you will let my heaven touch your stars If ever I could tell you Beloved--”

Ezra’s kiss is achingly grateful. He tries to put into one kiss the loving equivalent of everything you’ve just done for him.

When he pulls back, he gives you the tiniest rough shake, a punctuation of his playful consternation. “Mmm,” he grunts. “While I am glad to know you find my recitals pleasing, you’re about to find out that my talent for oral ministrations do not stop at mere recitation.” With a miner’s strong arms he flips you over him onto the bedroll, making short work of your underwear and pinning your legs around his shoulders in a matter of seconds. “Now, I will not be so cruel as to make you put words to my reciprocation, unless you’d like to fill the silence to direct me to your will. Or say what you please. I will not be able to add to the conversation as I will be otherwise occupied.”

You don’t know if it’s years of running his mouth or wagging his tongue or yapping his jaw, but he’s well practiced in using allllll the muscles therein to help finish what poetry couldn’t quite accomplish.

At one point you think of surprising him and trying your own hand at reading while being entertained. But when you fumble for the book, it opens to the same poem.

But not the same poem.

The opening lines are there: “I have never told you When your lips found my own I have never told you My dearest--Walking through the light of a moon in decline--Can you blame me if I steal your kiss? If I call you to my side before it collides with the ground?”

And that’s it.

That’s where it ends. The whole published poem--a mere seven lines.

Oh, Kevva. That’s...that means….

Damn, Ezra. The mouth on you.

The book drops to the bedroll.

And you break into pieces as his heaven masterfully consumes your stars.

________________

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Taglist: @melobee @extraterrestrialdork @14mcmd1122 @grogusmum @cannedsoupsucks

#soft ezra #soft!ezra #ezra prospect #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect x you #fluffy smut #pedro pascal #ezra prospect smut

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karlswrites · 3 years

Text

Big Vs. Little Spoon

Demon Bois + Non-Dateables Edition

This game is my newest hyper-fixation, so please bear with me. I know there are a lot of head-canons about the boys cuddling, but here’s my rendition. Boy howdy, this one’s a little long...

Warnings: Pure Fluff

❤️ Lucifer: Because he’s the Avatar of Pride, Lucifer loves feeling bigger than you. His pride inhibits him from being the little spoon, so he often opts for being the big spoon. Luci can’t help but admire the way his arms completely envelop you when he’s the big spoon. However, if he decides that you’ve been “a good little Main Character,” then he might acquiesce to your request, allowing you to lounge over him. Additionally, Luci prefers that the two of you cuddle in his bed, as it is rather large and extremely comfortable. Seeing you sprawled out over or curled in his comforter fills him to the brim with pride. Being able to hold you close to his chest gives him more pride than literally anything else. Being the elegant fella that he is, he will always lower himself beside you gently, careful not to disturb you. He won’t jump on the bed like some people.

(I’m so sorry you had to read that one line of dialogue, if you can even call it that.)

💛 Mammon: A true switch on top of and underneath the sheets, Mammon is more likely to be the little spoon than his elder brother. He will never admit to you how much he enjoys feeling your arms slumped over him, but he does love it. He’ll never object to being the big spoon, though, as having his arms and legs draped over you is a HUGE ego booster. Mammon often feels little in the company of his brothers, so knowing that you feel safe and comfortable in his hold makes the guy’s heart melt. I must warn you, though, that Mammon doesn’t hesitate to leap unto your bed, effectively smothering you with his love and adoration. In the private on your room or his, because he loves showing his stuff off, he’ll entangle himself in you. Honestly, it doesn’t matter to him how you’re lying, as long as he gets to stay with you. If you satisfy his greed, and you always do, he will never leave.

(My friend thought of an adorable Mammon x MC Piggy-back ride idea, but that’s for another day, hehe)

💙 Leviathan: This poor boy isn’t used to physical touch, much less having someone in his room almost every night. His only experience comes from a Ruri-chan body pillow, and that thing does not compare to your warmth. At first, you have to be the big spoon. Although he’s embarrassed, Levi adores the feeling of your arms and legs hooked around him. He always takes the opportunity to take his hands and intertwine them with yours over his chest and waist. Now, if Levi gets jealous, then that’s a whole other story. If he notices a few too many people crowded around you or hugging you throughout the day, he’ll find his confidence and trap you into him. He’ll pull you into the bathtub with him, lay you down on his pillows, and act clingy so that nobody mistakes you for theirs. Good luck leaving the tub, ya hooligan.

💚 Satan: Out of the two options, Satan is probably the big spoon most of the time. He likes holding you close, being able to enjoy some peace and quiet with you. He’s not so much of a ‘little/big spoon’ as he is a ‘two forks lying snuggly together in a drawer’ kind of guy. You lie next to him, your arms looped around his neck or his chest. Satan holds a book over the two of you, reading aloud softly. His free hand is snaked under your waist, his thumb gently stroking up and down your spine with each sentence he reads. On the other hand, if it’s late at night or super early in the morning, he’ll indulge in that prime spooning opportunity. He’d probably place his chin in the crook of your shoulder. He’ll probably have his hands anchored in your waist. He’ll probably - most definitely- slowly turn you around in his arms, letting his hands wander back towards your spine. Satan loves having you pressed against his heartbeat and vice versa. Your heart is the perfect sound for him to fall asleep to.

💗 Asmodeus: This guy is a little spoon. With how much he loves himself and you, of course, he will curl himself into you. Asmo doesn’t like as much for his back to face you, so he always ends up turning around in your arms. He wants you to have constant access to his face. Whether you’re looking at him or kissing him, it doesn’t matter; Asmo wants your attention on his beautiful face. Being constantly suggestive, especially when it comes to you, he slowly weaves his legs between yours. He doesn’t hesitate when playing footsies, too. In terms of his preferences, he loves hosting you in his room. If you ever want to cuddle in your room, though, then he’ll eagerly agree. Asmo looks forward to leaving the scent of whatever fragrance he’s wearing all over your bedsheets. He wants you thinking about him 24/7 after all.

(If anyone disagrees with this one, in particular, square up in a Denny’s parking lot.)

🧡 Beelzebub: As long as you’re eating food during cuddling, Beel could care less how you’re placed over him. He’s a big boy, so he’s often the big spoon. One of his arms will snake its way underneath you, holding you tightly around the waist. His other hand is preoccupied with a bag of chips or another tasty snack. Unlike Asmo, Beel is not nearly as handsy. He keeps you in his strong hold the entire time. When he’s done eating, he moves his hand up to your head. His digits will stroke and play with your hair. It’s so soft, and Beel can’t get enough of how relaxed it makes the both of you feel. Another position he likes, which isn’t necessarily spooning, but him lying on his back with you on top. Beel loves, loves, loves your head on his chest. The way his chin rests upon your head is so nice to him. He drapes his arms down your back, hooking his legs over yours. He keeps you in place, and you feel so safe. He is a legitimate teddy bear.

💜 Belphegor: The Avatar of Sloth is the best cuddler, hands down. He has so many pillows and, upon request, can provide pillow forts, beds, nooks , or whatever you need. You always fall asleep within minutes. Cuddling was a bit difficult at first, as you didn’t always trust him. Actually, it was Belphie’s attempt to gain your trust that led you to be cuddle-buddies (besides your mutual pining, of course). Like some of his brothers, he doesn’t prefer one position over the other. He can be a big or little spoon. You say the word, and he’ll fall into the position with ease. He covers you with blankets, making you appear as a burrito/cocoon. He is definitely warm each and every time you snuggle in close. Belphie clings to you as a sloth clings to its branch, never letting go, even when you wake up.

❤️ Diavolo: Another big boy, Diavolo is the - drum roll, please- big spoon. He has the broadest shoulders, biggest hands, and widest chest that’s perfect to fall into. Whenever you cuddle, he silently hopes you choose his castle. He’s always so excited to bring you over, and this guy has a massive bed. It’s literally made for a king. Since he’s a ray of sunshine, Diavolo will playfully tug you onto the mattress with him. He holds your face, caressing your cheeks. He grabs your waist, pulling you in even closer. He doesn’t let go until he absolutely has to. Sometimes, Barbatos has to come in and drag him away from you. Diavolo is completely smitten by you, and his affection only grows every time he relaxes against your back. Furthermore, cuddling with you is the perfect way to end a stressful day of dealing with the crazy demon brothers.

💚 Barbatos: Barbatos may be a butler, but something about him screams big spoon. He loves scooping you up in his arms. The feeling of his heartbeat against your back brings him the greatest sense of comfort. When keeping you tangled up in his arms, he asks now and again if he can move in anyway, get you anything, or do anything to make you feel even more comfortable. He likes his control, but he always aims to please. Barbatos and you never stay still for long. His fingers run along your arms, sides, and shoulders continuously. He, too, likes playing with your hair. If you fall asleep before him, he places kisses on the back of your scalp, neck, and shoulders. He never goes past that, but cuddling allows him ample time to indulge in some innocent physical attention. Expect to be carried out of bed bridal style when the two of you wake up.

🖤 Solomon: As the Devildom’s official special snowflake, you might never know what you’ll get with him. Solomon prefers feeling your back against his chest, though he will, like Lucifer, reward you by being the little spoon. He’s very calm and cool, so being the little spoon doesn’t embarrass him. He only cares about encasing you with his arms, hands wrapped around you in a big hug. He’s not as outwardly affectionate with you as another guy might be, but Solomon delivers some high-quality snuggles. You feel small and safe against him, and that’s all he could ever want. In terms of location, the two of you typically end up in your room. However, on days when the demon boys are at it again, he will coyly invite you into his dorm. He loves when your scent seeps its way into his bedsheets, but he also loves it when his gets lost in yours. Solomon is always left floored by how such simple affection can make him feel so warm and fuzzy. He doesn’t need to worry about spells with you, and you don’t need to worry about anything with him.

🤍 Simeon: Similar to Levi, Simeon isn’t used to physical touch, but he’s not as shy. Cuddling you sounds as good as heaven, and he relishes in the feeling of your soft skin against his. Another true switch, in my humble opinion, he is content with being a big or little spoon. He’s an angel, and his greatest concern is how comfortable you are at all times. He’s inexperienced, so he will more-than-happily follow your lead. He never moves without your consent. You might have to reassure him a few times that moving is totally fine. In fact, it’s welcomed. Once he gets that through his noggin, he finally relaxes into you. From behind, Simeon grazes his hands over your stomach, loving the warmth you emit. If you’re behind him, he’ll seize the opportunity to clutch his hands in yours, loving the feeling of your head on his shoulder. He sleeps so much better with you.

#obey me headcanons #obey me #obey me!#obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me simeon #obey me fluff #fluff #demon boys

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

Text

not allowed v, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader, mentions of jungkook x reader – est. poly relationship

summary: BTS have had a long, busy day. Heck, a busy week, preparing for 2021 Grammys performance and interviews. It’s finally over, and all Min Yoongi wants is to take a shower and sleep with his favorite person. There’s no one like you. He deserves some special treatment – some belated birthday wishes granted perhaps?

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; domestic shower care (aww) and shower sex (hell yeah); feels and fluff; smut (fem reader, dirty talk, fingering, nipple play, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, handjob / blowjob (with tongue technology), f-receiving oral, doggy, spanking); idol!BTS; occurs the night of the 2021 Grammys

part of ‘not allowed’ series, but can be read alone. basic summary: MYG asks JJK to fuck you, again, let’s keep this going, oop JK dyed his hair blue; based on real time.

–

"I'm sorry you didn't win."

"It's okay. It was a long shot anyway."

"Well, you are good at basketball, so you can make a long shot, easy."

A deep, raspy chuckle. "Next time."

Water drummed against the tile, the rhythm interrupted by you working shampoo through black hair, conjuring fistfuls of lathered white clouds. The head lifted a little and you were about to chastise him, but one look into those black-brown eyes and small sheepish smile looking down at you, and you forgot what you were going to say.

"It was never about us anyway. We wanted to win so ARMY could brag about us."

You grinned, chuckling a little. "They always brag about you, Yoongi."

You saw something flit across his face, but he didn't say anything. You already knew. I wish you could brag about me. And you did, but not in the way he wanted, because he was Min Yoongi, SUGA of BTS, Agust D sometimes, and your secret all of the time. You closed the distance, a simple, sweet kiss in response to his wordless wish, I know, me too, hands curling in his soapy hair, smiling gently against his lips. Hm. You could feel Yoongi was thoroughly enjoying your wet breasts against his chest.

Something hard was poking you quite insistently.

You drew back a little and Yoongi's hands circled your waist, keeping your hips to him.

"Thought you said you were sleepy?" you teased.

Yoongi grinned slyly. "I changed my mind."

You chuckled, tipping his head back to rinse his hair off, forcing him to close his eyes with a displeased grunt. You could tell from his dark circles that he was tired from the stress of the day, having to wake up at two in the morning and be ready for his call time at five, but he still insisted for you to come, still insisted for you to sneak around and be here when he came home. You didn't get to see Yoongi on his birthday and not during the weekend before either. He was too busy filming content and preparing for the Grammys.

You did send him a voice message of you singing happy birthday and he replied with, thank you, my love, instead of the usual, you would benefit from a vocal coach, which meant he missed you far too much to tease you.

You carefully straightened his neck and Yoongi breathed out, raising a hand to push his black hair away from his face, slicking it back and exposing his forehead.

Oof.

Sexy.

Yoongi's eyes opened, dark brown orbs reflecting the mischief in his smirk.

"You sure you don't want me to call the maknae?" he asked not-so-innocently.

You narrowed your eyes at him. He knew what he was doing.

Your boyfriend had posted a selfie this morning, only to be followed up by Jeon Jungkook’s adorable pose in a colorful fluffy flannel shirt on Weverse. Earlier in the week, Jungkook had cutely invaded and sang happy birthday on Yoongi’s celebratory live, and then put up a picture of himself on his post for said hyung’s birthday.

The absolute gall of the Golden Maknae.

Needless to say, you were disappointed, but not surprised. Only slightly though. Jungkook was like that. A little bit – alright, a lot – of a naughty little shit that needed his cock brutally choked by your throat or pussy every once in a while. Actually, no, definitely both, just to be on the safe side. But this day was not that day.

"You said you wanted to be selfish today," was your calm response to Yoongi's question, reaching behind him to rinse off your hands, pressing your tits into his chest. Your eyes flickered up to his. Yoongi raised an eyebrow as your fingers trailed on his back, drawing small patterns.

"Has he been a bad boy?" he chuckled, referring to, of course, the shameless audacity of your other boyfriend, well-loved and doted-on Jeon Jungkook.

Your expression matched his, inquiring but already knowing the answer. A silent conversation between kindred souls that followed the same thought process. Closer, water gliding between your bodies, lips fitting against his, lightly nipping at his lower lip as if to say, we're both a little mean, Yoongi chuckling in agreement as he captured your lips forcefully. Hands all over wet bodies, pressing him to you and him reciprocating, hot water seeming hotter, steam getting steamier, kisses passionate and intense, Yoongi pushing you into the shower wall, not letting you get away.

Jungkook had known you were coming, but he wasn't allowed to attend this time.

He said he was tired from the events of today and he wanted you to spend time with Yoongi alone because it had been Yoongi's birthday recently and they should definitely get special treatment during their birthdays, right?

"I want special treatment on my birthday, so I suppose hyung should as well..."

"Ah, that's too bad, I was looking forward to punishing you."

"Noona...!" You could hear the shy pout in Jungkook's voice as it lowered, whispering into his phone. "Don't say stuff like that..."

You heard a sneaky cat-like purr in the background. "Say what?"

Jungkook started and you heard the violent rattle of the phone falling, followed by scrambles to retrieve it. Ah. You could see now why Jungkook's phone was taped.

"Hyung! Don’t... I thought you were still in the bathroom..."

"Mmm." You knew that what that hum meant. You've been on the phone for a while. And Jungkook had, lamenting that he wished they could have won the award and had a celebration live with ARMY and you had to reassure him over and over that there would be more chances and ARMY was already very proud with the nomination, yourself included.

"Uh... do you want to talk to hyung? He's here..." Jungkook did not sound like he wanted to give his phone up. He was only asking out of politeness.

"No, Jungkook, I'll see him in a bit."

"She said no, huh?" Yoongi mused and then you heard the sounds of footsteps wandering away.

Jungkook made a questioning noise, but you reoriented him rather quickly.

"I want to hear your voice some more, Jungkook." You recalled the opening of the Grammys 'Dynamite' performance and his teasing, cocky nose scrunch. "Was feeling rather sexy during the recording, weren't you?"

"You saw?" An edge of excitement to his tone. "That was for you, noona," he added playfully.

"No, it wasn't."

His faint, wicked snicker. "Okay, you're right, but I did think about you while doing it."

"Mmmhmm. What part of me? My smiling face or my warm mouth wrapped around your cock?"

"Noona!"

Alright, you did end up giving Jungkook a little bit of punishment, because neither you nor himself could help it. And at the very end, he played along, whining for you because he knew you wanted him to. Fuck, he was getting clever now, remembering all the things you liked. Stupid sexy Jungkook and his duality.

"Can't I come too? Please, noona?"

It took a lot of refuse his cute voice, but you did make a promise to Yoongi and you never broke your promises.

"Sorry, Jungkook, you're not allowed this time."

Reliving your memory was abruptly interrupted by two fingers sliding into your pussy.

"Excuse you," you muttered into Yoongi's lips.

"What are you thinking about that's gotten you so wet, hm?" he drawled, dripping water down your cheeks and chest, kissing from your lips and up your jaw, slowly working his fingers in and out, your wetness thicker, warmer than the water, leaking down his knuckles. His voice in your ear, low and dangerous, making you fall for him more and more. "Thinking about me or the maknae?"

...

Min Yoongi knew you too well.

"T-That's..."

Couldn't think of a smart comeback, not with Yoongi's voice so sensual and invasive, staring up at the hazy ceiling while he sucked on your ear, biting your lip to stifle your moans, nerves lighting with shivering arousal. His fingers controlled, measured, focused on deeply penetrating you to graze your favorite spots, rubbing your walls and pressing his thumb into your clit, slow circles causing throbs of pleasure to glide through you. Yoongi knew all the places that made you weak, licking right under your ear to make you whimper for him, kissing and sucking up and down the curve. The warm water created a steady hum, background music for his dirty words.

"Is that why Jungkookie ran so fast to the bathroom earlier today, hm? Mmm, you shouldn't mess with him so much. You should know better as his noona," Yoongi murmured softly, speeding up, catching your earlobe with his teeth and tugging on it, words slightly muffled as he continued, waves of heat flaring upwards with every thrust. "He'll keep teasing you, pretending it's for ARMY, and then when he has you next, he'll make you beg for his cock…" Teeth biting down, leaving a visible mark, his gravelly whisper sparking inhibitions.

"And I'm going to watch you."

Fuck you, Min Yoongi, for always knowing the right thing to say.

Yoongi flicked your clit and you cried out, bucking into his hand, almost losing balance, but his left arm came up behind the small of your back and held you in place, strong and unyielding, orgasm cut short with your sudden worry of straining his recovery, but Yoongi already knew, cooing comfortingly in your inflamed ear.

"I was dancing during the recording, remember?"

Right, he was cleared to dance, but still...

And again, Yoongi led you back into the proper headspace, kissing and nipping down your neck, tongue against your collarbones, stroking your side with his left hand as his right pushed in and out of you, building the pace and your needy gasps once more.

"Shh, you're a good girl, don't move and nothing bad will happen."

A tinge of menace in his voice, indicating the double meaning, I won't get hurt and maybe you won't get punished. Only a maybe though, sending a delighted spark up your spine, pressing your shoulder blades into the shower wall, instinctively raising one of your legs to give Yoongi more space. You glanced down, but he wasn't looking at you, eyes calmly closed, soaked black strands sticking to his forehead as his pink lips wrapped around one of your nipples. Instant pleasure from his expert tongue, teasing the moans of his name out of you, praising him, fuck yes, Yoongi, so good, I love this, fingers filling you repeatedly, thumb knuckle grinding onto your clit, sucking on your hard nipple. You were so focused on the feeling that your torso froze up, head and hands pressed into the wall, back arcing as you came, pulses of ecstasy enveloping you, but Yoongi didn't stop, forcing another finger inside your tight hole, whines in your throat as your shuddering pussy sucked it in, still riding waves of aftershocks.

His left hand slid up and pinched your ignored nipple.

"Yoongi, fuck...!"

You could only curse the gods that created the genius that was Min Yoongi, chuckling as he rubbed your left nipple, sucked on the right, thumb knuckle on your clit, three fingers fully stuffed inside you, so hard and so fast that his forearm was nearly vibrating. Too coordinated, too rough, too much, mind going blank, already orgasming, and again, and again, not stopping.

He was too good.

Yoongi wasn’t going to stop until you made him.

Your eyes rolled back, rocketing bolts of pleasure overtaking everything, entire body shaking and quivering with overstimulation, your own knuckles white because your fingers somehow curled into fists, moans rattling your chest as wave after wave of pleasure attacked you, pushing you to the brink of collapse.

"Y-Yoongi, oh, fuuuuuuuk, Yoongi!"

Your body made the executive decision for you, left hand shooting down and grabbing his forearm, gripping it tightly, gasping for air, making sure to keep his long fingers buried all the way inside, his hard muscle flexing under your palm. Fuck, so hot. Yoongi immediately stopped, detaching his mouth from your nipple, and you could barely protest, tremors thundering through your torso as your pussy spasmed and soaked his fingers with your sweet-sour juices, your inner muscles rapidly clenching and unclenching around him, his low moans filling your ears as he felt each strong pulse, stretching his fingers against your convulsing walls to amplify your pleasure and feel it all.

"Fuck..." Yoongi panted, leaning against you and your heaving chest. "Fuck, you're so pretty when you're wrecked."

His lips on your temple, kissing you fiercely, grinding his crotch into your hip and revealing how hard he was as you tried to come down, tried to calm your heart threatening to pound out of your chest. You turned your head to face him and he was there, devouring your lips with rough kisses, pulling his fingers out to tug and pinch at your nipples with his knuckles, smirking at your submissive whines, your hands wandering down and gripping his length, leisurely stroking him.

Now Yoongi was the one gasping into your mouth, switching to rubbing your hard sensitive nipples to coax you to do more, switching your positions in the shower so his back was to the water. The two of you were only half-finished washing up, but neither of you seemed to notice or care.

You backed up a little, breaking the kiss, seeing Yoongi’s dazed expression as you lightly cupped the head of his cock in your palm, gently rolling into the slickness, continuing for several seconds before adding a little more pressure. He inhaled sharply, pleading for more with his breathing alone. His chin was slightly tilted upwards, black hair sticking to his forehead, pink lips slightly parted, water trickling in rivets down his neck and chest.

Yoongi noticed you staring and gave you his trademark open-mouthed smirk.

Who taught Jeon Jungkook how to be hot as hell?

It had to have been Min Yoongi.

You mentally took note of this image of wet Yoongi so you could masturbate to it later.

He cocked a brow and you cocked one back, challenging him. Then you dropped to your knees, careful with the slippery floor, and yanked his hips to your face so he blocked all of the water with his body. His stiff length smacked you in the lips and smeared pre-cum on them. You heard Yoongi gasp and you looked up, seeing him watching you, expectation and hunger in his dark eyes.

You smirked, tongue snaking out and licking your lips to taste him.

“Is my good girl going to do all my favorite things?” he drawled in his extra-low octave.

Your pussy throbbed at his domineering tone. You didn’t have to say anything, your scorching gaze alone creating that amused smirk on Yoongi’s lips. I know what you want. One hand holding up his cock, leaning forward, and Yoongi groaned in satisfaction, your mouth sucking in one of his balls, your deft tongue circling the other in loud, messy slurps, suffocating one while licking the other. You flicked your wrist back and forth, pumping his cock as you worked his balls, lips tight and pulling slightly, tongue flexed and slapping against the other.

You looked up at Yoongi’s dilated pupils, knowing that he could see flashes of your pink tongue against his balls, your hand stroking him slowly and deliberately.

“You’re so good, fuck… So fucking good at that,” Yoongi panted. “Every other man in the world is jealous that they’re never going to get to experience this.”

You popped your mouth off, making him hiss with pleasure. “That’s not true. I’ll give it to Jungkookie eventually.”

“Ah, he’s lucky that I picked him.”

You raised your eyebrows, you picked him, uh huh, I was the one stalking him on Twitter, and Yoongi nudged you with his hips, eyes narrowing dangerously, put my balls in your fucking mouth, and you obeyed, switching to his right side and sucking it into your plush lips, tongue snaking out to lap at his left one, now pumping him with your dominant right hand. He sucked in a breath, moaning softly, clenching his jaw as you increased to his favorite pressure and speed.

“Fuck, yes, make me cum just like this,” he snarled, as much a plea as it was an order, rocking his hips a little so he tugged on his balls in your mouth, forcing you to suck harder and lick more roughly to keep him in place, obscene slurps adding another layer to the song that was the falling water, Yoongi’s moans, and the rapid slap-slap-slap of your hand furiously jacking off his twitching hardness. You glanced up at him and he was observing you closely, drinking in every second of your mouth, hand, and spread-open thighs as you kneeled for him, water dripping off your nipples and ass, groaning your name, tone saturated with lust.

“Ah, fuck, I love you so much, you look so fucking good like this…”

You could tell he was getting close with how shallow his breathing was becoming. Tighter, harder, so devoted to the cause that you were whimpering to add vibration to the multiple sensations, drunk on the taste of his skin and the scent of his pre-cum right next to your head, needing it, wanting it, right now, your eyes telling him, please Yoongi, cum for me, want you to cum for me so bad, and he bit his lip, tense growl contained in his throat that morphed into a drawn-out wail.

“Fuck, now, fuck!”

You abruptly pulled off his balls and Yoongi gasped, startled and confused as you quickly repositioned yourself so he shot thick strings onto your mouth, painting your red swollen lips with drizzles of white, up your cheek and onto your nose, dark eyes wide as he witnessed his indecent mark on you. Like something out of a literal porno, your lips coated with glossy lines of his semen. You looked up at him, still holding his cock, sinfully triumphant.

Your devious smirk covered in cum.

“You wicked, dirty woman,” Yoongi breathed in amazement.

His hand was travelling down so you removed yours, already guessing what was coming next. You placed your hands on your thighs, sinking into the softness as Yoongi groaned, wrapping his fingers around his cock, pumping himself slowly to the image of your cum-covered puffy lips, red and white, upper body tilted back so your hard nipples pointed upwards towards him, squeezing your breasts together with your arms while your hands kept your thighs spread, wet pussy exposed to him.

“Fuck,” he hissed, so hard you could see the flashes of veins standing out through his fingers. “You’re too much, too sexy, come closer so I can use that mouth.”

You scooted nearer and Yoongi pushed his cock into your lips, moaning as he watched his orgasm smear down his length and disappear with each centimeter his cock into your tight, hot mouth, your eyes taking in the jerks of his shoulders and slack jaw, forcing you to take him all the way to the base. He was so turned on that you knew he wasn’t going to last as long as he wanted, but there was no stopping him now, already shallowly thrusting. You knew how to make him pause though, tightly tensing your throat muscles around the tip. Yoongi threw his head back, your name a desperate whine.

“Please, shit, I’m so fucking sensitive, fuck…”

Slowly Yoongi’s head rolled back and you took the chance to slide your tongue out, hands coming up to cup his balls, licking them in playful figure-eights with his entire length crammed down your throat, barely able to breathe.

You didn’t care.

Yoongi was in literal heaven.

Swearing, gasping, moaning, enjoying it for a good twenty seconds before fitting his right hand behind your head, tangled in your wet hair.

“Hold me,” he gritted out. “Hold me so I can fuck your face.”

You backed up a little to take a deep lungful of air, placing your hands on his hips. There was so much adrenaline coursing through your veins that you didn’t even notice that your knees were screaming in pain, completely focused on getting your throat ready for Yoongi’s abuse.

Your eyes flickered up to him, giving him the signal.

Yoongi grinned and began to thrust into your mouth. You adjusted your neck a little and Yoongi hissed, the throbbing head of his cock now rubbing against the roof of your mouth with every slide down your throat, rolling his hips into your face. You could tell he wanted to keep it slow, but his body craved the speed and he finally gave in, fucking your face mercilessly, fast and rough, nearly choking you but not quite, and that was the best part, Yoongi always knowing the edge, always knowing how much you could take, chuckling darkly as your moaned around his cock, trying not to dig your nails into his skin.

“It’s okay, do it,” Yoongi nudged, devilish edge to his voice. “Do it. No one is going to look there.”

Eye contact.

You sure?

He ticked a brow.

How many people were going to look at his ass? Eh, he was right.

You sank your nails into his hips and dragged them down, creating red scratches around his crotch.

“Yes, fuck, yes,” Yoongi gasped with your name, urging you for more, you clawing at his ass as he forced himself between your tight lips, marking him up, praying no one was going to ask why his ass looked like a cat’s scratching post, but it was doomed, your cries vibrating his cock, Yoongi losing control, lustful shudder as his cock jolted in your mouth, spilling down your throat. You swallowed greedily, puffing breath around his thick length, sucking a little so you could feel every quiver, his taste strong and salty, so delicious that your pussy pulsated with satisfaction even through it wasn’t being stimulated.

You felt Yoongi caress your wet hair, soft praises floating down to your ears. You licked him delicately, ghosting your tongue around and around the head. He shivered, exhaling hard.

“Such a good girl, taking me so well…”

You felt his cock soften. You did what any sensible human would do and took him all the way in your mouth to bounce his balls with your tongue.

Yoongi chuckled.

“You’re crazy.”

You gave him your gurgled response with his dick still down your throat.

“You’re right, I do love it.” He tapped your cheek. “But the water’s getting cold, so let’s finish this shower and get into bed.”

“Yoongi?”

“Hm?”

“What happened to my ripped panties?”

“From last time? Don’t know. Jungkook had them in his pocket.”

You frowned, working product through your wet hair. “I hope he threw them away safely.”

Yoongi looked thoughtful. “Ah, is that what he snuck over to Jimin’s room for?”

“What?”

He shrugged. “It would be a good cover.”

You gawked at him.

Yoongi didn’t elaborate, going back to daintily and dutifully applying his skincare.

Get into bed.

This wasn’t exactly what you thought Yoongi meant, but you weren’t mad at it.

“Fuck, that’s so insanely hot…”

You were kneeling on the bed, chin on the pillows, knees spread, hands on your ass cheeks to spread your pussy open so your boyfriend Min Yoongi could watch you flex your wet opening.

At least he gave you time to blow-dry your hair before ordering you around.

For the moment, you were staring at the headboard, keenly concentrating on the exact precision and force needed to open and close with varying degrees. Most of the time, there was no need to be this focused, but Yoongi had asked for a show, so you were going to give him one. You could hear him slowly stroking himself, panting with exertion and awe. The bed sank a little as his weight was added, coming up behind you. Anticipation zipped through your veins, heartbeat spiking.

“A-ah!”

You felt a cold, fine spray on your ass and back. The fuck? Then the scent hit you, sudden citrus mixed with a verdant musk and the base of pine wood. On your skin, it immediately morphed, turning warmer, almost smokier, different than how it smelled on Yoongi. You twisted your head around, giving Yoongi’s smirking face a startled look.

“Did you just spray me with your cologne?”

He tucked his tongue between his neat white teeth. “No.” Which obviously meant yes.

You narrowed your eyes. “You shouldn’t do that. Someone might figure it out.”

Yoongi raised an eyebrow underneath his fluffy black bangs. “I’m sure many people buy and wear my cologne, including women. Can’t keep anything a secret these days.”

There was a twinge of arrogance and wistfulness in his deep voice, but before you could break it down and ask, what about me, Yoongi leaned in and shoved his tongue into your pussy.

“F-fuck, Yoongi!”

His satisfied groan trembled through your nerves, igniting arousal and causing you to clench around his tongue involuntarily. He didn’t have to say it, both of you already thinking it, keep going, but now you were gasping, getting wetter and wetter with the addition of Yoongi’s tongue lazily sliding up and down as your muscles contracted and relaxed, letting him feel your skill and power, his moans vibrating through you from your core. It was already slick and getting slicker, Yoongi’s tongue gracefully sliding through your folds, thrusting into your hole, your juices like honey seeping onto his greedy mouth, so fucking good you didn’t need to control it anymore, it was just happening, and it took everything in you not to shove your ass into his face even though you wanted to, because you didn’t want to make any sudden movements and accidentally hurt him when he had already worked so hard today.

Yoongi chuckled.

“Fuck you,” you hissed, knowing he could see the strain in your arms and the tremble of your hips trying to keep your position as he sucked on your clit.

He removed his mouth and you grumbled in disappointment, cutting yourself off when you heard the distinct rip of a foil packet.

“No, fuck you.”

Yoongi said it as if he was telling someone the time and not about to forcefully plunge his dick right into where his mouth was a second ago.

“Ah, fuck yes, Yoongi…”

He sank right in, stretching you out deliciously, sighing as your wet walls molded around his cock, familiar and wonderful. You finally had the chance to remove your hands from your ass so you could hold yourself up, relieving some of the pressure on your poor knees.

“I’m choosing to ignore your disrespect,” Yoongi purred, placing his hands on your hips and bottoming out, his balls smacking your engorged clit roughly, earning a low hiss from your throat. Your fingers twisted into the sheets, breathing hard as your body adjusted. He was asking you how you wanted it. You clicked your tongue and turned your head back, seeing him watching you closely under his black hair shadowing his dark brown eyes.

“What a nice guy,” you remarked in a cool, defiant tone, borderline bored.

Come on, Yoongi, mess me up.

His lips curved into that devious, open-mouthed smirk you loved so much.

“Mhm.”

He slid out and slapped his crotch into your ass, hard.

“Yes, Yoongi, fuck!”

Your nails sank into your palms and you shoved your fists into the sheets, locking your upper body so you could push back into his rough thrusts, pleased grin on your lips, his perfect cock filling you over and over again, core tensed tight to feel all of him, the thick head forcing its way deep inside slick velvet, the rock-hard length twitching against each ridge, his balls bouncing against your inflamed clit, so full, so good, so intense that it almost hurt.

It wasn’t enough.

Panting hard, chest shuddering, you reached up and planted a hand flat against the headboard and clenched your jaw, bucking back into Yoongi’s crotch. His voice was mind-numbingly deep, full of desire and danger.

“Harder it is, my love.”

You smirked, then gasped as you felt the hot sting of Yoongi’s palm on your ass, the sound reverting against the apartment walls. He didn’t stop, fucking you hard into the bed and slapping your ass as you kept up with his pace, doing half the work for him so he could focus on each sharp spank to make your ass bounce on his cock, the bed screaming for you two to stop, but neither of you noticed, completely focused on chasing wild, feral pleasure, Yoongi growling your name and you moaning at his carnal tone, soaking his skin with thick, sweet-smelling juices, pussy violently massaging his length.

“That’s it,” Yoongi hissed, breathing rapid and shallow, ceasing his slapping of your red ass to seize your hips and fuck you even harder, digging his nails into your skin and marking you with his lust. “Feels so good fucking this perfect body just the way I like.”

Fuck, his voice, taking your heart and setting your world into lustful wildfire, no one like him, nothing like this, making you lose your mind and fuck back against him harder, the roller coaster climbing higher and higher and higher, Yoongi cursing under his breath, and you were so far gone that you almost didn’t pick up his words.

“Shit, Jungkookie would have loved watching you get wrecked by me.”

A low moan ripped from your throat, the thought of Jungkook’s needy voice and expression seeing you get pounded by Yoongi’s full strength, being told to watch and probably not being able to help touching himself, fuck, you wanted it, wanted Jungkook so bad at that very moment, wanted to show him how ruined you were, knowing he would love it, crave it, desire it, fuck, it was too much and you came hard, seeing stars, planets, fuck it, the whole fucking galaxy, fingernails curling into the headboard and whining at the sensitivity, body rolling onto Yoongi’s cock and squeezing it powerfully. Yoongi gasped out your name, grip tightening as he spilled into the condom, his length pulsating and twitching into your walls. You thought that was it, but Yoongi’s fingers snaked down between your legs.

“Oh, fuck, Yoongi, Yoongi, fuck!”

He roughly rubbed your aching clit with two fingers, forcing you to cum again around his cock, moaning loudly with every convulsion of your overstimulated pussy, viscous juices clinging to the insides of your joined thighs, completely defeating the purpose of the fucking shower, but neither of you seemed to remember that, Yoongi too busy using his last ounce of strength to push you to your limit, flicking the sensitive bundle of nerves and vibrating his fingertips against it, your eyes rolling back and spine clattering as another orgasm blasted through you, up your torso and straight to your head, numbing pleasure overtaking everything, arm going slack and forgetting to hold yourself up, hand slipping on the headboard, fatigue finally having its way.

Yoongi was quick to slide his hand up your belly and keep you up, wiry strength of his right arm balancing between your breasts to prevent you from falling into the bed.

“Holy f-fuck…”

The words sounded far away even though they were yours, the resounding beat in your ears being your pulse trying to catch up, nerves tingling all over, acutely aware of the tiny flinches gliding across your skin, aftershocks of a particularly explosive orgasm. Your pussy was still throbbing around Yoongi’s spent cock, locking him in your embrace. You planted your hands onto the bed and lifted yourself up rather shakily, taking the burden off Yoongi’s arm.

“You okay?” Yoongi asked, caressing the underside of your breast lightly.

You had the energy to raise one hand and give him a thumbs-up.

He rapped your ribcage. “Stop that.”

You chuckled, finding your voice a bit hoarse. “Why? You always do it in pictures.”

You heard Yoongi mumble disapprovingly behind you. “Is that why you do that? To make fun of me when I take photos?”

“Almost eight years of being an idol and you still don’t know what to do with your hands in pictures,” you teased.

He pinched your nipples roughly and you yelped.

“I know what to do with my hands around you,” Yoongi growled, rubbing them between his fingertips, your moans radiating off his walls. “And that’s what matters.”

interlude 20210419 drabble — “This is not allowed, you two.”

part vi “Shh, you’re not allowed to tell anyone.”

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi smut #bts smut #suga x you #yoonkook x reader #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi smut

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sunmoonandeddie · 3 years

Text

oh, captain, my captain

pairing: professor!steve rogers x reader

word count: 2,090

summary: Steve Rogers got bored in his retirement, so he picked up the hobby of teaching art. But he still feels restless until his missing piece comes along.

warnings: swearing, little bit of smutty smut, dub-con, drinking, manipulation, steve is a little dark but reader is into it in the end

a/n: This is... a little darker than what most people expect from me. But I wrote this for a dear friend, so I really, really hope you all enjoy it!! Also, please read the warnings. I'm not responsible for your media consumption <3

Life after the Avengers was mundane.

Not that Steve didn’t like the quiet days, where he knew he wasn’t going to be running off and risking his life at any moment, mind you. In fact, he was finding that retirement rather suited him.

Except for the fact that he was bored.

Bucky and Sam were always busy on some kind of mission together, saving the world and splitting their time between Brooklyn, Washington D.C., and New Orleans. Or NOLA, as Buck liked to call it now.

Perhaps the boredom was why he took up art again. He did go to art school, after all, and had even graduated. It was after his first official professional art show that the university contacted him.

They wanted him to teach young minds how to make art.

It was the perfect solution to his boredom problem.

Of course, he should’ve realized that getting a new job wouldn’t make him feel complete. No, unfortunately, he hasn’t found the missing piece in his hundred years.

At least until you walked into his classroom on the first day.

Steve’s eyes focused on you immediately, enamored by the curve of your legs and the Cupid’s bow of your upper lip. “Hello, you,” he mumbled softly under his breath as he watched you sit down to what appeared to be a friend of yours. He scrolled through his attendance on the school supplied computer in front of him, raising his brows as he found the name next to your university ID picture.

A perfect name for a perfect girl.

Suddenly he felt the need to have a few figure drawing classes. Privately. With you. With your clothes off.

And maybe his clothes would be off, too.

He stood up as the clock finally hit one in the afternoon, holding his laptop. “Alright, please let me know if you’re here as I call your names,” he said, before going through the roster quickly.

When he called your name, and you responded with a soft, “Here!” he almost fucking came in his pants.

“Alright. In this class, as with many art classes, we’re going to get very… personal,” he said as he started to walk through the easels and those sitting in front of them. “So on the first day, rather than reading through the syllabus that’s readily available on your phone, I like to do some ice breakers.” He couldn’t help but grin at the collective groan that rang through the class. “I know, I know. But like I said, this class is going to get very personal. So come on, let’s all get in a little closer.”

“Do you mind?” You asked quietly as you scooted her stool in between two others that he couldn’t remember the names of. You gave them a blinding smile as they made room, perching in your seat like a little angel.

His little angel.

Everything seemed to be a blur as he led them in a series of questions, but he barely retained any information from anyone except you. At least he had his phone secretly recording in his pocket so he could go back and relisten later (even if it was mostly just to hear your voice.)

Favorite color?

“Green.”

Favorite holiday?

“New Year’s Eve.”

Favorite artist?

“Marilyn Minter.”

That was interesting to him. That showed that you had a naughty side.

A side he so desperately wanted to get to know.

The only issue was that he needed to find a way to get you alone, and that was going to take trust built up over time.

He was truthfully, absolutely amazed that it only took a few weeks before you were coming to him with wonder-filled eyes, asking him if you could please schedule some time during his office hours to go over some of your portfolio.

Abso-fucking-lutely.

“Hey, you made it,” he said when you walked in after a light knock on the door, your portfolio in hand. Steve stood and immediately pulled out the chair for you like a proper gentleman. Subtly, he took in a deep breath as the cloud of your perfume enveloped him like a warm hug.

It was something classy. Something you had clearly splurged on.

Perhaps Gucci or Valentino or something.

“I’m sorry for being late,” you said as Steve glanced at the clock.

You were maybe three minutes late at the most.

“The subway was delayed, and unfortunately, I can’t control when the subway stops and goes,” you continued, letting out a nervous laugh as you opened up your portfolio. “Did you get my email with my previous pieces?”

“Yes, I did!” He said as he sat back down at his desk. “And honestly, I haven’t been this impressed in a long, long time. I would love to possibly mentor you? Of course, that means a lot more hours spent with an old man like me.” Eyes crinkling, he couldn’t help but laugh when you laughed.

He was sure that he almost had you right where he wanted you. The corner you were backing yourself into was almost too perfect.

You seemed… amazed. Absolutely flabbergasted by his offer. “Really?” You breathed out, leaning closer, elbows resting on your knees. “You’d really do that? That would be… I… Thank you.” Shaking your head, you scooted your chair a little closer. “How much should I pay you? I’ve never had a personal mentor before.”

And there it was. The corner he wanted you in.

“Oh, sweetheart, don’t worry about money,” he insisted as he looked deep into your eyes. It would be so easy to just get lost in them… “But, I do need assistance with something.”

“Of course!” You were like a doe-eyed little fawn, chasing him—the magnificent stag—through a field of wildflowers. “Whatever you want!”

Steve put on the most bashful, boy next door look he could muster. “Well… I’ve been trying to get back into figure drawing, but you’d be surprised at how hard it is finding a class to take that won’t freak out that I’m… you know. Steve Rogers.”

The look on you face let him know immediately there was no way you were going to say no. Hell, you were looking at him like he was the last puppy on the side of the road in a box that had ‘FREE’ written on the side.

In the rain.

“When do we start?”

Steve got everything set up in his home studio that night, only to sit until Friday night, when he’d planned for you to come over. Admittedly, he may have gone a little overboard with the mood lighting and the bottle of red wine that he’d left open on the counter to breathe, two crystal wine glasses resting next to it.

The good crystal.

He practically ran to the door when he heard the doorbell. “Hey, I was a little worried you would have trouble finding it,” he said as he guided you inside, a large hand coming to rest on the small of your back.

“Oh, I just Ubered,” you said, ducking your head as you let him lead you into his large home. “I don’t have a car. It’s too expensive and there’s no point when I live in the city. Though, the drive out here was absolutely gorgeous. I can see why you got a place a little bit upstate.”

Steve grinned, fighting the urge to say that it could also be your place. But that was for the future. “Yeah, the views and the quiet is worth the forty-five minutes or so I commute everyday.” He opened up the door to his home studio, all the windows wide open.

You wandered around the room, looking at the various art supplies and canvases scattered haphazardly around the room. In the very center was a chaise lounge with a blanket draped across it. “This is amazing… God, if I had my own art studio at home, I don’t think I’d ever leave.”

He poured out two glasses of wine, gently pressing one into your hands. “Well, you can always use this one. I have more space than I could probably ever use.” He sipped at his own wine, watching the way the glass pressed to your lips, watching the way you swallowed down the sweet liquid.

He couldn’t get drunk, but you certainly could.

It was around your third glass that he finally got to the point of why you were there. “So, I really want to paint you lying on this chaise,” he said as he guided you back. “But… Would it be possible for you to pose in the nude? You have just… the most natural beauty. I want to be able to only focus on that.”

“Oh my god, yeah!” You said as you set your glass of wine on the little table. With your inhibitions lowered, there was no hesitation as you stripped out of your clothing, tossing it all to the side. “You just move me how you want me.”

Oh, he would.

His own wine glass was set to the side before he moved closer, his eyes locked on yours. “Yeah?” He guided you to lie down on the bed, letting his fingers drift over your soft skin. “God, you’re so fucking gorgeous… Could just look at you forever…” His thumb brushed over one of your hard nipples, teasing the little peak as his cock ached inside his sweats. “I could never paint anything else except for you… and I’d die the happiest man in the world.” Carefully, gently, he moved your legs so one of your knees was bent, your legs spread wide for him.

Your eyes fluttered shut, your skin feeling flushed from the wine and the excitement of this god-like man touching you. “Mmm… Professor…”

Steve’s eyes were locked in on the prize, that blooming flower between your thighs, glistening with sweet nectar. “I always love a hands on approach,” he cooed as he ran a single finger through your folds, gathering up your slick.

The taste was exquisite.

Pretty moans fell from your lips, your back arching as your legs instinctively spread wider for him. “Please…”

He knew you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. It was fate, you walking into his class.

“Do you want me to touch you, baby girl?” He asked, loving the purr that rumbled in your chest as he found your swollen clit. “So needy… When’s the last time your pretty little kitty got so much attention, angel? You’ve been neglecting her, haven’t you?”

At your nod, you tried sitting up a bit, lip caught between your teeth. “Y-Yes. Please… Please.”

Steve quickly realized you didn’t even know what you were asking for.

“So innocent. So sweet,” he said as he wrapped his hands around your waist to pull you to the edge of the chaise. He leaned in and took in a deep breath, groaning. “I wanna be able to smell you for days.” At the first lick of his tongue, he knew he had you wrapped around his fingers.

And when you finally orgasmed, soaking his beard with your juices? Fuck. He was even more of a goner than he was before.

Steve loved the way that you laid limbless on the chaise, foot lazily bouncing as you dozed. It was easily a sight that he could get very, very used to very quickly. This was going to be so much easier than he thought it was going to be.

While he knew he was the right one for you, being able to know that you weren’t going to fight him gave him an amazing sense of relief.

The next week, he stood at his desk, making notes on his laptop. At five minutes to one, the door opened as the first student to arrive entered.

Immediately looking up, his heart sank. It wasn’t you.

Did you panic after you left his place the next morning? Nothing more had happened that night. Surely getting an orgasm wouldn’t freak you out, right?

His hands were starting to tremble when the door opened again, and he felt someone standing right next to him.

“Professor Rogers?”

His head snapped up, relief flooding him when he saw you. “H-Hello. How can I help you?”

A mischievous smile spread across your face, even though you were clearly trying to contain it. “Is there any possible way you have some free time during your office hours for me to swing by? I’d love to schedule our next figure painting session.”

#steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve x you

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toxicjayhoe · 3 years

Text

We don’t have to dance

Explicit

Shinso / Reader(OC)

M / F

Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot

I mean there's some plot in my head but y'all don't get to see that haha

Cunnilingus

Blow Jobs

Hitoshi is a good boy

he asks for consent

Brainwashing

Oral Sex

Vaginal Sex

Unprotected Sex

Aged-Up Character(s) obviously

Light Dom/sub

Choking

Ahegao

Smut

He glanced across the overcrowded room, observing acquaintances and strangers as they socialized and sipped their drinks, swaying to the beat of the music. The open space of the hero office had been rearranged as to accommodate as many individuals as possible for this year’s Christmas celebration.

Shinso had never really been the type who partied, but he thought it was important to attend, if only for appearances sake. As a new Pro-hero, he believed it was a necessity to demonstrate he was a team player.

He took a mouthful of his cider, feeling it burn down his throat as he swallowed the effervescent drink. He never really drank either, but he enjoyed a nice glass every once in a while.

The couch he rested on was quite comfortable, he thought to himself as he settled back into it. He was more than content in just sitting here all evening until he believed it was acceptable to leave. He wasn’t interested in idle conversation about the weather or whatever these people were gossiping about to one another.

However, the universe had other plans for him it seemed, as Denki quickly approached him, shots in hand.

“Hey bestie, down this and let’s go get some ladies.” The blond handed the liquor towards him, urging him to take it, waggling his eyebrows and winking.

Shinso sighed, ignoring the offending alcohol currently being offered to him. “What ladies, Denki? We are at the bottom of the food chain here.”

“My dude, it’s a Christmas office party. Have you never seen a movie in your life? Things always get spicy at Christmas office parties.” He cackled, downing one of the shots and throwing the empty cup behind him. He pulled another from behind his back.

The purple haired man made a face, before chuckling quietly. “Where did that one come from?!”

Denki shrugged, shoving the two shots into Shinso’s hands. He rolled his purple eyes, giving in to maybe the only true friend he had.

He brought them to his lips, one after the other, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and placing the empty receptacles on the table by him. Of course Denki had chosen peppermint schnapps.

“I’m only going to be your wingman, and only because you could really use the support.” He said with a bored tone to his voice as he pushed himself up from the sofa. Denki whooped enthusiastically, rushing off to where Shinso could only assume the ladies were.

He unhurriedly trailed after him, making his way between the gatherings of individuals, being vigilant as to not come into contact with anyone as he passed them. He wasn’t fond of strangers to start, much less being touched by them in any way.

He was terrific at communicating when he was obligated to, which was merely when he was required to use his Quirk. He still had issues with it and, even now, citizens still told him it was better suited for a villain, but he’d come to terms with not being able to please everyone. As long as he did a respectable job as a pro-hero and protecting the populace, then he would be happy.

Once he finally made it beyond the crowd and to where Denki had run off to, said man was being rejected by yet another woman.

Jaw clenched as not to show any suggestion of a smirk, he clapped the blond on the back in sympathy.

“You’re aiming way too high, Denki. And you try too hard.” He said simply, unsure if it was the right thing to say or not. Nonetheless, the shorter man smiled up at him, seemingly undeterred by yet another loss.

“Let’s go play foosball!” Denki hollered, forcing him in the direction of the tabletop game, stealing two additional beverages as a waiter walked by them.

They played a few rounds, one versus the other. Shinso loathed to admit it, but he had struggled to keep up with the innate talent Denki appeared to have at the game.

Just as he began to genuinely start enjoying his night, Denki sprinted off, declaring he needed to piss. Shinso took the moment alone to survey his surroundings once more, taking in the sight of people’s inhibitions all but forgotten as alcohol started influencing their behaviors. He took another sip of his own drink, finishing it in one gulp.

If he was being honest with himself, he was also starting to feel the affects drinking had on his body and on his mind.

He leaned onto the wall behind him, arms crossed on his chest as Denki came into sight, marching towards him, arms intertwined with the two women at his sides.

One of them he recognized as Jiro, whom he was relatively convinced Denki had a major crush on. The other, however, he could not recall ever having the pleasure of meeting.

“Shinso, don’t be rude, say hi!” He rolled his eyes before nodding silently at them both. “Good enough. Okay! Me and Jiro against the two of you. Let’s do this.”

/\*\/*/\*\/*/\*\/*/\*\/*/\*\/*

Shinso was sure Denki had let him win for some odd reason his mind could not fathom.

As the two of them argued over why they lost the game, he cleared his throat, offering his hand to the shorter woman by his side

“I’m Shinso. Hitoshi Shinso. It’s nice to make your acquaintance”

She smiled, giving him a firm handshake.

“I know who you are, Brainwashing Hero.” His eyes widened, astonished anyone, let alone an alluring young woman, would know who he was. Was she not frightened of his quirk like everyone else had been? “My name is Aruna Ai.”

He heard himself hum before the words spilled from his mouth like word vomit.

“The moon does not fight. It attacks no one. It does not worry. It does not try to crush others. It keeps to its course, but by its very nature, it gently influences. What other body could pull an entire ocean from shore to shore? The moon is faithful to its nature and its power is never diminished.” He finished, taking a deep breath after such a long-winded sentence.

“Did you just quote Deng Ming-Doa’s Everyday Tao: Living with Balance and Harmony at me?” Aruna stared at Shinso, brows furrowed as her lips quirked up.

His hand found the back of his neck as heat rose to his cheeks in mortification, unable to look directly at her.

“Sorry, I don’t know where that came from, heh.” He continued to look everywhere but her, feeling crushingly stupid. Aruna chuckled, placing the palm of her hand on his muscular arm and squeezing.

“Don’t worry so much. I’m already a fan.” An overwhelming sense of calm overtook him then, like something paranormal was causing him to relax.

“What’s your quirk?” He blurted. He scratched his skull, once again mortified that he seemed to not have a filter tonight.

She squeezed his arm again before dropping her hand to her side, smiling brightly up at him.

“Well aren’t you just the most perceptive man?” She crammed her hand into her pockets, rocking back and forth on the heels of her shoes, seemingly deep in thought.

He patiently watched her.

“I can manifest emotions in others if I have direct skin contact with them. My power varies depending on the cycle of the moon though.”

He felt his eyebrow arch in curiosity. It was sort of similar to his own quirk, when he thought about it.

“That is truly fascinating, Aruna.”

She huffed and laughed. “Not as fascinating as being able to brainwash someone. I wonder what it feels like.”

“Care to find out?” He couldn’t believe the words leaving his own mouth.

“I would love to.” No hesitation in her voice, only a slight blush stained her cheeks.

His eyes narrowed as he stared into hers. “Are you sure?” His voice low.

She rolled her eyes “Of course I’m sure, Shin-“ Her eyes glazed over as her mind went blank.

“Follow me.” Came the command.

Although she had no control over her own movements, her mind was still aware enough to realise what was happening.

She was led across the crowds and through the halls. He silently guided her into an unoccupied office, small cots lined up on the walls.

He released his hold on her mind, allowing her a moment to turn around and leave, if she so chose.

His gaze never left her face, eyes concentrated on the way her cheeks darkened. Mortified, no doubt.

They remained standing, unmoving for long moments. Hesitation welled in him for a second, unsure of himself. Aruna’s breathing came out in a sigh as she strode forward, toward him in quick steps. When she reached him, her hands grasped his clothed shoulders as she pushed herself up onto the tips of her toes, raising her lips to meet his in a sweet kiss.

Purple eyes widened at the unexpected contact.

“I just… wanted to do that of my own accord first.” She whispered as she stepped back, breathing heavier than moments before, smile on her lips.

“You look at me like you think I’m someone else.” He said simply.

Her eyes narrowed, a look he could not read painting her features.

“How do I say this… We don’t have to talk, and we don’t have to dance around it, we don’t even have to be friends. I’m attracted to you…I want you to brainwash me. And…” She paused as Shinso slowly approached her.

Eyes peered into hers, pupils dilated. “And?”

“And… I want you to use me as you wis-“ Her mouth hung open, no words coming out as Shinso gained control once again. If she could smirk, she would have.

“Come here.” Her feet pulled her to where he was now sat on one of the cots.

Large hands grasped hers. The softness of her fingers in comparison to his own, rough and calloused, felt like heaven.

Shinso had never done anything like this before and the thrill of it all made blood rush through his entire body, his heart hammering in his chest.

He looked up into her blank eyes, dick twitching against his slacks at the sight of her. He couldn’t wait to see her ruined by him.

He couldn’t get enough of her soft skin, gliding his fingers up her arm and to her neck while the other hand drifted lower, reaching under her dress.

A devilish smirk formed on his face when his fingers tightened around her throat, a soft gasp leaving her mouth.

Hiking her dress up, he dug his fingers into her hip, pulling Aruna closer, lowering his head to kiss just above his tight grip.

Teeth grazed against her skin, eliciting soft moans from above as he nipped and kissed and sucked, marking her. He hoped the resulting bruises would last weeks, reminding her of tonight.

Despite that most thought that, while under the influence of his quirk, his victims couldn’t remember what they’d done under Shinso’s control, it all depended if he wanted them to remember or not.

He most definitely wanted Aruna to remember tonight, needed her to feel and see everything he would do to her and have her do to him.

“Spread your legs.”

A hum left his lips as she did what she was told, legs far enough apart for his face to fit nicely between soft thighs.

“Good girl.” He whispered, looking up into those blank eyes, her pupils now dilated, a look of lust filling them.

He kept his gaze fixated on hers as he released her neck, hand gliding to her breast, squeezing it gently. Fuck, he couldn’t get enough of her body. Her soft curves and her even softer skin. The breathy moans that left her lips at every new sensation.

Perhaps she was the one ruining him.

Both hands were on her hips, fingers slipping under the hem of her panties, dragging them down her legs and around her feet. He placed them in his pant pocket. They were his now.

As he pressed his nose to her, he inhaled deeply, a groan ripping through his throat. Absolute heaven, the scent of her driving him crazy with need.

His tongue met her folds, licking up to her clit before bringing it into his mouth and sucking. He felt her knees go weak, the only thing holding her up straight now were his strong hands at her hips.

She tasted absolutely amazing. Shinso’s eyes squeezed shut as he devoured her. He was sure his fingers were leaving bruises. He hoped they were.

Leaving her pussy for air was torture, but he could feel his control over her slipping as he got lost in the taste of her.

“I’m going to let go of your hips now. Don’t fall.”

He wiped his chin of her juices with the back of his hand, tongue darting out to gather the droplets on his lips. He pressed his palm down onto his cock, needing some kind of touch to release the pressure building inside him.

Nimble fingers unbuckled his belt, releasing his cock from its confines. Aruna glanced down, eyes lidded.

Her own tongue slipped from her mouth, licking her lips at the sight of him slowly stroking his cock, tired eyes locked on hers.

“Come taste me.” The commanding tone sent noticeable shivers down her spine, clearly trembling where she stood.

She could feel herself resisting the request, his control wavering as pleasure began to overtake his senses.

“ Obey me.” Aruna’s knees hit the floor, palms resting on his thighs as she positioned her mouth over him.

One calloused hand cupped her cheek, guiding her lower, the other gripping the base of his cock.

The sound that rumbled through his chest was unholy as she took as much of him into her warm mouth as she possibly could, hallowing her cheeks the instant the head hit the back of her throat.

“F-fuck. Aruna” His fingers fisted into her hair, staring down at her as drool dribbled down her chin. He gently pushed her down on his cock, face fucking her softly. He didn’t want to hurt her, but fuck if her wet tongue across the underside of his dick didn’t feel like paradise.

She moaned around him as he thrust into her mouth, sending delightful vibrations through him, dick twitching in her mouth. He was losing control. He could feel it.

Her tongue swirled around the head of his cock and- he was sure it would be the end of him. This girl. How did he get so fucking lucky?

Aruna’s fingers dug into his thighs as she came up for air, his quirk weak enough from the pleasure to break out of it.

His eyes widened as she quickly rose to her feet, pushing his chest down as she settled onto his lap, sitting on his cock, sinking down on it in one swift movement.

Strong hands grasped her hips once more, furiously fucking up into her. Every moan from her lips sent heat through him.

“You like that, baby?” He asked, voice hoarse and husky.

“Y-yes. Hah. You feel so good, Hitosh-“ Her pussy tightened around him, losing herself to his control once more.

“Silly girl. Stick your tongue out for me, and don’t stop fucking yourself on my cock.”

Her eyes blank again, tongue sticking out, drooling down her face. It was absolutely stunning. So fucking beautiful, and it was all for him. He had never seen anything so breathtaking.

He stared into her face, bringing his thumb to her clit, gently pressing circles into it and watched as she shuddered, grinding on him harder, breaths coming out unevenly, whimpers escaping her lips every time he bottomed out in her.

“You’re so beautiful. Aruna. Fuck. The way I fit inside you, like we were meant to be like this.”

The words left his mouth, any shame he might have felt discarded, pleasure overwhelming his every sense. She looked amazing, tasted amazing, smelt amazing. She was perfect.

He grasped her throat again, other hand on her ass as he met her thrust for thrust. She was close, he could feel it in the way her walls clenched around him, in the way her eyes crossed, tongue still lolling from her delicious little mouth.

“Come for me, my lovely moon. “

She stilled above him, walls clenching tight one more time as her insides fluttered around him, sending him over the edge, cock spurting deep inside her, a growl leaving his throat, fingers tightening painfully around her neck.

She collapsed against his chest as he released control over her, breathing heavily in the crook of his neck as he gently caressed her back and played with her hair, calming her as she came down from her orgasm.

Shinso adjusted her dress to cover her body. His heart felt full for what seemed like the first time in his life.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Aruna.”

He felt her smile against his neck.

There was no point in saving the world if it meant losing the moon.

Art by Me

#hitoshi shinso #shinsou x reader #bnha shinsou #mha fic #shinsou smut #shinso x you #shinso #shinso simp #boku no hero academia #mha fanart #shinso fanart #hitoshi shinso fanart #boku no hero fanfic #boku no hero smut #happy birthday shinso

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mostlycompetentwriter · 3 years

Note

Anything you write is so amazing so can I please request a marriage au and possibly mafia with Hyunjin. You can pick the plot!!

Hi! I’m not sure if you wanted smut, but I was inspired to write smut. Please enjoy.

Pairing: Fem! Reader x Hyunjin

Genre: Mafia AU; Marriage AU

Warnings: Language and Smut

Word Count: 1.7K

It was cold when you pulled up to your expensive estate, bundled up in a luxurious coat and an evening gown that cost more than the car your driver had brought you home in. But no amount of money could improve your current mood, silently loathing your husband’s insistence, yet again, that you return home early and miss out on all the fun at your best performing club.

“Fuck him,” you decided aloud, slamming the door closed behind you as you marched along the neat sidewalk leading to the front door.

For the past several weeks, you had done your best to run the club downtown where you entertained the wealthy patrons who enjoyed the rare alcohol selections from the bar. You were the reason why the club was so successful, but then everything seemingly changed overnight, and you would always blame the drunk, inconsiderate asshole who started a huge fight that had to be broken up by every security guard you had hired.

By the time Hyunjin arrived on the scene, your husband was incensed, and he enforced a very strict curfew that prevented you from staying in the club past nightfall. “Extra security measures my ass,” you growled. “Who else is gonna run that place while he drives around town making all sorts of deals?”

He hadn’t always been that protective. When Hyunjin found you after taking over your father’s pathetic excuse for an organization, merging the two together, and sealing the deal by asking for permission to marry you - the gorgeous daughter who could certainly handle herself in a fight - he promised that you would be involved in every aspect of his underground mafia dealings.

But then the fight happened, and you were stuck at home bored out of your mind while you resented Hyunjin’s decision to keep you locked up like some kind of animal. The anger and frustration continued to grow each night you found yourself gazing out the window in the living room and wondered what was happening to the rest of the world while huge, well-armed security guards walked the premises of your home and kept you inside. “I’m not doing this anymore,” you decided, and you didn’t even bother to change out of your club skirt before planting yourself at the mini-bar in the kitchen where you would wait for Hyunjin to drag his ass back home. “I won’t stand down!”

It was a worthy declaration, and you were in the process of rehearing everything you wanted to say to Hyunjin, ruminating over the past few weeks of isolation while glancing at the fancy clock ticking away in the background. The hour had entered the early AM when you heard the front door open, followed by the sound of Hyunjin’s voice as he spoke on the phone to one of his subordinates. “We’ll meet with him this Friday,” Hyunjin said, and you watched him walk into the kitchen, startling when he realized you were still awake. “Yeah, I’ll call you back tomorrow.”

You smirked, waiting until he hung up the phone before speaking. “It’s about time you get here.”

“I had some things to take care of,” Hyunjin replied, and he must’ve been ignorant to your foul mood as he walked over to spread your thighs, making himself comfortable between them. “You’re still all dressed up.”

“We need to talk,” you said, deciding that it was best to get straight to the point.

“Sweetheart, what’s your problem?” Hyunjin asked, and you frowned as he started messing with the knot on his tie.

“My problem is you, Hyunjin,” you snapped, furious that he was being so nonchalant.

“Me?” Hyunjin scoffed. “What the hell did I do wrong?”

“Really?” You rolled your eyes at how dense he was. “Can’t think of anything?”

“Is it because I’m home so late?” he asked. “You know I work late sometimes, baby.”

“Quit calling me that,” you growled. “I’m talking about the new club. You know I’m the best person to run it, but you keep sending me home like I’m a kid or something.”

Hyunjin smiled. “Is that all? You’re precious to me, baby,” Hyunjin whispered, kissing you like you were something delicate to be treasured.

“My father taught me how to use a knife when I was ten,” you hissed against the seam of his mouth, pulling back to glare at Hyunjin. “I’m not a flower.”

Hyunjin scowled, and you realized that you had said something to piss him off, swallowing hard when he grabbed your arm even while trying to keep on a mask of false bravado. “I just wanted to come home and make love to my wife,” he said, and you winced when the hold around your arm grew tighter. “No,” he continued, and all previous semblances of softness were gone. “You want to be fucked, isn’t that right?”

“I want to be treated with respect!” you protested, yelping in pain when he forced you up out of your chair only to spin you around and bend your entire upper half over the counter.

“Is that right?” he growled into your ear. “You want me to let you do whatever the hell you want?”

“I can protect myself,” you said. “I did it before I met you!”

“But you have me now, sweetheart,” Hyunjin cooed, and you shivered when he started sliding your skirt down your thighs.

“I don’t need you to boss me around,” you insisted, even though it was quite obvious that Hyunjin had had enough of your attitude.

“Speak like that to me again,” he snarled, landing a sharp slap to the flesh of your ass.

“What are you gonna do?” you challenged him. “Fuck the fight out of me? Act like the big bad mafia boss who orders everyone around?”

“Maybe I will,” he whispered, and your next words were wiped clean around a moan when two of his fingers immediately penetrated your tight cunt. “Not so mouthy now,” Hyunjin said, and you whimpered at his tone, legs shaking at the fast movements of his fingers against your delicate walls, grazing that sweet spot with every stroke.

“This isn’t fair!” you whined, but Hyunjin only laughed in response, wrapping his free arm around your waist as he brought you back against his chest, curling his fingers just right as he flexed his wrist with talented motions.

“You’ll cum once like this from my fingers,” he said. “And then once from my cock.”

“Is this your way of controlling me?” you asked, wincing when he abruptly removed his fingers and allowed you to tall back down against the counter.

“It’s my way of loving you,” Hyunjin said, and you could hear the raw emotion in his voice. “I just want you to be safe and happy, Y/N.”

“Hyunjin...” you tried, but there was no finishing a coherent sentence when his fingers were back on your clit, drawing harsh little circles with his thumb while three fingers stretched the walls of your still-tender pussy, pushing you closer to the edge while murmuring sweet nothings into the hair at the back of your neck.

“Feel good for me,” he said, and you choked around a stuttered exhale when your first orgasm of the night left you reeling from Hyunjin’s dramatic shift to something soft and decidedly un-mafia-like.

“Baby,” you sighed, allowing your forehead to touch the cool surface of the counter to alleviate the sweat building there, groaning when Hyunjin slid down your panties and started working apart his well-pressed suit pants.

“You can cum again for me, Y/N,” Hyunjin said, and despite the ache in your core, you spread your legs even wider for him when he started to push his cock between your gaping walls, replacing the spaces where his fingers had previously brought you to the edge. “So tight,” Hyunjin moaned, and his hands held firmly to your hips as he started pounding immediately, leaving you no time to adjust; although, you were already prepared for him because of the mess he had made from finger fucking you into oblivion.

“Shit your cock is amazing,” you cried, tossing back your head against the fresh waves of pleasure, closing your eyes as you took everything he was giving you.

It almost felt like a peace offering, especially when your husband was more than inclined to take you over any available surface of your lavish home.

“Yeah?” Hyunjin grunted, and you could practically feel his proud smirk as he gave you all his attention, working his cock at different angles and listening for your reactions: staccato moans and dramatic cries of his name. “Tell me when you’re close.”

“Soon,” you promised him, arching your back just a little more because it gave Hyunjin better leverage to hit your g-spot on every thrust.

He took the hint, grinding his hips against your ass and working you over as only someone who had spent years learning your body could. “Do you need me to touch you?” he asked and you nodded fiercely, unable to resist the tears that started to fall when one hand returned to your throbbing clitoris, giving it some much-needed attention as the rest of you started to fall apart.

“I’m coming!” you cried, looking back over at your husband and nearly losing it at the sight of his concentrated expression. Sweat falling down the sides of his hairline, eyes focused on the place where he was pumping his cock inside of you, expression shadowed by the same lust and desire curling at the place where he was working you with his cock and fingers. “Hyunjin!” you shouted, losing every single last reserve of your inhibitions as you came for a second time, panting and desperate for him as he gave two deep thrusts before his cum joined your own.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he growled, pulling his cock from your ruined cunt as you held on to the counter with whatever strength you had left since your legs almost felt numb from his prior ministrations. “I got you,” he said, reaching down to collect you into his arms, holding you close as he brought you both upstairs to your shared bedroom.

You sighed at the feeling of the satin sheets against your lower back, reminders of the extravagances that his mafia dealings could afford you both, reaching over to wrap an arm around Hyunjin’s waist to keep him close. “I know that you love me, baby,” you said, drawing his attention. “But I still want to work the club at night.”

“Y/N,” Hyunjin growled, and you savored the wild, animalistic look in his gaze that promised you both a very long night.

#hyunjin fanfic #hyunjin scenarios #stray kids fanfic #stray kids scenarios #hyunjin imagines #hyunjin drabbles #hyunjin oneshot #hyunjin smut #stray kids smut #mostlycompetent

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fanficsrusz · 3 years

Text

POWER - Henry Cavill Smut

Warnings: Smut.

Pairing: Y/n x Henry cavill

Summary: Y/n's plan to seduce Henry backfires but in a wondrous way.

Word Cound: 7.7k

A/N: Its been a while since I've posted anything and I feel a little nervous 😅. However I've missed the thrill of creating a world all of my own. I also apologise for any spelling/grammatical mistakes. I havent edited anything for a long time so yeahhh.

Please comment/reblog if you enjoyed ❤️

"You're drunk"

The accusation, issued through Henry's teeth, was an angered hiss and Henry's reaction was everything that Y/n could have wished for… And more.

Y/n forced a little hiccup, feeling it bubble its way through her body before it made its escape out of her mouth, and almost laughed at the thin set of lips across from her that stayed in a straight line.

He looked positively prim - just like he always did.

"No-" she defended, "-I'm happy". The correction came with a sly smile, her upper body leaning towards him across the bar, her inner amusement increasing as she watched his body stiffen in annoyance.

Henry was keeping a distance between their bodies, as if he thought her intoxication may be infectious.

The hold he quickly took to her waist was more of a brace rather than an intention as she swayed forward and then backwards.

"Don't you want me to be happy, Henry?"

Y/n pouted, tilting her head back and looking at him with what she hoped would be a sultry invitation. She laughed, a bold, wicked sound that drew a few glances from others in the bar. Henry stared stiffly over her head, swallowing the lump in his throat that had seemed to form as he grew more irritated with the woman's involuntary outbursts.

"For God's sake, Y/n, control yourself", he whispered tightly.

Was he embarrassed by her lack of inhibition? No. It was quite the opposite. He felt… lost. As if he had no idea how to act in the situation he had found himself in.

It was normal for him, the playboy, to taunt her with his fancy words, to distract her with his sinfully dark looks and honeyed phrases, but turn the tables and he wasn't quite so poised himself and Y/n felt a delicious thrill of power at the knowledge that she had him off balance.

She deliberately let herself go limp in his arms, and, when his grip relaxed in relief at the stability her body found, she quickly slipped under his guard, pressing the entirety of her body sinfully against him.

Her tactics immediately threatened to backfire as Henry's coldly rigid body seemed to be generating an incredible amount of heat and that in itself was enough for her to lose focus of her goal.

She rested her check against his chest and willed away her trembling response even as she measured his annoyance by the wildly uneven thump of his heart.

"You'll regret this tomorrow," he told her sternly, his hands tightening painfully on her waist.

"'Why in hell did you drink all that champagne? Do you want to make a total fool of yourself, jeopardise a deal with Dere-?"

"Rubbish. Derek thought I was as graceful as ever; he told me so," y/n said airily, thinking that it was too late to regret drinking at a business meeting with her boss and other potential clients.

Y/n moved steadily in his arms to prove it, brushing her breasts against his chest, hoping that the crushed velvet of her dress would hide the multitude of her sins that had seemed to accumulate quickly throughout the night and not to mention the past year that she had worked beside Henry, every single dirty thought she ever had about him portraying itself as nothing more than a red stain upon her cheeks and chest.

She had never been sinful before, always a dutiful daughter, just as she had later been a faithful business partner to Henry but there was only so much a woman could take before she had to take drastic measures. Now she was neither a daughter nor a business partner. She was Y/n Y/l/n. Herself. A woman before anything else and more specifically a woman with needs.

"You're the only one who thought I was wrong for declining the partnership" , she drawled mockingly, too caught up in her reckless self-absorption to monitor his surfacing awareness. "Chill out, Henry. If you can't fix it with a snap of your fingers, you might as well lie back and enjoy the open bar…"

The thud of his heart had settled down to a swift, arrhythmic beat that set up a sympathetic vibration throughout her body from her scalp to the soles of her restless feet.

There was a small pause as he manoeuvred her pliant body away from another couple that wanted to get to the bar. Then he tilted his head to look down at her.

"Chill out?" Amusement leaked through his iron control as he suppressed the grin he held in tight. " wow- I never thought I'd hear street-slang from that elegant, business-lady mouth of yours…".

For a second Y/n gulped, thinking she had lost all control of the situation that she had perfectly built up all evening but then Y/n moved dreamily against him, fully immersed in her ideal scenario.

She linked her arms round his back and arched her neck slightly so that she could see his expression.

"But I'm not a lady tonight, Henry, I'm a woman," she said huskily.

"Should I lie back and enjoy that too?" he enquired cynically.

That conjured up indecent images that for a moment left Y/n shocked, breathless even and if it wasn't for the distant sound of a glass breaking somewhere in the bar then she would have stayed in her trance like manner.

Her lips parted as she tried to say something sophisticated in response but she couldn't think of a thing and for a moment she feared that she had lost the edge. Y/n bit her lower lip and suddenly he had control over her again, his voice rough with threat, as he gave her a small shake.

"Behave yourself, Y/n. Stop being so fucking provocative. You should go home"

"I'm not ready to go home yet" she mewled, eyes darting over to the dance floor that served as a pick up ground.

Henry sighed, his eyes following her gaze

"One dance, that's all you get. Then I'm getting you out of here before you start leaping onto table-tops and doing the can-can!"

"What a killjoy you're turning out to be, Henry" with fresh fury, she suddenly spun out of his arms and danced freely for a few moments before cutting mischievously in on another couple. Soon Henry was glaring murderously over the shoulder of a blonde woman while Y/n languished in the sweaty grasp of a nervous young man who was very aware of the hovering blue-eyed menace.

When Henry cut back in a short time later, Y/n was relinquished with ill concealed relief.

"You're playing with fire, Y/n" , Henry warned, his firm hand taking hold of her again. This time he held her so captively close that she could feel the lines of his suit being imprinted on her velvet dress.

She had the feeling that if he had been able to shackle both her wrists behind her back without attracting attention he would. He wanted to cage her, tame her, but tonight, surrounded by the security of a crowd, she was determined to be untamable, just to see how far she could push him.

"Mmmm, I know, and I feel so gloriously toasty and warm," she murmured wickedly, waggling her eyebrows at a passing male.

Henry swore under his breath and pulled her flirtatious eyes away from any male that passed by capturing her gaze before she could perform some similar impropriety. He quickly brought his own hand to his mouth to mask his aggression in the pretence of courtesy. She had been right about the shackling.

"You're drunk", he repeated raggedly, more as if he was telling himself than her. She rather liked the hint of desperation that seeped into every word he spoke. It was almost as satisfying as having him grovel at her feet.

Y/n laughed, a sensuous 'cat-with-the-cream' look of satisfaction on her face as she widened her eyes and purred, "But not incapable, darling…".

She tamed a deliberate misstep as she spoke so that her leg slid caressingly between his thighs as they turned.

Henry almost stumbled as she lifted her knee, briefly applying the pivoting pressure of her thigh firmly to the juncture of his. Her provocation had an immediate effect and she drew back instantly, finally aware that her teasing had gone too far. But it was too late. Henry had reached the end of his tether.

"Fine -" he seethed, "-we'll do this the hard way then"

Five minutes later Y/n was belted roughly into the passenger-seat of her own car.

" I'm perfectly fit to drive, Henry" she raged at the man who slid angrily behind the steering wheel before inserting her keys into the ignition.

"I'm as sober as you are!"

" For your sake, I hope that's a lie, Y/n".

His voice was nothing but a growl and y/n felt the shiver that started in her groin slowly rise up through her spine.

"But if it is true then maybe you've done me a favour. If you were teasing me deliberately I don't have to feel guilty for what I'm about to do." his eyes stayed focused on whatever he was staring at, his fists curling tightly around the steering wheel until his knuckles turned pale.

"Do?" Y/n asked faintly as the car sprang into motion with far more power than she ever managed to coax from under the unimpressive bonnet.

"Did you think I would calmly walk away like an obedient lap-dog when you got tired of your little game ?"

"I...I... didn't think-" she began to splutter.

"No? Just instinct, was it? Trap the beast, then rattle his cage until he howls? Wasn't that your goal?"

"Henry!"

He hadn't looked at her since they had got in the car, driving with a narrow-eyed concentration, but now he slipped a grim sideways glance at her shocked expression and what he saw there seemed to ease his ferocious tension but the wolfish twitch of his mouth wasn't reassuring

"You did, didn't you? You really thought I'd let you get away with it. You didn't think I'd have the guts to drag you kicking and screaming out of there"

Y/n swallowed the dry lump in her throat. She had definitely underestimated her victim and definitely forgot to plan this far ahead.

"'I wasn't kicking and screaming," she protested weakly, avoiding the obvious answers he wanted.

"Not on the outside maybe. But your innocent act never did cut any ice with me" Henry's eyes glanced over at Y/n

Y/n clenched her fists tightly, until her nails dug into the palm of her hand, but she barely noticed. The only thing she was really aware of, was the sound of her heart throbbing against the cage of her chest.

It wasn't until she looked up into the rear view mirror, that she noticed she had been biting her lip so much so that they were almost as red as the lipstick that had wiped off hours ago.

"Scared, Y/n?" Henry jeered softly as she swallowed again, this time audibly. "You should be." he said lowly

"What about your own car?" she began weakly, hoping that practicalities might prevail where argument hadn't.

"I'll pick it up tomorrow." Y/n went quiet. This fantasy was easier to plot when she didn't have to concentrate on parrying his verbal thrusts and she tried to calm her nervous actions with whatever had made her think that she could best him at his own game.

She wished she were drunk but all she could do was hope that the drive would cool down that scorched male pride. All she could do momentarily was create another plan.

When they would finally get back to her apartment building she would placate him, contrive to convince him that it had all been a silly mistake. For all his threatening manner, she knew instinctively that he wouldn't use violence to enforce his threats. He didn't have to... all he had to do to seduce her was to take her in his arms and then she would be at his mercy. But once she had bolted her door on him she would be safe from her own wicked urges.

He could rage and huff and puff all he liked but he wouldn't be able to get in. The irony was rather quaint. All the security locks that he had insisted she have installed on her doors and windows when he first found out she lived alone in a not so friendly neighbourhood would ensure that her virtue remained unassailable - well for tonight at least.

Y/n had almost convinced herself that she had already outwitted him when she noticed the unfamiliarity of their route.

"This isn't the way to my home!"

He ignored her. The moving light thrown by the passing street-lights illuminated his shadowed expression. It was a hard mask of satisfaction.

"Dammit, Henry, where are you taking me?"

"I told you. Home."

"This isn't where I live."

"I never said I would take you to your home. I simply said 'home'. It's not my fault that you assumed I meant your home."

Henry turned into a steep, dark, curving driveway that seemed to drop away directly into the deep black glitter of a Lake that Y/n didn't even know existed in the area.

Y/n's heart was in her mouth as the car swooped towards the water, but when they reached the lower curve into darkness, security lights suddenly flickered on and she saw the brick paved courtyard clearly for an instant before the car was swallowed by the lower level of the house.

The garage door closed automatically after them, and for a moment after Henry cut the engine, the only sound in the softly lit enclosed space was the faint ringing echo of the metal door. Y/n was irresistibly reminded of the metallic springing of a trap. One that she had baited herself into.

"Welcome home, Y/n." Henry leaned towards her and she flinched, but he was merely flicking open her seatbelt.

She couldn't see him smile but she could hear the amusement in his voice as he continued, "No, not here in the car. I'm not so crude as to take up your generous invitation without due ceremony and at least a few comforts."

Henry leaned even further, reaching across her to push open her door, this time dragging his arm deliberately against her rapidly rising breasts as he withdrew.

"Get out. I'd prefer to go inside" he purred dangerously, pointedly placing her car keys out of reach in the inside pocket of his jacket.

" but If you can't restrain your wild passion and don't mind a little discomfort I'm quite ready and willing to make love to you against the dashboard"

Y/n was up and out of the car with as much alacrity as her fumbling apprehension would allow. His mocking laugh as he followed suit had her searching for the door, but he was there before her, opening it with a flourish and a small bow.

" After you. "

All the way up the narrow, spotlight staircase, Y/n was aware of the movement of her hips and legs, the breathless difficulty in her chest and, most of all, the steady, inexorable masculine tread that stalked her.

The room at the top of the stairs was shrouded in darkness, relieved by vague glimmering white shapes that made her gasp.

"Afraid of ghosts, too, Y/n? What a timid little thing you're turning out to be…". The murmured words smoked across the small area of vulnerable skin between her shoulder-blades, exposed by the discreet scoop of her gown, whispering across her sensitised nerves. There was a faint click and the room sprang into light.

The white shapes were sheets, draped over bulky objects.

Even the floor was covered by a dark green sheet, and the reason was obvious. The walls were stripped and primed, but had not yet had their first coat.

They were in the kitchen, Y/n guessed from the positioning of the shrouded fittings. Scattered about were cans of paint and rolls of wallpaper, brushes soaking in paint and the odd ladder or two. The only ghosts here were those of the tradesmen.

Yet, Y/n's heart continued to flutter with a deliciously disconcerting fear, an excited apprehension.

Without a word Henry took her by the elbow and ushered her impatiently through several more similarly dust-shrouded rooms with the unswerving instinct of a guided missile, not bothering to turn on any more lights.

The place seemed huge, and as silent and brooding as the explosively primed man beside her.

"You-you're redecorating!" Y/n grabbed at the chance to divert him from his relentless intention. Honestly it surprised her that she had known him for so long and yet had never seen his home, he didn't even talk of it much.

Henry didn't answer and she fell quiet.

He let her resistance slow him but he didn't let his grip ease. He had already been taken by surprise once too often that night.

"Have you been feeling hunted, Y/n?" Her answer was in her uneasy sidelong look. He smiled secretively. "Now you know how I felt this evening: like the helpless prey to your brazen huntress…" Y/n flushed, her whole body heating at his words. She had been brazen, utterly so, and she had enjoyed it far too obviously to try to deny it now.

Henry let her dwell on her folly for a moment before he murmured, "The answer to your question is…" his slow smile drew out the suspense for a wickedly long second "...perhaps."

His eyelids drooped, not quite hiding the predatory gleam that smouldered in the darkness. He was still very, very angry and he wanted her to know it.

"Certainly it turned out to be very convenient for you…"

His free hand came up under her other elbow and he stepped around to face her, forcing her backwards and into the realisation that while he had held her enmeshed with his equivocating words he had been slowly backing her to the wall.

"I'm no one's convenience," she spat, determined not to see the effect his calculated menace was having on her already chaotic nervous system.

"You have to admit you qualify in one or two forms of the dictionary meaning, Y/n," he drawled, driven to foment her the way that she had tormented him. "You're certainly suitable for my purposes and needs and you're close by... but no, I don't suppose you could be considered "easy to use"...

The fear that had inhibited her flared into an open temper at his overt mockery.

"If you think I'll let you-" "-Challenging me, y/n?" he interrupted softly, and watched her hesitate as she realised the certain consequences of goading him from her very vulnerable position.

"Actually," he continued almost kindly, "it's a little late for second thoughts. You've led me this far with your little game. Now it's time to pay the piper…" He dipped his head and to her tingling shock bit her gently on the side of her satiny throat. She reared back, but there was nowhere to go, no escape that didn't involve going through that broad-shouldered, lean-hipped wall of male arrogance!

"led you! You're the one who practically kidnapped me" She was appalled to hear the breathy lightness in her words when she had meant them to be firm.

"Mmm. Exciting, isn't it?" He bit the other side of her throat. "Just think how thoroughly helpless you are right at this minute. You're in a strange house, while I know every nook and cranny. All the exits are deadlocked. Even if you ran, where would you run to? I'm stronger than you are. bigger, harder, faster. You can't get away, no matter how hard you try. I can do anything I want with you. And there's nothing you can do about it, except…"

" Except what?" The mouth skimming her throat was having as violent an effect as his taunting words, arousing the deeply buried desires that she had tried to deny.

" accept what you caused" She felt the curve of his lips against her smooth skin, heard the amusement in the sensuous rumble.

He was laughing at her.

He wasn't content with merely seducing her. No, he wanted to humiliate her, too.

Sudden panic struck and with a fierce surge of strength she shoved at his solid chest. To both their surprise, he staggered back, far enough for her to dart away. With a roaring curse he gave chase.

Y/n's heart hammered as she scuttled from the safety of one covered piece of furniture to the next. She froze, listening for the direction of his pursuit, but Henry had also stilled. He was out there somewhere, crouched and aware, listening, just as she was, waiting to pounce. Her skin prickled hotly and she could feel the blood pulsing heavily through her veins. Y/n shivered with a strangely febrile excitement. She peered around what appeared to be a small table and saw a graduation of the blackness - A doorway!,

Taking a deep breath, she took to a low crouch and ran for it. As she did so she felt a rush of air as close as a blow and a throaty growl. He had only just missed her! She couldn't help letting out a little scream as she abandoned stealth and bolted, darting breathlessly to the darkened room.

Henry was never far behind and at first she was grateful that he didn't switch on the lights, the better to find her, but as his taunting laughter infiltrated the night she realised that he was revelling in the chase...and so was she!

Her inner certainty that Henry would never physically hurt her, even in genuine rage, gave an added piquancy to the situation.

She had challenged him in the most clemental way possible and he was responding in a way that was as different and exciting as he was.

The panic which had precipitated her flight became a delicious terror as the teasing game of hide-and-seek continued.

Sexual tension flourished in the shrouded silence like a living thing. He was no longer in a hurry to catch her, whispering silky-voiced threats into the night that curled her toes and dampened her palms, describing in sensual detail what was going to happen when he found her.

It didn't take Y/n very long to break. When Henry suddenly went quiet her imagination ran riot. She pressed herself even more tightly against the reassuring solidarity of what appeared to be a sideboard and quavered, "Henry?".

There was no answer and she tried hard to sound convincingly calm.

"Henry, this is ridiculous. Why don't you turn on the light and we'll talk about it sensibly?" Sensible was the last thing she felt but she couldn't stand the waiting no longer.

Y/n was just close enough to the edge of her self control to try shameless grovelling.

" All right, so I acted foolishly this evening. Now you've got your revenge and now we're even aren't we?"

Silence

"okay fine , yes, I admit it!" she cried. "I pretended to be drunk to tease you but…"

Silence,

"I did it because... because I didn't expect you to respond." And may God not strike her down for that awful lie!

"I wanted to annoy you, that's all. It was wrong of me. Childish. I'm sorry. I just wanted to give you a taste of your own medicine. You always seem to have this - control over me. I just wanted to get under your skin for once."

Silence

"Henry? Henry!' Her placatory tone slipped badly.

" Fuck!, stop it. Henry, this isn't funny anymore!"

A soft chuckle floated out of the darkness. Y/n was too disorientated to guess its direction and she whirled a full circle.

" I'm not playing your stupid game any more, Henry, so you may as well come out. I won't try and run away again. I promise."

Silence.

Y/n began to tremble, not from fear but from helpless desire. Dammit, why didn't he come out and finish what she had started already. There was a soft sound to her left, a tiny echoing click that acted like a trigger on her taut nerves, catapulting her automatically to the other wall of the room, where she backed hastily between two tented objects that provided her with a solid sense of security. A false sense, she discovered, when a hand suddenly whipped across her mouth from behind, smothering her scream.

"So much for your promises, Y/n," came the clipped murmur in her ear. "That was only my cuff-link. You ran straight into my arms."

The hand across her mouth tightened as she tried to protest, and an arm lashed around her waist, drawing her back against a hard, familiar body. He hadn't lied in his silken whispers. He was just as aroused as she was by their foolish game.

She stood there for a moment, her head against his shoulder, trembling and breathless. She tried to speak and tasted the sweat of his palm. Instead of dropping his hand he trailed it deliberately across her lips, his fingers curving into her parted mouth, stroking the inner surface of her mouth and fondling her tongue with an intimacy that was far more shocking than any explicit sexual caress.

Her heart thundered in her breast as he softly probed her moistness, scaling the breath from her lungs, as he whispered, "Do you like this, Y/n? Your mouth is like wet satin, wrapping around my fingers. Use your tongue, tell me if you like the taste of me…" The sheer intoxication of his husky plea made her moan and he quickly let his hand drop.

"Am I hurting you?"

She couldn't answer and his hand continued to fall, until it settled on the firm roundness of her left breast, his palm cupping her, feeling the pounding tumult within.

" You...frighten me," she managed to say, her taste buds tingling with each word, drowning in the full flavour of him.

"This isn't fright, Y/n…" His hand tightened and then released, to flatten and move against her in soft rotation, compressing the flesh in a way that made her tremble even more.

"This is excitement. You wanted to be caught, didn't you? You're as curious about me as I am about you, only you wouldn't let yourself admit it. Tell me now if this is not what you want, Y/n, because from here on in I can't guarantee my control…"

As he issued his rough command his hand moved to explore her other breast. The hand around her waist strayed, fingers splaying against her velvet belly, digging into her softness, reaching for the ache that was forming in the pit of her stomach. His mouth was moving against her shining cap of hair, seeking the sensitive hollows at the nape of her neck.

He was handing control to her because she made him feel wildly out of control. She had never driven a man so wild with desire that he didn't know what he was doing...

"Henry, God, -"

"don't say no, Y/n. Not now." He spun her tightly in his arms and she made a discovery that drenched her with sensuous delight.

"Your clothes…"

He had taken off his jacket and tie some time during his dark pursuit and unbuttoned his shirt so that it hung free from his broad shoulders. The hands that she had placed against his chest met with bare skin- hot, damp, satiny skin covered with thick, soft hair. His heart was almost leaping from his chest and he shuddered as she pressed her palm harder against him, marveling at the strength and power rippling beneath the skin.

"I got hot, chasing you," he said. "I still am. Wanting you makes me that way. Hot and so ready that I can hardly stand!"

He made a subtle movement with his hips and groaned as he brushed against the thick velvet folds of her dress. She felt a fresh moisture break out on his skin and in an instinctive gesture of acceptance leaned forward to nuzzle it from his chest, her mouth inadvertently brushing against one of his large, flat nipples in his nest of hair.

He made a choking sound in his throat, arching back to give her free access to his upper body and in the process ground his swollen hardness against the juncture of her thighs

"do it"

Y/n barely heard his ragged plea. Henry was so exquisitely responsive to every tiny movement she made, even to the very breath from her lips upon his skin, that he was soon deep in the toils of a dreamy delirium.

She wasn't aware of the rip he made in the back of her dress when his shaking hands wrenched the zip down, only of the molten sensuality of his gaze as he steered her into a shaft of light near the window and studied her breasts. nestled in their cups of pure white lace.

"Did you wear this for me?" he asked thickly, roughly tracing the outline of the lace across the curving swells. "Did you want me to take off your dress tonight, Y/n? To admire you like this?"

His arousal was so flatteringly intense that she couldn't deny him the truth.

"Yes…"

She closed her eyes, gasping as she felt the stroke of his thumbs across the seams, finding the rigid tips that were evidence of her own desire. He made a sound and she felt him kneel to pull her velvet gown over her hips, revealing the white panties and suspender belt in the same simple lace design as the bra, demure yet sexy in their essential femininity.

He made another sound, this time deep and guttural, his hands running up the backs of her thighs, pulling them closer and parting them slightly.

She opened her eyes, clutching at his naked shoulders as he moved his mouth hotly against the lacy front panel of her panties and pressed a string of kisses from the soft skin at the tops of her stockings to the deep, frantic pulse at the hollow of her hip.

Y/n could feel the cool air along her pussy as warmth settled there. Rough hands sent a shiver through her body as they ran the length of her thighs, kneading her ass before finding their way back to her pussy, and pushing her panties to the side for a better look at what she had to offer. Y/n shook and he purred in approval of her reaction.

Henry pressed forward until Y/n felt his lips along her folds, teasing her before delving deeper. Y/n gasped at the first taste, the tip of his tongue poking at her entrance, her arousal spilling forth. Henry ran the length of her pussy until he flicked her clit, the twitch it brought forth made him snicker into her skin. He dragged his tongue along her clit again, grazing it over and over as her pelvis flinched unwillingly.

“shit,” she hissed, trying not to moan though it felt so good.

Y/n clung onto his shoulders, the buzz she felt in her stomach coming closer to finding its release. Her thighs trembled as he grew more persistent, his tongue agile as it drew forth an orgasm but just before she could relish in the exquisite feeling, he pulled away. It had been almost a year since you had been pleasured by anything other than her own hands and this was starting to drive her mad.

The sight of his dark head moving against her and the sensations he was creating made her cry out in helpless need and he looked up, a dark blush crossing his face when he saw her starlit expression.

He stood and kissed her on the mouth until they were both breathless. Then, still holding her, he reached behind him, dragging the sheet off the nearest object.

It was a smooth, polished mahogany dining table, it's dark surface reflecting the muted lights from the moon.

Y/n imagined him laying her down on that smooth hardness and leaning over her, feeling the melting pleasure of his touch.

Henry turned her, pressing her hips against the carved mahogany edge.

"I've never made love on a table before," she whispered raggedly, hoping that she wouldn't disappoint him with her relative inexperience. No doubt he was used to women who were terribly adventurous and sexually sophisticated. She thrusted the jealous thought away and linked her arms around his neck, reminding herself that she could make him shake with passionate need. She could make up with enthusiasm for what she lacked in experience and he would never know the difference.

He stilled and she was afraid that she had destroyed the moment with her naive little confidence. Henry lifted his head and looked at the table behind her. Then he stopped and swept her off her feet, lifting her into his strong arms.

"No, not here," he said hoarsely. "The first time should be in a bed.." He began to move with Y/n in his arms and she turned her hot face against his broad chest, adoring him for caring enough to make this exactly right for them.

"I don't want to wait." She told him shyly of her need and his arms tightened, the muscles of his shoulders and neck bunching into prominence as his stride quickened.

"You won't have to." He turned into another doorway, dipping an elbow against the wall until twin lamps glowed, their light filtered into a soft, golden delicacy by the cloths that swathed them.

Henry didn't let her go as he removed the covering over the bed and stripped back the dark feather quilt. When he finally put her down it was on to crisp white sheets that released a lavender fragrance to mingle with the heated scent of arousal that perfumed their bodies.

Henry stood by the bedside, looking down at her. Then he spread his hands, revealing the light tremor that shook his hand ever so gently.

"Look what you do to me. You make me weak. No one has ever had that effect on me" Y/n reached out a hand and touched his trident stomach.

"You're the strongest man I know," her hand ran down his stomach and over the muscle underneath as she moved down to his belt. She tugged at it gently

"I want you" she purred.

The knowledge of their mutual desire flared in his hungry eyes, hardening the planes and angles of his face until it looked as rigid as his body under her exploring hand. He caught her wrist before she would have touched him intimately, folding her arm back into the pillow behind her head he knelt beside her.

"Say it again. Say my name."

"I want you to make love to me, Henry." Her words were a promise to give him all that he wanted and more.

"No more running?" he raised his eyebrow jokingly and Y/n shook her head, unable to speak as he unclipped the front fastening of her bra, sensing that he wanted her to lie quiescently as he bared the last secrets of her body.

She felt shy, like a precious gift being gloatingly unwrapped, but she didn't resent his moment of purely masculine triumph. The glory of the moment was also hers, this beautiful man that she had known for so long finally hers. He was giving himself to her and asking nothing but what she was willing to give in return. For tonight and perhaps for many nights to come she would let him satisfy the hunger in her soul, colour the cold grey corners of her world with a warmth and vibrant life that would dispel, at least for a time, the loneliness she had come to accept many years ago.

"I want you, too…" she whispered as she welcomed the joy of his touch.

Henry undressed himself with a fumbling haste that she found inexpressibly exciting and when he came down on to her she gasped at the violent energy of his enthusiasm. Y/n stared up at him, his cock hanging out for all to see.

The controlled, disciplined man she had grown to know vanished completely. In his place was a greedy, intemperate, ardent and impetuous male, urgently intent with plundering each and every lavish pleasure of flesh.

Henry smirked, his hand slowly pumping his dick a few times before he bent down and slid the tip over her slit and pushed inside roughly, allowing her no resistance as he filled her entirely.

This moment when he took her would live vividly in her memory forever.

The shocking reality of his first thrust stilled them both but then he stilled, chest shaking, half across her body, his head buried in the curve of her neck.

'Surely he's not going to stop now,' y/n thought hysterically as her body slowly adjusted to the agonising fullness, and she felt the involuntary ripples of tension begin to absorb him even more deeply into her being.

Y/n dropped her head back as she let out a low growl as he thrusted sharply, allowing a moment between each as they were jolted into the bed. His hands were on her hips, holding her down as he slid in and out.

Relax and enjoy was about all Y/n was capable of doing as his sensual onslaught built towards a fiery climax. He devoured her, feasting on her body with blind hunger, biting lushly into her skin, sipping and suckling the sweetness from her achingly swollen breasts as his hands adjusted her body around his, moaning and shuddering so violently when she even lightly caressed his body with her own that she resorted to merely riding the exquisite storm as he sank deeper than before.

Henry groaned and y/n felt a sudden burst of warmth, his cum leaking down her legs as she let the feeling of her own orgasm near

She plunged a hand into his sweat-drenched hair, and pulled his head back.

"Henry-"

The moan came quickly and she hardly recognised him as she gawked up at him. His mouth was full, reddened, the skin drawn tightly over the bones of his face giving him a lean, hollowed-checked wildness, his deep set eyes open but blank with inner turbulence. He looked almost totally insensate.

Y/n felt shaken by a sudden wave of tenderness as his cock slid over a soft spot inside her, her fingers curling tightly into silky-damp hair.

"Henry--"

The tenderness flooded her being and was just swiftly followed by another wave of intense feeling as Henry stiffened and pulled back slightly, the pupils of his eyes contracting, his jaw clenching as he fought the blind instinct that was relentlessly driving him.

"I hurt you, didn't i." he gritted. "I went too fast for you. I'm sorry." He moved up on his braced arms and tried to withdraw further but she stopped him, almost sobbing.

"No... oh, no"

Henry hesitated and she moaned again, this time a bitter protest, "No, please, no, not yet…"

Y/n's pussy tightened and she murmured in delight as he slowly thrusted against her again, her sensitive walls sending a thrill up her spine.

She was fighting to hold on, and he watched, puzzled and then fascinated, as she moaned, her eyes wide with a strange fear and confusion. Her fingers slid laxly out of his hair to clench and unclench helplessly on the pillow. A deep rosy flush spread up from her damp, heaving breasts to mantle her throat and face. He realised then what was happening to her and waited, afraid to move again for fear of breaking the wondrous spell, watching hotly as the inexorable momentum built swiftly to a flashpoint.

Only when she rolled her flushed cheek sideways into the pillow did he move, cupping her face with his strong hand, forcing her to look at him.

"No, let me see... let me watch it happen to you...I want to watch"

Her eyelids fluttered at his husky command, her blush deepened, but she was too enraptured to feel embarrassed, too stunned by the speed of it all to deny him anything he asked. Her mouth trembled and parted and she began to gasp in light, shallow breaths that made her flushed breasts quiver deliciously, invitingly.

He bent and touched a stiff pink nipple experimentally with his mouth, very gently. She jerked and cried out, exploding beneath him in a series of violent convulsions that almost unseated him. He gripped her thighs and held her steady while she sobbed and moaned and poured herself into him, and then, as she melted lovingly around him he at last began to move, uncertainly echoing her undulating movements until he established his own powerful rhythm, this time driving her with him, until his raw shout of exuberant satisfaction signalled that the whirlwind was spent.

In the morning Y/n was grateful for the resilience of her relative youth. Even after a long hot shower, her muscles ached with the extravagance of her strenuous exercise. She felt as if she had been battered, not by one whirlwind, but several. And she had. If she had thought that Henry's incandescent passion would swiftly burn them both out she discovered, through the ravishing reaches of the night, that she was marvellously mistaken.

His desire, like his curiosity about her body, had proved insatiable. And, although the second and third time they made love it was not with the stunning speed of the first, it was still fiercely, gloriously energetic. He encouraged a boldness in her that she hadn't known she possessed.

He made her feel unutterably sexy, as if she was the only woman in the world who could satisfy his lavish appetite for lovemaking, and he devoted and demanded the same kind of single-minded commitment to creating pleasure that he did to his more worldly objectives. In short, he was every bit the fantastic lover she had imagined he was.

Y/n smiled to herself as she sipped her coffee. Was this a case of being hoist by her own petard? If so, everyone should have such a virile executioner!

"You look quite disgustingly smug."

Henry had showered, brought her coffee and toast in bed and casually dressed in front of her with the ease of a man who was thoroughly satisfied with himself and the world in general.

"You're looking fairly smug yourself," she answered boldly.

"Making love in the morning obviously suits us both and in the evening, and at night. By the way, what are you doing at lunchtime?" Y/n couldn't stop blushing and Henry smirked.

She wasn't that bold - yet.

If she and Henry were lovers for long she didn't doubt that she could become very, very brazen.

"Eating," she said repressively.

Henry refused to be repressed. "you're a wicked, decadent woman." He leaned over and tugged at the sheet that was tucked over her breasts and down to her waist. Y/n squeaked and held out her cup, afraid she would spill some of the hot liquid as he bent to lightly kiss her rosy softness.

" is all of you on the menu, or just selected divine parts?"

"You're a glutton!" Y/n murmured weakly, closing her eyes, shivering at the tingling pleasure his delicately teasing tongue evoked.

"Ouch!" Henry winched, The coffee having splashed onto his cheek as y/n unconsciously let the coffee cup slip.

"Serves you right." She didn't pull up the sheet, sitting primly among the crumbs and cotton sheets, deliciously aware of the contrast between her nudity and his dark, formal suit as he moved away.

He had told her he had an early meeting --one reason for the necessity to rouse her just after dawn by making love to her sleepy, languorous body.

Waking up to find Henry inside her was just one of the new, fresh pleasures of life!

"Will you meet me for lunch? This meeting should be over by then." He straightened his tie in front of the mirror then walked back to her.

"If you want me to…" He cupped her chin, reminding her of the way he had refused to allow her to hide from him last night.

"I want you to. Make no mistake about that, y/n. I have no regrets. None."

"Good." She lifted her chin and tried for a little of the sophistication he was no doubt used to. "I wouldn't like to think that I had disappointed you."

To her annoyance, he laughed. He straightened, letting his fingers trail down her throat. "There wasn't much chance of that, believe me."

"Oh, are you so confident of your prowess?" she snapped defensively, feeling suddenly restless and mentative. "You can turn any woman into your personal love machine?"

He seemed unruffled by her irritable crudity, a strange smile still playing around his lips.

"On the contrary. I'm afraid I have no basis for comparison."

"What?" Y/n stared at him blankly.

He scooped up a slice of toast and bit into it. "Couldn't you tell, Y/n? Was my gift such a paltry thing? I thought one's partner could always tell."

What was he talking about? To her horror, Y/n suddenly realised that, although he had used protection afterwards, that first, rough coming-together had been utterly spontaneous and Henry certainly hadn't held back. Did he purposely try to get her pregnant? Was he not really the man she thought he was? No- that couldn't be it.

"What gift? T-tell- me. what?" she stammered, raising her cup to hide the quiver of her mouth, hoping he wasn't going to prove as selfishly arrogant as she suspected!

" Why, that it was my first time, of course." And, as she continued to stare at him uncomprehendingly over the top of the cup, his smile gentled into a tender warmth. "You were my initiation, Y/n. I gave you my virginity, you gave me my manhood."

And, leaving her gasping and choking with shocked disbelief, a pool of hot coffee soaking into the sheets around her, he calmly turned and walked out of the house, a new found pride in his stomach and so much more to be discovered.

Taglist (added in reblog ❤️)

#Henry cavill #henry cavill smut #henry cavill x you #henry cavill one shot

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mybg3notebook · 3 years

Text

Gale: Hypothesis and Analogies – Part 1

Here, I compile several hypotheses that are pretty common to find around, expressing my opinion on them and showing what EA has given us so far to justify them or not.

Disclaimer Game Version: All these analyses were written up to the game version v4.1.104.3536 (Early access). As long as new content is added, and as long as I have free time for that, I will try to keep updating this information. Written in June 2021.

Disclaimer about interpretations of Real Life concepts: I’m not a fan of bringing real life issues into plain analogies/allegories in a game which intention in doing so was not made explicit, but the fandom seems to like this aspect and therefore I would like to share those opinions here as well since some seems reasonable despite not being of my taste. This topic may be sensitive for some people. Be aware of it.

Hypothesis: Gale was groomed

Concept

Grooming is building a relationship, trust, and emotional connection with a child or young person (and sometimes their family as well) to lower the child's inhibitions with the objective of sexual abuse. Grooming allows offenders to slowly overcome natural boundaries long before sexual abuse occurs. On the surface, grooming a child can look like a close relationship between the offending adult, the targeted child and (potentially) the child’s caregivers. The grooming process is often misleading because the offender may be well-known or highly regarded in the community. As a result, it’s easy to trust them. Although grooming is more common among children, it may happen with adults too, especially in work environments.

Stages: First, perpetrators may target and exploit a child’s perceived vulnerabilities: emotional neediness, isolation, neglect, a chaotic home life, or lack of parental oversight, etc. They work to gain the trust of parents/caregivers to lower suspicion.

Once the perpetrator begins to fill the child's needs, they may assume a more important role in the child's life. Perpetrators utilize tactics such as gift giving, flattery, gifting money, and meeting other basic needs. Tactics may also include increased attention and affection towards the targeted child. The perpetrator uses isolation tactics to reinforce their relationship with the child by creating situations in which they are alone together or by cultivating a sense that they love and understand the child in a way that others, even their parents, cannot.

Once emotional dependence and trust have been built, the perpetrator progressively sexualizes the relationship. When sexual abuse is occurring, perpetrators commonly use emotional manipulation; they make the child believe they are the only person who can meet their emotional and material needs. The child may feel that the loss of the relationship, or the consequences of exposing it, will be more damaging and humiliating than continuing the unhealthy relationship.

Behavioural consequence

The consequences on victims of grooming tend to be very different depending on the victim's age, personality, and psychology, but some broad leftover traits or behaviours can be summarised as:

They are too eager to please and have a great avoidance of angering others.

Big desire for privacy: they know others will not understand what they lived.

The victim becomes withdrawn, or they may seem troubled by something but unwilling to talk about it. Alternatively, their emotions might become more volatile.

They tend to be unaware of the abuse for a long while even after the relationship ended.

If they are aware, they tend to display shame and embarrassment for what happened.

They can suffer abandonment issues depending on the way this relationship ended.

They tend to develop difficulties to maintain relationships.

This situation tends to be particularly invisible or dismissed for men and boys due to social norms about masculinity.

Inside the context of BG3

First, it's important to estimate Gale's age. More or less the fandom agrees he is currently (1492DR) in his early 30s. Mystra returned in 1479DR (read the post about "Mystra and her Chosen ones" for details), so Mystra may have lured Gale into serving her as Chosen when he was around 17 years old (this depends on every player’s perception of Gale’s age)

This gives us a good estimation of the context: When Mystra returned thanks to Elminster—who gave her most of his Silver Fire—she immediately started to strengthen her network of Chosen ones and to work on repairing the Weave to its original state. Due to this unique context, Gale may have been observed by Mystra as a precious asset: a very young wizard who could not only control the Weave but compose it: a great skill to repair a still weak Weave. Furthermore, in the novel Dead Masks (1491DR), it is stated that the best way to cast a spell with a weakened Weave is to "twist" it instead of using it for tapping into the Raw Magic. In this book it is not clear if this is a skill that only Chosen ones have, but it has a strong similarity with Gale's skills.

Although we don't know much about Gale's childhood, if he was neglected or not as a child to be more easily lured by the Goddess, we can agree that it's most likely that Mystra has been watching him as a potential candidate since a child. Gale explicitly says: "I’ve been in touch with the Weave for as long as I can remember". And as far as Forgotten Realms lore goes, Weave and Mystra are the same. We also know that this is a common behaviour of Mystra who has been watching precocious, skilful wizards before choosing them for her goals: for example, Midnight.

When Gale reached an age that could be considered a "(very) young man", she seduced him, using his passion and love for Magic to lure him. She offered him a deep connection with her and with the Weave: with Magic itself. After seeing Gale's passion for magic, it is understandable that he—as a teenager or a young man—must have been dazzled by her and her proposal. We know that, in the novel Elminster: a mage in the making, she offered to Elminster exactly what he wanted the most: power to make his revenge possible . By the end of the encounter, Elminster became “charmed” by her despite hating her throughout all his life, turning into her devotee. This situation can be interpreted as another example of how Mystra works: she seems to lure her potential Chosen with the promise of giving them what they are most passionate about.

Once Mystra slept with her Chosen, and imbued her divine essence on them, she left them to their own devices, making them wait for her commands. In Elminster’s and Sammaster ‘s case, both were put under tests, being forced—by their own drive to please the Goddess—to develop more magic and personal skills to serve her. In the process, both developed an obsession for her. Elminster's seems to be less self-destructive than Sammaster's, but the latter could be understandable since he always suffered from madness. My point is, the pattern continues with Gale: driven by this obsession of wanting Mystra close, to please her, Gale tried to control an ancient magic, and failed, being abandoned by Mystra due to this mistake.

Gale, according to this interpretation as a victim of grooming, is still stuck in the process: he wants to please Mystra, wants to right his wrongs, even though in some scenes he seems to have been over her, in others he still seems to be very attached to her (it's hard to know which is the most accurate since it's EA and Gale was rushed), he keeps all this trouble in private because he knows nobody will understand.

Unlike an adult who realised he was victim of grooming, Gale seems to be still not over that relationship, showing many of the behavioural consequences:

Gale is a person who is always eager to please and avoid confrontations. If there is no choice he will use violent means, but he will always push for diplomatic approaches [1,2]. This trait seems to favour this interpretation.

He has a strong sense of privacy to the point that he is considered "shady". A lot of that desire for privacy may come from the fact that he knows no one will understand the unique relationship he had with a bigger entity. This can be seen by choosing the meanest options during the Weave and the Loss. Despite his many troubles, he remains secretive, acknowledging that "some things can't be spoken".

He is completely unaware of having been a victim of such power imbalance. He doesn't see abuse in it, and he is not performative about this fact, since he is very private on the topic until very late in game.

Nobody can deny his abandonment issues (which are even explicitly pointed out in the dev's notes) [20]

We can infer, by all the information given, that Mystra has been his first (and presumably only) relationship so far, giving a possible hint that he may have decided not to enter another relationship again or may have felt apprehensive about it (even though I personally think this impediment is mainly caused by the “orb”).

I don't completely subscribe to this interpretation because I don’t think Mystra’s main goal has been sexual abuse, but the creation of servants and devotees that allow her to expand her power. To do so, she uses sex as part of the “ritual” that transforms certain mortals into Chosen Ones. The way in which this is indirectly explained in the novels makes me remember the concept of Zeus and his abuse of mortals: he spreads part of his divinity in the form of demi-god offspring. In Mystra’s case, she seems to leave part of her divinity in the Chosen one that slept with her: the “seed” of semi-divinity.

However, it’s not clear if sleeping with her Chosen ones is a procedure she always does. Her daughters may have inherited her divinity when she conceived them while possessing a mortal body, but other female Chosen Ones seemed to be out of this process. Ed Greedwood also has a constant discourse in his novels where he explains that magic is “better” understood or much easily wielded by females because “they are connected to their emotions” and another stereotype of this kind. What seems to be clear is that Forgotten Realm lore hides as much as possible its queerness, and when it comes to Mystra, this habit of sleeping with her Chosen seems to apply (or at least make it more explicit) only to male mortals. So in short, her main goal was to catch another useful mortal to her group of Chosen Ones, and to do so, she lured Gale with all what she could offer. I also believe gods are gods, and they are immensely overpowered and entitled to do whatever they want in this fantasy world. They don't follow mortal rules, so they may have little scruples to do anything they see necessary to achieve their own goals, no matter if the consequences of their actions affect children, teenagers, or adults.

Mystra in particular has been a very neutral goddess (due to her many rebirths), not particularly cruel as an evil deity could be, but not completely selfless either: she has conceived her daughters using a mortal vessel who previously gave her consent but without knowing the consequences of giving birth each year for a decade while containing a goddess inside. Mystra also profited off of Sammaster's madness (some Harpers who wrote Sammaster’s reports suspect she could have been able to cure him): she may have actively decided not to in order to let his genius madness increase her realm of power/magic. Therefore, Mystra may have had little scruples to use a very young Gale enamoured with magic to turn him into another Chosen whose skills could fix the Weave given the context that it had been severely weakened after the Spellplague. So the grooming is not completely misplaced in my opinion.

Gale's Chosen selection process is not different to what we can read in the book of the Cult of the Dragon, where Sammaster became obsessed with Mystra after sleeping with her and developed metamagic as a consequence to impress her. Or in the novel Elminster, the making of a mage, where Elmister originally despised Mystra and every magic user. However, after being in her presence, he fell for her charm, and never could get over his "love" for her, suffering a lot of painful circumstances to just be a "good devotee" and serve her.

Mystra is written in most novels as the living allegory of the beautiful "mean" woman who will always ask for more from her poor captivated men, but she will never be completely satisfied, no matter how much they sacrifice. She acknowledges the effort, but she is always asking for more. Only with Elminster she actively tried to save him from the Hells, showing, for a change, that her Chosen can be a bit more than mere pawns in the big game of divine power. However, it's important to highlight that the last rebirth of Mystra has changed her: in the novel Dead Masks some of the Seven Sisters explicitly say that Mystra has turned paranoid, asking each of her Chosen to do missions that the others cannot know. She has become more secretive and cryptic than ever.

Mystra's actions seem to have worse connotation if we think that she can have visions of the future, as she had when she decided that Sammaster had to be her Chosen: she had foresaw the death of another Chosen and she wanted him to fill that vacuum before the event happened. So she may have foreseen Gale’s actions in his naive way to impress her. Maybe she wanted him to do it, so she could have a new piece of magic in her realm. But this is mere speculation, we will need the full release of the game to have the answer.

As I explained, despite not being a fan of it, the interpretation of grooming is not a bad one. It fits mostly if it's applied to a teenage boy, and probably it would have been taken a bit more seriously and less prone to jokes inside the fandom if Gale were a female character and Mystra a male God.

Hypothesis: Gale has abandonment Issues

Concept

Abandonment issues arise when an individual has a strong fear of losing loved ones. A fear of abandonment is a form of anxiety. It often begins in childhood when a child experiences a traumatic loss. Children who go through this experience may then begin to fear losing other important people in their lives. Some individuals continue to fear abandonment as they grow older. Although it is less common, abandonment issues can also sometimes begin in adulthood.

The loss often stems from a trauma, such as a death or divorce. Emotional abandonment, where a parent or caregiver is physically present but emotionally absent, may also give rise to abandonment issues later in life. It is not clear what makes one person develop this fear, since not all humans who have experienced similar losses do it. Trauma — potentially from abuse or poverty — may play a role, as may the level of emotional support that a person receives following a loss. These issues can have a significant effect on a person’s life and relationships because they fear that the other person will leave them at any moment.

Behavioural signs/consequences

Being overly eager to please ( a “people pleaser”)

Pushing others away to avoid rejection

Jealousy of the partner or the others when in a relationship.

Trouble trusting their partner's intentions.

Feeling insecure about their relationships.

Codependency

Need for continuous reassurance that others love them and will stay with them

Persisting in unhealthy relationships

Inability to maintain relationships: or moving quickly from one relationship to another or sabotaging them

Inside the context of BG3

I'm not going to explain this in great detail since it's spread in most of the posts I’ve done about Gale's analysis. What it's clear is that Gale has a constant fear for abandonment once he starts caring for Tav as a friend or/and lover, and this fear makes him prone to do things of poor taste. This fear seems to make him look for acceptance that only through a night of intimacy can give him. This information is apparently in the book he read, making us guess that his experience with relationships is rather poor if nonexistent. Dev's notes also reinforce the idea that Gale fears abandonment:

Gale: It is my truth, finally revealed. It is this folly that led Mystra to abandon me completely. I can only hope you won’t abandon me as well. After all we’ve been through. After the night we spent together. Surely we can brave even this side by side Dev's note: Solemn. Full of yearning, his news will not lead to him being abandoned by the player.

Gale: Loyalty is such a… such a very rare commodity. Dev's note: The reference to loyalty foreshadows Mystra leaving him.

So far in EA, we can see that Gale checks some behavioural consequences of this fear: he is always eager to please, approaching Tav with courtesy and jovial manners, only displaying his most acidic side to a Tav whose actions are evil. In that case, Gale cares little if Tav leaves him. With the Loss scene we can see that it is hard for him to give his trust to others, pushing them away because they would not understand the grave mistake he made. His trust demands constant progression from the Stew scene, to the Weave, to the Loss scene. If he is romanced, he asks several times if Tav is thinking of the Weave moment. When Tav asks him this question, Gale will deflect, always asking back to have Tav’s answer first before giving his: it could be interpreted as Gale looking for constant reassurance in the blooming relationship.

However, in my opinion, the best situation that shows his abandonment issues is during our meeting with Gandrel. Gale disapproves of handing over Astarion, by telling Tav about an anecdote of a dog turning old and mean: how his friend got rid of the animal just because it was an inconvenience. This is very curious since Gale's mistrust for Astarion is not a secret: he stated many times that Astarion is a danger to the group, and his wickedness causes him to strongly dislike him. The reason for this is quite obvious if we see both lists of approvals: mostly what one approves the other disapproves. Despite all this, Gale strongly judges Tav for handing Astarion over, and his disapproval for doing it shows that Gale is not lying on the matter: the meta-knowledge is trustworthy information.

This can be understood better when Tav defends Astarion against Gandrel: Gale approves twice of defending him. If Astarion is not in the group when meeting the monster hunter, the first approval happens when Tav recognises that Astarion is part of their companions/friends (therefore, Tav is showing care for their group). The second approval happens when Tav reinforces their loyalty to Astarion insisting that they won’t give his location (this is a clear display of loyalty that Gale acknowledges as rare. See the post of "Gale Hypotheses- Part 2", section: "Proposition to Cheat" for more details). Although Gale will explicitly question this decision, he secretly approved it (the approvals we saw are meta-knowledge: only the player sees them). Considering the undeniable context that Gale deeply dislikes Astarion, we may interpret this as Gale seeing in Tav a loyal person who will not abandon someone they care for, even if that person endangers them. Loyalty is something that resounds deeply in Gale due to his abandonment issues.

Another detail on this matter can be seen during the party. If Tav arranges spending the night with a companion and then asks (non-romanced) Gale the same, he will answer:

Gale: You are all too quick to abandon the one you promised yourself to. It’s not a quality I admire.

This line shows that first, Gale is not interested in casual sex; he needs the connection that the Weave provides and Tav’s explicit, previous romantic interest in it. Second, when Gale is romanced but Tav sleeps with someone else, Gale will not interfere in that affair, but he may not like it (due to his, I suppose, jealous comment since he doesn’t display an approval penalty for this). However, he seems to equate loyalty with commitment, understanding that affair as a fling but believing he still holds the romantic interest of Tav, hence his proposition the next day. More details in the post of "Gale Hypotheses- Part 2", section: "Proposition to Cheat".

---------

Sources for both parts:

Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders ( 5V)

Some concepts were summarised from: https://melcrowecounsellor.com www.d2l.org/child-grooming-signs-behavior-awareness/

This post was written in June 2021. → For more Gale: Analysis Series Index

#bg3 meta #bg3 gale #gale #gale of waterdeep

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