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imyourbratzdoll · 5 months

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𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒚 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒔

🕊️a whore's farytale masterlist🕊️

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’re you doing here?”

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

“Leave now!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Ari.”

“Logan.”

“Geralt.”

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

Geralt cuts in. “Except the West Wing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 years

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"Don't spy on a privacy lab" (and other career advice for university provosts)

This is a wild and hopeful story: grad students at Northeastern successfully pushed back against invasive digital surveillance in their workplace, through solidarity, fearlessness, and the bright light of publicity. It’s a tale of hand-to-hand, victorious combat with the “shitty technology adoption curve.”

What’s the “shitty tech adoption curve?” It’s the process by which oppressive technologies are normalized and spread. If you want to do something awful with tech — say, spy on people with a camera 24/7 — you need to start with the people who have the least social capital, the people whose objections are easily silenced or overridden.

That’s why all our worst technologies are first imposed on refugees -> prisoners -> kids -> mental patients -> poor people, etc. Then, these technologies climb the privilege gradient: blue collar workers -> white collar workers -> everyone. Following this pathway lets shitty tech peddlers knock the rough edges off their wares, inuring us all to their shock and offense.

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/21/great-taylors-ghost/#solidarity-or-bust

20 years ago, if you ate dinner under the unblinking eye of a CCTV, it was because you were housed in a supermax prison. Today, it’s because you were unwise enough to pay hundreds or thousands of dollars for “home automation” from Google, Apple, Amazon or another “luxury surveillance” vendor.

Northeastern’s Interdisciplinary Science and Engineering Complex (ISEC) is home to the “Cybersecurity and Privacy Institute,” where grad students study the harms of surveillance and the means by which they may be reversed. If there’s one group of people who are prepared to stand athwart the shitty tech adoption curve, it is the CPI grad students.

Which makes it genuinely baffling that Northeastern’s Senior Vice Provost for Research decided to install under-desk heat sensors throughout ISEC, overnight, without notice or consultation. The provost signed the paperwork that brought the privacy institute into being.

Students throughout ISEC were alarmed by this move, but especially students on the sixth floor, home to the Privacy Institute. When they demanded an explanation, they were told that the university was conducting a study on “desk usage.” This rang hollow: students at the Privacy Institute have assigned desks, and they badge into each room when they enter it.

As Privacy Institute PhD candidate Max von Hippel wrote, “Reader, we have assigned desks, and we use a key-card to get into the room, so, they already know how and when we use our desks.”

https://twitter.com/maxvonhippel/status/1578048837746204672

So why was the university suddenly so interested in gathering fine-grained data on desk usage? I asked von Hippel and he told me: “They are proposing that grad students share desks, taking turns with a scheduling web-app, so administrators can take over some of the space currently used by grad students. Because as you know, research always works best when you have to schedule your thinking time.”

That’s von Hippel’s theory, and I’m going to go with it, because the provost didn’t offer a better one in the flurry of memos and “listening sessions” that took place after the ISEC students arrived at work one morning to discover sensors under their desks.

This is documented in often hilarious detail in von Hippel’s thread on the scandal, in which the university administrators commit a series of unforced errors and the grad students run circles around them, in a comedy of errors straight out of “Animal House.”

https://twitter.com/maxvonhippel/status/1578048652215431168

After the sensors were discovered, the students wrote to the administrators demanding their removal, on the grounds that there was no scientific purpose for them, that they intimidated students, that they were unnecessary, and that the university had failed to follow its own rules and ask the Institutional Review Board (IRB) to review the move as a human-subjects experiment.

The letter was delivered to the provost, who offered “an impromptu listening session” in which he alienated students by saying that if they trusted the university to “give” them a degree, they should trust it to surveil them. The students bristled at this characterization, noting that students deliver research (and grant money) to “make it tick.”

[Image ID: Sensors arrayed around a kitchen table at ISEC]

The students, believing the provost was not taking them seriously, unilaterally removed all the sensors, and stuck them to their kitchen table, annotating and decorating them with Sharpie. This prompted a second, scheduled “listening session” with the provost, but this session, while open to all students, was only announced to their professors (“Beware of the leopard”).

The students got wind of this, printed up fliers and made sure everyone knew about it. The meeting was packed. The provost explained to students that he didn’t need IRB approval for his sensors because they weren’t “monitoring people.” A student countered, what was being monitored, “if not people?” The provost replied that he was monitoring “heat sources.”

https://github.com/maxvonhippel/isec-sensors-scandal/blob/main/Oct_6_2022_Luzzi_town_hall.pdf

Remember, these are grad students. They asked the obvious question: which heat sources are under desks, if not humans (von Hippel: “rats or kangaroos?”). The provost fumbled for a while (“a service animal or something”) before admitting, “I guess, yeah, it’s a human.”

Having yielded the point, the provost pivoted, insisting that there was no privacy interest in the data, because “no individual data goes back to the server.” But these aren’t just grad students — they’re grad students who specialize in digital privacy. Few people on earth are better equipped to understand re-identification and de-aggregation attacks.

[Image ID: A window with a phrase written in marker, ‘We are not doing science here’ -Luzzi.]

A student told the provost, “This doesn’t matter. You are monitoring us, and collecting data for science.” The provost shot back, “we are not doing science here.” This ill-considered remark turned into an on-campus meme. I’m sure it was just blurted in the heat of the moment, but wow, was that the wrong thing to tell a bunch of angry scientists.

From the transcript, it’s clear that this is where the provost lost the crowd. He accused the students of “feeling emotion” and explaining that the data would be used for “different kinds of research. We want to see how students move around the lab.”

Now, as it happens, ISEC has an IoT lab where they take these kinds of measurements. When they do those experiments, students are required to go through IRB, get informed consent, all the stuff that the provost had bypassed. When this is pointed out, the provost says that they had been given an IRB waiver by the university’s Human Research Protection Program (HRPP).

Now a prof gets in on the action, asking, pointedly: “Is the only reason it doesn’t fall under IRB is that the data will not be published?” A student followed up by asking how the university could justify blowing $50,000 on surveillance gear when that money would have paid for a whole grad student stipend with money left over.

The provost’s answers veer into the surreal here. He points out that if he had to hire someone to monitor the students’ use of their desks, it would cost more than $50k, implying that the bill for the sensors represents a cost-savings. A student replies with the obvious rejoinder — just don’t monitor desk usage, then.

Finally, the provost started to hint at the underlying rationale for the sensors, discussing the cost of the facility to the university and dangling the possibility of improving utilization of “research assets.” A student replies, “If you want to understand how research is done, don’t piss off everyone in this building.”

Now that they have at least a vague explanation for what research question the provost is trying to answer, the students tear into his study design, explaining why he won’t learn what he’s hoping to learn. It’s really quite a good experimental design critique — these are good students! Within a few volleys, they’re pointing out how these sensors could be used to stalk researchers and put them in physical danger.

The provost turns the session over to an outside expert via a buggy Zoom connection that didn’t work. Finally, a student asks whether it’s possible that this meeting could lead to them having a desk without a sensor under it. The provost points out that their desk currently doesn’t have a sensor (remember, the students ripped them out). The student says, “I assume you’ll put one back.”

[Image ID: A ‘public art piece’ in the ISEC lobby — a table covered in sensors spelling out ‘NO!,’ surrounded by Sharpie annotations decrying the program.]

They run out of time and the meeting breaks up. Following this, the students arrange the sensors into a “public art piece” in the lobby — a table covered in sensors spelling out “NO!,” surrounded by Sharpie annotations decrying the program.

Meanwhile, students are still furious. It’s not just that the sensors are invasive, nor that they are scientifically incoherent, nor that they cost more than a year’s salary — they also emit lots of RF noise that interferes with the students’ own research. The discussion spills onto Reddit:

https://www.reddit.com/r/NEU/comments/xx7d7p/northeastern_graduate_students_privacy_is_being/

Yesterday, the provost capitulated, circulating a memo saying they would pull “all the desk occupancy sensors from the building,” due to “concerns voiced by a population of graduate students.”

https://twitter.com/maxvonhippel/status/1578101964960776192

The shitty technology adoption curve is relentless, but you can’t skip a step! Jumping straight to grad students (in a privacy lab) without first normalizing them by sticking them on the desks of poor kids in underfunded schools (perhaps after first laying off a computer science teacher to free up the budget!) was a huge tactical error.

A more tactically sound version of this is currently unfolding at CMU Computer Science, where grad students have found their offices bugged with sensors that detect movement and collect sound:

https://twitter.com/davidthewid/status/1387909329710366721

The CMU administration has wisely blamed the presence of these devices on the need to discipline low-waged cleaning staff by checking whether they’re really vacuuming the offices.

https://twitter.com/davidthewid/status/1387426812972646403

While it’s easier to put cleaners under digital surveillance than computer scientists, trying to do both at once is definitely a boss-level challenge. You might run into a scholar like David Gray Widder, who, observing that “this seems like algorithmic management of lowly paid employees to me,” unplugged the sensor in his office.

https://twitter.com/davidthewid/status/1387909329710366721

This is the kind of full-stack Luddism this present moment needs. These researchers aren’t opposed to sensors — they’re challenging the social relations of sensors, who gets sensed and who does the sensing.

https://locusmag.com/2022/01/cory-doctorow-science-fiction-is-a-luddite-literature/

[Image ID: A flier inviting ISEC grad students to attend an unadvertised 'listening session' with the vice-provost. It is surmounted with a sensor that has been removed from beneath a desk and annotated in Sharpie to read: 'If found by David Luzzi suck it.']

#pluralistic

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beakers-and-telescopes · 1 year

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OKAY THIS ARTICLE IS SO COOL

I'm going to try to explain this in a comprehensible way, because honestly it's wild to wrap your head around even for me, who has a degree in chemistry. But bear with me.

Okay, so. Solids, right? They are rigid enough to hold their shape, but aside from that they are quite variable. Some solids are hard, others are soft, some are brittle or rubbery or malleable. So what determines these qualities? And what creates the rigid structure that makes a solid a solid? Most people would tell you that it depends on the atoms that make up the solid, and the bonds between those atoms. Rubber is flexible because of the polymers it's made of, steel is strong because of the metallic bonds between its atoms. And this applies to all solids. Or so everybody thought.

A paper published in the journal Nature has discovered that biological materials such as wood, fungi, cotton, hair, and anything else that can respond to the humidity in the environment may be composed of a new class of matter dubbed "hydration solids". That's because the rigidity and solidness of the materials doesn't actually come from the atoms and bonds, but from the water molecules hanging out in between.

So basically, try to imagine a hydration solid as a bunch of balloons taped together to form a giant cube, with the actual balloon part representing the atoms and bonds of the material, and the air filling the balloons as the water in the pores of the solid. What makes this "solid" cube shaped? It's not because of the rubber at all, but the air inside. If you took out all the air from inside the balloons, the structure wouldn't be able to hold its shape.

Ozger Sahin, one of the paper's authors, said

"When we take a walk in the woods, we think of the trees and plants around us as typical solids. This research shows that we should really think of those trees and plants as towers of water holding sugars and proteins in place. It's really water's world."

And the great thing about this discovery (and one of the reasons to support its validity) is that thinking about hydration solids this way makes the math so so so much easier. Before this, if you wanted to calculate how water interacts with organic matter, you would need advanced computer simulations. Now, there are simple equations that you can do in your head. Being able to calculate a material's properties using basic physics principles is a really big deal, because so far we have only been able to do that with gasses (PV=nRT anyone?). Expanding that to a group that encompasses 50-90% of the biological world around us is huge.

#science #stem #science side of tumblr #stemblr #biology #chemistry #scientists #biochemistry #studyblr #physics #nature

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bouncybongfairy · 7 months

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Freezer Burn

Prince Zuko x Fem Reader Smut

Summary: Tensions are running high which causes a argument between Zuko and yourself. He bruises the confidence you have in your hunting abilities and reaffirms your fear of being a burden. Wanting to prove otherwise, you go out in the cold to hunt. Feeling guilty about how he treated you, he goes out to find you. The two of you find some innovative ways to keep warm.

Word Count: 2.0k+

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Everyone was having a rough day of travel, even Appa was reaching his limit. It was freezing and the optimism of finding a warm place to sleep was fading in everyone. Anng found a small cave that would work for the night. It was on a small mountain and overlooked an even smaller village. Zuko started making a fire while Katara and yourself set up the tents. Yang and Sokka were already asleep, curled into Appa’s thick fur. You were hungry but so was everyone else.

“Are we going to be able to hunt for food soon? Or get some water?” you asked.

“We could but I don’t think the cold would allow us to be out there for long. Not to mention there wouldn’t be any animals out, it's just too cold,” she said.

“Not to mention you’d barely come home with anything in good weather,” Zuko grumbled, poking at the fire. He’d been making cracks at you all day, at first you could ignore him. Excusing his behavior on fatigue and hunger pains, but now you were taking it personally.

“You’re not a prince among us, so stop acting like it” you say in hopes of lowering his ego.

“I am the best fighter and hunter, the past two battles you’ve only slowed us down. Maybe if we had a successful kill earlier we wouldn’t be hungry now,” he said.

“Zuko don’t say that!” Katara snapped.

All day you’d been beating yourself up over that mistake. Deep down you knew the rest of the group was irritated about you costing them the meal earlier. It just reaffirmed your insecurity. Grabbing your bow and arrows, you start putting your clothes back on while preparing for a hunt.

“We’re all really tired and yes we may be hungry but you’re not the sole reason for that. Zuko is obviously just grumpy, don’t let his outburst get to you,” she says, grabbing your arm.

Deep down you wanted to listen and calm down, rest for a while. Your pride however wouldn’t allow you to stop yourself. As you left, you could hear Katara yelling at Zuko to apologize. The feeling of dread bubbled in your stomach, you didn’t want to make anyone worry but your ego was clouding your judgment. Everyone in the group had their own ways of helping and at times you did feel like a burden. Extra weight that Appa had to carry on his back. It wasn’t that you were mad about what Zuko said, you were more frustrated that it was true. At this point it felt like you’d been walking for hours. The snow was coming down hard, without any signs of lightning. Not eating and your lack of rest was starting to get to you. Your stomach felt like it was eating away at itself. Eyes burning and muscles starting to stiffen from the cold penetrating your clothes. You tried not to go too far, knowing you couldn’t carry an animal in the cold that far. But you had to get some distance between you and the cave in order to find any wild game. Finally spotting a young Moose Lion, looking lost and confused, you almost hesitated when readying your bow. After successfully hitting the animal, your body floods with adrenaline. This quickly fades as you realize you’ll have to drag the thing home. Seemingly underestimating the size which caused a struggle when walking back. Even though it was freezing, you’d broken into a sweat. Starting to feel lightheaded, you took a moment to catch your breath.

Katara was pacing at the entrance of the cave, anxious for your arrival. He wouldn’t admit it, but Zuko was feeling his own regret about how he’d spoken to you. He didn’t mean to let his anger get the best of him, it just sort of happened.

“I think I should go out to look for her, she could be freezing to death,” she said, starting to get dressed.

“You can’t, it’s a full blown blizzard,” Zuko said, standing up.

“Well we can’t just leave her to die out there!” Katara snaps, upset that he would even suggest stopping her from leaving.

“I know, but only a fire bender would have the resources to survive such severe weather. I’ll go,” he said, making the fire sustainable for the time he’d be gone for.

“Just be careful,” Katara said as he walked into the cold.

Once he felt just how bad it was outside, his guilt intensified. It wasn’t true what he said about you being a burden. He was just feeling insecure about his own place in the group. Simply projecting his inner turmoil onto you. Knowing it pushed you this far was getting to him. He took a deep breath and started following the faint track you left. Even though a fresh layer of snow was now covering the foot prints, it was still enough to follow. At times Zuko would use his fire for warmth and light. Getting desperate, he began calling your name out. Fatigue was starting to affect him as well. He finally thought he saw you, laying against the animal. He assumed you were just pulling the arrow out but when he got closer he noticed you were passed out. He immediately started assessing you, looking around knowing he had to find shelter that was closer than the rest of the group. Using his fire, he melts a coating of snow and ice, covering a small cave. The animal luckily kept you warm while he wasn’t there but he was still worried about your fingers. They had practically no color and your lips were tinted blue. Once he got you inside the cave, next to the fire he created, he brought the animal in. Impressed that you shot it right through the chest. Taking off his outer layers and bundling you up in them. He was relieved to see the color coming back to your fingertips and cheeks. Checking every once in a while to make sure you were getting too close and burning yourself.

The two of you wouldn’t be able to make the trip back any time soon, so Zuko began skinning and sectioning off the meat. Washing his hands with melted snow he was slowly collecting. As he roasted the meat, he couldn’t help but admire your beauty. Your eyelashes were long and the light from the fire was illuminating your face. Sleeping with your lips slightly parted, hair completely unraveled from the tight bun it once was in. After a couple hours, you slowly began to come too. Sitting up rubbing your eyes, Zuko rushes over to you.

“Are you okay?” he asks, brushing the hair out of your face. He grabbed a bowl of water, bringing it to your lips,

“Sit closer to the fire,” he said, helping you sit up fully. Still weak, you were wobbling while you sat criss-crossed. Still shivering a bit because your back was cold, not able to feel the heat from the fire. Zuko notices this and comes to sit behind you, stabilizing and warming you up. He was using a stick to roast the meat he’d prepared from the animal. It smelt really good, and was the only reason you were keeping your eyes open. He brought the stick to your lips but you were too weak to rip a piece off. Trying to bite a small chunk but not having the strength to actually get a bite. He laughs at your attempt and rips a small piece off, bringing it to your mouth. He repeated this a couple times, giving you sips of water in between. Letting you digest, he rests his chin on top of your head and keeps cooking. After eating, you could feel yourself gaining strength and energy. Becoming more aware of your surroundings.

“What happened?” you asked, looking around and noticing it was only you and Zuko.

“You went out to hunt and passed out. I came looking for you but the storm was too powerful to travel back to camp with you and the kill. So we're camping here for the night,” he explained, adding more wood to the fire.

That was when you slowly started putting the pieces of your memory back together. You were grateful to be sheltered now, definitely counting your blessings. Noticing that Zuko wasn’t wearing a shirt, you took off what he gave you. He accepted it but didn’t put it on right away, instead just laying it on his neck like a scarf.

“I’m sorry for egging you on like that, and for not stopping you from leaving,” he said, moving his chin from your head to your collarbone.

“It was my decision, I knew it wasn’t a good idea. It was my stubbornness that put both of us at risk,” you said.

“I like that you're stubborn, that you don’t listen to people who underestimate you,” he said.

“I thought you hated me,” you chuckle.

“I know that’s what I show but it couldn’t be further than the truth,” he spoke softly.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” you asked, moving your back closer against his chest.

“As mean as I’ve been, you always are so nice and understanding. Even when I don’t deserve it,” he said.

“Zuko you always deserve it, you’re easy to love,” you say, turning to face him.

His face was bright red and for the first time you were seeing his vulnerability. Just slightly, like he didn’t want to give too much away. You move his hair out of the way and look at his scar. Although he looked a little embarrassed, he tilted his head so you could get a full look. Without thinking, you started kissing the skin around his eye. He ended up catching your lips with his. Immediately you move so that you’re straddling his lap. His back was pressed against the wall of the cave, your back was facing the fire. Running your fingers through his hair, admiring how soft the strands were. He moaned into your mouth as you pulled and tugged. Rocking your hips against crotch, your stomach tightening after feeling him get hard. You take in a sharp intake of breath and narrow down, focusing on rubbing against his shaft. Zuko’s hips began to buck involuntarily, which led to his taking his pants off. You follow his lead and do the same, also removing your top. Using his hands to rock your hips against his. Partly because he liked spreading your wetness along himself but also enjoying watching your chest bounce. He takes one of your nipples into his mouth, you let out a strangled moan. The pleasure was so intense the rocking of your hips was becoming erratic. Seeing you react so intensely to his touch made him go somewhat feral.

Flipping you over so your back is against the cold ground. He was feverishly kissing your neck and chest, at times making you giggle. He smiled down at you, taking in how beautiful your eyes were in the soft glow of the fire. Your entire body felt like it was burning down to your core. Pulling your knees to your chest, taking the hint he sat up. He was now towering above you, his member laying on your front. Leaking pre-cum onto your lower stomach. He grabs himself, slapping his dick on your pussy. Enjoying the moans and whines coming from your mouth every time he rubbed his tip against your clit. He enjoyed watching you beneath him, desperate for his touch. A relief only he could provide you. Unable to take any more foreplay, he presses into you. Muttering curses as he is overwhelmed by your heat. How tight you felt around him and your moans matching up with his movement made him feel overstimulated. Like he couldn’t slow his heart rate down. Watching as your tits bounced with every thrust, how braindead you were from pleasure. He presses his hands down on your stomach so he could feel this cock pounding in and out of you. The sudden pressure was enough to send you over the edge. Pulling Zuko down and raking your nails down his back,

“Fuck!” he said it loud, right in your ear.

His thrusts were unrelenting as he chased his orgasm. Groaning and moaning into your shoulder as he finally came. Rutting into you as he came inside you, pressing himself as close as he could be to you. Petting his hair and whispering encouraging things into his hair. He laid down beside you, pulling you into his chest before covering the two of you with a woven quilt. Giving the fire one last hit before drifting off to sleep with you.

#prince zuko x reader #prince zuko x y/n #prince zuko fanfic #prince zuko imagine #prince zuko smut #avatar the last airbender #avatar last airbender #prince zuko #avatar live action #avatar netflix #netflix atla #netflix avatar #atla live action #atla netflix #dallas liu x reader #dallas liu zuko #dallas liu atla zuko #prince zuko imagine

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zooophagous · 10 months

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If you put a bunch of horses, zebras and donkeys in a large field together, with enough grass, vegetation, water, etc. to consume but without any human intervention - would there be interbreeding going on? If not, what do you think this scenario would look like more generally? Thanks in advance :)

Generally, when there is no human intervention, hybridization is very rare.

Horses are present in Africa, where there are populations of both wild ass and zebra, and yet wild zorse or even wild mules are basically unheard of. See also, the American southwest, where horses and burros are both invasive and yet you don't see feral mules among them.

This is because animals that have speciated, or become different species, have different estrus cycles, different courtship rituals and different behavior patterns that tend to make matings of this type very rare. Especially with horses, where mares tend to live in a herd that is protected by a stallion that will fight to the death over breeding rights to said mares.

A feral burro would not likely fare well against a feral horse stallion, if it attempted a mating with a feral mare at all.

You also see this even with animals that are much closer related to one another such as dogs, wolves and coyotes. All three of these animals have considerable overlap and can even produce viable offspring unlike a horse and a donkey. However it's still exceedingly rare for it to happen in the wild.

Wolves and coyotes are seasonal breeders that go into estrus at different times, and the strong territorial nature of these animals means they seldom mix. A wild wolf and a wild dog, or a wild dog and a wild coyote, or a wild wolf and wild coyote, are more than likely going to see each other as either a threat or a prey item and attack it accordingly.

Being raised by humans and made to tolerate one another with behavioral modification and artificial introductions to create cross species relationships, often by introducing the animals when they're still babies, gets them over the differences that usually prevent their union.

While sometimes wild hybrids do happen naturally, even then many times it's considered a survival response to pressures exerted on them by humans. See the eastern coyote, which is said to have considerable wolf ancestry, which may have happened because wolves were so strongly persecuted as to be almost entirely wiped out while the coyote was able to adapt. The more adaptable or desperate wolves threw their lot in with the survivors. (Though there is also some conjecture that even the eastern coyote is much less of a hybrid and more of just a large coyote without as much wolf or dog influence as previous believed)

Nature doesn't tend to encourage hybridization, and while you may get one or two fluke mules from such a group, if they had enough space to escape one another and access to their own kind to mate with, you wouldn't see it very much.

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urhoneycombwitch · 9 months

Text

I know what they call you.

You’re a little lost in your head. Eddie wants to find you. shy!reader

foreword: The healing properties of good head <333 Anyways I labeled this R “shy” but she’s more… introverted? Reserved? this one goes out to the weird and off-putting girlies who have a lot to say but are kinda quiet instead. Timeline may be a bit wibbly but designed it to be early 4th-season era, with R (early 20s) having played an undetermined part in the various Upside Down battles from seasons previous. Loosely based on this anon every1 say thank you anon!

cw: alcohol/weed used as a social crutch, R is hassled by a guy at a party (but her boys back her up), brief vomit mention, implied bad home life for R, light SH by way of tight grip, PTSD, R has breasts+V, praise kink, oral (R receiving), one (1) spank, multiple orgasms (R), soft dom!eddie, overstim, coming in pants (E)

wc: 11k

It’s spring break, 1986, and you’re cursing the name of your so-called “best friend” Robin Buckley.

You didn’t even want to go to this stupid kegger in the first place, arguing with her the whole ride over from Steve’s backseat.

“Don’t you think it’s totally lame that you’re basically being chaperoned by two gap-year losers?” you’d said, leaning forward to rest your elbows on the console, seatbelt pulling taut across your Rolling Stones tee. “You’re a big girl, Robin, you don’t need Steve and me to babysit you anymore.”

Robin began protesting but Steve interrupted, tapping at your forearms without looking away from the road- “Sit back, wouldja, that’s not safe. And for the record, it’d only be lame if we were, like, thirty and still going to high school kickbacks. Gap-year drinking parties are a rite of passage.”

You’d sat back against your seat with a huff, arms crossed, unconvinced until Robin turned those big pleading eyes your way over the back of her seat. “You wanna talk about lame? Lame is me getting anywhere within a 60-foot radius of Vickie. I am totally hopeless around that absolute beauty.”

She’d twisted in her seat and reached for your hand, and you gave it to her grudgingly (the two of you ignoring another of Steve’s gripe about vehicular safety) as she said, “You’re like, the best wingwoman I’ve ever met. Please come to the party and help me avoid the natural disaster that is me running my mouth.”

Robin wasn’t just being generous- you were a killer third wheel. Especially when alcohol was involved: the walls that you naturally upheld around your introverted demeanor by day turned liquid as whiskey by night, often scoring you major cool points with your friends for things you barely remembered doing the day after.

So you’d relented, and in turn resolved to get as drunk as possible as quickly as possible (in the name of Robin’s aid, of course), but turns out your best friend didn’t even need your help in the first place; within 5 minutes of setting foot in the crammed house party Robin won a spot right next to Vickie on the living room couch, starry-eyed gaze saved only for the redhead that bore no room for your intervention.

Three shots ago, the situation would have struck you as funny, but it’s been a lonely time (what with Steve abandoning you, too, in favor of chatting up some college blonde); drifting from packed room to packed room, sneakers sticking to the floorboards, winding through throngs of sweaty dancing students just to keep on top of your alcohol consumption.

Kind of like hunting in the wild, you muse, leaned against a wall with red solo cup in hand. Flirt with Amy Thacker and her low-cut blouse to access the watering hole (Mystery Punch, green both in color and flavor); let Lenny Baker put his paws on your waist to gain entry to the standing liquor cabinet. The stuff of nature docs.

If this dimly-lit Hawkins party is the savanna, then you are the antelope- grazing on snacks, never staying in one spot for too long, minding your own business and staying way the hell away from the lion’s den (the group of jocks in Hawkins Tigers polos).

Unfortunately, you push off the wall in search of a refill at the same time Lenny Baker decides to sidle up to you, nearly knocking the cup from your grasp when he bends his thick head to shout in your ear above the music.

“Great party, right?” His arms are crossed above his tank of a chest, blocking you from a smooth exit via the kitchen archway.

“If you’re into drunk teens, I guess,” you say back, pointedly, licking a stripe up your wrist from where the punch had sloshed onto your bare arm.

When you look back up Lenny’s still standing there, watching you with a hungry edge that’s starting to make your well-honed antelope-sense tingle. As you not-so-subtly cast your glance around for Steve, Lenny leans in again, close enough to give you a sour whiff of his breath. “I’m legal, if that’s what’s got your panties in a twist. And what’s wrong with having some fun?”

“I’m not into having fun with douchebags who ‘roid away their remaining brain cells to bully my friends,” you retort, flatly. You doubt this guy knows you’re connected to the Hellfire group (de facto sitter, second only to Steve), but the insult seems to land anyways.

Lenny scoffs, going for a low blow to offset the sting of his bruised ego- “If you’re trying to play the part of slut, you were doing a way better job earlier.”

What the meathead hasn’t picked up on yet is your absolute lack of care about him- or anyone else at this stupid fucking party, for that matter. Besides Robin and Steve, obviously, but they’re equally indisposed at the moment. You’re feeling bold enough that you could play dirty: throw the dregs of your drink in his face, make a real scene- but the shots from earlier are hitting you sideways and you’re not entirely confident in your ability to multitask.

So instead, with a wink, you tell him, “At least this slut knows when to quit,” and turn on your heel, abandoning the kitchen escape route for a closer door that leads to the back porch.

You suck in lungfuls of cool night air, trying to clear the fuzz of booze from your vision. When you don’t hear any angry footsteps following in your wake, you sink against the wooden bannister and tip back the last of your drink in one swallow. Maybe Steve doubled back to the car…?

With your empty cup left neatly on the railing, you set off down the couple of steps that separate you from the grass, except the toe of your shoe catches on a hidden groove in the wood, and nothing is within reach to grab onto as you trip and begin to fall.

The stumble should have ended with you facedown in the dirt, but something- someone- solid breaks your downward path, catching the upper half of your body in a sturdy hold even as your legs twist around themselves.

“Whoa, whoa, hey, I gotcha. You okay?”

The voice is instantly familiar, one that you’ve heard ringing out from underneath the drama room door on countless occasions as you’ve waited on your various child wards to wrap up their D&D sessions.

Eddie Munson is holding you in his leather-clad arms, larger than life with that big cloud of hair and doe-eyed gaze matching yours. He helps you stand, properly, dropping his hands once you’re stabilized and taking the warmth of his palms with him.

“You okay?” he asks again, tilting his head, looking at you with fresh concern from under that mop of bangs. “Looks like you had a lot to drink.”

“Thanks, Dad,” you drawl, bravado flooding back in. “Am I really gonna get a fucking lecture on drinking from my local drug dealer?”

Instead of rising to the bait or bristling at your tone, Eddie grins- delighted, wolfish- before letting out a low whistle. “Who coulda guessed: resident Shy Girl has a mouth on her.”

You twist said mouth into your own smile, one that you hope is coy and charming and not dorkily lopsided (because you stopped being able to feel your face after that last drink), and coo, “You thinkin’ about my mouth, Munson?”

He laughs- a full, vibrant sound that lights up the night. There’s a flutter in your ribcage, knocking up a frenzy at the noise, like it wants to get out and at him, but you tamp it down and play it cool.

“You’ve only seen me in the cold, unforgiving light of day,” you continue, as Eddie rifles through his pockets, surfacing with a pack of cigs, eye contact yet to be broken. “My nighttime alter ego is a real riot, all liquored up.”

“Well, I happen to think you’re a riot in the sober light of day, too.” Eddie shrugs a shoulder as he flips the lid of the cigarette box.

You’re unsure if he’s messing with you- he’s gotta be, right? The only meaningful interaction you two have had in the past handful of years has been through the courtesy of the children in your respective care- a few surface-level conversations during carpool pickup, some flirting on his end that you’ve always been too skittish to return.

Well, until now, you guess. Maybe this is a good thing, him seeing you like this- it’ll either scare him away, or you’ll finally make good on the quiet crush you’ve been harboring.

You’re about to speak again when the porch door opens with a bang; you and Eddie swivel at the same time to see Lenny clomping noisily towards the steps, voice booming out over the thrum of bass back inside- “This freak bothering you?”

You look between the metalhead and the jock, eyes wide and mocking as you call back, “No, but you’re starting to!”

“Jesus, talk about poking the bear,” you hear Eddie mutter behind you, but your focus is taken up by the fact that Lenny is tromping down the steps and reaching out to grab your upper arm, his cold and clammy palm taking up a sizeable amount of space.

You can feel that rage, simmering and easily accessed, start to crawl over your skin. You stand your ground in the face of someone much larger than you, sneakers planted firmly, chin tilted in defiance- I’ve killed monsters in alternate dimensions, asswipe. You might’ve scared me back in high school but now I dare you to fuck with me.

Before Eddie can jump to your defense, you’re already going in for the bite, voice dripping with derisiveness. “So glad your right hand found its way off your dick for a change, Len. How about you do me one better and take it far, far away from here?”

Lenny’s face is almost purple with anger as his grip tightens, and you feel Eddie moving in at your back- to do what exactly, hard to say, ‘cuz Lenny’s got about 60 pounds on the lanky DM- but just as fast as the tension has ramped up, it gets diffused with the arrival of one Steve Harrington from around the corner of the house.

He cuts a smooth path through the grass to your other side, Robin’s sweater slung over one arm, twirling his car keys in neat loops around his finger, boasting a casual demeanor that doesn’t match up with the steely look he’s giving Lenny. “You heard the girl, Baker. Time to am-scray.”

Whether it’s the rumors of Steve’s nail bat or the manic look in your eyes or the fact that he’s outnumbered, Lenny’s got plenty of reason now to drop your arm.

Which he does, spitting one last “bitch” at you before hulking off into the night.

The anger in you recedes like a wave. You breathe out a dry laugh, then turn back to the boys, clasping your hands over your heart with faux-dopeyness. “My heroes. How will I ever repay you?”

“Shutting up, for a change, would be a great start,” Steve grouses over the sound of Eddie’s cackles.

“Holy shit. Can’t believe your girl’s feistiness almost landed me in the hospital.” Eddie shakes his head, plucking a cigarette out and sticking it between his plush lips.

“She’s not my girl,” Steve says, even as you wind your arms around his chest from behind, tucking your chin over his shoulder. “She is, unfortunately, my problem.”

“I love when you two talk about me like I’m not here.” You simper at Eddie from your draped position.

He’s watching you with a fondness that feels overly familiar, through the haze of smoke streaming from his nostrils as you pat the chest beneath your hands- “Don’t worry about ol’ Stevie boy. He’s turned into quite the good guard dog after the whole Russian mall takeover last year.”

“Aaaaand that’s enough talking from you,” Steve says firmly, twisting out of your arms and putting his own around your waist. “Say goodbye to your new buddy, we’ve got a Robin to collect.”

As Steve steers you towards the direction of his car you wave at Eddie, a motion that he returns, his rings glinting in the porch light.

“Christ, you really are somethin’ else with some drinks in you,'' Steve fusses, helping you into the backseat, hand shooting up to block the door frame before your head can collide with the metal. “Did you seriously have to bring up the Russians?”

“He probably thought it was a joke, Steve,” you say, exasperated and fighting the twisted middle seatbelt with uncoordinated hands. “You know… those things that you tell people when you wanna get in their pants?”

The crack was aimed at Steve’s recent string of strike-outs in the dating department, but he throws it back at you. “You’re trying to get in Eddie Munson’s pants?”

“No,” you sputter, indignant and feeling suddenly too hot.

Steve knocks your still-struggling hands from the belt, clicking you in himself, before pointing an accusatory finger in your face. “Stay here while I get Robin, and no throwing up in the Beemer.”

He shuts the door, Robin’s sweatshirt hanging from one shoulder while he stalks back into the house.

You let your head fall back against the seat and close your eyes, bright cherry embers of cigarettes between lush-lipped curves dancing behind the dark of your lids.

___

You manage to avoid throwing up in the BMW, saving the worst of it for the downstairs toilet of the Harrington house after Steve drags you and Robin indoors. Once your body is purged of the spirits, you collapse into your usual side of the guest bed, sweaty and exhausted, murmuring an apology to Robin who squeaks at the rocking movement of the mattress. In a few minutes, you’re lulled to sleep by the gentle snores of your best friend.

The morning sun is a very rude awakening, Robin apparently having forgotten to close the blinds before leaving with Steve for their shifts at Family Video. There’s a full glass of water on the bedside table and a few loose Tylenol tablets, the word “DRINK” sprawled on a sticky note in Steve’s handwriting.

You wince, down the meds along with half the water, and start the search for your sneakers.

When you’d signed up to protect a bunch of teens at the end of the world awhile back, it had seemed like a one-time gig. But now, here you were a few years later, loading yourself into your curb-parked junker to willingly cart around the same kids.

While wearing yesterday’s clothes. Even with the sprays of cologne that you’d stolen from Steve’s dresser, you’re pretty sure you’ll be fooling no one.

Evidenced by your first stop in east Hawkins for Dustin Henderson, who clambers into the front seat with a scathing appraisal. “Rough night?”

“You could say that,” you reply, shifting the gear to drive and grimacing at the subsequent squeal of metal that pierces into your left temple. “Learn from my mistakes as a washed-up twenty-something and cool it on the teen drinking, all right?”

“Washed up though you may be,” Dustin intones sagely, digging through his backpack and producing two brown-paper bundles, “you are now one Claudia Henderson Breakfast Sandwich Deluxe richer.”

You take the proffered sandwich gratefully, steering with one hand to peel back the oil-stained paper from the still-warm bread. “God. Is your mom looking to adopt?”

“She’s kind of got the perfect child already, but I’ll keep my ear to the ground for ya,” Dustin says around a mouthful of cheese and egg.

The solid breakfast helps your stomach ease back into a place of normality, but with your next stop adding two more kids to the mix, the rowdy bickering that follows puts that Tylenol to work.

“You’re an idiot,” Max is saying to Lucas over the sound of his indignation in the back seat. “You seriously think Indiana Jones would win against Supergirl? She can shapeshift, and she has heat vision.”

“All I’m saying is, it’s really hard to see a whip coming.” Lucas is stretching the limits of his seatbelt in his earnestness to get his girlfriend on his side.

It doesn’t work- Max rolls her eyes and taps at your shoulder. “Help me out here. His logic is totally shit, right?”

Making a turn onto the main road, you nod your assent without looking back. “I think you should listen to your very smart girlfriend, Lucas.”

Max makes a triumphant “hah”, and Dustin adds fuel to the argument’s fire when he drags in some other comic book character that you’ve never heard of.

You hazard a glance in your rear-view mirror at Max, who’s too busy dishing out an enthusiastic rebuttal to notice. Her auburn braids swing with the movement of the car, and you wonder if they were done by her mother before work or if Max had to rely on her own hair expertise again.

You’ve got a real soft spot for Max, always have. While you both have plenty of cause to bond over shitty home lives, it’s also Max’s brash and defiant attitude that drew you to her. She’s got the bravery you can only hope for, something that you are sure to tell her frequently, even though the compliment is hard for her to take.

You score a parking spot that’s right in front of the arcade, calling after the kids already scrambling out of your car that you want to leave at noon, sharp. They all give some form of distracted acknowledgement before disappearing into the building, so you figure the earliest you'll be getting out of here is noon-thirty.

Not like you have much to do today, anyways, besides bother Steve and Robin at work- since the arcade is conveniently located right next to Family Video, it’s a perfect excuse to wait out the kids’ spring break activities in the company of your nearest and dearest.

You’re cutting a swift track up the sidewalk when you nearly collide with Eddie Munson, for the second time in less than 24 hours.

“Hey!” He beams at you, a wide, easy thing that fits on his face so well, like it was made to be there, boyish dimples digging in. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah,” you agree, trying to smile back but probably landing somewhere in the grimace region as memories of last night float to the forefront of your mind. Small talk. You can do it. Say something. “Um. Were you getting a movie?”

“Nah.” Eddie shakes his head, hooks a thumb at the Family Video doors behind himself. “Keith’s one of my regulars. That guy might actually smoke more weed than me.”

You hum mildly to show you’re still paying attention but really you’re looking at Eddie’s hair, dark curls that shift with each of his movements. His hair isn’t black, like you’ve been led to believe this whole time- with the morning light shining through, highlighting the halo frizz around the edges, it’s actually a deep, chocolatey brown.

Similar to his eyes. Which are trained on you. Because you haven’t talked in a weird amount of time and are now just openly ogling his hair.

Before you can open your mouth to apologize Eddie asks, “You wanna smoke?”

You nod, perhaps a tad too enthusiastically, and then stretch on your tiptoes to peer around Eddie’s frame at the Family Video sign. “Yeah, but we gotta be fast unless you want the Wonder Twins joining us.”

His grin slips into a smirk, and he winks before taking your hand in his. “A quickie, then.”

That fluttering thing in your ribs is back. The metal of Eddie’s rings are cool against your palm as he leads you around the side of the building, dropping your hand once you both are leaned up against the red brick.

Trying not to outright stare again, you watch from the fringes of your vision as Eddie lights up and breathes a cloud of smoke into the air. His nails are painted black- they weren’t last night. An image of him- hunched over a kitchen table, tongue sticking out of those pillowy lips in concentration, a nail polish brush held in his long fingers- flits across your mind.

Eddie holds the cigarette out, filter-side towards you, and you shake your head lightly. “No thanks. I don’t actually smoke, I just wanted to talk to you.”

Eddie glows. Before he gets the wrong idea you start explaining, arms crossing tight over your chest in unconscious defense- “I wanted to talk about last night. And say I’m sorry. I’m not usually so…”

“Badass? Charming? Hot?” Eddie fills in when you trail off, taking in another deep drag of smoke.

Christ. You feel heat rushing from head to toe as you ward off his flattery, nails nipping into your upper arms. “I was gonna say… talkative? I guess? I’m normally not one to pick fights, but Lenny was being a dick and I don’t like the way he treats the kids, or you, for that matter, and I was drunk and mouthy but that’s not an excuse to drag you into it and I’m sorry-”

“Hey, hey.” Eddie’s tone is soothing, low, cutting smoothly into your feverish confession. He reaches out and strokes the back of his knuckle across your hand, tiny half-moons from your nails leaving their impression as you soften your grasp on yourself.

He doesn’t seem to mind that you can’t look anywhere but at your sneakers planted in the gravel as he says, “You have nothing to apologize for, sweetheart. I’m a big boy, I can handle myself when it comes to dickwads like Lenny Baker. And I would say that rescuing fair maidens is part of my job description, but…”

Eddie stubs the half-smoked cigarette out against the brick, flicks it to the ground, and waits until you look up at him again before saying “You don’t seem like you’re in need of any saving.”

That flutter, again, as you hold his eye contact for as long as you can stand it.

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “There she is.”

Mortified, you resist the urge to scream into your hands as you push off from the brick, instead squeezing them into fists at your sides. “Oh-kay. Well. I better head inside or Robin will send out the search party for me.”

Eddie lets you walk past him, but just before you turn the corner he says, “I’m across from the Mayfields in Forest Hills if you ever want some company. Or some good weed.”

Footfalls from his thick-heeled boots recede into the distance, and you take a minute to calm your breathing before pushing your way through the doors of Family Video.

Steve’s stocking a shelf of New Releases at the front of the store, vest-clad torso faced away as the bell above the door signals your entrance. On autopilot he monologues, “Welcome to Family Video, let us know how we can be of service.”

“Aw, I miss the days when you were forced to say Ahoy, mateys!” You tease, Steve turning to give you an irritated frown as you prop your hip against the register counter.

Robin clacks away on the computer, hitting the Enter key a little harder than necessary as she says, “You’re about one mall fire and a bajillion NDA’s too late to ever hear that shit again.”

Keith must be lurking around in the back office, ‘cuz the three of you only refer to last year’s cataclysmic series of events as a “mall fire” when you’re talking in code.

Or if you’re trying to be funny. But based on the dark circles under Robin’s eyes and the harried way Steve’s shoving a hand through his hair as he drifts towards the counter, you surmise that the three of you are very much on the same page this morning with regards to humor and hijinks.

“I didn’t know it was possible to be this hungover,” Robin groans, sinking her hand into a torn-open Skittles bag and popping a handful into her mouth. “Sugar is supposed to help, right?”

You snort, fiddling with a stack of paper brochures as Steve leans against the counter.

“Had any more run-ins with the town riffraff?” He asks, feigning casual, honey-colored eyes roaming around the shop.

“I’m visiting you, aren’t I?” You shoot back, unreasonably defensive.

“Another point for the pretty lady, and Harrington strikes a zero,” Robin totals in her best sports broadcasting voice. “What the hell are you talking about, Steve?”

“Drinky McGee over here was spilling her guts last night to none other than Edward Munson,” Steve replies, looking satisfied when Robin’s eyes bug dramatically.

“Eddie?” Robin hops off the stool, sliding her hands from the other side of the counter to stop your own from ripping the brochures to shreds. “And what, pray tell, were you spilling about with Eddie Muson?”

“Nothing.” You pull your hands from Robin’s, rolling your eyes as if the stakes are low, when in fact the stakes are as tall as the Empire State Building. You can practically hear the wind whistling from this height. “I wasn’t… we barely talked. He was backing me up when some jock started messing with me. That’s all.”

Robin whirls on Steve with animosity- “You left her alone long enough for some meathead to get involved? Jesus, Steve, the hell is wrong with you?”

“Like you shacking up with Vickie after two Tears for Fears tracks is any more responsible!” Steve snaps.

Having spent enough time with both your friends to know their propensity towards petty arguments, you slap a hand against the counter to derail. “Hey! Both of you knock it off. It’s fine, I’m fine, we survived yet another night out on the town unscathed. Let’s just… drop it.”

Steve looks properly chastised, but Robin gets a glint in her eye that confirms she’s not thrown off the scent so easily.

“You know what they call him, right?” she asks you, lowering her raspy voice even further.

“Eddie The Freak Munson,” Steve supplies, but shrinks noticeably when Robin gives him a withering look. “...not that, then?”

“Of course you, Steve The Hair Harrington, would only know him by that name.” Robin shakes her head, disapproving, before turning back to you with a wicked grin. “Word on the street holds Eddie The Munch Munson in very high regard.”

Steve scoffs at this, but you blink, uncomprehending. “Munch, like… he eats a lot of food?”

You feel very suddenly and violently ganged up on when Steve and Robin give you mirrored quizzical looks.

“No, babe,” Robin says, slowly. “Munch as in he eats pussy.”

“Jesus christ.” Heat courses through you as you scan the empty store, even as Steve chuckles and says, “You really are a prude.”

A skittle sails airborne into the side of his temple and he flinches, Robin coming to your aid. “That’s no way to talk to a lady, Steven.”

“I’m so not a prude.” You’re quick to jump to your own defense. “I just… didn’t know what that meant.”

You’d had a boyfriend for 6 months your sophomore year of high school, Ben- nice enough guy, but you’d mostly dated as an excuse to get all your firsts out of the way. Some laid-back hookups have occurred since then- it’s not like you’ve been chaste all these years, for fuck’s sake.

But you certainly wouldn’t give any of those boys a prize-winning nickname for their ability to eat you out.

“It’s all baseless gossip, right?” Steve grabs a nearby wheeled cart and pushes it to the New Releases, resuming his shelf stocking. “I mean, what the hell else are small-townies good for other than trading lies like baseball cards.”

“I dunno,” Robin says, thoughtfully, sucking at her front teeth. “If the token lesbian is hearing about it, then he’s gotta be some sort of sex god.”

Steve’s making a snarky comeback, but you can’t hear him over the whistling in your ears.

You stare blankly out at the parking lot, one hand absently crunching at a brochure, trying really hard to think of anything but those plush lips and all the places you want them.

____

Ever since the events of last year ripped a hole in your found family’s world, you make it a weekly habit to visit Max.

You’re always armed with some excuse- made too much pasta, please take it off my hands and put this tupperware in your fridge; I was on my way to the thrift store and thought I’d stop by, wanna come with and help me pick out some new jeans?- so that it’s harder for Max to deny your company. Slowly, over the last handful of months, by way of secondhand book offerings and slices of leftover pizza, Max has let her guard down enough to let you in.

Even on days like today, when her demeanor suggests active disdain (calling you “mom” with a caustic bite when you ask after her last meal, rolling her eyes when she finds you doing the leftover sink dishes), you don’t take it personal. Her coldness towards little acts of kindness is due to the shitty way other people have failed her. And plus, you’ve put in enough effort to be able to see the warm side of Max Mayfield.

Like now, for instance- she’s giving you a bone-crushing hug on your way out, freshly-braided hair pressed tight to your sternum as you hug her back and sway in the doorway. The hug is quick and fierce, over in seconds as she slips back into practiced indifference

“Stay out of trouble this week and I’ll buy you a pony,” you joke as she pulls away, and the smile that she cracks makes it all worth it.

“Make it a racehorse and you’ve got yourself a deal,” she says, giving you a small wave before closing her front door.

You walk down the dirt path to your parked car, keys in hand. Tonight’s schedule is that of a responsible, sensible young adult- the classified ads on your desk at home need trawling through, and a laundry pile the size of Hoosier Hill waits expectantly on your floor.

But there’s this crawling under your skin, a feeling that tends to flare up every so often, a craving for some sort of release gnawing at the edges. Usually the cure is sad music and masturbation, or some of Steve’s parents’ wine and a cheesy romcom.

Or weed. That tends to work, too.

You’re shoving your keys into the pocket of your denim jacket and walking across the way to Eddie’s trailer before you lose your nerve, scuffing your sneakers against his porch while you knock.

He looks surprised to see you, dark brows raised, leaning into the palm he’s got on the doorframe- “Oh shit. Hi.”

“Hi,” you reply, tracking one foot up the back of your calf, feeling timid under his gaze. “Do you… can I buy some weed?”

When he nods, you duck under his arm and drop to one knee on the carpeted floor to untie your laces.

“Shit, sweetheart, don’t go to all that trouble.” He lets the door close, enveloping you both in the moody lighting of his trailer. There’s a radio playing the local rock station dimly from one of the bedrooms, and as you toe off your shoes you notice a gleaming black guitar leaned upright against the couch.

“Do you play?” You drift over on sock feet to gently brush across the strings, a faint and discordant noise rising and fading underneath your fingertips.

“Yeah.” Eddie’s voice comes from just over your shoulder as he watches your gentle fingers on his prized possession. “I’m in a band, actually. You should come see us play sometime.”

“That’s cool,” you say earnestly. “I remember when you got in trouble for that talent show performance- your band was totally swindled out of first place, if you ask me.”

When he doesn’t respond right away, you hazard a look at him over your shoulder and find him staring at you again, something you’re still not used to, giggling out a little “What?” as his eyes stay on your face.

“You’re pretty, that’s all.” The Dio logo on the front of his tee ripples when he shrugs a shoulder. As if he knew it would embarrass you, he leaves no room for your disagreement, turning away into the kitchen, stretching tall for the metal lunchbox on the top of his fridge.

His shirt lifts with the stretch, a flash of stomach lined with a trail of dark hair that makes you swallow back the gathering saliva in your mouth.

“So, weed,” he’s saying as he pops the lid on the box, shaking out a small bag of fuzzy-looking green clumps. “I can set you up with a couple of days’ worth, if you want.”

“That sounds good,” you reply, mustering courage to drift to Eddie’s side, pretending to assess the baggie he’s holding, committing to memory the way his long fingers deftly pluck apart bud from stem. “That way I can come back and buy more.”

His fingers pause, halfway to the metal grinder nestled in the lunchbox as he says, “You know, you don’t need to use weed as an excuse to come see me. I think we’ve already established I like lookin’ at ya, so you’d be doing me a favor if you came by more. Just to hang out.”

This offer sits between you as he grinds the weed down, then tips a stripe of it neatly across some rolling paper. His dexterous fingers pinch and tuck until a joint takes shape, a small strip of the paper poking out.

He holds it to your lips, brown eyes shimmering with warmth as he waits.

A Stevie Nicks song starts up on the radio, muffled by the trailer walls but crooning through all the same. This close to Eddie for the first time, you can smell him- balmy and spicy, like bergamot and Irish Spring.

You lean into the joint, licking across the paper in one unbroken motion. Your tongue catches on Eddie’s thumb when you pull away, and there’s a salt-warm taste that settles in your mouth.

“Good girl,” he says, in that low-toned voice, and you have to fight to keep your thighs from pressing together in your jeans.

“Wanna smoke here?” Eddie smooths the spit-damp end of the joint down, giving the end a twist. “Good way to test out the merchandise. First one’s free.”

You shake your head as he extends the joint- “I’m definitely paying you, Eddie. And no, I can’t smoke here.” With you being the unspoken addition to that sentence.

“Aw, shucks, sweetheart,” he drawls, devilish grin creeping back in, “You don’t trust me?”

“It’s not you I don’t trust,” you admit, before you can stop yourself.

His brows shoot up again, then waggle, obscenely. “Afraid I’m gonna be too tempting to resist once you’re in the clutches of the Green Dragon?”

Something like that, you think, wryly, but that fluttering is back and you really want to shut it up, so against your sensible, better judgment, you take the joint from Eddie’s hand.

“Got a light?”

You haven’t smoked in over a month, and with your tolerance so low two hits is all it takes to get you sprawled out on the living room floor, arms akimbo like you’re making a carpet snow angel.

Eddie’s a bit more restless in his high, plucking melodious and listless tunes from the couch with his guitar, one foot propped on the coffee table near your head.

Feeling loose-limbed and confident, you stare unabashed up at Eddie. He’d put his hair into a low bun, earlier, and there are a few dark tendrils swinging free around his neck with the rocking movements of his body to the music.

He hits a snag, string buzzing out a dissonant noise. “Can’t focus with you lookin’ at me.”

“Sorry,” you murmur, except you’re not at all. “Now you know how I feel all the time.”

He sticks his tongue out at you, your girlish tittering in answer; you pat the carpet beside your hip. “Come lay with me.”

His body responds easily to your request; Eddie props the guitar back up against the couch and stretches out next to you with a sigh, a wave of that smokey sweet smell coming with him.

Under your weed-filtered view, the popcorn ceiling above you is moving, whorling and undulating in the muted light. You’re feeling gutsy and sure of yourself as you ask aloud, “Do you really think I’m pretty?”

Your head turns so you can meet Eddie’s eyes, which are dancing across your face- cheek to lips to nose back up to eyes- and he doesn’t make a joke, this time, his words coming with weighty seriousness.

“Yeah, I do. I think you’re beautiful. Always have.”

“Always?” Your echo is a soft and seeking thing.

“Yeah, always,” he confirms, simply, as if it’s a fact of life. “Woulda made a move sooner, but you always seemed so…”

“Unapproachable? Aloof? Bitchy?” You fill the gap in his speech with adjectives that have been used to characterize you in the past- usually by boys in the heat of an argument over inconsequential things that have been lost to time, only the labels sticking around.

Eddie gives you a reproachful look. “No. I was gonna say, you seemed like you were always in your own world.”

This throws you for a loop. Neck on a swivel, you look back up at the ceiling as Eddie continues.

“I wanted to get to know you more, but I’ll be the first to admit I was intimidated by you. I mean, you’re way out of my league-” Eddie ignores the sardonic snort you give to this- “-and I just assumed asking you out would've ended with an epic crash and burn.”

The ceiling stops swaying, and you swivel back to hold Eddie’s eyes again, the weed making honesty easy. “I always kinda thought you were beautiful, too.”

Awash with the bravery that only comes from being in an altered state, you keep the momentum that’s aided by Eddie’s soft smile and push up on your elbows.

“I know what they call you.”

Eddie blinks up at you, then slowly, slowly, pushes himself up onto his elbows too. “Yeah?”

It’s a taunt, a dare, an I bet you won’t.

Shows how much he knows. When you’re drunk or stoned, he’d be hard pressed to find a bet you can’t win.

You say it, unwavering. “Eddie The Munch Munson.”

His lips fall open, leaning in towards you as if drawn by a magnet, and you think he’s gonna kiss you until he falls back against the carpet, scrubbing his hands down his face. “Shit. Fuck. We can’t do this.”

“Why not?” You’re a little taken aback, ‘cuz while it’s not an outright rejection, Eddie’s upping the drama, hands pressed into the sockets of his eyes, groaning as he tips into your side.

With his forehead pressed into the curve of your shoulder, he says softly, “I think we’re both a little too stoned to be thinking clearly. And I really, really want you to think clearly when it comes to this.”

“Comes to what?” You’re egging him on now, trailing your fingers up his bicep, coy and angelic.

He rolls away from you, making a pained noise with his face smushed into the carpet before pushing himself off the ground. “You know what, princess. New topic, for the love of god. You hungry?”

You are, actually, and when he extends his hand to help you up, you take it.

Eddie whips up a box of mac and cheese while you sit on a counter nearby, conversation engaging and fluid as he cooks.

Between interjections of ‘scuse me, angel, gotta get into this cabinet and can you take over stirring for a sec? you answer all his questions. You tell him your favorite bands, the states you’d visited on a road trip when you were six, even giving him the whole “my mom’s a nice enough person but we don’t get along” spiel that you don’t usually get to until a third date.

If that’s even what this is. He’s scooping steaming noodles into two bowls, passing you one, leaning up against the counter closest to the one you’re sat on. Your knee rubs against his ribcage as you eat.

In between chews, he lets you ask about himself- his favorite bands, the states he’s never been but wants to travel to someday, the highlights of his golden years with his mom that he misses every day.

There’s a quiet lull, after your bowls are scraped clean and set aside. He helps you off the counter and tells you to pick out a movie; you load The Black Cauldron into the VCR and settle into the couch cushion.

Eddie puts an arm around you, lets you play with his hands for the bulk of the film, running your nails methodically across his palms.

By the last act of the movie, you can feel your high beginning to fade, taking your courage with it; when the credits roll, you’re ready to call it quits and sleep off the hangover in your own bed.

“You sure you’re okay to drive?” Eddie asks, following after you as you tug your sneakers back on in the hall.

“Yeah, Eddie, I’ll be good. Thanks for the weed,” you say, pulling your jacket tight around your frame. “And for the- for everything.”

The smile appears again; the one that cuts deep dimples into his cheeks as he watches you step onto his porch.

When he says your name, you turn, keys in hand- “Yeah?”

Leaning into the doorframe like he had earlier, he cants his head, streetlight a warm glow across his cheeks. “You wanna know where I got my nickname, you come back in a few days. Sleep on it tonight.” And then he closes the door.

___

So, technically, he told you to come back in a few days, and showing up less than 24 hours later has to hint at being some sort of desperate.

Which, fuck it, you kinda are, at this point. Frankly it’s a miracle you’ve lasted this long what with the whole being plagued with visions of Eddie Munson’s hands and lips and hair and that stupid fucking nickname every waking and dreaming hour you’ve spent apart.

While you can appreciate the honorable nature of Eddie asking you to make a clear-headed decision, you’re wishing for a hundred things to take the edge off as you change out of the PJ’s you’ve been moping in all day.

Black tights stretch over your calves as you think of the whiskey you mom keeps hidden in the downstairs cabinet; denim miniskirt smoothed over your hips as you long for a deep hit of weed; hands shakily plucking your black tanktop into place as the urge to be anything but sober gets swallowed down.

You make the ten minute drive to Forest Hills in silence (relative to the weird engine noises your hunk of metal car decides to make), wracking your brain for silver-tongued excuses but instead drawing blank after blank.

By the time you’re rolling to a stop in front of Eddie’s trailer, you still have no idea what you’re gonna say to him- only that something needs to be said. Max is at the Sinclair’s for the night, one less person to worry about witnessing you slamming your car door shut and walking right up to Eddie on his front steps.

He’s wearing a pair of overalls, grease-stained, shirtless underneath- the tail end of a larger ink piece peeking out against his ribs. There’s a lone bike tire on the ground, held steady by the spokes his boot rests on as he wrenches the middle hub, biceps rippling and flexing with each movement.

Certainly a sight that would have stopped you in your tracks, on any other day. But you’re determined to have it out with the returning wingbeat behind your navel, planting your Converse in the gravel just before the first step that Eddie’s sat on.

He doesn’t seem surprised to see you this time, instead giving you a lazy smile on a half-tilt, wiping the tire oil from his hands onto the front of his overalls.

“What brings a fair maiden such as yourself to this ugly neck of the woods?” Eddie leans the tire up against the steps and rises to greet you.

You’re gonna lose what little nerve you have left if he touches you so you act quick, speaking as you cross your arms- “I need to tell you a few things.”

That stops him up short, just a few feet away as he inclines his head, hair loose around his bare shoulders. “I’m nothin’ but ears.”

A wet, rattling breath catches in your chest. You give a cursory scan around to confirm that the rest of the trailer park citizens are indoors, soft lights from rows of windows luminous against the darkening twilight sky.

“I have a… a thing,” you start, unsure of where to begin, really wishing you’d come up with a polished script on the ride over instead of being forced to flounder through for the right dialogue. “It started last year. With the mall fire?”

When Eddie nods his understanding, you continue, in short starts and bursts, like you’re fighting with the words before they come out.

“Something… happened. To Robin, and Steve, and to- to me. It was really bad, for awhile, and then it got better, but I’m still…” your hands squeeze tight into the flesh of your upper arms, nails stinging. “I’m fucked up from it. And the only way I can talk about it is if I’m fucked up, too. S’why I can only hold a conversation when I’m drunk or flirt while I’m high, like there’s this bad thing inside of me that I can’t look at when I’m sober-”

There’s a frantic edge that’s slipped in to your voice and Eddie steps towards you, as if to soothe, but you’re not ready to give in yet so you take a step back, choking out the last few words- “I just- I wish I could tell you everything, but I can’t, not yet, and I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

From somewhere in the forest behind, a bright chorus of crickets swells as you fix your focus on the ground, as Eddie’s boots crunch forward on the gravel, toe-to-toe with your sneakers.

He moves carefully, as if worried that you’ll spook- lightly brushing his fingers across yours, drawing your awareness to the fact that your nails are dangerously close to drawing blood, a sigh as you release.

“Thank you for telling me.” Unlike your own voice, his is low and sure as his thumbs brush against the red half-moons in your arms. “You’re really brave, you know that?”

He doesn’t leave room for you to dispute this, instead tracing the underside of your jaw with his knuckle, forcing you to hold his gaze, those deep brown eyes soft with empathy as he says, “I don’t have any expectations of you, ‘kay? I’ll be all ears when you need me to be, but you don’t have to spill all your secrets every time you come around. You wanna just watch shitty cartoons and keep my couch warm, that’s fine by me. Nothin’ else needs to happen.”

And it’s his acknowledgement of your admission, his softhearted way of letting you know that nothing needs to happen, that makes you brave.

Brave enough to tilt your chin into the lift of his finger as you say, “I didn’t just come here to apologize.”

You watch his Adam’s apple bob against the taut vein in his neck as he swallows, hard.

“Yeah?”

When you nod, Eddie blows out a breath and turns on his heel, motioning you to follow him up the stairs.

Your eagerness is obvious as you scramble up the steps after him, heart starting to thrum in tandem with the flutters as he shuts his front door behind the both of you.

“Take your shoes off,” is all he says, in a low, strained voice, before turning into the kitchen.

Obedient, you drop to one knee and jerk apart your sneaker laces with trembling hands.

Now on nyloned feet, you step onto the linoleum tile of Eddie’s kitchen. He’s faced away from you at the sink, taut lines of his shoulders rising and falling as he washes his hands.

“You’re sober?” He asks, still at the sink, drying his hands on a patterned teatowel.

When you realize he can’t see your nod, you speak- “Yes. Yeah. As a judge.”

A soft exhale through his nose, amused, as he finally turns to face you. Eddie’s eyes do that hypnotizing dance- skipping from your chin to your eyes to your lips back up again- and you let him, feeling exposed to the point of nakedness with the intensity of his focus.

“I want to hear you say it.”

The sentence winds through the air, joins the wings in your stomach, sits low in your belly as you shift your weight from side to side, a gentle rock to ease your flayed-alive nerves.

You say it. “I want your mouth.”

Eddie takes a step closer, nearly toe-to-toe with you again. Over the familiar layer of bergamot and fresh hand soap he smells like the outdoors, and faintly of mechanic oil, hearty and wild.

“Where?” It’s a single word, but with so much weight- suggestive, a taunt, an offer.

You breathe him in, eyes fluttering closed, ‘cuz brave as you’ve been it’s still hard to say some things while looking at him. “Want your mouth… on me.”

He crowds into your space, one hand gliding smoothly to set against your waist, the other fitted against your neck, tapping a thumb to your lips.

You part them, passive and wanting, but he doesn’t press his finger to the pad of your tongue like you’d hoped. Instead, he lets his thumb stroke to the corner of your mouth to make room for his own.

“Where?” he asks again, this time into your mouth. You can feel the tip of his nose graze yours, pinpricks of his hair tickling your cheeks.

“Please,” is all you manage this time, awash with heat when you feel his smile form.

“S’okay, sweetheart. I’ll work you up to it.” It’s a touch condescending, skirting that fine line between tease and mean, the same tone of voice that has your thighs pressing together.

And then, he gives you what you asked for. His plush lips- the ones that you’ve been fantasizing about for what feels like eons- are pressing against yours.

It’s a kiss that starts chaste, tender, but soon devolves into a heady, fevered thing when you push your tongue past the seam of his lips. He melts into you, using the hand he has on your face to keep you steady as he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, grazing his teeth into the plush of it before going back to twining his tongue with yours.

There’s an audible wet click as he pulls away, both of your chests heaving in the quiet that follows; Eddie rests his forehead against yours briefly to catch his breath, and then he’s tugging you down the hall and into his room.

It’s pleasantly messy and lived-in, posters and photographs taking up most of the walls, guitar cables snaking and criss-crossing atop his dresser. You take a seat on the bed, hands tightening into the flannel duvet while Eddie begins to undo the buttons of his overall straps.

Wholly fascinated, you watch as he pushes the thick material from his body and kicks it to the side, leaving him in just his guitar pick necklace and a simple pair of black boxers. Now on full display, you drink in the sight of the most skin you’ve ever seen of his- tattoos at his chest and arms dark against the rest of him, pale and gleaming softly in the yellow light of the bedside lamp.

You’re trying to figure out if the larger piece on his ribs is a dragon or some other mythological creature when he moves in to sit next to you, his kisses erasing all thoughts.

Eddie’s making these throaty little noises as you kiss; his hands track lines from your hips to your sides to your shoulders, your chest unconsciously pressing into his touch.

When his thumb catches on the outline of your beaded nipple through your shirt, he hisses lightly, drawing back to look at you again- “Is this okay?”

You nod, but he doesn’t seem satisfied with that, tsking as he swipes with his thumb again, watching closely as you react silently to the touch.

“Hard to tell when you’re enjoying yourself if you’re quiet as a churchmouse,” Eddie says, in a tone that’s reminiscent of training a pet. “You gonna let me hear you?”

Your teeth catch on your lower lip as he thumbs across your nipple again, shockwaves coursing into goosebumps as you choke out, “I’m not s-so good at that. Not without- fuck- weed..”

Eddie huffs a laugh, a little derisive but you figure he’s probably got the right, seeing as how you’re this worked up and he’s barely touched you.

“You’re plenty good at this sober, sweetheart. Want me to prove it?”

His hand falls from your breast, extricates one of yours from the covers, and slides it up the meat of his thigh- then to the front of his boxers.

The first noise you make for him is a small gasp, one that matches his own as you cup your palm over the thick jut of his hard cock.

“Told you,” he says, sounding strung-out, his hand still closed around your wrist, “You’re doin’ just fine at working me up.”

You wrap your fingers around the bulge as best you can with the fabric of his boxers separating skin from skin, gaining confidence to explore as his grip on your wrist loosens. The black ink at his ribs expands and shrinks with the bellows of his breath, jolting and stuttering with each stroke of your hand.

Just as he’s drawing in a breath to speak, tightening his hold around your wrist in warning, you still your movements. Delicately, slowly, you slide out of his grasp and take his wrist in your hand, placing his palm on your own thigh.

The whole “reciprocating pleasure with sound” is still a hard one to give in to; maybe you can compensate for your hesitancy by showing instead of telling. You guide his hand up, into your skirt, parting your thighs until his fingers find the wetness soaking through both your panties and tights.

“Fucking… jesus.” Eddie moves with the fluid surety that you lack, middle finger running up the seam of your clothed pussy, your hips jerking reflexively when he catches against your clit. “This all for me, princess?”

In answer, you lean to bury your face into the crook of Eddie’s neck. He lets you, taking the opportunity to hook your leg over his thigh, spreading you out as much as your fitted denim skirt will allow.

You pant into the column of his throat as he strokes you through the light layers, the fabrics grinding friction into your clit caught under his fingertip. He rests his chin on the crown of your head, cooing praises that have your stomach muscles tensing.

“That’s it, good girl, such a good girl for me.”

Your clit is throbbing now as he rubs you in small, quick circles, and you’re so close to falling over the edge that you have to pull his hand away.

Eddie picks up on your unspoken plea; he tugs the skirt down your hips then tosses it blindly over his shoulder, reaching for the edge of your tights. He slips them down your thighs, your calves, peeling them off you with reverence. When all that’s left is your best pair of satin panties, he maneuvers you up against the headboard and stretches himself flat on his stomach, nose pressing into your core.

That heat has come back, flashing through you with a vengeance as Eddie mouths at your pussy through the satin, sloppily but with purpose enough to have your cunt clenching around nothing.

You stay up on your elbows, watching that mane of dark hair bracketed by your thighs, but when Eddie pulls your underwear down and off your ankle your weight falls back against the mattress.

The flat of his tongue licks a wide stripe from your weeping hole up to spread the wetness around your clit. When he sucks the bundle of nerves into his mouth, your head presses back into the covers, hands grappling above you for something to anchor your grasp.

When Eddie flicks the point of his tongue against that bright spot of nerves your hands find a pillow to grip, and when he moans into your pussy the vibrations have you instinctively pulling the pillow against your face, teeth biting into the fluff, masking the whine that would have been loud in the otherwise quiet room.

You think you might be able to get away with this setup (what with Eddie seemingly focused on making you explode into a million little pieces) but there’s a sharp smack before the outer skin of your thigh is burning, white-hot from the kiss of his rings.

Eddie’s mouth leaves you only for the time it takes for him to rip the pillow from your grasp and scold, “Uh uh, none of that, c’mon,” and then he’s back at your clit, suckling with renewed vengeance.

There are little stars bursting at the edges of your vision, your hands shooting down to grip at Eddie’s hair when he pistons the point of his tongue against you again. Your hips are subtly bucking into his mouth, shaking thighs involuntarily closing around his ears. Normally you’d be concerned about Eddie’s air intake but going off the moans he’s burying in your pussy, you’d hazard a guess that he’s really into it.

As if in confirmation, he pulls off your clit with a wet pop, laving his tongue up the junction where thigh meets pelvis, voice sounding wrecked- “Doin’ so good, sweetheart. Fuck, you got me so hard. Gonna blow a load in my boxers like a teenager, y’taste so good. Gonna let me hear you? Hm? Wanna hear you.”

You’re dizzy with want as you prop yourself on your elbows again, mouth falling open as Eddie sinks two of his fingers up to the ringed knuckle inside your velvet walls.

His other hand comes to rest on the soft curve of your stomach, pinning you in place, before he looks up at you, black pupils nearly eclipsing the chocolate brown.

“What do you want?” he asks again, patiently, as if he doesn’t have two fingers nestled inside your cunt.

Your efforts to grind into him are stopped with his firm hold on your middle, and he tuts at you again- but instead of a reprimand, he seems to soften a bit.

“C’mon, angel,” Eddie says, with such tenderness that makes tears prick at the corner of your eyes. He presses his lips to the inside of your thigh before encouraging, “Lemme hear you say it, and I’ll make it so good for you. Promise.”

“Want you to make me come. Please.” Your voice is unsteady, but it’s audible enough.

Eddie rewards you by sinking his fingers further, to the hilt, heel of his palm catching against your clit. When you let out a warbling moan, he nods- “That’s it,”- before setting a steady rhythm for fucking his fingers up into you.

“Fuck, Eddie- fu-uck…” you’re trying, really trying to stay in the moment and not get caught up in the noises you’re making- for him.

When Eddie reattaches his mouth to your throbbing clit and angles his fingers to hit into that soft, spongy spot with each thrust, you feel waves of pleasure start to wash through you. There’s just time for a choked “Shit, Eddie, you’re gonna make me cum,” before you’re spasming around his fingers.

Somehow, you manage to stay on your elbows, bracing your body through the convulsive shocks, white-hot stars joining the wingbeat rhythm as Eddie takes you apart with his mouth and fingers.

He moans, long and low, fucking you through it and then some- your orgasm has been completely wrung out when you push at his forehead, whimpering at the overstimulation.

“No, baby, one more, please. Gimme one more,” Eddie lifts his head to plead with you, sweaty bangs glued to his forehead- and then he’s back between your legs.

It’s this moment that makes you retrospective. Sex with boys, in the past, has always been a quick means to an end: a few minutes of foreplay, tamping down your own pleasure for the sake of blowing off some steam.

But now, pleasure was being given to you in spades by Eddie Munson, and you wanted to give it back to him.

You come on his tongue and fingers, again, stomach tightening beneath his warm palm, and this time you really loose the sounds caught in your chest: a strangled mix of your bliss-soaked whines with his name, Eddie Eddie Eddie.

You feel the bed frame jolt below you both as Eddie’s hips thrust into the mattress in a frenzied tempo.

“Fuck me.” He pulls away, finally, panting into the side of your knee. He rests his head against your leg, lips tinged pink and shining wet, gazing at you with lust-blown eyes. “You are so fucking hot. Holy shit.”

Bashful as your peak wears off, you pull him forward so you don’t have to look at him when you whisper, “Yeah?”

“Yeah, princess,” he says, slumping against your chest and into your arms. “That’s going straight to my long-term spank bank. Number one. For sure.”

You slap playfully at his shoulder, and he rises on his elbows to kiss you- once on the lips, twice on the cheek- warm palms on the outside of your shoulders.

“Are you… d’you need any help?” you ask, reaching to tuck his hair behind his ears, feeling the crush of insecurity leech in. “I dunno if you even- I mean, did you…”

From all the physical activity, your breasts are half-spilled out of your bra, and Eddie bends to kiss at the tops of them, affectionately, shaking his head as he goes. “There is no world in which I would’ve lasted, just now. Very noble of you to assume, though.”

He grins at your giggle, then says- “I dunno about you, but I need some new underwear. Wanna borrow a pair of my boxers? Bet you’d look cute.”

________

Later, when you’re both cleaned up, dressed, and full from a pizza delivery, Eddie invites you outside for a smoke.

You sit with him on the porch couch, legs slung over his, a big flannel blanket shared over both your laps while he smokes with the hand that isn’t on your thigh.

There’s a crunching of wheels on gravel, and Max Mayfield’s bike lamp cuts through the dark.

“Hey, Heavy Metal,” she calls out, undoing her bike helmet and leaning her bike into its kickstand. “Are you done fixing up Lucas’s tires or do I have to keep hauling my ass all the way across town to see him?”

“I’ll have it done tomorrow, Red,” Eddie calls back, giving her a salute.

Halfway to her door, she remarks, “You two are gross, by the way,”

You cross your arms in the sweatshirt Eddie loaned you, slipping into irksome older sister mode easily. “So how’d it go with your boyfriend, tonight, Maxine?”

She flips you both off, but you catch the smile on her face before the front door bangs shut behind her.

Eddie chuckles, smoothing his palm up your thigh, then takes another drag. “You gotta come night smoke with me more often, angel. The streetlights suit you.”

“Gonna get me hooked on nicotine, too?” Your sock foot pokes him in the ribs and he tuts, snapping it up in his free hand and digging his thumb into the arch of your sole.

“Fuck no, your teeth are too pretty to ruin. Want you to come keep me company while I destroy my lungs.”

Another cloud of smoke lifts dreamily around Eddie’s face. His thumb is working wonders on the tense muscle of your foot as you tip your head to rest on the back of the couch. With the nearby streetlamp, his profile is cast in a warm glow; you do a dance of your own, eyes taking in the strong slope of his nose, tracking down to his lips, back up to the wild curls at his temple.

Eddie feels you staring, turns to fix you with a quit it look that you can’t help but laugh at- “What, so you’re the only one who’s allowed to stare?”

“That’s right,” he confirms, leaning forward to set his cig in an ashtray, bullying his way into your space, rings cold under your chin when he tilts your face towards his- “Gotta pay the piper for that obvious violation, sweetheart. Sorry. I don’t make the rules.”

This time, when the flutter within you kicks up, you have a place for it to go- melting softly into Eddie’s lips.

___________________

I wrote the last third of this while blasted please don’t judge too harshly lmao

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x shy! reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things fic #eddie munson fic #robin buckley #steve harrington #mdni

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lactoseintolerentswag · 1 year

Text

Rise Characterizations Pt. 3!!!

Now that Leo and Raph are done, it's Donnie's turn for character analysis as a writing reference. So without further ado,

Donnie Character Notes

Language Habits:

Straight up talks like a redditor who hasn't touched enough grass (affectionate)

Oscillates between very scientific paper polished, sometimes adding a dazzle of shakespearean for dramatics, or abbreviations/a shorter version of a word with a more fun connotation (i.e. "brekkie" instead of breakfast)

Uses food as surprised exclamations or curses, "oh my peaches and cream", "banana pancakes!"

Emphasizes each syllable of a long word when he's excited or trying to make a point. Conquered becomes con-qu-ered

Either exaggerates his speech or speaks in deadpan

The science terms he uses as battle cries aren't chosen at random, but rather are related to the action/subject at hand, i.e. yelling "fibonacci" when throwing his spinning tech-bo

Will overly describe an item or a situation, and often gets caught up in these observations before processing what just happened

Will repeatedly yell "help!" when he's distressed and/or outnumbered

Refers to Mikey as "Michael"

Refers to his brothers as "brethren" or "gentlemen"

Refers to splinter as either "father", "papa", or "dad" depending on the weight of the situation

Refers to his tech as his "babies"

Answers the phone with, "You're conversing with Donatello"

Uses "gesundheit" instead of bless you

Personality:

The fixer, he supplies the family with tech and resources. He always has a trinket made for the situation at hand and/or offers his knowledge/data collected. He's always prepared to help. Even with outside resources, he likes to feel useful in solving their problems (i.e., building Todd that dog park)

The theater kid, in a similar vein to leo, Donnie has his own style of dramatics. He often uses shakespeare-like language, is mentioned to regularly recite the jupiter jim musical soundtrack, and has a music mode for his battle shell. He belongs on a stage, or at least thinks he does

Not good at lying, despite the glamour he can put on in the spotlight. This may be due to the side of himself that over explains his thoughts

An over-thinker, who really tends to over-complicate things. His first theory or idea will always be the most extreme buck-wild concept. After some filtering, he still word vomits

A dreamer/big idea guy. He does have big ideas and goals. A lot of these he's able to put into place, although some go a little haywire (see Albearto). He doesn't do things in halves, and puts everything into a project

Meticulous, someone who's very detail oriented. As mentioned before he tends to over-complicates things. This may be impacted by his love for data and collecting information (he does record Everything for a reason)

Always on the edge of violence, which is surprising. Donnie's not known as being the angry archetype of tmnt, but he can get a little violent in his fighting style and does often cite his desire to use lethal force

Low empathy, which is mainly due to his issues processing and recognizing emotions. He's been pegged as unemotional, but in canon he's rather emotional and expressionate, just lacking the skills to process such emotion (he's just like me fr)

Praise motivated, as seen with his interactions with Splinter. Also desires the praise of his brothers, who he doesn't feel understand him with all the teasing that's sent towards his direction. This also pushes him to seek validation and acceptance in other groups (i.e. the purple dragons), to feel a sense of security or belonging

Ignores his own mistakes, and will often pretend like they didn't exist or ever happen. This most likely has to do with his desire for praise, so he feels bad when he fails. If he never made a mistake, he never has to feel bad

Miscellaneous:

Fourth to unlock mystic powers

Uses "Bootyyyshaker9000" as most of his usernames and passwords, with his alt. username being "Alpha-Bootyyyshaker9000"

Has a fear of bees, spiders, and of course beach balls

Breaks the fourth wall the most

Loves the smell of pineapple, hates the texture

Has a hobby of rooting around in the junkyard and dumpster diving

Uses cheat codes in video games

Mikey's next of course :)

#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt donatello #character analysis #long post #fanfic #writing #critter talks

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yandere-3-sagau · 2 years

Note

Can I request SAGAU with reader coming into Teyvat but being very hush hush about it and they get a job at Wangshu inn or something but one day they end up cutting themselves and boom golden blood? Sorry if this is too specific

Don’t apologize, I love this idea!

I have so many ideas for this one ranging from crack to angst hskakdk

Let’s say that all the documents about the creator have vague descriptions so they aren’t too sure about your appearance. The only key signs of being the creator are golden blood and crystal like tears.

I hope you like it! I think this may be my first request ^.^

—

Yandere!SAGAU x Secret!Creator!Reader Part 1

Your arrival to Teyvat is sudden. One second you had fallen asleep at your desk after a long night. The next second you lift your head and you’re in a completely new environment.

Surrounded by greens and vegetables you note you’re on some sort of farm. You warily get off the ground, dusting off the dirt from your clothes. You look around hoping to figure out where and how you had ended up in this unfamiliar place.

However, what catches your eyes in the dimly lit farm, is a little glowing blue figure floating wispily.

A seelie?

Your heart drops and your eyes squint through the dark taking in more of your surroundings. Your eyes finally land on a large statue in the distance.

Your thoughts are confirmed as you drop to your knees, eyes locked on a Geo Statue of the Seven.

You’ve read the stories, you know what happens.

“Hello? Who is out there?” a shaky voice calls out. You want to get up and run but the shock kept you in place.

An old man makes his way over, holding a lantern over you. The light illuminates your worry-stricken face. Thoughts run wild in your head as the old man helps you into his home.

Not wanting to risk being chased by all these powerful characters thinking you’re an imposter, while also afraid of being confined by obsessive acolytes, you think it’s best that your arrival to Teyvat is kept a secret.

The farmer that found you, a widowed man with no offspring, decides to take you in. To avoid feeling like a burden, you help out the old man in anyway you can, starting with farming. As if the land is trying to show their love for you, the vegetables you plant grow absurdly quick. They grow larger than the farmer had ever seen before. Vegetables farmed by your hand come out with the perfect texture and consistency. To the farmer, you’re like an angel descended from the skies.

It isn’t long before the old farmer’s business booms with the best vegetables in the market. However, he’s become too old and it’s become too difficult for him to transport all of these vegetables from his isolated little home to the shops down in Liyue Harbor.

You volunteer to do it for him. It’s the least you could do in return for him letting you stay rent free. Despite your willingness, you still can’t fight the anxiousness that comes with traveling in Teyvat.

The first time you enter Liyue Harbor, your hands are so sweaty you nearly drop the boxes of vegetables you are holding. Staying the whole day to sell vegetables in Liyue Harbor means that you are exposed. But when you finally came across your favorite characters, you realize you worried for nothing.

You first meet the Traveler and Paimon. The exchange is simple. They buy a few of your vegetables then leave to Wanmin restaurant to use the stove to cook some meals.

Then you meet Xiao. One day, a group of Hilichurl’s almost attack you while you are transporting goods to Liyue Harbor. He quickly wipes them out while you hide behind the cart you are pushing. Xiao simply looks at you for no more than 5 seconds before disappearing.

After that, the worry of your face being recognized begins to fade. If it weren’t for your oddly golden blood, you would have forgotten that you’re the creator.

You become accustomed to living life in Teyvat. It is peaceful. No exams or deadlines. Such simple tasks done day by day. You spend one day farming and the next transporting vegetables. You sit at your little shop selling items before heading home and helping out the old man. It’s not super easy but it’s a lot less stressful than your life before.

Everyday you get to bask in the sunlight and enjoy fresh air while you admire the scenery you had only ever seen through a screen. You are content and happy.

Until one day you accidentally make the smallest mistake.

Xiangling is a regular of yours. Your vegetables are by far the best she’s ever had and you quickly become her source of ingredients for her dishes. She speaks so highly of you that Zhongli, one of the characters you fear most, decides to drop by your little shop.

His presence is intimidating with his golden eyes peering down at you and his tall stature towering over your little stall.

Despite his slightly domineering presence, his voice is as smooth and soothing as you remember it to be and you’re able to calm down enough to treat him like any of your other customers. You’ve already met many characters and none of them were able to recognize you. How could he be any different?

Except he’s not like the others.

He’s nearly 6000 years old. He’s seen things others haven’t and most importantly, he’s worshipped the existence of the creator far longer than any of the Liyue Citizens have been alive.

From the very beginning, he sensed that there was something different about you. Something familiar and oddly inviting. The former Geo Archon thought he knew everyone residing in Liyue but it’s his first time coming across you.

His eyes can’t help but follow your every move as you wrap up his box of vegetables. You finally finish tying up his box with some sturdy rope and grab a knife to cut off the long ends. Just as you’re cutting the rope, your hand slips.

The sharp knife slices shallowly into your opposite hand. Zhongli is only barely able to catch a glimpse of gold before you drop to the floor.

It isn’t the pain that’s brought you to your knees but the fear. You crouch over your hands, covering the wound as best as you can hoping with all your being that he hasn’t seen anything.

Both you and Zhongli can feel your hearts beating faster than ever before.

“Are you alright?”

The former Geo Archon attempts to walk over to the other side of the stall, when he hears the Traveler call his name. His attention wavers and it gives you just enough time to wipe your blood away and stuff the handkerchief into your pocket.

Zhongli glances at you amidst his conversation just to see you finish covering your wound with a bandage. Any trace of blood is gone and the wound is completely covered.

He walks away from the Traveler to speak with you. The geo archon’s eyes never once leave your hand as he stands in front of you.

“Is your wound alright?”

You nod waving your hand a little.

“Just a small wound,” you say, hoping he’d accept your answer and move on.

But he isn’t satisfied.

“Are you sure? It look like it hurt. It’s important to put some cream on it so it doesn’t get infected.”

“Of course! I’m a lot stronger than you think.” You smile before repeating his total. The Traveler ends up paying for the vegetables and the two leave, but not without Zhongli glancing a few more times at you.

When his figure completely fades, your smile drops.

It seems you’ve stayed a bit too long in Liyue.

Shaky hands clumsily pack up your stall as you race to close up the shop early and quickly head home before the Geo Archon decides to return.

While you rush, you don’t notice the small white handkerchief falling out of your pocket nor do you realize that the small piece of cloth would be the sole cause of the upcoming chaos that erupts throughout the nations of Teyvat.

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aliceramblez · 10 months

Text

Dating The BroZone Brothers 🎤🎶

Tags: Gender-neutral reader, Fluff, Some Angst (mostly for Branch lol), Also Broppy isn't canon here, obviously. But I love them dearly so don't come at me!

Follow me @taruchinator for more structured content and/or feel free to leave a request here in asks. Enjoy!

John Dory

We all know this man is a bit self-centered, and that doesn't stop at your relationship.

He'll find any opportunity to show off for you— anything from singing, to dancing, to just his ‘incredible leadership skills that make him the perfect boyfriend!’

He also definitely introduced himself as a member of the old boy band BroZone, which you may or may not have heard of, which may or may not have left him flabbergasted.

Despite all his faults though, John Dory will do his best to be a good partner for you. It's what you deserve, after all!

Keeping you safe from wild creatures, making sure you're always happy because he loves your smile, and also being the overprotective boyfriend who'll square off against anyone who even dares to make you uncomfortable even if they're 10x his size.

Small detail, but he also loves the fact that Rhonda took a liking to you instantly.

“She knows how to pick the good ones,” he'd say with a wink.

Talks about his brothers CONSTANTLY, but always in a way that makes it seem like he doesn't care and that it's their fault the band broke up in the first place. He obviously really cares about them, though.

Some nights, he'll reflect and regret all the stuff he said and did to them, and wishes he could go back and make it right. You reassure him through most of it, trying to convince him that he was young and just didn't know any better.

He stares at you in awe and disbelief because how could ANYONE think that what he did was justifiable? Abandoning his younger siblings all because of his stupid ego and personal insecurities.

“I really don't deserve you...”

Give him some time he's just emotionally constipated.

Also you BET he's gonna show you off to his brothers once they're reunited, so just let him. He just wants the most important people in his life to meet.

You can also expect them to try and embarrass John Dory with stories from their childhood, so be ready to have a good laugh as your boyfriend plots for murder in the background.

Spruce/Bruce

Probably the one who's best equipped to be in a relationship out of everyone in the group.

He is a family man, after all.

Speaking of which, if you think him settling down in the movie and having kids of his own was cute, it really is! But that just indicates that he has a way with children.

If you have a child or younger sibling, expect them to get dotted and taken care of to DEATH by this man.

He may not have been the sensitive one of the group, but was definitely the most reliable of the eldest, so he's got experience handling little trouble makers that come his way.

He still opens a cantina in Vacay Island, which is where you two met for the first time, and so you help run it occasionally whenever you have the chance. And even though you don't go there 24/7, all the regulars just think that you're the co-owner since you're dating Bruce.

You're the one who finds out that he's actually ‘Spruce’, the member of old boy band BroZone. You just happened to stumble upon an old record he kept in his room, and after confronting him about it, he reluctantly confirms your suspicions.

It was hard to recognize him since he was much older now and his body had definitely... grown over the years.

Bruce doesn't like preaching about those days, since he's quite embarrassed of the ‘immature ladies man’ he used to be back then.

But he won't deprive you of them either, since he'll happily share any stories on his misadventures with his brothers, funny backstage incidents, etc.

He misses them dearly and wishes they're all doing okay.

Two words: Hopeless. Romantic.

He's ‘The Heart Throb’ for a reason.

Roses, chocolates, dances— he can do it all!

Bruce will always make time in his busy schedule to spend time with you, taking you on dates to your favorite spots around the island, getting you meaningful gifts, and just overall expressing his love for you in any way he can.

He loves singing to you because it always serenades you and it puts a smile on his face.

People always joke that he's going to propose to you out of the blue one of these days, which always leaves him a flustered mess, but he never denies either.

“What can I say? I might be waiting for the perfect opportunity...”

Clay

Poor baby doesn't know what he's doing but he's trying, okay?

The two of you meet in the abandoned Bergen Golf Course, where you and Viva welcome him with open arms, and everything pretty much plays as in the movie, except that he really likes spending time with you and ONLY you, which he doesn't quite understand?

You're the one to ask him out cause otherwise you'd be playing this back and forth forever. He says yes.

He's never had a partner before, so he's justifiably worried that he'll mess up in some way, or that you'll end up finding him too boring after a while.

This becomes much more apparent after a particular bad night, in which after mumbling incoherently because of a nightmare, you find out that he has brothers and used to be in a boy band.

He doesn't open up about it at first, so you give him some space and reassure him that you'll be there when he needs you. Just give him some time and he'll tell you eventually.

He talks about how he could never be himself, since he was always expected to be ‘The Fun One’, and now he's basically tried to become the complete opposite in hopes of gaining some control over his life.

But he also worries that others will think he's too dull, and that he just isn't interesting enough to be around. Especially you.

You immediately take his face in your hands and look him in the eyes.

“I fell in love with Clay. Not ‘The Fun Troll from BroZone’ Clay. Also, you're fun in your own way!”

He basically falls for you all over again after hearing this.

After that, he becomes slightly less uptight and allows himself to enjoy the little things. You sometimes actually catch him dancing when he thinks no one's looking and you find it's the most adorable thing in the world, even after he realizes he's not alone and wants the earth to swallow him whole.

“Don't mind me, I'mma just crawl in a hole for a while...”

“No, no- Babe, it was amazing! I loved it! Pleaseeee show me more!”

Overall, he's a pretty good boyfriend all things considered.

He's incredibly overprotective of you, and will always give you advice and tools he thinks will be helpful if you're thinking of venturing outside of the Golf Course.

He asks Viva for dating advice CONSTANTLY and she DOES NOT let him live it down. Of course she has good ideas, though.

He'll pretty much do anything for you, even if it means going out of his comfort zone.

Floyd

Another great candidate for being in a good relationship.

Need I explain myself with this man?

His entire personality revolves around being caring and understanding, so he's definitely always on the lookout for anything that makes you sad or uncomfortable and will fix it ASAP.

Floyd is the kind of person who will ask for consent with pretty much anything you do— from holding your hand, to kissing you, to giving you a hug; he will ALWAYS make sure that you're okay with it even if you've given him the green light in the past.

He's not huge on PDA due to his somewhat shy nature, but if you are, he'll try his best to keep up with you.

This doesn't mean he dislikes physical affection, in fact it's his love language. He'll go out of his way to try and sneak in as many hugs as possible throughout the day and maybe a kiss or two if you'll allow it, which of course you do.

You also try your best to get involved in his own interests, because that's only fair after everything he does for you.

It isn't until one day that he sings for you that you compliment him and he nonchalantly comments that he used to be in a band when he was a teenager.

Cue the reveal of him having four brothers and you begging him to tell you all about them.

Which he does, but you can't help but notice the melancholic expression on his face, so you immediately stop him and apologize for being pushy on the matter and that he doesn't have to share anything he doesn't want to talk about.

He only looks at you with a small smile and shakes his head.

“No, I'm glad you asked. I haven't talked about them in years, so I like remembering the good times, even if they're in the past now.”

So he'll go on and on about them, one by one, and go into excruciating detail about what kind of person they are and what he loves about them. He's especially fond of his little brother Branch, based on everything he tells you.

When he gets kidnapped by Velvet and Veneer, you immediately go to Branch for help.

Once you're reunited, you two basically run to each other and hug with tears streaming down your eyes.

“Did they hurt you?!”

“No, I'm okay! Did they hurt you?!”

“Who cares?”

“I do!”

Floyd is then incredibly happy to introduce you to his brothers, who begin to affectionately tease him about getting himself a partner and you happily step in to protect him from any unwanted bullying.

You also tell him that you like the new hairdo, which only causes him to giggle and kiss your forehead affectionately.

Honestly you guys probably have the healthiest relationship out of the whole group.

Branch

I was really debating whether to include him or not since there's many Branch Reader Inserts out there, but I don't wanna leave my baby out so here we are!

You have a classic childhood friends to lovers situation with him, since you've known him ever since he was a member of BroZone, only being about a year older than him.

You'd help him practice for his concerts and would always give him pep talks whenever he felt worried that he'd ruin the show.

You're basically his number one fan— never missing a concert even if it meant dragging your parents with you so they'd let you get in.

The moment the group disbands and Branch is left all alone, you're there for him and wait alongside him for his brothers to return, reassuring him that ‘siblings would never break a promise’.

Cue his whole childhood trauma and him losing his colors, but it's only because of you that he doesn't completely isolate himself from society. He still builds his bunker though, since he's pretty much scarred for life thanks to the Bergens.

Just like with Clay, you're the one who takes initiative and asks him out, and he's just left gaping like a fish because why would you want someone like HIM?

After reuniting with John Dory, he's also dotting you about how big you've gotten and treats you like a baby, which actually irks Branch much more than it does to him.

He makes sure to remind his brothers that you both are grown adults, thank you very much.

Once the band gets back together, you kinda become a manager of some kind and help them in organizing their performances. Branch is eternally grateful and thanks you for staying by his side all these years.

#dreamworks trolls #trolls 3 #trolls band together #trolls branch #trolls john dory #trolls clay #trolls spruce #trolls floyd #trolls x reader #trolls reader inserts #branch x reader #john dory x reader #clay x reader #spruce x reader #floyd x reader #fanfic

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attapullman · 7 months

Text

Bob From Stats | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: College is a wild time, but absolutely nothing could prepare you for the quiet guy from Stats riding around campus as a cowboy. Or what a good kisser he is.

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: f!reader, smut, 18+ ONLY as always, dry humping, alcohol, drunken party games, mentions of studying because that gives me PTSD, semi-exaggerated Greek life for theatrical reasons

A Note From Mo: Somehow my frat!Bob, drunk Bob is Rhett, and 7 minutes in heaven ideas all rolled into one fic - wild! Massive shoutout to everyone who listened to me talk about Stats Bob (who is now officially my #2 Bob, I love him) and for supporting this here lil blog. May you find a hobby-horse-wielding future WSO to sweep you off your feet too!

“I hate this. I’m going to quit school and become a stripper.”

Anna gives you a wry look. “That joke was only funny the first time you said it.”

“So you admit I’m funny!”

The two of you have been spread out in the library the majority of the evening. Textbooks, snacks, and highlighters littering the glossy dark wood. You’re on hour five of assignments and your brain is pounding against the front of your skull. Your other classes aren’t too bad, a bit time consuming, but Statistics is a foreign language. Thinking in probable numbers? It was one thing when the nice guy who sat behind you helped explain concepts, but Anna does not have quite the same analytical mind.

The sky outside is an inky black and the library is quiet except for your frustrated huffs. It’s Saturday night. The rest of campus is indulging in cheap beers at Barney’s, slinking along Greek Row, or enjoying tonight’s episode of Saturday Night Live. It’s time to get out of here and crawl into your soft bed. Torturing yourself with Stats homework will be just as painful on Sunday.

“If I buy us a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough, can we blow this off and hang out back at the dorms?” Anna is nodding before you’ve even finished. Stuffing notebooks into backpacks and capping pens low on ink, you’re strolling down the library stairs not even five minutes later.

As the balmy evening campus air hits your face, you already feel fresher. Campus is quiet, late enough that most people are settled into their Saturday night plans. As the two of you near Greek Row, there’s a comfortable silence as you appreciate the breeze through the trees and the warm glow of campus housing windows.

That is, until a low whoop rings out. An undercurrent of boisterous cheering and what sounds like stomping feet. You exchange eyes with your roommate. What is that?

As if summoned, a group comes galloping through the neatly trimmed cypress trees around the corner. They’re stomping their feet in a rhythm, hands held mid-air to imitate holding reigns. Drunken laughs ring out between cries of “Whoa!” and “Steady there, Lucky!” To round it off, the leader of their horse play (literally) is full-on cosplaying as a cowboy, his jeans tucked into boots and a Stetson perched atop his head.

Wait, is he holding a hobby horse? It’s been decades since you’ve seen those horse heads stuck on a stick. The stuffed felt Appaloosa head is reigned in the cowboy’s hands, where he pretends to spur it back into action.

Just when you think you’ve seen it all.

The group continues its way toward you and you’re equally secondhand embarrassed and amused. As they grow closer you recognize a few guys from the Pi Kapp house and wave. But it’s Anna who makes the most shocking discovery when Mr. Cowboy tilts his brim up.

"Is that Bob from Stats?"

It takes a second to look past the brown felt hat and the hobby horse he's taking for a spin, but that's definitely the same pink-cheeked Bob Floyd who has lent you a pencil all semester.

“Howdy, ladies.” He tips his hat to you, all toothy grin and droopy drunk eyes. "Can I offer you a ride?"

You stare open-mouthed. Shocked. That slow rancher drawl is new. The unbridled confidence is new. Actually, the entire getup is new. For nine weeks you’ve seen him in the same trucker hat and sweatshirt combo while going over homework answers together. What is going on?

He’s clearly in the middle of his house party crawl, bright blue eyes half open behind his metal frames. Just as gorgeous as ever as a tendril of sandy hair curls against his forehead. Normally your reaction to him is tender, a puppy dog crush. But this wild, inebriated version of him? You’re hot under the collar.

“You think there’s room on your horse?” Ever since that first Stats class he’s made your brain feel like it’s on RedBull. The way he noticed you missing a writing utensil and offering you his extra. His kind smile when you get a homework answer completely wrong. Anna hasn’t noticed your crush, but it feels obvious with the way you can barely keep eye contact with him yet are unable to look away. Especially with that stupid cowboy hat on.

He bites his lip, considering your response, and his buddies all razz him as he drawls out, “There will be if we squeeze in.”

The wink makes your mouth dry.

Someone from the back of the group complains of the cold and the group prepares their steeds to head back to Pi Kapp. Anna explains you’re headed back to the dorms, tone deaf to the sexual tension, and Bob nods with his brow furrowed.

“Another time then.” His white tshirt practically glows in the moonlight. “Have a good night, chickadees. Get home safe!”

With another tip of his Stetson to you, Bob Floyd gallops away toward another keg.

You’re sprinting across campus, cursing how late your meeting with your advisor went. There was ten minutes to get across campus and he had spent four of those questioning whether you really needed another semester of French. You make it into the lecture hall with a minute to spare, finding your preferred spot in the lower rows where you can actually see the board. Right in front of Bob.

“What? No cowboy hat for class?” His cheeks flame red, the hope you’ve forgotten about his Saturday antics lost. He looks like himself today, his signature trucker cap keeping the hair off his face. Those friendly ultramarine eyes shyly focusing on his notebook because god forbid he makes eye contact after you’ve seen him gallop across campus on a fake horse.

He rubs the back of his neck over his soft-looking crewneck, an awkward smile playing on his lips. “It’s at the cleaners.”

You give him an amused grin before settling yourself into one of the classically uncomfortable lecture seats. Anna waves to you from where she’s rushing in, historically always late. The professor is shuffling notes at the podium as she collapses into the seat next to you, nodding her head in greeting to you and to Bob. She raises her eyebrows to you, a “remember when Bob was dressed as a cowboy” gesture, and your lips twist happily.

“Alright, class, who’s ready to talk probability?” The collective groans and hollers mark the start of lecture. You flip open your notebook and start digging around for a writing instrument in your bag. Like usual, you seem to be missing a pen or pencil when you need one most.

A tap on your shoulder. You turn and lock eyes with the frat boy-turned-cowboy with the shy smile. He holds out a pencil to you. Taking it sheepishly, you mouth a thank you and turn back to lecture. After nine weeks it shouldn’t be this embarrassing, but every week he’s given you a pencil since you whispered shoot! a little too loud on Week 1.

Risking a quick glance back at him, engrossed in the Empirical Law of Averages while he twirls his pencil, you’re not sure you can survive the rest of the semester.

By the end of the Stats lecture on Thursday, you have one brain cell to your name and seven pages of notes. What a brutal class. Midterms were quickly approaching and not a single professor had any mercy. As you pack up your stuff - including the borrowed pencil that would promptly disappear before next class - you make a study plan with Anna for that evening. She brings the chips, you’ll supply the vodka.

“Are you two not hitting the houses tonight?” He looks uncomfortable having interrupted the two of you.

Bob shifts his backpack to his other shoulder, adjusting the collar of his navy blue sweatshirt. Other than when he’s kindly exchanged homework answers before class - or been drunkenly galloping across campus - the two of you don’t speak much. The odd quip here and there, but overall the two of you exist in pencil-sharing quiet. “Everyone’s having pre-midterm parties before buckling down to study.”

“Oh, that sounds fun!” You look at Anna encouragingly. As needed as a vodka-infused study session was, one night out couldn’t hurt. And it was Thursday. No classes tomorrow meant you had three days to buckle down and attempt to understand anything you’ve learned this semester.

She eyes you warily, but agrees that Greek Row sounds like a better option than highlighting textbooks. Bob flashes you his timid smile beneath the brim of his cap. “It’ll be a fun night. Maybe I’ll see you? If not, have a good weekend!”

As he starts to walk out, a feeling takes over you. “Bob?” You watch him slow down and turn, wide blue eyes watching you from behind those unconventionally cute glasses. “You’ll be at the Pi Kapp house, yeah?” He nods. “Cool. See you around!”

Despite standing next to it the entire conversation, neither of you notice the pencil sitting on the desk, left behind as you head out for your respective weekends.

“What did you say?” You’re practically yelling to be heard over the EDM that Sigma Chi is blaring. They’ve turned their house into a rave with glow sticks, body paint, and music so loud your eardrums must be burst. The beer is warm, your arm has supernaturally purple paint smeared across it, and Anna has been unsuccessfully telling you a story for ten minutes.

Huffing, she grabs your arm and drags you toward the entrance, tossing your cups onto a random hallway table where a heated makeout session is taking place. They move out of the way just enough so the two of you can slip out of the old colonial house and out into the cool night. The ringing in your ears subsides slowly as you lean against the columns of the front porch.

“House number three? Also sucked. Three strikes and you’re out? Can we go home?” Anna grabs your wrist and pouts. She wanted movie night with vodka and a pizza from Pietro’s. You wanted to blow off steam.

But Alpha Sig had mostly been freshman and Phi Delt, while not a terrible party, had the most smarmy men on campus. The bleeding eardrums of Sigma Chi was preferable to pushing off men in polos just to grab another drink. You just wanted a semi-decently flavored alcoholic beverage - maybe three - while chatting with some friends. You weren’t asking for much.

Allowing Anna to drag you in the direction of the dorms, ready to admit defeat, you slow to a stop seeing the bricked entrance to Pi Kappa Phi. Bob’s fraternity. A few minutes wouldn’t hurt, right?

It takes a little convincing, but soon you’re in the warmly lit foyer of the Pi Kapp house. The vibe is more relaxed than Sigma Chi, with a keg in the corner, an array of liquor bottles in the kitchen, and hip-hop softly filling the house. You’re impressed they’ve even gone the extra mile with multi-colored string lights across every surface to brighten up the otherwise dark house.

“Yooooo, how’s it going?” A drunken loaf of snapback and Deep Eddy envelopes you in a hug. It’s Tyler, one of your freshman seminar PK friends. Exchanging pleasantries - the best you can with someone that far gone - he drags you further into the house. Miscellaneous groups of Greek and geed litter the hallways. Anna sees her friends from Delta Gamma and ditches you, promising to get home safe. Tyler continues on his mission to god knows where.

At least he’s considerate enough to stop in the kitchen so you can grab a whiskey lemonade to sip.

Eventually you’re spat into a sitting room of sorts, groups crowding the ring of sofas while drunkenly jeering at the game. You set yourself on the arm of one, trying to make sense of the theatrics. The latest victim laughs out a “Truth!” before everyone giggles wickedly. Are they playing truth or dare?

Your eyes gloss over the group, trying to figure out who else you know. A few PK’s you recognize, a girl who smiles but looks unfamiliar, and…a cowboy hat that is a dead giveaway.

Standing up and walking around the group, you tap him on the shoulder. The biggest blue eyes meet yours, a surprised smile splitting his face.

“You made it!” That deep drawl is back and that tingle reappears on your spine. Bob jumps up from the couch, beer bottle dwarfed in his hand, and comes to stand with you. “You having a good night?”

Ironically, your night is much better now that you’ve found him. He’s back in his cowboy gear, a worn denim shirt tucked into his jeans and those same cowboy boots scuff against the hardwood. You’re tempted to steal the felt hat from his head just so he looks a little bit more like Bob from Stats.

Squeezing your eyes shut, letting the alcohol be an excuse, you succumb to the obvious question. “I need to know - what’s with the…cowboy?” You gesture up and down, drawing a chuckle from him.

He blushes under the felt brim. “You know I have a slight accent, yeah?” You attempt to stifle your laugh as he incidentally talks in a thicker accent. “When I was a pledge they started calling me cowboy. Saw the hat while I was in town one week, ended up leaning into the joke.”

“And the hobby horse?”

He beckons you closer, bringing his lips to your ear. “Stolen from my little sister over summer break.”

There’s that wink again making your knees weak. He pushes his glasses back up his nose and takes another sip from his beer. Despite the party raging around you, nothing else seems to exist past him asking about your night and if you want another drink. You’re wrapped in the warmth of his words, itching to snuggle into his broad chest.

The spell is broken when “Cowboy Bob!” rings out from the crowd. The entire room is turned to you two. “Truth or dare, man?”

In the background of your intimate conversation with Bob, the truths and dares have reached full raunchiness. People have been stripped of clothes and dirty secrets. A bead of sweat gathers at Bob’s collar, aware that neither option is safe.

His worried gaze flits to you, as if you hold the correct answer, before tipping his hat back and exhaling, “Dare?”

It’s gutsy, but if there’s one thing you’re learning about the quiet guy from Stats, he’s full of surprises. The crowd bubbles with excitement, anticipating what dare will be dealt out. Next to you, the wannabe cowboy looks more annoyed than anything. He was enjoying talking to you not in a classroom and with a little liquid courage.

An evil smile crosses the dare-dealer’s face. He knows Bob and isn’t blind to what’s going on. He’s gonna help his buddy out on this one.

His arm stretches out and he points (with the red plastic cup in his hand) to the coat closet at the end of the hall. “Hmmmmm, I dare you to, hmm, play Seven Minutes in Heaven with…” It’s no surprise when the cup-turned-pointer lands on you.

Ice water down your back wouldn’t be as panic inducing. It’s hard to tell who swallows harder, you or Cowboy Bob. Every instinct is telling you to run, but that little voice in the back of your head wins out. As Bob starts to tell you it’s okay, they’re joking, you don’t have to, you grab his thick wrist and give him a nervous smile. You don’t even care what the punishment is for not completing a dare, this stupid drunken game has given you an opportunity.

The dealer of the dare follows the two of you down the hallway, leading the whoops and wolf whistles. Bob’s cheeks flame scarlet in the low light. You keep your chin high and eyes forward. He can definitely feel the way you’re trembling around his wrist.

Whether in anxiety or excitement it’s hard to tell.

The inside of the closet is dark, the faint light under the door casting only the faintest of shadows. Your heart is pounding, blood pulsing through your ears. Bob rubs his lips together nervously. It’s all you can do to not run your tongue along them.

“We don’t have to do anything, we can just talk.” The way he prioritizes your comfort makes heat pool between your legs. The brim of his hat is as far back as it can go, his eyes tracing the lines of your face as he gauges your emotions. He’s welcome to figure them out, you’re unsure of them yourself.

His large, warm hand rubs your forearm comfortingly, your skin too cold without his touch. You’re suffocating under his sweat-and-bergamot scent, citrusy and warm.

You bite the bullet. “What if I want to?”

His breath stops. Fingers find yours in the dark, interlocking on either side of your hips. Eyes you know are the deepest blue lock onto your gaze, a million emotions passing behind his irises. Face descending upon the space between you, tentatively showing his intentions. You meet him in the middle, caution out the window.

The kiss is gentle, puzzle pieces slotting together for the first time. He tastes like malt sugar and peppermint. Mouth warm and soft, enveloping you fully in his comfort. It’s even better than what you’ve imagined for the past nine weeks.

Bob begins to pull away, ever the gentleman. Your hand finds his collar, holding him in place. “Not yet, we still have, like, five and a half minutes.”

Despite the low light, his smile lights up the closet.

His lips return to yours in a rush, swallowing your mouth in a passionate heat. The press of his body to yours is delicious. Hands previously at your side meet your hips, lightly squeezing as you moan into his mouth. You reach up and hold the back of his neck, bringing him even closer as your lips toy with the tiniest bit of stubble along his jaw.

“You know,” he starts, holding the moan in the back of his throat. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since September.”

You pull back momentarily, a crinkle upon your brow. “Bob, we didn’t start Stats until January.”

He kisses the confusion from your face, his hands wrapping further around your body. “And you looked very pretty in that green dress at the homecoming barbecue.”

Bless your love of school spirit and free food. “Why didn’t you? Kiss me?”

“I don’t normally make a habit of kissing girls I don’t know. And clearly it takes an entire fraternity for me to get you alone.” The way his chuckle bounces against your skin has you squirming. Your schoolgirl crush on him wasn’t one-sided, and suddenly you’re hot for teacher.

You capture him in another kiss, tongue searching the seam of his lips for entrance. He obliges immediately, groaning as you explore his taste. Four hands roam skin, finding purchase in anything and everything. Your body has a mind of its own as you press against him, chest heaving with your passion. The right shift of fabric on fabric reveals that he’s equally as affected by the chemistry.

Reluctantly, he pulls away once more, threading his fingers across the back of your neck. Takes a moment to capture his breath as he sees the lust in your eyes. A deep breath. “As much as I like you, I don’t want to do anything if you’re drunk.”

Soft fingers follow the line of his arm to where it wraps around your waist. How is he this impossibly sweet? Thoughtful, respectful, and looking hot as sin with swollen lips. It’s unfair.

“I promise I’m not.” You stroke the back of his hand. “Please kiss me?”

His large hands unwrap from your waist and travel down, shifting behind your legs and pulling you up, resting your back against the wall. You tangle your legs around his waist as best you can in the small space, relishing his firm body pressed deliciously close, warm and solid. Kisses smeared across lips and jaws as noises crescendo. You’re panting as you trail down to his impossibly long neck, desperate to cover it in affection.

You’ve barely explored the expanse of skin when the door flies open, the boisterous party sounds flooding in. Reality strikes like a slap across the face. The truth-or-dare ringleader takes you in - legs wrapped around Bob and hands creeping toward your ass - and whoops in delight. Who knew Cowboy Bob had it in him!

“Time’s up, lovebirds!” He crows and reaches forward to slug Bob lightly on the shoulder.

Not skipping a beat, Bob shoves his friend back and throws up his middle finger. “Fuck off, Milburn.”

The closet door slams shut, blanketing you again in the intimacy of the moment. You’re looking at him with unsure eyes and he’s praying the moment hasn’t been ruined. He’s waited seven calendar months for this opportunity and his fingers are so close to enjoying the plump squeeze of your ass.

“We can go back to the party if you want?” Your voice is so small, nervous outside of those bold seven minutes. Tentative breaths exist between you.

In lieu of an answer, he bows his head to give you a searing yet gentle kiss.

That cramped coat closet suddenly is an inferno, his tongue slipping inside your mouth and groaning at the burning sweetness of your taste. Your hands grip his shoulders as you fight for dominance, fingers tangling in denim. Hips brushing together, still clinging to the idea of this being innocent.

An innocence immediately lost when Bob strikes up the courage and palms your ass. Soft and pliable and perfect to squeeze in his palms. He remembers the exact day you came to class in the tightest jeans known to man (laundry day) and the way he had dug his pencil in his palm to avoid a semi as your curved ass met the lecture seat. Something unavoidable now as you squirm against him, moaning your pleasure against the pulse in his neck.

Nothing has ever felt as good as rubbing against Bob Floyd’s clothed bulge. One glance down and you’re dizzy with arousal. Rutting yourself against him as best you can with your limited mobility, sloppy kisses exchanged as the two of you can barely keep your mouths closed. It feels so good, too good.

Lost in the moment, one hand slips below the hem of your skirt, warm skin on skin. Any noise from outside the closet dims to a hum. Two hearts beating rapidly as desire fully consumes, directing lips to too hot exposed skin. You murmur your need in his ear. You don’t care where you are, you need him.

Bob tucks a finger under your thong, feeling the slick coating your folds. The whine that leaves him is desperate and gruff. He groans against your throat. “Shit, I don’t have a condom.”

Undeterred, your lip catches between your teeth, core muscles contracting as you grind your hips forward. “Doesn’t mean I can’t go for a ride.”

He’s immediately on board, teasing you briefly before extricating his hand to support you better against the wall. His hands practically swallow your ass, flooding you with lust. You thrust your chest against him, desperate to touch every spot on his handsome body as your hips begin to grind.

His hands are sweltering as they trail down, effortlessly clutching the back of your thighs to give you leverage. Your clit finds friction against his jeans and your mouth hangs open as you buck frantically into him.

“Look at you move, cowgirl,” he breathes out, infatuated. The nickname spurrs you on, whimpering against his lips.

One hand clutching his bicep, holding on for desperate life, while the other snakes its way atop the damned cowboy hat that’s stayed on the entire encounter. Gripping the top of it and holding fast as you ride his clothed bulge with everything you’ve got. Denim and lace against your clit, rubbing deliciously as your brain fuzzes. His hot mouth focused at the hinge of your jaw, sucking soft bruises into the skin; moaning when you brush him just right.

“I’m close,” you whisper against his cheek. Time has stood still, but it’s embarrassing how close he’s gotten you to orgasm with just his clothed cock and strong hands.

He ruts his hips forward, meeting your thrusts in heavenly synchronization. You’re panting as the pressure on your clit catapults you, so close to the ultimate prize. Whispers of you can do it, cowgirl, cum for me, doing so good riding me, just a bit more, cowgirl fizzle your senses.

“O-oh!”

It’s intense, the blinding pleasure coursing through your body. Prolonged by the thick bulge still rutting against you, ready to burst itself. Lips tickling your ear as he praises you. You want to live in this perfect moment of bliss. A moment only perfected when Bob’s fingers grip too hard and his hips stutter up into yours. His all-consuming orgasm only muffled by the skin of your shoulder as he rides it out.

The rhythmic slowing of your breaths is all you can focus on. You breathe in, he breathes out. Small smiles and a blush barely visible in the low light.

Delicately, like he knows you might break, he releases you back to the ground; taking his time to smooth down your skirt and straight out your top. Your own hands reach up to his chest, fixing the fabric that had bunched up in your passion. Adjusting his fogged glasses to look into his beautiful eyes.

It doesn’t matter how much you clean up, one look at you two and anyone would comment you’ve been ridden hard and put away wet.

With one final kiss to your lips, you feel something land on your head. The brown cowboy hat with the rip along the edge. Cowboy Bob showing off his cowgirl.

You tentatively open the closet door, eyes adjusting to the normal light. Painfully aware of the wet splotch on the obvious front of his jeans, Bob holds your body against him as a human shield. The party is still going strong - your antics have not interrupted anything - and you slip toward the front door without notice. Well…mostly, as a few wolf whistles reach your ears.

“It’s not that late, you want to go back to mine? I’m just off Thornton. It’s quiet since everyone is here.” His eyes are so hopeful in the dark night. So desperate for you to say yes. For you to be his cowgirl beyond tonight.

You wrap your arms around him and pull him close, careful to avoid the spot where your bodily fluids have drenched his jeans. “I’m in.” Your smile is blinding. “We have about nine weeks of Stats to make up.”

The brick is uncomfortable behind your back, but it’s hard to care when his lips feel so good. Broad shoulders shielding you from the hallway, trucker hat turned around and glasses in his pocket so there’s not an inch between your faces. Agreeing to meet outside before lecture was such a good idea.

Despite spending most of the time between Thursday night and Tuesday afternoon in Bob’s apartment trying every position in the book (with teasing hollers from his Pi Kapp roommates adding to the soundtrack) you can’t help but steal these five minutes. He looks so cute, to not kiss him would be a crime.

Bob squeezes your hips, lips trailing down your jaw. “What’s on your mind, cowgirl?”

“I’m trying very hard to convince myself that we pay a lot of money to attend this school and should go learn about statistics. Even though I really only want to head back to my dorm and see how sturdy that loft bed is.”

From where his nose traces your ear, a guttural whine leaves him. “You can’t say something like that and expect me to go to class.”

You pull back to look at him, fingers tickling the close cropped hair at his neck. God, he makes it so hard to want to be responsible.

“Let’s make a deal, okay? We’ll go to class, learn, and tonight you come over and for every study guide question you get right I’ll take off a piece of clothing. Sound good?” He’s practically panting as he smothers your mouth in another kiss. He’s really good at Stats. A steady stream of students files past Bob’s back, a sign that class is about to start.

You press another kiss to his lips. “Let’s go or we’ll miss out on seats. Plus I need to dig through my bag for a pencil.”

“Do you think you actually have one today?” He smirks, amused. The eighteen pencils he’s lent you say otherwise.

Your cheeks are hot under where he kisses them. “Uh…if I don’t can I borrow one? If you have one, that is.”

He lets out a soft chuckle and holds you closer, rubbing your noses softly.

“You do realize I’ve been buying pencils all semester just to give to you, right?”

Turning his cap around - insides fully melted - you know you’re in this rodeo for the long run.

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