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ink-beneath-her-fingernails · 1 year

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something like a hunger pang

read it on ao3 | masterlist

Fandom: Avatar: the Last Airbender

TW: major character death, mind control, brainwashing, unreliable narrator, doubting of one's own thoughts, memory loss, drowning, references to self-harm (in the form of scratching, biting, picking, etc.) please let me know if there are any other warnings that should be added.

Wordcount: 1,364

Originally Published: November 28, 2022

Summary: Your name does not matter.

You are a faceless grin, one of hundreds, of thousands.

This city makes your skin crawl because it is your home.

You know the lines that have been given to you, know what to expect without having to read the script, because it has been so handily carved into your brain for you.

(Or: Joo Dee, in the beginning, the middle, and the end.)

Notes: this started out as time loop joo dee but then it kind of took off in a different direction bc I felt bad for her but also wanted to be a lot meaner to her. title is from the quote: “It was a fairy tale, no fooling. It was unreality becoming real. This frightened her. Because people don't care for unreality becoming real. It pricks their well-fed minds, you see, with something like a hunger pang. They prefer the logical stuffiness of expectancy. It is only at certain times that they weaken, letting imagination in. That's the time to get them. (“The Disinheritors”)” ― Richard Matheson, Collected Stories, Vol. 1

Transfer Notes: n/a

i. Your name does not matter.

You are a faceless grin, one of hundreds, of thousands. This city makes your skin crawl because it is your home.

You know the lines that have been given to you, know what to expect without having to read the script, because it has been so handily carved into your brain for you.

The group of children do not look like much, you think.

You are used to a certain degree of finery from those you guide; silk and ivory, precious metals and delicately carved ornaments fashioned into buttons, hair decorations, jewelry, an air of self-importance, people who wear more on their body in one day than anyone in the entire Lower Ring makes in a month, and flaunt it carelessly.

These children are... plain.

Most of their clothes are unlike anything you've ever seen, vibrant colors so unlike the shades of green and brown and cream favored by your nation that even as bedraggled as they are, they stand out from the crowd like a sore thumb. They're dirty, too—tunics ripped and repaired with an amateur hand in more than one place, fabric frayed around the edges, covered in light stains and what seems like a permanent layer of dirt and grime that's become one with the material.

They walk with hands splayed carelessly at their sides, backs slouching with less-than-proper posture, and don't bother to so much as respond to your greeting as proper manners and tradition dictate.

Of course, it's nothing you wouldn't see anywhere you looked in the Lower Ring, and even a few places in the Middle Ring, but that's never been the sort of crowd you catered to.

You can't figure out why you're doing it now.

But then, it's not your business to do that. These children are guests, because you're guiding them, and they're important, because you've been told so, and they'll follow the rules of the city just as anyone else does, or you'll all be in trouble.

You keep all of your observations to yourself—you are not employed to think, you are employed to corral, to obey, to survive.

You introduce yourself.

Your name does not matter.

Your name is Joo Dee.

ii. Your guests wish to talk to the Earth King.

That is not a request to be taken lightly, nor is it one that will be granted quickly.

They have information they need to tell him about the war, though, and that sounds important—there is no war in Ba Sing Se, after all, and you're supposed to keep it that way, aren't you?

The request for an audience is registered. They can see the King in six months.

You frown when you hear this — or, you might, you try to, you think, but it's hard to do when you can't stop smiling. You're not supposed to be sad, either, because your life here is wonderful.

You smile a little harder when you remember this.

But your guests are not going to take kindly to this news, you can tell, and it's your job to keep them happy, keep them in line.

Besides, they say they have important information.

There is no war in Ba Sing Se, and that's the way it should be.

If anyone can make sure it stays that way, it's the Earth King.

It's a risky endeavor, but a fruitful one, you're sure.

You ask your friend in the Palace Administration to help you out.

You don't remember having a friend in Palace Administration, but you must, because you just asked them.

You don't remember meeting them, either, but that, at least, makes sense.

After all, you've known each other your whole lives, you've just remembered.

"Six months," you say. "That's an awful long time."

"Yes, well," she smiles, and like all your smiles, it does not reach her eyes. "The Earth King is a very busy man."

Her hair is so, so black, and her eyes are so, so green. You think it's a wonder that you'd never noticed before.

She tilts her head at your half-a-second too-long silence and you spend another precious, ill-advised moment staring at the way the inky curtains part, draping elegantly over her shoulders.

You wonder what it would be like to run your fingers through it.

You wonder why you never have before, if you've known her all your life.

You wonder why this is an appropriate train of thought at all, why it feels terrifying, and why it feels like it shouldn't be.

(You wonder when the last time was that you allowed yourself so long to think about something—unscripted.)

(You can't remember.)

Something about her face makes it look like she kind of wants to frown, too, but instead her lips tug up at the corners. (You swallow the sudden, inexplicable urge to wipe the not-frown from her face, to ease the sharp angle of her smile that you know from experience is too-much-not-enough.)

The slight motion is enough to remind you of yourself—to think, that you allowed such a slip. You can only hope she won't tell anyone that might take issue with it.

(You wonder why you worry so about a life-long friend betraying you. You can't remember her ever doing such a thing before. Then, you can't remember her, before.)

"Surely for his honored guests, he can make an exception? Just this once, of course. Call it a reprieve from the monotony of his usual audiences. The Avatar is eager to meet his most glorious host."

Her smile narrows, fewer teeth and more pursed lips.

"I suppose... he may be free for an audience for such esteemed guests in... seven weeks, shall we say. Just this once, you understand."

"But of course."

It's kind of funny, you think—her name is Joo Dee, too.

iii. “Joo Dee? Where have you been?”

“Not to worry. I had a lovely trip to Lake Laogi,” you smile a bit wider to emphasize your happiness.

Your face hurts. You must not have been smiling enough, at the Lake, but it’s hard to remember.

Your fingers tremble, and when you see the Beifong girl furrowing her brows, you clench your hands together tightly inside your sleeves in an effort to get them to stay still.

They sting, just a little; you can feel where they've been picked and scratched and bit at, where you can still feel nails digging into your flesh even days later.

Your hands always hurt after your trips to Lake Laogi. You’re not sure why.

iv. You see—you see.

The light is soft and green, green like plants, green like jade, green like your entire dying nation, and then there is blue, blue like your guests' clothes, blue like water from the fountains in the Upper Ring, blue like the sky you will never see again.

Blue like the ocean itself is choking the life from your lungs.

There is so much blue, so much blue it looks black, like curtains of ink you can't remember fully, and green where the light touches, and your clothes are wet, and this would be a great time for you to suddenly remember that you've known how to swim all along, but you don't, and the black keeps getting taller, coming from everywhere all at once. The ground is rumbling, the earth is splitting, you will die here.

You look at your friends, your co-workers, the only people you've ever known, the people you've never seen before in your life, and know with a certainty you have never felt before that this blueblackgreen will entomb you all, and nobody else will ever know.

The black rises above your head, and your feet grow tired of treading water, so you let it.

The water surrounds you. It's like nothing you've ever felt before, like freedom, like death, like your head is being split open from the inside out.

It's so, so blue, and the green touches so little, so little and so blue that it all looks black, and you can see nothing.

You can see nothing.

You smile, because your name is Joo Dee, and it does not matter.

#major character death #mind control tw #unreliable narrator tw #brainwashing tw #tw drowning #tw self harm #memory loss tw #doubting thoughts tw #?#ask to tag #avatar the last airbender fanfiction #joo dee #avatar the last airbender #atla #something like a hunger pang #transfer tuesday

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thebibliosphere · 3 months

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Not to be an unbearable plot tease, but I'm editing/rewriting a chapter from Hunger Pangs book 2, and while I adore all of my characters equally, Vlad and Ursula getting to know each other properly might actually be some of my favorite moments.

His realization that he can pester Ursula to tell him more about random historical events as they actually happened, not how they are portrayed in history books, is so, so sweet. He's like an excited labrador who just found a dinosaur bone.

Ursula's very much not used to this kind of attention.

She's used to people only being interested in her power. And here's a werewolf who couldn't give less of a fuck about exploiting her magic for his own gain, and a vampire who wants to ask her what textile production was like circa the fall of the Ecrecian Empire.

#hunger pangs series #hunger pangs meta #I like that I can still make myself smile with this #it means I'm probably doing something right #Vlad is me in this instance #if you gave me access to a time machine #I'd make a complete nuisance of myself wanting to learn the answer to every random historical query that has ever crossed my mind

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ripvanwankle · 1 month

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oh god I went to the store to buy something to eat and I almost didn't make it home I was 9.5/10 the entire time I was there and the entire drive back. I was shaking walking around and kept having to stop and hold myself, shoving my hand between my thighs as long as no one was looking, and I spent the whole drive back gripping myself, shaking and squirming and bouncing and grinding against my hand as my bladder cramped and squeezed and leaked a little. The car was so bumpy and I had so much piss screaming and sloshing around inside me. I almost pissed myself getting my keys in the lock. I went inside as quickly as I could and decided I wasn't too full that I couldn't put the groceries up. I'm a big boy, I can wait for one minute. I danced so hard with my hand pressed between my thighs and my legs twisted together and almost crying at this point from the pain and desperation. I had to knock to see if my roommate was in the bathroom, and just that little second almost had piss spurting out of my impossibly full bladder. But in the end I made it to the potty like a big boy instead of going in the floor or in a cup like I sometimes do. I was so fucking full. It was agony. It was so much pee. I couldn't think straight for ten minutes. I'm so hollow and empty now.

#Pee holding #Omorashi #you know what else is still empty too? :)#Little grumbles keep creeping through my empty stomach like it's reminding me gently to eat something #Then when I feed it nothing it grips me with cramps and hunger pangs I'm absolutely ravenous #I'm so sad I went potty now I really miss how my rumbling hollow stomach would vibrate against my full bladder #Oh my god I think my bladder is starting to fill up again. Okay maybe I will starve a little longer :)

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queer-ragnelle · 2 years

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WithCindy made two videos about how terrible Baby Teeth by Zoje Stage is. I haven’t read it myself. But I agree based on the excerpts, the inclusion of which is one reason I really appreciate Cindy’s videos specifically. I won’t rag on a book I haven’t read.

However, I heard movie rights were sold. So I went to Goodreads to examine the general consensus. Baby Teeth was a 2018 nominee in both the Goodreads Choice Awards and for a Bram Stoker Award. But…many of early 4/5 star ratings appear to have been bought. Like the reviewers admit they got an Advanced Reader Copy (arc) from the publisher.

I could believe these to be genuine reviews if they were truly reviews. But most of them are just a regurgitation of the synopsis in different words, clicking the star rating, and throwing it onto their arc shelf.

This reopens a stubborn wound that won’t heal. Books like this and Lightlark by Alex Aster discourage me. As an artist, a writer, a creative, it’s so hard to avoid feeling hopeless. Like art is dead. It feels like everything is just manufactured for consumption, worsened when a person’s nepotism and influence artificially inflates their success. And of course this defines success as notoriety and monetary gain. Ideally people should be able to create for the joy of it. And if that thing resonates with others, then by their own merit and talent, they should earn awards and appropriate compensation for it. False promises shouldn’t be rewarded with grotesque displays of wealth.

I don’t want to see beautifully crafted stories flop because that person lacks a TikTok influence or a publisher with the means to foist free arcs onto people in exchange for “honest” reviews. But I literally don’t know what to do. The only way I can think of to combat this is utilizing libraries. Purchase zines and novels from authors directly. Stick to shopping locally, ordering titles that aren’t immediately available through that avenue, and waiting instead of defaulting to Amazon. But what else can be done? I’m genuinely asking.

#I just got home from the local bookstore I got Jenette Mccurdy’s new book #I put in an order for The Third Eye by Mahtab Narsimhan bc I listened to her on writing excuses gotta wait for it to come in #some others too like Adam Savage’s Every Tool’s A Hammer #but like what can I do besides create the kinds of things I want to see #buy locally when applicable or as directly as possible from an indie or self pubbed author #I have a bunch of indie Arthurian stuff in the tbr pile obvious Hunger Pangs by Joy Demorra was great #I’m not going to review bomb Lightlark or anything else that is counterproductive #don’t give these people a reason to spin sympathy for themselves #is there something more I can do? to uplift other authors & local businesses???#I’d be happy to do more if I knew which direction to go #anyway I’m putting my phone away & going to read or write or something

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welcometogrouchland · 1 year

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well idk about anyone else but i- as the anon who sent u the darius camila ask in the first place, would be elated

I'M WORKIN ON IT FOR U ANON 🫡

#ramblings of a lunatic #asks #i just rewatched asias (FAVOURITE EP) and it gave me like. a few new Darius thoughts #nothing big or revolutionary just Reminded me of his whole deal and how funny it is. he is being nice in the meanest way possible #i desperately want to pitch this man against camila's bitchy coworkers. it'll be a blood bath #ALSO THE BEGINNING OF DADRIUS #two ppl who want to be nice so bad but have so many issues and obstacles (both external and self made) blocking them...#...and then they become like father and son bc they encourage that kindness in each other. what if i bit something #also it reminded me of how hard huntlow slaps conceptually but tbh that's nothing new. it's like. engrained in my brain wrinkles atp #idk what 2 tell you. it's the first time hunter has no plausible deniability and gains nothing from helping the entrails and he still does #it's willow showing hunter the joy of not only proving ppl wrong but also the joy of being appreciated for who u r #and then he goes on to do that for her when she needs it most #she's someone confident who guides him but more importantly she makes him want to be better. bc she is so good to him #i can't tell if I'm experiencing midnight hunger pangs or if I'm emotional but i did get big eyed at the intro w/ willow this ep #SHE SPENT YEARS THINKING SHE WASN'T GOOD ENOUGH. SHE'S FINALLY BECOMING THE WITCH SHE WANTS TO BE #AND IN THIS EP SHE UNKNOWINGLY RECRUITS HER BIGGEST FANBOY. THIS BOYS ABT TO BE OBSESSED W/ HER AND SHE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW #ough. killing them out of like. cuteness aggression #I'm still only on 2B of my rewatch but idk who I'm gonna be when i get to the specials. the haircut scene. the pinky link. hhhhh

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ajarofpickledtears · 1 month

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when a book has such big part 2 potential and is kinda open ended but it came out in 2011 and no second part was ever written 😭

#cylas speaks #i live to suffer #like. what happened to cris? we don't know where he is. if he is still alive.#and what about good ol grandpa and the nosferatu #what about joaquín. will his state improve/will he somewhat revert or. get worse?#with Boris Blutlinie there is a chance that there'll be spin offs or something maybe #on that note i still gotta write a review #and hunger pangs definitely will have a continuation #but not Blutbraut 😭😭😭

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ghost-proofbaby · 2 months

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IT WILL COME BACK (E.M.)

"honey, don't feed me - i will come back."

summary: when eddie came back from the upside down, he was different. and you finally come to realize just how different the man you saved truly is one night, when push comes to shove.

pairings: kas!eddie munson x reader

warnings: mentions of BLOOD (in sexual manner), mentions of BITING (in sexual manner), allusions to possible coercion (consent is still explicitly stated - trust me), mentions of death and trauma, mentions of eddie's canon death, taking a lot of creative liberty with expansive vampire lore across all media, mentions of murderous dreams? (eddie dreamt about killing reader idk), oral (f receiving), smut. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT - 18+ ONLY.

wc: 7.7k+

a/n: i told y'all i'd write a serious biting/blood kink fic one day - today is the day. very lazily edited so beware.

When Eddie came back from the Upside Down, he was different.

There were subtle changes at first. Small, minute details that were easy to ignore. Everyone could turn a blind eye to them — everyone figured they would fade once the boy healed. His healing was first priority, and whatever lingered after could be dealt with.

Get Eddie better. Then question all that lingers.

A simple plan. A genius plan. A torturous plan.

The two of you had been friends, if you could even call it that, prior to it all. Teasing in the hallways, working on school projects here and there when in shared classes, he was your favorite (and only) dealer when you craved something to make sleep come just a little bit easier. He had been familiar — an old ghost you'd grown comfortable with, long before you’d seen those large and wet eyes looking back up at you in the boathouse.

Long before he’d pieced together the puzzle pieces as to why you’d needed the weed to cancel out the nightmares. Long before he’d processed exactly what those nightmares entailed.

But then, you’d fought for him. You’d fought with him. And most importantly, you’d bled with him.

God, you had bled for him.

Something admirable had blossomed in that short time. Eddie’s entire life had fallen apart, thread by frayed thread, and that new planted emotion had been the only solid thing to emerge for him to absolutely cling to. You were more than a fellow classmate to pass by in the hallways. You were more than his favorite customer, always weaponizing fluttering lashes and puckered lips for a discount he’d have given you regardless.

You were a force to be reckoned with, and had ignited a hunger in him like no other.

That’s all he had thought it was when he’d awoken in his living room — not the distorted version but the real one — to you screaming for the others to help you as you’d sealed his wounds. That’s all he had thought it was when you’d come to visit him as wounds turned to scars, and stabbing pains turned to hungering pangs. So he had tried to bury it, listen to Harrington and Wheeler and Buckley when they told him to take time to readjust. He’d locked away that hunger and focused on his healing, just as everyone else had, and told himself it was just residual feelings.

Residual feelings had been bound to happen after seeing someone bloody their hands, with your own blood, for your survival.

And in his burial, he’d never considered a similar hunger igniting somewhere deep within you.

You visited far more often than you should have. Returning time and time again to change his bandages, taking on one too many shifts at the hospital during his unconscious spells and baring your teeth for anyone who got too close. The sweet blood on your hands hadn’t washed away in that first shower; you swore, if you looked closer, you could still see the stain of nearly losing him across your knuckles.

Physical wounds were easier to heal than the internal ones. It was easier to lather on antibiotic lotion than it was to sleep soundly at night. Both of you came to realize that quickly in the weeks that followed Eddie’s return from the dead.

His nights were plagued with bad dreams, with thirst and cravings he couldn’t quite name. He’d wake up, burning up from the inside out with a fever that never existed. Tearing skin. Puncture wounds. Blood spilling across floors and his lips alike. He could never tell if the shivers that traced his spine had been from the cruel visions that had become his nightly visitors or if it was due to his perpetual drop in temperature that had worried Nancy since the very first night home from the hospital, that had concerned the nurses who piled blankets atop him during his week long sleep of recovery.

Your nights were even less kind. Horrific memories were the demons that haunted you — remembering the way you had watched Eddie cut that sheet rope, remembering finding him bloodied on the ground, remembering the warmth of his blood seeping across your palms and how when your ear had turned just as heated with it as you pressed it to his chest. Only to hear nothing. Emptiness.

His heart had stopped for minutes. Plural.

It had been your steady rhythm, your desperate hands and your gasping breaths breathing into his lungs. You’d sunk your claws into him, caught them right between his ribs and had decided he couldn’t leave you.

Some nights, when you wake up screaming, you can still taste his blood on your lips. You sometimes still swore that when you’d checked for a pulse after that, you hadn’t heard anything. Still worried that Eddie Munson’s heart never really restarted and resumed beating.

The worst was when you’d stare through the faded grey of mornings plastering across your room’s walls, and could still remember that initial look in his blown out pupils, once honey brown swallowed in pure black as he’d taken his first breath on his own.

Hunger.

You’d felt it, too. Shame riddled you on the nights you’d come down from the nightmares and remember it; it was as though the Universe had snapped back into place the moment you’d watched his chest first rise. A need so ardent to remain at his side. A chain clicking into place, binding both yourself and Eddie to one another, unaware of just what price had been paid to keep the boy that had laid under you in this world. Unaware of the hunger you had struck the match too that would become both your downfalls.

And so it had been buried. Something alive, even with your doubts of Eddie’s liveliness, and choking on dirt while six feet under. You and Eddie, two sides of the same coin, had decided to not speak of it. He never told you how he had come to be able to pinpoint your heartbeat in every shared room he entered, throat burning as his gaze always settled on you, and you never told him of the matching aches that had shamefully sparked within your chest and between your hips for him.

A hunger to be near one another. A hunger to devour. Neither of you really understood the heaviness.

“How are you feeling today, Eddie?” Steve asks as he sits on the edge of the new bed in the new apartment in the new part of town the Munson men now occupy.

Government money could go a Hell of a long way. Especially after your home had been devastated by the aftermath of alternate dimensions and unheard of evil being defeated.

“Fine,” is the only response Eddie can muster.

In reality, every time anyone came near him now, he burned. His throat tightened till it was surely raw, he swore his teeth sharpened until a mere slip of his tongue against his canines could bring the taste of metallic blood to his mouth. His entire body would tense with every person that walked through his door.

Control. Whatever was happening to him, Eddie needed to exercise control.

“Just fine?” Steve continues on, not catching the drift as he puts down the bag of things he’d bought at Eddie’s request. Basic things — painkillers, packs of cigarettes, a 6-pack. Some habits die harder and can’t be controlled, “You look like shit, Munson.”

“Gee, thanks, Stevie.”

Everyone had assumed the dark shadows beneath Eddie’s eyes would fade. They assumed his cheeks would eventually fill back out. They assumed he could wash away the ashen shade his hair now flatly flowed in. It was as if the life had been drained from Eddie since that day, and they had all assumed it would eventually flow back into him.

It never did. Just as his new hunger lingered, so did the look of Death.

“Sorry, man,” Steve throws his hands up, shrugging a bit before he stands, “Just being honest. It’s the best policy.”

“Is it? Is it really?”

If honesty was the best policy, Eddie could have filled the room with it. He could admit about the nightmarish wants, needs, he’d been keeping at bay. He could admit the way his irritation had been growing this last week every time another body, another friend, walked through his doorway and it wasn’t you. You, who had begun to plague the night terrors. You, who Eddie was beginning to crave far more than he had before he’d stared the afterlife down the barrel of the gun.

Steve just looks at Hawkins’ newest zombie boy, sighing, “Look, I don’t know what’s got you pissed off-“

“The whole dying thing, for starters.”

“-or why you’ve insisted on being an asshole to all of us these last few weeks-“

“Again, I died.”

“-but you’ve got everyone but me scared to visit you. We’re all scared of you biting our heads off, dude,” Steve finally finishes with a scowl.

Everyone. It’s unspoken that you’re included in the generalization.

It occurs to Eddie that maybe, just maybe, he should be kinder if he ever wants the ache of yearning to see you again to fade. If that’s what he could call this ache.

By the time Steve has left, Eddie’s still thinking about his warning. About the way he had been unusually cruel since coming back to life, since waking up handcuffed to a hospital bed. It made sense initially. But he wasn’t handcuffed to a hospital bed anymore — he was home, or as close to home as he could get, and he was technically safe.

The issue was that he’d accepted his safety. Everyone who had wanted Eddie Munson dead was now six feet under themselves. No, the bigger issue at hand was everyone else’s safety.

Your safety.

Once he’d realized you were the staring lead in his violent fantasies, he had stopped calling. Half of your absence last week had been his fault.

No one really bothered to look deeper into it. Steve didn’t press as to why Eddie’s fridge had remained empty, Nancy didn’t take second glances at the odd books on vampire tales that were now littering all the free real estate of Eddie’s room, and you hadn’t questioned the coldness of his tone whenever he spoke to you. The chill of his words had grown icier than his own palms, desperate to keep you at arm’s length until he figured out what had changed in him that day he came back to life.

He wanted you near. He wanted to rip your throat out. He wanted your blood to stain his mouth and neck just as his had stained your hands. That was an issue. That wasn’t normal.

Something had changed in Eddie Munson, and it had terrified him to his twisted core, and no one had cared enough to notice. Not yet.

–

It took you two weeks to be fed up with the radio silence.

Eddie stopped calling even Jonathan (the only one of the group he found he didn’t want to devour whole, as it turns out). When everyone had mentioned it in passing, it had only reminded you of the sleepless nights you’d be enduring. That small voice in the back of your head that had called out to you in the dead of night, the whisper of come to me that echoed all the way across a broken town.

Come to me.

Sometimes you swore it was Eddie’s voice calling to you. Sometimes, you nearly left your own new apartment in the dead of night, and let your legs guide you to the undead boy you had single-handedly revived.

Tonight was one of those nights. Your stomach was twisting, your head was pounding, your bones were aching. Every single inch of you hurt as it listened to that soft calling, and at some point, you gave in.

Hunger. You were insatiable with the need and drive to be at Eddie’s side. Warnings from the others be damned.

One thing leads to another. You find your coat, you find your car keys. You find yourself driving the deserted streets of Hawkins in the middle of the night. You find yourself on the Munson doorstep, knuckles shaking and aching with the knowledge that just beyond the wood of the door, he was there. You don’t have to see him to feel him; his thrumming presence, his anchoring existence.

Come to me.

The door swings open before you get the chance to knock. This string tying your two souls together is not a one-way channel, it seems.

“Why are you here?”

You watch him wince as the harsh words leave him. Immediately, you know that the abrasiveness is on instinct. Just as something claws inside of you to be near him, there is something within him howling to keep you far from him.

The polarity of two magnets. Some nights, surely, his twists in a way that would draw him to you, just as yours will twirl with the sensibility that whatever has changed within him should give you cause to run as far away from him as possible.

But tonight, your magnetism only yanks you closer to him. He doesn’t even invite you in, and yet, you find yourself stepping over the threshold of the new apartment.

“You’ve gone quiet,” you whisper as an answer. It’s not what he wants to hear, grimace deepening, nearly a scowl now, “I just… It’s been weeks. I…”

I missed you. I needed you. I heard you in my dreams and I’ve never had much self-control when it comes to you.

Magnets are a useless metaphor for whatever is happening here between you. A better comparison would be the cliche image of a moth to a flame; he’s dangerous, threatening to burn you alive, and you still find your heart fluttering after him hopelessly. You’re going to get scorned, and you’ll still never learn. You’ve fallen victim to a tired narrative that you’d rolled your eyes at in a plethora of books. How many times had you sworn that wouldn’t be you? Just how many eye rolls had you exhausted at the mere idea?

And now, here you were, on his doorstep. Grasping for something you’re not sure either of you can give.

“I’ve been dealing with a few things,” he mutters as he shuts the door behind you, shielding you both from the chill of the night. The room is still cold, especially in his radius, “Didn’t think it would make much of a difference.”

“You didn’t think I’d care if you just stopped calling?” you turn slowly, taking in the state of the living room. Wayne was clearly gone for the night, work most probably, and several books littered the coffee table. Eddie had been the one reading them, lounging on the couch.

The last time you had seen him, he couldn’t even sit up in bed on his own.

He’s keeping an unusual distance, nearly leaning back out of your vicinity, “Figured you were busy.”

He’s never been this short with you. His words are choked up, his body tense with pain. You assume it’s just his injuries bothering him.

You couldn’t be more wrong, but you’re completely unaware.

“I brought you back from the dead, and you think I’d still be too busy for you,” you laugh humorlessly, fully in disbelief at his pitiful excuse, “Eddie, we could find out Vecna didn’t really die, those damn cracks in the Earth could open right back up, and the first person I’d care about finding is you.”

The animal inside that had been yearning for his presence is satiated for now, but you can still feel it lurking in the darkest depths of your mind, ready to call out a new request at any moment. It’s the distraction that has you spilling pathetic truths.

The only response he offers you is a dead stare. With eyes wide, pupils nearly swallowed up by darkness.

“You could have called,” your voice cracks, body shaking with the effort not to take a step closer to him, “You could have just let me know you were still alive.”

“I-”

He cuts himself off when he’s the one taking a step closer. His entire face twists with pain, and you give up keeping your distance. In an instant, you’re at his side as your hand reaches out for his bicep.

He flinches away. Something inside of you burns.

Your hand is hovering in the air between the two of you, and in this lighting, you swear the skin is still stained with the blood that won’t wash away.

“Please don’t,” he begs, “I’m fine, but… please.”

You don’t know what he’s begging for. Distance, for you to pull your hand away, time – you don’t know what he needs.

“We should sit down,” you insist, finally pulling your hand as far from him as possible but making no move to put the space back between you two, “Has anyone helped you with your bandages? If your wounds got infected-”

“They didn’t.”

“If you didn’t change the bandages, they definitely could have-”

“They’re not infected,” he grits out, but he’s still walking over to the couch regardless, “They’re healed.”

Healed.

Mere weeks ago, those wounds were still deep enough to keep you from ever achieving a full night's rest. Deep enough to worry you to the core that you would wake up to them finally having consumed him. Deep enough that you all assumed it would take him months, not weeks, to recover.

“What do you mean they healed, Eddie?” you whisper, almost reaching out for him as he sits down.

Your hand twitches, but the echoes of his begging and his flinching keep it at bay as you stand before him.

“I mean, they healed,” he huffs, nostrils flaring as he takes deep breaths. He’s looking anywhere in the room but at you, his gaze subverting you with purpose. As though the mere sight of you, the mere proximity, is painful to him, “Don’t know how, don’t know why – they just did.”

“So why are you still in pain?”

A sharper intake of breath. A hush of silence falling over the apartment. Even the buzz of the building’s AC unit has faded from all your senses. It’s just you and him, and a heavy quietude like no other.

Until he finally breaks the surface tension, breathing out, “You.”

Your heart drops. That tug inside your chest, the one taut as you look at him right within your reach yet still so far away, almost snaps.

“Me?”

He nods with a harsh swallow, “I- Look, I can’t explain it, but when I came back, I came back…”

“Different?”

He doesn’t have to explain it. You’d felt it.

The moment his eyes had opened, just moments after what should have been blissful victory. The taste of his blood heavy on your tongue, a terrible sweetness that had choked you rather than its initial metallic twang. The whispers of his voice in your mind.

He wasn’t the only one changed from whatever had occurred that night.

“Different is a good way of putting it,” he nods, looking up with apologetic eyes, “It’s not you. It’s cliche as fuck, but it really isn’t – it’s me. I died, and you brought me back, but I don’t think either of us knew the cost.”

The yearning. The nightmares. The unmanageable needs. The hunger.

“What was the cost?”

He almost doesn’t hear you. Your voice is a whisper, tone weighed down with the curse of knowing.

You might not have known the cost when you were pressing your palms into his chest through your wretched sobs, functioning as his heart and lungs for nearly a minute, but you think you might have a clue now.

All that had been tethering you to him since he’d come back to you, all those webs and strings that had formed their knots around both of your necks. He’d changed, and you had plummeted right into the chasm of the unknown with him.

His blood on your tongue, sweet as honey.

Blood shouldn’t be sweet.

He grabs one of the books off the coffee table, motioning for you to join him on the couch. Under the weight of your realization, you’re nearly under a trance. All he has to do is wave a hand, and you follow.

You’re at his beck and call. Just like you had been when he’d been calling out for you, yearning for you.

“Don’t make me say it,” he mutters under his breath, tossing the book into your lap the moment you’ve sat down. This time, you’re mindful to keep your distance.

This time, you’re painfully aware of the compromising situation the two of you have found yourselves in.

The book is older, leather-bound and worn from years of readers’ careless hands breaking the spine. The corners of every page are weather, close to disintegration. The entire thing could easily pass for a Halloween decoration.

It’s not. You flip open to the title page, and if Eddie didn’t appear so deathly serious at your side, you would have scoffed.

“Dracula?” you question carefully, running a finger over the delicate script of the title, “Eddie, I don’t-”

“I’m not insane,” he interrupts you, “I’m not fucking- I swear to you. I’ve gathered up every goddamn book about it that I can. Fictional, nonfictional. Just- there’s obviously a Hell of a lot more fictional material to work with, okay?”

A vampire. He’s convinced he’s a vampire.

And even worse – you’re convinced right along with him.

You turn your head to look at him, trying to find the right words, but all you find is Eddie burying his face in his hands, head nearly hung between his knees.

“I can’t eat normal food anymore,” his voice is muffled, “That was the first sign. Couldn’t stomach it, made me throw up for hours when I tried. And then all those nurses kept talking about how I was healing faster than they expected. Most of my smaller cuts – those healed in under a day,” he finally lifts his face just enough to turn and peer at you through all the stray curls that fall into his vision, “My vision and hearing were the next things I noticed. Remember how I had a nonstop migraine those first few days?”

He doesn’t need to convince you, but the argument is compelling, “It… wasn’t a migraine.”

He shakes his head. “Not even close. Just turns out that it’s a killer to get used to fucking superhuman night vision and impeccable hearing. I still can’t handle being out in the sun very long. I don’t… burn up or any of that shit, but… it just…” he trails off, shoulders falling in defeat before he throws himself back against the couch. When he continues, his tone is flat, devoid of all emotion, “I keep having these dreams about you, too. Bad dreams. Terrible dreams.”

You shut the book, toss it back onto the coffee table, and decide to Hell with keeping your distance.

You need it. Even if he’ll only allow you to get an inch closer to him, you need it.

“What do you mean by terrible dreams?” you ask, breath catching at the end of your question as you scoot yourself closer on the couch. Even with such a small movement, Eddie is quick to notice, eyes flicking to you quickly with a sense of urgency flashing behind them.

“Don’t,” he lowly warns.

“What’s happening in your dreams, Eddie?”

Another inch closer. His jaw clenches.

“Sweetheart, do not-”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. Your knee bumps into his thigh, and you watch him go rigid. Hands turning to fists, eyes pinching shut and face twisting with the same pain he’d worn the ghost of when you first arrived at the apartment.

The moment you touch him, you see it. The flashes of his nightmares, all those terrible actions haunting him every time he closed his eyes. You. Your blood. That hunger.

Like a blackhole in the center of your stomach, it burns viciously as it sucks the air out of your lungs. It threatens to cave your entire being into itself until there’s nothing left. Not even a crumb of who you once were.

But it's not yours. It’s Eddie’s.

That pain on his face is only exhibiting a fraction of what he was feeling. That dizzying craving that he’d miraculously been keeping at bay since you’d simply entered the building, not even yet knocking on his door. You hadn’t even been in the same room as him yet, and he had still known. Had smelt you, had felt you.

He could almost taste you.

“You…” you have to shift your knee away from him, break the touch, break the connection, “You haven’t fed since you woke up.”

“I haven’t fed, period.”

With the connection severed, he somehow finds it in himself to open his eyes once more. You don’t know how – if he’s feeling what you’d just been privy to, you’d be an incoherent mess on the floor. Something feral and unrecognizable.

Although, maybe he was nearly there. You couldn’t see his pupils. That same look when he’d first woken up – a man swallowed whole by hunger.

“You’ve been dreaming about ripping my throat out,” you say it as a matter of fact, not a lick of judgment in your tone.

It wasn’t you scrutinizing him. It was what you had seen, with one simple touch.

His voice is hoarse as he echoes in confirmation, “I’ve been dreaming about ripping your throat out.”

You should probably be afraid. All your survival instincts should be kicking in, your feet should be carrying you towards the door, you shouldn’t be leaning in closer.

“You know what really sealed the whole vampire ordeal though, sweetheart?” he breathes out, your eyes fluttering shut at the lull in his hushed tone.

Just as you’ve been leaning in, he’s been slowly turning his body to face yours, hands twitching at his sides. He’s no longer retreating from your presence, sucking down breaths in harsh gulps the closer you grow to him.

He’s losing control. You’re losing control.

That thread, vibrant red as it draws you near him, is clear as day now. A noose around your neck. A road to your damnation.

A road to your hunger.

You hardly hum in response, completely entranced now. Had he ever been capable of this before? Of holding you beneath such an inescapable spell with such ease?

Probably.

He doesn’t use his words to answer. Instead, he finally takes the plunge.

His head ducks down towards your neck just as his hands lose the war, grabbing onto your hips, dragging you dangerously close to him until his lips hovered just over your pulse point. And by some strength that you certainly don’t possess, he stops there. Letting his lips barely brush against your soft skin, breath coming out in pants for you to feel, to relish, to get lost in. And just as soon as those pants, those waves, become a comfortable pattern to succumb to, you feel them.

His fangs.

Grazing over your sensitive skin. Sharp tips nipping at a surface they could so easily break, pierce with one wrong move. Your pulse is thrumming beneath the surface, heart racing painfully as Eddie’s grip turns bruising.

Come to me.

“Please.”

You’re the one begging now. It goes against every rule you’ve ever seen applied in fiction. If a vampire is baring their fangs against your neck, you should be reaching for a stake. The only noise escaping you should be a scream for help, not the pathetic whimpers beginning to slip out.

“I can’t,” you feel his gasp more than you can hear it. Your blood is too loud, roaring in your ears as you feel the fangs slip with his words, “I can’t.”

That hunger you felt, the one that had called out to you through the night and led you right to his doorstep, is unavoidable now. You need him closer, you need him to do this. For the first time since you had saved his life and tasted his blood after the Upside Down, everything seems to click into place. All he needs to do is let them sink into you, take that final leap of faith and reprieve that ache you’ve battled for weeks now.

You’re so close. So close.

“Eddie, please,” you’re nearly sobbing, hands gripping onto his shoulders, trying to pull him in closer.

But you’re no match for his strength. You don’t know if it’s a new addition with his vampire business or if there was always more to him than met the eye, but he easily stays stoic against your attempts, not moving a centimeter. Still hovering, still just barely making contact with your heartbeat.

“I-” his head drops slightly, tip of his nose beginning to trail down the side of your neck, mouth no longer dangerously close, “You saw my dreams-”

“I trust you.”

You do. You trust him even more now than you had when you first stumbled upon him in the boathouse. More than when he had pleaded his case, promised he hadn’t been the one to kill Chrissy Cunningham. The trust comes easier than breathing as his nose nuzzles into the junction of your neck and shoulder.

“You shouldn’t,” he mutters, fangs now brushing your collar bone, “You really, really shouldn’t.”

He doesn’t stop you when you move to straddle his hips. Your weight settles onto his lap, and he only fights to keep his face burrowed there in your shoulder, arms now moving around your waist to hold you tightly to him.

His self-control is impeccable. You’d admire him and all this impressiveness another time, when something inside of you wasn’t lamenting his resistance.

All at once, it occurs to you how to give him the final push.

“Did I ever tell you how sweet your blood was on my tongue after I brought you back?” you start, sighing, rolling your shoulders to expose more of your neck, grip on his shoulders tightening, “All that blood, all those tears, and I still can’t forget how welcome that warmth of you was in my mouth. How I needed more. How I pictured it every night, after every nightmare-”

He breaks.

One moment, his nose is buried in your skin. And the next, his fangs are.

You weren’t sure what to expect, but relief would have been low on your list. You gasp out in initial shock, but as you feel his teeth dig in, it’s as though something has snapped. The ache has been satiated, preening as you feel the warmth of your blood contrast the chill of his chin pressing into you.

If there’s any pain, you don’t feel it through the haze of pleasure.

Ice shards spread through your bloodstream, but the point in which Eddie’s mouth is connected to you radiates heat. He’s pulling you into him, letting go completely and relinquishing all that control as he nearly purrs against your skin in satisfaction. That connection is back, two minds linking with a heavy click, and you can feel all his pleasure mingling with your own. Satiation, desperation, adoration – the plethora of emotions all swarm your head and block out any better judgment.

You’d let him drain you dry, if that’s what he needed. If nothing more than to hear those soft moans as his fangs sink even deeper.

He pulls back too soon, though, suddenly and unexpectedly. Just as quickly as he had given in to both your desires, he’s putting an end to them. He hadn’t taken much blood, but your head is swimming from the loss all the same. Your grip has gone slack on him, hands slipping down to just barely cradle his biceps while his own touch stays unyielding around you.

You can hear his thoughts. Or rather, maybe more aptly put, you can feel them.

He wants to devour you. Wholly, ruthlessly.

He looks up at you with pupils still blown wide, chest heaving and a small scarlet drip trailing from the corner of his mouth. For the first time since he’d come back to you, he looks alive. Hair fluffed in a halo around his head, skin tinted with a healthy glow and unmistakable blush, bags beneath his eyes faded for the time being.

You were never quite sure if Eddie Munson’s heart had ever restarted, knew for certain that it hadn’t now, but you swear you can feel its pulse finally thrumming for you.

I need more.

It’s his voice in your head, echoing in the empty space as you look down with wild eyes to match his.

But it’s your voice in his head when you respond instantaneously.

Then take it.

Something unspoken lies there in the need. He doesn’t move back to your neck, doesn’t bite down and drink his fill of your blood. He only stares for a few seconds, watching the welt of blood that pools from each puncture wound of his making. His eyes follow when it runs down your skin, as though he might lose it should he so much as blink. Down, down, down. Following the trail that his nose had followed minutes before, across your collarbone until it stains the neck of your loose shirt.

My pleasure.

His hold proves helpful when he quickly changes positions, roughly throwing you down onto the couch before he’s settled between your thighs, crawling his way up your body. He pays close attention to the maroon trail on your throat, his tongue cleaning up after his mess, savoring the taste of you on his tongue.

Sweet as honey.

His tongue only pauses for a moment over the bite wound, pressing into it, making your back arch as you press yourself fully into him. Your head digs painfully into the cushion behind you as you expose your neck, wanting and begging and pleading all without words.

“I think we should take this off,” he plucks at the hem of your shirt, tugging hard before he begins to carefully lift. His freezing knuckles brush against your burning skin, eliciting a whimper from you, “Before we make an ever bigger mess. Don’t you agree, sweetheart?”

A sultry tone you’ve never heard from him before. Honeyed words, familiar to how he once spoke, but entirely new in the way they curl around you. There’s a confidence there, a baiting that he’s luring you with.

“Yes, please.”

He could ask anything of you in this moment, and you’d be eager to comply. Fueled by your desire for him before the events of spring break, worsened by his new condition. A bright, red, vibrating thread. You couldn’t severe the tie if you wanted to.

And you most certainly did not want to.

Your shirt is removed, his hands careful despite the way they shake. His words may be smooth, but each move is jagged, the only sign you had that he’s still exercising control.

“And these?” he whispers, lowering his lips to your sternum as he toys with the band of your pants. His fangs scratch down the center of your stomach as it quivers with each breath, careful to not break skin as they make their presence known. You nearly lose all capability to speak until he says, “Use your words, baby. Tell me I can take them off.”

Yes.

His eyes flare, looking up to you, “Use your words. Not your mind. I want to hear how badly you need me – I want everyone to hear you beg.”

The words strike straight to your core. Lashing out in your lower stomach, burning deliciously.

It’s more than putting on a show. He needs to know you want this.

“Take them off,” you gasp out, hands wandering to tangle in his hair, “Take- Take it all off. I’m yours, Eddie.”

Shaking hands perform a dance you had long since fantasized about. In easier days, when Eddie had been uninvolved in the episode down, heart still beating along as he would bounce his knees in front of you and his fingers would idly fiddle with his pencils and pens. A yearning, a wanting, you’d always held for the boy.

He used to be an escape from it all. A pretty thing to daydream about when you weren’t worried about monsters. And now – he was one of the monsters.

Your monster. Tied to you inexplicably, brought back by your hands and your stubborn efforts.

His lips and fangs are one in the same, trailing along your body as he finds a home at the apex between your thighs. Even in undeath, he’s the most beautiful thing your mind could conjure.

You’d forgotten how he was privy to your every thought until he reacts.

“You’re too sweet,” he murmurs, smirking salaciously as he mouths innocently at that sensitive skin of your inner thigh, tongue darting out to lick a cool stride before he breathes out against it. It has you writhing beneath his hold, “You’ve wanted this all this time, sweetheart? Wanted to see me, between these pretty thighs, making you scream my name?” His mouth falls open a bit wider, the sharp canines pressing but not sinking against where he had just licked. He holds there, eyes locking with yours, until he pulls back to cockily say, “Could’ve just said something, y’know. Didn’t have to bring me back from the dead to have me devoted to you.”

Finally, finally, he lets his fangs sink back into you. The soft meat of your thigh is more pliant in his mouth, and he doesn’t linger as long as he had on your neck. One nick, just enough to start the blood flow, before he’s pulling back and licking hungrily at the scarlet liquid. Less for feeding, more for marking.

Marking you as his, just as you have with him. His methods just appeared a bit more physical.

He’s quick to avert his focus on your cunt, no warning before the tongue still covered in your blood is taking long strides over your entrance and clit. Devotion. That was the only word to describe the way he was unraveling you, alternating between indulging in your sweet cunt and returning back to that bite, going as far to even sink his teeth in a second time to take a proper drink of you. His chin and lips grow slick with it all – with the blood, with your wetness, with his own saliva. A starved man with a feast before him.

The way he’s rutting his hips into the couch as he slings your legs over his shoulders doesn’t go unnoticed.

It’s a mess. A wonderful, satisfying, enchanting mess.

Beautiful. So beautiful, all mine.

His voice has you teetering on an edge of new carnal pleasure. Completely consumed by him, your hands tugging viciously at his curls. His face is round once more, eyes and cheeks no longer sunken in, vitality being breathed into him with each taste of your blood.

Let me touch you. Please.

You beg over that connection, trying your best to not buck your hips mercilessly against his tongue. You feel his wicked grin.

“You’re already touching me, sweetheart,” he reaches up, untangling your fingers from his hair for emphasis before he’s pinning them to your sides, “And what did I say about using our words? Hm?”

“Need more,” your voice is wrecked as you tilt your head back, wrists straining against his hold, “I need more.”

You’re fully light-headed now, the blood loss finally catching up. Maybe you were about to let him drain you dry.

And what a beautiful way to die. At the hand, at the fangs, of the one you had fought so urgently to bring back to you.

One last timid lick to the wound on your thigh, and he’s crawling his way back up to you. The mess doesn't phase you as he kisses you hungrily – the blood remains sweet rather than metallic, the remnants of your juices still on his tongue – and you meet him with an unbridled fervent. Nipping at his lips with your own dull canines as if you were the one looking for a bite of vivacity.

You don’t know when he lets go of your wrists, or when your hands find their way up beneath his shirt. The specifics don’t matter once he’s naked before you, clothes discarded messily to the ground with your own. The only thing that matters is the weight of him, the reminder that he was still here as his hips roll into yours and the head of him catches on your entrance.

He had been dead. For minutes. And you had brought him back to you.

The process had taken longer than the mere CPR administered, had taken weeks of whatever waiting game you two had tortured yourselves with, but you had him now. He was yours. You were his. There wasn’t a deity, a monster, an omniscient being in this world that could take that away from you. Not even Death herself.

“Last chance, baby,” he whispers against your lips, holding himself up so that not a single inch of his skin pressed to yours. You nearly cried out, missing that connection, missing him. Your hunger, the hunger for him entirely, rattles your bones once more, “Say the word, and I’ll-”

“No,” your hands pause their exploration of skin jagged with scars. Reminders of those few dreadful moments in which the world existed without Eddie Munson in it, that would fade in time but never fully disappear. Always there, just like the stain of his blood on your palms. Always there, just like your desperation to have him at your side. “I meant it when I said I’m yours. I’m not changing my mind. I want this.”

His skin is back on yours, body laid fully along your own road map, and it all comes flooding back. The pain of seeing his lifeless body, the nights spent in an eerie hospital room, baring your own teeth at any one who came too close to the man you had pulled back from the ledge of Death. The anxiety, the fear, the relief, the yearning – it all accumulates as he’s pressing into you, brimming you so full that there’s no room for memories of nightmares.

He’s here. He’s yours. You’re his.

His heart didn’t need to beat for you to accept that truth.

You can’t decipher which chants of your name fall from his lips for others to hear, and which ones whisper in the depths of your mind for only you to bear witness to. Each curse, each grunt, each moan – there for you and only you anyways. You’re entirely unsure if your lips even separate once as he thrusts, cock brushing somewhere deep in you that has you clenching around him.

And if his fangs wander, it only adds to the pleasure.

Blood, sweat, and tears all mingle between your bodies. He’s holding you tighter than water, as though you’re at risk of disappearing from him at any given moment. But that link between your two minds, your two souls, is unwavering. It’s the only thing grounding you to the moment as your half curls around his waist and your heel digs into his lower back. Urging him, pressing him, taking him.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he says it out loud, this time. You feel his lips brushing against your ear as he does, “Gripping me so tightly. This pussy was fucking made for me.”

Every movement only unlocks something more feral inside the two of you. Your nails rake down his back, leaving angry red lines to trace over once it’s all said and done. There’s enough shallow bite marks across your neck that you’ll be wearing scarves for weeks, months. The others might question it, strangers might stare, but the pride you feel as he marks you is unmatched for any anxiety about it.

That black hole of hunger is no longer swallowing either of you whole. That debilitating pain, that animal inside, has been tamed.

When his hips begin to stutter, mouth no longer capable of the strength to properly bite you as his lips only smear the soft spattering of blood pooling at the base of your throat, you’re already there. Squeezing him tightly, sucking him in, voice raw as you let everyone know who’s ravishing you.

Eddie.

Hawkins’ newest zombie boy – Hawkins’ newest vampire.

The climax is just as pleasurable as the lead up. The haze lingers long after his spent has dripped out of you, long after he’s collapsed into your body with exhaustion and contentment. The blood dries, the wounds clot – but that haze doesn’t falter.

As long as his skin presses to yours, you feel that caress of his mind against yours.

“Did…” you’re breathless as his face nuzzles into your nude chest, a few mindless hums of gratification still slipping from him as you bring a hand to toy with the curls at the crown of his head, “Did any of your vampire books say anything about… that?”

The connection. The bloodlust. The spell you swear he still has you under, even as it’s all said and done.

He snorts against your skin, “Not that I, uh, recall.”

“What? You mean to tell me in all your research, you never dived into any vampire smut?” you tsk jokingly, a calm smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. He lifts his head, and you swear, those honey-brown irises have threads of a deep maroon now, “You’re slacking, Munson.”

“Why read about it when I can just experience it?” he coos, letting his nose and lips drag across your still hot skin before he rests his chin on your sternum, “Besides, I mean – we��ll need to do this again, won’t we, baby? For research.”

Your head still spins. Your body aches in a welcome manner. There will be a need for explanations to others, for actually researching his condition, later on. But for now, it’s enough.

The pounding behind your ribcage, the one you know Eddie feels for the both of you when his ear presses to your chest, is enough.

Of course, lover.

That thought stays between the two of you. The world doesn’t need to know what can’t hurt them.

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mooshywrites · 1 month

Text

Their secret turn-ons

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NSFW

Masterlist

Art Commissions

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Astarion -

~ Praise ~

You run your fingers through Astarion’s silvery white hair, savoring the softness of each curl as your lips met in a passionate kiss. His hand traced patterns along your skin, sending shivers of desire down your spine.

“You’re so beautiful,” you murmur, pulling back for a moment.

Astarion’s eyes, a mesmerizing shade of crimson in the firelight, gleamed with amusement as he met your gaze. The flickering flames dancing through the room illuminated his flawless features, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw and the subtle curve of his lips.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, darling,” he chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver of anticipation through you. “I must admit, I quite like being praised.”

“Oh?” you purred, pressing a slight kiss against his jaw.

“I’m afraid it might even be my undoing.” Astarion’s breath hitched at your touch, a mixture of desire and surprise. His usual confident demeanor faltered for a moment, replaced by a subtle vulnerability that that only added to his charm. You could feel the tension in his body as you continued to shower him with words of of adoration, each compliment causing a visible reaction in him. Each word causing him to grow harder under you.

The way his skin flushed under your fingertips, the way his breath quickened at the sound of your voice- it was clear that he was not accustomed to being showered with this amount of genuine praise. And yet, there was something undeniably alluring about the way he responded to it, as if each word ignited a fire within him that he struggled to contain.

As you leaned in closer, your lips grazing the sensitive skin of his neck, you felt him tremble beneath you. His hands reached out, seeking purchase on your waist as he pulled you even closer, unable to resist the magnetic pull between you any longer. And in that moment, as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his defenses crumbling before your eyes, you knew that you had uncovered a side of Astarion that few had ever seen.

With a playful grin, he leaned in to press a soft kiss to your lips, his eyes sparking with mischief. “Well, it seems you’ve uncovered my weakness, after all,” he chuckled, his voice tinged with affection.

“At least my undoing will be pleasurable.”

Halsin -

~ Possessiveness ~

With a sharp pang of jealousy slicing through your chest, you watched as the stranger flirted shamelessly with Halsin, their words dripping like honey from a comb. Every chuckle exchanged between them felt like a knife, igniting a fiery possessiveness within you that you struggled to contain.

As the evening wore on, your gaze kept drifting back to them, unable to shake off the unease that coiled in the pic of my stomach. Just when you thought you couldn’t bear it any longer, Halsin caught my eye.

The Druid made his way towards you, his brow furrowed in concern as he noticed the turmoil swirling in your eyes.

“Are you alright, my heart? You seem… distressed.”

A rush of conflicting emotions crashed over you - the burning jealousy, the fear of losing you to this charming stranger, and the undeniable longing for Halsin’s attention to be solely yours. Taking a deep breath, you finally found the courage to speak, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I… I’m feeling possessive,” you admitted, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment

Halsin’s eyes softened with understanding, his hand cupping your face tenderly. “You have nothing to worry about. You hold my heart in your hands.”

Before you could reply, a surge of fierce determination overtook you. In a bold move, you pulled Halsin close and captured his lips in a fiery kiss, a silent flaunting of your love in front of the bewildered stranger.

Halsin pulled back after a moment, his breathing heavier and eyes a shade darker than they were before. Without a word, his gaze pierced yours, a hunger igniting in his eyes that mirrored the fervor burning within you. His lips curled into a mischievous smile, a silent challenge passing between you.

With a daring glint in your eye, you tugged at his hand, leading him away from the curious onlookers towards a secluded alcove hidden behind cascading vines.

As soon as you were enveloped in privacy, Halsin wasted no time in pressing you against the cool stone wall, his breath hot on your skin. “So possessive, my heart,” he murmured huskily, his hands roaming over your body with familiarity and desire.

“Mine.” You growled, claiming him in a kiss once more.

His chuckle vibrated against your lips. A low and enticing sound that sent shivers down your spine. You felt his hardening member press flush against your stomach, his touch tightening around you.

“Be careful with the words you say, my heart. I may not be able to control myself.”

Gale -

~ Orgasm Denial ~

You watched as Gale’s body arched in pleasure, his mind consumed the sensation of ecstasy. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only you, him, and his cries of desperation as he thrust into your mouth. Every touch, every swirl of your tongue sent waves of desire through him, building towards an inevitable climax,

But just as Gale felt himself teetering on the edge of release, you abruptly pulled away, leaving him gasping for air. You watched as he sat up quickly, confusion and frustration evident on his face.

“Why did you stop,” he panted, his voice edging into a whine.

You smirked slightly, a devious glint in your eyes. “Because,” you began, your voice low and sultry, “I wanted to see how much you really wanted it.”

Gale’s eyes widened in shock, and for a moment, he hesitated, as if contemplating his next move. His desire seemed to rage within him, but you stayed still, gazing up at him.

Underneath his annoyance, you saw the undeniable truth-

He enjoyed this.

“You can try to deny it, Gale,” you said, your words a seductive purr. “But you’re melting in my hands.”

With those words, you leaned forward, allowing your lips to brush against the fender skin of his hip, sending shivers down his spine. Your hands gently traced the contours of his body, taking your time in teasing the man. His hips shifted desperately, the feel of your touch driving him wild with need.

“Please, no more,” he begged, his voice hoarse with desire.

Gently, you tilted your head to me with his gaze again, your eyes sparkling. “Oh, but my sweet Gale,“ you whispered, letting your voice linger on his name like a caress. “I think you’re going to love this”

Your lips met his erection, your warm breath sending shivers down his spine. Gale’s hands found their way to your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he gasped out your name.

As you sank down, your mouth enveloping him, he moaned, his hips bucking upward involuntarily. You held him steady with one hand, your other hand continuing to stroke him, the rhythm in sync with the movements of your head.

Gale’s body trembled, his breaths, becoming ragged, the sound of pleasure filling the air. You could feel the tension in his muscles, the need for release overwhelming him.

Then, at the height of his pleasure, you knew you had to give him what he needed. Your mouth devoured him, your hand pumping harder and faster. Gale arched his back, his hips bucking, his body shook, and then, with a massive release, he cried out your name, his climax overwhelming him.

You continued to work him, milking every last drop, until finally, he collapsed, spent. Then, with a contented sigh, he gave you a weak smile.

“I wouldn’t mind doing something like that again.”

Wyll -

~ Being in public ~

You and Wyll wandered into a dimly lit trinket shop, the kind that smelled of old dust and incense. The shelves were crammed full of curiosities, ornate music boxes that played haunted melodies, delicate glass orbs that held swirling liquid, and intricately carved wooden figurines. Your eyes were drawn to a beautiful silver bracelet adorned with tiny sapphires that sparkled in the dim light.

As you reached out to touch the bracelet, Wyll’s warm breath tickled your ear.

“I like it when you wear silver,” he murmured, his voice low. You could feel his chest pressed against your back, his heart beating in time with yours. He leaned in closer, his lips grazing your neck and erupting your skin in goosebumps.

You shivered slightly under Wyll’s touch, the sensation sending a wave of tingling pleasure down your spine. The air in the seemed to crackle with a new energy, the other patrons oblivious to the tension between the two of you.

A soft gasp escaped your lips as Wyll’s hands found their way to your waist, his fingers tracing delicate patterns on your skin. Your pulse quickened as he turned you around to face him, his eyes dark with an intensity that made your knees weaken.

“You tease me far too much,” you chided, though the playful glint in your eyes betrayed the desire that burned within you. “Someone is bound to hear.”

Wyll only smiled, a smirk that sent a thrill through you. “I can’t help myself when you look so irresistible,” he whispered huskily, his voice sending heat straight to your chest.

Before you could respond, his lips captured yours in a searing kiss that left you breathless and wanting more.

“Careful, it would be a shame if someone heard those little moans you’re keeping from me,” he teased against your lips.

You pulled away from the kiss, your heart pounding in your breath coming in short gasps. “I think we should probably find a more private place,” you managed to say, your voice shaking but determined.

Wyll, ever the gentleman, wrapped an arm around your waist and gently led you through the crowded shop, weaving between the curious trinkets and inquisitive shoppers.

“If you insist, though I wouldn’t have minded giving everyone a show.”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

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joelmillerisapunk · 3 months

Text

Bad Habits

Soft daddy!Joel x f!Reader

masterlist ♡ soft daddy masterlist

wordcount: 1,910

summary: In a night of passion and confusion, an unexpected proposition leaves you questioning your desires and your future.

warnings: 18+, soft daddy!Joel, implied age gap, unprotected p in v

notes: I hope you enjoy the ending. 🤭 Maybe this will be its own au. Let me know what you think. A massive thank you to @joelslegalwhre for beta reading 🩷 and @saradika-graphics for the dividers.

As the night goes on, you find yourself getting lost in the music and the dance floor, moving your body to the beat and letting go of all your worries and fears. The guy you're dancing with is cute, and he seems to be into you, but something feels off. You can't shake off the feeling that you shouldn't be here tonight.

Just as you're about to leave the dance floor and go to the bathroom, you see the older man you've been seeing on and off. Joel doesn't call your name as he walks in, but you lock eyes, and he gives you a small smile before heading to the bar. You feel a pang of guilt and confusion wash over you - why is he here, and why does he seem so calm?

You make your way over to the bar and join him, accepting the drink he's already bought for you. He chuckles, "What are you doin' in a place like this, darlin?"

You raise an eyebrow at him. "I could ask you the same thing."

He grins and takes a sip of his drink. "I have my reasons. But a smart, pretty thing like you doesn't belong here. Come home with me, baby. Please." Joel's eyes twinkle with emotion as he leans in closer to you, his hand reaching out to gently graze your inner thigh. You tense up at his touch, completely unsure of where your head is at.

"Hey now, don't be like that," he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. "Come on, let daddy take you home," he whispers as his lips brush against your earlobe. "Let me take care of you. You don't have to be alone tonight.”

You hesitate for a moment, torn between your desire to be with Joel and your fear of losing your independence and freedom. But ultimately, you decide to go with him. You can't deny the pull you feel towards him, the sense of safety and security he offers you. And the way he's looking at you sure doesn't help, the way his voice softens when he calls you "baby" makes you feel safe and loved.

"Okay," you say softly. "I'll come with you.”

Joel's grin widens as he hears your response, and he stands up, taking your hand in his. "That's my girl," he says, leading you out of the bar. As you're walking out, Joel spots out the guy you were dancing with, and he chuckles softly. "Looks like you've got someone after you, darlin," he says, nodding in the guy's direction.

You look over and see the guy watching you with a disappointed expression on his face. You feel a pang of guilt, but before you can think too much, you're pulled away, Joel's grip on your hand tightens, and he leads you out of the bar. You can feel the excitement building up inside of you as you realize that you're about to spend the night with him. You can't believe it - just a few minutes ago, you were dancing with some random guy, feeling unsure and guilty about your attraction to Joel. But now, you're walking out of the bar with him, and you can't wait to see what the night has in store for you.

As you get into Joel's car, you can feel the tension between the two of you. You're both aware of the sexual tension that's been building, and you know that it's only a matter of time before it explodes. You glance over at him, watching as he navigates the winding roads that lead to his place. His eyes are focused on the road, but you can see the hunger and desire in them. You bite your lower lip, feeling a shiver run down your spine as you imagine what's about to happen.

When you finally arrive, you can hardly contain your excitement. You follow him inside, your heart racing as he leads you up the grand staircase and into his bedroom. The room is dimly lit, with only a few candles flickering in the corners. You can see the outline of his large oversized bed in the center of the oversized room, and you feel your heart start to race even faster.

Joel turns to face you, his eyes dark with desire. "I've been waiting for this all night, baby," he says, his voice low. He reaches out to touch your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. You lean into his touch, feeling a sense of safety and warmth spread through your body. Joel pulls you close, his arms wrapping around you as he kisses you deeply. You can feel the heat building, and you know that you're about to cross a line that you won't be able to come back from. But you don't care - you want this, you want Joel, and you're ready to give yourself to him completely.

As Joel starts to undress you, you can't help but feel a bit guilty. You know that you shouldn't be doing this - you know that you're risking your independence and freedom by giving yourself to him - a much older man. But the way he's looking at you, the way his hands feel on your body, the way his lips brush against your skin...it's all too much to resist.

And before you know it, Joel has you naked on his bed. He quickly rids himself of his clothes and gets to work, making you feel like you're in some acid induced love making trip. You feel yourself getting lost in the moment almost immediately. You're completely caught up in the pleasure that he's giving you.

Joel's thrusts are deep and powerful, filling you up completely. You can feel every inch of him, and it's driving you wild. His hands are on your hips, holding you in place as he takes control. You feel completely powerless in his grasp, and you love it.

"Mmm, yes, Joel," you moan, as he continues to thrust into you.

"You like that?"" He growls.

"Yes, daddy," you gasp, your hips buck against his.

Joel's thrusts get faster and harder, and you can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

"Good girl," Joel murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. "You like it when I take charge, don't you?"

"Yes," you barely muster.

"That's my good girl." You feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge with every word he speaks. "You like that, don't you, darlin'? You like it when I fuck you like a dirty girl."

You moan, your voice breathy and filled with desire. "I love it.”

"I'm gonna make you come so hard." Joel says, his thrusts getting faster and harder. "Come on baby, say my name. Let me know who's making you feel so good."

"Daddy," you moan out, your voice breathy. "Oh god, I'm so close," you gasp, your fingers digging into the sheets. "I'm gonna come."

"That's right," Joel growls, his hips slapping against yours. "Come for me, baby. Come for daddy."

But then, in the middle of the most intense moment, Joel says something that pulls you out of your pleasure-induced haze. "I want you to travel with me this summer," he says, his voice filled with emotion.

You pull away, your heart racing as you try to process what he's just said. "What did you say?" you ask, your voice trembling as you try to catch your breath.

Joel grabs your face in his large hands. His eyes are filled with love and desire. "I want you to travel with me this summer, darlin'," he repeats, his voice softer this time. "I know you have the time off school, and I just want to spend every moment with you, exploring new places and making new memories. I want to be exclusive, just for the summer. And if after that you wanna leave and have your freedom, you can."

You stare at him, your heart racing as you try to process what he's just said. You never expected him to say something like this - you never expected him to want something more than just a casual fling, and you never expected him to ruin your orgasm with this. "I'll think about it," you finally say, your voice soft and unsure. You're overwhelmed by the sudden turn of events, and you need some time to process everything.

Joel nods, understanding your hesitation. He pulls you close, holding you in his arms as he whispers soothing words in your ear. "It's okay, darlin'," he says. "I know this is a big decision, and I'm not trying to rush you. I just want you to know how much I care about you, and how much I want to be with you." You lean into his embrace, feeling his warmth. You can feel yourself getting lost in his touch, and for a moment, you forget all about your worries and fears.

Joel's hand starts to wander, and soon he's touching your clit again. You gasp as pleasure shoots through your body. "I just want to make you feel good," he whispers. "Makin’ you feel good makes me feel good."

You moan as he continues to touch you, his fingers working magic on your clit. You can feel yourself getting closer to the edge, and you know that it won't be long before you come apart in his arms.

"Joel," you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulders. "Oh god, Joel, please, I can't -"

“Yes you can. Come for me, baby. I gotcha, s'okay.”

And with that, you finally let go. You scream Joel's name as you come apart in his arms, your body trembling with the eb and flow of pleasure. He holds you close, whispering soothing words in your ear as you ride out your orgasm. When it's over, you collapse against Joel's chest, feeling completely and utterly spent.

“I'll wait for your answer, baby, take your time.” Joel whispers as his lips brush against your forehead.

You look up at him, feeling a sense of happiness and contentment spread through your body. You know that this is a big decision - a decision that could change your life forever. But as you look into Joel's eyes, you can't help but feel like this is where you belong - with him, by his side, traveling, at least for the summer.

"I'll travel with you this summer. I'll be your good girl, and I'll let you take care of me." You whisper, your voice filled with emotion.

Joel grins. "That's my girl."

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #daddy!joel miller #joel miller x f!reader

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tragedybunny · 7 months

Text

Moon Blood - Astarion x F!Reader - NSFW, TW: Period Sex

I know it's been done before, but it's the most delicious notion.

Reader awakes one morning to find themselves menstruating. Astarion has a plan to help them clean up.

It starts when you wake that early afternoon, your body’s way of celebrating its liberation from the tadpole apparently. Two days out from the near cataclysm and you woke to the uncomfortable warmth of blood spattering your thighs. Early, an annoyance. Beside you, Astarion dozes peacefully, sleeping what little he needs to, arm wrapped tightly around you as though you could vanish if it weren’t. You’d been doing what you could to help the city, but after everything that had happened, he was your main priority. Perhaps that was selfish but didn’t you and him deserve a little selfishness?

Across the room you eye the wash basin, so close but so far with your love’s death grip on you. Delicately, you try to move him, enough to slip out, but not wake him. Pushing his arm down only causes him to hold tighter and you push again, a little harder. “But Darling,” he murmurs and wraps both arms around you, to drag you close. At this rate you were going to ruin the bed in the room you’d very kindly been given.

“Astarion,” you whisper and shake him, frustration growing.

There’s a little pang of guilt when his eyes slowly open, you do hate to wake him when he actually sleeps. “Is something wrong, Love,” he asks sleepily.

Unguarded and disheveled, he’s incredibly alluring, more so because you’re the only person in the world to see him like this. For a moment you forget to answer as your body fills with an ache for him, heightened by your current state. “Uh, no, I’m, I just need to get up.”

Eyes widen, suddenly alert, and he sits up, inhaling sharply. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s…,” why is this so embarrassing, it’s perfectly natural, “it’s moon blood.”

The look on his face shifts from concern to hunger. “Moon blood,” he repeats, glancing down to your red stained thighs, tongue idly licking his fangs.

Warmth travels across your skin and you know it's turning a bright shade of red, the insinuation you think you hear in his tone makes you shiver. “Y-yes, love, and I need to clean it up,” he can’t really be thinking that.

“Perish the thought my Darling,” you swallow thickly. "That would be such a terrible waste." The way he hovers over you gives you a sense of being prey and you almost whimper out loud. Reaching out, he tilts your head up, capturing you in a deep kiss, and then whispering in your ear. "Allow me."

The thought is intoxicating even as it feels forbidden. Your mouth is too dry and your voice doesn't work. "I…," you only manage a breathy gasp after that.

"I need you to use your words, sweet girl, and tell me that's what you want," he speaks against your ear, nipping the pointed tip of it.

Still holding your chin, he forces you to look him in the eyes. "I-I want you to clean me up." He smiles devilishly and gestures for you to continue. Your startled mind takes a minute to realize what he wants. "Please."

"Good girl," you quiver at the words.

With gentle firmness his hands push your shoulders back toward the mattress, before tossing the discarded blanket to the floor. "Spread your legs," he commands, encouraging you with an insistent grip on your thighs. "Gorgeous," he exhales at the sight of you.

Kneeling between your legs, he captures your lips again, and then begins to kiss down your body, firmly pining your hands back down when you reach for him. The message is clear, you've surrendered control to him. Little nipping kisses are planted from your neck to your abdomen, special attention is lavished on your now overly sensitive nipples. You fight to keep your hands at your sides as he trails his tongue over one before you feel the sharp bite of one of his fangs. Your hips buck and you whine. "Please."

"Patience my Love." The torture continues on your other nipple until you're writhing. Only then does he resume his path, pausing just before reaching your eager sex.

"Hmm," he torments you, "so much to savor."

He licks a wide swath over one of your crimson painted thighs and sighs. "Astarion," you whine, mad with need.

Ignoring you, he takes his time cleaning up your thighs, savoring the taste. Working his way closer and closer to where you want him the most, only to pull away and start on the other. Groaning, you frustratedly slap the mattress. "Girls who can't behave themselves don't get my help," he teases and you quiet.

The first swipe of his tongue against your cunt brings a moan to your lips. The euphoria has just begun though. Slow, languid licks explore you, tasting the blood and slick of your arousal, lavishing every inch of you. Astarion groans against you. "You're delectable my Darling," his words are punctuated by his tongue penetrating you, leaving you mewling.

Two fingers start to caress your sensitive bud as his tongue continues to torture you, pushing as deep as he can. His own little noises of pleasure join yours as he devours you, lapping and sucking until you're desperately writhing against his face. "Astarion, I need t-," your words are lost as his mouth moves to your clit, taking it between his teeth and sucking.

"Come for me my sweet," he commands, fingers entering you and moving with the perfect rhythm to set everyone of your nerves on fire. With his divine attentions you don't last long, crying his name as you see stars.

He isn't done though. Before you can come down, he shifts back to kneeling and looks down at you, chin painted red and eyes hazy with lust. "Yes," you breathe, in answer to the question he hasn’t asked yet.

He thrusts inside you, the sensation of being filled so quickly, so completely, pulling another moan from you. "Always so eager for me," he growls, driving you mad.

Holding your hips in an iron grip, he fucks you with a wild need. So much for the borrowed bed you lament for a second before being washed away again. "Gods," you pull your legs back to your chest, desperate to take him as deep as possible.

"Fuck, Love," he groans, "taking it so good. My little bloody mess. Naughty girl might need to be cleaned up again." The words do you in a second time and you come, quivering around him.

He doesn't let up his pace, every moment of your orgasm filled with fresh sparks of bliss, until with a last deep stroke you feel his seed pumping into you. He leans down, kissing you, and the taste of all of you on him is intoxicating. "Sorry Love," he pulls away smirking. "I don't think I was much help after all."

#astarion #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion x reader #astarion x f!reader #astarion x tav #my fanfiction #Baldur's gate 3 fanfic #my writing #X reader

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rynwritesreid · 4 months

Text

A night to remember-Spencer Reid

A/N: Okay, firstly thank you for all the love on mind-games, honestly I might post the next chapter next week but I am not sure. Also, for some reason even if you @ is correct and everything, some times tumblr won’t let me tag you :(

Summary: Spencer is back from prison, and he’s changed but not in all the ways you want. You discuss with Spencer something you’ve been wanting to try and he is willing to give it a shot.

Content: Post prison Spencer. Fem!reader. Mean dom spencer. Sub!reader. Pet names/name calling. Degrading kink. Overstimulation. Orgasm denial. Begging. Established relationship. Smut (and some fluff). Spencer asks a lot of time for your consent (as they should, especially if you are in BDSM dom/sub relationship). Begging. Sex toys. Virginal fingering. Handcuffs(slight bondage ig) 18+

Masterlist| requests are open| Navigation

It wasn’t a secret that prison, and the whole Cat Adams situation, had changed Spencer. It was evident in the way Spencer carried himself, the hardened glint in his eyes that pierced through the darkness. The weight of his experiences behind bars had etched lines on his face, transforming him into someone unrecognizable.

He seemed darker; he didn’t seem to mind having to kill in order to protect anymore. He had told you on several occasions that he would kill for you, well his exact words were; “you I’d kill for you. I mean if anyone ever tried to hurt you, I would make sure that’s the last ever thing they’d do.”

Though Spencer had always been protective, this was new, and while the rest of the team knew what he had been through recently had changed him, they had no idea just how much it had changed him.

Spencer had also changed how he was at home; he was no longer ‘vanilla’, but he wasn’t exactly rough. He treated you like a princess; he would not let you go to sleep until he had at least made you cum twice. And while you loved this, you wanted him to be rough with you, degrade you, to spank you and to deny you the pleasure he so often gives you.

But you didn’t know how to bring this up with him. You didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable, or like he wasn’t good enough and that you weren’t enjoying what he was doing. However, you also knew nothing would change if you didn’t bring this up with him.

One evening, as Spencer cooked dinner for the both of them, you couldn't help but find the perfect opportunity to broach the subject. The room was filled with the aroma of his signature dish, a comforting reminder of the old Spencer, and you felt a pang of nostalgia.

As you sat across from him, you took a deep breath and began, "Spencer, I know things have changed since your time in prison, but I need to tell you something that's been on my mind."

He halted mid-stir, his knife-wielding hand trembling slightly. You could see the cogs turning behind his eyes, trying to process the implications of your words.

"I want to try something new in the bedroom. I want you to be rough with me, to dominate me, to make me feel as if I'm entirely under your control. I mean don’t get me wrong I enjoy what you do now, but I want this, I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Spencer set the knife down carefully on the cutting board, wiping his hand on his apron before turning to face you. The look of concern had faded, replaced by a hint of curiosity and intrigue. He had always been good at reading people; this was no different.

"Is that all?" he asked, eyebrows raised. "You want me to be rough with you? To dominate you?"

You nodded, glancing down at your own hands, fidgeting nervously in your lap. A sudden surge of heat filled your cheeks as you spoke, "Yes, Spencer. I want you to control me. I want you to take me in a way that I've never been taken before. I want to feel completely vulnerable and at your mercy.

It was a request he had never received before, but he saw the raw desire in your eyes. He could sense the urgency in your voice, and the hunger that was burning deep within you.

"Alright, but I need you to trust me," he said, taking a deep breath. "This will be different, and it might be intense."

You nodded, your heart racing with anticipation. You had never felt this way before, this desperate need to be dominated, to give yourself completely to him. The thought of it made you shudder with excitement.

“Well, we can’t do anything now, we need to eat, so you just sit there and look pretty for the time been while I finish dinner, okay?” Spencer chuckled under his breath, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The look in your eyes told him that this wasn't just some fleeting desire, it was something that had been simmering deep within you for quite some time. He knew that he had to tread carefully, as this was uncharted territory for both of them.

Spencer continued to prepare the meal, his thoughts a whirlwind of emotions. He knew that he had to show you the intensity and control you craved without truly hurting you. He needed to make you trusted him completely, and only then could he truly take control.

As dinner was ready, Spencer dished up the meal and served it onto the plates. Sitting down, he took a moment to observe you. Your eyes were filled with a mixture of anticipation and a slight hint of trepidation. He knew you were scared, but he also knew that you trusted him enough to explore this new territory.

"You have my word," he said softly, looking directly into your eyes. "I'll take care of you, and I'll make sure you feel safe and cherished throughout this whole experience. But you have to trust me. Can you do that?"

You looked into his eyes, feeling a wave of relief wash over you at his promise. Trusting him was easy, you knew that. You trusted him with your life, and that was no small thing.

"Yes, Spencer," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. "I trust you."

He smiled; relief evident in his expression. "Good," he said, taking your hand in his. "Then let's eat, and we'll talk about what this entails later."

As you ate, you couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement building within you. This wasn't just about trying something new; it was about exploring a side of your relationship that you had never dared too before. You knew it would be intense, but you trusted Spencer to guide you through it.

After dinner, you both sat on the couch, the dishes cleaned up and put away. Spencer turned to face you; his expression serious but gentle.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubts.

You nodded, taking a deep breath. "I trust you, Spencer. I know you'll take care of me."

He smiled, reaching out to cup your face in his hands. "I won't let you down," he promised, his voice firm and reassuring.

With that, he leaned in and kissed you lightly, a tender touch that spoke of the trust and affection that had always been the foundation of your relationship.

You watched as he moved closer, his eyes never leaving yours. He kissed you again, this time with more passion, his lips lingering on yours. You could feel his hand gently brushing your hair off your face, his touch sending a shiver through your body.

"You're mine," he whispered, his voice low and intense.

You smiled up at him, your heart racing. This was it, the moment you had been waiting for. You knew that it would be intense, that it would test your limits, but you trusted him completely.

"I'm yours," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Spencer slowly pulled away, his eyes never leaving yours. He traced his fingers along your jaw, his touch gentle but firm. He could feel the heat radiating from your skin, a testament to the desire that was coursing through you.

He stood up, towering over you, his body tense with anticipation. You could see the change in him, the alpha male dominance that had been dormant for so long beginning to surface.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked one last time, his voice deep and commanding.

You nodded, your heart racing. You were ready for this, ready to explore the darker side of your desires.

With that, Spencer reached down and grabbed your hand, pulling you to your feet. He led you to the bedroom, the air thick with anticipation.

As you entered the bedroom, Spencer turned to face you, his eyes burning with intensity. He was no longer the gentle man you had known before, but a powerful and dominating presence that filled the room.

"Kneel," he commanded, his voice thick with desire.

You quickly obeyed, your heart pounding with excitement as you looked up at him. He stood over you, his muscles tense, his eyes fixed on your face.

"You're mine," he repeated, his voice a low growl. "And you will submit to me completely."

You nodded, your eyes never leaving his. You were ready for this, ready to give yourself to him completely. He reached down and grabbed your wrist, pulling you to your feet.

"Take off your clothes," he ordered, his voice firm.

You did as he commanded, feeling a thrill of excitement as you stripped down to your underwear. He watched you intently, his eyes never leaving your body. He knew what he wanted, and he was going to take it.

He took a step forward, touching your skin for the first time. His fingers traced the curve of your hip, the soft skin of your stomach, and the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs. You shivered, feeling a flood of pleasure course through your body.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice rough with desire.

His hands moved up to your breasts, cupping them in his large palms, kneading them gently. You moaned softly, your desire for him growing stronger by the second.

Spencer's lips met your neck, his tongue tracing the curve of your throat, and his teeth gently nipping at your skin. He moved down to one of your breasts, taking it into his mouth and sucking it gently. You arched your back, thrusting your chest out to meet his lips, and he took the other breast in his mouth as well.

He stood up, undressing himself as he did so. You watched, mesmerized, as his body revealed itself to you. He was everything you had imagined and more.

He stood in front of you, his erection hard and ready. You reached out to touch him, but he stopped you.

"No," he commanded, his voice firm. "I decide when you touch me.”

You looked up at him, your eyes pleading. You wanted so much to touch him, but you trusted him enough to follow his lead.

"Turn around," he commanded, his voice low and seductive.

You complied, your heart racing as you did so. You knew that this was the moment you had been waiting for, and you were ready to give yourself to him completely.

Spencer stood behind you, his hands resting gently on your hips. He leaned in and whispered in your ear, "You're mine, and I'm going to take you in ways you've never imagined before."

He slowly began to touch your skin, his fingers tracing the curve of your hip, the soft skin of your stomach, and the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs. You shivered, feeling a flood of pleasure course through your body. His fingers moved up to your breasts, cupping them in his large palms, kneading them gently. You moaned softly, your desire for him growing stronger by the second.

"You ready for this?" he asked, his voice low and seductive.

"Yes," you whispered, your voice shaking with anticipation.

As you spoke, you felt his hands on your waist, pulling you closer. His erection was now pressed against your back, a reminder of what was to come.

He guided you towards the bed, gently placing you down on the soft sheets. You could feel the anticipation building inside you, your heart pounding with excitement.

Spencer climbed on top of you, his body hovering above you. He looked into your eyes, his expression intense and full of desire.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked one last time, his voice deep and commanding.

You nodded, your eyes never leaving his. "I trust you," you whispered. "I'm yours."

With that, he leaned down and kissed you passionately, his lips crushing against yours. His tongue slipped into your mouth, exploring, and tasting you, as if to mark his territory.

You could feel his breath against your skin, hot and ragged, matched only by your own. His hips moved against yours, his erection pulsing with desire, and you knew that this was it. This was the moment you had been waiting for, the moment when you would give yourself completely to him.

He slowly pulled away, his eyes never leaving yours. He traced his fingers along your jaw, his touch gentle but firm. You could feel the tingle of his fingers on your skin, a reminder of the journey you were about to embark on.

He reached down and grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head. You felt the rush of dominance that flowed through him, a primal instinct that had been dormant for so long but was now fully alive.

"You're mine," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "And you will do as I say."

His eyes bored into yours, filled with a fierce intensity that made your heart race even faster. You could see the animalistic hunger in him, the raw desire that couldn't be contained any longer.

He leaned down and nipped at your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin, causing you to moan in pleasure. You could feel the heat of his body against your own, and you knew that there was no turning back now.

Spencer's lips moved up to your ear, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered, "You're going to love this."

You felt his erection throbbing against your thigh, a reminder of what was to come. You were ready for this, ready to give yourself completely to him.

He slowly moved his hand down your body, trailing his fingers along your side until they reached your inner thigh. You could feel the heat and desire radiating from his body, and you knew that this was the moment you had been waiting for.

As his fingers brushed against the sensitive skin near your core, you felt a surge of pleasure and arousal coursing through your body. You arched your back, pressing yourself against him, wanting more.

Spencer's hand continued to explore your body, moving lower and lower until he finally reached your most intimate place. He slowly slid one finger inside you, feeling the warmth and wetness that welcomed him.

You moaned softly, your body trembling with pleasure as his finger moved inside you. He pulled it out and brought it up to your lips, smearing your essence on them.

"Taste yourself," he commanded, his voice deep and authoritative.

You complied, licking his finger clean, savouring the taste of your own desire. It only fuelled your desire for him even more.

"You taste delicious, don’t you," Spencer whispered, his eyes burning with desire.

With his other hand, he slowly pulled your legs apart, spreading them wide open for him. You could feel the heat between your legs growing, and you knew that this was the moment you had been waiting for.

As his fingers continued to explore your body, you felt a wave of pleasure wash over you like a tidal wave. You knew that you were completely at his mercy and that he was going to take you to places you never thought possible.

Spencer's hand continued to move between your legs, teasing and taunting you with its every touch. You were more than ready for him, your body trembling with anticipation, and yet he seemed to want to savour this moment.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, your breath coming quicker and quicker as you felt his fingers slowly enter you again. This time, he didn't stop, pulling out and plunging back in, faster and harder with each thrust.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groaned, his voice ragged with desire. "I want you so bad."

You could feel his erection pressing against your thigh, throbbing with need, and you wanted nothing more than to feel him inside you.

"I'm going to make you scream my name," Spencer promised, his voice low and sultry.

As he continued to thrust into you, his fingers moving in and out of you in a rhythm that was both maddening and intoxicating, you couldn't help but moan softly, your body arching in response to his touch. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your desire for him growing stronger with each passing second.

“You look so beautiful like this, surrendering yourself to me, letting me make you moan like the slut you really are.” He whispered; his voice filled with lust.

Your body trembled in response, your arousal increasing with every word. You knew that you were completely at his mercy, and you loved every moment of it.

Spencer's fingers continued to move inside you, pulsing rhythmically with his thrusts. You could feel his erection growing harder and thicker against your thigh, and you knew that he was close.

"I want to hear you scream," Spencer hissed.

Just as you were about cum, he pulled a way, a small smirk on his face.

“Did you think I was going to let you cum that easily?” he asked, his voice filled with amusement.

You gasped, your body flush with disappointment but also anticipation. He knew exactly what he was doing to you, and it was thrilling.

Spencer leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. "I'm going to make you beg for it," he whispered, “and remember when you are begging for it, you asked for this, you wanted this.”

He slowly put his fingers back in you, but his pace no longer fast, it was slow, and it was deliberate.

"Please, Spencer," you whimpered, your body craving the release that he was denying you.

“Is that all you’ve got baby? And is this all it’s taken me?” he taunted, his lips still brushing against your ear. "You're going to have to do better than that, little one."

His fingers moved in and out of you, teasing your most sensitive spot, and you knew that he was going to make you beg for it. You could feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your body trembling with the need to cum.

And just like before he stopped, he wasn’t going to give in even though it was killing him not too. Your eyes were pleading with him, begging him to continue, but you both knew that wasn’t going to happen.

“Now if I remember correctly, you brought toys to replace me while I was gone, didn’t you?” he smirked, his eyes locked on yours, “I think it’s time to put them to use.”

Spencer’s eyes were scanning the room, trying to see where you might have put them, he knew it wouldn’t have been in any of the normal places. That’s when his eyes landed on the wardrobe, and he looked back at you.

“I can see that look in your eyes, baby. You’re so desperate for it, aren’t you?” he murmured, his voice low and seductive. “Now did you hide them in there, princess?”

You nod yes, unable to form any more words as you feel a surge of anticipation and desire.

Spencer walks over to the wardrobe and opens it, revealing a small collection of sex toys that you had purchased while he was away. He grabs a vibrator and a pair of handcuffs, his eyes never leaving yours.

"I knew you couldn't resist," he smirks, his voice filled with victory. "Now, let's see how much you can take, shall we?"

He walks back over to you, the vibrator in his hand, and secures your hands above your head with the handcuffs. You struggle slightly, but the desire coursing through you is too intense to resist.

You watch as Spencer approaches you, his eyes burning with hunger. He runs the tip of the vibrator along your sensitive skin, teasing you mercilessly.

"This is going to feel so good, baby," he whispers, his voice thick with desire. His tone is commanding, and you have no choice but to obey.

He turns on the vibrator and presses it against your clit, and you let out a soft moan. The sensation is intense, and you can feel your body responding to it.

"That's it, baby," Spencer encourages. "You're so wet, so ready for me."

He pushes the vibrator inside you, and you feel it pulsate against your inner walls. "Take it all, you slut."

Your eyes roll back as the sensation overwhelms you, and you let out a loud moan of pleasure. Spencer smiles slyly, watching as you lose control.

"There's my good girl," he purrs. "You're such a dirty little slut."

He increases the speed of the vibrator, and you arch your back, trying to get closer to the pleasure. You can feel yourself getting closer and closer, your body trembling with each pulse of the vibrator.

"Please," you whimper, your voice barely a whisper. "Don't stop."

Spencer grins, his eyes locked on yours. "Not yet baby. I want to see you beg for it."

He pulls the vibrator out of you and turns it off, leaving you desperate for more. You look at him in desperation, your pupils dilated, your breathing ragged.

"Please, Spencer," you beg, your voice shaking with need. "Please, I need it so badly."

He smirks at your desperation, his eyes never leaving yours. "You want it?”

With a sly grin, he takes the vibrator and runs it along your outer lips, teasing you mercilessly. You can't help but moan softly, your body arching towards him in response.

"Beg for it, baby," he commands, his voice a mix of desire and amusement. "Tell me how much you need it."

Your breath hitches in your throat, your desire for him growing stronger with each passing second. "I need it so badly, Spencer. Please, I'm begging you."

He chuckles softly, his eyes never leaving yours. "That's my good girl. You know exactly what you want."

And with that, he pressed the vibrator back inside you, and you let out a loud moan of pleasure. It felt amazing, better than anything you had ever experienced before. He continued to tease you with the vibrator, moving it in and out of you, and you felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

"Please, Spencer," you pleaded, your voice shaking with need. "Please let me cum. Please make me cum."

He smirked at your desperation; his eyes locked on yours. "You're going to have to beg for it, my dear," he said, his voice low and sultry.

But you didn't care. You needed this. You needed him. And so, you let out a desperate moan, your body trembling with the need to cum. "Please, Spencer," you pleaded, "I need it so badly. Please make me cum.”

You were past the point of no return, Spencer's commands and denial only adding fuel to the fire. Your body was on fire, desperately craving the release he was denying you. You knew you could take it no longer, and yet, you found yourself begging for more.

"Please, Spencer," you moaned, your voice pleading. "Let me cum."

He chuckled, a wicked glimmer in his eyes. "Not yet baby. I want to draw this out," he said, running the vibrator over your clit, sending shivers of pleasure through your body.

"Please, Spencer," you begged, your voice hoarse. "I need it so badly."

He smirked, a devilish look on his face. "But you're forgetting something, you asked for this. You wanted to be treated like a slut, but now you’re begging for me to make you cum?”

You knew you needed to beg for it. You needed to surrender to him, to let him have control over your body, your mind, your very being.

"Please, Spencer," you whimpered, "please make me cum. Please, I can't take it anymore.”

He took the vibrator and ran it along your outer lips, teasing you mercilessly. You could feel the pulsating sensation building up inside you, your body arching towards him in response.

"Please, Spencer," you begged. "I need it so badly."

He chuckled; his eyes locked on yours. "You really are a dirty slut, aren't you?"

You nodded, your mind reeling with the intensity of the experience. Spencer did take some pity on you; he could see your eyes were filling with tears and he did love to watch you cum.

"That's it, baby," he whispered, his voice full of desire. "Beg for it, let me hear how much you need it."

You choked out the words, your voice rough with need. "Please, Spencer. Please make me cum. I need it so badly."

He smirked, his eyes never leaving yours. "Well, aren't you the perfect slut?"

With that, he turned on the vibrator and ran it over your clit, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. You arched your back, your hips bucking against the vibrator.

"That's it, baby," he urged, his voice filled with command. “Cum for me, letting me see what I can do to you.”

And with that, you felt the orgasm building up inside you, closer and closer until you couldn't take it anymore. You let out a loud moan of pleasure, feeling the waves rush through your body as you finally succumbed to the desire that had been building up inside you.

"That's it, baby," Spencer said, his voice filled with triumph. "You're mine, every bit of you, and you'll never forget this moment."

You lay there, panting and sweating, feeling completely spent. Your body was trembling, your mind was still reeling from the sensations you had just experienced. You felt like you had been pushed to the limit and beyond, but you also knew that you had never felt more alive.

As you lay there, basking in the afterglow of your orgasm, you couldn't help but feel a sense of submission, a feeling of being completely under Spencer's control. You knew that you had begged for it, and you had enjoyed every moment of it.

Spencer leaned down and kissed your forehead, his breath warm against your skin. "That was incredible, baby. You'll always be my dirty little slut."

You couldn't help but smile, feeling a sense of pride in the role you had played in this scene. You knew that you had given him exactly what he wanted, and that feeling of power was exhilarating.

“Now I am going to go get some water, because that was intense.” You watched as Spencer got up to go get some water, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and admiration for him.

You knew that Spencer was also going to need so aftercare, because that was his first time doing something like this, but you also knew you were going to have to drink before you could do anything.

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