#shortfics

Eddie was sure he could handle it. 

That it'd be easy, even. All it really amounted to was roleplay, after all, and he was nothing if not a veteran of make-believe.

It had started with a request that Eddie be a little rougher. You’re sort of shy when it comes to speaking—struggling usually to talk about your activities in the bedroom much more than you ever did participating in them—so he was ecstatic to hear you ask him for anything at all.

It was while laying together in bed after a quick shower that you brought it up. Two rounds apiece had worn you both out, and maybe it was being cradled so close to his heart, the comfort of warm skin pressed together and the dreamy lull of sleep that had relaxed your anxious tongue enough for the words to escape. Eddie, ever gently, eased you back enough to see your face and smiled.

He hummed as he watched you, endeared to the moon and back by the bashful little look on your face—the way you can barely meet his eye. “...How rough are we talkin’ here?”

He’d left a bruise or two on you before by accident, and as much as he felt bad for hurting you, he also couldn’t deny the appeal of knowing he’d made a mark on you. Flesh and blood evidence of the pleasure you'd shared; the grooves of his hands embedded beneath your skin. He’d also carefully pulled at your hair once or twice, even smacked your bottom, albeit more as a joke than anything carnal.  

It took you a moment, staring at his mouth and his chin while you gathered the courage. “I… Well, I like it when you’re…pushy,” you admitted. 

Eddie grinned even wider. “Oh yeah? You want me to bully you a little? Toss you around?” That would be no problem at all. 

His knowing intonation made you purse your lips to fight a smile. “Yeah, I like that. But also…”

“...Also?” he prompted with patience. “Don’t hold out on me, sweetheart.”

“I don’t know.” You stared down at the sheets with a strained, twitchy little smile. “I just sort of have this…weird fantasy, I guess. Can't get it out of my head.”

Now you’re talking. He took care not to look too ecstatic, lest he scare the nerve out of you. “Tell me all about it,” he encouraged, “and I might be able to help you out.”

You hesitated. The sheepish smile fell away, and your eyes seemed to turn in on themselves, unfocusing. Right on the precipice of changing your mind, waving it all away. Something was scaring you inward. Eddie’s brow furrowed and he softly lifted your chin, startling you back to the present.

“Sweetheart, I’m the last person that’s ever gonna judge you for wanting to try something kinky, or…unusual,” he assured you. Serious but without pressure, smiling warm and fond. You don’t have to tell him anything, but he needs you to know that you can. “I’m not gonna look at you differently, or love you any less. That’s a promise.”  

He already felt like the luckiest guy on the planet just holding you as he was, watching you watch him with love and trust and melting reservations in your eyes. If you also happened to possess even half of the freakiness that he’d been valiantly keeping at bay from the first time you touched, he might just dissolve into a pile of lovestruck mush.

-

Eddie never thought he’d have you, so he has a tendency to do anything—anything—that he thinks might help him keep you. It’s a bad habit of his (in your mind, at least) that he’s kept hidden almost as well as his less savory appetites, his more cringeworthy fears. You’ve noticed it a couple times. The way he grits his teeth and bears things you would’ve gladly relieved him of, that you’ve never asked of him in the first place. Eddie knows it’s stupid; unhealthy, even, to treat your relationship like a rolling audition he’s always in danger of bombing, but there’s some misshapen part of him that just can’t help it. You don’t need him to be anything more than he is, to give more than he has, and he knows that, he really does, but he could. If you wanted him to, he could.

Just start and don’t stop. That’s how you explained it to him, more or less.

Eddie was to do what he was going to do, and while you might squirm and struggle, tell him no and don’t and stop it, you assured him plenty that it’d just be for show. To fulfil your half of the little fantasy you’ve trusted him with—and he could see on your face how much trust it really took. Unless you use your safeword, you don’t really want him to stop; you want him to ignore it; to fight you right back; to make you.

And that’s simple. He’s the bad guy, the bully—a role he’s uniquely accustomed to—and you’re the poor maiden he’s meant to distress. He isn’t sure he’ll get as much out of it as you will, if the suppressed thrill in your eyes as you spoke about it is to be trusted, but to put it frankly, Eddie loves fucking you. He could do it for hours, for days, probably until the combined forces of exhaustion and dehydration knocked him out cold, if he lost his grip on restraint. It never really occurred to him that this could be any different. 

You decide on a Friday, after dinner. Plenty of time for both play and comfort, no looming alarms to dread come morning. The day went by as usual, but when you sit down to eat, neither of you have much to say. He catches you staring. Again and again, cutting your eyes away in shyness each time. Getting impatient.

For once, you eat faster than him. When you’re done, you stand to put your plate in the sink and return to him with awkward, scattered energy, crossing your arms like it’s your first time trying to. 

“...I’m gonna get ready for bed,” you tell him simply. 

Eddie lets out the smirk he’s been sitting on. “Okay, baby.” It does something to you, makes you twitch. He stops you before you rush down the hall to escape. “...You’re sure you still wanna do this?”

Your feet catch awkwardly on the carpet as you turn back to face him, and your smile, unusually wide and giddy with nerves, makes his chest swell with warmth. If it was up to him, he’d jump on you right here and now, but probably not in the way you’d want him to. “I’m really sure.”

“Great,” he says. “Then… I’ll be right behind you.”

Eddie takes his time. Finishes his food, packs away the leftovers, washes the dishes in the sink—wouldn’t want them to crust over. There are a few stray food scraps on the floor, close to hidden beneath the cabinet ledge, so he decides to go ahead and sweep the entire kitchen, neglected lately.

Then, he heads for the bathroom. Turning off lights as he goes, Eddie squints through the dark and thinks that this feels correct. This is where he should be, preparing for something like this. He really wants to see you but he isn’t sure he’s ready yet, and he wants even more to get it right for you. He’s so happy, so happy that you found it in you to share it with him, knowing how awful it could be in the wrong hands. When you’d gone to sleep that night, Eddie stayed awake a while longer and teared up at the thought. No one else, you’d said. You never told anyone else but him. 

Eddie brushes his teeth, washes his face. He fiddles with his hair, for some reason. As if a wayward strand might ruin the fantasy for you. He considers taking a shower, too, to cool himself off, but he knows both of you will need one afterwards anyway, and you must be getting antsy waiting for him. He pictures you squirming, sighing, grinding your needy thighs together. 

And he thinks about your thighs, and the precious flower between them. How it opens up and takes him in, holds him tight and loves him just as much as you do; gushes with it. Your stomach, round and plush, his favorite plane to sink his teeth into. The swell of your chest and the pretty little jewels that dot either side, that tense and stiffen under his fingertips. Every bit as meek and sensitive as the rest of you. He figured it’s for the best if he’s already there before he gets started, and knowing he’ll get to touch you soon, to ravish you just the way you want, it doesn’t take long at all.

Eddie pushes the door in and finds you waiting with purposeful unawareness, your back to him at the far side of the bed. For a moment, he just smiles, and his nose scrunches with endearment. Your shoulder tensed up to your ear at the sound of his arrival, and it stays there as you sit in anticipation. Stepping inside, he closes the door behind him and makes his way towards his side of the bed, pulling the unneeded shirt over his head, tossing it aside.

“...Baby, you awake?” He knows you are, but he gives you the chance to pretend anyway. Your answer is a non-committal hum that scrunches his nose a second time. 

He kneels onto the bed and crawls nearer, watching your partly-obscured profile. His hand lands on your upper arm and squeezes and you hum again—more distinctly reluctant this time. He figures that’s the go-ahead.

Eddie’s much more heavy-handed than usual in stealing a kiss from you; starting the game. Leaning over you, he takes you by your jaw and turns your head towards him, smashing an indulgent kiss into your lips and drinking in your cute, startled peep. 

Only, then, you try to make him stop—tugging at his wrist, turning your head away from him—and on instinct he lets you go with a hot prod of anxiety. Did he fuck it up already? Is this not what you wanted?

But when you mumble your timid complaint (“I’m not in the mood, Eddie”) and turn away from him again, it clicks into place. 

…Right, yeah, that’s how this works. You’re going to reject him, unambiguously, over and over and over again, and he’s supposed to ignore it every time. He knew that on paper, but seeing it in action, experiencing what it feels like to be told no by you and pretend it doesn’t matter, hits him somewhere hard to place.

But it’s what you want, so he keeps going. He grabs your shoulder far meaner than the real Eddie ever would and yanks you onto your back, lays himself over you to plant his mouth onto yours again, and when you whine into his lips he pushes even harder, forcing his tongue inside. You don’t mean to moan, probably, but when you do, Eddie’s tension deflates with a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Squirming beneath him, you push at his chest with both hands, harder and harder until he finally relents and gives you room to breathe.

“What are you doing?” you gasp, wide-eyes flitting all over his face, and it gives him pause again. He’s…doing what you asked him to—what you want him to, even if it feels like anything but. 

“Need you bad, honey,” he murmurs, playing his own part a little belatedly, and his hands slide down to squeeze at your thighs. “Open up.”

“I told you, I’m not in the mood tonight.”

“It won’t take long,” he assures you. “Open up.”

Your brow furrows deep and tight, somewhere sadder than confused. “I don’t want to.”

Eddie pushes out a sharp sigh, gives you a look. He knows what to say, but it takes a moment to convince himself to let out with it. “...Sweetheart, I’m not asking.”

That clearly did it for you—nearly sent your eyes rolling back. There’s a fire in them, a pinprick of red-hot excitement even as you press your thighs tighter together, and he realizes, once again, that you aren’t going to help him out at all. 

He forces his hands into the space between your thighs and abruptly wrenches them apart, and the gasp you suck in at the feeling of it is definitely real. Eddie stifles a grimace. He hopes that wasn’t your full strength he was fighting. If it really is that easy to make you, he could’ve gone his whole life without knowing it. 

You have made it easy for him in one regard. Between your nightgown—really just an oversized tshirt, already riding up above your hips—and the thin, lacy excuse for a pair of panties you’ve got on beneath it, he has as much access as he possibly could without having to try and wrestle you out of your clothes. He’ll hardly even have to move anything out of the way.

You’re also fucking soaked, thank God. More than you usually are without a little help, but maybe you’d been helping yourself while you waited for him. It’s a strange feeling. Relieving for substantiating how you truly feel about what he’s doing, a little concerning (or, at the very least, puzzling) for whatever the hell that might mean. What is it that this asshole is doing for you that Eddie himself is failing to? 

He takes himself out of his pants, still pulsing at the thought of you, and sucks air through his teeth as he drags his fist from base to tip, trying to work himself up a little more. When he goes to line up, your hands fly between your legs, trying to hide yourself from him, but it isn’t too hard to snatch them up and hold them out of his way. You aren’t really fighting back, just trying to seem like you are. He tugs the thin seat of your panties aside and notches his cock at your entrance, then lays his weight over you. 

“Don’t,” you beg. “Eddie, please don’t!” The drop of panic in your voice is way too convincing. His heart sinks a few inches in his chest.

“Stay still, honey,” he tries to comfort—that part at least comes naturally. He’s psyching himself up to it. You told him explicitly not to prepare you; that it’s okay if it hurts a little, that you even sort of want it to, but he didn’t realize how intimidating that request really was until now. “...It’s okay. Just stay still.”

“No, baby, you can’t—”

He jerks his hips, pushes halfway in with one sharp thrust, and hisses through his teeth as he does. He’s never felt you like this before, without having been teased open on his fingers or his tongue first, and you’re wet enough for the sound of it to squelch, but he’s surprised to discover he can feel that it isn’t quite right all on his own. It’s too tense, shocked rigid, trying to evict him. At the same time, you gasp like his penetration removed some deadly blockage from your airways, and Eddie freezes, watching your face with cold sweat dripping down his sides. Your jaw hangs open, panting, brow pinched and hips squirming with overwhelm. When you meet his eye and find him staring, waiting, gritting his teeth, you give him the slightest nod you can manage, and Eddie continues. 

He slowly pulls his hips back and snaps them in another mean thrust that delves even deeper, sending you moaning in pain or delight. Mouth dipped down beside your ear, he shushes you as sweetly as he can while doing such an awful thing. Grasping for any gentleness he can find. He’d like to kiss you again, but he’s reluctant to create any obstacle if you need to tell him to stop.

“It hurts,” you whine. 

It’s supposed to, he reminds himself. You might even be pretending. “...It’ll pass, sweetheart, I promise.”

One more thrust, a kiss to your neck in tandem, and he’s fully sheathed inside. You cry out, and he’s pretty sure it’s pleasure—your thighs twitch like they always do when you’re excited to be full of him. Eddie pulls out again and sinks right back in, starting up a deep, powerful rhythm that makes you mewl beneath him. It almost puts a smile on his face.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he teases, planting a kiss on your cheek.

“No,” you insist, indignant. You’re still putting up your weak impression of a fight, pushing at his chest and digging your nails in, scratching him, but every ruthless thrust he gives you punches a clipped little moan out of you, surprised by the force each time.

Eddie dips his face into your neck, starts to work his teeth into you. “Don’t lie to me, baby,” he murmurs. “Know just what you like.”

He does his best to hold you still, pin you down. He’s been too focused on you to really think about his own pleasure, but when it finally occurs to him to take stock, he startles. It’s not that you don’t feel good—you always feel good—but it’s almost like he’s slowly going numb to it. Eddie abruptly picks up the pace, trying to remedy it, and you cry your noisy pleasure beneath him, but it doesn’t change much. It’s hot and slick and tight, and it’s you, but there’s no…momentum to it, no steady build-up for him to manage, no urgency. 

And that wouldn’t really matter to him, since the point of all this is getting you off, but he can feel himself waning. The aching tightness he always succumbs to when you play with each other begins on its own to slump in disinterest, and the frustration of it grits his teeth together. 

There’s a cold little pit in the bottom of his gut warding off the blood that should be pumping excitedly through it, and it dawns on him that, for the first time, entirely in absence of weed or alcohol or pure, concentrated nerves, Eddie probably can’t keep it up long enough to get you off. And just then, while he’s already flirting with the dread of poor performance, your voice warbles out once more, as frail as he’s ever heard it.

“...Eddie, please.”

The hair on the back of his neck stands up. It’s a sob. You sound like you’re going to cry; like you’ve been crying, and crying, and you just can’t seem to stop. Like you’re miserable, devastated, and it’s entirely and exclusively his fault. A ripple of intense aversion whips down his spine and spreads to the end of each limb, abruptly contracting his muscles to push and tear him off of you, out of you. Sitting back on his knees, eyes squinted shut, he grunts and shakes his head to cast away the awful feeling.

“...Eddie? Are you okay?” He can feel you shifting, starting to sit up.  

“Fuck, I’m sorry, baby,” he says, rubbing sweaty hands over his face. The shame hits him next, sinking him lower—knowing that he’s done it again. He should’ve hit pause as soon as something felt off or done anything other than grit his teeth and assume it’ll pass, and now you’ll think it’s your fault. “I… Shit. I don’t think I can do this.”

A little silence stretches out. Eddie drops his hands to hide his wilting dick away and finds your big eyes flitting all over him, stunned; your hand trembling in front of your mouth.

“...Okay.” You hardly manage to squeeze it out. He can already hear the lump in your throat. “...I’m sorry.”

The thought of you crying scrubs his nerves even rawer. “No, no, c’mere.” He guides you to sit up with him all the way so he can wrap his arms around you, touching you with the warmth he’s been dying to all along, and he sighs in relief. He presses firm kisses to your temple, your cheek. “S’not your fault, not at all, okay? I’m fine, we’re both fine.”

You wrap your arms around his back, holding him just as snugly, and your voice is muffled into his chest. “I don’t wanna make you do something you don’t like.”

“You aren't, honey, I promise,” he assures you, squeezing you even tighter. “I said we'd try it and we did. That's exactly how it's supposed to work.”

You say, “Okay,” and nuzzle into him harder, and Eddie rests his head against yours as you breathe together, calm each other down. But a frown starts to grow on his face. He knows why he couldn’t do it—it curdled his stomach to make you feel like that, like the months he’d spent adoring you mattered less than a few minutes of empty pleasure, make-believe or not—but he can’t for the life of him figure out what you found enjoyable in all of that. You like it when he’s a little mean, he knows that, and he likes giving you a hard time just as much. But forcing himself on you; this quiet tragedy you’ve been so eager to play out. His heart pounds with anxiety just thinking about it. He never thought it would feel so real.

“...Maybe I just don’t understand,” he says. “The…appeal of it, I guess. What you’re getting out of this.”

You freeze up in his arms. “I…”

Carefully, he eases you back until he can see you, your eyes flickering over his chest in unease, and he holds both your hands in his own. “I’m not judging you, sweetheart, I swear to God. I get being…rough, y’know, and pushy. But I… can’t really wrap my head around why you’d want someone to treat you like this.”

“...I don’t know,” you mumble, but Eddie’s eye is well attuned to you. He thinks you might know, but you’re too frightened to admit it.

He sighs. “I just… I really hope you don’t think you deserve that, or—”

“No, it's not— I don’t,” you sputter out, reassuringly horrified. “I promise I don’t. It’s just… I don’t know. It's only because it's you.” 

Eddie frowns, unsettled on instinct by the sound of that, but he stays quiet. Leaves you the room to creep out of your shell on your own. You chew hard on your bottom lip before your mouth opens again, and he gives your shaky hands a squeeze.

“...Because I love you, and I trust you, and…you're safe,” you go on. “I know you'd never really do anything like that, and…I like making you feel good.”

Eddie’s heart crushes in. He presses another firm kiss to your temple. “I love you too,” he tells you, but that doesn’t quite explain anything. “...Can you tell me a little more?”

You lick your lips and wrestle yourself to continue, his sweet girl. “The thought of you…needing me that badly, that it makes you mean, that you don't even care. Like I only exist to make you feel good, and that's all that matters, and I’d still love you anyway. …Sometimes I do feel like I'd let you do anything you wanted to me, even things I know you'd never actually want to do, so… it's like, I get to…give you something you'd never even ask for. Something that's sort of…dark, and intense, that I'd never give to anyone else. I don't know what’s…wrong with me, why I like it so much. But it's only because it's you, Eddie.”

“Nothing’s wrong with you, baby,” he reminds you softly, cupping your cheek and stroking his thumb over it. You aren’t crying outright, but the extra water in your eyes is torture. “I told you, I don’t like you talking about yourself like that.” Eddie looks at you and sees the purest fucking angel he’s even known.

“I know,” you sniffle. “I’m sorry.”

He smoothes his palm over your back as he thinks it over. “I…think I get that, sort of, but...you’re making it sound like you’re doing this for me, and I don’t—”

“No, it’s— It’s for me,” you correct. “I know it’s for me, and I know it’s…a lot to ask, so we don’t have to do it again. I don’t ever wanna make you do something that upsets you, Eddie. I’m really sorry.”

When your face starts to contort and your teary eyes blink faster, Eddie sucks his teeth and pulls you back in, and the way you cling onto him brings about a little sting behind his own eyes.

“I’m not upset,” he assures you softly. “Not anymore. Just…worried about you. Makes me scared you don’t love yourself like I do.” 

He sways you lightly back and forth, spreading warm pressure over your back with gentle hands. Relishing the weight and feel and scent of you, the privilege of shrouding you like this.

“I love you so much, Eddie.” The evidence of it trickles down his throat, collects in the pocket of his clavicle.

“God, I love you too, baby.” He still hasn’t found a way to tell you that feels strong enough.  “Like you wouldn’t fucking believe.”

When you settle yourself and your tears have dried, you press your lips to his skin, kissing, kissing, kissing. Soft enough to make him shiver. 

“It’s like…a horror movie, kind of,” you muse as it occurs to you, ticklish against his neck. “It scares you, but…in a good way, cause you aren’t really in danger, and you can stop it whenever you want.” 

Eddie’s mind chews on that and swallows. It goes down much easier than any other way you’ve put it. “...You want me to scare you a little bit.”

You nod into him, and his brain sparks and flares like a firework.

“...I can't do the begging, I don't think,” he decides. “It's just—too real. You’re too good at it. Makes me feel like I'm really hurting you. But…”

He can feel his synapses firing. His eyes flit around as he pieces it together. You want him to scare you, to take from you even if you refuse, but there are a lot of ways to say “no” that don’t make him feel like he should be thrown under the jail and left to rot.

“What if we…kept it physical?” he suggests. “Like play fighting, almost. I'll still, y'know, pin you down and shove it in if you want me to, but it'll be less…”

“Real,” you finish for him. You push back on your own this time, your rosy, searching eyes finding his.

He nods and gives you a little smile. “Not so dark, y’know?”

“...Okay,” you agree. “That sounds good.”

And then, when it looks like you have more to say, Eddie doesn’t even need to prompt you.

“...Could you still say things?” Your stare jumps around, skittish, only landing back on him for a split second at a time. “I just… I like it when you talk.”

He grins and cocks his head to the side. “You mean like, evil asshole things? ‘I'm not asking’ and all that?”

You breathe a laugh out of your nose and bob your head in a timid nod.

“...Yeah, I think so,” he says, scratching his jaw as he thinks about it. “We’ll try it.”

Starry-eyed as you are, Eddie can’t fight the urge to kiss you, and you melt happily into it. Arms thrown around his neck, fingers in his hair, you kiss him like you need him to breathe, each insistent press longer than the last. Eddie’s well and truly love-drunk, humming pleasedly into your mouth, but he doesn’t miss the urgency in it, the way you press yourself into him as close as you can; almost like you’re trying to rile him up, and it isn’t not working. He aspirates a laugh as he finally escapes your affection.

“Wow,” he says, close to breathless. “Did, uh… Did you wanna try it right now?”

“Is that okay?” you breathe, suddenly rigid. Then, quickly: “We don’t have to.” 

He must’ve left you very frustrated, or maybe renegotiating the approach worked you up again. He pinches his eyes at you in fondness.

Eddie thinks about himself, really thinks about it. The dread pit has dissipated, knowing that he doesn’t have to be that guy anymore, seeing you smile again. He feels off, sort of, some distant imprint of it stuck in the back of his mind, but even more than that, he loves you, he loves you, and he wants you. Wants to show you how much he loves you. He was still planning on making you feel good if you wanted him to, even if he couldn’t personally summon the interest to have it reciprocated, but now, he’s probably a fourth of the way hard again already just from the fever in your kiss. If you wanna roughhouse with him so bad, he’s having trouble locating any real desire not to.

“...Yeah, I’m down,” he says, trying not to look too smug at the sight of your relief. “You wanna start right now?”

“Um… First, I should—” 

You cut yourself off to shove your hand into his pants and fish his dick back out of them—bold in your actions if not with your words—and Eddie chokes on a gasp.

“Christ,” he giggles, grunting as you squeeze and tug at him, rub your thumb beneath his slit. “You really need it, huh?”

“Shush,” you tell him.

Either impatient or just suffering a craving, you scoot back, stoop down, and ease him into your mouth. The soft, wet presses of your tongue against his skin open the floodgate, sending the blood rushing in.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he groans, head tipping back in bliss. “...You’re too fuckin’ good to me.”

You keep it up until he’s hard again and a little longer after that, stroking him leisurely with your lips while Eddie pants and shivers above you. Then, you stop. Pull back completely and stare at him like you’re waiting for something, and Eddie’s brow furrows. Is he supposed to start it? He sort of thought you were, but all you’re doing is staring.

You blink at him a couple times, and just before he can ask what you’re doing, if you’re alright, if you still want to do this, you scramble off the side of the bed. He watches you with a frown for three leisurely steps, but when you throw a coy glance at him over your shoulder, it snaps into place.

A big, wolfish grin tears across his face. “Where do you think you're going, missy?”

Eddie starts after you with enough speed to make you gasp, easily catching around the middle, dragging you back towards the bed.

“Let go,” you complain, but his arms don’t budge.

“Not a chance.”

Eddie braces himself, squats down a little, and then lifts you clean off your feet, throwing you face-down onto the bed and grinning wider at the squeal that flies out of you. He grabs you by your hips and turns you onto your back, and you stare up at him with bewildered eyes and a disbelieving smile, like you didn’t think he’d actually be able to toss you around like this. Naturally, it goes straight to his head.

Then comes the fighting. You raise your arms and your legs trying to fend him off, shield yourself; shoving away his attempts to tug at your dress or stick his hand between your thighs, and neither of you can stop from smiling as Eddie struggles to push his way in, finally securing your wrists over your head and yanking your dress up. 

“No, Eddie, stop,” you whine, still squirming. It's petulant, the same tone you use when he's acting immature, annoying the hell out of you for fun.

“Nope,” he says, remorseless. “You're all mine.” He slaps his fingers down over your slit to prove it, and you jolt in surprise.

“You're being mean!”

He scoffs at the accusation. “No, I'm not. You got me hard as a fucking rock, babe, and your actions have consequences.”

You laugh—it bubbles out before you can stifle it—and Jesus Christ, this is so much better. You’re defiant, sure, putting up a fight and playing annoyed as much as you can, but you aren’t resigned to hopeless sorrow like earlier. There’s a buzzing energy between you, a tension of excitement more than sheer intensity—you fight like hell to keep the smile off your face and Eddie lets his stretch deviously across his cheeks, feeling closer to a raunchy cartoon villain than any sort of genuine predator. 

“But I don’t want to,” you whine again, frowning your sweet face up at him. Eddie grabs you by the jaw, and your eyes pop wider.

“You’re adorable, sweetheart,” he coos, squishing your cheeks and staring down his nose at you with all the love in the world. Your pupils spread wide and dark, inviting him into their fire. “...Since when have I ever gave a shit what you wanted?”

-

The art that spoke to me is here: My Favorite Vassal And the NSFW version is here: Holy Cats

Part 1: Parallel

Only one more day of traveling and they would be back in Azuchi. They had shared stories, laughter and comfortable silence. He looked down at the woman who now napped, her head gently upon his chest. Sleeping without a care in the world. He knew there was another inn they would happen upon soon, and he decided that now was as good time as any to stop so he could get some rest before the final stretch to get home. He pulled on the reins to stop the horse in front of the doors of the inn and looked down at MC. “My lady? I hate to wake you, but we must stop for awhile.”

Sleepy eyes fluttered open from the woman before abruptly sitting up. She blinked and took in the unfamiliar surroundings. “I guess I fell asleep. Are we very close to home?”

His soft smile and quiet voice affirmed that they were close, but that both the horse and he needed to rest after being on the path for hours. The door to the inn slid open and a youthful boy bounded out. After introductions, Kyubei helped MC off the horse, and handed the reins over to have the horse taken care of while the pair went inside. “I only have one room left,” the innkeeper said, bowing apologetically.

“That’s fine. We’ll take it,” brazenly the HC haired woman spoke before she innocently looked up at the man who was stunned into silence.

Handing over coin, the pair followed the innkeeper to a room in the middle of the inn. “My lady, if you’ll allow me to check everything out first please.” He slid the door open and stepped inside to do a thorough check of the room. Satisfied, he drew back the door and gestured to HC. “It’s safe Princess.”

She stepped into the room and looked around and noted that the bedding was folded in the corner. MC crossed the room and picked it up when a knock interrupted the quiet. The innkeeper announced she had brought tea, as Kyubei opened the door to humbly accept the tray, MC set out the bedding.

“Oh let me please!” MC sat across the dark-haired man as he set the tray down. She gracefully poured him a cup and handed it to him before serving herself. “It’s the least I can do for you.” The refreshing liquid warmed her, and she closed her eyes, savoring the taste. “Princess, I take it you like the tea?” Her face blushed pink as EC orbs flew open and Kyubei’s met hers with a smile. MC put her cup down and gestured to the futon, “Yes. I want you to go ahead and sleep. I’ve had a nap, so I’m not even tired. There’s still light out, so I’ll probably read one of the books I see in the corner over there. I can wake you when dinner is served.”

“Oh but my lady, I really shouldn’t-“

“You should and you will. You’re exhausted. I promise I won’t leave this room while you are here. Think of it as me guarding you as you sleep for once.”

He eyed her carefully, not wanting to put her in the position of having to guard him. It was such a foreign concept: someone looking out for him, especially since he was so used to being the one doing the protecting. But they did stop so he could rest, and his body was begging him to do so. Slowly, he nodded his head. “Alright, my lady. But I am going to keep my sword at my side just in case.”

He didn’t undress, nor did he lay on the futon, but beside it. Understandably she was confused and looked at him as she held one of the books in her hand. “I want you to be able to rest comfortably on a clean futon tonight, Princess. I will be fine here.” He turned over and slept then, his sword perched next to his frame. MC took the book and silently crossed the room to be closer to the light.

There she stayed, lost in the book and to time, when a very soft knock came to the door, startling her from her page. Silently, she crossed the room, slid the door open and accepted the tray. After the door shut behind her, she set it down and looked over the simple meal. She looked to the Kyubei, who had stirred out of his slumber and sat up. “Princess?”

“Behind you, Kyubei. Come eat.” MC poured the fresh tea into a cup and offered it to him, and then poured her own. They ate in silence, a comfort to them both, occasionally catching each other’s eyes, with MC blushing and looking to her bowl of rice. Night fell, and she looked at the futon, suddenly self-conscious of the situation. Sensing her apprehensiveness, Kyubei excused himself to do a check of the perimeter of the inn. MC knew he partly did this as a courtesy to her. Dressing down to her yukata, she slipped under the blanket and pulled it to her chin. The silence was deafening. She was uncomfortable being alone when she was always comfortable before. What is this? She wondered. Was it because of this instance of him having to accompany her to the festival? Or was it the number of times she shared in his company? She wasn’t sure. She only knew the room was smaller and dimmer without him in it.

Her thoughts led to when she watched him sleep earlier. Her eyes peeked over the book, and saw his hair gathered over his neck, spilling onto the floor. She wanted to comb her fingers through the dark locks. To caress his cheek. To run her fingers down his chest. Tempting thoughts sent signals tingling through her body, and her hands sought to grab onto a breast while the other parted her yukata to push against the sensitivity of her pearl. A gasp and a moan lifted from her lips, and she drew her thighs tight to attempt to stave off the want of pleasure. Yet she could not hold herself back as she pushed and rubbed her finger lightly over herself, exhaling, while the blanket rubbed along her skin

The shoji slid open, and inside stepped Kyubei. As the screen shut, he watched the lady, tucked into the futon, move her legs slowly, the blanket crawling with the outline of her. He needed to leave. He was interrupting. He turned-

“Kyubei,” her breathy voice broke the air. “Please, I need… you.”

His head swiveled, and his eyes caught hers. The desperation written on her face and the hand reaching out to him was all he needed. This woman he fantasized about called out to him. Mesmerized, he reached out and took her hand, pulling her to sit up. He brought his large hands tenderly to her face. He studied her, his thumbs running over the smoothness of her cheeks. He leaned towards her and touched his lips to hers. Gentle, yet urgently, he touched his tongue between her lips, coaxing them to open for him. MC obliged Kyubei, a moan muffled by their kiss.

She pulled away first. Reflections of him swam in her pools of vision. She brought her hand up to his hair and paused. Boldly, she slowly weaved her fingers into the darkness of it, her eyes flitting from his and to her hand while his finger trailed along her jawline. Pausing, he took her chin in his hand tilting her head toward him. "I apologize my dear lady, but I could not help myself." Eyes glazed over with lust, she gave no answer, instead taking his hand into hers kissing along his fingers and gently wrapping her tongue around one and brought it into her mouth. The erotic act made him hiss. MC smiled to hear his satisfaction.

Slipping his finger from her tongue, his warm hand took ahold of the back of her head and tilted it, while the other tugged on the lady’s yukata to bear her shoulder. His warm lips tenderly kissed just under her earlobe and down to linger on her collarbone, sending an uncontrollable shiver down her spine. “Ah!”

She hungrily pulled at his haori. Kyubei pulled back with a chuckle and swiftly removed the clothing that constrained him. He has the smile of a thousand suns, MC thought as she delicately traced her fingers along the hardened muscles of his torso. She felt the sensation of her yukata’s sash being untied. The rough pads of his fingers traced the ivory cream of her shoulders and down her arms, the yukata slipping off.

He took the time to look at her. Disrobed, she gleamed in the light of the lantern. He felt the shiver of her frame when his hand weaved down her chest. Featherlight touches of both hands traced the outlines of her breasts, rolling over each pink peak. Kyubei felt her body jerk towards him. He looked at her face, cheeks hot, half lidded eyes with want, and her mouth. Pouty and begging.

His lips, soft as petals, kissed the silk of her skin. His tongue found solace and he suckled her. Purring from the sensation, she tangled her hands into his hair, passionately holding him close. His arms enveloped her; warm, strong, and just as needy. His fingers caught the other bud of her bosom, gently pinching it before capturing it in between his teeth. MC threw her head back, hissing a curse under her breath. She felt him smile against her.

Arms released from around her suddenly and his hands met with each side of her face. He moved her head so she faced him. “My lady MC? Is this something you want? Are you certain?” He had to see the answer on her face, hear it from her lips. He watched her nod and heard her whisper. “Yes.” He kissed her slowly and drew her tongue out of hiding to engage him.

MC felt strong arms around her once more, this time, slowly lowering her to the futon, her HC hair splaying across the futon, spilling onto the tatami mat. She looked up to see him hovering over her. A hand reached up and untied his hair, allowing a dark waterfall to shield their faces from the rest of the world. The lady traced her fingers over his collarbone to his shoulders. Were they always this broad? She tenderly touched where his skin held scars. She felt his hand snake down her body, caressing her in a slow, agonizing manner. His knee shifted between her legs, his fingers teased her inner thigh, and she opened up to him.

He could feel her heat emanating. Delicately, Kyubei grazed his fingers along the swell of her and dipped his fingers inside. Her gasp broke the night air. Slowly, he moved his hand, and was met with an impatient thrust of her hips. She shuddered in delight as two more fingers slowly dived inside her. His quickening pace made the woman under him writhe. The pad of his thumb delicately, but rapidly circled her pearl. He felt her hands grasp at him in desperation as her mewling quickly became moans of bliss.

“K-Kyubei, I’m going to---” He felt her squeeze around his fingers and continued to thrust to allow her to ride out her euphoria. Removing his hand, he languidly sucked her sweetness dripping down his hand as she rubbed her thighs together. He looked to see her free hand journeying toward her center.

He gently took her wrist and smiled at her. His low voice whispered, “Princess, allow me to give myself over to you.” Watching her slowly nod, he released her wrist and sat up on his knees to settle himself between her legs. His tip rubbed against the glistening wet heat of her, teasing them both. With a moan, he guided himself slowly, inch by inch, inside.

Her breath hitched as he entered, and she relaxed under him the more he filled her. Ever the gentleman, he gave her time to adjust before he moved against her. The pleasure of feeling him inside was almost unbearable. She bucked herself against him, spurring him to drive into her with quicker thrusts. He watched as she squirmed with delight, eyes shut tight, grabbing the futon in a feeble attempt to keep herself grounded.

She felt a hand trail down her skin. MC opened her eyes and felt an electrifying shock as his thumb gently caressed her bud. MC cried out his name, her hand reaching out to grasp his shoulders to pull him down to her, boldly kissing him as his thumb fondled her relentlessly. Wrapping her legs around him, she panted, “Harder, Kyubei, please! I need you!”

Lifting her hips in hunger, he slammed against her, sweat beading down his body and onto her. He became primal then, digging his fingers into the flesh of her hips, taking pride in hearing the hoarseness of her moans.

“I’m c-coming!” Her grip landed on his back, digging her nails in, causing him to hiss. MC’s legs snaked around him, holding him tight against her.

He too felt his release approaching as he felt her walls constrict around him. Covered in perspiration, he thrust into her one final time, an audible affirmation sealing his satisfaction. Exhausted, he collapsed on her, his hair falling over her face, the only sound was their ragged breathing

Kyubei lifted his head and smiled down at the woman under him. “My princess…

She placed her hot hands on his cheeks and brought his forehead to her lips. “I love you too,” the lady whispered.