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luveline · 2 years

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𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary You're having trouble sleeping and pot seems like the only solution. Good thing your dealer, Eddie Munson, knows of another method that he's willing to to teach you. You get more than you bargained for when he tells you what he gets off to every night - you. [8.8k]

warnings 18+ only smut, fem!reader, eddie teaches you how to masturbate, p in v sex, light praise kink, mutual pining/lusting, lots of kissing, dirty talk, weed ment, aftercare, they are not so secretly infatuated with one another, eddie is a soft dork but also dirty <3 r implied as dressing very femininely

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Eddie kneels outside his trailer.

You stop at the lip of the grass and wonder what he's doing. His back is to you, covered by a band shirt familiar even from this angle and riddled with rips and moth holes. You're about to call out to him when he speaks.

"You're hot, huh, sweetheart?" Softer than you've ever heard him. "Why don't you go inside? Escape the heat, yeah?"

You approach slowly, footfall smothered by the lush green underfoot. He's scratching behind the ears of a tabby cat.

"It's so hot out! The sun's gonna cook you," he says, whisper-shouting.

Like the tabby can understand what he's saying it stands, stretches tall and then slinks off into the trailer. "Good girl," Eddie says, standing up.

"Are you collecting strays?" you ask lightly.

He turns to you, surprised but not scared. "Don't worry, you're still my favourite."

Good girl. His words ring loud between both ears. "I'm not a stray."

"Uh-huh. What's my shy girl want today?" You spin on your heel and Eddie starts laughing. "Sorry, I'm sorry! Come on, you'll like what I have!"

"You know I can't talk to you when you get like this," you tell him, pouting from over your shoulder.

He pushes a mess of black curls behind his ear and beckons you forward. "Come on," he says, sing-song. "Let daddy set you up."

"Jesus Christ," you mutter, following Eddie into his house unhappily.

You hate when he gets in this mood, not because he's ever really made you uncomfortable, but because you like to be teased, and he knows it. Or he likes watching you squirm. Either way, it's dangerous territory.

"How much did you want?" he asks.

The cool inside of his trailer is a blessing. You hold your naked arms away from your skin and try to take a deep breath of cool air. "I have thirty dollars. So… however much that is."

"Babe, what the fuck do you want so much for?" he asks, glancing over his shoulder at you incredulously.

You follow him into his room. "Do you not have it?" you ask, tracing posters you've seen upwards of ten times by now. Eddie's a good dealer – reliable, sweet, and prone to freebies without any pervy requests in place.

He once swapped you an eighth for a cheap charm bracelet. He wears it now, the silver delicate and entirely too sweet for his metalhead appearance. It looks good on him, anyhow.

He pulls open the usual lunchbox you hadn't noticed sitting on one of his amps and pulls out more pot than you've ever seen at one time. "Don't I?"

"Woah."

"Uh-huh. Ern't she preddy?" he asks in a drawing southern accent.

You hold out your hands and he lets you take it. When you open the zip lock bag, the smell isn't awful. The buds are thick with green fuzz, and your eyes water.

You pass it back to him. "How much can I have for thirty?"

"For you? Half."

"Don't do that, Eddie. Gimme what you'd give anyone else."

"But you're not anyone else, babe. You're my favourite customer."

"I'm gonna put you out of business," you say, lightly chiding. "Can I sit down?"

He hums and nods and you sit cross legged at the top of his bed. His bed sheets are pushed away and the space is cold. His pillow under your hand is colder.

Eddie doesn't bother weighing it. You roll your eyes at him but also feel amazingly happy, because it's a lot of pot for not a lot of money, because his favouritism speaks for what you hope might be a small crush. Still, when he passes you the new bag you feel guilty.

"Eddie, I can't take that. I know that's more than thirty."

His eyebrows jump. "I don't care. What's the point in doing this if I can't give pretty girls a little something extra?"

"I don't know. To make money?"

He holds out the bag. You don't take it. "Fine," he says, sighing.

"Thank you." You watch him fish three or four bigger buds out of the bag. He presents you with a much more reasonable amount, his hands stained with the smell. "Thank you," you say again.

"Yeah. Wanna stay and watch a movie?"

You've known Eddie since middle school. Classmates, not really friends, not not friends, though ever since you've started buying a small kinship has blossomed between you.

"What movie?"

"Whatever you want."

You nibble the inside of your lip. "You'll roll up for me?"

"Sure will."

So you end up on Eddie's couch with the tabby cat that isn't his purring heavily on your lap as he rolls a couple of joints for you. You won't smoke anything until tonight so Eddie drops them into your newly acquired ziplock bag with papers and the leftover bud.

He sniffs. "So, you're not sleeping?" he asks knowingly, straightening out with a groan and disappearing out of view into the kitchenette. You're a total overthinker. Pot helps you calm down.

"I'm sleeping."

"After toking up."

"There's…" You scratch the vibrating cat behind its ears, frowning to yourself. "Worse things to do."

"Better ones, though. Hey, do you want a drink?"

You say no and he brings you a glass of water anyways. His hands smell strongly of hand soap and faintly of weed as he passes it to you. You take it carefully, wary of disturbing your cuddle partner.

"Like what?" you ask.

"Cranking one out, for starters."

You wince, afraid to bring the lip of the glass to your mouth in case you choke on it. "Anything else?"

"Running?" Eddie suggests, sitting with you but leaving a more than comfortable gap between your legs.

"Not my thing," you murmur.

It's weird, but anything above murmuring feels like shouting in the calm of his home. The movie plays on the TV and the cat purs, Eddie spreads his legs out and slouches into the cushions, his face surrounded by dark hair. He smiles at you like he always does, amicable if slightly flirty.

"Maybe pot is your only option," he says mournfully. He pulls a lock of hair in front of his face and his eyebrows pinch together. "Make sure you brush your teeth after though. Or you'll get bad teeth."

"Bad teeth?"

"Smoking ruins your pearls."

You put down your glass of water and weave your fingers into the cat's rough fur. Eddie is really nice. Really really nice. And he probably likes you, so… what's the worst that could happen, by asking?

I'm only asking, you decide.

"Eddie," you say softly, disrupting a big tobacco rant that he'd started. "What- when you say cranking one out, that's-"

"You know." He holds his hand above his crotch and squeezes the air. You feel a terrible heat start to collect in your abdomen. "Five to one? Uh- Nulling the void?" He grasps for words at your lost expression. "Making soup?"

His voice goes high. You think he's as embarrassed as you are, and you're not gonna ask again. You giggle. "Oh, right."

He drops his hand heavy against the seat of his pants and leans back. "Crank one out and sleep like a log."

"That works for you?" you ask tentatively.

"Every night."

You sink down into the couch and hide your face in cat fur. Eddie starts asking about how your job is, a genuine, earnest interest that further cements your next decision. You clear your throat.

"Eddie, can I ask you something?" He grins and waves his hand. "When you," you wince, "'make soup', do you just- how do you…" You slink down so far you're almost falling off of the couch. "How do you make yourself-" You gesture to your pelvis and then screw your hand into a fist, self-conscious.

He blinks. "Finish?"

You look at the chain around his neck rather than his face. "Yeah."

"Are you asking me because you want to know how I do it, or because you don't know how to do it to yourself?"

You rub your cheek with your shoulder. "The second option."

"Shit," he mutters.

"Sorry, you don't have to- I just thought-"

Eddie sits up. He looks more serious than he had before but not any less patient, elbows braced on his knees and head propped up in his hand. He parts his fingers over his lips.

"You don't know how?" he asks.

"I must've missed that lesson in sex ed," you try to joke. It comes out awkward. Eddie laughs anyways, a huff of breath.

"Lucky you, I've sat through sex ed three times." He grins brilliantly, but his joking tone softens when he sees your hesitant expression. "If you wanna know, I'm happy to tell you."

"Are you sure?"

"We're friends, right? What are friends for?" You don't miss the sarcastic twist to his words or his ironic smile.

Friends like you and Eddie likely aren't meant to be giving one another lessons on masturbation. But really, he's the only person you know who you could ask and wouldn't feel totally looked down on. Eddie's nice to his core, but better – he doesn't judge.

You struggle to know what to ask.

The cat chooses this moment to wake and jump off of you, strutting out of the trailer's open door and back into the sunlight without so much as a grateful look back.

And now you're alone with him.

"How's your anatomy?" he asks. You shake your head slowly. "You know, grade wise? Are we passing? B? B-? C?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Munson."

"Do you know what's what?" he asks concisely.

You sit up and press your knees together, suddenly very aware of your 'anatomy'. "I think so."

He purses his lips for a few seconds before shrugging. "Alright. We can work with that." Eddie pushes his cheek into the couch and looks at your face unflinching as he says, "You know what your clit is?"

You cringe. Full body.

Eddie shrugs. "What? That's what it's called. You don't have to be embarrassed about it."

"I know what it is."

"And you can't make yourself-"

"No."

He doesn't miss your frustration. "Hey, hey, it's fine. Some people think that it's, like, a magic on-button, but it's not. There's a whole process."

"How do you know?" you ask genuinely.

His answering smile is wolfish. "I'm in a band, babe. Fucking a guitarist is like, a bucket list thing or some shit. Girls will tell you exactly what they want if you're willing to listen."

Something about his knowing look has your heart skipping a beat. Maybe two. He pushes his hand across the couch and you're not sure if it's on purpose or accident, only that he's leaning in, a small smile on his face.

"And I'm a damn good listener."

You meet his eyes and know what he's offering. He waits, ring heavy fingers splayed wide in the space between you. It's the sight of them – thick, long and adorned in string-wrought calluses – that tips you over the edge.

He's already pulling back with a reassuring smile on his face, lips parted to likely say something too nice when you interrupt him.

"Will you teach me?" you ask quietly.

A split-second of surprise is quickly overtaken by enthusiasm. "You're not high, are you?"

"No."

He gets up to close the door and starts for his room. You linger on the couch uselessly and he doubles back, hand on the wall. "Are you coming?"

The noise from the TV fades as you walk down the hall and into his room. Your socked foot nudges into a tower of books close to the door and you reach out to steady them. Eddie pulls the sheets back into place and flicks on the lamp. He pauses by the stereo before turning that on, too.

A song you don't recognise starts to play. Eddie climbs up onto his bed and stands there for a second, suddenly very tall. "You wanna take off your jacket?"

"It's a cardigan." You peel the thin white cotton off of your shoulders and shift from foot to foot, unsure of yourself.

Eddie settles on his knees, pulls off his rings. "It's pretty. Come here," he says, holding out his arms.

You slide onto the bed cautiously, naked calves rubbing against the sheets. You feel as though every sense has been dialled to eleven; you're thinking about every brush of fabric, every small sound that they make.

Eddie takes one of your hands and you sit with one leg crossed and the other hanging off the edge of the bed, surprised at his soft touch. He soothes your hand and brings it to his lap, eyes on your now-bared shoulders.

"You dress real pretty." He says it with his usual dramatics, though there's enough sincerity there to make you smile.

You look down at your delicate clothes thoughtfully. "You think so?"

"Mh-hm. It suits you," he says as he drums his thumbs against the back of your hand.

He pushes one palm up the length of your arm and pulls it towards him at the same time. You've never been touched like this before and you want it bad, shuffling towards him with a shameful speed. He takes it in stride, hand bumping up the hill of your shoulder. His index finger slides under the skinny strap of your top and tugs at it playfully.

"You look sweet. Really sweet," he says, his voice more hushed than before. His eyes drop to your thighs. "You'll have to take those off, though."

"My shirt too?" you ask weakly, eyebrows pinched up at the starts.

"Not if you don't want to." You hesitate. He takes your thigh into a big hand and gives you a small shake. "It's okay. Take your time. Or, if you changed your mind, that's totally cool."

"No, I haven't," you deny, voice trembling with a mixture of nerves and anticipation. You kick your legs out in front of you one at a time and ease your shorts over the slopes of your thighs and calves, pushing them off of his bed with your feet.

“If you change your mind at any point-“

“I’ll tell you,” you say, nodding as you pull your knees together.

Eddie manoeuvres so he’s close, twisted toward you with his hand braced by your thigh. The cold metal of the charm bracelet you'd swapped him bites into your skin. If you leaned back and he leaned forward, he could kiss you. You think maybe he has the same idea as his eyes dart to your lips.

They linger.

He blinks and it’s gone.

“I’m gonna rub your leg,” he says quietly, “and when I get to the inside, I’m gonna touch you. Okay?”

As he says it, his hand moves onto your thigh. Down to your knee.

Slowly, so slowly, back up. His fingers caress the inside of your thigh. He pauses.

“‘Kay,” you whisper.

His fingers flex over your flesh as he draws in. Then, like a shock, his fingertips press to your underwear.

“I’m not surprised,” he says steadily, fingers brushing over your cunt, ghosting but never truly touching where you want him to.

“By what?”

“That you wear such cute panties.” He strokes the hem with the tip of his finger and you hold your breath as he slides it under the elastic, running the fabric over his digit gently. “S’exactly the kind of thing I pictured you wearing.”

“You’ve pictured them?”

He looks up from his teasing and your panties snap into place. You gasp on instinct and his eyes narrow, his lashes kissing in the corners. “Does that bother you?” he murmurs.

You shake your head. His lips quirk up, a smugness that makes your heart race ever faster.

"Do you do anything like this with yourself?" he asks.

"I'm never this nice."

"That's a crime," he says, and he laughs loud, momentarily shattering the distilled atmosphere that had settled over you both. "Thighs like these and you don't touch them?"

"Is that what you do?" you ask, insecure.

"No, but it's different. I don't need to get warmed up like you do."

"Warmed up?" you whisper. Having to ask these questions feels so embarrassing.

Eddie being so soft about it makes it easier. "Relaxed," he whispers in turn, laughing towards the end.

His thumb rubs the elastic of your underwear and drifts slowly inward until he's pushing over your folds. You gasp and it's slightly startled, sounding too close to panic for Eddie, who's hand flinches away.

"Didn't like that?" he asks.

You rush, "It's okay. Surprised."

One big hand holds your thigh, the other strokes your cunt. He's a little firmer now, pushing the breadth of his thumb over your panties until he touches something very sensitive. "Here?" He pushes up a little higher and your breath catches. He makes an almost inaudible cooing sound and flattens his hand, rubbing the length of your cunt without finesse. It feels good anyway. It surprises you how much you like it.

He pinches your panties.

"Ready to take them off?" he asks.

"Yeah."

You lift your hips and peel your underwear down, folding your legs to pull them off of your ankles. You clutch them in your hand, unsure.

Eddie sits back and pulls you towards him. You let him manhandle you with a small gasp, his hands pressing into the soft of your tummy. You can't see his face anymore.

"Alright," he murmurs, pulling your thigh over his lap and spreading you wide. His voice is loud in your ear because of his proximity, and you resist the temptation to turn your face to his.

"Let's just-" he works your underwear out of your hand and tosses them aside.

His hand lands on your knee and moves down fast.

You lean back heavily into his chest with your hands pulled to your sternum.

"Eddie," you say, "what do I do?"

He hums. "Touch yourself."

You seize up and he's quick to soothe, fingers closing around the crook of your elbow.

"Hey, I'm gonna show you. I'm gonna show you," he repeats. He pulls at the lip of your cunt and spreads you open, groaning softly. You wouldn't hear it if his lips weren't so close to your face. "How'd you have a cunt this sweet and never touch it? I mean, fuck."

His fingertips whisper past your pubic hair like he's going to say something more, but he only asks, "Hand?"

You put your hand into his, the back to his palm.

He sets it to your thigh. "Do what I did before, okay? Slowly…" He drags your hand up and down the length of your thigh.

Your heart is racing. Every time you crawl close to your cunt the burning longing to be touched, to touch yourself, and to have him touch you intensifies.

Eventually he pulls your hand to your clit. "You're so sensitive. Is it always this bad?" he asks sympathetically when you jump, tickled at the feelin.

"I haven't tried in a while."

"Oh, I see." Eddie encourages you to push your fingertip into the bead of your clit, drawing slow circles. "Poor baby. Just desperate to have someone take care of you." His voice is so low, so ridiculously soft, you find yourself sinking into his hold. He squeezes the crook of your elbow with one hand, the other still guiding your ministrations. You bite your lip at the sensation that's begun, the tiny spark of pleasure.

"Here, let me-" He lifts your hand away from your clit and you whine involuntarily. "Shh, sweetheart, I'm only gonna give you something to work with."

You turn your head to him and watch as his mouth opens. He sucks the very tip of your finger between his lips, the heat of his tongue a momentary flash. When he pulls it back, your finger shines with his spit.

Your eyes are half-lidded, watching through the crush of your lashes as he presses it back to your clit. "How's that? S'that better?" he asks, crooning. His tone sports an underlying mockery, a light-hearted teasing that's slowly turning intense.

It is better. It's different. Your fingertip searches for purchase against the slick skin and struggles to find it, the wetness allowing for freer, faster movement.

You push a second finger against the first.

Eddie stops helping. You pause, confused.

"No, you got it, sweetheart. You keep going," he reassures, grabbing a hold of your thigh again. He teases the dough there, never cruel but maybe close, fat moulding under his fingers as he squeezes.

Your breathing builds with pleasure. Still, it's hot enough; there's no sign of an oncoming climax, no tightening coil in your tummy. You huff with exertion and frustration. "Eddie, it's not working."

"I'm not done." He sounds almost stern. Your stomach flips. "You have to think about what you want."

"What I want?"

"What turns you on."

You think of his hands and their rings. His happy trail.

His voice. Good girl.

You slam your eyes shut.

Eddie gives you another mean squeeze. "What do you think about, when you-"

You don't let him finish. "What do you think about?" you ask, too loud.

He stills. His nose pushes into your shoulder, his hair tickling your skin as he asks, "Are you sure you wanna know?"

Your breath catches. Your fingers stutter where they work into your clit and Eddie starts you right back up again. His lips brush your shoulder.

"Yes," you say, gasping as pleasure like little shocks of heat shoot to your core.

The hand at your elbow starts to rove, tickling your arm as he strokes downwards. "You first," he murmurs, teasing your wrist. You swear you can feel his smile against your shoulder.

You breathe in through your nose. "Uh, I think of- of somebody…" You try, but you just can't say it.

Eddie's fingers push down your crease. Stop right before your entrance. "Is this okay?"

"Yeah."

"Mmm…" He circles your entrance. "Now what does a pretty girl like you think of when she's touching herself?" You don't think he wants an answer. His middle finger brushes across the slick well and pushes in. You squirm and he holds you in place.

There's something very hard digging into your spine.

"Something sweet as you… Let me guess. Boy next door comes around to mow the lawn, you invite him in for a drink, one thing comes to another-" He pushes his finger in deeper. "And he's fucking you.

"That sound about right?"

You shake your head. His own perks up where it rests on your shoulder. "No? Huh."

Your circles have grown slow and staggered, distracted by his touch as he eases his ring finger in beside his middle. "Something more romantic? Wedding night, love of your life. Guy that's gonna treat you like a diamond. Way a girl like you deserves." He pushes in, stretches them out. You moan as he curls them, as his arm works back and forth. "Gives it to you gentle." His movements slow to match.

And sure, that sounds nice. But it's not what you think about.

"No," you manage to get out through shallow breaths.

"No? You don't want it gentle?"

"Not- not all the time."

"How about right now?"

"Please."

Slowly, slowly, the shape of Eddie's hard cock against your back starts to move in time with the thrusts of his hand. He pushes in deep, fingers searching emphatically for the sweet spot, the thing that's gonna make you-

"Fuck," you whimper.

His cock jumps. You feel it.

"You keep rubbing that pretty little clit of yours, sweetheart."

You do as he asks. You're desperate enough now that you imagine you'd do most anything he says, your climax a tangible, physical possibility. Your tummy feels heavy and aching with want, worse when he probes deeply and marks your sweet spot again. His lips press to your shoulder, soft enough that you worry you're imagining it.

"You see what I'm doing here? See what fingers I'm using?" he asks. You open your eyes reluctantly. His wrist turns. You watch his fingers sink into the gummy heat of your cunt. "Tight little hole's just pulling me in, fucking clinging to me, baby, she's greedy."

You gasp, a hiccup of scandalised sound.

"Want you to try, okay? You gonna do that for me?"

"Yeah, Eddie."

"Good girl." You moan, you don't mean to, but he's fucking into your quick and your finger pushes into your clit roughly. Eddie revels in it. "You like that? You like being called a good girl? I fucking knew it."

You frown and start to turn to him. He presses his cheek to your head so you can't, stuck looking down the length of the bed at your trembling legs.

"You looked so flustered, standing all sweet and quiet by the van out front with your thighs squeezed together. You think I didn't see that shit?"

You're limp against him, thighs spread wide as you work into your clit, chasing this new feeling. You can hardly breathe, every exhale a keening moan that has you shame-faced and weepy. You roll your hips to meet his fingers, his hand slapping against your cunt with a slick slap.

"You looked so sweet. Y'always do." He turns his lips to your ear and curls into you until your squealing. "Guess looks can be deceiving."

You're so close, so close. Tendrils of heat curl heavily at your core. "Eddie, I'm- I'm-"

"You wanna cum?"

"Yes," you pant.

He pulls his fingers from your cunt and you're so confused that you stop, your climax slipping away in seconds.

"Sorry, but you have to do it yourself. This is all pointless if you can't get there on your own," he says.

Your chest heaves. "That's mean. You're mean."

"I never claimed otherwise. Here, middle and marriage, babe." He guides your hand to your entrance. You push your fingers inside, your tongue between your lips in concentration. Your fingers aren't as thick as his, they don't feel quite the same, but Eddie pushes your thumb into your clit. "Move your wrist. Feel that? Feel how soft you are? How fucking warm you are?"

You're not nearly as good as he was but every clumsy touch feels electric. You push your thumb into sweeping circles and pant your frustration aloud, feeling close to tears.

"You wanna know what I think about, when I jerk off?" he asks unexpectedly.

You nod, your head moving back into his collar. He rubs the lengths of your arms leisurely, his lazy demeanour in total juxtaposition to your desperation.

"There's this girl that comes to see me," he starts, coloured by a smug amusement. "Sweet thing, soft-spoken, always wearing these pretty clothes looking like something straight out of the movies.

"I think about a lot of things. Her thighs-" One of his hands falls to your thigh in time, massaging, "fuck, just wanna bury my face in them and never come out. Pull down those cotton shorts she's so partial to with the dainty stitching and-" He laughs and his lips part over your shoulder. His teeth scratch up, up, up. "Make her fucking cry my name. Feel those thighs tense up around me."

You're so close your entire body shudders. You slow without meaning to, holding your breath in wait for Eddie to finish his story

He gives you one final push. "Always wondered if she sounds as pretty as she looks when she cums." He kisses the small graze he'd given you mere seconds ago and everything is blue-white with heat. "Gonna clue me in, sweetheart? Gonna cum for me?"

Your eyes close hard and you breathe out, an exhale ragged and weak and mewling. You don't moan so much as sob without tears, tensing up in Eddie's arms as bliss blooms. You pull your hand from your sopping cunt and feel your walls contract around nothing as you cum.

He pulls you close, throbbing cock pressing hard into your back. "Fuck," he hisses, hands placating where they lay.

You go lax, head tipping back as you suck in air that had felt elusive moments ago.

Eddie rubs your arms without saying anything. You cover his hands and try to summon up words.

"Just as pretty as you look," he murmurs.

He's so fuckng nice. So fucking nice, and what? He thinks about you when he jacks off? Since when?

You sit up and drop your chin to your chest, panting still.

"You okay?"

After a few seconds you smile and turn to him, intent on saying, Yes, thank you, and maybe something with more gratitude, something silly, just something. But you can't speak.

His face is close.

Eddie brings a hand to the slope of your rising shoulder, follows a line to the curve of your neck. You look to his eyes and find him staring at your lips unabashedly.

He pulls you into him. You close your eyes.

Eddie Munson tastes like lots of things as he kisses you.

Cigarettes, unavoidable. Under that, sugar. Something sweet but heavy as bourbon vanilla. Your lips part and close in tandem with his, slow and hungry. Your heart races and your fingers are still wet as you twist in his arms and take his face into your hands.

You climb up onto your knees and Eddie doesn't know what to do with you.

He smiles so hard he has to pull away. Not smirking, smiling, a cheek-aching, too-happy smile that softens everything in your chest.

You rub a shaking thumb over his cheek. You don't know if it's because of the post-orgasm rush of hormones or because he just kissed you and now he's smiling like he might do it again.

He does. He kisses you and grabs your waist. His fingers mess with the hem of your shirt and he breaks the kiss short to say, "Take it off?"

You sit back on your knees, feel the mess of wet between your legs spread as you grab at the edge of your shirt and pull it up. Eddie helps though he doesn't need to, and just like that you're shirtless.

"Oh my god, I can't believe this is happening," he says, voice weak in what you suspect is one of his dramatics.

He slides his hands up your sides and stops just below your breasts. His thumbs grace the undersides and his brow puckers. "Fuck," he mouths appreciatively.

You flush head to toe. "Yours, too?" you ask gently.

Eddie reaches back to pull off his shirt. His hair's in total disarray and he runs his hands through it, biceps flexing with the movement, torso taut. The black ink of his tattoos move with him and your eyes eat up every single one.

He catches your eyes where they linger on the volley of bats. "You like that one?"

"I've always liked that one."

He grins and it's honey thick, hands at the small of your back and tugging. You spread your knees wide on impulse and find yourself flush to his chest, his arms locking you into place as he dives in for another kiss. Again you're surprised at how deeply he kisses you, how it ebbs and flows from slow to fast like he's both savouring and gorging himself on your closeness.

You've never been kissed like this. You're weightless. You feel every contiguity between you, the hot and wet of his mouth, the crook of his elbow against the nape of your neck, your nipples peaked against his chest and the length of his dick pushing up into your aching cunt.

"Fucking pretty," he says, pulling back just enough to kiss the corner of your mouth, your chin. He kisses your jaw over and over and over, lips pulling into crescents and then the same word. Pretty.

His mouth opens wide at your throat, teeth scratching lightly as it closes. He sucks your skin between his lips and rolls it, hand spreading wide and palm flat at your shoulder blade. Steadying. .

"That's cute," he says when he pulls away, lips shining.

"What?" you ask, hand drifting up. You poke at the quick-forming contusion.

He nudges it aside with his face as he moves in to further mark up your neck. "You're so fucking pretty," he says, each word separated by a nipping kiss.

His hands are everywhere.

Everything is warm and you can't breathe. You plant your hands at his shoulders and push away from him, and he stops you from falling flat on your back, levelling you with a worried glance.

"Is it too much?" he asks.

"No, I'm just hot. Really hot." You take a big breath and wipe your face with the back of both hands.

"That's true," he says, leaning back against the wall. His hands fall to your thighs. "Are you okay?"

You drop your hands abruptly and can't believe the fondness you're feeling. "You're pretty, too," you tell him. Honest if very shy; meek, entirely sincere. "I'm okay. I want…"

"You want?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"I have this fantasy," you begin.

Eddie widens your legs to move from under them. It doesn't surprise you when he comes to lie on your chest, holding his weight off of you with an arm at the side of your ribs. His hair falls and hides the room from view. All you can see is his face, and it's beautiful.

"Tell me about it."

"It's- okay. It's…" You drift off as he dips down to kiss your collar, only chaste pecks but enough to distract you. "It's kind of like this."

"Yeah?" His breath warms your chest. More ditzy kisses.

"I get here and you're coming out of the shower-"

"Tasteful."

"With a towel low on your hips," you add pointedly. It's useless, his sarcasm has pinned you spot on. "And you- you touch me."

Eddie kitten licks the skin he's just nibbled and looks up. "Like this?"

"Like this."

"And after that," his hand moves between you to the zipper of his jeans, the sound of metal clicking metal ringing through the room, "what do I do?"

"You push me down into the bed, and-" You feel the fabric of his jeans rub your thighs as he pulls them down. "You…"

"What do I do, sweetheart?"

"You push my legs up and you fuck me," you confess.

He scrambles back towards his nightstand, a hand on your ankle that says, I'm not going far. "How do I fuck you? Am I rough?"

"Not at first."

There, in his hands, the red plastic of a condom wrapper, bright as a maraschino cherry. He holds it up and you nod.

"Not at first," he murmurs, ripping open the condom, hissing as he pulls it over his weeping cock. It's big – not too thick, but big, surrounded by a thatch of dark curls trimmed neat. "But eventually?"

He rolls it on tight and then there's nothing but this admission of your guiltiest fantasy. You spread your legs without thinking and he pulls you towards him, thumb collecting slick where it's pooled and pushing it up towards your entrance. What's left on his fingers he smears over the length of his shaft. You watch him rub at the head and sigh.

"Eventually," you agree.

His cock rubs up against you as he leans down and pinches your chin between his fingers, lips parted from a sharp gasp and opening further. "Can I fuck you? Is that what you want?"

You nod voraciously.

He gives you a very firm kiss at the highest point of your cheek. "In words."

"Yes, you can fuck me. That's what I want," you say without hesitation.

"You tell me if I do something you don't like," he says, lining up.

"I will," you say earnestly.

Eddie pushes your leg up towards your tummy and holds it there. "Good girl," he praises, and pushes in.

You're already worked open by his hand, your own hand and your climax, and still it's a snug fit. You cross your arm over your chest with your lips bitten hard to stop from making what you anticipate to be a very great and mortifying sound. He takes it slow, real slow, towering over you with his brows furrowed just slightly and his back arching. Every move he makes is accompanied by a careful thrust of his hips. He's rhythm in motion.

"Fuck," he mutters, more than once. He's halfway when you feel that stretch, your pulpy walls accommodating him with little complaint and a lot of pleasure.

You drop your head back against the bed sheets and hug yourself.

Eddie reaches for your hand where its cracking your breast absentmindedly and squeezes your fingers. "How's that?" he asks. "How's that feel?"

You close your eyes. "S'good, Eddie." You lay out your own roll of expletives as he pushes in ever deeper. "You're really- oh," you gasp, "really deep."

"You should see it, babe, pretty pussy gripping my every fucking inch." He leans down and his cock fills another inch of you. Your fingers ache with how hard he's squeezing them, and you look up to find his eyes on yours. "I'm gonna fill you up, okay? You gonna be a good girl for me and take it?"

You blink and your lashes feel heavy with tears. "Yeah. I can take it. I can take it."

"I know," he says, hovering over you, close enough to hug if you wanted to.

He grabs your side and his thumb pushes into the soft swell of your breast, his grip tightening as he fits those last inches of his cock inside you. You rub your cheek against his bedsheets, your head fuzzy from being so full. He takes your bared neck as an opportunity and ducks into the juncture of it and his face fits there like it was made to, his nose bobbing against the column of your throat as he starts to fuck into you. His hips roll, a mess of his sticky pubes kissing your clit.

This close you can smell him, the heavy scents of pot and smoke, the sweet nutty smell of oil clinging to his hair. Sweat, as you imagine you smell of too, and sex. The room is filled with it, the smells and the sounds of his thighs thudding into yours.

"Eddie- Eddie," you whimper, muffled by the sheets beneath you.

He pushes in deep and rubs his nose into your skin emphatically. "What's wrong, hm? What's got you all wound up?"

You wrap your arms around his back. You're not sure if you're allowed to but you're hardly thinking ahead – you can't. Every thrust, every movement he makes is at the forefront of your mind, commanding all of your attention. The tickling of his hair against the side of your face. The skipping of the chains of his necklace where it teases your neck.

"Babe?" he asks, pulling back to turn your head. He stills inside you.

You protest, loud and completely unlike yourself. "Eddie, don't stop. Please don't." Your hands push into his shoulder blades. He ruts in at your request, thumb rubbing your cheek. "Feels so good," you say. You trip over your praise, voice breaking.

He starts up again, whispering, "Do you want me to hold your leg up, pretty girl?" and, "Taking me so well- taking it so fucking well," and, worse, "Fuck, sweetheart, just like that," when you tigthen around him.

You weave your fingers into the messy crush of black curls surrounding his face, careful not to tug as you covet the back of his head and nape of his neck, scratching his scalp lightly with one hand as the other strokes his side.

Your moans become a half-sobbing sort of mess, quiet and desperate, drawn out of you with every tap of his cock into your soft spot. When he finds it he can't not search for it, rutting into it over and over until you can't produce anything but an unintelligible stream of babble and happy sighs.

He laps lazily at your neck, the stretch of skin dampened and stinging from love bites. He thrusts in hard and hits something sweet that has you clinging to him.

"You smell good," he says into your skin.

Your hips ache with pleasure. "I must taste pretty good," you say. What, with how he's willing to nibble on you like this.

He squeezes your neck and narrows his eyes at you playfully. "I intend to find out." He moves down until your lips are a hair's width from touching. "Bet you taste as sweet as everything else."

You lift your chin and kiss him, dedicating your affections to his top lip. He groans into your mouth, hips moving slow and thrusts shallow when suddenly they're not. His cock drags out slowly and slams in deep, his pelvis hitting into yours.

You keen into the kiss, gentle and at odds with his fucking. His fingers find your ear and his thumb follows down the shell until he's pinching your earlobe, a split-second touch that melts you into putty. He pulls away from the kiss and inhales loudly, his fingers under your ear and pushing your face to the side so that he can wade in from a new angle.

You curl your fingers around his wrist and let yourself be kissed and fucked and touched. Anything he wants to do, he can do.

Eddie breaks the kiss.

"What did I taste like?" you ask breathlessly.

He traces an invisible teardrop down your cheek with the back of his pinky finger. "Oh, sweetheart," he says quietly, lowering his lips to the shell of your ear. "That's not where I meant."

Another hard thrust. You gasp at the dull aching spreading through your tummy and Eddie softens slightly, not so deep but just as fast, faster, his cheek to your cheek as he works you open. His rugged panting in your ear is everything you need. You force your hand between your body and Eddie's and search for the wet mess of your clit, chasing quick circles into the swollen bump.

Eddie realises what's happening and his fucking turns desperate. "You gonna cum again? Shit- keep touching, I'll get you there, fucking promise you." He's hardly pulling out an inch before he's rutting back in, kicking up the speed until all you can feel is pleasure again.

Eddie slows down as you cum, moaning as you tighten around him. He pushes away from you to kneel between your legs again, eyes locking onto your cunt obstinately, his panting loud as he drags his cock in and out.

"Insane," he mumbles, hands coasting down your legs until he's grasping the fat of your thighs and pulling you back onto his cock. "You're insane."

As if proving it, his hands rove the hills and troughs of your torso, your skin clammy underhand, his hips moving mindlessly. You cover your mouth with the back of your hand and blink back into focus.

"Are you close?" you ask him, whispering.

You're lucky he can hear you with the music he's playing and the sounds of your slick hole being stretched. Eddie tucks a lock of sweat-dark hair behind his ear and his eyes pause in their reverential searching to meet yours.

He peels your hand off of your mouth and holds it.

"Fucking teetering, babe. Been close ever since I felt you wrapped around my fingers." He pulls your hand and you take it as a cue to try and sit up. Eddie helps you into his lap, your thighs straddling his thighs, slipping down his length until you're stuffed to bursting.

You hide your face in his shoulder and he rubs your back. "You're okay," he says sympathetically, "I got you. You just sit pretty, there's a good girl."

You wrap your arms around his neck and try your best to bounce on his cock as he thrust up into you, a steady pace that turns sloppy. You rake your hands through his curls and kiss at the curve of his neck down to the slope of his shoulder, dizzied and cock-drunk, totally fucked out. You hum into your kisses with every prodding of his mushroom tip against your deepest spot, rambling nonsense at him in a way you hope is making a difference.

"Fucking me so good," you mumble, equal parts tearful and euphoric, lips wet and spreading a shine like frost in the sun over his lean shoulder. "So good, Eddie. Thought about this too much."

"Yeah?" he asks, sounding like a different person. Voice rough as hewn stone and hands bruising where they grip you, his heavy sack slapping into you with every sluggish rock of his hips. "Good as you pictured? M'I fucking you like you wanted?"

"Better," you say sincerely.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he says, and he's close, you know he is.

You roll your pelvis in circles and try your hardest, aflame as you plead, "Cum for me, please? Please, Eddie, wanna feel it."

Despite your shy intonation Eddie goes rigid. He fucks in with one final thrust that sends shocks deep to your core and spreading out, cutting your happy little gasp short as he pulls your head tight to his neck. His hips twitch underneath you and he's making sounds that are going to haunt you, whiney, begging moans over your head.

Eddie's tight hold on you slowly loosens. You're breathing fast, finally out of motion. Your thighs burn where they're spread over his lap and you squirm unintentionally.

He pulls your neck back from his shoulder and looks over your face, concern lining the soft set of his eyes. He cups your cheek in question.

"I'm okay," you say softly. "I'm more than okay. That was amazing."

"It was amazing," he agrees, caught off guard.

"Yeah."

You shift backwards and the two of you wince at the sensitivity. You ease your legs open and Eddie pulls out, pumping the sticky shaft once. His eyes flutter closed.

You move off of his lap and turn to the side so you can stretch out your aching legs. Eddie follows suit, collapsing off of his knees and onto his back, the pillow behind him keeping him propped up.

You watch him ease the condom off of his cock curiously, White cum has smeared and drips down the length of him, his pubes tangled by a mixture of your slick and his.

He spots you watching and smiles. "What, sweetness? What are you thinking about?"

"I made you cum."

His eyebrows jump but quickly smooth. "I think I went blind, for a second."

You giggle at his hyperbole and he pulls you down against his chest, your side pressing into his navel. Your cheek to the space shy of his heart.

His hand comes to rest on your forehead.

"Do you really think about me?" you ask, knowing the answer.

"Every night."

You close your eyes and hide your smile in his skin. He chuckles and wraps you up in one arm, his hand a firm pressure as he massage the dipped plane of your back.

Nestling your cheek into his chest, you say, "I think about it, too. All the time."

"Uh-huh. Maybe we can make some more of those racy thoughts a reality. What was that one about me coming out of the shower?"

You like this casual conversation and decide to try and make him laugh, stretching your words out low. "Well, you're coming out of the shower, and your towel slips open-" There, his bumping laughter at your over the top salaciousness.

"That's awful. Most cliche, overdone, cheap porno concept ever," he chastens.

"I never said I was creative."

"What happens after that?"

"The towel gets swept away by a sudden gust of wind, so I have to cover you. With my body."

He bursts. There's no other word to describe it, his back arches with the force of his laughter and he holds his fist to his mouth, shaking and giggling like an idiot.

"Where's the wind coming from?" he questions incredulously.

"I don't know! The window?"

"Oh my god," he says. He hooks his hand under your arm and pulls you up his chest, dotting a fond kiss to your forehead as you near. "And after that?"

"Well, I told you that part."

"Right, we hook up, but after that."

You clench your fists, insecure. "After?"

He brings the hand that isn't loving the length of your back to your face, stroking the skin under your chin with the backs of his index and middle finger, the flat of his fingernails sliding gently in a soothing back and forth.

"I guess it's kind of like this," you answer eventually.

"Does fantasy Eddie get another kiss, too? Or does he- do they stop, afterwards?"

"It's a fantasy. The kisses never stop," you tell him. Adrenaline must linger in your veins; you can barely speak.

His expression becomes impassive, and a lull in the conversation blossoms. He searches your face for something and you don't know what, but he must find it, because he dips down and kisses you chaste on the lips.

Your hands are back to tentative as they explore his neck. Your fingertips grace the curves of his throat and then sink behind, into the dampened mess of his hair.

He stays chaste, dainty kisses, pulling back to dot them against your lips over and over.

"Eddie," you say softly, "what are you doing?"

"It feels like kissing," he says, tone a mirror of your own.

You huff a laugh against his lips and kiss back.

Later, after more kisses than you could ever count and an hour dozing on his chest whilst his hand rubbed circles into your tired back, you get dressed into your clothes that he likes so much and slip your goodie bag into the belly of your strappy purse.

"Don't go over the top with it, alright?" he says, watching the green bud dissappear.

Jeans back in place and still bare-chested, Eddie sits on the end of his bed and scratches the back of his neck. You give him a grateful smile. "No, I won't. I actually think I might sleep really well tonight without it."

He smirks. "I bet you will."

Eddie walks with you to the front porch. You'd linger if you didn't have to go, and you're pretty sure he'd let you. There's a fraction of awkward silence.

"See you later," you say, walking sideways down one step, another.

Eddie catches your hand. It takes you a second to realise what he's done: forced your crumpled thirty dollars back into your hand. Your heart misses a beat and you feel your stomach plumet – you hadn't fucked him for the free pot.

"Eddie-"

"My girl can't pay for her own supply. That's not happening."

You take one step up. "Your girl?"

He has the good graces to look nervous. "If you wanna be."

You don't know how to answer. He looks pretty like this in the last dregs of sunshine, big brown eyes waiting patiently for you to say something, hand clutching his elbow. It doesn't feel entirely real.

You step on tip toes and work your hands behind his neck to kiss his cheek before rubbing your forehead against his chin. "I'll come by tomorrow?" you ask hopefully. He relaxes under your weight.

"Any time you want. I'll take you some place nice, if you're up for it."

You set back on your heels and pull away. "You don't need to go all fancy on me, Munson." You're happy to get stoned and eat burgers on the couch.

He looks you up and down, eyes catching on the flanks of your thighs before he takes in your face. His smile is almost dorky when he says, "No I- I think I do. I'll see you tomorrow, pretty girl."

You nod with an aching smile and are a little ways away when he smugly calls, "Sleep well!"

After the lesson he just gave you, you're sure you will.

𓆩❤︎𓆪

thank you for reading! | my masterlist

please reblog if you enjoyed, I promise it makes a big difference! ♡

#eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson smut #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson imagine

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crowsongcaws · 2 months

Text

PLEASE SAVE BIGB'S DESIGN

TL;DR at bottom (also this sounds like anger and it isn't, I'm just dramatic) Screaming, crying, on my knees BEGGING PLEASE

I know so many other Life Series/Traffic Life characters have reoccurring tropes they aren't able to escape from fandom-wise (cough cough DESERT DUO cough cough) but please for the love of EVERYTHING!!!!!!!!!! Let BigB be free of the cookie thing!!! It really is "yeah I don't watch him but I included everyone else so I'll include him and he has a bunch of cookie fanart so yeah BigB = cookies <3" It's a funny little callback sometimes, but for him, it's just that people don't know what else to give him. He hasn't even been OCified!!! (OCified as in a fanon version of himself has become widely known and accepted over the canon character i.e. Grian being an avian, Scar being ridiculously buff, Jimmy being a canary etc etc)

I understand why people would be hesitant to make him some sort of hybrid like most other members, but he doesn't have to be a hybrid to be OCified! For example, although Martyn also tends to be elf-like or sometimes something monster-related, he's widely regarded as a Listener! And guess what? BigB was also in EVO!

"But BigB's skin had a cookie on it---" AGES AGO, PLEASE LET IT DIE "Joel isn't 'OCified'---" Didn't ask, don't care, talking about BigB right now At this point, I could draw a cookie with eyes and limbs and say it's BigB fanart and everyone would be like "yaaay!" I desperately want and NEED to see BigB with non-cookie related designs. Can he have little stuff hinting towards the cookie thing? Of course! That's part of his character! Just PLEASE add on literally ANYTHING ELSE. BigB with 4c (read it again, FOUR-C) hair with shaved sides and a heart shaved into one side. Same hairstyle but the sides are braided back and one of the sides has a heart braided into it. Cottagecore BigB with mohawk braids that go back into a bun with that little bandana headband on! Imagine he's in friendly floral clothing holding a bouquet of flowers, and the center of the flowers look vaguely like eyes but everything else about him looks so typical you barely notice at first glance because he's totally Normal(tm) and completely unaffected by Evo as opposed to literally everyone else. Please give BigB a new outfit. That sweater is TIRED. Let it REST. Give him literally ANYTHING ELSE. Give him a fucking corset idk! A dress! Ball gown! Spacesuit! My Chemical Romance merch! LITERALLY ANYTHING ELSE. "I don't think BigB as a character would wear a corset/dress/anything feminine---" Why? Go on. TL;DR Stop making BigB's personality revolve around cookies (and also being a cheater because of Double Life for that matter) and please add literally anything else to his character design/personality traits I am begging and screaming and crying because I can't unsee it

#bigbst4tz2 #Please appreciate BigB #I'm anti-cookie #I'm not an expert/number one fan of BigB but I have eyes #trafficblr #life series #traffic smp #life series smp

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squigglewigglewoo · 5 months

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Can I request for where Yandere dazai is down bad for reader/fem. That when reader finally allows him to have her, he rips multiple orgasms and keeps her panties for later use..

(✧) warnings: half of these warning depend on his you see the fic, perv behavior, slight noncon, possible drugging, intoxication, alcohol, mentions of stalking, mentions of violence, yandere behavior, manhandling, overstimulation, possible manipulation? Dazai not listening when you say no more, dacryphilia, slight blood play? sadistic dazai bc have you seen that man? he was literally in prison and has 138 counts of aggravated murder, no way he's not a sadistic fuck. mentions of masterbation, mentions of head (male receiving). fem bodied reader, pet names, degradation, praise, sugar coated degradation, Dazais a liar, mentions of chuuya, dazai literally covers his darling in marks, bruises, bites, hickeys, cuts, claw marks, hand prints. readers mentioned to wear a dress clothing, I wrote this with my clit and it's not proof read. lowercase writing, english is my first language but I suck at it, bare with me. ik ur reading this bestie, u a little freak but ily<3 NSFW below the cut, MDNI, ageless blogs will be blocked!

(✦) summary: oh, when you finally agree, although with a little bit of help from being under the influence, who is Dazai to say no? 519 words~

(✧) (a/n): I'm sorry I've been silent for so long! got a little too silly and almost got sent to a mental hospital, I'm back though!! exams are coming up so if there's radio silence again, I apologize!! this'll be short, it's 3:46 and my anemia is killing me.

(✦) pairing(s): yandere!Dazai x fem bodied!darling!reader

(✧) listening to~ Poison by Bell Biv DeVoe

the empty sake bottle's forgotten on the ground, Dazais hand eagerly undressing you and near tearing your shirt sundress off as he presses you onto the couch, your head thrown back against the armrest, head spinning from both Dazais lips on your neck and the affects of the alcohol. you usually don't get drunk this easily, nor does your head spin like this. what was going on?

"it's alright, pretty girl, I got you, I'll make you feel good." Dazai shushes you whimper and squirm, one hand firm on your hip, the other slides up your back, unclasping your bra and kneading at your breasts. his hands rest at your hips once more, pulling your panties off and stuffing them in his pocket, a little keepsake for later. he kisses you, his grasp tight on you as he bends and folds you, his belt falling to the floor before he rams into you, making you cry out from the sudden wave of both pain and pleasure.

your legs wrap around his waist, his lips swallowing your pained moans as he fucks you at a brutal pain, murmuring something about "god, you're taking me so well.. should've done this ages ago if you felt this good the whole time.." that your fuzzy, intoxicated brain can't understand. done what? what's he talking about? Dazais nails dig into the fat of your thighs, your pussy squeezing around him as he fucks your cervix, making your tummy twist and turn, your body flushing. cumming with a loud cry, you claw at his clothed back, the man having been to impatient undress himself, whining out for him to stop, that it hurts, and he only laughs, fucking you harder, and you feel another orgasm build up.

"c'mon, didn't you want this, why're you asking me to stop now? don't you wanna feel good?" he taunts, his nails drawing blood, his hold so tight it bruises your thighs. his eyes gleam at the sight of your tears and the small pearls of blood, kissing the tears away as they roll down your cheeks. he kisses you, pulling away and licking at your swollen, red lips, and he can't help out Imagine what they'd look like around his cock. he'd kill anyone else who even thought of you like this, he was sure of it, you where his, his belladonna and his alone.

what will chuuya think when he sees you with Dazai, covered in hickeys and bite marks that the brunette most definitely isn't going to let you hide, why would you, anyways? there's no need to hide if he's the only man your seeing, right? Dazai cums inside you as your second orgasm rushed over you just minutes after the first, Dazai slows, pulling out and watching his cum flow out of your abused hole before flipping you over, sliding right back into your cunt and grabbing the fat of your ass, squeezing as he leans over your figure, whispering in a hushed, near scolding tone. "oh, you didn't think we were done, did you? we still have the whole night left, sweetheart. get comfortable, your not getting a break any time soon."

masterlist!

dividers by @/cafekitsune

#bsd x reader #bsd #bsd dazai #bsd x you #dazai osamu x reader #bungou stray dogs dazai #dazai smut #yandere #yandere dazai #dazai osamu #dazai x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #dazai osamu smut #i mightve gotten bored #bsd smut

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bahrtofane · 2 months

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here we go again - pt.1

pt. 2 , pt.3

jude x fem!reader , trent x fem!reader

empty promise after another leaves you walking in the cold. alone. on valentines day. youre never speaking to another player again.

word count : 1K+

watch it : mild fluff, heavy on the angst, situationships, toxic relationships, Jude is kinda an ass in this one sorry, not very happy ending

happy valentines day LOL

—--

you and Jude have a complex history, complex relationship.

you aren't officially together but at the same time you are exclusive. it's odd, but it's what works at the moment, (even if you wish he would just grow the balls to make you his already.)

you get he's a busy guy, top player both club and international. you aren't going to force him to choose you or make him get with you while his career is soon about to peak.

your wishes for more soon fade into the background as he presses gentle kisses into your skin. he called you a few hours prior, wondering if you wanted to keep him company while he binges movies and orders you a pizza. you said yes, maybe a little foolishly. but it's hard to stay away from him.

he's addicting. maybe it's a rush of being with someone whose whole existence is so grand. maybe it's the fact of knowing you have what millions of others crave for. you don't know, you try not to read into the intricacies. bad habit.

so here you are, face pressed up against his chest while you lay side by side on this stupidly large couch, action movie playing, your pizza done, belly full and body warm.

"what are you thinking about love?" he mumbles.

"you." you shrug.

"me ?" he chuckles.

you hum, wiggling deeper into the pile of blankets.

"i've been thinking about you. and us." he confesses, almost shy. the movie playing in front of you has long fizzled out of your attention.

hey might as well rip the band aid off.

"me too," you hum, "why aren't we official again?"

you feel him sigh dramatically, "because my career."

you squint. there goes the same lousy explanation. "you could put more i don't know, thought into us."

he shifts under the blankets , "valentine's day is coming up. dont worry love i have it all planned out." he assures you.

"oh yeah ?" you tease

"just you wait, the best valentine's day ever." he kisses the top of your head soundly.

—--

worst fucking valenties day of your life. you don't remember being more livid a day in your life. you cant remember the last time so much pure rage burned through you, hot enough to hurt. you didn't think it was humanly possible to clench your fist so tight youve dug into your palm hard enough to draw blood.

your head hurts, your legs hurt, you think your arm is starting to bruise from where you were shoved into a table on "accident" but what would Jude know. he was so busy taking pictures with models and laughing at corny jokes while you kept yourself company. texting and calling didnt work and he didn't even try to give you any attention the whole night, you can't keep doing this with him.

"you can't just run off-" Jude shouts from somewhere behind you.

"or what Jude. or fucking what." you seeth, not bothering to face him, storming out into the night.

It's your fault for trusting him all those nights ago. your fault for falling for the same shit over and over.

he sprints to catch up to you, "i don't know why you're being like this."

you stop dead in your tracks, "oh i don't know, let's think. you didn't tell me your escorts would be there. and to top it all fucking off they have to nerve to be on my ass the whole night, not letting me get anywhere near you even through we walked in together?"

he doesn't respond and you half the mind not to punch the shit out of him, walking further away from the club you just came from, heels clanking against the sidewalk so hard it hurts, pulling on your dress so you dont trip and fall. maybe you should let it go so you can fall flat on your face. that would be a better ending to the night than seeing his face. silly stupid you thinking this would work.

"happy fucking valentines day huh Jude. you take me to a damn club, you ignore me the whole night, and you spend all your time surrounded by other women who might as well just suck you off right then and there." you yell, hell if anyone hears. you want them too, you want him to be as humiliated as you feel.

Bellinghams date thrown away the moment you step inside, ignored and tossed for some common whores. oh you can't wait to see where your face ends up online after tonight. you can see the headlines now.

he grabs your arm, making you face him, "love listen-"

"no, you dont get to fucking do that anymore. you cant keep sweet talking your way out of things when you fuck up. why can't you just pretend to care" your voice shakes, you can feel tears brimming in your eyes.

"i'm not trying to talk my way out of it, i'm trying to explain." he tries.

you yank your arm out of his grip, "i'm not listening anymore, im done. all i asked was one day for us, just valentines day to make things work. and you showed me you dont care enough for that."

"please, let me fix this." he pleads.

"its too late."

"i wanted things to work so fucking bad, and you humiliated me Jude. i imagined a nice dinner, hell i would have settled for take out and a few kisses. that's how bad i want things to work, that's how bad i wanted you." you tremble.

"please my darling. let's talk about this. come back inside and i'll show everyone that you are mine," he holds a hand out to you, waiting. silently pleading with each breath he takes.

the street lights dance across his skin as for a moment you almost believe him. for a moment you think about stepping back inside with him. you can't do that to yourself, not again.

"no, iim done. don't follow me, don't call me dont text nothing. i want nothing more to do with you." your firm, final. swallowing the lump that builds in your throat, youd be damned if he sees you cry after this fucking shit show.

he stops in his tracks at this, not bothering to try and stop you.

it hurts more than it should to leave him behind you, but you honest to god can not keep up with his lifestyle.

all those articles and rumors were right you suppose, he's an arrogant stuck up bastard with too much money to know what to do with, too cocky for his own good and destroys anything good that comes his way. you hope he's happy without you.

#jude x you #jude bellingham #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham x reader #jude x reader #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham one shot #footballer angst #jude bellingham angst #footballer x reader #footballer fic #footballer one shot #footballer imagine #footballer x y/n #footballer x you

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slushycoookie · 1 month

Text

Late Night Trip ~ Miguel O'Hara x GN! Reader

A/N: A drawing from @scwibbs inspired me to write about going to the store late at night with Miguel. All because he wanted some more ice cream. I hope you all enjoy it!

“Amor? Do we have any more ice cream?”

You paused the movie, the frame stopping right before the part where a woman gets stabbed to death. You removed yourself from the couch and walked into the kitchen, where Miguel dug in the freezer. Only in his boxers.

“Yeah, I saw some yesterday.”

He huffed as he continued to search, “Well, I don't see it.” You pushed him aside, knowing he had tunnel vision when it came to looking for something in the house. Lucky for him, you remembered the exact place you saw it last night: sandwiched between frozen broccoli and the ice maker. But the pint of strawberry cheesecake wasn't there.

“Hold on, it was right there. What happened to it?”

Miguel didn’t look at you, “If you're talking about the strawberry cheesecake, I ate that one yesterday.”

“What?” Your head flickered, annoyed, “How did you eat that one already? We just bought that one.”

He rubbed the nape of his neck, “Late night hours at HQ.” Your fingers rubbed circles on the sides of your forehead. Miguel was the king of late-night snacking, especially if he was working late.

“Well, no ice cream for us then.” You accepted defeat, going back to your comfortable place on the couch to get ready to finish the horror movie.

Miguel had other plans. “I’ll go out and get some more.”

As he disappeared into your room, you perked your head up, about to protest. It was past midnight when you checked your phone. “It’s late.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Oh I know you will.” You stood, going into your room to grab a jacket, dressed in your t-shirt and pajama pants. “That’s why I’m coming with. I want some more snacks.” As you slipped your multi-colored covered feet into some slides, Miguel was ready to go. He resorted to simple sweatpants and a shirt, wearing matching black slides. Oh and he couldn’t forget his shades.

“You’re not going overboard.”

You raised a brow at him, “This is coming from the person who’s about to go out to get ice cream. At night.”

“Because I want some.” He stated, taking your hand and leaving the house.

There was a convenience store a block away. It was open until 3 a.m., enough time for you two to grab some goodies and go. Cool air brushed along your jacket as you walked beside Miguel. The atmosphere was quiet, crickets singing in your ears and the moon shining down on both of you. Hardly anyone was out at the moment. You didn’t see many cars in the store's parking lot when you went inside.

Miguel’s hand didn’t leave yours as he dragged you to the freezer aisle. Your eyes blinked multiple times to get used to the strong fluorescent lighting. The cashier’s hello drowned in the background from the vibrating hum of the freezers. He had to get his favorites, the strawberry cheesecake, banana bonanza, and tres leche. Your eyes caught triple chocolate fudge and dream boat, so he grabbed those too. Both of you noticed champagne, a flavor neither of you tried yet. Soon, his arms were covered in pints of ice cream.

“We should’ve gotten a basket.”

After a basket was acquired, you made a beeline for the chips. Throwing a bunch of bags of flaming hot ones inside, your favorite.

“You know, I heard they can mess up your stomach lining if you eat them too much.” You glared at your spouse, putting a bag back. Ignoring his smug look, you caught a little shelf of ramen on the other side. It wasn’t much to browse through, but there was no need. You saw that signature black packaging, grabbing the remaining two.

Miguel tsked when he saw the ramen packages you were holding, “I can't eat those. They're too spicy.”

“See, that's the white in you saying that because these aren't that hot.” You quipped back while he rolled his eyes. He took the packaging from your hands and tossed it in the basket. Being the nice partner that you were, you also grabbed the less spicy ones, the packaging sporting a green color.

Moving on to candy, you snagged a few bags of gummy bears. Stashing some chocolate bars too. Miguel picked up some hard candy, liking to suck on a few throughout his day.

“Are we done?” He asked, motioning to how much stuff was in the basket. It was almost overflowing if you put one more thing in it.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go.”

As you two made your way up to the cashier, who wasn’t paying attention to you and was watching videos on his phone, you stopped at the beverage aisle. You smacked your lips, feigning thirst, before grabbing two bottles of a mystery-flavored cola.

The cashier's eyes went wide at the number of items you had, but he had no issues ringing you two up. You didn’t make eye contact with your husband as the beeping lingered in your ears, but you felt his eyes.

Still, he took your hand, carrying the bags as you traveled home. While walking, you opened one of the sodas and took a swig to taste the mystery flavor. Hints of cotton candy lingered on your tongue with a mix of cherry? Or was that blueberry? You needed to ask an expert.

“Here, taste this.” You placed the bottle to his lips so he could take a sip.

Miguel felt the flavor, tasting like he had a sip of wine. His eyes lowered in mild thought, his lips pursed. “It’s blueberry-flavored cotton candy.”

“I knew it.”

Once you all got back inside, you threw your slippers off, grabbed your bag of hot chips, and jumped on the couch. After putting the snacks away, Miguel sat beside you, holding the tres leche ice cream and two spoons. Both of you got comfortable and resumed the movie, treating the outing as a success.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel x reader #slushycoookie writes

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mccardswife · 4 months

Text

You are enough

heyy! this is my first one shot so it is not the best but feel free to give any tips!

arsenal wfc x teen!reader

warnings: mentions of violence, bruise, angst, sh, a few cuss words, suicidal thoughts, protective awfc and fluff in the end. Please remind me if I have forgotten some! (don't read if you get triggered)

(not proofread so if any mistakes give me a heads up)

word count: 2144

enjoy!

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Being a 16 year old professional football player is not the easiest thing in the world. Yes, you do what you love everyday but it has its up and downs. I signed for arsenal 3 months ago but I had no idea it would be that difficult. I don't feel like I belong here, all the girls on the team are truly amazing don't get me wrong, but it is so hard living up to the standards. Especially when I am me, just me and only me. I don't feel enough

After my alarm went signaling me to get ready for another day of training, the thought of going to training today dreaded me, and it has for weeks. Silence, I lay in my bed in silence just thinking of all the bad things that can happen today. If you are wondering where my parents are, the truth is. I live alone, yes, alone as a 16 year old in England. My parents has never supported me playing footy, not even when I was little. They wanted me to have a career that was meant for "girls" and not "boys", but that sounded bizarre. Football is for everyone, but they don't seem get that into their head. My parents kicked me out when they found out I signed for Arsenal, we lived in London, but since I got kicked out I had to get an apartment for myself. It was pretty hard but my best friend helped me and I am so grateful thankful for her. I have not told the team about me living alone for 6 months, they would go all protective and wanting to know why but I can't tell them, not yet. I don't want to be judged. Saying to the girls that I got kicked out of home, even thinking about it makes me feel so embarrassed and ashamed of myself.

I lay in bed, in pain. Physically and emotionally. Last night, after I was out grocery shopping I took the metro home as always, when a man probably doubled my age walked over to me. I then realized that it was my father, he dragged me into a corner and asked me if I still was into all that "football shit". I got furious and started whisper shout at him, turned out that was not the best idea. He started going about me being a disgrace to the family, not only the family but the world, that no one is ever going to love me for playing football, and then he punched me right in my cheek. I felt thrilling pain in my face, but he grabbed my wrists hard and said in my face "You useless bitch, no one cares about you and never will".

That sentence goes through my mind over and over again. I was almost impossible to fall asleep last night, because of the pain I was in both physically and emotionally. What my father told me, got to my head and I was thinking. Maybe he was right, I am a disgrace, no one will ever love me, maybe if it would be better if I just disappeared.

Well, well. Got to get up for training and stop thinking. Seriously y/n, get your shit together...

I walked downstairs to the bathroom and got dressed and tried to cover the bruise on my cheek that now has gotten all blue, yellow and purple. It was really painful and very difficult but totally worth it when I was done and I literally could not see a damn thing. Then I did the same to the bruises on my wrists and after I tried to cover up the dark bags under my eyes but that was a bit more of a job.

Suddenly I got the urge, the painful urge. I took the hidden blade from the mirror cabinet and drawed lines on my right arm. One, two, three, four.

Then I looked at the clock. Shit, I thought. The training starts in two hours and we have breakfast together in the dining room an hour before. The metro usually took 30 minutes, I packed my bag in a hurry and left.

When I walked in to the facility I heard two voices yelling my name behind me. Lotte and Alessia walked quickly over to me. "You excited for training?" Alessia asked you. "Yes totally" I said in a lie, I think they saw that I lied because it did not look like they believed me at all. "What about you Less and Lotte?" you said to try getting the attention away from you. It seemed that it worked because they said in sync "Yes". Less and Lotte looked at each other and we giggled.

When we walked in to the dining room, everyone was there. I tried to brush off all the looks I got. Why does everyone look so suspicious today...

"Come here Y/n, sit with us", Leah said after I served myself food. Leah sat with Katie, Kim, Lia, Caitlin, Steph, Beth, Viv and Kyra. I walked nervously over to them and sat down in the seat beside Beth. They started talking and I just sat there quietly eating my food being in my thoughts until Viv said "Y/n, you've been quiet, are you good". They looked at me concerned, "Me? Yes of course Im good, just sat thinking about the upcoming training today". I lied straight through my teeth. "Okay, if you're sure. but you can talk to us though", Caitlin said. I just said a quietly thank you, and then we walked to the locker room and got ready for training.

We started doing some light jog then got into some training drills. I was already sweating, it was surprisingly very sunny outside today and I wore a long sleeve training jersey because of my scars. "Aren't you hot in that", said Jen to me. I just simply shrugged her off saying no.

I was so exhausted, my body is so tired and I really want to lay down. When we had water break I just laid down on the grass. Sweating, I rubbed my face because I was so tired.

Beth and Viv walked over worriedly, they have become my unofficial parents after my transfer to Arsenal. They looked shocked when they saw me. "What" I said in a panicked voice. "Why do you have a big black bruise on your cheek?" Beth said, "And on your wrists?" Viv said. "Is something going on at home?" Viv asked with a knowing look. "No, no of course not, why would you assume that".

After training everyone looked worried and concerned, my passes and shots got sloppier and sloppier, I was hurting more and more. When I was about to leave, Kim, Katie, Leah and Jen cornered me. With Beth and Viv looking guilty behind. They brought me into a private room and they started telling me what Beth and Viv told me. Then all of a sudden Kim said "You know, all the team has been worried and concerned for a while, I can't remember how many times the girls have repeatedly come and talked to me". I looked at her ashamed. "Why do you have bruised?" Katie asked, "I just fell" I said, the lie obvious.

I started scratching because my scars got really itchy, I really wanted to just disappear right there and then. Then Leah grabbed my right wrist softly and pulled up my sleeve, the last thing before I broke down was gasps from the girls. I started trying to make up excuses but none of them were having it, "come with us" said Beth, "We will bring you to the medical room and then we want you to tell us everything". I desperately did not want to but I knew it was no chance of me getting out of this.

When we got to the medical room they put me on one of the beds. My scars were infected, that is why they itched so damn much. Jen was cleaning up my bruises while Kim cleaned up my scars. I know the people who worked here could do it but I did not want them right now, it is bad enough that now the whole team knows.

Leah then said in her stern but soft captain voice "Now tell us everything". I tried to tell her that it was nothing. What Katie said broke me "Please babe, we only want to help you. We know it has been hard for you but please". Then I broke down again, full on shaking and crying. Desperately gasping for air.

I started telling them everything, how my parents are and that they has never supported me once for the choices I have made, that I don't feel like I belong here because I am only me... When I spit out the truth about me living alone for 3 months because my parents kicked me out and that they were abusing me for years before, I saw tears in all of the girls faces. It was a heartbreaking sight. I told them how I ran into my father last night and what he did and said to me and I started sobbing again and saying silently to myself "It is true, what he said. I am a reckless disgrace full kid".

"You are enough y/nn, I promise you babe" Viv said. All of the others agree but I could not help believing my fathers words. "Actually me and Beth have been thinking for a while, we have a spare room and big enough place for 3, and you are like our kid. I am being for real, we love you as our own family. All the team does, but we wondered if you wanted to come live with us?" Viv asked me. I was hesitant and I think Beth saw that because she said "We are not taking no for an answer". I felt a smile creep up on my face and as desperate I was trying to hide it all the others saw and started smiling too. I said to Meadema, "thank you moms". I realized what I said "shit fuck, sorry I did not mean to".

"Y/nn it is okay, you have no idea how glad that made us, you are like our kid" Beth and Viv said.

After a while of me telling them about my thoughts, how I have been feeling for the last weeks, they decided to get me into therapy. We have a therapist at the facility so we agreed to be going to her twice a week. "I am grateful for all of you, I really am but I just feel like a bother" I said quietly.

"No babe stop" Jen said, Katie walked over to me, she took her hands on my head and said "You are enough, a hundred times enough". "You are like a younger sister to me, it breaks me to see you like this, not only me but all of us. We and all the team loves you. You are the baby of the team."

"We will always protect you, and we will get your so called parents locked up." Kim said to me. "Not Viv and Beth but the other parents" Jen said in a playful tone.

"That I understand" I said with a smile of my face.

Leah asked me if she could tell the other girls and the Gaffer, she needed to anyway but it was nice she asked me. I said yes then she walked outside.

A few minutes later they all came in. Kyra, being kind of like my annoying twin ran over to me and hanged on for me for dear life in a bear hug. I started explaining to them a bit more, and reassured them that it was not their fault but my manipulative parents.

I also said that I called Viv and Beth mum and that I am moving in with them and Lessi and Laura said at the same time "about damn time". All the team broke out in laughter.

"I am sorry for not telling you but I feel a thousand times better now after telling you, I have been scared and not felt at home here for a while but telling you and knowing that I can count on you girls will help me. The whole team is kind of like my family I never got and I can't ask for more than that. I am so grateful for all of you, and I love you"

"We love you too y/nn", Leah said with the softest most heartwarming smile ever. "You are our family, blood or not you will always be family" Kim said reassuring.

"Always," Katie said

"And you are enough" the team said lovingly.

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anglbby444 · 22 days

Text

Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader smut.

Warnings; none, vanilla sex <3

After bidding your maid farewell for the night with a kiss on the cheek, you nestle yourself into the soft comforters of the bed, which is surrounded by a room that is beautifully decorated thanks to your family’s maids, you feel a familiar crater form next to you. With a grin, you turn over and look into the eyes of your husband, Anthony Bridgerton. “Hello dearest.” He says after placing a gentle kiss on your bare shoulder, you humming contently in response. “Did you have dinner yet, my love?” He questions between more kisses to your shoulder as he leans over your figure. You murmured out an “mhm” as you take in and attempt to memorize the feel of his lips on your skin. “Mm, good good, so did I…although I must admit, you look rather delectable tonight, for a lack of a better choice of words.” He mumbles against your skin, drawing a playful scoff from you. “Anthony! How scandalous..” A smile finds its way onto your face as you sit up and turn around to face your husband, connecting your lips with his.

His hands begin to wander, fingers tracing every inch of skin he can find. Starting from your shoulder, his nimble fingers leave a trail of goosebumps down your arms, chest, breasts, and tummy as his teeth gently latch on to your earlobe. Although most of the skin he’s touching is covered by a soft pink silk nightdress, that doesn’t stop the goosebumps his touch creates on the soft flesh. A moan threatens to escape from your throat as his fingers begin to move lower and lower, eventually hovering above your mound as you feel him chuckle against your skin. You can feel his smirk grow as his fingers find their way into your panties. “A-Anthony!” You cry out.

It is no secret that Anthony Bridgerton likes to make you beg for him to fuck you. No matter if he knows exactly how you want him to fuck you, take you how he pleases. However, as you'll soon find out, that dosen't stop him from wanting to hear it from your pretty litle mouth. "Is your pretty little pussy wet for me? Hm?" Anthonys voice is a devilish one at that, his hot breath tickling the outer shell of your ear. He continues to kiss down towards your neck, lips suctioning a soft portion of skin as he chuckles when he feels you try to buck your hips up. In true mean Anthony fashion, he firmly grips your hips and pushes them down with a growl. "I take that as a yes.."

You let out a sharp breath as his fingers curl into your skin, ever so slightly gliding against your cunt. As Anthony felt the pool of dampness on your heat, he groaned and let out a laugh. "I guess I was right, wasn't I?" He drawls, softly twirling his middle finger around your sensitive bud. You attempted to come up with some sort of sassy remark, but find yourself failing to collect your words. Instead, you let out an almost pathetic sounding whimper. "Anthonyyy...." You call out his name, running your fingers through his hair as you try to buck your hips up once more. This time, he dosen't dissapoint. His forehead presses against you as he shakes his head in playful disbelief. "Say my name like that again and I might just break.." And you took that as a challenge.

"Oh Anthonyyy..." You mewl out his name again, giggling softly as you see him tilt his head and give you a deviant smile. To your surprise, he rips the blanket off of you, exposing your body to him. Although you still have your nightdress on, you can't help but get a bit flustered whenever he sees you so vulnerable. "Well...I think its time to get this pesky dress off of you..." You nod in response and begin to climb out of bed and slowly lift up the dress covering your legs. You know he wanted you to put on a little show. And that you did. Your hair falls down over your shoulders as you let the sleeves of the silk dress slip down your arms. The cold chill that washed over you was a familiar feeling to your already hard nipples. Anthony licked his lips as you fully step out of the nightgown and sashay over to him with a cheeky grin on your face. You crawl onto the bed and look at him with pleading eyes, waiting for him to make the next move. "How do you want me, darling?" His voice became soft, the voice he knows make you feel the safest. Even when hes going to fuck your brains out, as he usually does at least five times a week. "I want you inside me, Anthony.."

Fuck, he CANNOT say no to that. "Guess its a good thing you aren't wearing any panties tonight...Seems like you already knew you wanted my cock tonight." You nod at him with a crooked smile. To your pleasant surprise, he firmly gripped your legs and pulled you closer to him. He let out a chuckle as he placed one of your legs onto his shoulders, spitting on his hand and stroking his already hard cock. Your chest heaves, biting your lip as you look up at him with an already cockdrunk gaze. He leans down and places a passionate kiss to your lips. The two of you exchanged a knowing look, giving him the ok to slip his hard cock into you.

He grabbed onto one of your legs as he gave you a few gentle thrusts, letting you get used to the preassure his cock created inside her. God, you felt like you were in heaven every time he fucked you. He rolled his hips, his tip hitting you in just the right spot. The sensation made your eyes roll back. That sight and your high pitched moans told him all he needed to know. The sound of his skin slapping against yours echoded through the room as he started to speed up his movements, his hands finding their way up to your breasts. His large, gruff hands squeezed the pink and plump flesh.

{You’re pretty sure you came four times that night,,,}

#anglbby444 #anthony bridgerton smut #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton fic #bridgerton smut #jonathan bailey

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yeppeun-riaa · 2 months

Note

Husband Ran who fucks you in his club and like that wasn't enough the mess he made will take you home and fuck you until you can't remember your own name

How were you not supposed to get jealous of all the attractive women approaching you husband? Yeah he was hot, handsome, sexy so it's only natural women would cling to him, you knew that back when you first started dating him, and it never stopped you from falling in love with him and marrying him, but it did piss you the fuck off because they all knew he had a wife you. They never seemed to care that he wasn't interested in their ugly ass, or that you were right next to them when they were flirting with him, and boy did that make you upset, "get. the. fuck. off. my. husband" you snarled at her and she just stood there making you even more upset, "did I fucking stutter!" You say loud enough to catch the attention of a few people over the loud music, and finally she glared at you before going to whothefuckevencareswhereshegoes.

You look back to ran who was smirking at you and suddenly you were mad at him, if only he was ugly, "don't fucking smile at me ran, whores like that piss me off" you say firmly when he snakes his arms around your waist and pulls you close, "I only have eyes for you baby, you know this." You lean into him, relishing in the jealous eyes on you, "show me then, ran.." you locking eyes with him, and you swore you could see stars in his eyes with the way he smiled at you, dragging you to one of the private VVIP rooms in his club that you both knew no one wold dare enter.

He pushed you up against the wall, locking both of your lips in a hot kiss, you sigh softly into his mouth and you could feel yourself getting wet already. His big hands slid under your dress, pulling your panty aside and putting two long fingers in, "ra-ran" you chant his name and he moves his fingers inside you at a faster pace. He kisses you again, his movements don't falter when he slides the top of the dress down, along with your lace bra to expose your soft breasts to him. You nipples harden because of the cold air but ran quickly puts one into his mouth, sucking and biting while he twists the other with his finges, and he puts two more fingers in, "ran!" he smirks when your back arches, "you gonna cum for me, hmm?", "fuck, yeah I do, please! Please let me cum ran!", "cum for me, I want you to make a mess" some more thrusts and his lewd words sent you over the edge, your body twitches as you orgasm, his fingers fucking you through you high, he slowly pulls his fingers out and sucks on them, so sexy, you think.

"Come on baby" he says fixing your clothes, "let's go home so I can fuck you dumb on my cock" you get a bit flustered at his words, he knows the effect he has on you.

The dive home seemed longer than usual and you didn't blame ran that the moment you arrived he practically manhandled you and threw you on the bed as if you were some ragdoll.

And within a matter of seconds he was all over you, your hot tongue sliding against his, he ripped you dress of, "ran! I liked that dress" you pout and he just shrugs, "I'll get you another one" you were cut off by his mouth on yours, and his fat dick sliding into you. "Ran..fuck, that feels good..." he moves inside you and you call feel all of him, "you like that, don't you, my little wife's so naughty" he smirks, pressing down on that small bulge in your tummy, and it draws the most angelic moans out of you, music to rans ears.

He trust into you, you can't remember how many times you've came, 3, 4 times maybe? All you could think of was ran, and how good he was making you feel. Your screams were loud and you could barely form a sentence, ran thinks you look best like this, dumb of his cock and head empty, "fu-fuck, you like being treated like a whore, huh?" You clenched around him and nodded, babbling random shit because you genuinely could not form a sentence, rans hands connected with your thing, earing a yelp out of you, "answer me, shut, use your fucking words", he spread you legs wider, bring a hand down to rub circles onto your puffy clit, thrushing the breath out of you with his huge dick "yes! Yes! Love it!", ran slapped your thigh again and flipped you over so you're ass was up and resumed his brutal pace.

Your back arched so much it was painful, but the pleasure made the pain worth it as you felt you high approaching, "ran! i wanna, please, i-i", ran slapped your ass and gripped you by you hair pulling you up and fondling you breasts with his other hand, "cim on my cock, you slut, facing cum" you let out the most camgirl like moan and you fucking squirt, wetting the sheet below, and that made ran cum too, he thrusted slowly into you filling you up with his cum and riding both of you through your orgasms.

He collapsed next to you and you used your little energy to turn and face him, he looked at you with a small smile, "I only have eyes for you, got that?" You hum softly and your eyes feel heavy, ran picked you up and cleaned you and himself up, afterwards going to the guest room (since the bed sheets in your room reeked of sex) and you both fell asleep cuddling each other.

#ran x reader #ran haitani x reader #ran haitani #haitani ran #tokyo rev ran #ran smut #tokyo rev x reader #ran x y/n

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stop-talking · 2 months

Text

You're his ex, but he's desperate for a babysitter. (pt. 2)

Mike Schmidt x fem reader

2.2k words

Tags: 18+, mike x fem reader, no use of y/n, exes, enemies to lovers, slowburn? sassy mike, sassy reader, pet names, banter, angst, fluff, babysitting Abby. (no smut... yet.)

Part 1 Part 3

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Mike calls you up to ask a favor for the 2nd night in a row. He hates having to resort to you, his ex for Christ's sake, but he has no other choice. Besides, after last night... maybe he doesn't hate it so much.

"Again?" You ask, feigning annoyance. "What, did your usual babysitter fuck off and die?"

Mike winces at that. "I hope not. I can't really afford anyone else right now."

"And why do you expect me to come be your free labor, Schmidt?"

"Because I'll owe ya one?"

"You already owe me one from last night."

"..."

"I'll owe you two."

You scoff in an attempt to cover a laugh. Damnit. Why did he have to be so charming?

"Fine. But we are not making a habit of this."

"We aren't. I promise. I'll look for a new babysitter this weekend. I just can't leave Abby alone overnight."

"That's a strange way of saying you can't go another minute without me."

"You're delusional, woman."

"A delusional woman you owe two favors, Mikey. Be careful throwing insults."

Now it's Mike's turn to stifle a laugh. He coughs in a feeble attempt at covering it up.

"What, catching a cold?"

"No. You just make me sick."

"Stop flirting with me and hang up already."

Mike does just that, slamming the corded landline phone back into it's holster. The little smiley face sticker Abby stuck to it years ago seems to taunt him almost as much as you just did. He sighs, leaning against the counter and wondering how he got himself into this mess. He shouldn't enjoy it so much when you toy with him like this. That's all it was, he was being played with. But damn it, after being lonely so long... he'd take what he could get.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

You arrive at his house around half an hour later, annoyed at the prospect of crashing on his couch for the 2nd night in a row. You try to make your displeasure evident with a scowl as he opens the door, but when you see the way he's gawking at you...

"Stop staring. It's rude." You can't help but smirk slightly as you scold him, he's just so easy to mess with.

"Did you really have to dress like a slut just to babysit?" Mike hisses as you set down your things, taking in your outfit. A pair of shorts that you'd definitely be cold in, and a white tank top. Of course, you had a hoodie too, but it was unzipped, and he was more focused on what it didn't cover.

"Hey, last time you said..." Mike nods to the kitchen, and you trail off as you notice the girl sitting and coloring at the table. Abby. Oh. Right.

"You're not in any position to judge my clothing choices, Mikey."

Mike shivers as you whisper in his ear. What exactly is that supposed to mean? His clothes are fine, right? He studies his hoodie and jeans, then shakes himself and grits his teeth as he follows you into the kitchen.

"Look! Mike drew this one!" Abby excitedly shoves a piece of paper in your face as you sit down at the kitchen table with her. It's a sketch of a forest, pine trees and shrubs. It's actually rather well drawn, and you take a minute to look over it.

"It's nice, but you're the better artist for sure." You slide the paper back over to her and give Mike a teasing smile as he sits down across from you, on the other side of Abby.

"Oh, I know." She turns her attention back to her own drawing, another one of Mike. And... wait, was that...? No, it couldn't be...?

"Abby, what are you drawing?" Mike asks the question before you can, craning his neck to get a better look at her paper.

"You." She responds vaguely, still scribbling away.

"Okay, but what exactly is he doing?" You ask, scooting closer to her for a better look.

"And what am I wearing?"

"A suit. It's your wedding." Abby casually drops a bomb on you both, still not even bothering to look up from her paper. Wedding? Mike?

"You're engaged?" You turn to the dumbfounded older Schmidt, and discreetly scan his hands, looking for a ring.

"N-no? What? Abby, I'm not getting married." He finally sputters, face flushed a light shade of pink.

Abby doesn't respond, still focused on her drawing. Now that you're sure what it is, you can totally see it. The red isle. The benches. Mike, wearing... something that sort of resembles a suit, if you squint. And... a bride. You nearly choke when you spot her.

"Abbs, who's that?" You ask, pointing a shaky finger at the bride, who almost looks familiar...

"You."

"..."

Mike gives you a look, and you both quickly excuse yourselves from the table.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

"Seriously, Mike? First you tell her I'm a witch, then you tell her I'm your fiancé? Make up your goddamn mind." You scowl at him and zip up your hoodie as he closes the door behind you. The night air is chilly, and you're almost starting to regret the shorts. Almost.

Mike returns your scowl as he leans against a wall. His porch isn't exactly the best hang out spot, but you two needed to speak privately after Abby's little comment.

"I didn't tell her you're my fiancé." He growls, speaking firmly. Must be trying to make up for the way he was totally blushing earlier.

"So what, then? She just made it up?"

"Come on..." He groans, burying his face in his hands and letting the tough act fall for a moment. "You know how she is..."

It was true, his sister was... weird. He still loved her obviously, more than anyone, especially his stupid ex-girlfriend. But she was certainty different from other kids, made evident by the fact she spent more time talking to imaginary people than Mike.

"Seriously... I didn't fuckin' say that..." Mike wasn't a very good liar. But this wasn't lying, right? He'd never explicitly told Abby he was going to marry you, but he definitely humored her when she asked about it way back when you two were dating. He'd told her maybe. Maybe. To a kid, that meant yes.

"You sure, Mikey? Don't have a ring hidden away somewhere, waiting to pop the question?" You cross your arms and scoff, but it's hard to be angry when this whole thing is so amusing. Abby definitely had a wild imagination, but she wouldn't just make up something like that out of nowhere. There had to be more to this.

"Hell no. I'd rather die alone than marry a witch." He practically spits in anger, but he's more angry at himself than you or Abby. He should have shut Abby down immediately when she asked about marriage... especially considering the relationship hardly lasted 3 months. But, well, he was a lovesick fool. Way back then. Not anymore.

"Pfft. Fine. Have fun at work, Honey." You taunt him as you head back inside, and you can hear him grumble more than a few curses in response.

Little sisters and ex-girlfriends, man. Mike wanted to scream.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

You nearly choke on your glass of water as Abby drops yet another bomb on you.

"C-can you repeat that?" You ask, coughing.

"Will you teach me witch stuff? You know, cursing people?" Abby blinks up at you innocently. Damn these Schmidts and their big brown puppy eyes.

"Please? When you lifted the curse from Mike, it really worked!" She insists eagerly. "He colored with me!"

You watch as she proudly holds up Mike's drawing of a forest. She must really treasure it.

"I... uh... why do you want to learn witchcraft, Abby?"

Abby cocks her head at the question. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Fair enough." You laugh and shake your head. This kid.

"Alright... but we can't do witchery on empty stomachs. What do you want to eat?"

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

When Mike quietly slips back into the house at the crack of dawn, he nearly trips over his own feet when he sees the state of his kitchen table.

"The fuck happened here?" He mutters, picking up one of the many papers strewn across the table. The weird markings all over it vaguely resembled hieroglyphics, not that he was an expert on those. The part that really concerned him, though, was the circle of candles in the center of the table.

They weren't lit, thankfully, but they looked like they had been. Damn it. Those were for emergencies. Like the time he forgot to pay the power bill.

"Too tired for this shit." He gives up on trying to decipher whatever-the-fuck you and Abby did, and makes his way into the living room. He pauses yet again when he sees you sleeping on the couch. Was that his blanket? And pillow? From his bed? Damn infuriating woman.

"Get up." He gives your shoulder a shake, not bothering to be gentle. He doesn't have the patience right now.

"Nngh... 5 more minutes." Ugh. You sound just like Abby.

"Don't be a bum." He rips the blanket off of you, then immediately regrets it when he remembers just how little you're wearing. Your tank top had shifted, almost completely exposing your... fuck, he shouldn't stare.

"Don't you have work?" He grumbles, flopping down in his recliner and pointedly looking away from your body.

"Nah... It's my day off." You sit up and stretch, planting your feet on the floor and reaching up to the sky as you lean back against the couch. Either you don't notice that one of your breasts has fallen out of your tiny top, or you just don't care. Mike clears his throat and looks away again. Fuck. He's definitely blushing.

"Oh, shit." With a casual hand, you tuck your breast back into the tank top. Must have moved around a lot. Damn uncomfortable couch.

"You wanna explain why it looks like I hosted a cult meeting in my kitchen?" Mike snaps, finally able to focus.

"Hey, you're the one who convinced Abby I'm a witch. Not my fault the promise of learning a spell is such an effective way of getting her to eat dinner."

Mike furrows his brow at that. You got her to eat dinner? Two nights in a row? That's an accomplishment. "...Fine. But please, clean up your mess next time. I have to take her to school in a couple hours, and if the table is-"

"Yeah, yeah. I'll clean it up. Let me get some coffee first, jeez." You brush him off and make your way into the kitchen. He still has the same shitty coffee maker that looks like it belongs in an antique store. And no creamer, because Mike hates joy.

"You want a cup too?"

"I shouldn't. Gotta go to sleep after I drop Abby off at school." He grunts from the other room, and you can hear him getting out of the old creaky recliner he loves so much.

"Ah. Night shift."

"Yeah. Night shift."

Mike shuffles into the kitchen and you both stand there awkwardly for a few moments as the coffee brews.

"You don't really look like you sleep, you know." You remark, taking in his ever-present eyebags for the hundredth time.

"Yeah, well, I do. Sleeping is just so... tiring." He scoffs, making light of the situation. He's telling the truth, though. Sleep for him is more of a project than real rest. His eyes glaze over as he gets lost in thought for a moment.

"You good, Mike?" He flinches as you place a hand on his shoulder. He wasn't expecting that from you.

"Yeah, uh, just..."

"Tired?"

"Yeah."

You sigh and decide to let it go, turning your attention to the mess on the kitchen table instead. He didn't owe you an explanation, especially now that you're not together, but it was still frustrating. He's obviously dealing with something, probably a lot of somethings, and he's too stubborn to admit it. That stubbornness is gonna be the end of him, you swear. It was what ended your relationship. Partially.

"Here, I'll help." Mike fumbles to help you pick up papers and crayons, colored pencils and candles. After a few minutes, it doesn't look like such a disaster.

"Oh, by the way." You pour yourself a cup of coffee, and start to stir in a few spoons of sugar. Too much sugar, for Mike's taste. "Abby's little blue dolphin stuffed animal is invisible to you now, got it? As long as it's in the house, grown-ups can't see it. I think she put it in your room to test you. Just ignore it."

"Is that what you two were doing?" Mike leans back against the counter and scoffs, but makes a mental note to ignore the little dolphin from now one. He'd humor her, if it meant she'd eat her dinner.

"I don't know? I panicked, okay? I had to think of something harmless but still believable and exciting for a little kid."

"And 'invisible stuffed animal' was the best you could think of?"

"This is a warning. Find a new goddamn babysitter or I'm teaching her curses next. And you have to play along."

Mike can't help but smile at that. A real smile.

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────────

Already workin' on the next part don't worry <3

Edit: Part 3

#josh hutcherson x reader #mikeschmidt #mike schmidt #fnaf movie #fnafmovie #mike schmidt fluff #mike x reader #abby fnaf #five nights at freddy's #fanfic #fnaf fanfic #jhutch #josh hutcherson

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luveline · 2 years

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okok if you'd be into it, maybe Roan seeing reader in the supermarket and slipping away from Eddie to go and say hi? like he looks down from where he was reading the label on something and just panics 'cause wheredidshegoohmygod

you are the GOAT babe! absolutely best idea ever ever I owe u my life. kind of single dad Eddie losing his mind while u and his kid bond <3 | fem!reader

Eddie's completely unaware that you're even at Bradley's Big Buy. Him and Roan have only stopped by for some princess bandaids to cover her skimmed knees. She's calmer now she knows the princess bandaids are an inevitability, but she'd been near inconsolable on the drive here.

"You feeling better?" he asks hopefully, swinging her small hand gently as he walks.

He's taking slow steps to match her. They've made a one minute walk to the toiletries into five minutes and counting.

"Maybe," she says.

He almost regrets teaching her the word 'maybe'. Everything is maybe these days.

"What can I do to get a 'yes', huh?"

She wriggles her fingers in his. He gives her a nice squeeze and waits hopefully, pulling her past the aisle of shampoos and then the aisle of deodorants to the one beside it, first aid and ointments and things.

"Y/N," she says with surety.

"She's coming over again next week, babe."

"Now?" she says, or asks.

He stops in front of the plasters. "I wish, sweetheart. Alright, here's the bandaids... But where..." He frowns at the lack of pink bandaids and kneels down to search for them. There's puppies and sharks and fall leaves, but no princesses. He drops Roan's hand to push a box of plain bandaids aside. "You got along so well, I know she's excited to see you too, but I can't just ask her to come over. Well, maybe I can. How many dates do you go on before you..." He peers behind the boxes. Not a princess in sight.

He pulls away. "Baby, I don't think they have any-" Eddie stops short, a placating speech caught in his throat when he realises his daughter is nowhere to be seen.

"Roan?" he asks. With no time for her to answer, he repeats, "Roan?" loudly, loud enough to draw stares.

He swings his gaze one way and then the other, praying for a hint of her. The bounce of her little dark bunches or the flare of her dress dungarees.

Roan can hear her dad calling her, she just doesn't care. She'd seen you standing in the shampoo aisle debating between bottles and needed to come and see you.

You shrug and drop a blue bottle that brags moisture and definition into the basket and go to move to the deodorants in the next aisle when you feel something tug your skirt.

You look down and see a little kid.

"Hi, baby, are you lo- Roan?"

Hard to confuse her honey brown eyes for anyone else, you stop short when you realise it's Eddie's baby.

Roan finally has confirmation that it's you and shouts exuberantly, "Y/N!"

Your heart melts. Capital M, melts. You're putty in her tiny hands. "Well hi, princess."

She beams wide as she can and holds up her arms. It's a struggle to pull her into your chest — you're not as adept as juggling her with one full hand as Eddie is and you doubt you ever will be — but you make up for your clumsiness with pure adoration. She's just as pretty as her dad and twice as charming, wrapping her arms around your neck and ducking her forehead to your collar in a hug.

"Aw," you croon, patting her back. "Hi, baby. How are you?"

"I got an owie," she says very quietly. There's a soft whine to her voice like she might cry.

You encourage her head back to look at her. "Yeah? What have you hurt, sweetheart? And where's your daddy?"

You look over her head suddenly, half-expecting Eddie to be standing there watching. He's not. The aisle is completely empty. You walk to the end of the aisle in hopes that he's gonna be coming around the corner. No dice.

"Roan, where's daddy?" you ask seriously.

She looks as pensive as a three year old can. "I want the princess ones."

"Princess what?" you ask distractedly, eyes searching the store for Eddie.

Music plays loudly over the speakers, an old Bowie song. You can barely hear her answer. "For the owies."

You make a decision without thinking. Yes, Eddie's probably very worried that Roan isn't with him, but she keeps talking about a mysterious owie and you'd found her by herself, so you prioritise her hurting over his.

Sorry, Eddie, you think.

"What did you hurt? D'you wanna show me?"

She points down.

You hold her away from you (kind of, this carrying thing is hard) and find the rips in her thick wool tights edged in red.

"Oh no! You poor girl, I know that must've hurt. Did daddy kiss them better?" you ask sympathetically, wincing as you assess the surface scrapes on her knees. Bloody, but with no deep cuts you think she'll be okay.

"Yeah," she says tearfully. To your horror, her eyes start to well up. You've reminded her that she's hurting. It's not a good move.

"Oh no," you repeat, rubbing up and down the breadth of her back.

She's heavier than she looks and your basket makes your wrist ache but you refuse to put her down. Her crumpled face strikes a fear like God and you reckon putting her down will make it a whole lot worse.

You've yet to see her tantrum as Eddie promises she does. This feels awful enough, you decide, to see her actually upset about something. You flail to make her feel better.

"What can I do, sweetheart? Shall we go find you some bandaids?" you ask softly. She nod slow and rubs her eyes with her fists.

You hike her up your chest and move out of the aisle. As soon as you do you're almost knocked over, a fast-moving body smashing into your basket and tugging your arm. You shriek and Roan shrieks and Eddie stops in front of you, dark curls framing a frantic face, and says, "Thank fuck."

"Don't repeat that," you tell Roan.

"Y/N," Eddie says. Your name is sweet on his lips, affection and relief and gratitude. "Oh my god."

He laughs and then keels over.

"Eddie!" You drop your basket and it slams to the floor, reaching for his back.

"I'm okay!" he says, equally abrupt and stressed. He scratches two hands through his hair before he emerges and scrapes it all away from his cheeks, eyes bright.

He takes a deep breath. His chest rises.

His laugh is nice. You've heard it before. This one is sunshine in sound.

"I think I just had a heart attack."

"Oh my god."

"You're in my bad books," he says to Roan pointedly, glaring.

She glares back. It's amazing to you how they mimic each other, intentionally or otherwise. Twin scrunched noses, twin sloped eyebrows.

Then he dips forward and kisses her sloppy on the cheek. His smell washes over you, the unmistakable stick of engine oil hidden by too much laundry detergent. It's endearing. It makes you want a kiss on the cheek too.

"Baby," he says, voice all drama. It takes you a while to realise he's speaking to you. "I owe you my life."

"Well... actually, I think it might've been my fault. She knew it was me and-" Your eyes blow wide. "Eddie, she skimmed her knees."

"I know," he says, reaching out to squeeze your shoulder. You can feel the clear indent of every finger pressing into your skin. "That's why we're here, for princess bandaids."

He rolls his eyes as if to say, what can you do? Though his voice had been so soft when he'd reassured you, like he'd understood the stress. Well, of course he had. He knows it better than you ever could.

"Princess bandaids," you repeat, stroking a rogue curl out of Roan's eyes. She shys at your tone, fondness for her doubled now you have some context. Princess ones, princess bandaids.

"You heard about 'em?" Eddie asks knowingly.

"All about 'em." You remember yourself and move your hands to under her armpits. "Speaking of..."

Eddie holds his hands out and takes her. Upset in remembering her injured knees she goes without a fuss, clearly craving her dad's comfort. She tucks her face into his neck and all but disappears into his hair. Eddie wraps her up tight, the last bit of nervous tension he'd been holding slipping away.

"We should go get some," he finishes.

You shift onto the side of your foot. "Maybe I can help look?" you ask.

Eddie grins at you. It's a cheeky kind of smile.

I see through you, it says.

"What do you think, baby? Think Y/N can come help us find some bandaids for your owie?" he murmurs.

She mutters something into his neck. He whispers something back, pats the top of her shoulders, and kisses her head.

"What'd she say?" you ask apprehensively.

Your awkward smile must amuse him, must endear him, something, because he smiles at you with his lashes kissing in the corners and elbows you with a great laugh.

"She asked if you'd kiss her owies too."

Oh my god. "Of course I will."

"That's what I told her," he says.

You pick up your basket and trip over yourself as you follow him into the first aid aisle. You're frenetic and awkward under Eddie's steady gaze, a bumbling mess of nerves and shakey giggles, but when it's your turn to kiss Roan's scraped knees, you're perfect.

more eddie n roan

#eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #dad!eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader #fem!reader #eddie munson fic #eddie and roan

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thebestofoneshots · 3 months

Text

Mr. Blue Sky | marauders x reader

Pairing: J.P. x R.B. x R.L x Female Hufflepuff Reader Word Count: 3 k Warnings: None Prompt: You had your entire birthday planned, it would be the perfect picnic, but... a storm has ruined it entirely and now, you can't help but feel absolutely desolated. Of course, your boys would never allow you to be sad on your birthday.

Happy Birthday my beloved Lily flower! I truly hope you have the best of days today and even if you didn't have your garden picnic in the end, know that you can still have the most brilliant day ever, after all, there's always a rainbow after the rain.

Wirtten for @starchaser-lily

You had it all ready. You had ordered the dress that you would wear. You had asked the elves in the kitchen for a proper banquet, thankfully, since you often went there, and you had helped them cook some stuff before (cakes for your boys), they were more than happy to help you with your plan. In fact, Bub, a small elf that seemed to always be around, had gotten so excited about the idea of helping you with your plan that she had started jumping all over the kitchen and looking for all the things she would need to prepare it.

You had to remind her that the event wasn’t going to be until the next Tuesday like 3 times before she stopped jumping around; she already had eggs, flour, food coloring, and sugar in her arms, and a bunch of other ingredients floating behind her when she understood what you meant. You had told her that she could work on the cake if that’s what she wanted, and that the design would be all up to her. Which made her fallen face turn into a delighted one in a second, and she walked over to the side to start sketching some things in her notebook.

You had prepared and made the invitations; it was going to be a small gathering, but you still wanted it to be perfect. One of your friends from abroad had sent you an adorable tablecloth with cute yellow details that matched your house colors, and she’d sent a birthday card along with it. Although she warned you not to touch it, let alone open it until it was officially your birthday. The red envelope was deterrent enough, but you were too curious not to try and pry, so you opened it on the side just slightly and found yet another envelope inside.

"I knew you’d try to open it, babe. Now you must be warned, if you actually open the one you’re reading now, it will blow up. I’ve used all my knowledge and even asked that Remus boy of yours to help me. He’s absolutely brilliant in charms. Love you. Ps. For the love of Merlin, leave it closed."

You had laughed at her note and placed the threatening envelope on your night table. It made you smile whenever you read it, and you were pretty excited to see what would be inside of it. But if the bright red sign that said “DO NOT OPEN TILL BIRTHDAY” hadn’t been enough, the threat of an explosion had. Especially since you knew your friend’s exceptional ability in charms, and if she really had teamed up with Remus, then the most likely scenario was that it really, really would blow up if you didn’t do as told.

Either way, the tablecloth she’d gotten you was perfect; it was even charmed so the delicate drawings on it would move and swirl around, making the yellow and gold tones distractingly beautiful. And once Madam Pomfrey saw it, she was more than happy to lend you her picnic baskets.

You had, pretty much, prepared every single detail of your small party, gathering items and making sure the food would be ready, and you were impossibly excited for the 30th.

And then, the day came… You woke up to the sound of a soft splish-splash against the window. But you were still half-asleep to really notice what was going on. And then you heard it again, a soft ticking sound, like something soft, was tapping against it. You frowned and slowly opened your eyes. It was rather dark for it to be already 8 am. You focused on the sound, and when you realized where it came from, your gaze snapped towards the window.

“No, no, no…” you whispered as you saw the small droplets of rain fall one after the other, filling the window with their soft watery trails. The rain was soft, and as you looked out and saw the grey clouds, you could only hope it would go away soon enough.

You huffed and pulled the Daily Prophet from underneath your bed and revised the weather section over and over again. You had been marking the day with red all day of the week, and while it had said it would be cloudy, not a single one of the predictions mentioned anything even remotely close to a small shower.

“Everything all right, luv?” Your roommate asked. “Oh, and Happy Birthday!” she added with a smile.

“Thanks,” you mumbled in response. “It’s just– It’s raining.”

“Lovely day, innit?” Another one of your roommates said as she looked out of the window.

You loved rainy days; you truly did. There was something about staying inside and reading a good book while you watched the raindrops crash against the window that was so romantic; you couldn’t even get enough of it.

But today?

Today you hated rainy days!

You had been planning your picnic for months, getting the right food and the right clothes and managing to get all the boys at the same time at the same place, which was hard enough because everyone was either studying or doing one of their extracurriculars and yet… you had managed.

So much for a perfect picnic, you thought as you looked up at the sky yet again. With another sigh, you got up and put on your uniform, walking down the stairs to the common room in what you tried to make it look like not a mopey attitude. Especially with all your housemates pulling you in for hugs and wishing you a happy birthday.

Even Madam Pomfrey had stopped you on your way out to give you a short hug and tell you to have an incredibly good day. You had smiled and told her that it probably would, even if on the inside, you were absolutely certain everything had been absolutely ruined.

You went to the great hall, but just on the entrance, and when you spotted the boys looking rather eager, you decided you did not need any reminders of what an awful day it was and decided to skip breakfast altogether, opting instead to walk towards the library and look for a book. Perhaps reading as you watched the raindrops fall against the window, like you loved so much doing, would put you in a better mood.

You weren’t too hopeful for it, and frankly, you didn’t really want to do it either, so when you got to the library and found a book that seemed mildly entertaining, you took it in both of your hands and went straight into one of the most hidden reading nooks available. Few people knew of it, and you didn’t expect anyone to be looking for you there either. Not on a Tuesday, not on a class day, not with the NEWTS so close and certainly not with the fact that your year had Potions with Slughorn as the first class. So you hid in the reading nook as you read the book.

And you couldn’t have made a worse pick, not because the book was bad, in fact, you had read the first and second books of the collection, and you thought they were delightful. In fact, you loved Anne; you liked her positivity and you could easily see yourself as her, except that she was awfully positive and the mood you were in at the moment was far too dreadful to even consider her positivity a good trait. The more you read, the more annoying you found her because, how was it possible that she was so happy and you were so completely and utterly miserable?

You felt silly; you had magic and you had friends that loved you and a place in this bloody delightful school, and you were moping like a little kid over a rainy day. You really had to get yourself together or else–

“So this is where you’ve been hiding?” You heard him say with a short smile as he got in through the tapestry.

You closed your eyes and winced when you realized how stupid you’d been, hiding in the place he had shown you; of course, he’d find you. It looked as if you wanted to be found by one of them. Did you? Perhaps deep in your subconscious, you sought the kind of support only they could offer.

“Reggie,” you said softly and turned to him with a forced smile. “Lovely to–”

“Don’t even try,” he responded, cutting your bullshit in an instant. “Remus told me you didn’t go for breakfast or to class.”

“Well–”

“And Jamie has been going around pestering all your roommates; they were pretty upset, they had prepared something for you at breakfast.”

You gulped and pouted at how harsh Reggie was being. Not even a “happy birthday sweetheart.”

“So?”

“So?” you responded confused.

“Why are you here, hiding from the world on your most special day?”

“It’s raining,” you responded simply, looking out at the window again. You had held onto this naive hope that the rain would go away fast and that things would still be able to do your picnic, albeit slightly wet and murky; the possibility was still there. Except that said hope had been crushed when you heard a thunder ripple through the sky, making the entire window tremble with its might. It was no longer just rain; it was pretty much a storm.

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“My birthday is ruined.”

Reggie frowned and leaned in right next to you, peering down from where he was to look at you directly in the eyes, “Because of some silly rain?”

You huffed, “Because it was a picnic, Reggie!” you spat angrily and left the room out of there before he even had the chance to follow.

“Hey, wait!” he said as you left the place and sighed after not being able to find you at all. “I was gonna wish you a happy birthday,” he added in a sad tone as he pulled a small little envelope from his pocket. Forrest green paper and a silver bow, his birthday gift for you.

You had been running so fast with your disillusionment charm, looking back to make sure that Reggie wasn’t following that you didn’t notice the moment you crashed into someone, but he did, holding you by the shoulders as he stared at you. “Dove?” he asked as he tried to see through your charm.

You frowned and shut your eyes with a sigh. You might have been able to run from Reggie, but running away from Remus would be an impossible task. First of all, he was freakishly tall; second, he was literally a werewolf and fit as hell.

“Remus,” you said awkwardly, and he pulled you into a hug. “Happy Birthday,” he whispered into your ear, and you let out something between a sob and a laugh. Reggie caught up with the two of you a few seconds later and joined Remus’ hug.

“Happy birthday, you prat!” He said as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Can’t believe you’d let Remus hug you but run away from me, your favorite boyfriend.”

“You’re not her favorite,” you heard another voice say from the side; you hadn’t seen him at all but apparently, Jamie had also been around. “That’s obviously me.”

Remus just rolled his eyes at the petty little fight they were about to start. James loved getting on Reggie’s nerves. The tension they’d build up with that would always end up satisfactorily for the two of them.

“Did you finish that?” Reggie asked, and James grinned.

“Duh,” he responded as he placed a hand on Reggie’s shoulder to be able to see your face; as much as he adored his boyfriend’s long hair, it was still way too long at the moment. In fact, a few inches and he’d basically be Sirius (but actually fuckable).

“Come on,” Remus said as you pulled away from him, finally letting the disillusionment charm go.

“Boys, you are very sweet but, I’d rather be alone for a while. You know I had this whole thing planned and–”

“Shhhh,” James said as he placed his hand on your shoulder. “Just shut up and let us guide you.”

“But I really am not in the mood for anything right now.”

“Except for moping around in a reading nook,” Regulus said with a shrug; he was walking a few steps behind the two of you.

You turned to him with a reproachful stare, and Remus just pulled you closer to him, not quite letting go of you yet in case you would try to run off and hide somewhere. Of course, they had the map, but you had found ways to cheat your way out of it since you were helping them make it impossible. But while that meant the map would be incredible, it also meant that you were among the only people who knew how to sneak away from them.

Sirius thought it was hilarious, but your boyfriends thought it was immensely annoying. “Are we going to the Ravenclaw common room?” you asked with a frown.

“Just let us take you there,” James responded with a self-assured smile. You tried not to pay attention to how handsome he looked, although the walk along with them, even if you weren’t going to admit it, had already made you feel a lot better. Especially with Regulus and James’ constant teasing of the other. So much that Reggie almost pushed James off the stairs but managed to pull him back just in time, and James pulled him in for a kiss.

“Boys, behave,” Remus huffed slightly exasperated; though there was a sly smile playing on his face, especially after he saw a similar one on yours.

By the time you had gone the entire flight of stairs, you and Rem were actually laughing along Jamie for some silly joke, and Regulus was really trying to hold back his laughter and keep a stoic face as James kept looking at him with a know-it-all smile and raised eyebrows as if daring him not to laugh.

“Oh, almost there,” James said as he walked behind you and placed his hands over your eyes.

“James, we’re still on the stairs; I can’t see shit,” you complained.

“We’ll catch you if you fall,” Reggie said casually, and you fought the blush creeping up your cheeks really hard.

You still had Rem’s hands, holding you by the waist as James helped you up the stairs, whispering in your ear whenever there was a new step and when you had to take a couple of steps up. By the time you stopped, you knew exactly where they were taking you but decided not to tell them. You didn’t want to ruin their little surprise.

“Okay,” James whispered. “Open your eyes,” he added as he slowly removed his hands from your face.

You actually gasped when you realized what had happened. Right there, in the middle of the room was your picnic cloth, the baskets Pomfrey had borrowed, and a bottle of sparkling wine along with cups and plates and a huge cake.

There were floating balloons on the ceiling, and even if the rain was storming just outside, the boys had charmed the area so the rain wouldn’t wet anything.

“How– but…”

James smiled as he walked in front of you and bowed down in an extremely exaggerated fancy waiter gesture, “that was actually Reggie’s idea,” he said as he placed his hands on Regulus’ shoulder, who almost scoffed in return. “He said you’d be upset, and we decided to make your picnic party even if it wasn’t by the lake like you had planned.” Then James pulled you towards him and planted a kiss on your lips, letting himself get carried away when you gasped and allowed him to deepen the kiss. When he pulled back, you were breathing heavily, and he had a cocky smile on his face. “Happy birthday, my love,” he added.

You let out a diverted scoff, and the boys guided you towards the picnic. You were reclined against Reggie after you’d said sorry for running away from him, and he was rubbing his hands over your arm as James started serving some of the sparkling wine.

The letter from your friend had been somewhere inside the picnic basket, and Remus was the one who pulled it open. It exploded into a bunch of confetti and then turned into a howler of your friend singing “Happy Birthday” at the top of her lungs and with a rather off-pitch, but you were so happy you could only smile as you continued to listen. Regulus was looking at you in a judging manner.

“She’s a terrible singer,” he whispered in your ear.

“Shut up, she’s lovely!”

“And you’re deaf,” he added. “And I might be too now.”

“Shut up, Regulus!” the howler said as it stopped mid-song; he turned towards it genuinely petrified. Remus’ snigger was barely audible.

So she had asked for his help after all. “Still can’t believe you’re dating a Slytherin,” she added and then continued with her song. Once it was over, the howler moved a little closer to you. “Hope you’re having the best day ever, and that the boys treat you right. If not, I’ll make sure to call Sirius and make a plan with him to make all of their lives absolutely miserable,” there was a small pause, “Love you to the moon and back, my dear flower,” she added, and then the howler turned into more confetti and some gold glitter.

“Should I be jealous?” James teased.

“Of her? Probably,” you joked then leaned onto him again.

The rest of the night was spent smiling, joking, and enjoying the delicious food Bub had worked on all night. The boys had caught her in the halls looking for you, and she had happily given them the food along with a small present for you. Reggie had gotten you a necklace with a star, Remus a stunningly bound copy of your favorite book, and James had gotten you a ring with the sun on it.

And that’s how your birthday was spent, in between tears of laughter, delicious food, and surrounded by the sun, the moon, and the star.

Want to support me? Like and reblog this post. Comments are my life fuel, so send them out if you have any.

This one might get a part two, if you guys wanna see that <3

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siriusleee · 9 months

Text

Like Blood on Iron | 3

Historical Executioner AU

Summary: The executioner has always been an enigma to you - drawing you in. His sword drawing a line in the dirt as he made his way to the village center, and leaving back to his cottage on the outskirts of town. However, your curiosity can't stop the future your family has planned for you.

Warnings: mentions of blood, family dynamics, semi-forced marriage mention, implied age gap, future smut, future blood and gore.

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: This chapter was getting so hefty I had to cut it in half; the next chapter is so drama filled.

chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 4

"Is this the smallest we can get her waist?"

You grimace as the seamstress pulls harder on the corset lacing, your hands trying to find some purchase underneath the boning to keep some breath in you.

"I think," you gasp out, pulling at the neckline where it digs into your chest, "that if we pull any tighter, I'll faint before I can make it down the aisle."

You intended for the words to come out dripping in irritation, sardonic, and cutting, but instead, they come out breathless. Behind you, the seamstress, an old woman who's probably made every dress in town for the past hundred years, chuckles before sticking a pin at the small of your back.

"She is a beautiful girl," the seamstress says through a mouthful of pins, "it doesn't matter how small her waist is - it won't cancel the wedding."

If only . You scowl at yourself in the mirror, skirts billowing out around you. You look ridiculous, your hair haphazardly piled on top of your head, the beginnings of a wedding dress pinned to you. You've been here for hours, stripped and measured, compiled and put back together. The heavy white brocade Mother picked out draped on you this way and that until she and the seamstress found it falling in a way they liked.

Sweat beads and drips down your neck, the hair that's touching you is drenched. Mother comes behind you and wipes at your chest with a cloth.

"Why are you sweating so much?"

"It's hot underneath all of this fabric," you protest, fanning yourself with your hands. "I'm tired, my feet hurt and this is like torture."

Mother studies your face, no doubt seeing the dark circles underneath your eyes. You know she's wondering what you're doing at night - if you had left the night before, but she doesn't say anything, her tongue sticks out just faintly from the corner of her mouth; a sign you know is her trying not to say anything.

The seamstress taps the back of your thigh as she stands, her back cracking from the struggle.

"Here you can sit on this stool. Careful - I don't need you sticking yourself and getting blood everywhere."

You lower yourself, knees aching from the scrapes and bruises you'd gotten the night before. You'd seen the way the seamstress and Mother looked at them when you had to strip down, saw the way their eyes cut to each other, and the way they bit their tongue. But you'd gotten them scampering across the new ship Uncle Henry had talked about. It had sailed into the port three days ago unexpectedly. Uncle Henry had been sick, Father said tense from his spot standing behind a dinner table; they'd needed to come back quickly for medical treatment. Maggie and Lily had offered to go see him, to take something to make him feel better but Mother had cut them off.

The entire conversation had been odd to you - the way Mother had cut off Lily and Maggie's kindness so quickly, the way Father had gone right when he left the house that night, whispering that he was going to check on Uncle Henry when the doctor's house is left. You'd spent two nights in the house, watching for Ghost's figure to appear at the end of the street, a tell-tale sign that he was open to some conversation for the night. Last night you'd gotten tired of waiting to see Ghost and tired of trying to eavesdrop on a conversation between Mother and Father that never seemed to be coming.

Once night had laid across the village, dark and muffled, you'd pulled a pair of father's old paints and a worn-out tunic from underneath your bed - you'd smuggled them both with the pretense of stitching up a hole for Father. It'd been easier to leave since Mother's ultimatum - Lily had been moved into Maggie's room and no one questioned your coming and going. But you knew if anyone caught you in men's clothing, the questions would be too much. So you'd dressed quickly and shoved your hair down the back of the tunic to try to hide its length and crept down the trellis.

You'd expected it to be difficult, to creep onto the ship. But it had been empty, all the usual night watch lanterns extinguished as it rolled lazily in the bay waves. You didn't know much about ships, you'd never paid attention to Father and Uncle's ship talks like Maggie, but you could see the differences Uncle had been talking about. This one was much smaller and sleeker than the ships that were usually docked there. Creeping on had been easier too - it was nearly abandoned.

You'd been hoping to overhear some drunken conversation, something that could give a hint to what was really going on with Uncle Henry, but no one was there. You'd tripped across a coiled rope, hidden in the deep shadows, and laid there, waiting for someone to hear and come shouting. But no one came. So you'd crept back home with more questions than answers.

And this morning Father was gone, absent from his usual place of breakfast. In your whole life, you could only count on the days he was gone at sea for him to be absent from breakfast and once he'd started having enough people to sail in his place and could stay home, he'd never missed breakfast. Before you could snoop anymore, Mother had swept you out of the house and to the seamstress.

While you sit, the seamstress runs a measuring tape down your arms, around your wrist, and elbows. She wraps it gently around your neck - each measurement committed to her memory, iron even in her old age. Finally, after running it down your spine and adding another needle, the sharp metal cold as it touches your skin, she tells you to stand up. Her fingers pull each piece of pinned fabric deftly off of you, the pin's edges barely scraping your skin as she strips you layer by layer until you're nearly naked again.

Mother hands you your dress - a simple blue one made to easily come off for the seamstress, and you slip it over your head, fingers working at the laces at the front to tie it back together. You're almost finished tying when the church bell tolls, but it's not the hour. The three of you freeze, counting the out-of-time tolls.

One.

Two.

Three.

You hold your breath, waiting to see if it will toll again. Three tolls mean an emergency at the port but -

Four .

- means a council meeting, an emergency execution. Execution without trial. Mother's hands rest on the door, and before the fourth toll is dissipated in the air, she pushes the door open and rushes out, leaving you in her wake. You thank the seamstress quickly and rush out after Mother. She's running, skirts bunched in her hands - something you've never seen her do. Even in the most tense moments, she's always walked calmly, a believer that overreaction can only make situations worse. The sight of her running towards the house twists something inside of you, and you take off after her, tripping slightly over the rough edge of your skirt, your hair whipping you in the face.

You slam into the front door of your house, as it swings shut behind Mother - it sends a shockwave through your wrists. Inside it's a frenzy, the dining room looks as if it's exploded. You can just see Maggie holding Lily as men, men you recognize as members of the council scream across the table at each other, Father's booming voice - a voice you only remember hearing like this yelling at sailors who did something dangerous and once at you when he caught you trying to sneak onto his ships - shouts over all of them. But you can't make out what he's saying as you push through their bodies, reaching for Maggie and Lily across the war being waged across the dining table.

Maggie pushes Lily to you; you grab her wrist and pull her out of the room, Maggie following closely behind. You shove Lily towards the steps, yelling at her to go upstairs. Her skirts sweep the stairs as she runs; you turn your attention to Maggie, her face so pale she looks ill.

"What is happening?" You ask Maggie, pulling her in towards the wall, far enough away from the dining room that the two of you can't be seen by the council but close enough to hear them.

"I don't know. They were all in the yard arguing with Father and when the bell tolled they all came in yelling at each other I don't-"

She's cut off by a roar from Father, finally louder than all the other men in the room.

"You will not come into my house and threaten me!"

You can never remember a time when your father yelled like that in your life. Not when he caught you smuggled away on one of his ships, not when Maggie pushed you from the second story down the stairs, not when you refused a marriage over and over.

"Come on, we need to go upstairs," Maggie says, voice hoarse as she pushes you towards the staircase. You trip up it, falling up the stairs with Maggie until the two of you are crouched down at the top, peering down at the men in the front. For a moment, you flashback to the two of you being little, laying on your bellies to hear the conversations you were banished from.

Mother pushes past the two of you, not stopping to chastise the two of you for laying down at the top of the stairs. Her skirts fill the stairs as she rushes down; the men push out of the dining room and into the foyer.

"He is my brother, and if you think I will condemn him to that bastard's sword you are wrong!"

"Bastard's sword?" Maggie whispers, shooting a look to you that you can't decipher. She goes to open her mouth again, but she's cut off by the front door slamming shut, and the tell-tale sound of Father's boots on the bottom of the stairs. Maggie's hands are on your back pushing you into your bedroom. The door shut behind the two of you before Father's steps breach the top of the stairs.

Maggie whirls to you as the door shuts - eyes wide.

"Uncle Henry is being executed?"

"No," your voice stumbles, thinking of the sword in Ghost's hand, swinging down on Uncle Henry; Uncle Henry who used to pick you up swing you around, Uncle Henry who used to tell you you'd make a wonderful sailor.

"Why would he be being executed?" Your voice shakes in the stillness of the room while you cross the room and push open the window. "What could he have done that could warrant an execution?"

"It has to do with that ship," Maggie says, pacing around the room like a trapped cat.

"It was empty last night," you admit, watching the men as they file out of your house, sweat beading off of them.

"What do you mean empty?"

"I," you pull back in the window as one of the men looks up at you, "I heard Mother and Father talking strangely about Uncle Henry and I was bored. Anyway, I snuck out to the ship last night and no one was there."

"There had to have been someone there." Maggie contests, hands wringing together.

"No - it was like a ghost ship."

You sink onto the bed, skin erupting in a clammy sweat. The house is silent - more silent than you've ever heard it before.

"You need to ask your friend not to do it."

A sliver of ice runs through your stomach and you freeze, hands pausing where they were picking at a loose thread in your skirt. You wait for just a pause too long before answering, your guilt bleeding through the cracks in the conversation.

"What are you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

When your eyes meet Maggie's, hers are sharp - sticking you to the bed so that you can't move.

"I've seen you," she explains, "at night. You think no one can see you because it's dark outside, that no one is looking. But I am."

You rise, eyes never leaving hers, hands gripping the bedpost. Maggie's back is board straight, her hands folded nicely in front of her like she's not speaking about a secret that could ruin your life.

"Why haven't you said anything yet?" You're breathless, mind already whirring to what you'll do when Mother and Father find out.

"I haven't needed to yet."

The unspoken words cut through the undercurrent: but I will when I need to .

"I can't change anything. He won't listen to me about this."

"He's our uncle ," Maggie pleads with you, crossing the room in two strides. "We have to try something."

A horrible thought flashes across your mind.

"What could Uncle Henry have done to deserve this?" You wonder out loud. You know, by the way, Maggie looks into your eyes that she's thinking the same thing. Neither of you speaks out loud the horrible thought that he might deserve it.

Father left when the other council members did, and hadn't come home yet. Mother didn't tell any of you to go to bed that night, and you, Lily, and Maggie sat in front of the fireplace as the sunset. You wait until the street is empty before standing; Maggie keeps her attention on the fireplace, watching the way the fire pours across the logs. But Lily snaps to you.

"Where are you going?"

You ignore her as you tie your hair back.

She repeats herself, this time half standing from the chair she'd sat in for hours, but Maggie reaches over to her and presses on her shoulder to force her to sit down.

"I'll be back later Lily. You need to go to bed. It's late."

"I don't want to go to bed, I want-", her voice rises in pitch until Maggie cuts her off.

"Stop Lily. She's right - you need to go to bed."

But Lily doesn't listen. She follows you to the front door where you shrug on your cloak, a heavier one pulled out of the closet for the chill that's started cutting through the nights you spend with Ghost.

You leave her at the door before she can ask you another question.

The way to Ghost's is empty, but you can hear people talking around each corner - no doubt gossiping at the news of Uncle Henry's execution and what he could have done. No one but rapists and thieves had been executed in a long while; it turned your stomach to think of Uncle Henry committing such crimes.

The dirt path to his house is cut up, fresh dirt turned over from horses coming back and forth all day. You think of Father coming out here today; did he beg Ghost for Uncle Henry's life?

That's the thought that sits with you when you rap on Ghost's door. He opens it before you can knock twice, his body filling the doorframe.

The words die in your throat. The skin around his eyes is sunken, the circles so dark they look black. He's slumped against the doorframe; you can only imagine the exhaustion he feels.

"If you are here to beg for his life you're wasting your breath. Your father already tried. It's done."

His voice is rough, ragged - like he's been yelling and arguing. And facing the pack of men who had been in your house today, he probably has been.

"I-I had been coming here to do that."

Ghost levels a look at you, one you've come to know means he's studying you, trying to think of the words to say back to you. But he doesn't say anything, just pushes himself away from the doorframe and walks back towards the inside. He leaves the door wide open for you, a silent invitation to come in.

So you follow him inside. It's warm, almost too warm, and small. The table sits in the middle of the room, with a fireplace on one side and a small kitchen on the other. There's a door in the back corner, his boots propped beside it. You look down at him and almost smile at the sight of his bare feet on the wooden floor.

Ghost collapses into one of the chairs surrounding the table, a glass of something dark brown in front of him. You don't hesitate to sit across from him.

"You have to at least tell me what the charges are," you start, pulling the tie of your cloak around your neck, trying to get rid of the feeling of it choking you. "My mother and father refuse to say. They're scared that if they say what the charges are then they have to admit they're true."

Ghost studies the contents of his glass carefully, fingers tracing the rims. You don't want to push him; you've had enough late-night walks with him to know that if you do he'll leave. But your knee bounces all the same. When he finally speaks, the words are slow, measured.

"Your Uncle got caught by one of the King's ships. They needed supplies, so they boarded your Uncle's ship and when they searched it they found people below deck. Mostly women. Your Uncle intended to take these women to some of our neighbors, and sell them off as slaves."

Your heart quickens - leaning forward you press your hands down on the table, it wobbles beneath you.

"You're lying to me."

"Ask your father about that."

It's like a bolt of lighting runs through you, the implications of his words. Ghost swirls his glass lazily - tired and you wonder if he's wanting you to go away so that he can drink it.

"My father would know nothing about this." You know your father isn't perfect, but you can't imagine that he would know anything about Uncle Henry using slave ships.

"And that's why he came here earlier to beg for me to make sure that your Uncle doesn't say anything about your father?" His voice is cutting as he pushes himself away from the table, glass in hand. He turns away from you and you watch as he pulls his mask down just enough to take a drink.

"My father-"

"Knew what your Uncle was doing and doesn't want to be put to death by my hands because that would bring even more shame on your family; it would ruin you and your sister's weddings."

The mask is askew when he turns back, the edge of a jagged scar on his right cheek peeks at you from the edge of the black fabric. Ghost doesn't speak to you as he pulls the curtain back from the window in his kitchen, eyes scanning the edge of the woods.

"You need to go home. No doubt some member of the council will be here again; the last thing your family wants is for you to be caught here with me."

"Ghost I-"

"Go. Home."

For the first time since you'd first caught him staring at you on the beach, a shiver of fear runs down your spine at the roughness in Ghost's voice, at the sharpness in his eyes. He notices the way you tense, the way you pull yourself back in your chair away from him, and his gaze softens.

"I'm sorry I can't help you. But you need to go home."

He waits for you to move, his fingers poised on the front door, ready to open it for you. On weak knees, you push yourself up; you refuse to look at him as you pass, not wanting him to see the way your eyes water as you walk past. He pushes the door open for you; you feel his warmth as he steps closer to you as you walk through the threshold.

Your foot hits the ground when Ghost calls your name lightly. You half turn towards him, enough to see the way his hands grip the door frame and you imagine the wood groaning beneath them.

"Yes, Ghost?"

You hear the sharp staccato of him swallowing once.

"Don't watch tomorrow if you don't have to."

He doesn't wait for you to reply before he lets the door swing shut in your face.

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