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msgexymunson · 1 month

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The Ink Shop Part 2

Description: After your encounter with Eddie, things are beginning to get a bit more complicated; especially when you ask him for another little favour. But, will Eddie go for it?

Warnings: NSFW, minors DNI this ain't for you, angst, tiny bit of fluff, smut, fem oral receiving, male masturbation.

A/N: OK when I said this will be in 3 parts I lied, it's totally going to be at least 4, maybe 5! Thank you for the love you've shown the first part, it's incredible! You're superstars.

❤️ If you like it please comment and reblog, it really makes my day!❤️

7k words

Masterlist Part 1

For some reason, the shop seems more welcoming today than ever. It might be the fact that the sun is shining, it might be the radio seemingly playing all your favourite songs, or it might be last night. Either way, you feel loose and free, laughing at jokes, smiling at everyone, and genuinely just happier.

Eddie saunters in thirty minutes late and you barely notice, apart from flashing him a bashful smile.

“Well hello there sweetheart, you seem chipper today.”

You roll your eyes at the obvious insinuation, but your smile is warm. “I had a good night's sleep, that's all.”

“Bet you did,” he grins, “you look real pretty.”

Looking down, you consider your outfit; you'd decided enough of the corporate clothes, this is a tattoo shop after all. So, you'd paired a roll neck sweater with a short jean skirt and sneakers. A more relaxed outfit to go with a more relaxed attitude. Before you can say anything in reply he strolls over to his station.

Right, so a few jabs, but he's being nonchalant. So put it out of your mind.

The morning moves quickly, a messy blur of clients and phone calls. After a fast lunch, the shop finally calms down a little. When you're focusing on sorting the mess of the heavy bookings tome in front of you, Eddie approaches, mischief glinting in his eyes.

“I see London, I see France…”

You follow his bowed head and cross your legs in sheer embarrassment, realising a sliver of your panties must be on display.

“Eddie!”

He simply laughs, throwing his head back far enough that your gaze drifts to his Adam's apple.

“Sorry, I couldn't resist, I'm a big fan of this skirt,” he says, drinking you in with his eyes, “anyway I wanted to ask-”

His sentence is stopped however by the loud ringing of the old corded phone. You and Eddie share a look, yours begging and his smug. Before you can grab it, he picks up the phone, putting on a ridiculous British accent.

“Good Afternoon, London Underground Airways, this is your captain speaking- Oh shit Mac- Yeah she's- I know I'm not supposed to answer- Sorry I- Fine, here.” He brandishes the phone at you.

“Hello? Oh, of course I'll let them know- I understand- It'd be my pleasure- see you soon.” replacing the receiver, you make a note on the pad at your side.

“What'd he say?” Eddie asks, hovering over you.

Not giving him the satisfaction of a look, you continue to make your note, however perfunctory it may be. “Mac's going to be a little late, he told me to tell his next client.”

“He said my name, I heard it. What'd he say?”

Placing your pen down with a loud click, you turn to him.

You tell him as you smile smugly. “He told me to hit you for answering the phone.”

If anything, his grin grows broader. “Oh? Go on then princess, I'd hate for you to break the rules.” He turns his face, no doubt expecting a cuff to the back of the head.

Spinning on your stool, you slap him right across the cheek; not with all your strength, but certainly hard enough to remember. Eddie's face is a picture of shock, pink handprint already flushing his cheek.

But that just makes his smile wider.

“Harder.” He asks, eyes flashing arousal at you.

“Eddie!” you shout, pushing him away, but his laugh echoes through the shop. Before he has a chance to continue, a burly biker type walks right in the door.

“Good afternoon, can I help you?”

“Yeah, It's Jimmy, I'm here for Mac?”

“He's running a little late, but he'll be with you as soon as possible. Can I get you a coffee or something while you wait?”

You can't help but hear a huff from Eddie, but before you can question it he's drawing in his book, entirely oblivious to the outside world.

At the end of the day, you're tired, but still in fairly high spirits. It's the first time you've seen everyone in the shop at once. There's an edge to the air though, as if an expectation hangs over everyone.

So… bar?” Mac asks in a defeated tone, although he's smiling. Everyone reacts; Eddie woops, pumping his fist, even the usually reserved Miranda is clapping quietly. You smile and nod, finally understanding what the atmosphere was about.

As you all enter the dimly lit bar, chatting and laughing, you hear a low huff.

“What did I do to deserve this?” John is standing behind the bar. An imposing figure, his arms crossed and face surly, but there's a kindness in his eyes. Mac leans straight over and hands him a card.

“Easy John, I got this,” he chuckles. The card is accepted gratefully, the gruff demeanour lessening with the promise of payment.

You accept a bottle of beer and slide into a nearby booth, the rest of the group filtering in. Mac walks over, eyes the space next to you, then grabs a stool to sit at the head of the table. It throws you for a minute; surely he knows he can sit there? Before you can tell him so, Eddie waltzes across the room with a tray of tequila shots and all the fixings with a cheeky look in his eyes. He slides right in next to you, tray and all, and places it on the table with exaggerated care.

“Ladies, gentlemen.” He says, gesturing to the tiny glasses like an old timey butler. There's a succession of groans from the party, but despite this they all grab a shot. All except you.

“I don't think I-” you begin, but he's waving a hand in the air.

“Come on, you drink. It's a shot. Never had tequila before?”

Fixing him with a sharp look, your cheeks begin to redden of their own accord. Eddie smirks and tosses his head back, hiding his eyes with one hand.

“Shit princess, what did you do at college?”

“Study.” You say primly, but take a glass tentatively and place it in front of you.

“Right, so for the new guys…“ Eddie smiles right at you and licks his hand between his thumb and pointer finger. That hint of silver mesmerises you, the ball of his tongue piercing catching the light. It's almost sensual the way he does it, your eyes automatically following the movement of his tongue. “salt right here…” he sprinkles some on the spot he moistened, “then, lick, shoot, suck.”

In a few fluid movements he licks the salt from his hand, downs the shot, and sticks a wedge of lime in his mouth. As your brain finally engages after that display, the little show that shouldn't have heated your insides up, you follow along, and take your shot with everyone else. It's easier than you would have thought, the lime easing the burn somewhat.

Eddie squeezes your thigh under the table and whispers low enough for you to hear.

“Good girl.”

Shooting daggers with a simple look, he just smirks, leaving his hand on your bare leg as if challenging you. Dimly, you hear the echoes of a conversation in front of you; it's Julio, arguing about good tequila not needing salt and lime, but you're lost in the deep pools of Eddie's chocolate eyes.

For a moment, your body flashes red hot and you regret your choice of the high necked sweater. Tearing your eyes away you look at something, anything, but Eddie.

The conversation drifts between all manner of subjects and you start to relax, the beer and tequila swimming in your belly loosening your tongue. It's nice, having a chance to chat and giggle with your coworkers in a setting not interrupted by the constant buzzing of tattoo machines.

Julio and Chloe end up in a full scale argument about the karaoke machine in the corner. Before you're subjected to the horror of having to sing in public, you get up to grab another beer. Perching on a stool by the bar with your purse in hand, you're waiting patiently to be served.

Eddie strolls over. You see him in your periphery; that confident walk as if he owns the very ground he walks on. Casually he hops up on the stool next to you, making no effort to hide the way he undresses you with his eyes.

“Quit staring Eddie,” you say testily as you knock the bar with your bank card.

“Now I can't look at you?” He asks with an amused grin.

“I said quit staring, not quit looking,” you huff out.

“What's the difference?” He asks, shrugging his shoulders and scrunching his nose at you.

You groan, turning on your stool to face him. “You are impossible,”

He sticks his long tongue out childishly, flashing his piercing at you.

Thankfully, John's voice cuts through the squabble. “What can I get you?”

“May I have a beer, please?”

“You certainly may.” John cocks his thumb in your direction, addressing Eddie, “I like this one, she's polite. Don't scare her off.”

Eddie dramatically holds his chest. “You wound me, sir!”

Two beers are placed on the bar and John waves your card away. “Don't worry about it, Mac's treating you guys tonight.”

As you swig your beer, you contemplate for a moment, trying to work out something.

“You're staring, sweetheart.” Eddie grins, as he gulps his drink.

“I wasn't staring, I was thinking! I know that's a foreign concept to you.” It's catty, you know that, but he just seems to bring it out in you. No one else has annoyed you so much in your life just by… being.

“That was rude. I thought we were playing nice?” he pouts playfully.

“Sorry. I- Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, shoot.”

Turning to him, you speak what's on your mind. “Why do people get their tongues pierced? No one really sees it. I get like, nose and eyebrow piercings and stuff, but the tongue one I don't understand.”

Eddie's grin is wide as he bites his bottom lip and stares at you. Well, you couldn't call it a grin. It's a flash of teeth, almost wolfish in its delivery.

“Oh princess, you are too cute.”

Staring at him with your brow furrowed, you try to work out what he means, but the longer you take, the more amused he looks.

“What? What is it?”

Sighing, he leans closer, the scent of aftershave, cigarettes and man clouding around you. “It's got a purpose, sweetheart.”

“What, like, kissing?”

Shaking his head, he looks you up and down. “Kinda. Kissing somewhere… specific.”

Realisation breaks across your face, followed by a fierce blush that you can feel to the roots of your hair. Laughing, Eddie pulls away a little and takes a mouthful of beer.

Voice an airy whisper, you lean over to him as you speak. “And girls like that?”

His laugh is so loud it reverberates around the bar.

“Yeah, a lot, in my experience.”

“Oh.”

Well, the thought is there now, and you're pretty sure it won't ever go away, not without some sort of mind bleach. Eddie's head between your legs, his long tongue exploring your sex. The image is burned into the back of your brain, playing on a loop.

“You're looking a little hot there,” he says, as if he can read your thoughts. It's fair to say it wouldn't take a psychic to know what's rattling around your head right now.

“I'm fine, this sweater is too warm,” you shake out, pressing your thighs together.

“Liar.”

Mouth opening and closing like a fish, you finally snap it shut with a crunch. Curiosity is eating away at you, and it's too easy to say what's on your mind after a couple of drinks.

“Eddie, could you… tell me, what- what it's like?”

He chuckles lightly and scoots closer to you. “you know I can't, I've not exactly had the pleasure.”

“I know that, I mean…”

For a second he just gapes at you.

“Wait, princess, are you asking me to tell you or… show you?”

Flustered, you turn away a little. “Sorry that's- that's too much isn't it. It's just you… did such a good job with the, you know, the other thing, I was just curious.”

Eddie bites his lip, puffing out a little breath. “You know, flattery works with me. I did a good job, huh?”

“Well, yeah. I can imagine you'd be really good at… that too. I could, owe you a favour?” It's bold, especially from you, but the way he's looking at you, the slight flush to his cheeks, you'd put money on him agreeing.

Eddie stares at you incredulously. “Wait, you're saying you want me to stick my tongue in the holiest of holes and then you owe me a favour?”

“Yeah? Like a little… arrangement.”

He rubs his face with his hand, his voice muffled as he speaks. “I'd feel like I was taking advantage of you.”

That confuses you for a moment. Surely you were the one who asked him? Hesitantly you reach out and touch soft fingertips to the back of his hand.

“Please?”

“Fuck.” He looks around, and turns to you, gazing into your eyes for a moment.

“Fine. Right now.”

“Oh I didn't-”

“Listen, before I change my mind. Meet me out back. I'll tell the guys you're not feeling well and I'm taking you home.”

Wordlessly, you grab your purse and head to the back door, heart hammering in your ears. It's a little dank out here, with the sound of a dripping pipe and moss covering the cement. Eddie comes out a moment later looking more serious than you've ever seen him.

“You sure about this?” He asks, searching your eyes.

‘Yeah, but…” you look around the small yard, gesturing vaguely.

“Oh. Oh! You thought- oh Christ no, not here. I'm not a complete asshole. Come with me.”

Letting out a relieved breath, you follow him. He walks over to a gate in the fence and opens it, which leads down a narrow alleyway, a little shortcut between yards. That eventually opens up to another road with a couple of apartment blocks. The one he moves towards looks mostly clean, if a bit lifeless, with a creepy looking van parked out the front.

“This way sweetheart,” he says, leading you through the courtyard and to the stairs.

For a second you stop in sheer surprise.

“Wait, you live this close and you still manage to be late for work?”

He chuckles, looking at you over his shoulder. “I have a condition, you know. Chronic tardiness; I'm afraid there's no cure.”

You bat him on the arm playfully and he grasps your wrist, stopping on the stairs briefly, giving you a look that is wickedness personified.

“If you're gonna hit me, do it properly.”

“Eddie!”

He laughs loud and grabs your hand, holding it in his until he reaches his door. That alone is enough to shut you up. It's warm and rough, and the feeling of his skin on yours, no matter how tiny, sends bolts of sensation through you.

“Right, here is my castle,” he says as he opens the door and lets you inside.

Chaos. That's the first word that crosses your mind. It doesn't look dirty, there's just things everywhere. A bookshelf stuffed with books and weird little trinkets placed any which way dominates one wall, and another on the other side with a huge music collection. There's a poky little kitchen with a couple of pots still in the sink, and a big couch with mismatched cushions takes up the remaining space. A tower of board games is precariously leaning next to it, and on the wall over the TV is an honest to goodness sword.

“It's nice,” you say as you walk in, as if you're not mentally organising it in your head.

“You hate it.” He scoffs, pulling his boots off and dumping them by the door.

“No, no, it's very… you.”

“I stand by my previous statement.” He grins at you, clearly indicating he wasn't being entirely serious.

“This is the bedroom.” He walks over and nudges the door open with his foot. Surprisingly, apart from an open clothes rail, an overflowing laundry hamper, and an enormous bed, there's not much in it. The wallpaper is a pretty purple colour, and looks oddly familiar.

“Eddie isn't that the same wallpaper-”

“-As the shop? Yeah. Mac let me have the leftovers. I was broke and this room was fucking pink.”

You snort out a laugh; the thought of Eddie with a pretty pink bedroom was rather unbelievable.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I can live with purple.” He roots around and grabs a pair of sweats. “Make yourself comfortable, I'm gonna change real quick.”

Then he walks out into another doorway, you assume the bathroom. The urge to snoop is real, but you resist. It looks like he spends less time here anyway.

The question is, how comfortable are you supposed to make yourself? Nerves start settling in, the thought of what you've asked him to do is finally sinking its way into your mind and down your jangling spine. What if he doesn't like the underwear you're wearing? God, you've been at work all day, what if you smell bad? Or taste bad? What if-

“You can sit down, princess.”

Eddie saunters back in, shirtless, a pair of grey sweatpants hanging so low on his hips you see his cut groin. A little squeak hiccups out of your throat at the sight. You stay standing, ready to make your excuses and leave, but the signal hasn't reached your legs just yet.

“What's wrong?” his eyes are brimming with concern as he steps toward you.

“No I- I was- maybe this-”

“Hey, look at me,” he says, grabbing both of your hands. You stare up at him, his face gentle.

“Whatever you're worried about, I'm sure it's nothing.”

“But i haven't showered-”

“When did you last?”

“Well… this morning.”

“You're fine. Trust me.”

He backs you up onto the bed, your knees folding as you flop down. The air around you feels full, humid with anticipation. He's so close, your bodies almost pressed together.

“I wanna kiss you.” He says softly, stroking a lock of your hair out of your face. Heart leaping into your throat, you try to suppress the urge to lean forward. The last thing you need is to fall for this man. Chloe's words echo in your head; he's not boyfriend material.

He'll break your heart.

“That's not part of our deal, Eddie.”

A frown flickers across his face. It's just for a second, a flash of vulnerability, before his usual cocky smile returns.

“That's not where I wanna kiss you.” He winks and tugs at your top, “can I take this off?”

Nodding wordlessly, you help him and wriggle it up and over your head.

“God damn.” Eddie props up on an elbow, running a finger between your breasts, before following the edge of your black cotton bra.

He looks up at your face, grinning wide, and points at your neck; little purple marks adorn it. “That why you wore that sweater today?”

Flushing crimson, you run fingers across your neck.

“Yeah, you marked me Eddie. Not exactly discreet.”

He chuckles, stroking the side of your neck. “Sorry sweetheart, I won't do it again. Well, not anywhere that anyone can see.”

Heat floods your stomach, the stark realisation that you want him to mark you clings to your insides. If he notices your reaction he doesn't say, instead he leans toward you pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek.

“You're really pretty. I don't know if I said that before.”

Awash with a new heat in your cheeks, you smile bashfully. “Thanks, I don't get told that very much.”

Staring at you, he shakes his head.

“You should. You should be told every fucking day.”

You open your mouth, but before you can reply he kisses your jaw, running his tongue down your neck, before he presses his mouth to the top of your breast, sucking roughly. A gasp flies out, and your hand makes a decision entirely on its own to grab his hair.

It seems it was the right thing to do, judging by the deep groan that comes from him. It seems to spur him on, and he yanks the cup of your bra down, taking your nipple into his mouth. His tongue teases it, rubbing his piercing over the pebbled nub.

“Oh Holy fuck!” Back arching with the foreign sensation, you revel in it, wriggling underneath him. He smirks against your skin, and takes your nipple between his teeth. Moaning loudly, you pull his hair.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” He looks up at you, pupils blown to black, “can’t hold back if you do that.”

It's not a dare, but it tastes like one, and before you can think you're tugging at it again. Eddie's eyes roll back, and a hard look crosses underneath his eyes.

His actions turn a little feral, pulling you up so he can unhook your bra, practically ripping it off you before his mouth is all over your chest, firm fingers digging into the flesh of your hip.

“Fuck, Eddie” you stutter it out, voice laced with need.

“Yeah?” He whispers out breathlessly between urgent kisses, making his way down your stomach. Suddenly he takes the flesh of your hip in his mouth and bites down little before sucking a bruise as you writhe under him.

He reaches your skirt, hooking fingers into the waistband as he looks up at you, his tone urgent. “Can I?”

As you nod frantically, he reacts immediately, yanking it down along with your underwear.

“Fuck, look at you.”

The urge to close your legs is real, embarrassed at the way he's ogling you right between your thighs. They quiver with tension, but Eddie forces them open with his large palms.

“Don't hide from me. You still want this?”

You nod, and his head snaps up to look at you. His voice is hard, swirling around your insides with an intensity you're not used to from him.

“Say it. You need to say it.”

‘Yes, please Eddie.”

That satisfies him. He leans forward, breath ghosting over your clit. You're waiting for his mouth, his tongue, but that's not what happens. He inhales you, nose so close it's almost touching your sex.

“Jesus Christ, you smell so fucking good.”

“Eddie!” you cry it out, cringing at his words as you bury your face in your hands.

“Relax princess, it's a compliment.”

Before you can retort that it's not a compliment, it's weird, and he's a freak for saying it, it no longer matters. He's licking a fat stripe up the length of your pussy, long tongue pushing against you hard in an animal-like gesture.

The noise that expels from your chest is inhuman, a choked, guttural breath that belongs in a cave somewhere, not a bedroom.

He doesn't relent, his mouth exploring every inch of you with a ferality that has you tingling all the way to your toes. His fierce movements, accentuated by the bump of his piercing, have you nearly leaving the mattress. You're not sure if you're trying to get more, or move away. Not that it matters. His hands are holding you so firmly that all you can do is wriggle helplessly like a fish on a line.

Fingers trace the outside of your entrance before they slide in, beckoning your release. Whimpering, you grasp the bedsheets in a need to keep contact with something real.

“Talk to me,” he says between mind numbing messy kisses to your clit, “good, yeah?”

“Eddie, f-fuck, its incredible, please, oh God, k-keep going!”

You can practically feel the smirk on his face as he dives back in, suckling at your clit with an unmatched fervour, his tongue piercing flicking expertly as he does so. Suddenly, you're not creeping toward your release, you're being hurtled toward it, thrown into the depths of absolute pleasure.

Hands finding their way into Eddie's hair again, you hold on tight, buckling up for the ride. It's almost violent the way he pulls your climax from you, and you scream loudly, almost folding in half before you fall back onto the bed.

Eddie sits up, hands placed on your thighs, as he grins proudly, face shining with your slick.

“You OK princess?”

OK doesn't seem to cover it. You're panting wildly, each breath shallow and ragged, brain melted into soup.

“Think you can go again?”

That gets your attention. You sit up, gaping at him. “Again?”

Chuckling, he runs a finger up your slit and circles your clit in a teasing manner. The slight touch has your thighs trembling.

“I think you've got at least one more in you.”

Without a further word he presses his tongue against you. On instinct you grip his hair once more, bucking your hips up.

“Fuck, that's it sweetheart, ride my face.”

This time he slips his tongue inside as his nose nudges at your clit, the thick muscle curling and writhing. Holding on tight, your hips know what to do, your body reacting and rolling to meet him.

You're yanking his hair hard as you grind against his face, pulling deep grunts and moans from him which vibrate inside of you. It feels primal, sheer need clouding your mind, a fog that rolls into every limb and leaves no part untouched.

“Eddie, fuck!” You moan loudly as your walls clench around his tongue, another climax bubbling its way to the surface. He doubles down with his efforts almost as if he needs this as much as you do.

With one final thrust of his tongue you whine out your orgasm, back finally touching the bed once more. There are no thoughts, only your heavy breath and beating heart keeping you in the moment.

After a few seconds that seem to stretch on for a year, he hovers over your face. He's wiped off your release, but nothing could wipe that smug grin.

“So? Good?”

It's not like he doesn't know. You pat blindly at his arm, words stuck in a puddle on your tongue. In an unexpected tender gesture, he swipes his thumb over your chin, his gaze pensive. You stare back, fingers reaching out to gently touch his cheek.

“Are you going to kiss me?” You whisper, the words pooling from you unbidden.

For a split second you think he's going to lean in and close the gap, but he flashes his teeth at you and flicks the tip of your nose.

“That's not part of the deal.”

Disappointment leaks into your stomach. Which is entirely unfair. He's using your words after all. Fighting the feeling, you force a smile.

“I think I'll need a wheelchair to get home.” You chuckle, indicating to your still twitching legs.

“Stay here. I'll take the couch.”

“Oh, no, Eddie, I couldn't kick you out of your own bed thats-”

“Hey, it's fine, honestly. I wouldn't offer if I didn't mean it.” He shrugs and rolls off the bed and onto his feet in one quick movement like a cat. “Here. If you want something to sleep in.” He hands you a faded t-shirt. Hesitating for a moment, your hand hovers over it, but he stuffs it into your grip.

“Honestly, it's fine. I can drop you home before work so you can get changed and stuff. No big deal.”

“What about your chronic tardiness?” You joke, smiling softly at him.

“You're here, I'm sure you'll whip me into shape.”

“You'd probably like that,” you tease.

“More than you know.” He winks again, and walks to the doorway. “Night, princess.”

“Night Eddie.”

When he's gone you shrug the shirt on. It's clean, but there's an undercurrent of pure Eddie still there that's more comforting than you'll care to admit. Then, you lay there, staring at the ceiling.

Well. You certainly weren't expecting to end up in Eddie's room, in his bed, but here you are. You're not sure what this all means just yet and processing it is just hurting your brain. A part of you is saying that you should get out now whilst you can. Another, louder part is telling you this is where you should be. The only problem: is this message coming from your heart, or much lower down?

Chloe drifts into your mind whilst you lay there. Did they hook up in this bed? Are you in the same place she was? And how did that end? Clearly it was on good terms, considering how friendly they are, but how many girls have been where you are right now? A few? A dozen? A hundred?

After a while your thoughts just start to ache, leaving a migraine behind your eyes. Shifting on the bed, you try to get comfortable, but it's no use. You wonder if Eddie is still awake. After all, he's the only one that can answer your questions.

Sitting up a little, you listen intently for any signs of life from the next room, but no matter how hard you strain your ears, you can't hear anything.

As you quietly get up and creep to the door, you press your ear to it. Maybe that was a word you heard, a loud breath, or the signs of an overactive imagination. Turning the doorknob like a safecracker, you inch the door open ever so slightly to peek beyond.

There he is, laying on the couch, eyes tight shut and face contorted in concentration. Odd. You slowly guide the door open a little more and your eyes nearly bug out of your head.

Eddie's laying there, hand down his sweats, tugging at himself like there's no tomorrow.

You almost cry out in shock but manage to swallow the noise just in time. For what feels like a full minute you stand and stare, mouth gaping open. It's like you're hypnotised, unable to tear away from his urgent movements.

A particularly good stroke has him bucking into his hand, and he lets out this strained whimper that shoots directly between your legs.

Right, stop. This is wrong. How would you feel if he caught you? …OK, bad example.

Reluctantly, you close the door again as quietly as you can before climbing back into his bed to stare at the ceiling once more.

It looks like it's going to be a long night.

********************

“You look really great,” Chloe says as she strolls into the shop, handing you a coffee, “like, happier, more relaxed.”

It's a few days after your impromptu sleepover at Eddie's place, and she's absolutely right. You do look more relaxed, even you've noticed the change. There's more confidence in you, and a smile that was once a little forced is warm and genuine.

“Thanks, I think I'm getting more comfortable here.” It's not a lie, exactly, but it's certainly not the whole truth.

“Good, glad to hear it!” She beams at you and heads to her table.

The bell over the door chimes once again startling you. Miranda and Mac are already here and it couldn't possibly be Eddie this early.

“Um… Hi.” A gangly youth walks in, all arms and legs and bright blonde hair. He shuffles over to the counter awkwardly.

“Morning, can I help you?”

“Y-yeah, you do walk-ins today, right?” He asks, brandishing a crumpled flyer at you.

Face lighting up, you fix your best smile.

“Why yes we do, it's walk-in Wednesday. It's a little early though. Can I see some ID?

He hands it over. The guy's freshly 21 and knows it, puffing out his little pigeon chest with pride.

“Excellent. It's about 10 minutes until we open, but Miranda will be with you. Miranda, you got a book for this guy?”

Confusion paints Mirandas's face, but then she smiles.

“A walk in? Wow.” She strolls over and hands him her portfolio of designs, introducing herself.

When Eddie finally turns up, there's another guy waiting.

“You're not my 10:30.”

The poor boy looks at him nervously like he did something wrong.

“Eddie, he's a walk-in.” Mac says, calling over his shoulder.

Eddie smirks at you and leans over the counter.

“Well well, bet you're happy. Atta girl.”

Blushing profusely, you move to tap him on the arm in warning, but he grabs your hand and kisses it. Heat flies straight to your belly at the gesture.

“Let me know when my 10:30 is here, alright sweetheart?”

He's still holding your hand, brushing his fingers over your knuckles. Weakly you nod, gazing at him as your toes curl in your shoes.

Shooting you a wink, he ambles over to his station as you watch him, eyes drawn to the way he moves.

There's three more clients asking about Wednesdays; granted, one didn't have an ID, but the other two were seen and inked, and one even booked a follow up with Miranda.

Buzzing with job satisfaction, you're grinning when you nip to the restroom, walking through the narrow corridor. As you exit, you're immediately accosted by Eddie. He stands close, a hand loosely holding your wrist to keep you there as he bends to whisper in your ear.

“Now, you're not supposed to touch fine art, but someone's gotta pin you against the wall and nail you right.”

“Eddie!” You whisper shout at him, only serving to make him chuckle low in his throat.

“Sorry, couldn't resist. I have an idea, for that favour you owe me?”

Body tensing of its own accord, you look up at him, your cheeks flushed and mouth slightly parted. Before you can ask what it is, a voice cuts through the tension.

“Hey, keep it at home guys.”

Mac's standing at the other end of the corridor with his arms crossed, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Pursing your lips, you wriggle from Eddie's grip.

“It's not what it looks like Mac, I promise.” You say, shouldering past Eddie.

“Come on sweetheart, don't get all shy on me now!” He shouts, walking after you.

You ignore him, giving Mac an apologetic look, and sit back down at the counter. God, that was embarrassing. Seems like professional and discreet are out the window.

“So, as I was saying-”

“Eddie, stop, not now.” you say, cheeks bright red.

“I was only-”

“Eddie please! I don't want to get into trouble!”

Eddie scoffs and rolls his eyes, but backs off finally.

You make a very clear point of being busy until the rest of the day, completing any ad hoc tasks you can think of. Tidying the stock cupboards, refreshing the consent sheets, and even organising the sparse counter. Anything to avoid further comment from Mac.

When six rolls around you turn to talk to Eddie, but he's already leaving without a glance at you.

Sighing, you make your way outside and home, trying to ignore the little sting in your chest.

********************

It's Saturday before you see him again. Your day off was mostly spent worrying about how you upset him and thinking about everything you could have done differently.

By the morning you're an emotional wreck, anxiety having done her job and left you a bubbling mass of maybes. When Eddie storms in the shop with a proverbial rain cloud over his head your heart pangs in your chest.

He's such a big character, and you didn't realise until now the influence this has on this place. Usually he's energetic and upbeat; however, with this melancholy energy coming from him, everyone seems to stoop a little more, eyes a touch downcast, movements more shuffled and broken. It's like a black hole has descended on the shop, pulling joy from your soul and sucking everything into its gravity.

The tattoo shop is quiet for a Saturday. Not from lack of customers; it's just a more hushed and sullen atmosphere. By the afternoon you decide enough is enough and you grab Eddie's arm between clients.

“Eddie, can I talk to you?”

He gets up, stretching his back in a feline movement, and walks with you slowly to the stockroom.

“Listen, I'm really sorry about what happened on Wednesday, I didn't want to upset you and I can't stand seeing you like this and-”

“Woah, sweetheart, slow down. You been worrying? About me?” He tilts his head, giving you a small lopsided smile.

“Yeah? I thought you were mad at me.” You mumble out.

“Oh, princess, come here.” He wraps you in his arms, holding your head close to his chest. A relieved breath puffs from your chest as you melt into the hug.

“That's not what I'm upset about, I promise.”

You pull from the embrace to look at him, a hopeful smile tugging at your lips.

“Really?”

Stroking your cheek softly, he presses his lips together. “You're adorable,” he moves his hand away and starts waving his arm about as he tells you what's wrong.

“You know I'm in a band? Well we've got this regular gig at Hatters, which is great and all, but I found out they're looking for more bands at The Pit. That big rock club on Main? I've been trying to get hold of the damn owner but he's ignoring all my calls and I'm pissed off.”

Grinning, you grab his arm. “Eddie, I can totally help you with that.”

His gaze is soft and warm as he asks “Really? You'd do that for me?”

“Of course I would. You got their number?”

He digs around in his pocket and passes you a wedge of shiny paper. Unfolding it, you look at the details, smiling even wider when you see they're attempting a ladies night. There's a telephone number at the bottom, the contact listed as William.

“I gotta idea. Just roll with it, OK?”

He looks confused but nods at you. Skipping to the counter, you pick up the phone and dial the number. When it's answered by a young woman, you speak with a nasal voice, sounding almost bored.

“Is Bill there?- Tell him it's Barb- oh trust me he's gonna wanna take this call honey.”

Eddie's staring at you with an amused expression; you look back at him, flashing a smile while you wait.

“Bill! How long has it been! Oh, don't say you don't remember me… oh, you do!- I'm good, I'm good- I'm managing this band, yeah, you've gotta book them- Corroded Coffin- yeah, yeah- They are hot right now, selling out their shows- look I know you're struggling getting the ladies in, but that's about to change. Their lead singer is- well lemme tell you, if I were a younger woman- haha yes, sounds great! Next Saturday?- Nine- Great stuff- I'll speak to you soon.”

Placing the phone down with a little click, you cross your legs and look at Eddie smugly.

His jaw may as well be on the floor, eyebrows so high that he resembles a cartoon character.

“Barb? Selling out their shows? If I were a younger woman? Where the fuck did that come from?”

You giggle, “I thought he'd listen if he thought I was a business connection. I took a shot, a little bullshit can take you far.”

He swoops over to you and grabs you in his arms, lifting you bodily from your seat and swinging you around as you squeal helplessly.

“Saturday? Not even midweek? Princess I owe you big time.”

“Eddie I already owe-”

He's not listening, running over to Mac and bouncing on the spot like a child. “Mac, Mac, did you hear? I'm playing at The Pit!!”

You watch as he explains what just happened; he's so animated, gesticulating wildly as loose locks of hair fly from his bun. Mac beams at him and hugs him in a fatherly motion before Eddie springs back over to you.

“Who the fuck is Barb?”

“I dunno, she sounded worldly.”

He grins, shaking his head, “I can't believe you lied for me. You seem… different lately. More confident. It suits you.”

Blushing, you thank him. For a second you stare at each other, both lost in the other.

Eddie shakes his head, and looks at the time.

“Fuck, right, I got 20 minutes, I'll be back!” He grabs his coat and runs out of the shop shouting “personal errand!”

Chuckling, you sit back down at the counter. Mac approaches, smiling softly.

“You did good Miss, he's really happy.”

“Thanks, I couldn't bear the sulking.”

He laughs and touches your shoulder, “he cares about you. In case you didn't notice.”

He walks away nonchalantly as if he didn't just drop a bomb at your feet. Eddie cares about you? You're still pondering it when he returns a half hour later looking sweaty and dishevelled.

“Princess, I got you a present,” he whispers, brandishing a nondescript black bag at you. You peek inside and shut it immediately.

“Eddie what the fuck!” You whisper, face flooding with blood at the sight as you hide it under the counter. There's a sex toy in the bag, well at least one, but you were so shocked at the sight you didn't get a good look.

He chuckles and leans in close. “Thought you'd like it.”

“Eddie I don't know how to- to use this stuff,” you mumble quietly, looking around to make sure no one's listening.

He smirks at you in response.

“You free tonight? I can show you.”

Taglist

@liminalpebble @eddies-puppet @rip-quizilla @micheledawn1975 @vanilla-demon @millercontracting @roanniom @josephquinnsfreckles @leelei1980 @mrsjellymunson @eddiesprincess86 @ali-r3n @choke-me-eddie @littlebebebunny @big-ope-vibes @tlclick73 @reidsgubbler @siriuslysmoking @keanureevessmile @fhsbsvy @yourdailymemedelivery @aurora-austen @rach5ive @honey-teaaaaaaaa @nina211544 @bbabycass @cactusangie @skrzydlak @took-me-hours-to-steal-those @hereforshmut @nabiiturner @darlingbravebelle @freak-of-hawkins @randomworker @serenadingtigers @1paire2vans @sapphire4082 @xmasterofmunsonx @steamystrangerfics @vol2eddie @storiesbyrhi

#ms gexy writes #ink shop eddie #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie x you #tattoo artist eddie munson #tattoo artist eddie #eddie x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female!reader #older eddie munson #older! eddie #older!eddie #stranger things imagines #stranger things #stranger things smut

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ouat-in-spare-oom-of-rivendell · 1 year

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Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series), Markiplier TV (Web Series), A Heist With Markiplier (Web Series), Markiplier Cinematic Universe, In Space With Markiplier (Web Series) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Y/N | The District Attorney (Who Killed Markiplier?), You, Reader, Darkiplier (Markiplier TV), Wilford Warfstache | William J. Barnum | The Colonel Additional Tags: Ego Manor, Darkiplier Cares (Markiplier TV), Mark Fischbach Egos, Post-Who Killed Markiplier?, Mentioned Damien | The Mayor (Who Killed Markiplier?), Mentioned Celine | The Seer (Who Killed Markiplier?) Summary:

When all was said and done, there was one body left in the manor - just one. There was just one problem: That body was stuck in the Void. But as it just so happened...

So was the District Attorney.

aka, you find your own way out of the mirror after being trapped there for over a hundred years by the entity who stole your body.

#as with any standard Markiplier Cinematic Universe fic I'm playing fast and loose with the lore here #my house my rules and canon is what I make it #anyways #not sure what to tag this on tumblr bc I don't want it going in the main tag and chancing that he might see it #i think I would simply die #WKM fic #who killed markiplier fanfic #im not going to bother actually posting it on here btw #im slowly giving up on tumblr nobody ever interacts here #im this close to just packing up shop here and going exclusively to ao3 and quotev #Y/N the District Attorney

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dadvans · 9 days

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i like the idea that tommy doesn't have a fucking clue about what he's getting into with buck and being pleasantly surprised at every turn. through chimney and hen he's heard about buck as like this, well-meaning labrador of a man who is always finding himself in Situations, and then he and eddie become friends and it's like, okay, your brave stupid hot friend sounds really silly and nice, and christopher is like, and then he rescued me from a tsunami and he doesn't let me win at video games (but i beat him anyway) and the only reason i'm not dying of scurvy is because buck can boil water (my dad can't), and tommy is like, shocker that this nice and dopey guy is good with kids (not), and then the brief interactions tommy has with buck, it's like, these things are all surface level true: he's a nice guy, not the sharpest tool in the shed (i think this is an open channel! who cares!), VERY easy on the eyes, tommy will probably have a very luxurious jerk off session thinking about his fat mouth! he has his expectations securely in a "could be fun" box. he is NOT putting up any defense to prepare himself for a guy who cares so deeply and loudly he's like an open wound. he's not ready for a guy who owns his fuck ups and dusts himself off and tries, tries, tries again until he gets it right, and tommy sure as hell isn't ready for buck to start desperately failing upwards into a relationship with him. he probably asked buck out thinking it could be another good campfire rule hookup where he'll send buck off after a few good orgasms and a kiss at the door back into the world ready to play fast and loose with his sexuality and he'll smile quietly to himself whenever eddie or hen or chimney bring buck up, because it's not like buck is the sort of guy to stick around, right? he's just a very handsome, charming "not my turn with the braincell" kind of guy who is here for a good time, not a long time. it's going to be so earth shattering and exhilarating and unexpected to find out so quickly and suddenly that buck plays for keeps and that buck wants to keep him and it's going to be so GOOD for him, guy who for decades let himself be controlled by all of society's ugliest expectations of men, when he finds out what it's like to be wanted back by someone like buck, when buck makes him realize he deserves to be loved like that. he's not ready for it. not even close. i can't wait.

#bucktommy #911 abc

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turtletaubwrites · 4 months

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My Pretty Little Thief

Thank you @wallachianblood for this request! The idea and prompts were so cute, and I had way too much fun with it 😊🔥 I hope you enjoy it!

Pairings: Ace x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2004

Ao3 Link

Summary: Ace knows where he left his hat. But when it's not there, he hunts it down, only to discover the culprit. How can he convince the thief to return his precious hat?

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Swearing, Smut, Established Relationship, Nipple Play, Cunnilingus, Penis in Vagina Sex, Unprotected Sex, (Wrap it up y'all), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Just a bit of, Rough Sex, Temperature Play, Playful Sex, Teasing, Kind of Mention of Public Sex, (Ace just wants people to hear), Creampie, Maybe tiny Dacryphilia? (you have one tear that he thinks is "cute"), Pet Names, Fluff and Smut

A/N: I adore this man!! This one just feels super sweet and playful to me. Enjoy!

“I swore I hung it up here,” Ace muttered to himself as he scratched his head, holding up a towel around his waist.

He recalled taking off his hat, hanging it on the door, and heading into the showers.

Narrowing his eyes at the empty hook, he yawned before heading to his quarters.

I know I didn’t leave it in here…

His room was a bit of a mess, and Ace sucked his teeth at the sight of the clothes on the floor.

He knew it couldn’t be down there, but he had to check, annoyance building the longer his hat wasn’t in sight.

Keeping one hand on his towel, Ace got to his knees, leaning down to check under his bed.

“Ahem.”

Ace tensed, flipping around to see his door close, but his eyes were only on you.

You.

“Bam, got ya,” you said, mocking his voice as you pointed finger guns his way. You brought a finger to your lips, blowing imaginary smoke his way.

Ace’s eyes raked over your bare skin, loving the way your breathing hitched when he watched you. All you wore were cowboy boots, a belt around your waist, and…

“That’s my hat,” Ace teased, just a hint of threat in his words. He sat on the ground, leaning his back against the side of the bed.

“Are you sure? I think it looks better on me.”

“Oh,” he asked with a laugh, shaking his head at you. “Why don’t you come a little closer, and I’ll take a look?”

You bounced on your toes for a moment, giving him the cutest fucking smile before shaking your head.

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“Trust me,” Ace questioned, mock outrage given away by his shit eating grin. “You’re the thief. Guess I’ll have to take it back from you myself.”

He loved the look in your eyes when you watched him stand, leaving the towel on the floor. The way your eyes widened every time his cock sprang loose, as if you could never get enough of him.

You held your finger guns out to ward him off, but he just grabbed your wrists, leaning down to kiss your fingers.

“Bam,” you breathed, shooting a fake bullet against his lips.

“Oh no, you got me!”

Ace cried out, falling to his knees as you giggled, his warm hands sliding up and down on your thighs.

“Looks like I’ll have to take you down to get what’s mine.”

Your laughter turned into a gasp as he pushed your back against the door.

He wrapped one hand into the belt at your waist, holding you firm, then spread your thighs with the other.

“My hat does look pretty good on you from down here, sugar. But I’m still gonna take it from you.”

Your reply was cut short by the press of warm lips against your core, his tongue dipping into your wet folds so fast you felt dizzy.

You felt him chuckle against your skin as you wobbled, and he gripped your belt harder, forcing your hips where he wanted them.

“Such a brazen thief, I wonder what kind of punishment you deserve.”

He watched you moan and writhe, pressing yourself up against the door.

“Who knew criminals could taste this sweet?”

He swirled his tongue around your clit before sucking it between his teeth. He lifted one of your legs over his shoulder as he shoved his tongue into you as deep as he could go.

“F-Fuck, Ace…”

“Oh, is my little villain already sorry? Ready to give me what’s mine?”

A cute whimper left your throat, but all you did was shake your head.

He grinned, then sucked your clit back into his mouth. Then he made his tongue warm, and warmer, and hot, until you yelped, trying to pull away from him. He stopped the heat, but he didn’t let you escape, yanking on that belt while you squirmed.

“Can’t take the heat…”

Ace teased you, pulling back to kiss your thighs. He looked up at your pretty face, your skin all flushed for him.

He stood, pressing you against the door, his cock twitching as it traced against your skin.

“You wanted to be a cowgirl, huh, baby?”

He grabbed your hands again, kissing them while you caught your breath.

Pulling one hand away, you pointed your finger at his heart with another breathy ‘bam.’

Ace let out a surprised, and joyful laugh. You were always so fun, so beautiful, so free. And you always seemed to want him.

He lifted you up, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, twisting your fingers into his still damp hair.

He had planned on taking you to the bed, but when your wet cunt rubbed along his cock, he lost all rational thought, head leaning forward to moan in your ear.

Your back hit the door again, and you felt the wood groan from the weight.

“Wait–”

Your eyes rolled back as he rubbed his length along your clit, covering himself in your need for him.

“Ace…”

His head was buried in your neck, breathing in your scent, and the sound of his name on your lips was everything.

He lined himself up, holding you against the door. Slowly pushing into your tight, wet pussy, he moaned softly as your body clenched around his with every inch.

“Ace,” you moaned, this time your voice was high and strained as you fought to stay quiet against the door.

“My pretty little thief,” he rasped in your ear, thrusting so fucking slowly into you.

There was no better feeling than sinking himself into you, hearing your soft breaths, feeling your frantic heart.

The aching pressure building in you made you shake, and you were clawing at his back as you tried to stay up, and stay quiet.

“Please,” you stuttered, moaning again as he tilted his hips up into you.

“Alright, cowgirl.”

Ace finally took you away from the door, fingers digging into your ass as he slammed you onto him a few times before walking to the bed.

You had already lost. The hat was about to fall off your head from the way you twitched for him.

You gasped as he climbed onto the mattress, standing on the edge as he turned. With his back to the bed, your eyes widened at his mischievous smile.

“Wait, Ace, don—“

“Hang on to my hat, gorgeous.”

“No!”

You grabbed his hat at the last second, hand pressing it onto your head as he let himself fall backwards onto the bed.

He laughed as he kept a firm grip on your hips, luckily keeping you in place as you fell.

But even with his effort to keep your body still on his, the slam onto the mattress made you both cry out.

You were reeling from the force of his cock, hitting so deep as you bounced onto the bed.

“Ace!”

You slapped his chest, still panting, trying to breathe.

He couldn’t help the laughter that burst out of him at your blown out eyes, your outrage diminished by the desperate way your mouth hung open.

“Go on then, cowgirl. Take me for a ride.”

You let out what had to be a growl, pressing your hands down on his chest as you tried to fuck yourself onto his thick cock.

With all that he’d already done to you, your body was limp and shaking. You rolled your hips, running your fingers along the muscles of his stomach, his chest, playing lightly with his nipples until he let out a breathy laugh.

You gained some leverage, digging your boots into the bed as you started to lift off of him until just the tip of his cock was sunk into you.

Then you dropped down on him, your aching cunt sucking him in, the intense heat of his body filling you up.

“Your cock feels so good, Ace. I need you inside me everyday, baby.”

Needy whimpers left his throat, until your legs turned to jello, and you couldn’t keep up the pace.

“My pretty little cowgirl can’t ride? Do you want me to show you how, darlin’?”

“Mmhm,” you moaned, eyes heavy lidded as you nodded.

“Ya gonna give me my hat back if I make you scream on my cock, princess?”

“Fuck, please, Ace.”

He thrust up into you abruptly, reaching a hand up to touch your beautiful face. He brushed away a cute little tear as you pressed your face against his warm hand.

“That didn’t sound like a yes. Guess I’d better not make deals with thieves.”

He stopped every movement, your own movement falling limp without his support.

“Wait, yes, please! Please make me come on your cock, I swear I’ll give your hat back.”

He rubbed his thumb over your drooling lips, smiling when you didn’t hesitate to suck it into your mouth.

“There’s my pretty baby. Hold on tight.”

You gripped his chest again as he dug his heels into the mattress. He held the belt tight on your waist, using it to fuck up into you harder and faster than you were expecting so soon, and you let out a small, but filthy scream.

He kept thrusting as he laughed, so fucking pleased to watch you unravel for him.

“Already screamin’ for me, huh, baby? Looks like I get my hat back now.”

He sat up, pressing your bodies together as he rocked into you on his lap.

Your faces were so close, breaths mixing as he teased raspy words in your ear.

“You look really good getting fucked in my hat, darlin’. You like getting in trouble, don’t ya?”

All you could could was moan, high and desperate. He could tell you were so close to that edge, and he needed it, needed you.

“You want me, baby?”

His question had you clenching on him harder, and he moaned while you answered.

“I want you so bad, Ace. I want you to fill me up. Fuck, please come inside me, I need you.”

His fingers dug into your thighs, body fighting not to give into your words that very second.

“Give me my hat back,” he said in a growl, watching your body shiver at his demand. With shaky hands, you lifted his hat up, your hair so adorably mussed, then set it on his head while he kept gently pushing into you.

“Good girl.”

He flipped you onto your back, wasting no time. He pressed your thighs toward your shoulders, hunting for that spot that makes you melt.

You came almost instantly, knuckles shoved between your teeth as you tried, and failed, not to scream.

Ace didn’t care if anyone heard. He loved that everyone knew how much you wanted him, loved hearing you scream his name.

He would have told you not to hide it now, but the sight of your sweet body, writhing underneath him, was too much.

“Fuuckk... Coming, princess.”

“Ace!”

He used the belt like a handle again, shoving as deep inside you as he could.

You milked his cock of every fucking drop, his come filling you, a wave of liquid heat inside you.

You were limp as he pressed slow kisses on your chest and face. Finally, you made little whimpers and squirmed as he pulled out of you. His eyes almost rolled back at the sight of his come spilling out of your messy little cunt.

“How’s my pretty hat thief?”

You hummed, a contented smile on your lips making him want to do this everyday. To make you feel good everyday.

“I think you killed me,” you laughed, voice weak as you reached your hand up to touch his cheek.

“I could never kill my little criminal,” he teased, kissing your lips so softly as his eyes melted into yours.

“I love you too much.”

You pinched his cheek, face flushing as you grinned, the sight of you stopping his breath for a moment.

“I love you too, Ace.”

Likes and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!

a/n: I would like to take him home and protect him from the world, pretty please??

Tag List: @shewrites02

#portgas d ace smut #portgas d ace x reader #one piece smut #reader Insert #fem!reader #smut #mine #one piece x reader #fic requests #inbox #x reader #turtletaub fics #one piece fanfiction #ace x reader

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1644s · 2 months

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ruination

warnings/tags: minors DNI, dark themes, Bridgerton!AU, woc!reader, playing fast and loose w/ how things work in the regency era, Prince!Charles, soft dark!Charles, manipulation, peer pressure, possessive behavior, these tags are not exhaustive

wc: 6.4k (this is so aksdfljas)

summary: Royalty and greed go hand in hand. Prince Charles is no exception to this rule. If he must ruin you to have you, then so be it.

dividers by @/cafekitsune

rewatched Bridgerton, thought about Charles, and here we are :) obligatory unedited, unbeta'd etc. please let me know your thoughts! and happy reading :P

You wonder how one finds themselves in a position such as your present one.

He is dripping water onto your floors but your other choice was to leave him to his devices and so really, there was no choice at all. You can only hope your cousins remain engrossed in their conversations with the King and his ensemble. Though, you are certain they would find much more enjoyment in finding out you’ve snuck a boy into your quarters right underneath your parents’ noses.

You bring him all of the towels you have and thrust them into his arms. “The bathroom is over there. I left some of my cousin’s clothes in there but…” you trail off, unsure of how to tell him they might be too big. Your cousin was quite testy at this age and you do not wish to further ruin this boy’s day.

“Thank you,” he says politely, a far cry from the bumbling boy you were ushering into your room just minutes ago. The red in his cheeks hasn’t faded away yet but he no longer resembles a tomato.

You sit on your bed, feet dangling, as you wait for him. Luckily, the day is warm and sunny so his clothes will be dry within the hour. Unluckily, you do not know if you have an hour to spare.

Chewing on your cheek, you wonder how you’ll manage to keep this boy hidden for so long and without suspicion. You are due for lunch soon but there should be a delay due to the royal family coming for a visit. Your father is a man unable to not try and seize every opportunity given to him and these types of opportunities can only be taken advantage of with the absence of children.

The bathroom door opens. There’s a disgruntled look on the boy’s face as he tries to adjust his sleeves to no avail. They hang limply over his hands and it takes every ounce of your etiquette training to not giggle.

“Don’t worry. Your clothes will be dry soon,” you say. Unfortunately, nothing can be done about the wrinkles that are certain to appear. But that is an issue he must deal with so you don’t bother to apologize for it.

“Oh, sorry about the water,” he says, noticing the puddle by your vanity. He drops one of the damp towels on top and half heartedly wipes it away with his shoe.

“It’s fine. I think.” The dirt at the bottom of his shoe is going to leave a mark but you’ll worry about that later. The dress your mother put you in has ensured that you won’t be able to do anything other than breathe carefully and sit upright until the King and his entourage leave.

“If it’s not, I can let my father know and he’ll find a way to fix it,” he says unhelpfully. An almost resigned expression flits across his face but he quickly smooths out the wrinkle of his nose with a bland smile.

For some reason, his immediate assumption that you will take him up on it irritates you. He will be long gone by the time a punishment comes if one is to come. Instead of acknowledging his offer, you ask, “How did you end up in the fountain?”

He blinks, surprised. Then he averts his eyes. “I tripped.”

You twist a loose strand from your bed covers around your finger. “Ah.” If only you had come by five minutes earlier, you would’ve had something to laugh about during lunch. “You aren’t bleeding anywhere, right?”

“No.” But he’s looking over himself as he answers you. “No,” he repeats, more assured. “Mother would’ve killed me if I showed up to lunch with my clothes in disarray. Again.”

“You’re going to the lunch too?” you ask, tilting your head. As far as you know, your family and the King’s immediate family are the only ones allowed. Surely, one of the King’s own wouldn’t find himself in such a silly position.

He cuts you an aghast look. “I’m the Prince.”

You can’t help yourself from giving him a once over. “Are you?”

His clothes are quite nice, you will admit to this. It was the first thing you noticed when you saw him toppled over in the water. But what sort of prince falls into a fountain? And wouldn’t the King ensure his sons are by his side his entire time? You glance out your window as if you’ll suddenly see the Kingsguard crawling up the walls and to your room.

“Yes! I am,” he says, flustered.

He seems sure of himself so you choose to believe him. Maybe the kingdom of Monaco is a much more relaxed place than you have been led to believe. “Alright,” you shrug.

“I’m Charles,” he introduces. Charles stands expectantly as if awaiting a dramatic reaction.

It takes a second for his name to register. The spare as he’s been so crudely called.

You give him your name easily. Your father is a lesser known Earl. He’s clawed his way into his position so you aren’t surprised when there is no flare of recognition in Charles’ eyes. Your title hardly matters as you are merely a pawn for your father to move around the board as he sees fit.

“That…makes sense,” he says after a moment. “I was wondering why you were in the garden without a chaperone.”

Distaste sours your mouth. Ever since your first cycle, you have not been left alone without someone to watch over you whenever guests are around. Fortunately, your estate is not plagued with visitors but it is annoying having to seek out one of your cousins when your family does find itself with visitors. You tend to avoid any man older than you by default so you believe you have more than earned the right to wander your own home no matter how improper your mother finds it.

“Speaking of chaperones, where are your guards?”

At the reminder, he scoffs. “I snuck away from them.”

It’s nice to know even the prince feels smothered at times. “And here I thought you lived a charmed life.”

He wavers and then sits a polite distance from you. It should feel illicit—because it is illicit—but the shame never comes.

“I’m old enough to be on my own,” he complains. “It’s not as if Father forces me to train because he thinks I find it fun.”

“Do you find it fun?”

“I do. But that is not the point,” he huffs.

“What a trial it is to have a father that loves you,” you say with a hand to your chest. “Oh, the travesty!”

Your dramatics earn an amused scrunch of his nose. He flops on your bed, head just below your pillows. He tucks an arm underneath his head and sighs. “It sounds bad when I put it like that, huh?”

“No. I get it.” However, to a lesser degree. For all the freedoms Charles is granted in comparison to you, there are restrictions you can not even imagine that he must have. “Somewhat.”

The bed creaks as he shifts to his side. “Really?” he asks.

“Really,” you confirm with a nod. And then you shrug. “But it will not be forever.”

“It will not,” he agrees quietly. “Once I’m of age…”

You wait for him to finish but he doesn’t continue. But it doesn’t matter for you hear your maid knock on your door with three rapid raps. You scramble off of your bed and hold the door closed.

“I’m coming,” you call, hoping the reediness in your voice isn’t noticeable.

The handle stops turning. “Hurry.” With that, she leaves.

You exhale. You do not want to imagine what would have come if Karina had barged in as she usually does.

“You should leave first,” you say. The spike of anxiety has yet to retreat so you sound harsher than you intend.

Charles does not need to be told twice. His gait is stiff as he leaves. He looks back at you before he disappears around the corner.

After a respectable amount of time passes, you walk to the dining room. You can hear your mother chiding one of your cousins and pray she is too distracted by whatever mischief they’ve gotten into to notice your late arrival. And because you are not known for your luck, you accidentally come across Charles and his mother as they enter.

“Why are your clothes damp?”

You’re close enough to catch the Queen’s question to her son. Charles tries to wave it off but she pinches a cuff between her fingers and asks again.

The resigned downward curve of his mouth is what drives you to interrupt them. “It is my fault, Your Majesty. I was getting a drink of water and managed to spill it on His Highness. I am terribly sorry for the inconvenience.”

Her eyebrows raise. She inspects her son further. Something about him must amuse her for she smiles in that knowing way all mothers do and says, “It is fine, my dear. Let us go eat.”

Charles tries to catch your eyes during lunch but you keep your gaze steadfast on your cousins whenever you speak. It is only when the adults turn their attentions away from your section of the table that you meet Charles’ earnest gaze with a smile. You tip your chin in the direction of your father and give the barest hint at a shake of your head.

Before he and his family depart, Charles pulls you aside. Your parents are too focused on saying their farewells to the King and Queen to notice you’ve been sequestered away. Unfortunately, Charles draws the attention of his older brother much to your horror. Your urge to stomp on his foot is only quelled when Lorenzo shakes his head with a little laugh and holds a finger to his lips.

“Write to me,” Charles says in one breath. “Please.”

“Your Highness,” you say, unsure.

“Charles,” he corrects. He digs into his pocket and slips a folded piece of paper into your hand. He closes your fingers around it. “I’ll await your letters, my lady.”

He’s hurried off to his family before you can say another word. Shaking off your bewilderment, you tuck the paper given to you into your sleeve, and go to join your parents in wishing the Leclercs a safe journey home.

Hours later, when you are finally alone are you able to unfold and read what Charles has written you. It is an address with instructions on how to write it so that any letter of yours arrives at his personal quarters.

You press your tongue at the back of your molars, a little impressed at his confidence. It is not unfounded as that same night, you pull out a piece of paper and begin writing to him.

It is seven long years before you see Charles and his family again. But it is as if no time has passed as you and Charles exchange letters in your time apart.

You were able to conceal your correspondence with Charles with the simple lie of having befriended one of the maids the Leclerc’s brought along with them. Guilt did not swirl in your stomach at the disappointment in your father’s face when he realized the sturdy letter in his hands did not come from the King or Queen asking for your hand in marriage whenever you were eligible. It is pure luck you happened upon your father receiving the mail and were able to extinguish his hopes with a nonchalant lie.

He’s funnier than a prince ought to be. It doesn’t take long for you to forget you are talking to a prince and not one of your peers and formality becomes a thing of the past. By the end of that year, you considered Charles one of your closest friends.

You were one of the first to find out about his father’s passing. It took hours of convincing and a smidge of bribery to coax your cousin into bringing a gift to Charles from you the next time he went in for training at the palace along with your condolences. Letters from Charles ceased for a handful of months understandably but you sent your weekly letters faithfully. You detailed everything from your days to your studies to the little warm pockets of memories you had of his father and his kindness to whatever else crossed your mind. You didn’t know how else to comfort him from so far but when Charles finally returned his pen to the page, it was to thank you for allowing him some respite during the worst of his grieving period.

The years pass and while communication becomes strained as you two come to grow into your respective roles, you still consider Charles a very good friend. He’s one of the first to hear about your woes on your upcoming debut into society. You are approaching your twenty first year and you are sweating at the thought of what’s to come. You detail to him the families that have begun sniffing around you as if to test the waters of what sort of prestige your father is expecting. It is taxing but you deal with it well. You have no other choice after all.

Charles is strangely reticent at the topic of your debut. He offers a sympathetic ear but struggles to reassure you in ways that don’t make you vaguely uncomfortable. You can’t quite put your finger on why but his insistent claims that you will not have to worry about the men circling you like vultures does not set you at ease as you suspect he thinks it does. It reeks slightly of ownership but you brush it off as surely his written word is more one dimensional than his thoughts. It is far more likely Charles thinks to soothe you by the implication of an order of protection as he has no way to actually prevent someone asking for your hand. It is the thought that counts, you think.

This time around, the Leclerc’s visit is rather unexpected. You are due to travel to Monaco in a week’s time to make your debut but you cannot say you do not welcome the chance to see your old friend sooner.

Except, he is not the Charles you have kept so dear to your heart over the years. He is a man grown now. And you do not recognize him.

“Hello, Your Highness,” you greet, curtsying as suited for your station. You do not let yourself linger on him, to soak in how much he’s changed over these years.

It feels like a slap in the face even though it is to be expected. With your correspondence spanning from childhood until now, it should not come as a surprise to see Charles as the prince he is. But foolishly, you’ve held onto the image of him as the boy whose sleeves were a tad too long and whose smile hadn’t quite grown into the charming one he’s sporting now. Before, you could trick yourself into believing Charles was a friend of equal standing. But now you know that has never been the case.

He has always been Prince Charles Leclerc.

You greet his younger brother next, dutifully reciting your introductions to one another. A flash of recognition crosses his expression and his eyes flick to Charles for a moment. You pretend you do not notice.

His older brother, the king, makes idle conversation with your parents. Your fingers twitch against the fabric of your lehenga. The weight of your necklace is suddenly stifling and you bring your hand up to adjust it.

“Are you excited about your debut?” Arthur asks politely.

Seeing as your parents and the king have left the three of you to your own devices but within their eyesight, your shoulders loosen. “If my mother asks, I told you I’ve never been more excited in my life,” you say, sharing a conspiring smile with him. There is little doubt in your mind that Arthur is expected to happen upon a wife during this ball somehow.

“And if I ask?”

Charles’ voice is smooth and playful. He is not someone you can ignore regardless but you wish he made it a little easier to look at him without feeling blinded by his beauty.

“I am dreading it,” you confess. And he is well aware of that.

“Still scared no one will ask you for your dance card?” Charles teases.

You look up as if considering the possibility. The thought crossed your mind months ago but your mother had quickly assuaged those fears. “No,” you say. It isn’t arrogance that fuels your adamant denial. It will be a shock if not one man approaches you for a dance at your debut of all things. “More that I am scared my father will throw me to the first man who extends his hand.”

Your dry confession wipes the smile off of Charles’ face. “He would not do that.”

Arthur looks aghast. “Would he?”

“He would,” you say seriously. “We all have our duties do we not?”

You manage to shut Charles up while encouraging Arthur to complain about how his mother plans to spring a bride upon him to keep her wayward son home. Said mother beckons to him after ten minutes to point him towards Lorenzo’s guard, leaving you and Charles with the illusion that you two are alone. Hyperaware of his presence, you take a step back. You may not be searching for a husband but it does not mean you can tarnish your reputation by being careless. You turn to head back to your room with the intention of feigning ill. Except, a set of footsteps echo your own.

Charles follows after you. “Would you like to join me for lunch?”

Not particularly, you think but force the thought into the recesses of your mind. “While that sounds lovely, your Highness, I really must go.”

His hand wraps around your wrist before you can take another step away from him. “Must you be so cold?”

“Your Highness,” you whisper warningly. Your voice pitches at the end as your eyes dart around the two of you. There are eyes in every corner and none are to be trusted.

“Charles,” he corrects. “I’m Charles.”

His grip isn’t so tight that you cannot pull away and yet, you do not make an attempt. You stand there with his hand around your wrist and your heart in your throat like a fool. “We cannot be alone, Charles.”

“We’ll sneak off then,” he implores. His voice lowers. “Please. I’ve missed you.” The words linger as if he has more to say but he limits himself to this vulnerability.

The ache in his voice threads through your ribs until it wraps around your heart and squeezes. You chew on your lip for a moment you do not have to spare and then admit defeat. “Wait for me in my room,” you whisper. “I trust you remember how to get there?”

A boyish grin tugs at his lips. “How could I forget?” And then he is off, walking through the halls as if they are all he’s ever known.

You make your way to the kitchen with half a mind to sneak off into the gardens on your own. But you banish the thought, having briefly imagined the disappointment on Charles’ face if you do not show up. You quickly pack lunch and loop your arm through the handle of the basket.

It’s easy enough to get to your room without any prying eyes but you can never be too cautious. You peek around yourself, angling the basket so it looks smaller than it is to a wandering eye, before opening your door. Charles is digging through your vanity and spins around when he hears the creak of your door.

There’s something crumpled in his hand that he quickly shoves into a pocket. He grimaces. “You are back.”

You shoot him an unimpressed look. “I am. Are you ready for lunch?” You do not have the patience to question what he’s taken as a souvenir. It is likely something innocuous and something you’d give to him without thought anyway. Nothing you have is of value to a prince of all people.

“Are we to eat in here?”

You shake the basket hanging from your arm. “Of course not. We shall eat in the garden.” Eyeing the worn out throw on your couch, you point to it. “Take that so we may sit on it.”

Charles acquiesces, carefully bundling it in his arms. The hallway is empty and there are no echoes of hurried footsteps so you motion for Charles to follow you. Instead of leaving how you came, you lead Charles towards the rarely used back hallway. With two quick turns, the two of you find yourselves near the unused lower quarters.

Charles glances around himself, mildly surprised. “I was not aware these were here. Even from the outside it looks so…”

“Decayed?” you offer, amused at how he doesn’t correct you. “My grandfather never bothered to include these in the renovations so they remain empty. Every once in a while, someone will come down and clean it but if anyone is down here, it’s either me or my cousins.” You think it’s haunted as well but you don’t tell Charles that.

Pushing open a door with your back, you bring Charles to the very edge of your mother’s garden. A quaint pond sits off to the side, hidden from view.

Once the two of you are settled atop of your blanket with food in your hands, you ask, “Is this the season you intend on finding a wife?”

Charles chokes on his sandwich. You jerk back, nearly dropping your own due to his coughing fit. He thumps at his chest a few times before clearing his throat. With watery eyes and a raw voice, he says, “No. It is not the right time yet.”

Charles is twenty two to your twenty. He is considered young in a way you are not granted. Envy begins to drip into you but you quickly cauterize the entry point of it. The freedom you long for is no fault of Charles.

“You do love your dalliances,” you agree teasingly.

Embarrassment scalds his face to a deep red. You are confident if you were to hold your hand up an inch from his cheek, you would feel the residual heat.

He splutters, unable to form a string of words in defense for himself.

You laugh loudly. His reputation as a rake has preceded him. You don’t think it to be as scandalous as higher society wishes to believe but there must be some kernel of truth mixed in with the rumors. Despite the rumors circulation, it certainly hasn’t affected his value on the marriage market.

“I don’t—“ Charles presses his lips together and sighs. “Okay, that is true. To an extent.”

“Oh, is it now?”

He throws a piece of carrot at you. The red in his cheeks is receding but not by much. “I’m young,” he defends. “And I am trying to be patient for her sake. Or else, I would already have a betrothal in the works by now.”

Your ears perk up. “There is someone you wish to wed?” you repeat excitedly. He has not mentioned anyone in particular to you but perhaps they are someone he wishes to keep close to his heart until the match is secured. While so far none of your letters to each other have been placed into the wrong hands, some subjects are too delicate to risk the chance.

Charles looks off to the distance and then back to you. A crumb rests on the corner of his mouth and the casualness of it is at odds with the severity that pinches his face. “Yes.”

“Do they know of your intentions?” You try to think back on if Charles has accidentally hinted at someone being in the picture but you are drawing a blank.

He scoffs. He sounds almost bitter but when you look at him, the purse of his lips is closer to self-deprecating. “Not in the slightest. She would run in the other direction if she knew.”

“Oh please, you are a prince,” you say, exasperated. “You will be hard pressed to find a woman who wouldn’t swoon at a proposal from you.”

“You would be surprised.”

You knock your shoulder against his. Many dream of becoming a part of the royal family and romanticize it to an extreme degree. The insight Charles has given you over the years has proven it is anything but and you do not envy the women who will find themselves by the Leclerc’s sides.

“I am surprised. Besides being a prince, you’re charming too,” you say thoughtfully.

“And handsome.”

“And handsome,” you agree much to his delight.

“See? I knew it. I knew you thought this as well.”

“So then you understand why I think it is absurd you are so hesitant. You’ve always been brave. But maybe that is a testament to how fond you are of her.” You will have to make sure to keep a careful eye on who captures Charles’ attention at the ball. Perhaps, you may even need to deploy Arthur to gather some intel.

“I am very fond,” he says softly.

You look up at him to find his eyes already trained on you. Unease weaves itself through you, opening a pit in your belly. But you ignore it. “Hopefully, you will invite me to the wedding.”

He is silent for a long enough time that you fear you’ve overstepped some boundary you weren’t aware was in place. Before you can apologize, Charles brings his hand up. For a moment, you think he will lay his hand against your cheek and you begin to move away. But he merely picks a stray rose petal that has somehow found flight in the wind and tangled itself in your hair.

Whatever look is on your face softens him and the intensity radiating from him peters off into something less stifling. He leans back and examines the petal in his hand. It’s ruby red and faintly fragrant. It seems to center him for Charles says to you, “Save me a dance?”

Your answer is an easy, “Of course, Your Highness.”

Seven short days later, you find yourself in Charles’ home. The ballroom is stunning but its beauty cannot take away the nerves that have overtaken you. Your bones feel soft and weak and you fear you won’t have the strength to stand in front of the Queen. You long to hold your mother’s arm, clinging to her as a child once more, but you force yourself to take each step into the ballroom by yourself. You take a cursory look around, relief overlaying your anxiety at how many other nervous debutantes there are. Your anxiety is fully extinguished once you see Charles chatting with who you believe is Pierre. As if sensing your attention, he slowly turns to your direction and finds you almost instantly.

You give him a mockery of a curtsy.

He gives you a wink.

And so, your debut comes and goes with Charles dominating your dance card. Arthur manages to sneak himself on there as well as Pierre but other than the Leclerc brothers, Pierre, and a few others, your dance card is barren of any of the men your father hoped to potentially marry you off to.

A sticky sort of relief coats your lungs at managing to delay the inevitable for a while longer.

“Last night would have been awful if not for you. Thank you.”

You must head back to your home this afternoon but somehow, you have managed to carve out some time after breakfast to sneak away to say your goodbyes. It took the length of one dance to convince Charles to abandon his duties to allow you to say goodbye. It makes you think perhaps it is a good thing Charles was not the first born.

The glances you keep taking over your shoulder are more instinctual than anything. According to him, this part of the castle is secluded.

“I am indebted to you.”

Charles puts a hand on the ledge to lean forward until he’s all you can see. This close, you can the brown ring around his irises. He studies you, studies how you can’t help but sneak a peek at his mouth, and hums.

“I’ll be sure to collect my debt then.”

You enter your twenty fourth year with no prospects in sight. It horrifies your father.

You have become accustomed to it. The disappointment used to sit bitterly in your stomach but now you’re able to set it aside and put acceptance in its place. You’ve joined your younger cousin for her debut as her chaperone. The castle is as you remember it and so you’re able to impart onto her the two places she can go to for a breather if the chance arises and is needed.

She’s already danced with three gentlemen when she makes her way back to your side. You almost shoo her away but she grabs at you insistently. “The Prince is looking at you,” Sarish whispers.

“He’s probably looking at you,” you whisper back, distracted. You’re tempted to rip your bracelet from the thread it’s caught upon but with your luck, you’ll end up unraveling a good portion of the delicate seam work your mother labored over.

“No, he is not. Look,” she says urgently.

To appease her, you look around until you find one of the younger Leclerc brothers. Arthur has been coerced into a dance with another young woman but Charles remains off to the side. As Sarish says, he is looking at you.

He raises his champagne flute to you, earning the attention of those around him as he does. People crane their neck to see who has caught the eye of the ever elusive Prince Charles Leclerc.

Thankfully, the ballroom is so full, it is impossible to pick out who Charles motioned towards. You have learned to be grateful for the little things and that does not stop now.

“See!”

“I see,” you say through gritted teeth. “Oh look, more gentlemen are coming.” And then you leave your cousin to the swarm of men coming her way because while you are a chaperone, you never promised to be a good one.

It is surprisingly easy to escape to the backyard. Fleetingly, you think they should have more guards around but the lack of them works out in your favor.

You head towards the fountain a few feet away. The gentle lapping of the water soothes you and you take a fortifying breath. Charles can afford to be reckless but you cannot.

Gravel crunches beneath someone’s feet behind you and you whirl around, a hand to your heart. But you find that it is only Charles.

“I hear another betrothal is in the works for you,” Charles says after the silence stretches on for a moment too long. He adjusts his cuff links, smile thin and eyes devoid of all feeling.

You cast a wary glance over his shoulder. The party is in full swing and the guests haven’t quite yet begun to trickle into the backyard. “You called me out here to speak to me about rumors?” you ask doubtfully. Your father, a greedy man with an even greedier extended family, has been anguishing over your lack of proposals. The few courtships you’ve had have extinguished before they could get off the ground. And it is not for a lack of trying on your behalf either. Marriage may not excite you but you see its practicality. It helps that marriage will mean you are no longer be under your father’s thumb and beholden to his politics.

As the months drag and your various suitor’s indecision remains, your father’s hopes at finding a match lessened until he’s now grasping at straws.

“Your father has sent a letter to Carlos,” Charles informs you in a tight voice. “Expressing his interest in potentially being a foothold for the Sainz in Monaco.”

You close your eyes, cursing your father. He must truly be desperate if he thinks to weaponize his little influence to sway an outsider. “The Sainz are a smart family. They will not entertain such a clumsy scheme.”

The gravel shifts underneath his shoes. “Do not worry. I am the only one who saw the letter and I do not think your father so stupid as to think he can insert himself into matters such as this. Desperate, yes, but not stupid.”

The ironclad grip on your heart releases. “Thank you.”

“You have met Carlos though.”

He does not frame it as a question but you answer it like one anyway.

“Yes.” It had been a peculiar week when the Duke’s son found himself at your family home. An accident you still find hard to believe. You smile at the memory.

Charles grinds his teeth. “He is considering making his own offer for your hand.”

That stops you short. “What?”

“He sent the letter before your father’s arrived. The Duke was kind enough to inform me of your father’s…lapse in judgment. He also let me know of his son’s intentions.”

You did not think you left such an impression on Carlos but alas, maybe your luck is looking upwards for once. You cannot control the grin that graces your mouth at this information. If you must marry, you suppose he is a fine choice for a husband. He is certainly someone you know you can come to love and it would be far from a chore to do so. “I see,” you say diplomatically.

“Will you marry anyone then?”

His tone is disapproving and it immediately makes your hackles rise. Charles is a second prince and with his nephew’s arrival, he is no longer considered the spare. He is free to choose who he wants rather than what is good for the nation. Surely nothing holds him back from marrying the girl he loves he mentioned just a scant four years ago.

“I will marry anyone my father finds suitable,” you correct coolly. “It seems you forget my station.”

He rubs his mouth angrily. “Why haven’t you considered me?”

One second you are capable of breath and in the next, you feel as if your lungs have been compressed. The corset is much too tight and there is a sudden lack of air.

“Pardon?”

Charles steps towards you. A perverse sort of torment crosses his face. “Have you not thought of me as I have thought of you?” Another step. “Not even once?”

You must not hide your expression quick enough for his eyes light up. “Charles,” you say with a touch of warning.

“You must have,” he decides, advancing forward. A pleased smile stretches across his mouth.

“If I have, it was fleeting,” you say, taking an equal step back. “I do not dare to wish for more than I can be granted.”

“But you can be granted me.”

“But I don’t wish to be a part of your family, Charles.” Your head is spinning. “I am ill suited. I cannot be your wife. I cannot handle those expectations with grace, Charles.”

“And I cannot bear to be without you,” he interrupts desperately. “I tire of waiting. I tire of waiting for you to come to your senses.” He says your name, a longing whisper on his lips. “I tire of you refusing me.”

Your blood turns to ice. There is a brief swoop of your stomach as you take another step back from Charles. The back of your heels hit the fountain and you nearly buckle backwards.

“I think you should go inside now, Your Highness,” you say, voice caught in the back of your throat.

Charles has no care for your personal space and neither your propriety for he comes closer. He cups your cheek with a too warm hand despite your flinch. This point of contact is damning. “Why would I do that?”

“Charles, I don’t have a chaperone.” The music is winding down and perhaps that is why your heartbeat sounds deafening in your ears. It will be no time at all before the guests begin to trickle out to enjoy the night air.

If Charles will not course correct, you will. You have every intention of slipping off and fueling a different type of rumor but Charles doesn’t move out of your way. Instead, his thumb rubs across your bottom lip with reverence. His touch anchors you to your spot.

Dread runs sluggishly through your veins when his eyes trail down your face. You are beginning to understand that there is only one way this night will end. And you are a fool for not realizing it the moment Charles stepped foot in this courtyard.

Your ankle scrapes against a sharp edge on the fountain, reminding you of your place. You have nowhere to go and nowhere to hide from Charles. He’s set the trap and you’ve found yourself a willing participant in your demise.

“You haven’t had a chaperone with me for years, my lady,” he points out softly. “Must you start now?”

Charles doesn’t wait for an answer.

For all of Charles’ gentle appearance, he kisses you like he’s starved. He dips you slightly, placing his other hand flat against the small of your back for stability. Without his foresight, you might’ve taken you both into the fountain.

Your hands weakly push at his chest but he pays no mind. Instead, he deepens the kiss. Scandalized does not cover what you feel when his tongue slips past the seam of your mouth.

A gasp is what allows you to pull away from Charles. Shock still clings to you, making your limbs stiff and your reaction delayed. His hand cradles your face even as you turn your head ever so slightly to gauge the damage.

And with the multiple pairs of eyes staring back at you, all with varying degrees of incredulity, you know there is no way for you to sweep this under the rug.

He gently turns your face back to him. A satisfied smile rests upon his mouth. Victory lurks behind his smile as he says, “Spring is a lovely time for a wedding, mon amour.”

this fic is finished. there will never be a part 2. thanks!

#charles leclerc #Charles Leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fic #Charles leclerc imagine #soft dark!charles leclerc #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 imagine #x reader #dark fic #writing: charles leclerc

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zhvakinnn · 22 days

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Waaa no more request so I decided to make a school bus graveyard incorrect quotes:'D

Reader is here, but he/she/them a singel sorry

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Aiden: if i were to punch myself and i got hurt am i strong or weak?

Reader: strong!

Ben writing: weak

Tyler: an idiot

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Taylor: what's worst than a heart break?

Reader: waking up finding your phone unplug

Tyler: waking up in the morning

Ashlyn: waking up

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Ashlyn: sometimes I wanna be a caterpillar

Logan: why?

Ashlyn: eat's a lot, sleep's a lot

Logan: oh.. but wait fun fact about caterpillars they have a life span of two weeks?

Ashlyn: hm that's another highlight

Logan realize: wait no!

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Aiden: Quick Ashlyn hold my hand!

Ashlyn: now what?!

Aiden: nothing i just wanna hold hands

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Tyler: hey reader

Reader: my old friend used to call me that

Tyler:...

Tyler: ITS BECAUSE THAT IS LITERALY YOUR NAME

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Reader in a sleepover with Taylor: hey do you know what time it is my phone just died

Taylor: oh my phone died too, wait

Taylor stands up and took a flute and playing terrible

Tyler: WHO THE HECK PLAYS A FLUTE IN 5AM

Taylor: its 5am wait.. its already 5am?

-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-

Reader: what's a thot?

Aiden: a thoughtful friend

...

Taylor bringing you a snack

Reader: thanks Tay your such a thot

Tyler: exuse me what?-

-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-

Ashlyn: ah shit..

Mr. Banner: hey language

Tyler: oh fucking c'mon

Mr. Banner: language!

Taylor: ah shit that hurts

Mr. Banner: language!..

Aiden: what the frick brick jick kick jack is that shing shong

Reader: hey what the fick tick tickity tock was that about

Mr. Banner:...

Mr. Banner: what the fuck?..

-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-

Ben writing fast: your loosing a lot of blood, Quick what's your type?!

Tyler reading it: blonde, has glasses, and a sniper

Reader: NO DUDE YOUR BLOOD TYPE!

Tyler: dunno ask him

Aiden: red

-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-

Ben writing: do you think crabs fly?

Reader: how high are you?

Ben: 6'0

-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-

Reader: how high are you?

Aiden: how what?

Reader: high

Aiden: hello

-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-

Cop: you're receiving a ticket for having three people in one motorcycle

Ben was driving

Aiden: wait three?

Cop: yeah?

Taylor: OMG TYLER!

-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-

Reader: setting down an ace of spades

Aiden: setting down a 4+ uno

Ashlyn: Pikachu I choose you

Ben sweating because he doesn't know what the heck is happening

-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-

Ashlyn: why is Taylor and tyler leaning at each others back?

Aiden: they had a fight

Logan: why are they holding hands then?

Reader: they got sad after a fight

-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-

I'll be making more of this and try to ship reader with someone:')

Masterlist | about me | rules

#school bus graveyard #school bus graveyard x reader #sbg #sbg ashlyn #sbg tyler #aiden sbg #sbg (webtoon)#sbg aiden #sbg logan #sbg Taylor #sbg x reader #logan fields x reader #ben clark x reader #aiden clark x reader #tyler hernandez x reader #taylor hernandez x reader #ashlyn banner x reader #incorrect quotes

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jennamoran · 4 months

Text

The Far Roofs

So today I want to talk a bit about what this game wants to be. In particular, I'm going to go over its key technical and artistic goals.

The Far Roofs focuses on immersive hidden world fantasy adventure. It's intended to offer the experience of a grounded, emotionally real base world attached to an idealized, fantastic "hidden world" setting.

One might say, the streets and buildings and houses of the game's world are basically our own. Above us, though, is a stranger, more idealized, and more fantastic place. It's hard to get to. It's dangerous. It's less grounded. It's full of wonder.

Those are the Far Roofs.

This divide exists to make the game feel as real as possible, if you want to go that way. That's part of what hidden world fantasy is about, after all---the idea that magic is here. That it's not in some distant alien land or mythic future or past.

It's here, if you want to reach for it.

(Now, the game is flexible enough that you can play "protagonist" types instead of realer people, and many traditional gaming groups will probably prefer that, but that'll mean getting less of that immersive effect.)

The mood the game is interested in is that feeling you get when you take a huge risk---move to a new place; try a new thing. The feeling you get in those times in your life when everything is alienated and wondrous and terrifying but there's also so much more *hope* than there was in the still times before.

It's a mood of being swept up and called forward.

This is, among other things, meant to be a game for people who've been beaten down or exhausted by the ... everything ... to feel that sensation of moving forward again.

To remember what it's like, why it's worth it, how to reach for it again.

It's meant---and I do understand that I am finite and flawed and this can only go so far---as a tonic and refreshment to the soul.

Rules

The Far Roofs uses a 5d6-based dice pool system for day-to-day task resolution. It's relatively traditional and optimized for fast, fun dice reading. There's a loose consensus I've seen in RPG design circles that dice are for when outcomes are uncertain and both options are interesting, and I don't disagree ... but there's also this thing where rolling dice to decide is intrinsically interesting and fun, where it's fuel for a certain part of the brain.

This game tries to get as much out of that side of dice as it can.

You'll also collect letter tiles and cards over the course of the game. This is for bigger-picture stuff:

To answer big questions and to complete big projects, you'll either assemble representative words out of those tiles, or, play a poker hand built out of those cards. Word and their nuances express ideas and shape how outcomes play out; poker hands, conversely, just give a qualitative measure of how much work you do or how well things will go.

In keeping with this, the campaign is represented principally in the form of questions or issues your words and hands can address. Player/GM-created campaigns would be the same.

Physical and Electronic Product

I wanted to put the print version within the range of as many people who might need that tonic as possible. That means that for this particular game, I wanted to cover the full territory that I'd normally cover in a two or three volume set (core rules, setting, and campaign) in a single 200-250-page volume.

In practice this means there's a guide and examples for constructing the setting, rather than a deep dive into a fully-detailed world; that there's a bit less in the way of whimsical digression and flourish than in the writing I'm known for; that there's minimal "flavor" text on abilities; and that the campaign presentation is pretty fast-paced.

Conversely, it means that the game should be easy to absorb and to share with other possible players, and, that the game and campaign in this one relatively small volume should provide enough content for five or six years of play.

The book will be 8.5"x11" with grayscale art, available in a limited hardcover print run and a print-on-demand softcover form.

On the Rats

You'll see a lot of talk from me and others about the talking rats in this game. They're one of the jewels of the experience, and I think they're probably a significant draw just for being talking rats that are core to the game.

... but I'm going to hold off for now, because, to be clear, this is not a game of playing talking rats. It's just a game where talking rats and probably one of the top three most important setting elements.

I couldn't get that feeling I wanted of ... the base world being grounded realism; of the hidden world pulling you up and out and into a world full of magic ... with your playing rats, with your playing something so distant from the typical player.

So this is not a game of playing them.

They're just ... I like rats, and so I made the rats in this game with love. They're great ... whatever the equivalent is to "psychopomps" is for a magical world instead of for death ... and a way of talking about how in the face of the world, we're all pretty small.

I'm really excited about this game; the playtest was lovely.

I hope you'll enjoy it as well!

#the far roofs #jenna moran #rpgs

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systemic-dreams · 1 month

Text

I made a map of the Feywild because I could not find one I liked.

Feel free to use for your own personal needs.

4K version under the cut:

The Fae take things very literally, especially promises. They can take names, hands and unborn children from unsuspecting visitors with loose lips. Eating and drinking Fey food can ensure that you never leave the Feywild again. But as chaotic and unpredictable as the Fey may be, they abide by the rules of Hospitality and the Rule of Threes. Three Queens, Three Wishes, Three Questions, Three Answers and so forth. They have noble and powerful beings called Archfey which rule from the Summer Court and Winter Court. The Courts of Spring and Autumn are usually subservient or less important and their whole society tends to have a matriarchal dominance. The Queens are the true rulers while the Kings are merely consorts or generals in their armies. You may also find Maidens, Ladies, Mothers and Crones of incredible power here.

Notes:

The Feywild is a plane of existence adjacent to the mortal world we call home. It is a more vibrant and colourful version of our plane where supposedly, the dreams of mortals can shape the terrain. The spirits that pass on when we die become the spirits that inhabit the Feywild, eventually transforming into Faeries and Fae creatures of many different shapes, sizes and temperaments. This has stagnated in more recent years due to religion drawing souls out beyond the Astral Sea. Now the plane is ruled by Archfey who have had countless time to practice their magics. But as beautiful and enigmatic as the Fey and the Feywild may seem, they are a crooked mirror of the real world, much like one you might find in a circus funhouse.

The Feywild seasons are locked geographically and regions grow stronger or weaker depending on the time of year in the mortal world. It is always summer in the Summerlands, etc. And in the Vale of Long Night, it is always night. Some places slip in and out of the Feywild like the city of Astrazalian, and the terrain is constantly changing. Distance is measured by a place's spiritual connection to another, or sometimes by rules the Fey make up themselves. For this reason, it supposed to be unmappable.

Out of lore, I've found this makes for a frustrating experience to navigate. However, I've played the Descent into Avernus DnD module by Wizards of the Coast. It came with a glossy foldout map of Hell and told the DM that the mapmaker went insane while creating it so some of the landmarks might not be accurate. For this reason, I think it wouldn't be unreasonable to tell your players that the person who made this map of the Feywild is certifiably insane. (This will save you grief as a DM when/if complicated questions crop up. Just say a madman did it! since this is not entirely inaccurate ( ͡• ͜ʖ ͡• )

DnD Lore Locations you can look up for modules/story:

Winter Court

Summer Court

The Lake of Frozen Tears

The Vale of Long Night

The Howling Forest

Shinaelestra

Cendriane

The Murkendraw

Mithrendein

Nachtur

Plains of Echoing Thunder

The Summer Forest

The Temple of Leaves

Senaliesse

Maze of Fathagn

Brokenstone Vale

Astrazalian

Harrowhame

The Court of Stars (floating over Autumn next to a mountain)

Other locations are inspired by Faerie Lore or Grimm Fairytales and their derivatives.

Powerful NPCs from DnD lore:

Queen Titania/Tiandra and King Oberon (the Green Lord) are seated in the Summer Court.

The Queen of Air and Darkness/Mab in the Winter Court.

The Pale Prince lives in a fortress on the Lake of Frozen Tears.

Baba Yaga could be anywhere. She fast-travels by flying around in her mortar and pestle/big wooden bucket with a broom. She lives in a Hut on Chicken Legs that moves around by walking and can be found in any forest. Caution to those who enter the Hut when she is not home.

Cernunnos, the Lord of the Hunts may also be seen riding through any of the forests with a big pack of hunters. He is frequently joined by Oberon in the Summer Forest.

Nachtur is the goblin capital and is ruled by the nasty hobgoblin named Great Gark (I have placed this inside a volcano for flavour and dungeon material. You're welcome).

The Murkendraw is a massive endless swamp and can be host to any number of nasty critters including Pfilosfyr the Carrion King, known for his many fungal clones and mycelium minions.

In Brokenstone Vale, you will find lycanthropes and shifters that depend upon the moon, hence their proximity to winter and night. This place is ruled by Viktor Kazan, the Lycan Lord.

Nearby, the island city of Astrazalian spends half the year in the mortal plane and is ruled by Lady Shandria.

The Silver Lake is home to the Lady of the Lake if you want to reenact some Arthurian myth like they did with Geralt in Witcher 1.

The Floating Forest is home to the Pegasi and Lurue the Unicorn Queen (Alicorn). I have put a little tower there for some Eladrin Pegasus Keepers/Servants depending on how intelligent you make the winged horses.

In the Gardens of Pleasure, you will most likely find satyrs, including Hyrsam, the Prince of Fools.

I have left the White Well purposefully off the map. You can place it anywhere in the Winterlands. Should your players find it and the Lady of the White Well, she may grant them a boon. Those she falls in love with, become enamoured with her and earn her blade. They become champions who seek to free her from banishment by becoming her true love. All have died in the attempt.

Additionally, some places may cross over into other planes. The Vale of Long Night and The Dark Forest cross into the Shadowfell where the latter becomes the Dead Forest. The endless swamps of the Murkendraw may also cross into the Shadowfell or The Grey Wastes, while Nactur is closer to the plane of fire. The Feysea leads to Fey islands and the Court of Seafoam and the Court of Coral and continues into the plane of Water. The Primeval Forest spills over into Arborea and Brokenstone Vale spills into the Beastlands.

The Isle of Dreams is made up. If you ever reach it, your players will find the world of their dreams and can choose to stay (and become thrall to the Dreamlord/lady/monarch) or go back with a single-use stone. Breaking it grants one use of the Wish spell. Make them roll a wisdom save.

Honeysuckle Lake is made of honey which makes all the water in the Feywild taste sweet. However, running water is very dangerous to Fey and can wash away their magic. You can see it creating artificial boundaries in the form of rivers. The honeywater in Honeysuckle Lake however, does not flow so quickly and is very viscous and sticky. Dipping a hand into it may not remove a Fey's magic but it can be just as dangerous. The honey is stronger than concrete and has known to pull unsuspecting honeyguzzlers into its grasp.

This is all based on my own reading and research and imagination, so feel free to change it up!

Happy hunting

#feywild #map #dnd #dungeons and dragons #world map #ttrpg #fairy

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trans-eddie · 8 months

Text

Steve is thirteen when they send him off to summer camp for the first time. It’s not really a summer camp though, it’s a study camp; a glorified summer school — and in Steve’s mind, a punishment specifically for all the kids who get bad grades.

He drags his suitcase into the door of his cabin, and peeks curiously into the other bed there to see who he’s going to be bunking with for the next two months.

What he’s greeted with is a head of long, curly hair, and a set of big, brown eyes perched over a freckled nose.

Steve swallows thickly in shock. The rooms are co-ed?!

Steve runs a nervous hand through his hair, a habit as much as it is an effort to smooth back his humidity-frazzled do, and he straightens his shoulders.

“Hi,” He says, extending an open palm. “I’m Steve. And you’re…cute.”

Those eyes grow even wider in surprise, but the kid takes his hand and shakes it.

“I really like your hair,” Steve says. “It’s pretty.”

“I, uh - um,” The kid says, throat clearing. “I’m Eddie.”

Steve blinks.

“You’re -“

Eddie takes in his dumbfounded expression, and he throws his head back in a barking laugh.

“Dude! Did you think I was a girl?!”

Steve can feel his cheeks grow warm, and he looks down at his feet, too embarrassed to even make eye contact.

Eddie peers up at him, his mouth still twitching.

“Fine, let’s make it even then. I think you’re cute too.”

That gets Steve to look up, and he catches the playful expression on Eddie’s face, unable to help himself from matching it with a hesitant smile.

“So what are you in here for?” Eddie asks, flopping back on his bed and patting it in signal for Steve to join him.

“Ugh,” Steve pouts, his nose wrinkling as he sits down. “English. Writing and spelling sucks, and I hate reading. How about you?”

“Math,” Eddie sighs. “I’d gladly take writing and spelling and reading over numbers that just get all jumbled up and make no sense.”

“What!” Steve squawks. “But math is the easiest! It always stays the same and you follow the same rules for every problem!”

“Say,” Eddie says, mouth quirking up. “Sounds like we could help each other out.”

Steve looks down where Eddie has jutted his hand out, a mirror to his own earlier greeting.

“Alright,” Steve agrees, shaking it.

Hand in hand, pack made, seals the fate of two boys stuck in camp that summer. They spend their free time from then on bonding, hard and fast.

Skinned knees and swimming lessons. Shared homework, and Eddie reading aloud from all the books he’d brought with him. Sneaking into the kitchens, when all the counselors are turned in, to steal snacks — sweet and salty treats alike, that they giggle over while they construct pillow forts between their sides of the room.

Eddie shows Steve how to strum a few chords on a beat up acoustic that one of the adults brought with them to play around the campfire, and Steve teaches Eddie how to avoid getting tagged in capture the flag.

They swap clothes when they run out of clean things and don’t feel like washing just yet, Steve in Eddie’s flannel one week, and Eddie in Steve’s t-shirts the next.

Steve shows Eddie the best way to capture bugs without hurting them, from butterflies to ants to larger beetles. Eddie shows him the best way to set them loose in other cabins during prank wars.

They take showers at the same time, occupying stalls on opposite sides, both competing to see who can sing the loudest at the top of their lungs while they lather up their hair.

They take canoe trips, with talks of things like birthdays:

“Mine’s on the fourth!”

“No way! Mine is the twenty sixth!”

“That officially makes July the best month.”

And late night conversations, shared after lights out, two boys tucked into the same bed:

“My dad doesn’t care whether or not I pass next year and get into high school,” Eddie whispers. “I think he’s hoping I drop out so I have to come help him run jobs.”

“Mine cares way too much how I do,” Steve whispers back. “Even though he doesn’t really care about anything else. I think I could be dying and he would just ask me how my grades are.”

“Dads are assholes.” Eddie proclaims, and Steve feels a rush of deja-vu out of nowhere.

“Yeah,” he agrees, quietly, his hand slipping into Eddie’s where it rests between their heads. “But who needs ‘em? We got each other now.”

“Forever,” Eddie says back, squeezing his fingers.

Forever, as it turns out, only lasts the duration of camp. They send each other off with tearful goodbyes, promising they’ll see each other in school, their last year together before Eddie graduates up.

But Steve doesn’t see Eddie that year. He tries, again and again, posting himself right beside Eddie’s locker, but the boy never shows himself. If Steve didn’t know any better, he would think it’s because he’s avoiding him.

He asks around, and the teachers all confirm he’s in attendance, at least most of the time. They don’t share any classes though, so it’s hard to catch him when he appears to be taking no extra-curriculars, doesn’t ride the bus, and avoids his locker at all costs. Even lunch he apparently eats in his “secret spot,” which nobody can really tell him the location of, only that it exists.

But Steve’s not one to ever give up on people, so he tries a different approach. He starts writing notes, scribbles of thoughts on scrap pieces of paper that he shoves between the slats of Eddie’s locker. Notes soon graduate to letters, and Steve flexes all the tips Eddie ever gave him on writing; expressing how much he misses him, and still wants to be his friend.

“I’ve never had a friend like you,” He writes. “The only other friend I have is Tommy H. and mostly I’m nice to him because sometimes I think if I didn’t pretend to be his friend, he might get real mean and nasty. But I miss talking to you. I miss telling you secrets. I miss when it was just the two of us in our cabin. I miss you letting me play with your hair, cause honestly it still is the prettiest.”

Steve doesn’t get a reply. He has no way of knowing if Eddie ever got a single thing he wrote, not before the year is up and Eddie is presumably graduated.

The year after Steve spends in a countdown, waiting for the day he gets to the high school. Waiting for a chance to see his friend again, to see if he’s over whatever made him avoid him.

The day rolls around, and Steve sets foot into Hawkins High for the first time, fifteen and just barely grown into his broader shoulders and newly acquired height.

Eddie, on the other hand, is sixteen and still gangly as a newborn colt; all long, skinny legs and knobbly joints, towering over most of the other kids, so Steve spots him easily.

His ears stick off his head like they don’t belong there, no longer hidden by a mass of bushy curls. His hair is shorn short, worse even than a military buzz.

“Eddie!” Steve calls, excited at the sight of him.

Eddie freezes at the sound of his voice, his head turning slowly until he catches Steve down the other end of the hall.

He runs. Books it to the nearest bathroom at a ridiculous speed, and Steve feels his stomach sink as he follows after him, glancing beneath the stall doors until he spies a pair of worn, red sneakers beneath one.

The bell rings and then it’s just them there, late for class.

“Eddie,” Steve says, fighting the hot prick of tears in his eyes. “Can you at least tell me what I did wrong?”

There’s a pause, and then the stall swings open slowly.

“It’s not you, Stevie,” Eddie’s voice croaks. “Never you.”

“Then what?”

“I didn’t,” Eddie trails off, choked up. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

Steve doesn’t know how to translate that for a solid twenty seconds, an awkward silence as he tries to make sense of it. And then it clicks.

“Eddie,” He says softly, “It’s just hair.”

Eddie’s face pinches, and then he crumbles.

It’s not pretty; it’s loud and it’s snotty, and there are a few sobbed “missed you”s smeared into Steve’s shirt as Eddie collapses forward, but he doesn’t care; not with Eddie in his arms.

“No one has ever looked at me like you did before,” Eddie heaves between heavy breaths, clutching either sleeve of Steve’s polo. “You said - my hair - you thought I was pretty. I didn’t want that to change. Dad cut it right after I got back and I thought…I don’t know. I didn’t want you to see.”

Steve takes a steadying breath and pulls back, just enough that he can take Eddie’s face between both of his hands.

He’s lost the freckles mostly, but his eyes are just as big as ever, framed with long, dark eyelashes, tears clinging to them.

“Do you think I spent a year cramming notes in your locker because of your hair?” Steve asks.

“Uh -“ Eddie manages, a little stunned.

“I think,” Steve says, clearing his throat and trying not to sound half as awkward as he feels, “That your hair doesn’t matter, because you’re still pretty.”

Eddie’s eyes refill with fresh tears.

“Really?”

Steve carefully swipes under his eyes with his thumbs.

“Mhm. I think - well, maybe not right now, because you’re a little bit gross, but -“ He breaks off into a bit of watery laughter, “But you’re definitely still the prettiest guy I’ve ever seen. You’ve got the cutest eyes in the whole school, and your dad is a fucking asshole for what he did, but it doesn’t change that you’re my best friend.”

Eddie hugs him tight, burying his face into the now soaked material of Steve’s shirt, like he’s afraid to ever let go of him again. And maybe Steve cries a little too, over spending the last two years thinking his best friend hated him.

They work together that year to help Eddie get on his own feet making money — dealing — and Eddie makes enough to get out from his father’s roof so he can grow his hair out again. His uncle is more than happy to make space for Lila’s kid, and doubly so just to keep him away from Al.

Steve is there to see every stage of growth, from messy curls to a chin length bob, and just as pleased to tell him that he still likes it every step of the way, no matter how it looks.

~~~~~~~~~

Steve opens his eyes to the sun streaming in, and just like that, the dream is gone. Torn away by the light permeating behind his eyelids, even as he groans and tries to go back to sleep, to chase the world where he and Eddie…

Steve pops up, sitting ramrod straight.

Where they had been…what? Best friends? Steve doesn’t think sending a year’s worth of locker notes and calling your friend “pretty” looks so strictly platonic, which only serves to make this new dream even weirder.

Eddie is…is his dead friend who was barely even a friend. His fists clench in his bedspread, and he fights against the lump that lodges in his throat as he tries to convince himself of that fact.

But their closeness, the way they had been with each other…it felt so real. It lingers, in a way that leaves Steve short of breath as it collides with reality, this world where Eddie is gone and was never his.

He lays back down, arm extending over the empty space in his bed. His fingers trace the absence of a body that was never there, the phantom feeling of another hand in his wrenching a tight gasp from his lungs.

He wonders what it was he must have done to earn this, that his brain invents new ways to wallow in a misery he should have never known. It’s the second one now that he's remembered, and he feels daunted by the prospect of what that could mean.

read the fic on ao3

#steddie #steve/eddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fic #stranger things #st #my writing

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hedgehogsaretheultimatelifeform · 2 months

Text

Lessons Learned

Ghost/Gaz/F!Reader

After Gaz cheated to win a bet over Ghost, Ghost is looking to get his own back, and he’s wondering if you’d be willing to help him.

also known as

Ghost uses you to punish Gaz by making him hold your hands down as Ghost tonguefucks you until you cry (consensually, ofc).

NSFW below the cut, minors get out now.

You were the only one to see how Ghost’s eyes darkened when Gaz claimed victory in the bet last weekend. You were the only one watching as Ghost sunk back into his seat, staring at the beer left in his glass as he pieced together how Gaz had played a little loose with the rules in order to win the pile of cash in the middle of the table. He was pissed, that anyone would play unfair, even when Gaz remedied the situation by using his winnings to supply the next round.

So, when Ghost caught your arm the next time you stopped by his office, pulling you close and cupping your face in his hands, whispering as he asked if you’d noticed anything about Gaz over the last couple of days, you knew exactly what he was on about.

“The bet, last Friday?” You guessed, trying to act like you didn’t.

“Yes, the bet. What about it?”

“That he won?”

“By breaking the rules.”

“Aww, Si, you about to start complaining how it’s not fair?” You mirrored how he was holding your face, pressing your thumb to his lips through the mask. “Like you wouldn’t have done the same if you thought of it first.”

“Course I would. Still, Gaz cheated. Cheated me, cheated you. I think he should answer for that.”

“And how do you intend to make him answer for it?”

“With you.” Ghost’s hand squeezed on your chin. “If you’ll help me.”

“Help you? How?”

Ghost chuckled lightly. “Just, come back here this afternoon, without anything on under those jeans,” he ran his thumb over your lips, “and, I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Take care, how?”

“Lie you out on this desk, use my tongue on you till you cry. Make Gaz watch.”

His words sent heat flooding through your body. The idea of Ghost treating you right in the best way possible, while making Gaz sit and watch, getting frustrated and whiny as Ghost kept control of both of you… “You’d better do that. And more”

“Don’t I always?” He tugged your head down towards his, resting your foreheads together, a compromise you’d made around how hard it was to kiss him when he was in his mask. “Is that a yes?”

“It’s a yes.” You nodded, as Ghost let go of you. “I’ll see you after lunch?”

“Me and Gaz, after lunch.” He nodded, as you left his office.

The time could not go past fast enough. Back in your own office, you sat, staring at the clock watching the seconds tick by until lunch had come and gone, and you were beginning to wonder how long you should wait before hurrying up the corridor to Ghost’s office, sans underwear. How long could you get away with, before Ghost would come and find you? He’d probably berate you for keeping him and Gaz waiting, and turn today into a punishment for you as much as Gaz. Ghost didn’t ask for much in your relationship, but he did prefer for his rules to be kept.

At half two, you’d reflected enough to decide that making Ghost come look for you wasn’t the best idea (for today, at least), and you left your office to hurry over to Ghost’s, not even bothering to knock as you walked in.

Ghost looked up and chuckled. “Took you long enough. Kept Gaz here waiting.”

He nodded to where Gaz was sat on the sofa, arms crossed and a face made like he was sulking.

“This is so not fucking necessary, Si. Can’t you just yell at me or something?”

“You don’t learn when I do that, so we’re trying something different.” Ghost pulled his mask off, rubbing a hand through his brown hair, making it stick up in short spikes. He caught your eye as you giggled at that, and beckoned you close. “On the desk, love.”

He helped you up to lie down on the already cleared surface, humming lightly as he did the cursory work to expose what he needed of your body, undoing the buttons on your shirt and pulling your trousers down around your ankles. Without anything to do, you tilted your head back, staring at Gaz, who was still sat on the sofa, making a point of not looking at either of you.

Simon saw where you were looking, and pressed his hand on your thigh, the warmth sinking into your skin as you relaxed under his touch. “Don’t worry, love. Gaz is waiting until he’s told.”

You nodded as Ghost spread your legs wide and knelt between them, grabbing your ass as he exhaled directly onto your cunt. You gasped and squirmed, stuttering out his name, because he fucking knew how sensitive you got when he did that. Ghost responded by grabbing you tighter before pushing his tongue against your pussy. Your hands flew to his hair, grabbing hold of the short strands and pulling at it, desperately trying to keep him quiet between your thighs, but you weren’t strong enough to stop him from pulling his head back and uttering a single word.

“Kyle.”

Gaz shot up and raced to the other side of the desk, his eyes immediately finding yours, already filled with desperate frustration, as he leaned over and reached down your body. You thought he was reaching down to help Ghost toy with you, to roll his fingers over your clit in a way no one by he could, but instead he grabbed your hands, pried your fingers from Ghost’s hair, and pulled them up over your head, holding them still by his sides, effectively pinning you in place.

“Gaz?” The startled gasp left your lips as you instinctively kicked at Ghost’s back.

Ghost gently rubbed his hands up your thighs to soothe you, showing he was still paying attention to you as he spoke to Gaz. “Remember, Kyle. You hold ‘em down, you don’t touch ‘em anywhere else, you don’t touch me, you don’t touch yourself. You keep your eyes on their face, watch exactly what I’m doing to them, until I say so. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Gaz gasps, pressing his hips against the edge of the desk, tightening his grip as you try to pull your hands free.

“Good.” Ghost’s voice softened when he addressed you. “Love?”

“Yeah?” you dragged your eyes from Gaz’s to look down at Ghost.

“Colour?”

“Green.” You responded.

“Good.”

With that, Ghost was done talking. He dragged one of his hands up your thigh to your core, dipping his fingers into the mix of your wet pussy and his saliva, pushing your lips wide and shoving his tongue into you. The sudden movement made you drop your head back to the desk, meeting Gaz’s eyes again as a breath choked its way out of your mouth, lips parted as Ghost ate you out sinfully. You couldn’t feel anything by Ghost’s grip on your thighs, his tongue on your pussy, and Gaz’s grip on your hands, everything else disappearing in the pleasure and the security they provided as they held you down over this desk.

When you focused on Gaz’s face, you could see his eyes flitting about your body and how it was moving, straining simultaneously away and into Ghost’s mouth. Gaz’s lips were moving, he was saying something, muttering about how good you looked with Ghost servicing you, not that you could be sure. You couldn’t hear anything beyond how messy and wet your pussy was.

Ghost was taking you apart, skilfully dissolving your resolve in mere seconds, hooking his tongue each time he dragged it out of you, his thumb pressing down on your clit, certainly delivering on what you’d been shivering with anticipation for the whole day. He was earning every moan that fell from your lips as you shook in his and Kyle’s grip, begging to cum while you still could form coherent speech, because you wouldn’t by the time Ghost was done with you.

Gaz wanted so badly to drag his gaze away from your face, from your body, to look anywhere else, because otherwise he was going to cum inside his boxers, and he didn’t even want to think about what Ghost would have to say about that. It wasn’t like he’d told Gaz he couldn’t cum until Ghost said, but he’d have a mocking mouthful for Kyle in this scenario. Something about him being so eager to spread his cum around, he couldn’t even wait to see good pussy before he did it. How was Ghost supposed to keep picking up after Kyle, because if Kyle wasn’t hard when there was needy pussy waiting, then Ghost would have to fuck it instead, wouldn’t he?

Gaz grit his teeth, jutting his erection against the edge of the desk, the spike of pain staving off the inevitable just enough for him to tighten his grip on your hands as you cried out, back arching off the desk as Ghost got you to cum. Ghost hushed you gently, massaging your thighs as you shook against the wood, before sitting back on his heels and looking up at Gaz.

“Kyle.”

Gaz dragged his gaze down your body, then up to look at Ghost. “Yes?”

“You cum yet?”

“No.”

Ghost kept looking at him, wordlessly, his lips and chin shining in the bright light, as he waited for Gaz to correct himself.

“No, sir.”

“Do you want to?” Ghost kept his eyes on Gaz, but started rubbing his fingers around the edge of your sticky pussy, making you whine underneath their staring match.

“Yes, I do, sir.”

“Can you wait for this one to have one more?” Ghost pushed the tips of his fingers into you, making you squirm, one of your wrists sliding until Gaz caught it again. “Promised I’d make them cry, is all.”

“You…” bastard, Kyle wanted to say, but then he wouldn’t cum at all. “You never promise me that.”

“You’ve never asked for it. Would you like it?”

“I… maybe another time?”

“Another time it is. Keep ‘em still, yeah?”

“Yes, sir.” Gaz swallowed, dropping his head back down to stare at you, mumbling your name as you twitched, still sensitive as Ghost’s tongue dipped back inside you. “You wanna cry, huh?”

You nodded, staring up at Gaz as he leant down closer to you, concealing the words he whispered.

“That’s how he got you to agree to this? I could’ve made you cry, you know.”

You nodded, eyes beginning to glaze over as Ghost moved his lips up, pulling your clit between his teeth.

“So, why are we here?” Gaz hovered just above your face, slowly blurring out of focus as tears gathered in the corner of your eyes, thighs twitching as Ghost dragged you to the edge again, the pads of his fingers dragging over the edge of your wet hole.

“You… cheated…” You huffed out, between stuttering breaths as the knot pulled tight in your gut again.

Gaz sighed, air brushing over your cheeks. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Not… me, you should… apologise to.” You felt the tears run down your cheeks as you twisted, trying to pull back from Ghost. “Too… too much…”

Ghost hummed, gently rubbed your thigh and slowed his fingers, settling them into a rhythm as Gaz’s lips ghosted over your cheeks, pressing against your skin until you shook, and came again.

“There we go… Good pet.” Ghost eased back, gently pulling you up from the desk into his arms, beckoning Kyle to follow as he crossed the room to the sofa. He sank back into the cushions, curling you on one side, and spreading his lap open for Gaz to sit on.

“You too, Gaz. So good for me.”

Gaz huffed, shoving his hands against Ghost’s shoulders. “Can I cum? Sir?”

“We’re done now, Kyle. Just us now, just Simon, Kyle, and this one, yeah?”

You wiped your eyes to watch as Simon cupped the back of Kyle’s neck, pressing their foreheads together, sighs leaving their mouths as they rested for a moment, before kissing.

“You want to cum, yeah?”

Gaz nodded, pushing his hips forward. “Yeah. So bad.”

“Go on, then. Take care of yourself.”

“Lazy bastard.” Gaz groaned out, as he undid his jeans and pulled his cock out, hard and leaking before he wrapped his hand around it and stroked himself.

“I’ve only got two hands.” Ghost pointed out. One was on your shoulder, keeping you pulled close to his side, and the other was on the back of Gaz’s head, holding him steady as Gaz groaned, dragging himself towards the finish line. “That’s it, go on, cum for me, yeah?”

“Fucking want to, Christ, Simon…” Gaz groaned. “Fuck…”

“Yeah…” Ghost was rubbing his thumb over Gaz’s skin, stopping when you placed your hand over his on the back of Gaz’s neck. “Pet?”

“Hush.” You said to him as you dragged yourself up to your knees, cuddling up to Gaz’s side, pressing your lips against his ears, whispering over and over how he should cum for you, cum for you, cum for us, as Gaz shivered under your touch, and emptied himself over Ghost’s shirt.

“Fuck,” was all Gaz said as Ghost tangled the two of you together on his lap, trapping Gaz as he tried to pull his shirt off to maximise how much of his skin could be pressed against yours. You bat it away, wrinkling your nose as you felt the material of Ghost’s t-shirt, wet with Gaz’s cum, stick to your skin.

“That was fucking beautiful.” Ghost murmured, kissing each of you in turn, one of his partners snuggled up against each shoulder. “Fuckin’ beautiful.”

Gaz hummed. “What about you, Si? You cum yet?”

“I can wait.” Simon murmured.

“Hell no,” Gaz struggled to sit up. “You’re not doing that again.”

“We cum, you cum. Simple, as.” You sat up with him, both staring Ghost down like it was a challenge.

He laughed. “You’re both insatiable. You can take me apart later, I promise, but right now both of you are going to sit here, and have a drink and a snack.”

Gaz huffed. “Can’t make us do that.”

Ghost grabbed the back of his neck again. “Yes, I can. You’re not denying me my aftercare, Gaz.”

“Of course not, Si.” You cupped his face. “Aftercare away. Then later, we’ll tear you into pieces, in exchange.”

Ghost sighed. “I’d like that.”

#ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #ghost x gaz x reader #poly relationship #ghost x gaz #cod #call of duty #cod mw3 #cod mw2 #mw3 #mw2

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cxrsed-angel · 10 months

Text

Summer nights at the Drive In (fluff)|Eddie Munson x reader

word count: 1k

summary: eddie takes to the drive in and you misread his intentions

A/N: this is loosely based of an ethel cain song. but i wrote it in like one sitting just to get out of my writing break. I wanted to practice being a bit more descriptive.

warnings: a hint angst, they’re seeing a horror movie so mentions of like blood and gore but it’s not super detailed.

You’re sitting in Eddie the back of Eddie’s van, sitting on some old seats he put in the van as a couch for your drive-in movie date. you grab a handful of popcorn as you watch the horror movie that was playing, listening through his radio. He has a hand around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him as you relaxed under his arm. The two of you had been dating for a few weeks now, seeing where things would go.

you watch the movie seeing the gorey scene as the antagonists stab the victim repeatedly porn star character, who was in the wrong place at the wrong time, falls dramatically as the blood starts forming around her body. you hear her screams through the car speaker, but you feel Eddie’s hands go further down your waist. You turn to look at him and see him staring at you, paying more attention to you than the movie.

“What?” you look into his eyes, wondering why he was looking at you, wondering if you had a mess on your face, or something in your teeth, or if your hair looks stupid, or if your makeup…

“Nothing,” he says, smiling at you, which doesn’t help your insecurities. You look at him, confused.

“Why aren’t you watching the movie?” He shrugs, uninterested in the movie.

“Everyone knows if you have sex in a scary movie, you’re dead. it’s the rules, plus you’re way more interesting.”

You’re staring into each other eyes. All you can think about is how pretty he looks as the moonlight shined through the car's windows, his big brown eyes looking into yours. he tied his hair in a low bun so it was out of his face since it's summer in Hawkins, and it’s so hot. You see his face better, taking in his features, a few curls frame his face, and the only thing you’re thinking of is. God, he’s so fucking pretty.

You’re brought out of your thoughts when you feel his cold rings on your face. His hands are on your cheek as he leans closer. You close your eyes, bracing yourself for the kiss, your stomach fluttering with excitement and anticipation. His lips touch yours as the two of you kiss softly. You hear screams and sounds of chainsaws from the movie, but it fades away in your brain, becoming nothing more than background noise as you focus on his lips. The slight taste of his cigarette is in your mouth. Your lips on each other for the first. you swear your heartbeat could be heard over the movie. It seems like it’s beating out of your chest. you’re nervous but excited. it was everything you imagined it would be.

The two of you pull away slowly, but you’re eyes remain on each other. you stare, unsure of what to do next, what to say. then you remembered the rumors and the gossip of how he gets around with groupies from his shows, and you feel the excitement in your chest replaced with fear and disappointment, and Eddie could tell right away.

Eddie panics, slightly scared he had moved too fast, worried he had done something wrong and pressured you. He thought the date was going well, that the two of you were going well.

“Hey hey hey? What's wrong? My breath smells or something?” He hides his worries and concerns through humor, but he gets serious when he realizes it isn't working.

“Sweetheart, talk to me. What's Wrong?”

You look down at the blankets he set on the floor of his van in the back, and the pillows, the battery-powered fairy lights he strung across the top of the van, setting the mood, and you realize this is how he does it, and all you could think about was the other girls he’d had back here, how he’d probably bring them right to the drive and fuck them while the movies played in the back.

“Why did you…I thought you weren’t the type to date. I’ve heard you're not exactly a boyfriend type of guy?” you question him as your eye remain on the floor, choosing to look at anything, anywhere but him and those brown eyes. you mentally scolded yourself for being so naive he wanted to bang you and then move on to the next girl.

“What? Where’s this coming from? I thought you’ve been enjoying our dates?” He looks at you, confused at what you just brought up.

“Did you just want to fuck me, Eddie? Is this how you do it with all your groupies!” You raise your voice slightly, moving away from him.

“That’s not why I brought you here, I swear! Those rumors about the groupies and other girls and stuff that’s not true. I-“ he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, trying to find the words for what he was meaning to say.

“No, I don’t sleep around; that shit is just one of the many rumors someone started about me. I really enjoy spending time with you, I’ve enjoyed these dates and, learning more about you, talking to you more than just when you’re asking for pot. I really, really like you, and I was, um…I was uh gonna ask to be your boyfriend I wasn’t gonna try to sleep with you.”

You stare silently, taking in what he had just said, a bit shocked at his confession. You start feeling guilty about what you had assumed and how you believed the gossip. You never believed any of the other bullshit rumors about being a devil worshipper, so why did you believe he was the type to sleep around and break girls' hearts.

“Eddie….I’m so sorry I got anxious and in my head and started overthinking…” You scoot closer to him, your hips touching his as you look at him, trying to apologize.

“I would love it if you were my boyfriend.” you smile at him, hoping to salvage the date, hoping you hadn’t ruined it or that he hadn’t changed his mind. Eddie looks at you, and a slight smile forms on his lip.

“I uh- I was hoping you’d say that honestly. Thats a big relief.” you see, there’s still hesitation in his voice and his eyes.

“But… I-um, I don’t want you to feel pressured or anything I’m uh. What I’m trying to say I guess I'm in no rush to do anything you’re not ready for, sweetheart I’ll wait until you’re ready.”

You nod, understanding what he meant, smiling more, appreciating his words, especially considering your past experiences and guys moving faster than you wanted.

“Thanks, Eddie, that means a lot, and again, I’m sorry I’ll stop believing Hawkins's gossip from now on. I promise” You feel his arm come around your waist, pulling you into a side hug.

“Hey, it’s alright, really; I’ve already forgotten about it. Let’s just finish the movie, I think there is a couple of minutes left.”

You relax against Eddie as his hand drapes over your shoulder, pulling under his arm, enjoying the rest of the movie and the start of your new relationship. You can’t stop smiling as you think about your boyfriend, Eddie. You get warm and fuzzy all over thinking about it. You watch the movie but can't help but feel his eyes on you again. You glance over and see him looking at you again.

You playfully roll your eyes at him, lightly throwing a bit of popcorn at him.

“Stop staring at me watch the movie Eddie.”

#angel writes #eddie <3 #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fluff #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fics #im posting this late

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 1 year

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How to Write Medieval Smut - A Guide to Insanity

Well, hello. You’re here for that very important reason, aren’t you? You got a hankerin’ for some dude in a tunic and breeches or a lady in a sexy-ass gown, sayin’ some old-timey stuff in a swag accent. They make you feel things. You wanna do things with them. You wanna write about doing things with them. But how to go about it?

Please keep in mind I was asked if I could share some tips; I’m not a writer by any means, but I AM a fanfiction addict, so I like to think I’ve picked up on some important stuff over my years as a horny reader. Without further ado, let me just - well. Get into the nitty-gritty.

1. THE BASICS

If you are going to write anything, you need to consider some key things. Firstly, are you confident in your punctuation? This is one of the biggest elements to readability, and English is one of those languages that totally sucks when it comes to the rules of properly punctuating sentences. And even then, in narrative writing, you CAN play fast-and-loose with the rules; but the key is to know when to do that.

We can’t cover everything here, of course, but I’ll just share one of the most important things when it comes to writing dialogue. You must always punctuate within the quotation mark. If someone is just saying something, it’ll look like this:

“They’re over there,” he said.

We use the comma (,) to join these two clauses together. This is because ‘he said’ is NOT a complete sentence by itself - it needs the previous clause, ‘They’re over there’, to make sense. If you have someone exclaiming or asking, you do exactly the same thing as above, just switch out the punctuation mark:

“They’re over there?” he asked.

“They’re over there!” he exclaimed.

Even though we traditionally understand that (!) or (?) ENDS a sentence, it functions differently inside a quotation mark. That is why the next phrase ‘he exclaimed’ does not start with a capital ‘H’. I admit I am guilty of forgetting this rule at times!

If you are unsure of your punctuation, see if you can find a beta - someone with a little more confidence in writing who can pick up those little mistakes and correct your grammar. Hell, hit me up here if you want - I’m a demon with the grammar, and I’m always down for it. Just know I’m quite merciless with the edits, haha!

2. WORDS TO AVOID IN MEDIEVAL SMUT

If you’re writing medieval smut, you have to think about the types of words that might not be used in old-fashioned time periods. One of the quickest ways to jolt someone out of the immersion in your story is to start using commonly-accepted euphemisms for acts or parts from today’s world. SOME words are from the approximate time period, e.g. clitoris, but aren’t traditionally used in medieval entertainment. Here’s some of the words I can think of that you shouldn’t use (bold), as well as some suggestions for what you can replace it with (= italics):

Clit, clitoris = pearl, bud

Dick, penis = cock, length, member

Balls, testicles, sac/k (only use this one in conjunction with one of the latter list) = stones, jewels, pouch

Boobs, titties, boobies, badonkadonks = bosom, breasts (polite), tits (vulgar)

Vagina, vag, pussy, vulva = cunt (vulgar), cunny (a little less vulgar), entrance, core, womanhood, mound (for vulva)

Asshole, anus = arsehole (English sp.), hole (personally hate it but appropriate)

Butt, buttcheeks, bum = arse, rear, backside, bottom

I’ve actually researched the above and these are all era-appropriate! When in doubt, consult a thesaurus or dictionary to determine time period of origin! Also, might be worth adding this little addendum below - appropriate names for ‘slutty’ or ‘skanky’ characters.

Ho, skank, slag = slut (only as ‘slut’, if you want ‘slutty’, use ‘sluttish’ instead), tart, trollop, hussy, whore

Hope this helps!

3. DESCRIPTION

Don’t be afraid to describe beyond actions - so much smut has the bare minimum ‘he sticks his peen in, in-out-in-out, nut, goodnight’. Describe the experience - what does something look like? Feel like? Taste like? Don’t be afraid to get weird with it. For example:

While your husband takes his respite, you look inquisitively down at his softening length – your dealings with this part of him only ever feature him firm and forbidding, a lance with which to impale your depths with raw impunity. Even lying sated against the sac of his stones, its dimensions are considerable, and you do not think even in its current size that it would be effortless to take within you. A fleshy fold of tissue has extended itself over the purpled head, no doubt protecting it from injury in its unused form.

Basically, this is an extended piece about what a soft dick might look like, lol, including some foreskin action. Try where you can to reference body parts like this euphemistically - especially if writing as a highborn individual. They won’t know terms like ‘foreskin’, because it’d be considered impolite and vulgar.

My absolute number one tip is to use a thesaurus - try to find ‘smart’ ways of phrasing what you want to say. When I’m writing conversationally, I sound like a literal child or a moron (or both, honestly); but the bit in bold above is ALSO me, written specifically for the purpose of narrative. People in past eras spoke differently, and they likely would have had a wordier internal dialogue. Don’t be afraid to shy away from that. But please - PLEASE - cross-reference your chosen word to make sure you’re understanding it’s meaning, as I’ve seen all too many times someone using a word that must have had a similar meaning to their original word, but the translation over does NOT work.

This is all I can think of for right now. Anon, I hope this works for you. Thanks to anyone who bothered reading this, haha! My final piece of advice - read the writing of other people. Pick it apart, and figure out how to emulate that style if that’s what you like. Human beings learn best by imitating others; it’s how we learn to speak as babies, and move around, and interact with people. If we can do all that, then by GODS we can write detailed smut, haha!

Good luck!

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mushangaa · 5 months

Text

silence is gold

2024/01 (full view)

discourse is silver, silence is gold

I drew a gold bg with copics for something on non-tmnt acc and that got me in a mood. I went "huh, neat, liquid gold would be so nice" and then got hit with inspo and here we are. More input under the cut.

So, stay with me for a hot minute, this is not little Present Day Leon, this is Future Leonardo, but in baby, sorta. I just went with the notion of dripping gold and drew Leo and he became progressively more unsettled and then I was like "yeah no that is the Leo who had to go through live without his older self being there to pick up the pieces." Also F!Leo is, in my story, canonically deeply unsettled and lowkey terrified by larger bodies of water - so rule of the thumb could be that if I draw a Leo not having a good time with H2O it is probably F!Leo in his youth. Which will make sense once I get around to explain it organically in like.. what.. Chapter 2 maybe. (they say, having not even fully drafted Chapter 1, while already dreaming of Chapter 3) But while we are on that topic, one thing I could ramble about is that all the kids mystic powers are more rooted in elements, and here I had to play a bit fast 'n loose with both the 4 element and 5 element systems because I have six kids to account for so I hope I can be forgiven that Wood and Air exist both in this one. But yeah so Leo's mystic powers are related to water, the element fits him and in my head it makes the most sense to link his powers up to water, especially the portals when I think about how still waters and mirroring water surfaces are linked to doorways to other worlds, the afterlife, and so on. Imagine Leo just pulling the humidity right out of the air to manifest his portals or something like that. Manifesting swords outta thin air due to water. Also idk okay I just think, with water being so versatile, being wild and calm capable of changing on a dime, treacherous, nurturing, dangerous but without it we could not even exist. I always just linked Leo in general to water but that association runs all the way back to the 2003 series (I need to rewatch the 1987 series to see if the association hits me there too tbh)

But yeah, in general, I have a lot of concepts and little things that pop up while I focus on the core story and the element thing will come up here 'n there, but it ain't the main focus. I just think it is funny to mention how Leo's powers are absolutely based in the element water and F!Leo is terrified of water. (which will come up and become a rather important at some point both the why and what that meant for him and his powers or the lack thereof) I also have another picture in the works of Leo in the water, but it is little Leo who has no water based trauma so he is having a better time in the drawing than his counterpart.

#Havethetouchart #artists of tumblr #the unicorn paradox #traditional art #copic markers #inks #rottmnt AU #tmnt iteration #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #rottmnt F!Leo technically #but like.. in his own youth #art #havethetouch #the unicorn paradox illustrations

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hyatoro · 1 year

Note

Hello! Firstly, i LOVE your writing! It's so nice to read and it's very enjoyable. This is also my first ask with you. Unfortunately I am not too sure whether this counts as an outline or a headcannon (from my understanding headcannons are about the character itself and outlines are more like headcannons for the scenario but im not sure??? maybe this is a outline???). No worries if you don't to of course!

Anyway, may I have an NSFW about Hwang Minso spending his heat with reader? Especially if it's just really sweet and fluffy in a way. I think he deserves the tenderness, y'know? Bonus if the affection is like a warm blast of sunshine on a dreary day. (I imagine, Alpha reader is being sweet and fluffy and just really gentle but the unwavering attention and tenderness is overwhelming for the guy and so sweet it burns in a way. I want the guy to be overwhelmed by it. I imagine he's begging for more and more even if he's overstimulated though reader would stop in a heartbeat if he needed them to)

Again, no pressure!

Headcanons are just fast fun facts with no real timeline in mind. The scenario “outlines” are basically what I’ve been doing where it’s a scenario, but I don’t put in the full effort of making it a fic even if it may seem like one.

The definitions are loose as hell and I tend to just write what I want. The two reasons why I have the outline distinction is because I don’t need the pressure of cranking out a fully polished work and it also shows who reads my rules. Thank you by the way for asking!

The writing below probably leans more towards full blown fic but the difference is that I would’ve gone into a lot more detail for one instead of an ‘outline’.

Onto the actual content!

Hwang Minsu

The man couldn’t believe he’d gotten this far. It all started with a chance encounter where he met you. The light of his life, and the reason why he evolved from the mindless zombie he was.

You accepted him into your life. Even after you caught him pulling your empty can out of the recycling. Even when you were initially weirded out, you gave him another chance.

You’d even asked him out. On a date! And then you asked if he wanted to date you too!

Honestly he questioned it a bit, scared that it was all some sort of sick joke life was playing on him. But you showed him consistency and proved yourself reliable, not that he had any doubts in you as a person. You were perfect.

It was amazing, having schedules that were similar. The two of you took to the nights like it was your own kingdom and every night with you was memorable.

His favorite so far was the time you two went to karaoke. You watched him with adoration, a sight he had to familiarize himself with, as he sang his heart out badly. He knew he wasn’t a great singer and it didn’t faze you one bit. You were just happy that he felt comfortable enough to do so in front of you.

And when you pulled him into your lap, rewarding him with kisses as you chose your next song, he knew there was no turning back for him. Not when you were all that was ahead.

Now here he was, opening the door to you. Well, a giant pile of your clothes and blankets hiding your face. But you were behind it all.

He shuffled out of the way and let you in, catching any garments that fell to the ground behind you. His eyes widened however when you dropped everything unceremoniously to the ground.

“Just arrange everything how you want it, baby. Let me know if you need help.”

The ugly face he made as he held back tears made you laugh affectionately, stepping towards him to cradle his face gently and kiss his forehead. His face got even more scrunched up as he placed his hands on yours, holding them there.

Once he got over that surge of emotions he enlisted your help in making his nest, the most elaborate he’d ever made in his life. Considering what had happened when around the time he started to get more intense heats he never really had the guidance nor the chance to go all out.

You help him arrange everything so that it’s cozy but roomy enough to fit two people. His mattress was on the floor so it made everything easier.

As he got comfortable you left the apartment and he sat up, panicking a little wondering where you were going. But you quickly returned with a bunch of food, drinks, and other supplies for his heat. His face scrunched again as he pouted, almost telling you that you didn’t have to, but the look on your face stops him. Instead, he opens his arms and you crawl into his nest, kissing his cheeks as you two lay down together.

He’s content to lay in your arms as you fall asleep, awaiting for the wave to come crashing. He sleeps easily so you’re more than welcome to watch TV or scroll through your phone. All he needed at that moment was your warmth and scent.

When he wakes up he’s burning and he’s half-expecting you to not be there. For this all to have been some sort of sick dream that his heat-addled mind concocted. But you’re there. As real as ever, and he whines loudly when he buries himself into your neck, grinding on you.

You stir awake easily enough and your mind slowly catches up with the fact that your boyfriend is in heat. When you finally realize what’s happening you get up and immediately get to work. Your hand slides under his baggy t-shirt, caressing his burning skin as he whines even more. When you help him out of it you don’t leave a spot untouched, for which he is grateful for.

Then you palm him through his pants and he cries out, already begging you for more. To hurry up and get rid of all the clothes on both of you. Ever the kind partner, you oblige.

He’s panting and spread out on the mattress, surrounded by both of your belongings.

His scent is the strongest it’s ever been and you pounce on him, kissing him senseless as your nose welcomes the pleasant notes of passionfruit. He’s so lovely under your touch, moaning and whining for you, hips constantly bucking up for more.

Despite how much his body naturally prepared itself you still reach for your supplies, adding more lube to his hole. His eyes practically turn into hearts when he sees you stroking your alpha cock with even more lube.

His hole fluttered and his cock twitched as he shifted his hips closer to you in an attempt to put you inside.

Ever merciful, you test him with a few fingers, and he mewls at the way you spread them, feeling how you stretch his pussy like that. But he’s impatient and tells you to please stop teasing him. You’re not, but you can understand where he’s coming from. You mentally note to show him what teasing really feels like another day.

Thanks every being in existence and every moment in history for how it led to the moment where you finally shove it in. Yeah, he’s dramatic.

Instantly clings to you. His hands grasp at your back and you’re grateful he keeps his nails short as he scratches your back to fuck him harder.

He needs the first one hard and fast, he explains. And you listen. Your precious little omega deserves the world during his heat.

His cries fill the small apartment as he cums quickly, spurting out white ropes in between you. And just as fast as he came he tells you to keep going. You’re still good to go so you keep it up.

You guys spend the next few hours fucking on every surface in the apartment until you end back up on the mattress, where his legs shake and he’s got cum dripping from both his cock and pussy. When he tries to ask for more, you chuckle and shake your head, telling him that he can barely move and that it’s time for rest.

You use what’s left of your own energy cleaning him up and changing the heavily soiled sheets to get him comfortable, urging him to sit up to eat and drink before falling back asleep.

Despite having asked for more, he was more than content, absolutely satisfied on all fronts. His red butt and bruised hips were neat little reminders of the mess you two made.

When you finish cleaning up from that first bout of his heat you rejoin him in the nest, peppering kisses all over his face until he sighs happily into your neck again. Because you were content and calm your scent was too, and it worked wonders in relaxing his muscles as he melted into you.

He fell back asleep, amazed that he knew you’d be there for him when he woke up again.

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