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bunniesanddeer · 1 day

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Hate (Alastor x Reader)

Hey, awkward haha. This is only my second attempt at smut, inspired by the lovely @hazelfoureyes. (If you want me to untag you, I totally will).

Obviously minors, DNI.

I'm normally not comfortable with this stuff, mostly because I don't have a ton of experience writing it. I decided, that for practice, I would try writing something where the reader doesn't like Alastor. I figured a dynamic that was different from what I normally wrote might help me learn how to get better at writing smut. So here is something inspired by the best smut writer, about a dynamic I've never written :) Also, my first time writing PiV, so sorry if it sucks :) be gentle with me, lol

Hate

Pairing: Alastor X Reader

Warnings: Reader HATES Alastor, Enemies to enemies with benefits, heat, smut, 18+, Alastor speaks French, praise kink, fingers, PIV.

Word Count: 3,818

You could feel it building. The heat rising and coursing through every inch of you. The way it settled in your core, at the pit of your belly. The twinge and ache in your chest. The pressure behind your eyes. The delirium in which you processed it. It was as much as you could take, and you could feel the tension building.

You hated him. You hated him with every inch of yourself. It was a hate that suffused your bones, that dripped through clenched teeth, and twitched tightly gripped hands. You hated him entirely. It wasn’t just the way he talked, although the pompous air and the two-faced words he spoke with angered you to no end. It wasn’t the way he dressed, despite the fact that it was an out of style suit that he preferred, that pissed you off at even a glance. You knew it wasn’t the way he looked, because as much as you hated the sight of him, he was an admittedly handsome demon and had likely been a handsome man; he had dark skin, and fluffy red hair that framed his sharp face nicely. No, it was something deep inside, that you couldn’t quite explain, that made you despise him so, so much.

Alastor was not a good man. No, it wasn’t exactly the best way to judge those that were already in Hell, but among the many denizens you’ve met, he was surely high on the list of fucked up crimes. Sure, he claimed he had a moral code that he strictly followed, but if no one knew what it was, what the hell was it good for? Maybe it was his hypocrisy. The way he held himself and looked at others with such disdain, and yet he was just as lowly and weak and corrupted as everyone else.

Alastor was a hypocrite, for sure, but maybe so were you. How else could you explain this? Who were you to judge him, for all his faults, when yours were staring you in the face?

Your thighs ached. You could feel the pain growing, and you knew it would only get worse. You had been around him long enough now, that the cursed body you had been gifted had caught on, and now you would suffer for something you never agreed to.

It hadn’t even been a thought, when you moved into the hotel. You hadn’t thought about the fact that your form and his might affect one another. How were you supposed to know it was a possibility when you’d never run across another deer demon, let alone a Buck? Hell, quite frankly, hell. Each new, fucked up thing, you found brought you greater misery. Now your own body was a prison. You’d take having periods again, if it meant you didn’t have this terrible thing.

When it had first started, only days before, you had sought out Angel Dust, who had laughed at you.

“Ha! Are you pulling my chain, toots?” He had asked, his tone filled with bewilderment. “C’mon, you gotta know! You’ve been here for years!”

But you didn’t know, and when he caught the anxious look growing on your face, and the fidgeting of your hands, he sighed.

“Shit, ya don’t know, do ya?” Angel put one of his many arms around your shoulders, and guided you to his room. He settled you on a plush bean bag, and offered you something to drink. You shook your head, anxiety making your face tingle. “Suit yourself, babes.” He sighed, and scratched the back of his head. “It’s called heat. Some folks don’t got one, some do frequently, and some are seasonal. For folks who got it seasonally, it tends to, uh, depend on whether or not ya got someone, you know, compatible.”

You cocked your head as you scratched and pulled at a stray thread on your pants.

“You gotta find someone with a similar build to yours. If you ain’t ever seen another deer, it might be why it hasn’t come up, babes.” His words clicked in your head, and your face paled.

“No,” you said, chest frozen at the thought. It hurt suddenly. Your hands tingled, and your chest hurt. What was happening? “No, no, no. Absolutely not, please tell me it’s not because-”

Angel winced, and gave you a pitying look. “Yeah, it’s cuz of Al, doll.”

You gasped for breath, and you shook. You couldn’t think clearly. Everyone knew how much you and Alastor hated each other. You made it clear, and his constant badgering and rude behavior seemed to solidify it for everyone that it was mutual. But for your body to betray you, for him? This felt like the ultimate Hell.

When you started crying, Angel had soothed you to the best of his ability. The next morning, after falling asleep in Angel’s many arms, he gave you an unopened toy, and told you to gather supplies. Enough to hoard up in your room for a few days. He promised to run interference for you, and sent you on your way.

So here you were, writhing on your bed, on day three. Your sense of smell was increased, and your ears twitched at each subtle sound in the hall. You had tried putting on some mindless show so you could stop focusing on all these extra sensations, but it didn’t help. The extra voices, all not his, sent your head spinning. You had turned it off after only half-an-hour.

Your thighs rubbed together, and sweat dripped down the back of your neck. You pushed your face into a pillow and groaned. You had avoided it thus far, but it might be time to break out the little vibrator.

Eventually, you sat up in your bed, ignoring the blankets that you had pushed to the floor the day before. You huffed, and reached for the toy that had been plugged in the night before. You gave the strange pink toy a squeeze, the soft silicone giving just slightly, and made your way to the bathroom. While you washed the toy, you tried to convince yourself that this was all you needed. One good vibe session, and you’d be back to normal. You were wrong.

It was hot. The whole room was unbearably hot. You were covered in a thin layer of sweat, and your clothes had long found themselves on the floor. You had needed to recharge the toy one already, and it had only been a day. The water in the shower couldn’t get cold enough to cool you down. Your core ached, constantly, and your thighs had a near constant mess of slick spread along them. You were delirious with the unfathomable sensations you had been unwillingly wrapped in.

With a cry, and your soaked fingers at your clit, you orgasmed, weakly. The release wasn’t nearly enough. You twisted, and bit down on your pillow as you cried, just a little. This was terrible. And all because of Alastor. You thought of his nasty jokes, and how cruel he could be. You thought on sharp eyes, and sharper smiles. You thought of his claws, and a soft grasp around your throat, slowly tightening as a normally clear voice grunted and huffed. You pulled your vibrator out again. With something in you snapping, you kept thinking of his slim hips, and broad chest. The way his hands twitched and grasped at his microphone. His leer and the way his eyes followed you when you walked into the room. His laugh, when he was angry with someone. The way he had shown you to handle a weapon before you fought the angels. The angry look he gave you when you yelled at him weeks later. You thought of his hands wrapping around your wrist, and his chest hovering over your back as lithe hips pressed against your ass.

You came with another cry, the white-hot feeling surging through you.

Shame filled you up. You were a hypocrite too, it seemed.

It was dark. Your head was fuzzy, and you couldn’t place the time of day. You sat up, the room spinning as your heart settled. Something smelled good. Your eyes fluttered as you took it in. After a moment, you flicked your eyes around the room, and in the chair by the window was a figure.

You screeched. It wasn’t terribly loudly, but it made the figure twitch. You dove to the lamp by your beside, and quickly flicked it on. As the warm light filled the room, it flashed across his eyes, and the look alone made you gasp.

“Alastor?” You whispered. What the fuck was he doing in your room?

“Oh, ma bichette.” His voice was rougher than normal, something dark tinging it.

“What the fuck are you doing in my room, Alastor?” Despite the yearning in the pit of your belly, and the aching you had suffered through for days, this was beyond not okay. Alarm bells were ringing in the back of your head, and you couldn’t fathom why he would break into your room.

“Oh, ma chérie. I have felt that burn for days, and in your absence it grew worse.” His head cocked, and his eyes flashed in the light again. His hair looked strange, as if it was nearly damp. Something in his smile was unhinged. Your chest tugged and ached, and you had to fight to focus through the tingling in your fingers. “I could smell you, and this ache, this hunger I have never known, only grew worse.”

He stood from the chair, and you leaned back on your hands, ready to twist and run if you needed to. His tall form drew your gaze up his shape. Your mind struggled to focus on any one thing, and it was hard to hold onto your anger, like this.

“It is impolite, to come in like this, but I need. And I can tell you do too.” He walked towards you, and leaned over you. Your conflicting feelings about the situation caused you to hesitate. You leaned back, your back meeting your sheets, and your knees bent, as if your legs could stop him from advancing. You were right, in that they would not, because a moment later, he was crawling over you, forearms flat on either side of your head. “I will leave if you ask it of me, my dear. But I ask that you let me pleasure you,” he whispered to you. His sharp teeth clacked as he glanced over your form. “Let me relieve us of this.”

One of his hands brushed some of your damp hair from your forehead, and the look on his face nearly flat lined you. He looked so strange. You couldn’t pinpoint what it was. His eyes were soft and gazing at you with some unknown feeling gleaming in them. His mouth was slanted, and his teeth glittering in the low light — Your train of thought halted as you realized he wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t smiling. What the fuck? What could have done that? Your eyes widened, and you could only stare as his thumb strayed to your lips and tugged at the bottom lip.

“What do you say, my dear?” His gaze caught yours, and you could barely breathe.

“I hate you,” you said. “I hate you, especially for this.”

Something flickered across his face, but he didn’t pull away. “I know, mon cœur. You have many reasons, but this isn’t about that. I merely wish to ease our suffering. Your suffering.”

You wanted to cry. How fucking dare he? How dare he be so terrible on a daily basis, and yet so kind now? You wanted to scream. You could feel tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. It felt so unfair. But you were desperate, and he was offering to touch you, something he didn’t like to do. You knew his reputation, his dislike and disregard for things of a sexual nature, and yet here he was, crossing that boundary with you. (Something in you hurt, knowing that someone who hated him would be crossing that line with him, not someone who loved him or cared for him in any capacity. Maybe that was his Hell).

“Fine. Fuck. Fine. We can fuck, just, I don’t know. No kissing. And I uh, I’d like to be on my belly.” You didn’t want to look at him. (You knew it was the thought of him that got you off so many times, but the idea of really seeing him, bothered you in a way you couldn’t explain). His face twitched, but he nodded.

“I understand, ma bichette.” He pet your hair, again, and rubbed a thumb across your forehead, and he took a deep breath in. “Alright, dear, ass up.”

Your eyes widened, and you gulped down the little moisture in your mouth. With deep, steady breaths, you turned over, maneuvering on the bed with twitching limbs. You pressed your chest against the bed, aching at the tenderness in your breasts. Your hands held onto the sheets tightly, and your ears twitched and pressed flat against your skull. Your tail sprung straight, and you could hear Alastor let out a breathy chuckle. The sound of clasps and zippers coming undone made your tail wag, and you could feel one of his hands swat at the fluffy bundle of fur at the base of your spine.

“Excited, dearest?” His voice carried in the quiet room. You couldn’t reply with words. You were so conflicted. You hated him acutely, and yet here you were. Something akin to giddiness was building in your chest. Your tail wagged harder. You hoped he didn’t take it as an answer.

You could feel his warm body lean over yours a moment later. He was so much bigger than you. It was clear with how wide his shoulders were, and how his long legs cradled yours easily. One of his forearms settled beside yours, and his face rested in the crux of your shoulder. Sharp teeth lightly grazed the skin there, while hot breath fanned over your back. Soft touches on the swell of your ass, creeping over your hip, and then cupping your mound softly. (How could he be so soft in this, and yet so harsh? Your mind was buzzing so loud).

“Stop thinking, mon trésor.” His finger grazed your clit, and your mind went quiet. Oh, you had forgotten what it was like being touched by someone else.

His fingers moved with focus from there, and your legs twitched. You huffed, and closed your eyes, letting the sensations fall over you. Soon, with the gentle touches getting firmer, and more precise, your thighs were getting slick. Small sounds left your clenched teeth. (It felt good, but the petty part of you wanted to deprive him of the satisfaction of your noises).

Alastor’s hand moved, and suddenly one finger was sinking into your heat. You groaned, and your back arched.

“Oh, continuer ma chère. Je veux vous entendre.” His voice is coarse, but his finger curls, and you can’t even try and translate his whispered words. Your body trembles as he slips in a second finger. His thumb catches your clit, and your mind is a muddled mess. Your resolve to remain silent shatters, and your voice leaves your throat with no control.

“Oh, Alastor,” you say. Your eyes flutter, and you clench down on his fingers. He grunts, and thrusts them a little harder.

“When you are ready, my dear, come for me. And then we can move on to the main event.” His words attempt for nonchalance, but the way he struggles to get them out has you internally laughing. It stops when his erection, clear as day, rubs against your ass. Your hips twitch, pressing against him. “Oh,” he grunts. “Not yet dear.”

He twists his hand, and presses his chest against your back. His hand on the bed grabs at yours, and he intertwines your fingers. Teeth scratch at your shoulder, and the sudden flood of sensory information sends you over a line you didn’t know you were near.

“Ah! Alastor,” You cry, and fire flicker up your core, and in your veins. You clench hard on his fingers, and his ever present static swells in response. (Although, with how much your hands and face tingle, it could be in your head).

“Oh, yes.” His head settles against your shoulder blade, and his hand slowly pulls from your core. His wet fingers graze your hip with soft touches, and the hand holding yours rubs softly. “So good for me, dearest. My doe. So good.”

Your chest aches, and you want to cry. How fucking dare he hit the fucking nail on the head? Your breath hitches, and you have to work to not cry.

“Oh, my dear.” He sits up, and the loss of his heat nearly makes your tears fall. You can’t fathom why you’re suddenly emotional, but it won’t waver in its intensity. His face settles in your sight line. “Are you alright, dear?” His lets go of yours, and cradles the back of your head. “Did I hurt you?”

You want to cry. Fuck him. Fuck this. How dare he. A tear slips before you can stop it, and his eyes narrow, something nearly concerned looking, crossing his expression.

“No. Fuck you. I hate you,” you can barely finish the sentence before a hint of a sob leaves you. “I hate you. I hate you. Just fuck me already.”

His brows furrow, and the red of his eyes glints as he manages a nod. “If that’s what you desire,” he says, and then he’s behind you again.

His hands are on your hips, and you hear skin against skin, and then he’s gently prodding you with the thick head of his cock. Alastor presses his cock into your soaking entrance slowly, and you worry about his size for a moment. But then, he’s pressing more firmly, and your thoughts halt. Electricity is shooting up your spine as he sinks into you. You internally thank him fro prepping you with his fingers, because he’s packing more than you would have expected.

A sharp breath from him, and then his hips snap against yours. “Hah, sorry, dearest.” His breaths are rough, and you feel his hands squeeze your hips hard. “I had intended to go slower, but this is-” He bends over you again, and his chest is against your back, and he’s grasping at the sheet with you. “You’re so good, my dear. Better than I could have ever-”

His hips snap again, and your body jolts. You gasp as he presses his hips against your ass, pushing as far he can get. You feel so tight. Everything is hot, and all you can think about is him. Your tail brushes against his belly as he starts to set a rhythm. All the pain you had been in, and you were starting to feel like it might have been worth it.

One of his hand wraps around your waist, over your breasts, and his hand settles on your neck. “Let me know if you wish me to stop,” he huffs, and then he’s squeezing your throat, just slightly.

You mewl, and roll your hips against him. “Oh yes. Little doe. You are so good for me.” The way he says makes you moan again, and you huff as he squeezes your throat again.

The pace he sets is just under what you need, and it makes you hate him more. Part of you knows what he’s waiting for, and you dread it. It’s within mere moments, though, that you cave, and open your mouth.

“Alastor, please,” you say. Your voice is weak, with how hard it is to take a full breath. Your body is pressed into the mattress, and with the stinging breaths you attempt to take with each thrust, and the light squeeze of his hand around your neck, you struggle.

His hand loosens, as if he can read your mind. “What is it, dearest,” He asks. “Use your words. I know you can.”

You sigh, and nearly yell at him when his hips stop, giving you time to speak up. You roll your eyes, and nearly beg, “Please, just a little faster.”

You can hear the smile when he responds, “Of course, my doe,” and then his pace starts up again, faster, and just a tinge harder, than it had been before. Your toes curl and your hands grasp at the sheets.

That heat was growing again, low in your belly. Your thighs were aching, and your back was as arched as you could get it. Sweat was dripping down your back, and all you could think is that you wanted more.

“Alastor,” you moaned, and grunted back. As you clenched down on his cock, the heat grew, and you could feel tight wires wrapping around your core.

“Oh, ma biche, tu es si bonne pour moi.” His fingers found your clit again, and he rubbed with focus. “So good. You are so good.” He kept repeating it like a mantra, and you couldn’t handle it anymore.

The wires snapped, and your body went white-hot. You couldn’t see, and you stopped being able to hear more than garbled syllables and the rhythmic thumping of the headboard against the wall.

Your body went taut, and you clenched down. You could hear his voice grow sharp and ragged, but nothing more as he kept thrusting.

When you finally settled enough to focus your hearing, you could hear Alastor muttering to himself. And then he went still. “Do you want me to leave my seed in you, or no?”

Your breath caught. Fuck, you hadn’t thought about that. Without thinking too much, you whispered, “In.”

You watch one of his hands tighten on the bed, sharp claws piercing the fabric. (you’d make him replace it for sure, jerk). Without much warning, he starts his pace again, his thrusts nearly brutal. His grunts and murmuring start up again, and it’s only moments before you feel him twitch, and then heat filling you. He curls around you, head pressed between your shoulder blades.

You stay sitting like that for a few minutes, before he slowly extricates himself from around you and pulls his cock from your slick entrance. When he returns with a warm, damp rag and cleans you up, you refuse to make eye contact. When he picks up the dirty sheets, and bring you clean ones, you stare at the floor. It’s when he brings you water, and tucks you into bed, you finally look up at him.

“I hate you,” you tell him.

His face is neutral, and he nods. “I know.”

“This changes nothing,” you say.

And he nods, letting his normal smile pop back on his face. “I know.”

Hi, please let me know how this was? I'm really awkward about this kind of stuff, and it makes me a tiny bit anxious. Anyways! I hope you liked it. Should I add an 18+ taglist? Also, I have a few asks and stuff that will be posted soon. House hunting has been going terribly. The market is awful, and I am just sad :(

#alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor #bun's short fics #alastor fanfiction #alastor x you #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fanfic #alastor x reader smut #smut #hazbin hotel smut

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lordprettyflackotara · 18 hours

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if u think i’m pretty || matt sturniolo || part two

MINORS DNI, SMUT, 18+. no threesome in this one sorry guys, but there may or may not be in part three ;). tw:overstimulation. ty to all of the love from the sturniolo community yall are crazy asf <3

part one w/ chris is here

Matt Sturniolo couldn’t deny his infatuation with you.

He could pinpoint exactly when his crush on you started, all the way back in middle school. In the awkward puberty years you all shared together you tried out many styles. Some were objectively hideous, but Matt realized by your ‘punk’ era, that he found you gorgeous in every single one.

As years went by he imagined all the ways he could be a gentleman and ask you out. To bring you flowers or chocolate, to flatter you with compliments. When you were around Matt, you were as sweet as honey. You were relaxed, giggly, and complete with a bubbly personality.

Whenever you were around Chris, however, it revealed a completely different side of you. You were feisty, head strong, and aggressive. This puzzled him at first, his stomach beginning to stir with an unknown feeling of attraction. His thoughts about you became utter filth, his mind clouded with fantasies of all the ways he would tame you. The endless positions he would put you in, making you submissive to him.

But those were only fantasies, leading him to where he was now:

Stroking his cock at the sound of Chris railing you.

Matt was pleasantly surprised that your affair with Chris continued, the two of you fucking out every argument. Sometimes he swore you’d pick a fight with Chris just to be mercilessly fucked in the end. Your situationship with Chris never bothered Matt, the delicious sound of your moans enough to satisfy him.

He purposefully would sit in the office next to Chris’s room, the shared wall providing him with more than enough of your erotic noises. He’d jerk himself off as Chris degraded you, humiliated you. Often times you’d fight back, the two of you going at it like savage animals. Matt would screw his eyes shut, biting his bottom lip. All he could think of was being in Chris’s place, taming the brat out of you. Forcing you to fully submit to him and only him.

Matt knew if he got the chance he’d overstimulate you into oblivion, leaving your cunt puffy and throbbing. As mesmerizing as the sounds of you pleading for Chris to make you cum were, Matt wanted to hear nothing but whines and whimpers escape your lips. His high was approaching, your moans coming to abrupt halt.

“Shit, I have to go,” Chris said suddenly. Matt could hear the shuffling of him getting dressed. “What? You didn’t even make me finish, the fuck?” You barked. Matt’s hand came to a stop, listening intently. His ear was practically against the wall. “There’s something else I gotta do, just make yourself finish,” Chris said dryly. His bedroom door swung open, his footsteps descending down the stairs.

Matt had never dressed himself faster, pulling down his shirt quickly. He ran his fingers through his hair, attempting to make himself look presentable. With his filthy fantasies aside, you were still his best friend. He walked out of his room, casually strolling past Chris’s doorway. His bedroom door was open, your face buried in your new phone as you were leaving, Walking straight into Matt you gasped. “Oh shit sorry, I didn’t see you there,” You say. Your hair was wild and unkept, your face still flushed.

Outside of your flusteredness, you looked like a wounded puppy. “Everything okay?” Matt asked, tilting his head to the side. You laughed nervously. “Yeah it’s just Chris, you know how annoying Chris can be,” You say. You brushed past Matt, trying to hide your visible embarrassment. Rather than taking the hint Matt trailed right behind you. “Yeah? What’d he do this time?” The brunette asked. You beelined to the houses office, not wanting the entire household to hear your conversation.

Matt shut the door behind him, his heart beginning to race. He could tell you were still wet, your thighs rubbing together as you sat down on the offices couch. “Well Matt, I know this is unexpected but…” You began, awkwardly. Matt sat beside you, waiting for you to finish your sentence.

“I’ve been fucking your brother.”

Matt refrained from laughing, forcing himself to nod. “Wow really? I would’ve never guessed,” He replied. You teasingly elbowed him, giggling. “Was it really that obvious?” You asked. Matt chuckled. “I do share a wall with him you know,” He replied, gesturing at said shared wall. You could feel your face turning red with embarrassment.

You sighed, “Oh Matty i’m so sorry I didn’t realize.”

Out of the thousand scenarios Matt had imagined in his mind, this wasn’t one of them. This was an actual chance. One that wasn’t unrealistic or unobtainable.

Matt braced himself, speaking his mind, “Don’t be, I don’t mind.”

Matt. Oh sweet Matt. The same guy who brushes your hair for you and makes you pancakes was hitting on you. He was so nice to you, there was no way he could fuck you the way you wanted. Or the way you needed.

You blushed, “You’re so sweet but I don’t think we’d be compatible in that sort of way.”

Matt met your eyes, placing one hand on your cheek. His touch was nice, full of care and warmth. “I can be anything you need me to be,” He said softly. His hand slithered down to your thigh, gripping the flesh gently, “I can do anything you need me to do,” Matt continued. He watched your eyes glaze over with lust, the brunette realizing this was his shot. He slowly shifted onto the floor in front of you, his knees hitting the carpet.

“I can and will always make you cum,” Matt admitted. He nudged open your thighs, your breath becoming shaky as he kissed up your clothed thighs. Your jeans had never felt more constricting, his eyes never straying from yours as he kissed upwards. “I know exactly how you like it,” Matt continued. He kissed over your clothed cunt, grinning as your hips bucked upwards. “I can give you all of that and more. Whatever you want, it’s yours,” Matt offered. The sweet goody two shoes Matt was gone, his gaze darkening as he pulled down your jeans zipper with his teeth.

“Words baby, need you to hear you say it,” Matt cooed. You swallowed, your panties growing damper by the second. “I want you Matty, fucking please,” You whined. Your wish was his command. He undressed you quickly, tugging his shirt over his head before resuming his place back between your thighs. Teasingly he kissed up your thighs against, enjoying the sight of your exposed skin. Your fingers found his hair, tugging at it in an attempt to bring him closer.

“Something wrong?”

“Don’t tease, just make me cum, I really need it, please!” You pleaded. Matt smirked, admiringly your slick for a brief moment.

“As you wish.”

Matt’s tongue was a gift from the heavens, his face buried into your cunt before you could process it. His large hands pried your thighs apart, firmly keeping you into place as his tongue swirled around your clit. You became a moaning mess, his name spilling from your lips like a mantra. Teasingly he brought his tongue to your entrance, pushing it inside, just to watch you squirm in desperation. Chris had already pushed your body to the brink, it wasn’t going to take much longer of Matt’s tongue before you came.

You could feel the cord inside of you tighten, your thighs beginning to tremble under Matt’s grip. His lips began to suck violently at your sensitive bud, his eyes meeting yours. “I’m gonna- fucking hell, i’m cumming,” You cried, your vision becoming dazed as you came on Matt’s face. He eagerly lapped up your juices, emerging between your thighs with your cum coating his chin. A cocky smile danced across his lips, before meeting yours. You could taste your juices on your tongue, Matt’s hands pushing you back further onto the couch.

“I need you to fuck me,” You panted in between kisses, his lips refusing to stray from yours.

“Thats not the correct way to ask, is it?” Matt asked. A wave of butterflies swirled around in your stomach. You shook your head no, Matt pulling away. You watched as he walked over to the desk, pulling open his desk drawer. He held up a small pink vibrator that could be controlled by your phone. He dangled it mockingly. It had disappeared from your bag weeks ago, leading you to believe you had left it at home.

“You know what this is, right?” Matt taunted. He flicked open his phone, before handing the toy to you. You nodded yes, the brunette grinning. “Smart girl. Now use it like you normally would,” He ordered. He grabbed the desk chair, sitting down in it. Mockingly he spread his legs, watching you. “Go on, play with yourself like you normally would. This’ll teach you how to ask for my cock properly,” Matt grinned sadistically. You could feel the heat dash across your cheeks, slowly pushing the toy inside of you.

“Spread those thighs for me baby, don’t be shy. You do want my cock, don’t you?” Matt asked. An agreement and pleas escaped your throat, spreading your legs for Matt to see. He couldn’t help but palm himself through his pants, the sight of your dripping cunt enough to get him off. Unsurely you brought two fingers to your sensitive clit, softly whining as you began to draw slow circles. Matt opened his phone, turning up the vibrator of the toy inside of you. You gasped, moaning at the sudden sensation.

You watched as Matt shoved his pants and boxers down to his ankles, stroking his cock at the sight of you. “Does that feel good?” Matt asked. You babbled a ‘yes’, speeding up the circles around your clit. Matt ran his thumb over his tip, whimpering quietly as he did so. He turned the vibrator up higher, your legs shaking. You slowed down your fingers, the pleasure becoming overwhelming. “I didn’t tell you to slow down, did I?” Matt barked. You shook your head no as you resumed drawing fast circles around your clit.

Trembling, you could feel your second orgasm approaching. “Matty, fucking- I need to cum. Can I cum? Please please-” You babbled. Matt could feel his face flush pink just at the sight of you falling apart for him. You were completely at his mercy and he wasn’t even touching you. “Cum for me you greedy slut,” Matt panted. Your body trembled as you came, your spare hand squeezing the nearby couch pillow for support. Matt was quick to take the toy out of you, your cunt already turning red from overstimulation.

“You poor thing. Tsk tsk tsk,” Matt said mockingly. You pulled him closer, desperate to feel him on top of you. Your back hit the couch cushion, Matt’s lips attacking your neck. You could feel him purposefully sucking at the skin, littering your neck with marks you knew Chris was going to see and question. “Matttt,” You whined, reaching down and grabbing his cock. He shuttered as you pumped his length, his lips releasing your neck.

“I know my greedy girl, I know,” Matt chuckled. He rubbed his shaft up and down your slick, watching you shake when he brushed against your clit. Matt slipped inside of you with ease, your walls clenching around him as he moaned your name. This was all Matt had ever wanted since he had met you. To have you under him like this, watching as he bottomed out into you.

Whether it was true love or a crush or lust, or somewhere in between, Matt never wanted to pull out.

He often found himself jealous of Chris. Jealous of the way he got to fuck you. Matt’s name sounded better rolling off of your tongue than his brothers. And that’s why in that moment, that’s all he wanted to hear. He picked up the pace, snapping his hips into yours. His cock continuously pounded into your g spot, your sinful moans ones Matt hoped the household would get an ear of. “You wanted to cum right? Congratulations whore, you’re going to cum all over my cock,” Matt huffed. His rings dug into your hips, fucking you ruthlessly.

“Matt, so good, so fucking deep-” You babbled. Matt leaned forward, grabbing one of your hands and lacing his fingers with yours. He pushed both of your hands tied together against the couch, balancing himself as he destroyed your cunt. “Awe I know baby. You’re doing so good for me, being my little whore,” Matt panted. He could feel himself getting close, all of this build up driving his body mad. After jerking off alone in his room all of this time, he finally had you right where he wanted you.

Your orgasm came first, your thighs tightening around Matt’s waist as you processed the unexpected euphoria. You squeezed Matt’s hand, your walls spasming around his cock. The brunette couldn’t hold himself back any longer even if he wanted to. Quickly he pulled out, moving towards you. He pumped his cock, painting your breast with his seed. It was satisfying to him, to see his cum covering you.

Reluctantly he released your hand, lying down beside you as best as he could on the tiny couch. “Holy fuck,” Matt panted, running his fingers through his messy hair. You chuckled as you glanced over at him. “You really are a good listener huh?” You asked. Matt rolled his eyes playfully, sitting up and grabbing a few tissues from a nearby box. “You mean besides the fact you’ve explicitly told me every single kink of yours? I guess so,” He teased, wiping his cum off of your chest.

As Matt cleaned you up, you closed your eyes relaxing under the feeling of his touch.

Matt cleared his throat, admiring your curves, “So, now what? This won’t affect our friendship right?”

You laughed, looking over at him, “Of course not and now we don’t let Chris find out.”

A loud banging sound came from the other side of the wall, making both of you jump.

“Little too fuckin late for that, we share a fuckin wall!”

tag list ;) (hope i did this right):

@st7rnioioss @yourmother-69 @hesvoid34 @cammie4298 @sturnsva @somegirlfromasgard @ribread03 @nickgetsmewetter

#matthew sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x y/n #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo smut #christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets

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scuderiahoney · 12 hours

Text

Every Second

charles leclerc x reader

masterlist

summary: the world is ending. you’re right where you belong. 2.6k words

warnings: major character death (apocalypse au, everyone dies), charles & reader have a daughter, talks of death/afterlife/end of the world, it’s mostly sad not gonna lie

a/n: had this idea a LONG time ago, finally finished it today. loosely based on the music video for Older by 5SOS. see also: Till Forever Falls Apart by Ashe & FINNEAS and I Know The End by Phoebe Bridgers. you get the vibes.

The world is on fire.

For once, you mean that literally. You’ve been saying it for years, in reference to politics and pollution and the general temperature of the planet. But now, the world is literally on fire.

Charles is pacing laps around the whole apartment. He’s unable to sit still, even now. The tv is on, the volume low, photos flashing by on the screens. There’s a countdown, ticking along at the bottom of the newscast, telling you exactly how many minutes you have left before the whole thing falls apart. You’re not sure how they seem to know. You won’t take the time to find out.

The next time Charles walks by you, you reach out and grab the sleeve of his sweatshirt. He stops in his tracks, and your fingers brush against his skin. He doesn’t look at you, hasn’t for hours. He stared at the ceiling, now. He’s angry, you can tell. It’s eating him up inside.

“Amour,” you say, calmly, quietly. “You will wear a path in the carpet.”

The irony of what you’ve just said doesn’t hit you until he lets out a bitter laugh. You realize, then, that by tomorrow there will be no carpet. There will be nobody to see the path he’s worn. Everything around you will cease to exist.

It’s funny, the end of the world. It doesn’t feel like you thought it would, though you’re not sure you spent much time devoted to the thought. You had worries, sure, but they always seemed so distant.

“We should wake her,” he says, voice thick with emotion. “I want… every second.”

“Okay,” you agree. “Okay, I’ll get her.”

“No. Not- I’ll go with you,” he says, twisting his hand to grab yours, then repeating, “I want every second.”

You stand up from the couch. He keeps your hands linked as he follows you to your daughter’s room. She’s asleep in the crib, barely one year old, head full of dark curls and a smile that bears his dimples. She looks peaceful. For a moment, you hate to disturb her. It’s the last time you’ll pull her from her crib. You understand, now, why he wanted to come with.

Charles walks over, reaches in with one arm, and scoops her up. It’s only then that his eyes meet yours, as he cradles her to his chest. The two of them make such a perfect picture. You’ve seen it before, after races when he’s tired and sweaty but always wanting to hold her, when he gets back from long trips and she clings to him for hours, when he gets her up in the morning and brings her to your room to wake you up.

He swallows tightly as she shifts in his arm, pressing her tiny round cheek to his neck. You tug on his hand, lead him back out to the living room. He squeezes so hard you think your fingers might fall off.

It won’t be long now before your daughter is fully awake. She’s already beginning to wiggle slightly, her eyelids fluttering. You don’t dare to try and let go of Charles, but you head for the kitchen and start warming up a bottle for her.

It’s what you’d do any day. It’s odd, because the apocalypse is breathing down your neck but your baby still needs to be fed. Other things, you’ve chosen to neglect- the trash will stay in the overflowing can in the kitchen. The mail will go unopened, bills unpaid. There’s a layer of dust on the fireplace mantle that will stay there until the mantle itself ceases to exist. You warm up your daughter’s bottle, though, and try to listen to the sound of the microwave instead of the sound of your husband’s crying.

She’s awake, now, and tugging at your hair with tiny fingers. Charles untangles your hands and wraps his arm around your waist instead, uses it to pull you into his chest. His grip is so tight it would almost be claustrophobic on any other day. Today, if you could melt yourself into one person with him, you would.

The microwave beeps, and you both jump. You grab the bottle, turn to your husband, your daughter. She’s yawning, her head on his chest, her hand still caught in your hair. She doesn’t know. She won’t ever know. There are so many things she won’t get to learn. You’ve dreamt of this your whole life- of love, a family, people to call your own and a home to spend your life in with them. In the end, your time has been so short lived. There are only so many minutes left. The clock on the TV counts down, and your chest aches with every second. You will lose them today.

Charles seems to sense your train of thought. He leads you back to the couch in the living room. He half sits, half lays with your daughter, legs up on the sofa, and holds his other arm out for you. She’s beginning to fuss, because she’s hungry- the most simple of human predicaments. When you sit down, he pulls you into his chest, to face him, your back to the tv. Even on the last day, he will try to shelter you. He curls his arms around you and your daughter while you hold the bottle to her mouth.

“My girls,” he says, voice barely a whisper. “My beautiful girls.”

You’d thought, when you had gotten pregnant, that Charles would want it to be a boy. A mini him, someone to teach karting and racing and follow in his footsteps. But before you even found out, he’d been insistent it was a girl, that she was going to be just like you, that he was going to be wrapped around her finger, same as he was around yours. And when she was born, his dark hair and your eyes and the tiniest fingers you’d ever seen, Charles had bawled his eyes out, holding her in his arms, pressing sweet kisses to your forehead.

He’d been so excited, told you all of his plans. There’d been days on the boat with her, days in the water, days at races with giant headphones to protect her ears. Her father had doted on her and loved her, had talked about her every chance he got. She was going to grow up with all the love the world could possibly have to offer and then some, surrounded by it, bathed in it.

It’s not fair. You’ve had years to live, you’ve gotten to be your own person, but she’ll never get that chance. You suddenly feel short of breath, chest tight, heart racing. Charles feels it and wraps his arm tighter around you. You stare at your daughter’s face, her tiny eyelashes, the little slope of her nose. She deserves so much more time. You rub your finger over her cheek as she drinks the bottle.

“S’not fair,” you mutter, blinking back tears.

“I know,” he says, murmuring the words against your forehead. “It’s not.”

There’s so much more you could say, but the words won’t come. How do you put that into words? The terrifying, all consuming fear of what is coming. There’s no stopping it now. Maybe it’s not worth dwelling on.

“You know,” you say with a sniffle. “She’ll never have to be afraid.”

Charles nods. “Nobody will ever hurt her.”

You reach out and hold her hand, her tiny fingers in yours. Her skin is so soft, unmarred by the world. She will never face heartbreak. She will never lose anyone. She will never have to worry. She’ll also never make her first friend, or have her first love, or her first job or first car, or… the nevers pile up and weigh heavy on your chest. The whole weight of the world is on you.

You press your cheek to Charles’ chest and let the tears flow. It’s silly to hide it. He holds onto you tightly.

There can’t be much time left, now. You can feel the seconds slipping away like grains of sand through your fingers. You have this uncontrollable urge to kneel on the ground and try to scoop them all up. The bits and pieces of your life together with him. You want to hold it all close to your chest, try and shelter it from the impact.

“The wine,” Charles says. “The wedding wine.”

You’d saved a bottle. It was meant to be opened on your tenth anniversary. It’s in the cupboard in the kitchen, a white bow around the neck, a label with a photo of the two of you custom printed by a friend. You’ve been married for three years now. At the time, ten years had felt so far away. Now it slips through the gaps in the cupped hands of your heart.

Charles passes your daughter into your arms and stands up. You cradle her to your chest and press your lips to the top of her head. You whisper to her, remind her how much she’s loved, how much you care for her. Charles returns with the bottle and two glasses, and the corkscrew you’d been gifted as a wedding present. You try not to dwell on it, try not to think about his brothers giving it to you, engraved with your new last name and with a note to accompany it- When you argue, or feel sad, or happy, or anytime, stop and share a bottle of wine together.

You take their advice- of all the times to take it, now feels like your best bet, though you’ve lived by little things like that your whole relationship. When Charles was gone for extended time periods for races, he always returned with a special bottle of wine, always made sure to set aside his first day back just for you, and eventually, for your daughter too. It was one of the things that bothered him most, he’d told you- he never felt like he had enough time. Stretched too thin between all the things and people he loved, everything that’s important to him. He pours you a glass of wine and hands it to you, and you wait while he pours his own. You clink the glasses together and take a sip. It tastes the same as it did on your wedding night, and fresh tears fill your eyes. All your family and friends, there to celebrate the two of you, and now it all comes to an end.

There are picture frames on the wall behind the couch. You stare at them, the tears in your eyes blurring the photographs, but you know what you’d find there. The wedding photo, when he’d kissed you for the first time as your husband. There’s the photo of the two of you on his first day at Ferrari, smiling bright and wide and happy and not having any idea how important you’d become to each other. There are family photos- just the three of you, and ones with your extended families, too. There are landscapes from your vacations together, pictures of you with friends out at parties, your whole lives, hanging up on the wall. All the photos will be destroyed, soon, along with the rest of the world.

Your daughter is dozing off against your chest. You turn to try and take a peek at the countdown on the screen, but before you can, Charles grabs your head and holds, firmly. It can’t be long now. Sometime this morning, just after sunrise, you think they said on the news last night. There’s sun filtering in through the curtains. Your breath gets caught in your chest. The dawn of a new day, of the very last day.

“Hey, hey,” he murmurs, lips against your forehead. “Don’t panic.”

“The world is ending, Charles,” you choke out, voice frantic. “We- we’re going to-“

“I know,” he mumbles. He knits his fingers with yours, right on top of your daughter’s back. “I know. Stay with me. Feel me? Feel her breathing? Just stay right here, my love. You are safe here.”

You’re not, you’re the least safe here that you’ve ever been, but you know what he’s trying to say. You feel the soft rise and fall of her back beneath your hand, feel the way he squeezes your fingers. Stay here. Stay with me. You take a deep breath against his neck, wondering if you can breathe in enough of him that he’ll be a part of you forever. Forever. What does forever even mean, now?

“It’s not enough,” you mutter. “It wasn’t enough time. We deserved more time.”

He nods, and when he speaks, his voice sounds raw. “It wasn’t. We did. But it never would have been enough, my love.”

“If you had more time,” you start, and you hear him choke on a sob. “What would you do with it?”

He’s quiet for a moment. There’s a million different options, a million different answers, a million things still left to do. You wonder if he’s thinking of the same thing as you, though.

“I would spend it right here,” he says, and you fall to pieces. “Right here, with you in my arms, and our daughter with us, and I would tell you how you are the love of my life and- and how I will find you, in the next life, and we will spend forever together. Over and over and it will never be enough,” he sniffles, his tears falling against your forehead.

“Give me a million more years, and I would like to spend them all with you,” you tell him, voice thick with your tears. “Every second.”

There’s a loud noise from somewhere outside. Your heart should be racing, but it isn’t. Charles wraps you up closer, pulling you around your daughter, trying to cradle both of you in his arms. This is it. If there’s anywhere you’d want to spend your last moments, this is the place.

“I will see you soon, my love,” he says into your skin.

Neither of you are religious, and you haven’t talked about your thoughts on the afterlife in any serious sense, but in that moment, you believe it, and you know he does too.

“Nothing could ever keep me away. We said forever,” he adds.

“I love you, Charlie,” you say, leaning up to kiss him. “Forever and ever.”

As the world falls apart around you, you bury your face in his neck and let it happen. There’s nothing you can do, now, except spend every second with him, with your daughter. All the seconds you have left.

…..

The Ferrari factory is bright and shiny, full of people who stare in awe. They have a new driver today, a new prodigy who’s meant to bring victory back to Maranello. You’re feeling a bit overwhelmed by all of it, by the people staring, by the buzzing underneath your skin. It’s too much, but you can’t back out now. You’re being lead through the crowd, and you hope you don’t look as terrified as you feel.

“Oh, and this,” your new team principal says, “is Charles. Your race engineer. You’ll be working very closely together.”

Charles turns around, eyes already sparkling. He grins, a dimple divoting his cheek. He’s cute. He gives you a warm feeling in your chest, like something familiar. When he shakes your hand, you swear you feel a spark. You’ve never met him, you’re almost sure, but it feels like you know him, or maybe, like you used to. It’s the strangest feeling, but it’s a comfort in this sea of strangers.

“Welcome to Ferrari,” he says, and it’s the millionth time you’ve heard it today but you could cry, still. For some reason, it means more coming from him. “You’re going to love every single second.”

Taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me @forzalando @iloveyou3000morgan @callsign-scully @arian-directioner @racingheartsposts @sakuramxchii @mynamejeff5 @c-losur3 @casperlikej

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corroded-hellfire · 12 hours

Note

Could I get a blurb or something from the AYW family when eddie and reader find out that she is infact pregnant and he's so happy and he can't wait to see her all pregnant with bigger breasts etc. And he loves to help her in anyway he can. And he's so excited about her belly when they do have sex. All the Fluffy stuff but a bit of smut to. Hehe. Thanks!

Eddie is a lovesick puppy all the time, but his pregnant wife? Oh boy. So thankful and happy to write this with my beloved @munson-blurbs 💚

Warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected (wrap to up), pregnant!reader, breeding kink or does this move to pregnancy kink? We all know this Eddie has breeding kink BAD

Words: 2.5k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Eddie’s been on cloud nine from the moment you even suspected you might be pregnant. Now with it confirmed, everyone knowing, and steps rolling along to get things ready for the baby, you’re pretty sure your husband physically can’t get any happier. You’re proved wrong the moment he notices your breasts getting a little larger, though. Then the very beginnings of your baby bump appeared, and Eddie’s hand didn’t leave your stomach for what felt like a week.

Your husband has always been a gentleman, but he’s kicked it up a notch now that your second trimester has started. He’d always carry things for you, but now he makes the extra effort to go grocery shopping so you don’t have to reach for things on the high shelf or lift the full bags from the cart into the trunk of your car. And he isn’t the only one helping out.

The boys were, for the most part, good about doing their chores. Once in a while you’d have to get on one of them about picking their clothes up off the floor or cleaning up after themselves in the kitchen, but it was never anything major. But as twelve and nine-year-olds, they weren’t exactly known to go the extra mile, either. So, the day you first came home to them working as a team to move the laundry from the washer to the dryer, you almost thought you walked into the wrong house. You hadn’t intended to stand there and watch them as they did the task—they didn’t need a supervisor. But the pure shock kept you rooted in place as you watched Luke toss a dryer sheet in and Ryan reach up to press the correct buttons on the dryer’s control panel.

“Eddie, the boys did laundry,” you had told him when he came home from work, your wide eyes amusing to the man.

“I figured it was about time they learn,” he answered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Helps you out around the house, too.”

“That was your real motive,” you had said, narrowing your eyes at him.

“So, sue me.” Eddie shrugged and stepped around you to get a bottle of water.

The men of the house have been at this for a few weeks now and it’s honestly nice to have some of your usual duties lifted from your shoulders. Are things done perfectly? No. But they weren’t when you did them, either. At least when Luke got Ryan’s clothes and Ryan got Luke’s this time, they could blame themselves instead of you.

The boys have even been changing their own sheets and putting the clean ones on. Luke’s been so proud of himself that you don’t have the heart to tell him that he’s been putting the bottom sheet on inside out this entire time.

The domestic bliss of it all fills you with a soothing warmth, like you’re being wrapped in the softest downy blanket. Sometimes you’re afraid this is all a dream and you’re going to wake up in your apartment back in college, late for some class before you have to go pick up the boys from school so you can babysit them. When that happens, you usually walk over to the large fake crystal bowl on the counter where you keep your keys and pull out your set. On your keychain there’s a small, laminated Shrinky Dink that says “Luke” that was given to you the first Mother’s Day that you were with Eddie. The first year they saw you as a mother figure more than a babysitter.

You run the pad of your index finger along the rough plastic edge of the Shrinky Dink and the tiny little pricks of pain are another reminder that you’re not dreaming.

Getting ready for bed that night, you tighten the belt of your lavender bath robe before grabbing a cloth to wash your face. This bathroom never used to seem as cold as it has to you these past few months. Pregnancy does weird things to your body.

“Oh!” Eddie says as he steps into the bathroom. He snaps his fingers and spins around to head back into the bedroom. A moment later he comes back with a plastic drugstore bag in his hands. “I got this for you today. I know you said your gums are being more sensitive now, so I thought this might help.”

He offers you a plastic and cardboard package, a jade green toothbrush inside, and the words “Soft-Bristled Brush!” emphasized on the front. The hormones well up in you but you force them back down, refusing to cry over a toothbrush.

“Thank you, baby,” you say. “Now I can throw out that mean, old medium strength one.”

Eddie chuckles and presses a kiss to your head as he passes by to get to the shower.

As you scour your dresser drawers for pajamas, lacy material grazes your fingertips—maternity lingerie, courtesy of Jess, who swore Eddie would go absolutely feral over it.

Her exact words were actually “he’ll cream his jeans,” but that was neither here nor there.

Your eyes flit back to the bathroom where your husband is currently bathing. Your husband—the man you love and adore, who doted on you before you got pregnant and is the epitome of devotion now that you’re actually carrying his child. The alleviation of chores, the special toothbrush…maybe he deserves a little reward.

As quickly as you can—which isn’t all that fast, considering your new center of gravity, you put on the babydoll slip, adjusting it so the slit down the middle showcases your bump. The matching set of panties almost feels like a waste, considering how swiftly Eddie will tear them off, but you step into them anyway and complete the look.

There’s a clattering in the bathroom, jolting your already buzzing nerves. You know better than to ask what’s going on; over the years, you’ve found that many questions are best left unanswered.

“Babe, have you seen my—holy fuckin’ shit.” Eddie’s eyes widen when he takes in the sight of you. The towel wrapped around his waist tents where his erection begins to burgeon.

“Seen your what?” You bat your eyelashes, exaggerating your innocence, as you caress your bump.

He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter.” His hands are drawn to your sides, thumbs brushing over the swell of your stomach. “What’s all this for?”

“Just wanted to thank you for being such an amazing husband, even when I’m tired or moody or—”

“Baby,” Eddie cuts in, “all I’ve done is get you a new toothbrush and delegate chores to the boys. I should be thanking you for having my baby…and looking so damn good doing it.”

With that, he gets on his knees, grabs your thighs until his fingertips sink into your plush skin, and kisses the bump.

“You’re perfect.”

He moves forward on his knees, gently guiding you backwards until the back of your thighs hit the soft cotton sheets of your mattress. Large hands follow your hips onto the bed and quickly move down your legs to slip your panties off.

“Eds?”

“Hmm?”

“I, um,” you pause, feeling insecurity creep up in you despite your arousal, “haven’t been able to shave as well as I used to…”

Eddie pays your words no mind, instead just uses his pointer and middle fingers to part your lips and lick a stripe up your center.

“‘S not gonna stop me.” His voice is gravelly, deep, and it sends a pleasant shiver up your spine.

He takes your clit between his lips, tongue gently flicking over the bud. Giving it a little suck, he drops his unoccupied hand to your thigh and squeezes.

You can’t help the way your hips move, as though of their own accord, grinding your core against his face. Eddie notices it, too, pulling away briefly to tease you.

“Needy little thing tonight, hm?” His smirk glistens with your arousal.

You’re in no position to argue; you simply nod and thread your fingers through his curls in a silent plea for him to resume licking at you.

Eddie takes the hint, his tongue eagerly finding your hole and fucking it wildly.

“Eddie, shit, holy fucking shit!” You find your voice in time for your orgasm to crash over you, crying out your husband’s name as he brings you that beautiful release.

When he stands up, panting, you can see just how hard he is. The towel must have slipped off while his face was buried between your legs, and he’s now stark naked in front of you.

“Tried to look at you while I ate your pussy, but, uh…” his cheeks tinge red, “couldn’t quite see you over this.” He cradles your bump, pressing his erection into your thigh. The pre-cum that’s beaded at the tip sticks to your leg, a reminder of what you do to him.

You flop back on the mattress, breathing heavily with a lazy smile on your face.

Eddie crawls up over your body, chuckling when he catches your euphoric expression.

“Feel good, baby?” he asks.

“Mhmm,” you hum, eyes drifting shut.

Eddie parts the sheer panels of the baby doll top so your emerging bump is on full display, pressing kisses in the valley between your breasts and working downward.

He stops when he reaches your stomach. “Wish I could just keep you pregnant. Fuck, you look amazing like this.”

“So do it,” you mumble lazily.

“Don’t tempt me,” Eddie says, looking up at you with another smirk.

He pauses, delaying removing his hands from your belly but craving being inside you.

“Ride me, baby?”

You giggle. “Gonna need some help.”

Eddie nods, standing up and kissing you with his hands on your cheeks. “Anything. Anything for you. Christ, you’re a goddess.”

He helps you on top, his hands on your hips and holding your bump. Without further hesitation, he lines himself up and you sink onto his cock, letting yourself be filled entirely.

“F-Feels so good.”

Eddie grunts. “That’s because this pussy belongs to me. You belong to me.”

You just moan in response, so he grips your hips tighter and growls, “say it.”

“I belong to you,” you whimper, tightening around him as he thrusts up into you. “I’ll do anything for you, Eddie.”

After a few minutes, a newly-familiar ache creeps into your chest. Though you try to hide your wince, Eddie is all-too aware of your every move.

“What’s wrong?” He stops thrusting, grabbing your wrists and pulling your attention to him.

You gently maneuver out of his grasp and cup your breasts. “They’re just really sore from the, um, bouncing.” This never happened before pregnancy, but their extra sensitivity has you feeling every twinge of discomfort.

Eddie pouts, not from disappointment, but from the realization that you’re in some pain.

“C’mere, sweetheart.”

He withdraws, earning a whimper from you before he gently guides you onto your back and places a pillow beneath your lower back.

“I’ll take it a little slower, yeah?”

You nod, your warmth enveloping him once again. He thrusts languidly, holding back so he doesn’t hurt you, and his carefulness has you connecting your lips to his.

“I love you,” you mumble into his mouth. “I love you so much, Eddie.”

“I love you, too.”

His words, his movements, and your earlier orgasm are a perfect combination. You come undone, clenching around his cock and digging your nails into his back.

“There you go,” Eddie coos, kissing just below your ear. “Baby, can I go a little faster? Is that okay?”

He rarely begs you; normally, you’re the one pleading with him to let you come.

“S’okay, Eds.” You smile and he returns it, bracing his elbows on either side of your head.

He slams into you, burying himself to the hilt and tucking his head into the crook of your neck.

“Fuck—feels s’good—gonna come.” The words barely leave his mouth before he’s spilling into you, filling you with his seed. His body against yours and his release coating your walls has you falling into a foggy haze—the closeness, the intimacy, the safety you feel with Eddie is stronger than anything you’ve ever felt before. It’s only grown fiercer since carrying his baby.

The moment he pulls out of you and starts to move from hovering over your body, you tug him down next to you. Eddie laughs as you practically wrap him up in a death grip as he bounces against the pillows.

“Well, this is one way to cuddle,” he says.

“Got overexcited,” you say as you loosen your grip on him.

He doesn’t go too far though, immediately moving so that you can tuck into his side. As you move to slide closer, there’s a sharp intake of breath and your right hand instinctively goes to hold your bump.

“Baby?” Eddie asks, sitting up in concern, careful not to jostle your body. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

You shake your head as you scoot closer to him again. The sharp jab of pain vanished as quickly as it was sprung on you. A subtle aftershock rolls through you, but it’s barely even detectable.

“Just some mild contractions. Doctor said they can happen after sex sometimes. They’re not, like, baby contractions,” you explain.

Eddie visibly relaxes, shoulders dropping, and lays back against the pillows with you. “So, my excellent fucking skills didn’t send you into super early labor?”

A snort of laughter bursts out of you as you lay your head down on Eddie’s warm, solid chest.

“Sorry, Eds. Baby’s gotta stay put till she’s fully cooked.”

Your husband gives you a fake groan but smiles the whole time, kissing you tenderly.

“All right,” he says. “But I heard from someone who shall not be named—”

“Steve?”

“Who shall not be named, that sex can help induce labor. In case you need some assistance in a few months.”

You smirk. “Let me know if anyone’s offering. There’s that cute guy at the grocery store—”

Eddie tackles you, taking care not to hurt the bump, pressing sloppy, silly kisses to your cheek and neck. You squeal with laughter and try to push him off of you.

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding!”

Eddie pulls back and smiles down at you. “You better be. Because this,” he gestures to your lingerie-clad pregnant body, “is mine and only mine.”

“Well, this,” you say, gesturing to your own body, “has to pee.”

Eddie pouts as you slide off the bed, eyes not leaving your frame for a moment.

“But we were gonna cuddle,” he whines.

You walk into the bathroom as you shrug your shoulders.

“Take it up with your daughter,” you say before closing the door.

With a dramatic sigh, Eddie rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. His thoughts linger on your last sentence and the smile that was already on his face grows until it becomes a beaming grin.

“Holy shit,” he whispers to himself. “I’m going to have a daughter.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #older!eddie #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fic #dad!eddie #AYW #AYWS #request

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lovelettersfromluna · 8 hours

Text

Lunch

Summary: it’s raining. Ellie misses you. Eating you out is her favorite pass time.

an: small smutty drabble heavily influenced by Billie’s song Lunch….yes this is rushed, yes I need this just as badly as you do. Hehe mwah 🤍

Warnings: for the love of god MDNI!!! 18+, SMUT!!! Porn with little plot, oral (obvi) r!receiving, Ellie bites readers thighs/leaves marks, she’s a bit rough, pet names, pls pls lmk if I’ve missed anything!

It was like you were on Ellie’s mind the entire fucking day.

From the moment she woke up in her empty bed, she was angry that you weren’t there, setting quite the tone for the rest of her day.

Usually you’d stay over, spending the entire day with Ellie only to spend the night as well, but you had an essay you needed to finish that you simply could not get done with Ellie around, constantly giving you the perfect excuse to abandon it to give her all of your attention instead.

Now, don’t get her wrong. You were on Ellie’s mind all the time anyways, lingering in the corners during lectures or work, daydreaming about your pretty smile or the way your eyes twinkled whenever you saw her.

But today…god…it was like she had an insatiable hunger for you that had her practically itching to be in your presence again.

So that’s exactly what she did.

The second her shift at work was over, she was storming out of the building to get to her car, so quickly that she hadn’t even noticed the rain pouring down on her, soaking her hair completely. She was far too consumed with thoughts of you, and getting to your house as quickly as possible.

You on the other hand, were consumed with other things. Your eyes were glued to your screen, the soft, warm lighting in your apartment drowning out around you, your eyes only focusing on the bright white light emitting from your laptop. You were so close, and as soon as you were finished you’d be able to get some much needed sleep, your poor back aching from sitting in the same position for so long.

You felt bad that you hadn’t responded to Ellie’s many texts, all of them either checking in on you or asking if she could come over. You had gotten to a point where you had to turn your phone onto do not disturb, knowing all too well that the second she gets pouty in her messages, you’d fold.

Soon enough though, your paper was finished. You sent it in without another glance, far too tired to proofread it, before shutting your laptop, tossing it onto your couch, and pushing yourself off of it to take a much needed shower. You told yourself you’d text your girl when you got out, maybe even call her if she wasn’t too huffy over you not giving her the attention she wanted.

What you don’t know, is that Ellie has perfect timing. And just as you’re laying in your bed, freshly showered and cozy in your favorite pajama set, thinking you’ll get some much needed sleep after a long days work, she’s parking outside your apartment building.

Just as you’re laying down, a soft sigh leaving your lips as you hook your thigh over your favorite pillow, looking out the window as you watched the rain patter softly against the glass, Ellie is jogging up the stairs to your place, tugging off her jacket, pushing her damp hair out of her face, and quickly opening the door to your home with the spare key you’d given her.

You hardly even notice it too, exhaustion quickly taking over your body, your soft blankets wrapping around you perfectly as your heavy eyes begin to close.

Ellie’s kicking off her sneakers in your living room, looking around the place as she hangs up her jacket. She silently curses herself, seeing that you’ve already packed up for the night, a clear sign that you’ve most likely gone to sleep.

It doesn’t stop her from making her way further into your home, crossing over the fuzzy carpet in your living room, her feet padding along the hardwood floor that lead to your bathroom.

You turn slowly when you hear her open up your bedroom door, a soft smile immediately gracing your lips when you catch the glimpse of her standing in your door frame.

“Ellie…” you practically sigh out, sitting up to greet the girl properly.

“Sorry….i didn’t know you were coming” you hum softly, opened arms greeting the girl.

She almost wants to laugh, you’re so sweet and welcoming, the only thing on your mind cuddling with your girlfriend after a long day…

But Ellie has other plans.

Her knees deep into the bed, fists pressing into your mattress as she cages you into her arms, nudging her nose against your neck before she began pressing soft kisses on your throat.

You instantly let her in, tilting your head back and giving her better access to what it was she wanted. It was the little things like this that told you loud and clear what your girlfriend wanted, when she’d walk in without a word, press her hand against the small of your back or pull you closer on her lap…

All of which screamed that she needed you.

Before you can even think further about it all, she’s pushing you back to lay against the bed, her body crawling over your own before she presses her mouth against yours without another thought. The second you moan against her, she’s taking the opportunity to slip her tongue against yours, the two wet muscles rubbing together, making your core tighten all too quickly.

You let out a soft gasp when she finally breaks the kiss, her lips moving down to press against your neck, your jaw, collar bones, any exposed skin that she can possibly get to.

“You didn’t answer my texts” she groans out, words muffled by the sound of your skin against her mouth, broke up by kisses and bites as she began littering your skin with marks of her lips.

You moan softly at this, melting at the way her hands grab you, at the way her teeth sink down into your skin, sure to leave a new set of pretty marks there for her to marvel at when she’s finished with you.

“I was…I told you I had to finish my paper…remember?” You manage to croak out between a plethora of moans and whines, keeping the girl close as she pushes your pajama top up so that it scrunched right about your boobs, leaving your top half bare for her.

She hums softly, momentarily giving either one of your pebbled nipples some much needed attention before she lets them go with a pop, and continues traveling down your body.

Soon she’s managed to haul off your pajama shorts and your panties, and she’s settled between your legs, either of her large hands sinking into your thighs as she pulls you closer to her face, looking awfully similar to a woman readying herself for her meal.

“M’not gonna make you beg, because I need this more than you do….” She hums out softly, and you can practically feel her warm breath fanning onto your sobbing wet core.

“But next time I won’t be so lenient” she finishes before she finally gives in, attaching her lips to your swollen clit and sucking it like she was starved.

You moan loudly, unable to fully comprehend her words, your head falling backwards as your back arches almost painfully, pushing more of your pussy against Ellie’s face.

And she fucking loves it. Moaning loudly as her eyes flutter shut, eyebrows furrowing in pleasure. You’d swear she was the one in your position with the way she was acting. You can feel the vibrations of her moans against your needy cunt, and it makes you moan loudly as your head finally repositions to look down at her.

She looks like a dream, so consumed with you, the pads of her fingers digging into your thighs to keep you close, forbidding you from even thinking of running away from the pleasure she had to give you.

Now, Ellie was not your first girlfriend by all means. You’d had flings and dates in the past, most of them slowly dissolving into nothing at the back of your mind. Sex was all the same with them, mediocre at best. You could recall no one ever really being into head unless it was you doing it, which was fine, you couldn’t complain.

But Ellie? Jesus fucking Christ….Ellie was like something out of an erotic novel.

When she first told you, you assumed it was another fuck-girl move of her to get you where she wanted, fill your head with all talk but when the time came to actually do the deed, it would end just like the others.

Ellie quickly proved you wrong.

The amount of times she’d simply tug your shorts off while you two were watching a movie, or slip under the covers while you were playing video games, you couldn’t even try to count them on all ten fingers and toes.

Ellie simply loved eating her girl out.

More specifically? She loved eating you out.

She was a certified fucking munch. Absolutely smitten with you in every single way possible, and she’d be proud to admit it to anyone that asked.

Quickly enough, you find yourself closing in on that delicious feeling. Your stomach starts to coil, and the grip on Ellie’s hair tightens as you grind on her face shamelessly, your slick almost making it impossible to not slide around and make a mess of Ellie’s face.

“M’gonna…you’re gonna make me cum, El…Ellie I…fuuuuckkkk” you drawl out, riding out your orgasm as you scream your girlfriends name like a mantra.

And her eyes never leave yours, watching as the rain splattered window casts patterns against your skin, your naked body like a fucking painting for her as she makes you come undone on her face.

You gasp out as she slows down, tongue drawing slow, lazy circles against your clit as you stare down at her with hazy, lust filled eyes, naked chest slowly rising and falling as you try to catch your breath.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Ellie…” you pant out, watching her with a sleepy smile.

She smirks, finally pulling away from your swollen pussy, groaning softly as she stares down at the mess she made, the mess you made, fingers ghosting over your over sensitive clit.

You can make out your slick shining on her face in the dim lighting of your room, a sly smirk on her face as she slowly crawls up between your legs, her face inches from yours.

“I just can’t get enough of you, baby…” she hums out softly before she catches your lips in a lazy, sloppy kiss, the two of you moaning at your taste still lingering on her tongue.

And it’s that exact same way that Ellie almost always ensures that both you, and her, sleep very well at night.

#ellie williams smut #ellie williams #ellie williams x y/n #ellie tlou #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x female reader #ellie x y/n #ellie the last of us #ellie x you

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fairyysoup · 1 day

Text

it will come back

part two

a.k.a. sever the blight (eddie's version)

pairing(s): werewolf!eddie munson x fem!milkmaid!reader

summary: As May Day approaches, you find yourself running into Eddie, and succumbing to his charms, more and more.

cw: smut, heavy petting, fingering, frottage, denied orgasm, public sex, getting caught, alcohol consumption (both eddie and reader), a bit of humiliation, teasing, tons of flirting, eddie munson's Big Meaty Claws, jealousy (by reader), eddie being a flirtatious shit all around, slight enemies to lovers beat here, some kind of historical fantasy period, fairytale au, descriptions of scars, mentions of abuse, reader is a servant to an abusive master

a/n: Happy May! I wrote this in a complete stupor and woke up and it was almost 8.0k words, so there will be a part three. I also wanted to get this done yesterday, but that's not how the cookie crumbles. Alas.

The lyrics that Eddie sings in this are from a traditional English folk song, commonly called "As I Walked Through the Meadow." There are variations on the lyrics, but this is the version I used here.

MY WORKS ARE ALL 18+ MINORS DNI

The man from the creek is being thrown out of the tavern in the center of town.

You know because you’ve been watching since he went inside. Except, if anyone were to ask, you’d say you’re simply watching the ripples on the mud puddles on the dirt road in front of the building. They’re fascinating, you’d insist. They say you can see your future in them.

You’d noticed him going in as you were stepping out of the haberdashers. You knew it was him from the wine red of his blouse– it’s a rich color, like you’ve never seen on a garment worn by anyone in town, and certainly not by someone claiming to come from the woods. The last time you saw him, nearly a month ago now, you forgot to ask him where he got something so richly woven and colored, in such seemingly good repair. You contented yourself with a single lie: you didn’t want to know.

You also figured that you would likely never see him again. That this so-called Eddie Munson was probably better off disappearing back into the woods and staying there. You’d never seen him in town before, and you certainly didn’t expect to see him there any time soon. He doesn’t exactly fit in with the rest of the townsfolk; people who work the land, who own it, who sow it. His rich red wine doesn’t fit into the bland suedes and dull grays of your neighbors.

No– no, with his wild, curly hair and bright, rosy cheeks, he definitely doesn’t look like anyone who belongs in Havensfield. He belongs in a storybook. He belongs in a fairytale you tell to little children, to send them to sleep with something larger than life in their minds. Just like you haven’t been able to sleep a wink without thinking about him and his troublesome smile and sparkling eyes first.

It’s as if he has you under some sort of spell, unable to move on but remaining steadfastly in place with your mind only revolving around him. You figured it was probably best to spend the coin he gave you and get it out of your system, so maybe you can get rid of the one physical thing that reminded you of his existence.

But here he is, in the flesh and very alive, and being tossed into the mud puddle you had been gazing into, spraying droplets of dirty water off in every direction. A cacophony of laughter rings out from the open door of the tavern– a barkeep angrily wipes his hands on his apron, snarls something at Eddie, and disappears back into the building, the door slamming shut behind him.

The town has erected a maypole in the square for the May Day celebration in just a few days. The marketplace is normally hectic during the festival. Shopkeepers will set up their stalls, the place will be decorated with garlands of flowers, and for days at a stretch one can hardly get their errands done for the amount of chaos going on in the place. That’s why you did your shopping today, rather than waiting for the festivities to begin.

You didn’t expect this.

You haven’t moved from your spot in front of the haberdasher’s. You don’t know if you should– you look this way and that, wondering if anyone is going to approach him, or if everyone else instinctively gives him a wide berth. The people on the street continue about their business like they haven’t seen him, like he isn’t there. You wonder if it’s some unseen force of nature that keeps them away. Does some magic spell exist to make him undetectable to anyone but you? Or are you just the only one stupid enough to get close?

He just sort of lays there in the mud, staring up at the sky. You assume he’s drunk. Why else would he have been thrown out of the tavern? Drinking them dry, getting unruly, starting fights… Yes, you should go on about your business.

Your hand fists in your skirt, the color of barleycorn. Such a drab color when compared to his deep red, like the flow of blood from a wound. Just as you had feared, it draws you in like a moth to a flame. You lift your skirts and step carefully across the muddy town square, until your feet toe the edge of the puddle he lays in.

“Do you… need help?” you ask when you peer down at him. From this angle, his eyelashes fan across his cheekbones in long arches, fluttering like fairy wings.

“My Lovely Lady of the Creek!” He croons wistfully up at you when you pass into his field of vision. “We must stop meeting this way.”

“Which way is that?”

“With me on my back in a bunch of water.” He smiles at you treacherously, in that way he does. Like he’s privy to a joke that you’re completely unaware of.

“Well, are you just going to lay there like a dead man in the road? Or would you like help?” Your hands are on your hips, the small basket for your purchases wiggling precariously on your wrist.

“You really should be more discerning about who you offer to help,” he lectures as he heaves himself up to sit. Muddy water sloshes up towards your shoes, and you scamper back before they can get wet. “Lest I begin to get the wrong impression.”

“I don’t recall ever offering you help before,” you point out.

“Right,” Eddie says after a moment, his eyes sweeping along the road. He looks unsure, as if he doesn’t know what to ask for, if he wants anything at all. “You… could help me over to the well?”

Your eyes follow his to the well in the center of the square. You shrug, and then brandish your hand at him.

Eddie looks at it thoughtfully for a moment before placing his hand into yours. His hand engulfs yours in warmth, his long fingers stretching up and around your wrist. A flush bursts beneath your skin from where his touch hits, spreading up your arm and into your chest.

You’re going to catch fire, you’re sure of it.

Instead, you just help him to his feet, trying not to slip in the mud, yourself. Eddie staggers, sways back towards the porch of the tavern. You lunge forward to catch him before he can fall over again, and you snatch him around the waist without much thought. His arm plops down onto your shoulder, and your basket bats against his hip, the contents shifting inside.

You’re so close now. He smells like pine and whiskey, and his body is warm. So warm that you’re surprised he isn’t sick in bed.

“How much did you drink?” you ask him, your voice choked as you heave him towards the well. You don’t want to think about his body pressed against yours, his arm hot around your shoulders. He’s looking down at you with an impassioned gaze that you don’t want to match. You fear that if you look up into his face, you will.

“No more than usual,” he murmurs. His hand reaches out and grabs the stone ring of the well once you get him to it. He kneels on the step of it, starting to look a little green in the face.

“You smell like the tavern floor,” you tell him frankly, raising your hand to push his hair away from his face.

“Well, I was just laying in a bunch of piss and shit, so.” Eddie raises his head and gazes up at you, wide-eyed, when you press your hand to his forehead.

“And you’re much too hot,” you assess, watching his eyes flutter at your appraisal. “Don’t you dare get sick in the well. I have to drink out of that.”

“I need water,” he grumbles, and pulls away from your hand. He tries to stand, and fails.

“Stay,” you tell him firmly, planting a hand on his shoulder. Eddie pouts, watching as you place your basket beside him and step up to the well to fetch him the bucket yourself.

Like a child who’s just been given a present, Eddie’s eyes fall to your basket. “What’s this?”

“My shopping,” you grunt with the effort of cranking the wheel to lift the bucket from the well.

“Ooh– stockings?”

You turn to glance at him, and see that he’s lifted the cloth from the basket to peek at the contents inside. He’s pinching your new stockings between his two fingers, pulling them out with a gleeful expression on his face.

You could kill him. “Put those back,” you hiss, letting go of the handle of the wheel. The crank spins backward, and down in the well, the bucket hits the water again with a loud, wet splash.

“Silk stockings, no less,” Eddie continues, ducking away from your swiping hand as he begins running the smooth hosiery over his knuckles. He seems to have gotten his second wind– no longer staggering, nor looking green in the face, he scampers around the well while you chase him. “Now how could a milkmaid afford such finery? It couldn’t be… no, I shant say–”

“Give it to me now,” you snarl at him, rounding the well after him. You hadn’t wanted him to see them– hadn’t wanted anyone to see them. It’s not something that you could have gotten yourself, on your own pay. The Master or Mistress would assume that you’d stolen the money, and punish you for it. Obviously, any stranger seeing them would be improper.

And Eddie… Well, he knows exactly how you got your hands on them.

“Could it be… a silver coin?” He giggles like an impish little sprite, his feet working faster than his mind. “Given to you by a handsome, charming, mysterious stranger?”

Eddie turns to look at you, holding the silken fabric up to his cheek to feel its softness. The sight of the gesture, him pressing his cheek against your undergarment, makes you see red.

“You little demon–” You lunge for him, but he jerks away, barrel rolling across the opening of the well somehow without managing to fall in. He lands on the other side with a noisy plop, laughing hysterically, and you continue rounding the well to get to him. “Your hair is unsightly and you smell like dirt and you’re as vain as you are vexing and I would rather try to climb the maypole than call you charming!”

“Well, you’re correct on most accounts,” he tells you, still trying to slow his laughter. Eddie lifts the cloth on your basket, still containing a bread roll and a new wooden comb, and begins carefully folding the silk stockings into a neat bundle. He tucks them back into the basket primly, while continuing, “But I would love to see you try to climb a maypole. Mine has been known to be good for such uses–”

“You’re despicable.” You snatch the basket away from him and step away from the well, turning your back to him without a goodbye.

“Maybe so,” Eddie replies from behind you. “But you’re still curious, aren’t you?”

You stop. You shouldn’t, but you do, and you know it’s a mistake the minute you turn and see him already standing, not swaying in the slightest, and beginning to crank the wheel of the well to fetch his own water.

With a scowl, you watch his arm work the wheel until the bucket rears up over the lip of the well, and he lifts it onto the edge. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, like he expected you to have walked away, and he smirks. “Ohhhh, she’s curious. You know what they say about curiosity.”

Your skin prickles as you’re uncomfortably reminded of your last meeting with Eddie. “You’re much too fond of your idioms.”

“They’re idioms for a reason,” he replies frankly. With the water bucket steady on the edge of the well, he pinchest the front of his blouse and begins untucking the tails from his trousers.

“What are you doing?” you snap, appalled, as he lifts the hem of his blouse to expose his belly.

He pauses, looking at you dubiously. “I have to wash my shirt.”

You bluster, “In front of the whole town?”

“Who’s looking?”

Who, indeed? You finally think to take in your surroundings, and you notice that the town square has cleared since Eddie was thrown out of the tavern. Aside from the occasional passerby, no one is lingering, and certainly no one is watching Eddie as he peels the muddy fabric from his skin.

“You’re the only person in this town who deigns to speak to me. I thank you for that,” Eddie says, not unkindly. “But you should know that it makes you a rose among thorns. That isn’t necessarily a good thing.”

“How is that not a good thing?” you ask, feeling his eyes rake over you just before he pulls his shirt over his head. You see a flash of pale skin, and avert your eyes so swiftly it nearly makes you dizzy.

“Roses tend to be picked,” he tells you simply, as if it’s obvious. “Careful who you show your colors to.”

Your face heats against your will, while your eyes remain locked on the building across the way and not on him. At least, not until your curiosity wins out, and you steal a glance at him.

Eddie dunks his dirty blouse in the bucket, splashing water down onto the stone step at the base of the well. The muscles of his arms flex with the work, and his hair spills over pale shoulders, rosy at the collarbones. He has pictures drawn on his skin with black ink– mythical creatures you learned about as a child, which denote power and magic. Surrounding the images on his skin are scars, old enough that they’ve gone pale, but their raised appearance indicates that he’s seen his fair share of danger. Hair trails down his chest and to the curve of his stomach, then disappears beneath the line of his trousers. Your eyes trace the trail of it, lingering on his waistband as you wonder how far down it goes.

He must feel your eyes on him, because he glances up at you. You immediately rip your eyes away, but it’s too late. He’s already seen you looking– seen you staring.

Eddie grins, his eyes lighting up with mischief. “If it pleases you to look, then look.”

“I wasn’t… I wasn’t looking,” you say, with more than a hint of pride, turning your nose up a bit for good measure.

“Of course,” Eddie muses, a wicked smirk still on his face. “And neither was I.”

He meets your eye with a heated gaze that makes goosebumps break out across your skin. His eyes are two black coals, burning at you from just a few feet away. They slowly move up and down your body, until he sets his jaw and turns back to the bucket. He lifts the red blouse from the water and wrings it out, casting droplets of water down his forearms.

You watch them travel along his pale skin, your eyes tracing the blue veins and sinewy muscles of his arms. And that’s when you notice it– the cloth tied around his wrist.

It’s pale pink. It has a slight brocade pattern to the weave. It’s one that your Mistress had no use of, and when she decided she didn’t want the cloth for anything, you took and dyed it yourself with rose petals, and turned it into a blanket for your bed.

It’s the same cloth that you tied to the injured leg of the wolf in your dream, all those weeks ago. But it wasn’t a dream, or it couldn’t have been– the end of that very same pink blanket is still frayed from the tear of the fabric.

“Where did you get that?” you ask him sharply, marching forward. He startles, drawing back just a bit, his eyes glancing you up and down in alarm.

“Get what?” he says coolly, though his manner doesn’t reflect his tone. He’s backing away from you, holding up his hands like you mean to attack.

“This.” Far too bold for your own good, you snatch his wrist in your hand. Eddie gazes down his nose at you as you yank his wrist up near your face, twisting until the pink brocade glints in the overcast light of late April. “Where did you get this cloth?”

“In the woods,” he says simply.

“This is from my bed,” you hiss at him, your eyes narrowing as your hand tightens on his arm. Beneath his overheated skin, his pulse pounds against your fingers. You feel it like the beating of a thousand drums. “I don’t believe you. Where did you get it?”

“I told you,” Eddie repeats slowly. “I found it hanging from a tree. Thought it was pretty, so I kept it.” His face betrays no emotion now, almost strategically so. Where alarm once was, there is nothing. No hint of hesitance, or mischief, or cunning. Just a blank slate that you have no way of reading.

Your eyes flick between his face and his arm, trying to connect the dots. That’s when you notice the mark as well– among the otherwise pale, older scars that riddle his torso and arms is a long, jagged gash on his bicep. It arcs across his skin and appears to have been from a deep wound. It’s raised over and scarred, but still bright in color. New.

You’re wondering if your mind is playing tricks on you. It’s improbable that the scar on his arm is the one you patched on the wolf a month ago. You refuse to believe such things; you don’t believe in wolf-men, in fairytales, in silly superstitions.

You release his arm. You still don’t believe him– not when he so quickly went from being startled, to suddenly showing no emotion at all. You don’t trust him in the slightest. It seems to you like he’s hiding something, but you don’t know what. You don’t believe he’s anything other than a man. You can’t honestly say that you believe he’s evil, or that he means you harm, but you still wouldn’t lay your life down to fend for his honor.

And that cloth. You would bet your life that the fabric wrapped around his wrist came from your bed, dyed by your own hand, tied around the wounded leg of a wolf on the last full moon. But you can’t dispute that what he says is true. So you step back, and you fix him with a steely-eyed gaze that you know would make even the roughest of men shake in their boots.

“Good day, Mr. Munson,” you say, and he looks surprised that you even remembered his name. “I hope that I never see you again.”

“Making a wish like that is unwise,” he replies mildly, turning back to the bucket that he has perched on the rim of the well. “Unless you have a coin to toss in the well for it. Silver, maybe?”

Your cheeks burn hot, and you turn away from him. He infuriates you so much. You can’t recall a time when a man affected you so badly.

“Right. Because you spent it,” he observes, taking your silence as a quiet relent. “I’ll sleep well knowing that my coin was spent on a pair of beautiful stockings. Excellent craftsmanship, by the way. The weave is immaculate. Feels like spun gold.”

“Go to Hell,” you mutter, finally turning away from him, for good this time.

“As long as I know you’ll think of me when you wear them,” he tells you as you walk away, “I’ll die a happy man.”

You pause. For a moment, you think of turning back to him, telling him to shove that exact thought down his stupidly pretty gullet. But you don’t. Thankfully, you have the reserve and the self respect to set your shoulders and leave him there, rinsing his soiled blouse there on the edge of the well.

You still didn’t ask him how he got a blouse so fine. You doubt that he would tell you the truth even if you did. All you know is that he stays with you, haunting you, rolling through your mind the way he rolled across the mouth of the well, until your hand lands on the gate to your Master’s property.

You can’t afford to have him occupying your thoughts. You can’t afford to be so distracted– you don’t even want to think about what may happen if the Master learns that you’re on your way to being smitten with someone. Someone young and beautiful and, from what you can tell, not running a farm with indentured servants on it.

And when exactly did you go from wanting him to disappear into the woods, to being smitten with him?

On May Eve, you get just enough of your chores done for the Mistress to not find any excuse for you not to attend the festivities. With your hands tight on a woven basket, you set off with a group of young milkmaids from down the lane, bearing torches, to collect flowers from the meadows and woods.

Bringing in the May is one of your favorite customs, mostly because it’s practiced by the young people of the town. You don’t have to worry about being watched by the town elders. There’s an air of being chosen by someone; the more popular girls in town get flowers laid on their doorsteps in abundance. You’ve never been left flowers, but each year you hold out hope that someone, anyone, will leave them for you. A gesture– you’re wanted.

There’s music in the air. Groups of young men and women laugh and dance, and the meadows are dotted with the little blooms of fire at the ends of torches as flowers are gathered. You’ve already indulged in a certain amount of floral spring wine and honey cakes, lulling you into a sweetly tipsy, giggly mood. There’s magic in the air– you can taste it in the humidity, the moonshine, the salt of sweat and earth.

“There aren’t enough flowers in the meadow this year,” one of the girls in your group complains, tromping through the high grass.

“This isn’t the only meadow in Havensfield, Victoria,” says another.

“I’ve seen more growing by the trees,” you offer, holding out your basket for one girl to toss a few measly primrose blooms in.

The other girls stop. You look around in the low torchlight at the appalled expressions on their faces.

“You can’t just… go into the woods,” the one named Victoria objects. “There’s… there’s fairies. And wolf-men.”

“Oh, please.” You roll your eyes while the other girls balk. “You can’t honestly tell me that you believe those old wive’s tales. You know the elders only tell those stories to keep us from going into the woods to fuck.”

A few snickers rise up with the smoke from the torch. “It’s true, I saw Katherine Plack sneaking through the woods with Scotty Raker two nights ago,” says a short girl beside Victoria, nodding sagely.

“And what were you doing in the woods, Hyacinth?” the girl holding the torch says, slugging Hyacinth on the shoulder.

The girls dissolve into laughter, while you suck on your lower lip and gaze toward the trees. It can’t be that dangerous, if Eddie claims to come from in there… somewhere. You imagine a cozy little cottage in the woods with a well beside it, tucked away, hidden from town. You imagine him chopping the wood to make it, himself. You imagine his lean frame and strong hands holding an ax, the drawings on his skin highlighted in the filtered sun through the trees as he swings the blade–

“I’m going to go see,” you announce abruptly, your voice nearly cracking. You’re nodding to yourself, looking like an idiot while you fumble to pick the basket up and set it on your hip. “Yep. That’s what I'm going to do. You all can stay here if you want.”

“But, there’s no light,” Victoria insists, pulling her hair back away from her face with a condescending expression.

“Moon’s almost full, I can see just fine,” you snap back. Honestly, what does it matter to her if you go into the woods? “I’ll be back.”

Hyacinth calls something about “girding your loins” after you, but you’re too far away to really pay it any mind. The grass grows taller by the trees, and you hop over the creek into a wide bed of bright yellow marigolds. They wiggle in the slight spring breeze, lit with just enough moonshine for their color to show even in the dark.

“Beat that, Victoria,” you mumble as you set the basket on the ground. Methodically, you begin picking them, choosing the biggest blooms, the ones with the most immaculate petals. You’ll decorate your small cabin with them, and fashion garlands for the town square with the rest.

As you wander over to another bed to collect some more blooms, you hear singing, following the tune being played by the pan flute across the meadow. It’s an old folk song that most of the people in town would know, and you hum along mindlessly as you pick the flowers at your knees.

“As I was a-walking to take the fresh air, The flowers all blooming and gay, I heard a young damsel so sweetly a-singing, Her cheeks like the flowers in May.”

It’s a young man’s voice, coming from somewhere in the trees, low and rich, and quiet enough that you don’t think it’s meant to be heard by anyone else across the meadow. Tipsy, you smile to yourself, not thinking to look for the source of the voice, but just appreciating the sound as it travels on the breeze.

“Said I, ‘Pretty maiden, and how came you here, In the meadows this morning, so soon?’ The maid she replied, ‘Why, to gather some May, For the trees they are all in full bloom.’”

As your fingers stroke along soft flower petals, humming along under your breath, you glance over your shoulder towards the meadow, where flaming torches dance like woodland spirits in the night. Laughter follows the music and the raucous cheering of the other groups of May-goers, dancing and collecting their own greenery and flowers.

The rich, velvety voice filters through the trees, ever quieter, but even closer than before. You look up just in time to see the source of the voice move just beyond the treeline, and then he appears, leaning against the trunk of a great pine, close enough that you can see the deep wine red of his blouse, and the wicked smirk on his lips.

“I said, ‘Pretty maiden, shall I go with you Through the meadows to gather some May?’ ‘Oh no, sir,’ she said, ‘I would rather refuse, For I fear you would lead me astray.’”

You could swear that Eddie’s eyes glow nearly red at you in the moonlight, his teeth sharper than you’ve ever seen them as he grins at you. The lace at his collar is untied, disheveled, falling open to reveal one of the inked pictures on his skin and his dark chest hair.

“Climb any maypoles today, princess?” he asks you after a moment of your staring at him, like you’ve seen a ghost.

The question sets your skin aflame. You sit back on your heels, giving him a caustic expression, despite the way your heart flutters at the sight of him. It’s the eve of May, your lurid mind thinks, tracing his outline among the trees. Anything could happen.

“I thought I told you I never wanted to see you again, Mr. Munson,” you retort, imagining that he won’t be affected by your words in the slightest.

He isn’t. “Ah-ah, you said you hoped that you wouldn’t. But you didn’t toss a coin in the well, therefore, your wish was never going to be granted. Rules of nature, sweetheart.” He wags a finger at you. “And enough with that ‘Mr. Munson’ business. You remember my name, don’t you?”

“Eddie,” you say quietly, not sure why you feel so shy when you do. Probably because, up until now, you’ve been firm in your false belief that you’d never give him the time of day. It seems it all depends on whether or not you’ve seen him shirtless, first.

“Good girl. I knew you were paying attention.” Eddie smirks at you then, sowing the seeds of your detriment right there. He stands poised, and then bows low as he says, “So, pretty maiden, shall I go with you through the meadows to gather some May?”

You consider quoting the song right back to him, but you figure that it’s probably what he expects you to do. So instead, you sigh and shrug your shoulder at him. “As long as you promise not to crush them in your big meaty hands.”

Eddie’s mouth drops open in shock, an impressed smile curling his mouth up at the corners. He barks a laugh. “That’s not how the song goes.”

“Well, the song ends with them kissing and then getting married in the morning,” you point out, with a roll of your eyes. “So, forgive me for not adhering to the lyrics.”

“Also, my hands are not meaty.” He smirks at you ruefully, his face half bathed in moonlight. He leans towards you, “I’ll tell you what is, though–”

“If you’re about to mention your maypole again, I’m leaving,” you snap, glaring at him in the dark. He snickers, but says nothing, instead preferring to start gathering marigolds. “Just how did you manage to find me again, anyways? There are hundreds of people wandering the meadows tonight. How is it that you keep managing to run into me and no one else?”

“Oh, I can sniff you out in a heartbeat, princess. It’s one of my many talents.” The flowers are dwarfed by his hands– his long fingers pinch the stems delicately, offset by the size of the silver rings he wears on them. You admire them, watching them glint in the moonlight, the tendons in his wrist flexing and his skin pulling tight over veins and knuckles. The heavy metal clicks as he works. You’re about to comment on them, when you watch what said fingers are doing with the flowers.

He takes one, and loops the stem around another, creating a loose knot that lets the tails sit alongside each other. He repeats the process slowly, building a chain of bright marigold blooms, while he hums idly and shoots you a heavy look from beneath his lashes. “Ah. So you’re not afraid to look, now. That’s good to know.”

You tear your eyes away. The tips of your ears burn with embarrassment at having been caught staring, yet again. “Have you any shame?”

“Not a hair of it.”

Eddie holds up a finished crown of flowers, grinning at you. He places the circlet of blooms on your head, and as he draws back, tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“And I crowned her my Queen of sweet May,” he sings at you, more of a coo than truly carrying a tune. “The most beautiful one in all the land, of course.”

“From princess to queen,” you muse, trying not to show how quickly your heart is melting. “I’m sure you must think that endears you to me.”

“I’d like to think so,” Eddie admits, leaning ever closer to you. You can see the reflection of the moon in his eyes, glinting vaguely red– you can smell honeyed wine on his breath. His voice drops even lower in register, until it’s just barely above a whisper. “I hope so. Tell me I’m wrong, sweetheart.”

“I think,” you murmur just as quietly, letting your eyes drop indulgently to his parted lips. They’re so plush and inviting, they’re right there. You need only let yourself bend an inch and you could kiss him. You breathe in, “I think…”

Your hand falls softly to the basket of flowers beside you.

“I think your hands are egregiously meaty.”

You lift a handful of marigolds and smash them into his mouth, making him splutter and fall backwards. You cackle, flinging yourself in the opposite direction, scrambling up to run away. You swear you got some of them in his mouth; you can hear him coughing and spitting them at the same time as he laughs.

“I’ll get you for that!” You can hear him leaping up to chase you, and the prospect makes your heart pound in your chest, your blood rushing hot beneath your skin. You’re sure that it will be easy for him to catch you– you’re hoping for it, really.

You duck between the pines and into the trees. “Come sniff me out then, if you must!”

You hear his laugh from behind you, almost sounding dark and menacing. Your hair stands on end, but your feet carry you through the trees, running even though you feel as though you’ve been struck by lightning.

His feet pound the earth behind you, his laughter dancing on the breeze and combining with the music from the meadow. Beyond the trees, your contemporaries dance and make merry with the coming of summer. Here, in the woods, you run from some indeterminate end– one that you have an inkling of, like the barest traces of a memory, but you can’t quite make it out yet.

Eddie’s hands snatch you by the waist, and you yelp. Heat bursts beneath your skin where he touches you through your bodice, whirling you around until your back hits the trunk of a tree.

Your breath catches in your throat, heart pounding, chest heaving. Eddie is so close, and the air around you buzzes with energy and magic, as if the very trees themselves were singing.

“You little minx,” Eddie muses, his voice rumbling low like thunder. “Just need me to chase you, is that it?” His eyes truly do shine red, you don’t think you’re imagining it– each time they catch the light of the moon, or a torch burning far off in the meadow, you see a glimpse of that subtle iridescent red of a forest creature in the dark glinting back at you.

“I think you’re a spirit,” you whisper, the words light and airy in your throat as you try to regain your breath. “I think you’re one of the Fey. You can’t be real.”

Eddie has you caged in against the tree– one hand on the trunk beside your head, one on your hip. You don’t want to be anywhere else. “Oh, I’m very real, sweetheart. Shall I show you how much?”

His forefinger traces the line of your cheekbone, down the side of your face, to your jaw. You want it bad. You want him and anything he’ll give you– throw you to the ground, take you as prey, the lot of it. You won’t be married in the morning, but tonight all things are possible.

You turn your face and drag your lips across his knuckles, half-gone in your desire. You barely even register the look on his face; eyes wide, lips parted in awe, like he’s never seen anything like you before. Like you confound him as much as he confounds you. A match made in heaven.

Eddie catches your jaw in his fingertips, holding you like you’re made of glass, and he crashes down into you. He tastes of cherry wine, as rich and deep as the color of his blouse, which you fist in your hand to tug him closer.

“Please,” you whisper against his lips. It falls like a sigh into his mouth, and his hand tightens on your hip momentarily before gathering your skirts. The fabric flutters as he pulls at them, tugging them up just enough to disappear beneath the hem.

Your breath quickens. His hand makes contact with your thigh and you think, Oh fuck, this is really happening.

Eddie’s finger’s pause on the breadth of your thigh, just above your knee. His forefinger strokes downward, passing over your garter strip and feeling the weave of the silk before he cracks a self-satisfied smirk at you.

“Nice stockings. Get them recently?”

Your eyes narrow with false gravity, your nose scrunching. “I’ll kill you.”

His smirk stretches into a grin, and he scoffs a little laugh that flutters across your lips. It feels like a kiss. “Dying between the legs of my beautiful Queen of May sounds like a good way to go, actually.”

His hand drags hotly up your outer thigh, and the touch nearly burns you to your core. Eddie’s thumb presses against the skin just at the juncture of your leg, and you press your lips together to bite back a moan from coming out. Everything between your legs is tense, and pulsing, and turning feverish the longer he just pets at your skin and tugs your leg up to rest against his hip.

His fingertips dig into the curve of your ass and the moan escapes you; high pitched, needy, embarrassing. You’re hot all over and you feel like you might die if he doesn’t touch you– you have a mind to tell him so, too, when Eddie dips his head and bites at your earlobe.

He dips his finger between your folds, tracing one forefinger up the seam of your cunt, and you swear you could nearly scream. Flesh that is too hot and too sensitive bursts alive with feeling. His finger is drenched, your legs shake just from one touch. Is this what it always feels like?

“Oh, baby,” he coos as you whimper into his neck. His lips move slowly along your skin. Each move of his finger, just teasing you gently, dragging so slowly over your clit that your back arches and you keen long and high. “That’s it. This is what you needed, isn’t it?”

You let out a pitiful squeak, nodding your head like you may explode rather than answer. He strokes you firmly and then gently, watching your face, studying your expressions. It’s so much and it’s not enough, not nearly enough to settle the throbbing in your core.

“Please…” It’s the only thing you can come up with, the word bubbling up out of your throat before you can make it make sense. “Please.”

“‘Please’ what?” Eddie tilts his head. His pale skin nearly glows in the moonlight, the red in his eyes shining for a split second. “Please… here?”

His finger circles your entrance, prodding but never quite dipping in all the way. It’s just enough to make you see stars, just enough to turn you nearly insane.

“Oh my God,” you cry out, fingers digging into his shoulders and gripping at his neck.

Eddie hums, letting you feel the gentle touch for a few more seconds before it’s gone. You could cry. There are tears in your eyes– you could sob, throw a tantrum. You don’t think it would make him change his mind either way.

“My hands are too big, though, aren’t they?” Eddie shakes his head, mirroring your pout in a condescending manner that makes you want to smack him. Then he cracks a smirk, and you know he’s just being mean. “Mhm. Big and meaty. Too much for a sweet little thing like you. I wouldn’t want to break–”

You snatch his wrist through your skirts and bring his hand back between your legs. No preamble, no begging– this time he hisses, and you sigh with relief as you grind down onto not just his fingers, but his entire hand.

“You’re not disappearing on me this time, Munson,” you nearly growl at him. Your tongue lavishes his skin, his long neck providing just the right amount of area for you to indulge in.

“I would have stayed,” he gasps out when your teeth find a particularly tender spot under his jaw. “I’d have stayed if I knew you wanted me to.”

“I want you to,” you say, and you wonder if you’ll regret it in the morning. But the morning seems so far away right now, and his hand feels so good between your legs, and you don’t quite understand how you could regret anything that makes him look at you like that.

“Don’t– You can’t talk to me like that,” he whispers, and his eyes shine like rubies in the night as he gazes at you in awe. “You should know better than that.”

You do know better. But still, you tell him, “Stay,” and it’s like a dam has been broken. You know that you’ll never get rid of him now, and you don’t really want to. You want him to make a home in your chest, right against your heart. You want him to always touch you like this. You want him to always look at you with that same reverent gaze, like he’s just looked upon divinity.

Eddie crowds between your legs and his hand leaves you, but his thigh remains in its place. His leg presses tight to your core, the rough fabric of his trousers not nearly as warm as the touch of his hand, but just as erotic. You rock forward mindlessly against his thigh as he takes your face in his hands– one wet with your arousal– and kisses you breathless. His lips move over yours softly, and then passionately, until you take all that passion and feed it back into him twice over.

You lose track of time. The stroke of his tongue against yours, your hands in his hair, his firm thigh between your legs, all brings you to the edge of oblivion. You squirm against him and he chuckles against your lips. He knows what you want. He’ll give it to you, you know it, you know that he will–

And then a twig snaps. Someone calls your name just through the trees, and then, fucking Victoria breaks through the bushes just in time to see you jump and squeal, having to clutch at Eddie’s shoulders to keep from falling over when he spins around to see who intruded on your precious moment.

“OH! I’m so sorry– I thought–” Victoria fiddles with a long lock of her hair, twisting it idly before tossing it over her shoulder. You’re sure you look disheveled, with Eddie’s crown of marigolds slowly unweaving itself in your hair. It’s obvious to her what you’d been doing– Her eyes rake up and down Eddie’s frame, standing halfway in front of you like a shield, his chest heaving, a dark spot on his trousers where his thigh had been pressed between your legs. “Well, you said you were going to be back, and we thought you’d gone missing…”

“I was in the middle of doing something,” you tell her bluntly.

“Understatement,” Eddie mutters under his breath, and you knock your elbow against his back.

You ignore him. “I thought you didn’t want to go into the woods?”

“Well, that was before we thought you… disappeared.” Victoria looks from you to Eddie. “Who’s this?”

“Something.” Eddie grins at her, sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight breaking through the trees. “Sorry I stole her away from you. We were actually just having a fascinating conversation about when it’s appropriate to disappear– you could join us if you want?”

Eddie glances over his shoulder at you, and smirks a bit at the expression of complete and utter envy on your face. You don’t want anyone to join. You don’t want to share him. You want him all to yourself. You want to grow on him like ivy until no one can see him but you. You want to hold him close to your chest and keep him there for eternity, and then some.

“Oh, no, I–” Victoria blushes. She half-turns, like she wants to run away from the conversation entirely. “I just wanted to let you know that we’ve collected all the flowers we need, so… we’re going back to town. You can stay… if you want.”

You want to throw a fit.

She ducks back into the bushes quickly. Eddie is quiet for a moment, listening to her footsteps through the grass, before he turns to you.

“You were jealous,” he teases, leaning towards you with that stupid self-aggrandizing grin.

Your face grows hot with anger and embarrassment. “You did that on purpose.” You shove him bodily, so that he stumbles a bit to the side, and he snickers. “I can’t believe you. She could have said yes to that.”

“Nah, she was too bashful. I knew she wasn’t gonna take me up on the offer. She wandered into something she wasn’t ready for.” Eddie leans up against a tree, smiling at you with a more resigned expression now. He looks you over, like he wants to burn the image of your kiss-bitten lips and rumpled dress into his memory. After a moment, he meets your eye again. “You should go. Get some sleep before the festival tomorrow.”

“But I–” You flounder. You just made so much progress, and now you’re just back where you began. You shouldn’t be proud about it now– not after he nearly took you to pieces with a single touch. Not when you can still feel the sharp edge of an orgasm pressing at your core, wanting to force its way out but with no way to get there now, and every look at him makes it press that much harder. “You know what– I don’t even know what I expected.”

You march off towards the tree line. You have to find your fucking flower basket. You have to go and make garlands and slap together some bouquets for the festival tomorrow. You have to pretend like you aren’t dying inside from the disappointment.

“Princess.” You turn to him. He isn’t smiling anymore, he just looks disappointed as well. He glances up at the moon, and then back to you. “It’s a full moon tomorrow. Best not to go near the woods, okay?”

“Don’t tell me you believe in those stupid wolf-man stories, too,” you snap, beyond aggravated.

“Just promise me,” Eddie bites back, his eyes shining dangerously in the moonlight. “Promise me that you’ll stay in town. Don’t come near the woods. Drink, be merry, have a good time.”

“And you?” You feel a bit humiliated and desperate, vying for his time and attention– but you want it. You want it, you want him, more than anything, but you have a feeling you won’t be getting what you want, yet again. “What about you?”

“I’ll find you,” he says firmly, and then lowers his eyes. Softly, he amends, “I’ll always come back to you.”

#i'm inordinately proud of this one uhh #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #werewolf!eddie munson #werewolf!eddie #werewolf!eddie munson x reader #stranger things #roses*

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dudeitiskarev · 2 days

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Maybe Someday | Ch. 1

A Spencer Reid mini series

Chapter summary: After seventeen years, you show up in Spencer’s life. Or rather, he comes and find you.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x female reader

Rating: M

Tags/warnings: 4x7 spoilers; mentions of suicide; reader is a sex worker.

Word count: 1.7k

Author’s note: my beloved secret Spencer series is coming to light 🥹 she’s been mine for two years and I decided it was time to wrap it up and share it. This is the first chapter of 13 (+ and epilogue) and chapters are around 800 words to 3k so it should be an easy read! I hope you like this first part and I’d love to know what you think! Mwahhh

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

When a case unlocked memories in Spencer’s gifted brain, he expected everything to go as he suspected: so wrong.

It didn't quite go wrong. He got the answers he needed, but not the ones he truly wanted. He was wrong about everything, something he wasn’t used to.

The good thing was that his father wasn’t a murderer after all, and at least it was over.

Or almost over.

Thirteen minutes until midnight and the only reason Derek and Rossi agreed to drive Spencer to the darkest alley in Las Vegas was Garcia’s fault.

"Are you sure about this, Reid?” Morgan asked, turning on the SUV blinkers and glancing at Spencer through the rearview mirror.

“I really wish you’d stop asking me that.” Spencer unbuckled his seatbelt, ready to step out of the car.

Derek sounded like a broken record by now.

“Look, kid, we’re just trynna’ help.” He softened his voice. “Case is over. You can let it go now.”

The Riley Jenkins case was, in fact, over. Although letting it go was the last thing Spencer could do when last-minute Garcia filled him in about a person that wasn’t really involved in the case, but was connected to it to some extent: you.

“We don’t even know if she’s gonna be here,” Morgan continued. “She could be dead by now.”

“Yeah, and being here is the only way I could find out.”

Rossi had never seen Spencer like this, so he had to ask, “What’s with the sudden interest?"

"I don't know." Spencer lowered his tone.

All he knew was that there were more memories he needed to unlock, even if they led to something he would’ve been better off without knowing.

“Alright.” Derek raised his perfect brows in defeat. “We'll stay here. Call us if you need anything."

“And make it quick,” Rossi added. “Or else we’ll miss our flight.

"I will.” Spencer stepped out of the car, looked both ways, and jogged his way to the other side of the street—determined to find you.

According to Penelope’s recent discovery, you were related to the molester—Gary Michaels—and that fact was enough reason for Spencer to extend his stay for a few more hours. He just needed to know if you were okay. Alive.

“Look at that, neighbor,” Garcia had teased him during the phone call that morning. “She used to live five houses away from you.”

Images of a girl came to him as soon as Penelope said your name. You used to wear red shoes to school and… that’s all he knew. All he remembered.

He tried to dig up some more memories while his long steps took him to the street where he somehow knew he’d find you.

And he was right.

There you were, standing alone in a corner, pulling your jacket and purse close to your body. It was chilly, and your clothes barely covered any skin. You looked exactly how he thought you'd look after all these years—17 to be exact.

Same features, just… more grown.

Every word he knew flew away with the soft breeze of the night. You were alive, and he smiled to himself at the thought of you being more than a forgotten memory now.

He brushed his hair out of his forehead and hesitated whether to walk up to you and ask you how you’ve been or if he simply should be satisfied with knowing you were still skin and bones and let it all go.

He paced back and forth for a whole minute, thinking about the pros and cons of a still hypothetical conversation with you.

"It's $300 an hour, pretty boy." Your sweet voice blared around the empty street. “Only handjobs.”

Spencer looked around to see who you were talking to. There was no one else.

It was so foreign to hear someone other than Morgan calling him a pretty boy. More so when you didn’t even turn around to actually think he was a pretty boy or not.

He slowly made it closer to you with both hands inside his pockets. "Uh, I don't—” Spencer cleared his voice once he was a few steps away. “I'm not looking for—"

"Then leave me alone.” You were quick to cut him off. “I'm working."

Oh.

He reached for his badge and flipped it open even when you hadn’t bothered to turn around. “I’m with the FBI, is it okay if I ask you a few questions?”

Your body froze for a moment but didn’t turn to give him a single glance.

“Look, I already talked to the cops. If this is about Trent and his stupid–”

“It’s about your uncle. Gary Michaels.” Spencer cut you off with the softest voice.

Your body stiffened, and after a moment, you finally turned to him, giving him your full attention. "What about him?"

Spencer gulped at the way you reacted—at the clearer sight of your face, too. Furrowed brows, clenched jaw, incredibly pretty, and the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen—he was sure his heart skipped a beat.

He swallowed thickly again before asking while wringing his hands. “How close were you two?”

“We weren’t. Why?”

“They found the remains of his body.”

Your only response was an audible breath that slipped through the twitch of a smile.

It was relief.

“Thanks for letting me know.” You nodded politely.

That smile seemed to be the end of the conversation but he didn’t want it to be over yet. “I heard about your brother, too,” he then blurted out.

You scoffed as if he’d told you the funniest joke. “Is that what you’re bringing up to keep the conversation going? My dead brother?”

Another brave step brought him face-to-face with you. “I heard that they found some letters from him.”

“Sorry?” You raised your brows as your eyes widened.

“Letters. Handwritten letters. They’re sti–”

“I don’t wanna know, alright?” You cut him off, lifting your palm and signaling him to stop talking. “I don’t need that. He made his decision years ago and I… I don’t need that.”

He said your name to get your attention once more, but every time he opened his mouth, he got closer and closer to setting off a grenade.

“What is this? Some interrogation?” You raised your tone. “Who even are you?”

"I'm Spencer Reid.”

Your face softened as soon as he said his name—like he’d pinned back in the grenade—enough reason for him just to keep talking.

“I’m pretty sure we were neighbors when we were kids,” he added.

You arranged your features to your already usual frown and stared as you said, “I remember you.”

You did?

“What do you want from me, Spencer?" You then added.

What did Spencer want? There wasn’t anything else to solve.

"How have you been?" He merely asked.

You forced a smile and looked away for a second. “Better now that I know Gary’s dead.” Then you turned to him again and stared again, this time with curious eyes. “How did he die? Exactly?” You tilted your head.

“He was beaten to death.” He raised his brows.

“Was that… recent?”

“No, it happened years ago.” He gulped for the eighth time before adding, “Let me ask you this, did he ever do anything to you? Or your brother?”

“I don’t see how that matters now.” You looked down.

“He’s dead, but he’s still under investigation. So we’re still gathering information about him.”

You hummed, shaking your head. “He barely even talked to me, thank god. He only liked boys. He really, really liked my brother.”

“I see.” Spencer narrowed his eyes.

Silence filled the space between you and him. It seemed as if memories were flashing right before your eyes.

“We lived with our grandma,” you began. “And when she heard about how his son was a child molester, she, uh, she killed herself. She couldn’t bear being responsible for such things,” You said, looking into the void.

And then you lost your brother in the same way.

Spencer’s chest tightened.

"What happened after?” He asked.

“No one wanted to look after us. We were troubled kids, so we ended up in an orphanage. Curtis was two years younger than me. He hung himself before turning sixteen. He’d been depressed since we were kids and I guess he couldn’t do it anymore. And I couldn’t keep living in the same place my brother died so one night I… just ran away.”

Spencer assumed you’ve been on your own ever since, and the tough shell you put out into the world was there to protect the little girl with red shoes.

“That’s all the information I have. I don’t know what else you need to know but you won’t find it with me.” You sighed. “So if you’re done, please leave. You’re scaring away my customers.”

A car passed slowly in front of you. By the look on the man’s face, he needed the service you provided and Spencer would stay next to you all night if it meant you’d be safe from those kinds of men.

There was something about you being all alone that didn’t feel right.

“I can help you get out,” he said.

You laughed. You really laughed then. You had a cute, contagious laugh. Spencer’s lips tugged at the corners into a small smile.

“You’re cute.” You wiped a fake tear off the corner of your eye. “I don’t know what makes you think I want to get out.”

“I can see it in your eyes.”

“Oh, really?” You stood right in front of him with a challenging stance. “What do you see in my eyes?”

Everything about you was intimidating—from your eyes to your voice, even the way you blinked—and yet he wasn’t phased by it, or he didn’t let it show, at least.

“That you don’t wanna be here. That your family failed you. And if you were given the chance, you’d leave this place.”

“My eyes tend to lie a lot.” You raised your brows, scanning his face up and down. “I’m a good liar.”

“I’m sure you are, but they’re not lying to me.”

You scoffed, breaking the staring contest. “Look, I appreciate whatever you’re trying to do here but it’s not working. Just leave me the hell alone, alright?”

He couldn’t fight you anymore, but that didn’t mean he was going to give up easily.

“Call me if you need anything, okay?” He reached for his wallet and took out a presentation card, handing it to you. “Anything at all.”

You stared at it for a moment before accepting it. He gave you a tight-lipped smile and took a few steps backward, waving goodbye.

Something about the way your hand shook when you took the card told him he had to miss the flight and stay for another night.

I hope you liked this first chapter! I’d love to know what you think! Comments and feedback are much appreciated 😊

Next chapter one-sentence teaser👀:

(…)

“Spencer?” Your soft sob woke up all of his senses. “I’m a good liar and I lied earlier. I do need… to get out.”

(…)

I’m planning on posting 2 to 3 chapters a week depending on the engagement it gets 🥰

#Spencer Reid #spencer reid x reader #Spencer Reid x female reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid self insert #Spencer Reid x you #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x fanfiction

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short-yandere-stories · 2 days

Text

Based on this tumblr post by @thecuriousquest because I couldn't get the scenario out of my head.

:✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:

TW: Forced imprisonment, mentions of punishments, Nanami uses his cursed technique (on an inanimate object), violence, reader being scared of Nanami etc. mentions of attempted murder, SFW.

:✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:

Follow the Rules

:✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:

“...What are you doing?” The low baritone voice suddenly coming from the door to the apartment made you jump, almost losing your balance in your hurry to look as inconspicuous and non-guilty as you could. You snapped your head around so fast to turn to look at your returning captor with wide, surprised eyes so fast that you swore you could feel the vertebrae in your neck crack.

You hadn’t heard the locks unlatch as the keys were turned or heard the door open. Despite being a decent apartment, the door always made a noise when it was opened past a third of the way. You’d been too engrossed in your escape-attempt to hear it. Usually you were on high alert from the time that Nanami usually returned home from work and onwards. You never knew when he had to work overtime in advance, so most late afternoons and evenings were spent nervously looking between the clock and the door, hoping it would never open.

It had been foolish to try to escape at this hour, you knew that, but you couldn’t help yourself when you’d randomly stumbled upon the weird handle-shaped key that the window needed to twist open when you’d been reorganizing a cupboard in your boredom. It had taken far too long to figure out what it was for, and when the clock passed the usual time Nanami usually showed up, you’d thrown caution to the wind and hoped that he would be held up by work for a long time.

You didn’t need to see his eyes behind his tinted sunglasses to know the disappointment they held as he stared at you from the now open door. Without a word, he sat his brown briefcase down on the floor next to him before closing and locking the door.

When he turned to face you again, smoothing out his suit, the displeasure was clear on his face. You remained frozen, like a deer caught in headlights as he glared at you. In a way, the analogy wasn’t too far-fetched. You were cornered just like prey in the face of a far more powerful predator.

“I said, what are you doing?” Nanami repeated, jaw set in a taut line. He was clearly not happy that he had to repeat himself.

Finally, your body kicked into action and you jerked back and away from the halfway open window as if it had given you an electric shock. There was little point to the action, however. The damage had already been done -- he’d seen you by the window, foot on the windowsill and ready to crawl out. There was no easy way to explain it away to soothe his anger.

At the very least, you had jerked away from the window instead of trying to quickly dive out through it. He would most likely have caught up with you before you could even make it all the way out, dragging you back inside. That would have no doubt infuriated him even further.

Nanami began walking towards you with slow, calculating steps, never once looking away from you. Immediately, your hands flew up in front of you, trying to clear the air as you began to stutter out an apology, an excuse -- anything you could manage to get out.

“I-I’m sorry! It was just so warm today and I just wanted some fresh air!” Both you and Nanami knew it was a blatant and pathetic lie. If you’d just wanted some fresh air, why would you have been standing with your foot perched on the windowsill, attempting to squeeze your body through the opening you’d created? Besides, Nanami knew exactly where the key had been hidden away, and there was no way you would have been able to get the window open without it.

He had to give you credit for managing to not only find it, but also figure out what it was and where to use it. It would seem that he had to move even more items to the storage unit in the basement of the apartment that he was renting. It would be a bother to have to walk down there for even more things as he already had to go there to fetch knives for cooking for example, but it couldn’t be helped. You clearly couldn’t be trusted with much.

Nanami’s frown deepened at your words as he approached. He never liked it when you lied, and had even gone as far as to make that one of the rules in your little “household”. Now, not only had you tried to escape, but broken yet another rule he’d set.

Panicked tears formed in the corners of your eyes as the realization of what you’d just said sunk in. You couldn’t stop your body from beginning to tremble as you began to realize how much trouble you were in.

Nanami was a very strict captor, and didn’t hesitate to mete out punishments when deemed necessary when you averted from his wishes or broke any of his rules. You’d broken a lot of them before, especially at the beginning of your imprisonment, though you’d never done anything this out of line before, and most of the punishments you’d received had made you try your hardest to stick to the rules.

A few were easier than others to follow, especially when punishments had resulted in the removal of certain items from the apartment, such as the time when you’d tried to stab him with a knife that you’d snuck back to the bedroom with you. It was easy to follow the rule of “don’t try to attack Nanami” when there were no weapons to do so with.

The harder rules to follow were the ones that demanded physical contact and affection. Nanami had a twisted view of the relationship the two of you had, and wanted it to feel and seem like you two were a regular couple. This included things like sleeping in the same bed, kissing Nanami on the cheek in the morning before he headed off to work, and telling him that you loved him.

Nanami did not particularly enjoy punishing you, nor hurting you, but he knew that a firm hand was needed to make you follow the rules he set. After the punishment, you’d rarely disobeyed again, so clearly his method was providing the result he wanted.

You had never seen Nanami this angry. You almost wanted him to scream at you in fury instead of this calm, cold anger he was displaying. It was unlike any reaction he’d had to anything you’d tried to do, and that scared you to no end. You didn’t want to know what kind of punishment awaited you this time. You’d broken multiple rules, and big, important rules at that. There was no way he was going to go easy on you no matter what you said.

Still trembling, you dashed towards the bathroom with tears flowing down your cheeks in an attempt to postpone the inevitable. Your bare feet clattered against the wooden floor as you stumbled away, yet you didn’t hear Nanami’s pace pick up.

Breathing heavily, you jerked the door open, slamming it shut behind you as soon as you made it through. You caught a glimpse of Nanami still walking towards you at the same pace as before, slowly stalking towards the bathroom door. Somehow, that was infinitely scarier than if he would have ran after you, trying to stop you from locking yourself away.

But really, was there a reason for him to run after you? There was nowhere you could truly escape from him in the apartment. He was a man of near-endless patience, and he knew that this was but a temporary setback, another minor inconvenience to deal with that would ultimately lead to the same end result.

With shaking fingers, you somehow managed to twist the flimsy bathroom lock into a locked position, thanking the heavens that Nanami hadn’t removed the lock from the door when he’d decided to let you roam the apartment freely during the day while he was at work instead of keeping you chained up in the bathroom.

You knew, just as well as he did, that the lock wouldn’t keep him out for long. You knew that he would get to you no matter what you did, but you were desperate to delay that as much as you possibly could.

Blindly, you crawled into the bathtub, gathering your knees to your chest in an embrace in the darkness. Turning the lights on had been the furthest from your mind when you’d closed the door. The cold of the porcelain dug into your bare skin where it connected, but even that did little to take your mind off the paralyzing fear you felt.

You felt too cold and too hot at the same time. The blue shirt Nanami had made you wear was huge on you, but it still felt like the collar was suffocating you as you rocked back and forth, desperately trying to get air into your lungs in between panicked sobs.

“I-I’m sorry,” you sobbed, clutching your hair in your hands, trying to let the burn you felt in your scalp ground you. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m sorry,” you whimpered, words becoming mumbled and sounding like little more than garbled noise against your knees.

The handle of the door turned, and then you heard Nanami sigh outside the door when it didn’t give way. He said your name, disappointment evident in his tone. “I’m giving you one chance, and one chance only to open the door,” he said with finality.

You shook your head despite knowing he couldn’t see it. “No,” you gasped, tears running down your cheeks as your body shook.

Nanami growled your name again, but even if you wanted to open the door, you wouldn’t trust your body to be able to carry you over there. “I can’t” you whimpered. You didn’t want to be anywhere near Nanami. You wanted to be back at home, living your life the way you had before Nanami had set his eyes on you.

Even if you didn’t know that he was a Jujutsu sorcerer, he was still both taller than and stronger than you were. The door was hardly an obstacle for him. Such a flimsy lock could easily be kicked in with hardly any trouble.

The now-familiar sound of Nanami loosening his tie cut through the silence, and you hugged your trembling knees tighter to your body. The logical thing to do would be to unlock the door before you exhausted whatever remaining patience the man had, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do so despite how terrified you were of the impending punishment.

When you were alone and closed your eyes, you could envision yourself being somewhere else. Somewhere far away from the man who kidnapped you. You could be sitting in a completely different bathtub back home in your own apartment as long as you kept your eyes closed and thought hard enough.

Though even your own thoughts gave you little respite as Nanami once again spoke up, catching your attention by calling your name. “Open the door.” It wasn’t a request.

Stubbornly clinging to whatever misplaced feeling of at least partial freedom you felt by not being face-to-face with him, you gasped out another “No!” hoping beyond hope that he would just leave it alone and leave you alone. You could spend the night sleeping in the bathtub, curled up among bunched up towels, and only leaving the bathroom when you knew he was at work. Alas, that was not to be.

You couldn’t help the shriek that escaped your lips as Nanami’s fist, wrapped in his tie punched straight through the wooden door. Splinters flew through the air, clattering against the tiles, and you buried your face in your knees to protect it from the sharp shrapnel.

Calmly, Nanami uncurled his fist, feeling around blindly for the lock until his fingers brushed against it. With a ‘click’ that felt deafening, the door was unlocked. Slowly, it slid open, revealing Nanami’s silhouette, backlit by the lights in the living room. It painted a menacing picture that made you let out a whimper as you curled in even further on yourself, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

“I asked you to open the door,” Nanami said, unwinding the tie from around his hand. “You refused, making me use my cursed technique, and now I need to buy a new door.” You could hear the frown in his voice, but the prospect of having to replace the door was the least of your worries.

A finger curled below your chin, forcing your teary eyes to meet his. “It seems like someone needs to be reminded of the rules we have here, wouldn’t you say so, dear?”

:✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:

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homeofthelonelywriter · 15 hours

Text

Playground

(A/N) Once again tried to capture a more silly side of this franchise. Hope you like it!

Pairing: Simon x Reader (no Y/N)

Warning: mentions of alcohol, Reader and Soap being drunk little idiots

Synopsis: When will they learn that alcohol, Soap and you aren't a good combo?

“Where did those two idiots run off to again?”

Price sighed, annoyance mixed with a bit of concern clear on his face. Simon on the other hand was hiding a small smile under his mask. After all, by now they should really now better. Leaving you and Soap alone? In a bar? With alcohol? Grave mistake. And to be honest, Simon had learned.

While everyone was packed in the car on their way to the bar, he had slipped a GPS tracker into your pocket, knowing that it’d probably come in handy at some point during the night. So, while Price was looking around, he just lazily pulled out his phone and opened the app that was connected to the tracker.

“They are three blocks away on the playground.”

Price looked up, one of his brows raised.

“Have you finally implanted them with a tracker?”

Simon chuckled and shook his head, instead admitting that he slipped you one during the car ride. As the older man chuckled in surprise, they began to make their way to your location, leaving Gaz in the bar. It didn’t take them long to reach the two of you, and what they saw didn’t really surprise them.

While you were sitting on a swing, going almost high enough to make a loop, Soap was on top of a slide. But he was not sitting down, instead, he held onto the bar, took a few steps back, and then rushed towards it, trying to duck underneath, but he just ended up hitting his forehead and falling down the slide. This sight immediately made you laugh and in your amusement, you let go of the chains on either side of you, plummeting off the swing and landing on your back.

By then, the two men were close enough to hear the quiet ‘oof’ escaping your lips as you made contact with the padded ground. Simon couldn’t help but chuckle as he gazed at your form, lying on the ground, a defeated look on your face. But as soon as he stepped up to you, your eyes lit up and a bright smile spread on your lips.

“Si!”

You had yelled his name loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear, making him roll his eyes. But with the way you were looking at him, he couldn’t be mad.

“What are you doing on the ground, sweetheart?”

Of course, he knew exactly why you were lying there, specks of dirt in your hair.

“Fell.”

You started to pout, making the man above you smirk. You were adorable as a drunk. But he would never admit how much he loved you…like that of course. Not in general. Simon doesn’t do love, of course, he doesn’t. Who do you think he is? He-

His thoughts stopped instantly as you reached up with both hands, making a grabbing motion in his direction. With a quiet sigh, he reached down, thinking that you’d want him to help you up. But instead, you used the surprise and all of your strength to pull him down beside him. As his heavy body hit the ground right beside you, a loud grunt escaped his lips.

If it was anyone else - hell even if it was Johnny - he would properly curse them out, but your quiet giggling immediately calmed him down again. He glanced at you, your eyes were pressed closed as tears escaped from the corner, while your mouth was open, trying to inhale. You were a sight to behold. And Simon immediately burned it into his brain, wanting to always remember you like that.

“Well, she got you Lt.”

Price had by now helped Soap to his feet and was holding him by the scruff of his neck. Simon nodded and sighed as he fully laid down.

“You two go on ahead, we’ll meet you at the bar later.”

Price nodded, quickly dragging the Scotsman away, while he complained about why you were allowed to stay. Both of you watched the two walk away until they were out of sight. Once you were alone, you turned to look at Simon, a soft smile on your face.

“Hi.”

Simon turned his head, his own smile, as per usual, hidden.

“Hi there.”

With a grin, you rolled onto your side and hugged the Lieutenant, laying your head on his chest. Simon knew that you were drunk and that that was probably the only reason you were behaving like that, but he still couldn’t keep his heart from beating quicker and his cheeks from heating up.

“You okay?”

You nodded against the hoodie covering his chest and sighed in contentment, enjoying his presence. Slowly, as if afraid to scare you, Simon wrapped his arm around you, pulling you even closer. You spent a few minutes like this, just lying there and enjoying each other’s presence. Until you got an idea. A few feet away, there was a basket swing and you just had to drag Simon there.

So, you quickly scrambled to your feet, more or less elegant, and reached out to drag Simon up as well. Not that you could actually do that without his help. But you once again had that spark in your eyes and Simon knew that in that moment, he would do whatever you asked of him. But you didn’t even say anything, just pointed at the swing and dragged him over, before pushing him to lay down in it.

It was uncomfortable, to say the least, but you quickly got the swing in motion, before scrambling on top of Simon and laying down again. As if you cuddling into his side earlier wasn’t enough for one day, you lying down on top of him, as if it’s the most natural thing in the entire world, made him think he was about to have a heart attack.

But you just relaxed against his body, closed your eyes as your head rested just above his heart. And as the swing gently swayed back and forth, you slowly fell asleep.

A few hours later

As soon as Simon heard the familiar walking pattern, he knew that he was saved. You had fallen asleep about two hours ago and since then, he had not dared to move a muscle. He had lost all feeling in his legs and his back was screaming in pain, but he didn’t want to disturb you, so he stayed still.

“Would you look at that.”

Simon rolled his eyes as he heard his Captain’s booming laughter fill the air, chuckles from the others in the background. But as you started to shit, he carefully raised his head to shush at them, not wanting you to wake up. After the rest of the team had gotten their fill of chuckles and pictures, some Simon would want send to him afterward, they finally helped. Gaz and Price carefully lifted you, while Soap helped the poor man to his feet. It took a few minutes for Simon to start walking properly again, but as soon as he was steady, he insisted on carrying you back to the car.

Once the team had reached the base, Simon carried you to your room and quickly changed your clothes, so you would be more comfortable during the night. He also grabbed a bottle of water, as well as some painkillers, and placed them on your nightstand before carrying over his mattress, pillows, and blanket and placing everything beside your bed. He wanted to be there if you needed anything during the night.

Now

Price lowered the microphone from his lips and grinned at you and Simon. While you were laughing hard enough for tears to escape your eyes, your husband was a blushing mess beside you. When he had asked Price to be his best man, that was not what he had expected.

The rest of the wedding guests were also laughing, but before Price could continue his speech, Simon grabbed the mic and turned it off, instead yelling to the DJ that it was time for the first dance. You chuckled as he pulled you to your feet and out onto the dancefloor.

The lights quickly dimmed and a beautiful slow song started playing as the two of you started softly swaying.

“Goddamnit.”

You giggled and gently stroked Simon’s cheek, which felt way too warm underneath your fingers.

“You basically asked for this, you know?”

He grumbled something before hiding his face in your neck, placing soft kisses there. You shivered under his touch and tried to pull him away from your skin, warning that everyone was looking. He pulled back, a mischievous grin on his lips.

“So what?”

Before you could answer, he hoisted you up and threw you over his shoulder, before running out of the room and searching until he found the utility closet. You were giggling the whole time, waving as the curious eyes of your guests followed the two of you. Simon gently sat you down on a random table and moved to stand between your legs.

You grinned up at him, before pulling him down and crashing your lips to his. What can you say? The guests would be able to entertain themselves for half an hour. Right?

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Call of Duty - Masterlist

Master-Masterlist

#ghost #ghost x reader #ghost fanfiction #ghost cod #cod #cod fanfiction #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon riley #ghost simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #fanfiction

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yvesntul · 13 hours

Text

abby anderson x reader ୨୧ ♡

18 + minors dni , fingering , use of pet names , reader is unexperienced , lesbians only ty

i don’t rlly take requests cs i don’t write to please any of y’all but i got a request like this n i rlly liked the idea but i don’t know where the ask went ( ? ) cs it literally disappeared on me .. but it was pretty recent so i hope it gets to u anon

she’s watching you, studying you actually. as a best friend, her last thought was for her to ever have you here in this situation, back against her chest, body begging for more while her fingers slowly plunged into you, her other hand caressing your thigh. not only was this the process of a learning experience for you, but for her aswell.

she was able to see your language, how you reacted to specific things she did, slow things to navigate your body. ‘ what was it that made you come to me for this y/n ? what makes me so worthy to you ? ‘ she quizzed at you, you could swear you heard her smile through her words. she’s resting her head on your shoulder, smalls huffs leaving past your lips as you got used to what she was having you take.

‘ because i trust you. ‘ and you really did. abby’s the only person you’d known for so long since childhood, it just never came to you that you would ask her what sex was like and next thing you knew she was guiding you to the maximum that she could give you, for now at least. you could feel the pressure of another finger slowly inching it’s way in, waiting for some sort of green light.

‘ yeah ? you think you could trust me to do this too ? ‘ she asks, pushing that one other finger in as gently as she could. ‘ sh-shit abby ! ‘ you wanted her to stuff you entirely. clenching your eyes shut and whining at the temporary pain. ‘ shh that’s it, you’re doing so good angel, being such a good girl .. ‘ that opened you up more. able to get better access to you, abby’s fingers moving together as one eventually became pleasurable.

the uncomfortable feeling had subsided and somehow turned into an eye rolling, spine twisting pressure against your core. her fingers were slowly, but surely, jabbing into your pussy, a small creamy noise following behind her movements as the wetness of you makes it easier for her to get around. ‘ fuuuck, abs .. right there— ‘ you could barely maintain pulling a full sentence from your brain, but luckily for you, you didn’t need to say a word. abby could feel every little thought or emotion through your pussy.

the way your walls naturally open up for her, giving her the opportunity to find that perfect spot. it was like you were made for this exact moment to happen, made for her. ‘ oh she’s needy .. thinkin’ maybe i should move a little faster, don't you ? least i wanna do is make you cum, baby. ‘ she says this as if it’s a promise, and to be honest, she was pretty close to achieving that promise. the sound of your whines and the squirms of your hips were enough to tell her to pick up speed.

and that’s exactly what she does.

abby plunges her fingers in and out of you, poking at what she was certain was your g-spot. every time she’d hit it with her fingertips, there was another whimper leaving your mouth. ‘ i feel you tightin’ up, you wanna cum ? ‘ tauntingly, she asks this as if you weren’t already on the brink of tears, ‘ don’t fight yourself, let it go. ‘ abby’s hand is moving rapidly, automatically making your legs spread further open. now, she was really there, and so were you. the knot in your stomach that's been there this whole time was starting to unravel.

you rest your head firmly against her shoulder. ‘ abby it feels so fuckin’ good, please don’t stop— ‘ you could only plead, ‘ i won’t, baby. i’m right here, i feel you, just let me have it. ‘ her encouragement works and she reels you in. you feel your stomach contracting as your heart starts to race. abby sits you up straight, keeping your weakened body from falling over while she keeps working your pussy. ‘ abby, abby, abby i’m really close ! ‘ you shout and her fingers curl upwards, creating a distinct squelching sound and you claw onto whatever you could find — that being the same arm between your legs.

‘ cum for me. cum for me, come on angel. ‘ out of nowhere, you release, and all over her hand, at that. your eyes are wandering, seeing blank spots trickling the ceiling as you cum on both abby’s fingers and your mattress. ‘ there you fuckin’ go baby, i got you. ‘ she pumps you some more before slowly pulling her fingers out, leaving a stringed trail of your cum to follow them. there was enough on her for both you and her to get a little taste — but she needed to know you were okay first. you were reclined against his chest still, eyes closed with your exhales being rather hoarse.

abby wraps both arms around you, hugging you from behind as she kisses the top of your scalp repeatedly, ‘ i’m so proud of you, yn. you did great – so, fuckin’ great. ‘ your head is still in a slight daze, and although your vision had come back, you hadn’t yet gained the full consciousness to realize what the hell just happened. abby just fingered you. plan was your best friend comes in, she teaches you, she leaves, that’s it. so why did you want to remain snuggled into her arms ? why did you want her to kiss you to sleep after coming down from that life changing orgasm ?

did you want .. abby ?

#abby x reader #abby anderson x reader #tlou #the last of us #wlw #lesbian

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ninzied · 13 hours

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this is the start

in which henry’s face gives him away. or, a canon au: they were secretly together the whole time. based on this beautiful piece by @shirmirart.

It starts in Rio, with one stolen glance.

They’ve met and they’ve parted, with little hope of being friends based on Shaan’s assessment (said, diplomatically, “I think he may have heard you, Your Highness” as he’s guiding Henry away).

Henry is mortified. He actively avoids Alex Claremont-Diaz after that, ducking out early from parties, affecting a headache at one of the finals when he sees Alex three rows away.

He slips up exactly once, at an outdoor event where Alex is smiling into the sun, and for one single moment, Henry lets himself want.

He hadn’t thought Alex had noticed.

“Thank you for the etiquette lesson,” Alex drawls at Philip’s wedding years later.

Henry says through the smile he’s put on, “Must you insist on being this incorrigible?”

“Always, Your Majesty.” Alex puts an especially delighted emphasis on the words. “Careful, or people might start to think you actually like it.”

Henry blushes even more furiously than before. Yet another part of his heritage to lament. “They would be mistaken, of course.”

“Of course.” Alex takes a studied sip of his drink. “You want to get out of here?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

They’ve barely made it behind the first available door when Alex gets his hands on him.

“We really—” gasps Henry “—ought to stop meeting like this.”

Alex mouths at his neck, just lightly enough to not leave a mark. “Then you gotta stop looking at me like that, baby.”

“Like what?” Henry clutches his tie and pulls closer. Like he doesn’t already know.

“Like you did in Rio.” Alex kisses him, and every time feels like the first, hushed but desperate. Hidden but sacred. “You know what that does to me.”

Henry does. And he already knows he will never stop looking at Alex that way.

also on ao3.

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #rwrbedit #rwrbsource #rwrb fic #firstprince #firstprince fic #rwrb fanfic #firstprince fanfic #iuserzoe #chrissiewatts #usernuria #userveronika #usergayppl #usersteen #just me being obsessed with the way henry's looking at him that's all

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heiayen · 2 days

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gently wipe the sorrow off my life, i dream scaramouche x gn!reader

summary: "you didn’t know what happened, why it happened and that was breaking your heart, cutting it open, leaving burning pain in your chest, where once flowers of love bloomed." you're surprised and completely heartbroken when your lover, kunikuzushi, suddenly disappears without a trace. you think it's the end of the world, with your heart open and bleeding but soon you discover, that there is still happiness waiting for you.

tags: based on the prompt "there’ll be happiness after you but there was happiness because of you", scara's real name used, modern au (from highschool to college), scara basically pulls an irminsul but why? blame dottore angst/bittersweet, [name] is very much going through it </3 title name taken from the honkai star rail song "if i can stop one heart from breaking". not proofread

notes: hi. i come back with angst! written for @thexianzhoujade's personal memoires event and truthfully i kinda hate this fic HAJAHS but this is fine i am not fine blah blah blah yippee. i forgot how to write scara so sorry if this fic is kinda ooc but yeahhh have fun enjoy !! <3 as if anyone is going to enjoy angst LMAO

“Come on, it’s just one photo and besides, we barely have pictures of us…”

“...just one, fine. Get in here.”

A part of you wished you had taken more pictures with him. Pictures from dates in the blooming parks, from hangouts with your friends after school, from spending time together at his place, something to fill up the empty photo album you found hidden in your room. You filled only a few pages, with a few pictures of you and Kunikuzushi, of you taken by your friends, of your family during holidays, pictures of you and your friends, his friends, a picture of him you took when he didn’t see– the one you considered putting in your wallet, laughing how you’d look like a spouse missing their husband.

(You counted exactly six photos of him in your album, compared to the twenty or so with others. Barely a quarter, not even a half, barely a page and a half of the album.)

You moved your fingers over one of them, the one you took after graduation– laughing with your friends, posing at the camera, tightly holding his hand, and tugging him closer, and wondered.

Did it have to end like this? If you only knew what was happening, would you somehow fix it in time?

Things were… nice, before. Being with him was nice, even if his personality sometimes made you tug at your hair in annoyance. But you found a common language and spoke in it till the very end, sharing your joy and sadness, annoyance and anger, silent tears and gentle fluttering in your chests.

When you first met Kunikuzushi in school, you had your opinions about him– he wasn’t the nicest, wasn’t talking with many other students, and seemingly valued his time alone more than with someone. You understood it, some people simply weren’t the social butterflies but it became a problem when, by some unlucky charm (at least, you thought it was unlucky then), you ended up together to work on a project. You didn’t know him and your teacher decided to pair you by herself, saying how she wanted her students to interact more with each other. It seemed like a terrible idea at first.

(You rolled your eyes, giving a look to your friend. You really didn’t entertain this idea– to do a big project with someone other than your friend? You dealt with enough shitty groupmates leaving you on read or delivered in your life, and that was for small projects! What if you got someone as shitty as them? You shuddered at the thought alone.)

But, oh, how wrong you were. You didn’t expect to befriend that guy, and yet a few months in, Kunikuzushi became your best friend, and a year later– your lover.

You remembered that love confession like yesterday; a little awkward, he jumbled over his words and you said something stupid in return, laughing awkwardly at yourself and almost getting up from that bench and marching back home. It was late, the bench in the park illuminated by the streetlight. A part of you was sure he planned for the confession to look different, yet whatever his ideal plan was, you wouldn’t exchange what you got for it.

He walked you back home, you remembered, holding your hand.

To say you were happy was an understatement. Something bloomed in your chest with every day spent together with him, the little affections between you warming your heart and cheeks, and every morning seemed… a little brighter. It wasn’t wake up, get dressed, go to school, spend majority of your day studying, sleep, anymore.

Wake up, reply to Kunikuzushi’s late night message he sent. Get dressed and don’t forget about that chain necklace with a pendant he gave you for your birthday (you were matching, of course you were matching). Go to school and spend the day with your friends, with Kunikuzushi, with his friends (although you weren’t sure if that ginger guy was really his friend, but…). Spend the rest of your day studying, texting, and sometimes hanging out if you had free time (which turned into weekly hangouts with all your friends and… sometimes, more than once a week, just you and Kunikuzushi). Text him goodnight and smile at his, although short, reply back. Sleep.

You hoped it would stay like this… for longer. For as long as possible, just living in this bliss, being happy and not alone, with people you loved and who loved you back, some even more than others.

(Selfishly, you wanted that to last forever. Forever the high school student with no worries other than passing exams and doing your homework on time. Forever with your friends, spending weekends with them, having fun and not caring about anything else. Was it selfish to want to be happy forever?)

Kunikuzushi was here with you for all your problems, even if, truthfully, he wasn’t the best at solving them, and neither he was good at words. But he was still here, offering you support and letting you talk about what annoyed you, what made you sad and sometimes, he still would try to comfort you, loudly agreeing with your complaints, (lovingly) threatening to beat someone up if they were an asshole to you, telling you to not worry. It wasn’t the end yet.

His presence alone helped you manage through harder days– it was better to be with someone after all, rather than spend your days wallowing in sadness alone, with only the walls willing to listen.

(You offered him help, too. Quietly sitting and listening to his rants about his mother, squeezing his hand and tugging him closer to you– or simply being next to him, when touch was something unwanted.)

When graduation came, in bittersweet tears you promised your friends (and Kunikuzushi, of course) to still be in touch with them, and never leave them alone just because you weren’t students from the same class anymore. That didn’t change anything, no.

The summer vacation you spent mostly with your friends, hanging out and enjoying the warm, summer weather. So many trips, so many walks with Kunikuzushi and dates– oh, that picnic you two went on one day… it started raining at one point (the weather reports lied to you, it seemed) and you only had a blanket to cover yourself from the rain. How funny it was, how much you wished you could get the chance to do it again, with him–

You sighed, closing the album. Sometime before the summer’s end, right before the start of college, you noticed… changes in Kunikuzushi’s behavior. He still was your lover, caring about you in his own ways, he still was the man you loved, but something seemed to always bug him. Something seemed to sit on his shoulders, heavy. You always asked him if he was okay because yes, yes, you noticed his worse mood, noticed all the little things he tried to hide and you were worried, really worried, and–

And yet, you never got a proper answer. Always to not worry, that nothing was wrong, and you were tired of that, maybe if you, at least this once, pressed him for answers, during that summer night you called a date–

Maybe you would know why he suddenly disappeared without a trace.

The many messages you sent, the many unanswered calls– you asked your friends around, his friends, and were greeted with radio silence in answer. You didn’t know what happened, why it happened and that was breaking your heart, cutting it open, leaving burning pain in your chest, where once flowers of love bloomed.

(These flowers would never truly burn, you feared. Some would still leave, polluting your heart and making it harder to breathe.)

What was once beautiful turned into a burden, far too heavy to carry alone. There was so much stress on your plate– because what if something happened to him? What if someone did something to him, what if there was something you could do to change it? Why were you so distracted throughout the day? Why was it hard to get up in the morning, why the only thing you wanted to do was to wait at your phone, with hopes of seeing at least a single message from him? Where went your motivation to study, to do well in college as you promised yourself?

Where was he? What happened? Could you change it?

Were you at fault?

(No, of course you weren’t. You did everything in your power, but it just wasn’t enough. None of this was your fault.)

Were you alone in it?

…no, you weren’t. It felt like you were, especially at first; with new people around you, your friends offering you support but ultimately being busy, you felt alone. Terribly so, loneliness gnawing at your soul all the time, leaving the icy cold feeling in its wake.

But life forced you to get up from that pit, whether you wanted that or not. You couldn’t fail your major, not when you worked so hard to get into it in the first place. And neither you wanted to completely cut off your friends, so you started replying to their texts more. You’ve met new people, too, and made new friendships.

Things were getting back on track after, you thought that they wouldn’t. You pulled yourself up with your own strength, with your friends cheering for you from the distance, their cheers putting a smile on your face.

(Younger you thought that if you ever were to break up with Kunikuzushi, the world would simply… end. You ignored that thought creeping into your mind, waved it away, pushed it deep at the bottom of your mind. It wouldn’t happen.)

Now, as you looked at the pictures, you still felt a sharp pang in your chest. You missed him, yes, and you still thought about the days you spent together with him, but they no longer brought you back into that darkness you once experienced.

They were a bittersweet memory now. Ones, you would cherish till the end, gently putting them on the shelf with new, happy memories.

You hummed to yourself in thought, tapping at the cover of the album with your nail. Maybe instead of pondering how you should take more photos of the past, maybe you should take more of the future? Fill the album up with new photos of yourself, your friends, random things that you found pretty and worth remembering.

Your phone threw you out of the thinking, the loud noise of the ringtone filling up the room. Right, you were supposed to meet up with your friends in an hour and here you were, going through your old stuff and procrastinating the shower.

You put the album away and picked up your phone. A smile tugged at your lips hearing the overjoyed voice of your friend, telling you how excited they are to meet with you again (your last hangout was two weeks ago!) and that they already left.

You looked back at the album.

With today, you’d start filling it up with new memories of your happiness.

#astronetwrk #・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗#nereids' realm #⊹ ࣪ ˖ personal memoires ⟢#heia's writin'#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact x you #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #scaramouche x you #wanderer x you #kunikuzushi x you #how about you stop having so many names #gender neutral reader

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