#jacob two two and the ghost

[osteochondraldefect]

i love spreading misinformation about what happens in this podcast aka.: bunch of thangs i drew but didnt feel like posting separately

[blurglesmurfklaine]

“Woah, you win the lottery or something?”

Jack doesn’t know why he asks the guy in front of him at the checkout line that, but he does. Half the time, he couldn’t give an explanation to why he says the things he does. He took one look at the huge pile of merchandise on the conveyor belt, overheard the cashier calculate the total, and couldn’t help himself.

“Nope,” the customer says casually, swiping his card through the machine. “Just having a mental breakdown.” He turns towards Jack, lips pursed in an awkward smile, and throws up a peace sign.

Jack blinks. “Oh,” he says stupidly. He scrubs a hand behind his neck. “Uh, sorry.”

“Don’t be,” the stranger replies as he bags his various items—ranging from a throw pillow with the word I’m Pretty Sure I Seized The Wrong Day embroidered on it, to a coffee mug that says Live, Laugh, Lubricant. “You’re not the dumbass roommate who got us evicted with an illegal gambling ring.”

Jack opens his mouth to reply, but isn’t sure he’d know what to say anything.

The young man lifts up the pillow, frowning at the vomit green fringes sewn onto the obnoxiously turquoise fabric. “This is the ugliest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. Why on earth did I buy it?”

“I have a theory,” Jack says.

The guy starts laughing, loud and obnoxious and it should be the most off putting thing in the world, but Jack is utterly enthralled.

This might be the most peculiar person Jack’s ever met, which is an incredibly high bar. Jack desires him carnally.

“You’re funny,” the guy says, cracking a real, genuine smile this time, and Jack feels his insides become putty in this stranger’s hands. “I’m Davey.”

“Jack.” He grins, extending a hand that Davey takes in a shake. “We should hang out sometime.”

[urtrickster]

kaitlyn, jacob, dylan, and emma would be the best ghost hunting team i think.

i'm picturing it now in my head, and it's a beautiful and funny scene, truly.

[sp7]

JACOB PORTMAN AND PARENTS.

deathless (catherynne m. valente) // bad men (ghost quartet) // red doc> (anne carson) // (unknown) // hamlet (william shakespeare) // the sun is also a star (nicola yoon) // four friends (ghost quartet) // poor grammar (roar) // the beatrice letters (lemony snicket)

[balladofavaritia]

co-writers: @vincentholdsapen, @vixx-ari

Ebenezer Scrooge captured the Phantasim of Sloth two years ago, and the title of Chainbreaker has only brought the weight of more burdens to be rested upon him.

Now more experienced and knowledgeable in the ways of the afterlife. Scrooge must learn to navigate his own heart and the hearts of others to bring forth the equality that has been sorely lacking... all while dealing with his own search for answers he yearned for so, so long ago.

But will he like what he sees? None can say...

[SNIPPET UNDER THE CUT]

If one were to ask, ‘twould be the summer of 1856. A remarkable time for one in the passing realm of mortality. The Black Sea had become detached, retained by none but the grasp of Mother Nature itself. Livingstone’s odyssey across the African continent was soon to come to an end, and with it a treasure trove of knowledge and insights. Ever loyal and ever victorious soldiers returned home from a gruesome war to receive valorous crosses of the highest honor ever bestowed.

The world continued upon its merry pace, changing and growing. Wanting of nothing and ignorant of everything. Ceaseless in humanity’s endeavours to push themselves further and further into their inevitable end.

Yet when the light of innovation illuminates the brightest corners of civilisation, so too can it cast the darkest shadows of consequence. And when that light fades, those selfsame shadows grow and change like cursed troglodytes that morphed into harbingers of doom. It is in these shadows that new horrors emerge, unforeseen and unbidden, born from the seeds of progress sown with the best intentions.

You need not know the names of these Avaritions, and I shall elect not to speak further upon them. It is not that they are unimportant, mind! Anyone can gain the capacity to be a protagonist in their own tale. Nay, I do not speak their name because if I shall, they would detract from their true purpose as mere fodder for the narrative I wish to tell. Is it most definitely unfair to them? Most likely. But does an audience care for Sampson and Gregory of the Capulets? Or Abraham and Balthasar of the Montagues? Of course not, for they only wish to gaze upon with eagle eyes the tragic fate of their star-crossed heroes. If they were to even be called heroes, in that regard.

Perhaps they were to steal from an unsuspecting and feeble old woman. Perhaps they were to vandalise the sacred walls of a holy temple. Or perhaps they were just two fettered spirits going about on their business without a care in the world, their untoward misdeeds nothing but mere happenstance, a fluke of a crime that was still a crime.

Regardless of the reasons, it mattered not what they had perpetrated, for they had disrupted the normal flow of the realms and risked the safety of mortals. And unwarranted actions required warranted consequences.

"Forgive me, good sirs..."

He spoke with a calm cadence towards them, undisturbed like that of a gentle pond even as he tilted his top hat up with a gloved hand to reveal his oceanic gaze aged by time. He did not waver even when they fought back with the rage of flames unforgiving, or the sting of ice unfeeling. His spear gleamed with a golden glow even amidst the dark of the alley, and the chains that shot from behind him — emitting a resplendent brilliance all of its own — splayed out like the wings of a mighty dragon, or the tentacles of some unholy beast.

Whatever the image the Avaritions must have thought of when they looked upon him with their feeble and fearful imaginations, it did not matter; their fate would remain the same when one gains the attention of the Chainbreaker.

"...but I fear I must take you in for the sake of my clientele. I do hope you'll understand."

Tagged: @undeadchestnut @m0nsterwife @pinkytoothlesso11

[direwombat]

"(It's Not War) It's Just the End of Love" for the fic title game

oooooughsfd. idk if i'll be able to get it into the main fic in an interlude, but if not, it'd be a sidefic. joey pov of Syb's Bad Day™️where joey is kind of reeling in the aftermath of her and syb's abrupt and violent breakup. (tw for briefly mentioned domestic/partner abuse)

joey stays through virgil's funeral and spends some time chatting with earl afterwards. but she's so horrifically numb and when she heads back to falls end, the spread eagle is where she chooses to curl up and cry

mary may is a listening ear and a shoulder to soak up those tears. the bulk of the fic would be joey kind of talking through her grief, telling mary may what happened, and how all of that kind of was a culmination of a lot of red flags joey had just ignored because...well...syb is the commander of a fucking war. stressed people lash out, that's normal. but they don't get piss-drunk and actually strike someone across the face like syb just had.

she also has to grapple with the fact that she genuinely was in love with syb. she'd been harboring a crush ever since syb joined the department. how she had actually fallen in love when she realized that syb was trying to rescue her in the bunker. how she and syb had fucked that night and joey had felt safer than she ever had in her life.

only for syb to turn around and act like it never happened. how she was always distant. joey understands that syb was busy, but sometimes it felt like she was benched. an afterthought. the least syb could do is engage with her when they have spare time instead of getting lost in thought only to spend half the night on the radio with eli or earl talking strategy.

she realizes that what she thought was an actual meaningful mutual emotional connection didn't mean jack shit to syb.

you know. regular breakup stuff

[ravencromwell]

Rereading Dickens Christmas Carol for the first time in a long time. And the more I reread, the more it strikes me how seamlessly a queer reading could slip within these pages. Not an especially twee reading, wherein all Scrooge's troubles start and end with grief over Jacob Marley's death. For we know that Scrooge was a "Tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge! a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner!" And we know that he and Marley were "two kindred spirits"

And perhaps that very fact makes the similarities to queer life, unintended as they most likely were by Mr. Dickens, achingly poignant to me. Scrooge is, we're told, "secret and self-contained and solitary as an oyster." How much that resonates, for so many of us who shield our innermost selves but from a select group of friends. And we know that Scrooge and Marley were, at the very least, certainly that for one another. Scrooge is Marley's sole mourner; his sole executor and beneficiary; and even Dickens notes, "friend." How reminiscent is that of queer couples across history, estranged from their families?

Scrooge lives in a set of chambers that once belonged to Marley—clearly Dickens wanted us to believe Scrooge gave up his own dwellings after Marley's death to economize. But with only a flicker of change, those chambers become _their chambers, rented by Marley as the senior member of the couple. The place is so desolate Dickens notes "one could scarcely help fancying it must have run there when it was a young house, playing at hide-and-seek with other houses, and have forgotten the way out again." The perfect abode for two queer misers who wanted no one prying into their business.

Marley's name is still above the door of Scrooge's counting-house: a mark by which, no doubt, Dickens meant to convey Scrooge such a penny-pincher he couldn't bother to have it changed. But a thing can be both! mark of frugality to ludicrous excess and! mark of mourning. "sometimes," Dickens opines, "People new to the

business called Scrooge Scrooge, and sometimes Marley, but he answered to both names. It was all the same to him."

This is why "death of the author" matters so much, in expanding our interpretations of texts. It is vastly far from the lens Dickens would have intended. But, the idea of a ghost of queerness, so taboo in the society it could barely be glanced at sidewise in this tale that is all about the inexplicable and yet that lingers over everything becomes an astonishing lens through which to read this book. Thinking of Scrooge as a queer man, his "melancholy dinner at his usual melancholy tavern" becomes a eerie prefiguring of the hollowness of days spent by Isherwood's A Single Man. In this universe, little wonder Scrooge doubly hates mention of time with family, marriage, etc. when the precise nature of his grief is both unacknowledged and unacknowledgable.

And readings like this are vital, because the uncomfortable truth is, discrimination doesn't "discriminate between sinners and saints", to borrow a Miranda phrase. It is easy, in my liberal circles, to fight for queer people who hold "the good sorts of politics". But what about men like Michael Hess, culpable for supporting Reagan even as his contemptuous homophobia let the aids epidemic run rampant? How much harder is it to remember Michael had a partner? That he deserves empathy and compassion for being practically tarred and feathered out of the party upon his own aids diagnosis?

Expanding our imaginative universes to include queerness, not as redemptive panacea, but merely as one aspect of identity, personality, often in vicious conflict with others. Even! as we consider those stories equally worthy of being told feels vital if we're ever to truly express the complexity of what queer humanity looks like.

[cacoetheswriting]

dear stranger, | chapter two from right where you left me.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader (modern day au) word count: 5.2k

summary: a weekend gateway to with your old high school friends? sounds like a dream! only it’s not really as it’s been three years since you last saw them. three years since you left hawkins without so much as a goodbye, and certain people tend to hold grudges.

content warnings: forced proximity, angsty, suggestive & mature themes, adult language, mentions & descriptions of underage alcohol consumption / substance abuse, recreational drug use, discusses sobriety, emotional hurt / no-comfort, eddie is a bit of an asshole, a little mutual pining, also touches on topics of: divorce, death, grief, self-doubt / insecurities, love triangle?, unrequited love — pls let me know if i missed any!

psa: any images used in chapter headers don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also vaguely — if at all— described in the story.

Eddie’s first interaction with you, a short conversation outside Benny’s one faithful Thursday evening, only solidified the idea of a potential relationship, but he was a couple of years older and coming from a completely different world to yours. Trailer trash, and whatnot. He simply didn’t think you’d be interested in him like that.

Instead, riddled with self-doubt, Eddie opted to go down the friendship route and being your friend was easy. 

Despite not sharing a lot of the same interests, the two of you always managed to find common ground and the conversation flow came naturally.

Eddie, in his fuck-the-patriarchy and everything-that’s-cool way, introduced you to a wide variety of hobbies which, in your world, were considered wildly out of the box: Dungeons and Dragons, Warhammer, all sorts of Anime, punk rock and heavy metal music. The list goes on.

Hoping to humanise your lack of interests aside from your social status, you taught the metal-head all things pop culture. Cue marathons of various seasons of different Real Housewives, making him read Twilight and asking him to choose Team Edward or Team Jacob, and judging celebrity red carpet looks.

There also appeared to be a few short things you both agreed on:

The colour blue sucks.

Lord of the Rings franchise is one of the best book to movie adaptations to ever exist.

Pizza is clearly the best food and can be eaten for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Additionally, a debate arose one night to potentially include point four: Leia is a cute name for a girl. Eddie looked at you with those pretty brown eyes and smiled wide in agreement ‘cause even though you were still just a couple of kids, the potential of a future that saw your friendship blossoming, one way or another, excited him. However, the conversation happened when you were both quite high. Point long forgotten by the time the sun greeted the morning sky.

All in all, Eddie worshipped the ground you walked on. Back then, he would’ve done anything for you, you merely had to ask. The not-so-secret crush blossomed with every interaction and he swore if anyone ever dared to hurt the girl he told himself he couldn’t have, all hell would break loose.

How come, a hellish three years later, he’s the one doing the hurting? The question, of course, is rhetorical. He knows exactly what led to the breakdown of your friendship. That doesn’t mean however, he’s not completely riddled with guilt for how he just reacted to seeing you for the first time since the end of Senior Year.

His focus remains locked on where you’re after disappearing as his hand rubs the part of him you’ve just bumped, and Eddie swears he can still feel your arm against his shoulder. A tingle, an imprint, a ghost. His fingers curl into a fist against the material of his jacket and he eventually drops his head, sigh escaping his lips. Nancy is going to kill him for making you cry.

Upstairs, there’s a knock on your door. 

You quickly wipe any last tears that have trickled down your cheeks and call out to whoever is on the other side that it’s open. Robin reveals herself, head tilting to the side as she notices the miserable look on your face.

“Nancy is already crucifying him,” is all she says before wrapping her arms around you, pulling you in for a comforting hug.

“She doesn’t have to do that,” you protest, resting your chin on her shoulder. “He’s got every right to be upset with me.”

“But the thing is, babe, everything we told you is true. Like, he does ask about you constantly, and he didn’t even have an issue with you coming this weekend when Nancy told him you accepted her invite,” she elaborates, pulling back from the embrace and leaning against a set of drawers.

“He’s just acting like a dweeb ‘cause you hugged Harrington first.”

You whine, a little too dramatically, while burying your face in your hands. It oddly feels therapeutic. Robin huffs out a laugh at your reaction, poking your arm to get you to look back at her.

“He’s never going to forgive me, Rob.” You sigh.

“Yes, he will.”

“How can he forgive me when he doesn’t want to listen to my apology? He practically said to pretend he’s not here.”

The blonde rolls her eyes. “Honey, you realise that all you have to do is listen to his stupid-ass request?” She says it as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. “The second you start giving him the cold shoulder, he’s gonna want your attention.”

And Robin was right, of course.

You didn’t notice it at first, fully understanding of Eddie’s request to steer clear from one another, plus dinner prep was a perfect distraction from his lingering presence.

Nancy tasks you with making the potato salad. A simple request and one you are happy to oblige. She positions you at one of the counters, your back to the kitchen island where Eddie is sitting nursing a beer. He’s messing around on Spotify, skipping through songs, and it takes everything you have not to comment about how he should just fucking pick one playlist and let it be.

The one person definitely unbothered by the constant switch in music is Argyle who fell asleep at the table. Body completely relaxed on the chair, head hanging backwards, and light snores escaping his parted lips as Rob tries to balance a stack of Pringles on his forehead.

Jonathan is Nancy’s sous chef, her helping hand, fulfilling every little request she has while preparing the rest of the grand meal. They’re giggling together and you can’t help but smile to yourself, thinking about how lucky they are to have found someone they feel so comfortable around. 

Eddie was that someone for you, the thought crosses your mind, sending a twinge signal to your stomach. The twist in your gut is a sort of pain comparable to slicing your hand open, and at that moment your gaze shifts to the knife in your hand, grip tightening. You’re frozen for a minute. Unsure how to continue with the salad when all you can think about is the boy behind you. The boy that wants nothing to do with you.

Yet, unbeknown to you, also the boy who immediately notices the pause in your movements. 

Eddie doesn’t act on it though. He thinks about it, only for a second too long because Steve approaches you first, briefly placing a hand on your back to gauge your attention, before leaning against the counter next to where you’re chopping potatoes. You smile at him. Eddie can see that it’s timid, small. Clearly there’s something on your mind and he feels guilty for most likely being the person that’s caused your dampened mood.

“How are you doin’?” Steve asks, crossing his arms across his chest, eyes glued to the side of your face.

“Good.” It’s not entirely true, but you know Eddie, as well as everyone else currently alert in this kitchen, can hear your conversation. “Delaying cutting these onions ‘cause I know they’re gonna make me cry,” you joke.

Steve chuckles. “Well, all you gotta do is ask, sweetheart.” He says before twisting in his spot and reaching for a chopping board. “I happen to be a pro at cutting onions.”

The light laugh that escapes your lips causes Eddie to roll his eyes. Not that you see his reaction though. You also don’t see how his grip tightens on the bottle of beer, or how his jaw clenches when Steve’s arm brushes against yours while you both work on the salad.

But despite the anger — the jealousy — bubbling inside of him, Eddie doesn’t stop listening in on your conversation with Harrington. In fact, he shuffles his chair closer, lowering the volume on the laptop by one. He can’t help himself. He’ll forever be invested in you, even if he says he’s not and that he doesn’t care. It’s all a pathetic lie to cover up the fact that he’s never quite gotten over you.

“So, how’s Vegas treating you? Bet it’s all parties and no responsibilities,” Steve nudges.

“God, I’d be disowned if that were the case,” you reply, chuckling lightly. You don’t tell him you’re sober, it doesn’t feel like the right time. “First year I was there, I worked. My dad scored me a reception job at his firm, so I saved a little cash and moved out on my own, just in time for the following year, when I started my degree.”

Steve hums, impressed. Eddie’s feeling proud, then a little sad because you got into college and he wasn’t there to congratulate you. Seemingly, no one from this group was.

“Gone into teaching, like you wanted?” Steve asks.

“Not entirely,” you pause briefly, “But what’s with the third degree? We’ve got all weekend to catch up.”

Harrington snorts out a laugh. “True,” he agrees with a smile, “I guess, you’re just such a mystery now. The usual social stalking doesn’t work ‘cause you haven’t updated anything in three years, and whenever I tried to call, you didn’t answer.”

You’re not sure what to say since he’s not wrong in his words, so you opt to say nothing at all. Steve seems to understand your reverence, nudging your arm with his own in the form of a silent assertion that he’s really not mad.

Eddie starts to feel guilty for being the one who isolated you from your friends, your support system. Though you never said it, he knows you left because of what happened at Chrissy’s stupid party. Ashamed of your actions and how they affected the group. Actions that were a result of his rash decisions.

“Fucking— Are you seriously going to listen to me spill my feelings for you, then try and jump into bed with fucking Harrington?!” Eddie’s yelling, arms stretched out as if he’s daring you.

The sound of Nancy clearing her throat forces the memory to freeze. Eddie glances up at the petite brunette, whose got one eyebrow arched as if to ask what the fuck he’s doing. He shrugs, taking another swig of his beer, then glances back down at the laptop and continues his not-so-secret eavesdropping.

“Tell me this, though,” Steve prompts, glancing at you, “are you happy?”

You pause your own movements, taking a moment to ponder his pretty loaded question. When you meet his brown eyes, you smile a genuine smile, surprising even yourself as to how easy it is to answer.

“Yes,” you state simply, “I’m happy.”

The screech of a chair being pushed back fills the air, causing both you and Steve to turn around, at the same moment that Eddie walks out of the kitchen. Nancy is quick on his heels, only flashing you an apologetic smile, and the entirety of the last twenty-odd seconds leaves you even more confused.

All throughout dinner, you notice how Eddie is oddly quiet, only chiming in when someone — not you — directly addresses him. No one comments on his unusual behaviour, though Robin shoots you some knowing looks from across the table every couple of seconds.

Then when the group agrees to move outside, while you get comfortable on the patio furniture, Eddie deliberately chooses the chair closest to the steps, as if he’s planning for a quick escape. He lights a cigarette, staring out at the lake, and your entire body is screaming to ask what’s on his mind, but then again, he’s made it quite clear he wants nothing from you.

So you decide to continue pretending his sullen mood isn’t affecting you.

“Merlot or Pinot Grigio?”

“Hmm?”

Steve’s at the door, a bottle of red and white wine in each hand. He lifts them up slightly, repeating the question, then waiting patiently for an answer. Although he doesn’t have to wait long because you quickly shake your head a firm no.

“I uh… I actually don’t drink anymore.”

Eddie’s ears perk up at your answer, though he doesn’t actually look in your direction. Still pretending to focus on the ripples in the dark water ahead.

“Oh.” Steve shifts awkwardly. “Well, now we know why Nancy didn’t offer any with dinner. Assuming she knows?”

“She does.”

“Then I’m sorry for offering.”

“Don’t be,” you say and it’s true.

He goes back inside without another word, leaving you alone with Eddie. 

The silence is overwhelming and frankly, a little awkward. It’s odd to be so close to one another, yet feel as though you’re oceans apart. It’s also odd to have revealed this new and intimate detail about yourself, yet since it wasn’t said directly to him, Eddie might as well still not know.

You don’t know how to act, so you take out your phone.

There’s a text from your mom, ‘Really hope you’re having a good time, honey. Send some pictures, if you can.’

‘surviving ;)’, your fingers work across the keyboard, then you go into your album and select a photo of yourself with Robin and Nancy. The only one taken so far. ‘everyone says hi.’

‘Everyone?’

Your eyes flutter to where Eddie is sitting. He’s still looking at the lake.

‘almost everyone…’

As the three dots appear on the screen, your phone dings with the unmistakable sound of an Instagram notification. Your super secret secondary profile makes itself known, and you hold your breath for a split-second. But if Eddie heard it, he doesn’t say anything.

When you open the notification, the corners of your lips twitch upwards.

That, Eddie notices. Well, he noticed the sound too, but he’s not going to pry about your use of social media after pretty much telling you to fuck off earlier. His mind however, is running in circles. The metal-head knows you haven’t posted anything new on Instagram since you left Hawkins, so you must only be using the app for messaging, but who from your old life — that isn’t here this weekend — would be dming you at this hour of the evening? The second you smiled, at whatever the fuck you were after seeing on your phonescreen, well, Eddie wishes he handled your reunion earlier a little better because maybe you’d privy him to that information. He wants, no, needs to know who else you’ve been in contact with.

And he knows exactly who to ask.

A little too lost in your dm’s, you don’t notice Eddie put out the cigarette he’s been smoking and stump back inside. You don’t notice him approach Steve, mumble something in the guy's ear and point to his phone. You don’t notice them glancing at you through the large window, or whisper manically back and forth. You don’t notice Nancy joining in on the conversation, hands on her hips like a disapproving mom.

“She’s not in touch with anyone else,” she says and because she sees Eddie in particular is not buying whatever she’s selling, Nancy adds, “She’s got a second profile.”

Both boys are stunned, albeit only for a minute. Then the back-and-forth begins again. Questions arise. How long has Nancy known? Why doesn’t anyone else know? What’s the handle? Why not just use the old, original profile?

“It’s none of your business,” she tells them in a hushed tone of voice, “If she wanted you to know what is going on in her life, she’d post on the profile she created in high school, okay?”

Steve huffs, wine long forgotten, instead opting for something a little stronger. He pours four glasses of whiskey before motioning for Eddie and Nancy to take one, the last being for Robin who disappeared to talk to her girlfriend again. He takes a sip, liquid burning down his throat.

“I just don’t get the secrecy,” he says with a shrug.

With the glass pressed to her lips, Nancy looks out the window to where you’re sitting. A sigh escapes her lips. There’s a small smile present on your expression, focus remaining on your phone, and Nancy hates herself for being the person that’s ruined that, along with breaking the promise she’s made you about seven months into your time in Vegas.

She wanted to know how you were getting on. Considering by then you told her you weren’t coming back to Hawkins any time soon — one of the only texts you’d sent her since the time you left. The brunette girl wanted to know you were safe, happier. Calls weren’t going to work since you were barely replying to messages, and it’s not like at that point in time you were keen on letting the rest of the group know what you were up to, so your main Instagram account was out of the question.

Nancy suggested a second profile.

Then she promised she wouldn’t tell anyone.

“There’s two things you should know,” she breathes, glancing between Steve and Eddie. “First thing’s first though, you need to fucking forgive her.” Poking Eddie’s chest, her expression is stern. “You’ve forgiven Harrington here, so the least you can do is have a normal conversation with her.”

“Nance—”

“Eddie, I swear to fucking Christ. If you’re actually incapable for swallowing your pride for one fucking second—”

The sound of the sliding door causes her to halt her words and the three of them turn their heads to where you’re now standing, wide-eyed and apologetic because it seems at first glance you are after interrupting a very important conversation.

“Sorry,” you say with a meek smile, “I just came to get a glass of water.”

And you don’t mean to eavesdrop when they start whispering amongst themselves as you fill a glass with ice. In your defence, however, they’ve never been good at keeping their voices quiet, and they’re no better now. You hear your name escape Eddie’s lips, then something about Instagram coming from Steve.

Oh.

Having filled your glass with water, you turn back to look at the three of them. 

To your surprise, the metal-head is already looking at you. His expression is hard to read, but regardless, it makes your heart skip a beat. It also makes you think that the only way for him to start trusting you again, he deserves to know what you’ve been up to these last few years — even by means of a now not-so-secret Instagram account.

So you call Steve’s name, not looking away from Eddie at first. When Harrington doesn’t react, in too deep with Nancy, you say it again, louder. He spins on his heel then, at the same time that you shift your attention in his direction. 

Sighing softly, you tell him to pull up Instagram and then you dictate the handle and although you’re watching Steve type in every syllable that escapes your lips, from the corner of your eye, you can see Eddie’s fingers also work the screen of his phone.

Proof of both their curiosities dings in your pocket. 

You quickly take out your own phone, silently accepting their follow requests while choosing not to comment on the fact that there were two: Eddie’s name gracing your notifications for the first time in three years. 

With a quick refresh, there in all its Las Vegas glory, is the last three years of your life.

“I’m sorry,” Nancy says, now standing in front of you, “They’re relentless little fuckers.”

“Hey!” Steve’s offence is melodramatic and Nancy just rolls her eyes at the boy, before linking your arm with hers and leading you back outside. Having one quick glance at your newly found account, Harrington follows quickly behind.

Eddie on the other hand is frozen in place.

He tries to keep a straight face as opens the first image, quickly scanning the caption, before focusing on the picture posted two days ago. Apparently you were in Fort Wayne, visiting your mom. There’s a smile on your face that he hasn’t witnessed since high school and his heart tightens thinking about how he’d do anything to be the reason for your happy expressions again.

Did you stomp all over his heart? Yes. Rationally, Eddie should hate you for that alone, not even mentioning how you flushed years of friendship down the toilet. And for a long, long while, he did. Eventually, the metal-head realised the hate was superficial because he was actually more angry with himself. 

“Your behaviour is fucking desperate.”

“Fuck you, Eddie.”

That stupid party, and putting you in the position he did, all while you were clearly too drunk, was a huge mistake on his part. It wasn’t the right place, nor the right time. Eddie just thought you looked so beautiful that night, and the alcohol cruising through his own veins clouded his judgement.

Then you reacted the way you did. When Eddie found you in the downstairs bathroom of Chrissy’s house in the arms of Harrington, well, you both said some equally rude things in the aftermath. They came from a place of anger, but he could never actually hate you.

You left without a word, before Eddie got a chance to apologise for his shitty behaviour at the party. Before he got a chance to tell you that he doesn’t care that you kissed Harrington, or whether you feel the same way he does. All he cares about is being in your life.

Now, your life resides on a profile Eddie didn’t even know about until mere minutes ago. 

He’s scrolling, slowly. Taking the time to examine each photo, down to the comments left behind. Each image only adds to the ache in his chest. There’s experiences here he selfishly thinks he should’ve been a part of, as opposed to the people you’ve actually tagged. He’s known you for far longer than this dude Jax, who you seemingly went and got a tattoo with.

What hurts the most though, is seeing the proof of how happy you’ve been the last three years. How happy you’ve been without him in your life.

-

“So, babe, who the fuck is Jax?” Robin asks with a smirk.

Having been the last person to find out about your secret account, she was sure to take her time to tease you in retaliation. Starting light, with small jabs on the new wellness hobbies you’ve picked up over the years like hiking through the Nevada Trails Park, sunset yoga in the desert, and a new affinity for green smoothies. Then moving quickly to your new choice of friends, not judging them by any means, more expressing curiosity as to why these specific people replaced the group from Hawkins.

“Jax is a friend,” you answer simply.

“Looks awfully cosy for just a friend,” she teases, glancing up at you briefly before twisting the phone in Steve’s direction, to show the picture.

You roll your eyes ‘cause there’s really nothing going on between you and the boy in question, so the teasing you can take. You’re not ashamed.

“He’s great as a gym partner, honestly, he’s great for most boyfriend related activities, but he would, one-hundred per cent, make a terrible actual boyfriend.” You say with a soft laugh, sinking further into the cushioned seat as you further let your guard down.

Steve smirks. Satisfied. Clearly glad there’s nothing between you and Jax, though you don’t comment on his reaction. Instead, your gaze momentarily shifts to Eddie, who still hasn’t said a single word.

The brunette boy is staring at his hands. Fidgeting with the metal rings that coat his fingers. You can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking about, and it takes everything you’ve got not to ask him. Is he proud of the person you’ve become? Or is his continuous resentment spiralling out of control, because maybe he’s wondering why you could change for those strangers, but couldn’t change for him? But that, you couldn’t even answer for yourself.

“So you haven’t been dating anyone?” Robin further probes into your new life.

When you glance back at the blonde, she raises a brow, and you know she’s only asking because she wants the same thing as you: some sort of reaction out of Eddie.

You shake your head. “No.”

But it’s Steve who reacts instead.

“Come on, sweetheart!” His tone is full of disbelief. “You mean to tell us that no one in Vegas tried to sweep you off your feet?”

You let out a soft laugh.

“They sure tried. I’m just not interested,” you answer with a smile, then reach for your glass of water, bringing the brim to your lips.

“Why?” He asks.

“Steve—” Nancy tries to cut in, aware of what you’re going to say next. Aware of the reason why you haven’t dated, and no, unlike everything else that’s happened since you’ve seen this group last, this decision you made not to date wasn’t because of Chrissy’s party.

“I uh…” You clear your throat. “I haven’t dated since Billy.”

The group goes silent. Suddenly it’s all really… awkward.

“Jesus, babe,” Robin exhales dramatically, “That’s like—”

“Forever?” You interject, trying to keep your tone of voice as positive as you can. “I know.”

There’s a beat of silence. No one in the group is really sure what to say next, how to steer the conversation away from this topic. 

You glance at Eddie who, for the second time this evening and to your surprise, is already looking at you. Brown eyes full of compassion. They say more than words ever could and you’re suddenly feeling hopeful. Maybe it’s not too late. Maybe you could be friends again. Maybe…

Though there’s still a lot of mending to do before any of that can happen. Starting with:

“Billy dying really fucked me up.”

Acceptance. Admitting your flaws, owning up to your mistakes. Making amends with the people that tried their very best to stand by you in the worst of times, even when you made it damn near impossible to do so.

“I kinda fell off the rails and I uh—“ You swallow your breath, gaze shifting from the brunette boy to the lake behind him. The sight of water soothing to your soul. “Well, I made some mistakes and I’m sorry. To all of you.”

“You don’t have to apologise,” Nancy says quickly and the rest of the group nod along. Aside from Eddie, who is back to fidgeting with his rings.

One by one, everyone eventually says goodnight. Jonathan and Nancy are the first to go, citing an early wake-up excuse and reminding everyone the canoes are rented for eleven in the morning, so breakfast would be at ten. WIth that information in tow, Argyle checks out next. You learn how he hates the open water, so he’s hoping extra sleep will make him less nervous in the morning. Robin gets a call from Vickie. She says she’ll be back shortly but after she disappears, Steve jokes that the next time the blonde will be seen is breakfast. This leaves you with a less than desirable duo.

Steve and Eddie.

Silence stretches for minutes at a time. Out of some sick and twisted principle, you don’t want to be the first to leave because that might get misinterpreted as running away, and this entire weekend is about proving how you’ve changed. Plus you’re not going to give Eddie the satisfaction of seeing you walk away twice in the span of one afternoon.

Luckily, awkwardness never seems to phase Harrington. Not for long, anyway.

He makes small talk, asks further questions about your new life, wonders if you are open to visitors and practically plans a trip out to see you in Vegas: sooner rather than later, as he puts it. He gets you to laugh on a few occasions and the sound comes naturally, no reservations or concerns.

You make note to apologise to him privately for everything you put him through the night of Chrissy’s party, although you already know he’ll tell you it’s no big deal because Steve Harrington has a heart too pure for this world. It makes you momentarily sick that you took advantage of his kindness in a moment of drunken despair.

“Okay kids,” Steve begins and stands, stretching, “If I tuck in for the night, will you kill each other? Or should I stay to play peacekeeper a little bit longer?”

“We’ll be fine,” Eddie answers shortly. The sentence being his first set of words in hours.

You exchange a glance with Harrington, who seems just as surprised as you by the metal-heads response, and offer up a timid smile.

“Goodnight, Steve.” You say kindly.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” Then he turns to address Eddie, “‘Night, Munson. Don’t be a dickhead.”

Eddie grumbles something under his breath, but you don’t quite make out the specifics. Instead, you watch Steve’s frame disappear into the lake house and once he’s fully out of sight, a sagging feeling settles in the pit of your stomach — what now?

Although, nothing happens. Silence settles around the two of you. Only the sound of the night, the woods, the water graces your ears and, despite the company, it all feels quite peaceful.

Eddie lights a cigarette. Hesitantly, he offers you one, avoiding your gaze as he holds out the box. You politely decline, further wrapping yourself up in your hoodie and sinking into your seat.

After a few more minutes of utter quiet, Eddie exhales, blowing smoke into the midnight air and finally looks up in your direction. You’re aware instantly, that his chocolate-button eyes are latched onto you. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine. Clearing your throat, you tilt your head to meet his wide eyes then, surprising yourself, you offer him a small smile.

The metal-head surprises you too. For not only does he smile back, he says: “I’m sorry.”.

“You don’t—”

But he cuts you off. “I do. About earlier. I was an ass and yeah, I’m sorry.”

All you can do is nod. Not like you don’t believe him, you do. You know Eddie well enough to tell he’s being genuine. Unfortunately, a lot has gone down in the past and three years have passed since. Plus, only a few hours ago, he told you to practically shove your own apologies which can only mean he’s not really interested in having you back in his life. For that, you can’t blame him and as much as you’d want “I’m sorry” to fix things, it’s not that simple — you understand that now better than you did when you first arrived here.

You just need to get through this weekend, you remind yourself and slowly stand up, your own self-deprecating thoughts getting in the way of what you really want to tell him. 

Eddie’s eyes remain on you, as if he’s analysing your every move, which, unknown to you, he sort of is. This girl he thought he knew, now a mystery and it’s in part all of his fault. He’s aching inside because everyone else seems to click with you easily, like no time stole memories they’ll never get to experience. Steve cracking intimate jokes mere moments ago causing something vile to bubble inside of the metal-head.

An apology for his earlier comments is a good place to start rebuilding, that’s what Nancy said. He likes to think he listens to advice, even if he doesn’t think it’s good, so he did what his friend told him too and now he wishes he hasn’t. Even more so when you clearly don’t want to hear anything from him.

“I appreciate your apology, but we don’t have to talk about it,” you say matter-of-factly, “We don’t have to talk at all, just like you wanted.”

And Eddie can’t dig himself out of the hole he jumped into.

as always, thank you for reading & please support your writers by reblogging <3

story masterlist

& tagging some cool people that expressed interest in this story: @ali-r3n @thelazyarchangel @hufflepuffobsessedwithmarvel @peculiarwren @fxoxo @losingmygrasponreality @kellsck @sp1dyb0y1008 @mmmunson @somethingvicked @darknesseddiem @scream4mami @pineapplechuncks @sophiejayne-illustrations713 @emxxblog @bl0ssomanddie @theladyhellfire @gracelouiseoneill @emquinn94 @transparent-enemy @rach5ive @knew-better-forever-girl-two @lemonmarquee @mossgh0st @probablyin-bed @dustbowleddie @residentoftomlinsonsass @heart-eyed-love @munsonburn3r @helsa3942 @althaiareads @theladyhellfire @v1per1ne @sugarplumsweetiepie

[cheriecouer]

Meant for You

Jacob Black x Reader:

Y/N returns to La Push, expecting to reunite with her childhood best friend, Jacob Black—but he’s distant, too caught up in Bella to notice her. Hurt and confused, she tries to move on, until Jacob’s packmates hint at the truth: he might have imprinted on her. Torn between what he thought he wanted and what feels right, Jacob finally stops running and faces the inevitable—Y/N was always meant to be his.

˚☽˚｡⋆𓃦 ˚☽˚｡⋆ ˚☽˚｡⋆𓃦 ˚☽˚｡⋆ ˚☽˚｡⋆𓃦 ˚☽˚｡⋆ ˚☽˚｡⋆𓃦 ˚☽˚｡⋆ ˚☽˚｡⋆𓃦 ˚☽˚｡⋆

The air in La Push was thick with salt, the waves crashing against the shore in a steady rhythm. It had been years since you set foot here, but the familiar scent of pine and ocean spray immediately brought back memories of childhood summers spent racing Jacob Black along the beach.

You had been inseparable once. Two wild-hearted kids with scraped knees and big dreams, but time had a way of pulling people apart. And now, standing in front of Billy Black’s house, you weren’t sure if things would ever be the same.

The screen door creaked open, and there he was—Jacob Black, taller, broader, with his signature easygoing grin. But there was something different in his eyes, something distant.

“Y/N?” His voice was laced with disbelief, and for a moment, his expression softened. “No way. What are you doing here?”

“I figured it was time to come home,” you said, shifting your weight awkwardly. “I missed this place.”

His lips twitched in what should have been a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. “Yeah? Well, La Push hasn’t changed much.” He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. “Still the same small town with the same small-town drama.”

You knew what he meant. Bella. You had heard all about his infatuation with her from your old friends. And yet, standing here, you had hoped—naively—that Jacob would still look at you like he used to, like you were important.

But he didn’t. Not anymore.

---

Days passed, and Jacob made himself scarce. It stung more than you wanted to admit. He had always been your best friend, but now, it was like you were nothing more than a ghost of his past.

You saw him with Bella, saw the way his entire world seemed to orbit around her. It hurt, but what hurt even more was how he barely acknowledged your existence anymore.

You tried to push it aside. You hung out with Embry and Quil, pretending it didn’t bother you, but they noticed.

“You’re not imagining it,” Embry said one night as you all sat around a bonfire. “Jacob’s been...off since you got back.”

“Yeah, dude’s acting weird,” Quil agreed. “It’s like he’s avoiding you on purpose.”

You scoffed. “Great. Good to know I’m not crazy.”

Embry and Quil exchanged a look, and then Embry leaned in, his voice quieter. “You know, sometimes...imprinting messes with a guy’s head.

You frowned. “Imprinting?”

Quil sighed. “It’s a wolf thing. When we imprint, it’s like—there’s no choice. That person becomes our everything.”

Something inside you twisted. “And you think Jacob—”

“We don’t know,” Embry admitted. “But it’d explain why he’s acting so weird around you.”

The thought was almost laughable. Jacob was obsessed with Bella. He had made that painfully clear. But then again, the way he had been avoiding you, the way his hands would clench whenever you were near—it didn’t make sense.

Not until the night everything changed.

---

You were walking home alone from the bonfire when you heard footsteps behind you. Instinctively, you turned, your heart racing, but it was just Jacob.

For the first time in weeks, he wasn’t running away.

“Hey,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“Hey.” You crossed your arms. “So, you do remember I exist?”

He flinched. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” You exhaled sharply. “You’ve been ignoring me since I got back, Jake. I thought we were friends.”

Something flickered across his face—guilt, maybe, or something deeper. “We are.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

He hesitated, dragging a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Try.”

He let out a breath. “When you came back, everything shifted. I—I didn’t understand it at first, but every time I look at you, it’s like...” He trailed off, his jaw clenching.

“Like what?” you pressed.

He stepped closer, his warmth radiating in the cool night air. “Like the world makes sense again.”

Your breath caught. “Jacob—”

“I was fighting it,” he admitted. “Because I thought—hell, I thought it was supposed to be Bella. But it’s not. It never was.”

His words hung between you, heavy with meaning.

“I think,” he swallowed hard, “I think you’re my imprint, Y/N.”

Your heart pounded. “And that scared you?”

He let out a dry laugh. “Terrified me. I thought if I ignored it, it’d go away. But it didn’t. It just made everything worse.”

You searched his face, the raw emotion in his eyes. “So what now?”

He reached for your hand, his fingers warm against yours. His thumb traced gentle circles against your skin, sending shivers up your spine. “Now...I stop running.”

A shaky breath left your lips as he cupped your cheek, his touch hesitant but desperate. “I want to make this right,” he whispered. “I don’t want to fight it anymore.”

You didn’t realize how close you had gotten until you could feel his breath against your lips. His hands, rough and warm, slid down your arms, gripping your waist like you were something precious. He didn’t kiss you—not yet—but the tension between you was thick, electric.

“Then don’t,” you murmured.

His forehead pressed against yours, his body trembling slightly as he finally let go of his hesitation. “I won’t.”

And for the first time since you’d come home, Jacob stayed.

[ryanisasleep]

@asexualbuthorny I am sorry I couldn't give you any kink tober, writing smut made me feel a bit sick at that time. Hope you like this one and dw I didn't forget any ask you sent <33.

requests always open

Whore!Ghost who is an absolute slut for sex

CW: roleplay, puppy play, NSFW, he has piercings, MDNI!! I wanna make a more smuttier version of this, any ideas? All of this is consensual, I do not tollerate r-word and any other problematic things

We know for sure that Ghost is always dead silent all the time and, speaking from my experience, you can't always be like that.

We want loud Ghost in bed! Imagine him sitting on your cock, all good and plaint, all at your mercy and giving out praises.

"Good boy" or "You are doing so good lovey" all while you ram into him biting and marking his neck and jawline, abusing his mouth with hungry and lust-filled kisses.

Or

He wants to get rough and you quickly oblige. Gripping firmly his short dark blond hair as his mouth is half open unable to form coherent phrases and just capable to form moans and whimpers.

He adores when you call him whore, reminding him where his place is, may even chocking (slightly) the protests out of him.

He wants to stay put? Collar him. After a good fuck all he wants is a collar around his neck, you love pink? He will have a pink collar with hearts all over it. A good dog tag with his name "Simon" engraved on it.

A good pup must follow orders no? Tell him to suck you off, he will do it.

You hand pushing his head deeper and your ears hearing those delightful whines of someone who just can't be totally satisfied.

But good pups must be rewarded too you know? Fill him to the brim and if you cum leaks out, push it back inside with a thumb and fuck it back into his abused hole (or cunt) and watch it trail back out just to do it how many times he wants.

Whore!Ghost who loves bondage, he knows he is safe in the bedroom, you two talked about what to do and what to not do as well as safe words so he can enjoy the moments in peace.

In these times, he loves being helpless in the hands of his kidnapper and to live he must endure the "torture" you have for him.

He can't cum, poor baby :( he must endure all the teasing his nipples are suffering, he can't disobey you otherwise he will not have a good ending.

He had to watch you pleasure yourself and whine at the fact he couldn't put his strong hands on your body and give it want it wanted.

He was stuck with his arms on his back secured with the ropes and your mouth on his sex:

is it a cock? Good luck for him, you are gonna tease the fuck out of him sith your warm wet tongue around his pubic and jacob's ladder piercings.

And no he can't cum, good boys listen to their masters

or is it a cunt? Well he mist feel his poor lips being played with and your skilled fingers ram into it. You just look at his abused cunt, all red and filled with juices, watching at how your fingers fill with them and glisten at the light. You can't help but to taste them and wink at him.

[twlgholts]

always kind of was, j. black

chapter eight, hollow bones

— jacob black x f. reader

a/n: i wonder what is so important he had to leave to do hmmmm i wonder

prev. series masterlist! next.

Since you got back, Jacob found small ways to be around again: dropping by to fix the deck light without being asked, showing up with a socket wrench like he’d just remembered your dad had mentioned the grill was busted. He was around enough that your parents started teasing you again, throwing each other knowing looks over dinner like they knew something you didn’t.

You got comfortable. Too comfortable.

Lately, the nights had started to feel off.

He bailed more. Told you he was busy. Said he was tired. You didn’t push, but you noticed. The way his eyes drifted toward the treeline more often. The way his phone would buzz and he’d get quiet. He never said it, but you knew there was something pulling him away from you—something heavy he didn’t want you to carry with him.

Jacob hadn’t texted. Not a blurry sunset picture. Not even his usual dry, late-night “you alive?” that you’d come to expect when the house was quiet and everyone else had gone to bed.

You stared at your phone too long, your thumb hovering over his contact, but you didn’t type anything. You expected the dots to pop up on your screen first, like maybe he was already thinking of you.

That weekend, you waited for him at the dock for a fishing day and a swim. You stood with your pole, glancing at your phone every few minutes. When five o’clock came and went, you sat down instead, feet dangling in the water. Then the minutes turned into nearly two hours. Five missed calls to voicemail. You weren’t sure why you kept waiting.

Jacob: I’m sorry I can’t make it

You: That’s it?

Jacob: I’m sorry

You left him on read. He eventually promised to make it up to you. Matilda and chocolate cake.

But tonight, the storm hit before he did.

You waited too long in the living room, your parents eventually giving up and kissing your head before heading to bed. You wandered into the kitchen instead, looking for something—comfort, distraction, sugar. Anything.

The storm outside was violent. Unseasonal. Like it didn’t belong in a lazy summer night. You stood at the window with a glass of water, blanket around your shoulders, the lightning making brief ghosts of the trees outside.

Then–two sharp bangs on the door.

Your heart leapt up into your throat. You opened the door, blanket still clutched, anger already stitched into your expression.

Jacob stood there, soaked. Shirtless, barefoot, hair flattened to his face, his body steaming faintly in the cold night air.

“Why the hell are you not wearing clothes, Jacob?” you snapped before you could stop yourself. “Where are your shoes? You’re gonna catch a cold—”

You dragged him inside, grabbed a towel, shoved it into his chest. “Clean your feet before my mom sees those prints and has a heart attack.”

He didn’t say anything, just quietly doing as you said.

“You bailed on me again, and now you show up like this?” You threw your blanket over his shoulders out of reflex. “What is up with you lately?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low like it hurt to say anything at all.

“Couldn’t you have texted me? Called?”

He pushed his hair back and looked at you. “Didn’t think it would come down this hard.”

“You scared the hell out of me,” you admit, quieter this time. “I thought something happened.”

“I’m okay.” He hesitated. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

You hugged him–brief, sharp–and he froze before returning it, his hands settled lightly on the small of your back.

“No cake, I’m guessing?”

He looked away. Not a funny joke, you guess. “I’m not staying. I just–Just wanted to come by. Say sorry.”

Your chest tightens.

“That’s it?”

“I have to go soon.”

You studied him. The way his jaw clenched. The flicker of something in his eyes he couldn’t quite hide.

"Don’t lie to me, Jacob. Just—don’t. I’m not mad that you missed things; I’m mad you didn’t tell me you would. I’m not a stranger—you don’t need to vanish. And I’m confused. Confused why you don’t respond for hours, why you show up at one in the morning, why your clothes are missing." you let out a slight laugh at how ridiculous you sound.

“I know.”

“Then why do you keep doing it?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Yeah. That’s what people say when they don’t want to talk about things. Avoid things.”

Silence. Then a soft “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“That’s not your call.”

You didn’t realize your voice was shaking until he looked at you, his brow drawn, almost like it hurt him.

“I’m leaving soon, Jake. I only get you for the summer. Everyone else gets you the rest of the year and I hate feeling like I’m begging for scraps of time from someone who’s supposed to be my best friend.”

He winced, like that hit harder than he expected.

“Stay,” you almost beg. “Just until the storm slows.”

“I can’t.”

“Why? Is it something I did? Something I said?”

“No.” It came out sharp, too fast. “No. It’s not you, no.”

You stared at him. At the way his hands fidgeted with the edge of the towel. At how he couldn’t look you in the eyes anymore.

“You used to tell me everything,” you said.

“I still want to.”

“Then tell me why it feels like you’re not really here anymore.”

You didn’t mean for it to sound like a plea, but it did. Soft and breaking and too close to the truth. Jacob didn’t move. His eyes flickered to yours, then down to the floor again, like he couldn’t stand to meet the look in your face. Like it might burn.

You watched him breathe. His chest rose and fell too slow, like each inhale was a choice he had to make. The towel in his hands hung limp now, damp and wrung out at the edges where his fingers twisted the fabric.

He shook his head once, barely. “I can’t explain it.”

“You mean you won’t.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

Your throat tightened. “It is when you used to tell me everything.”

“I still want to.” he repeats, this time more desperate like he’s trying to get you to understand something hiding behind his words.

“Then do it.” You took a step closer. “Just be honest. Tell me whatever it is that makes you disappear. That makes you lie about why you don’t come around. That makes you look at me like you’re already halfway gone.”

You didn’t raise your voice, but something cracked under the surface—raw and hollow. He heard it. His jaw tensed. His eyes flicked to the window as thunder rolled again in the distance. For a second, he looked like he wanted to bolt. Like staying here any longer was going to ruin something.

He didn’t move, didn’t say anything, didn’t even try.

The thunder outside cracked louder this time, a low roar rolling through the floorboards. Rain lashed the windows in steady waves, but inside, the silence thickened like fog. You could feel it clinging to your skin—heavy, electric, expectant.

“Say something,” you said, quieter now. It didn’t come out angry. Just tired. Bone-deep and quiet, like you’d already given him all the fight you had.

Jacob’s lips parted, then closed again. His eyes shifted—your face, the floor, the towel in his hands—anywhere but yours. Like he was hunting for an answer that didn’t exist. Or one that wouldn’t destroy you both.

“I…” His voice cracked, barely there. This wasn’t the Jacob Black you knew and loved. He scrubbed a hand down his face, jaw tight, rainwater still dripping from the ends of his hair. “I don’t know how.”

You stared at him. This boy used to finish your sentences, used to look at you like the world made sense. Now he stood soaked and silent in your living room, unable to finish his own sentence, and he felt farther away than ever.

The rain pounded down harder as if on cue, the wind howling against the side of the house, rattling the windows like fists against glass.

You didn’t move. Neither did he.

“I hate this,” you said, almost a whisper. “I hate pretending like everything’s fine when it’s not. I hate wondering if I did something wrong. If I said too much or not enough. I hate how I keep waiting for you to come back—to actually come back—but every time you show up, it’s like I’m watching you from the other side of a glass wall.”

He flinched, not visibly, not much–but you noticed. A ripple in his shoulders. A breath that caught too hard in his throat.

“I’m still me,” he said, low and shaky.

“Then why don’t you feel like you?”

Jacob swallowed hard. He turned away like he couldn’t stand being seen by you as if he would come undone if he looked at you too long.

The towel hit the floor.

“I can’t stay tonight.”

The words landed like a blow. You didn’t know what you expected—but not that. Anything but that.

You nodded slowly, lips pressed together. “Right. Of course.”

You stepped back to give him space, even though all you wanted to do was close it. Grab his hand. Shake him. Ask him what the hell he was doing—why he was running when you were right here, asking him to stay. But you didn’t because what good was holding onto someone who was already slipping away? Making the choice to do so?

He moved toward the door, slow but sure, like each step pulled him farther into a choice he didn’t want to make. The storm outside surged louder, wind curling beneath the frame like it was trying to claw its way in and keep him here.

His hand hovered over the doorknob.

You didn’t say his name.

He didn’t say yours.

The door opened with a groan and the cold rushed in. Damp and bitter. He stood there for a second, shoulders hunched again, back to you, like he might turn around. Like he wanted to. Like maybe, just maybe, he’d choose you this time over whatever secret he was hiding.

But then the door clicked shut and he was gone.

You stood there for a long time, staring at the empty space where he had just been. The towel still lay on the floor, the rain still pelted the windows, the silence stretched until it wrapped itself around your chest like a second skin.

You were alone and this time, it wasn’t an accident.

[cocoadropp]

onyankapon x blackfemreader!

Genre: Sexy Hot Nasty Ass Smut

“Mmph!” Your eyes roll back as rough big hands held over your mouth, fingers sliding off the white clean sink and your thigh almost slipping off of it. Your foot that was on the floor and still in your pink marc jacob slides curl and grip on it. “Shut that shit up right now.” A slap was made to your ass cheek and you cry out through his spit covered fingers. Your back was arched and you open your eyes to look in the bathroom mirror.

Onyankapon stands there thrusting ruthlessly in your fat tight cunt, one hand covering your mouth as the other held your thigh that was on top of the sink in place, your short white nails gripping the sink and one hand falls to ony’s lower stomach, you moan and thankful his hand around your mouth was holding you back cause your face would have fallen on the mirror. “O-ony pleaseuuhhh” your voice is muffled and quiet, “what i say huh?” Gold one row grill sitting on his pretty white teeth as he spoke angrily in your ear. Hand now on your neck and his other hand smacking your thigh harshly.

Tears started to form and now he moved closer, chin on your shoulder and he thrusted up, circling his hips into you like he hated you. You almost thought he did until he moaned loudly when your pussy tightened up, signaling your upcoming orgasm. “Y-you always fuckin- shit. Always playin with me like you don’t give a fuck.” His hand on your neck tightened, your thighs shook and you made eye contact with him in the mirror.

“I don’t give a fuck, a-about your damn commitment issues. You hear me?” The hand that was on your neck smacks your cheek lightly to make sure you were listening, you gasp and whine “y-yes ony ohmygosh. please please, i-im so sorry hnnn.” You didn’t mean to ghost ony for a week, you just got so detached from your phone you forgot someone actually cared for you and wanted to speak to you all the time and make sure you were okay. You hear him grumbling on the side of you but you just couldn’t think.

First he kisses your shoulder, then your cheek and neck. He turns your head towards him so you guys can go in for a sloppy kiss, exchanging moans all while he deep in your tummy. “Pussy so good and y-you was finna leave me hm? Make me feel so fuckin good mama.”

You’re gonna fucking cum.

The way he looks at you with low eyes and the way he rasp his sentences.

“Ony” it was different…this orgasm was different. You felt like crying and it was so hard to breath. Your lips formed a pout and you felt your eyes burning with tears .. “nghhh shit w-wait pa ohmygoshhhh wait!”

“Now you want me to wait? Thought you was working for that nut? Cum on that shit, make my shit more wet baby.” Oh and you fucking did. Thighs shaking and you were whining so fucking loud. “P-pa hnnnn daddy fuuck pl-please i c-can’t stop-“ you were making such a big mess, squirting on the sink and it drips in the floor, hearing the plop plop plop. And your cunt was so fucking tight! “Uhn shit.” Ony gasp.

And the unnecessarily loud squelching. Ony was looking down at your pretty two toned pussy, speading your pussy lips from behind to capture your wetness and creaminess. He bites his lips and closes his eyes as his head leaned back “mhhm” he mumbles and started beating your shit up for a quick second. “Imma cum mama… cum in this nasty ass pussy, f-fuck baby.” His hips staggered and he moved his face towards your moaning neck. Kissing and groaning up in it ass his bust his load into you.

Both breathing heavy and high on sex.

“Do that shit again and it’s gonna be worse.”

[theglassofmiddleearth]

Evenfall

Imagine you wake up in Twilight as a random side character. (Part 5)

Nullification!reader Human reader! Fem reader! SideCharacter Bella! Isekai au! Edward Cullen X reader. Eventually Jacob Black x reader. (2 endings.) (All characters will be written less creepy and one dimensional than the ones in the books.)

Previous - Next

Edwards eyes were glinting again with the emotion that Y/N still could not place.

'What?' Y/N asked, rolling onto her stomach, head resting on her arms.

'Nothing. It's just nice to finally feel the sun again.' Edward smiled, closing his eyes and laying on his back, breathing deeply.

Was there something on her lips? Why was he touching them? Y/N lifted her hand to brush over her lips.

‘Was there something on my face?’ Y/N asked, sitting up. ‘If you say there's a bug I will scream.’

‘No, just some grass, it's gone now.’ Edward lied smoothly. He looked a mixture of frustrated and amused. Where else would he find such an oblivious girl who was adamant on not seeing how much he liked her? It was as if she couldn’t see herself at all.

He stood up, offering a hand. Y/N let herself be pulled up, grasping his marble hands. He looked rueful, dropping her hand as soon as Y/N stood up.

‘How can you not be afraid?’ He let out a growl, dashing past Y/N before her eyes could focus on his form. He was now standing ten metres away, eyes boring into her from just beyond the thicket.

Was Edward having his emo moment? 

‘You can't run from us.’ He said, suddenly In front of her again, impossibly fast.

‘You can't scream or-’

‘Look, you’re not a spider, or a roach.' She rolled her eyes, interrupting.

'The only thing scary about you is the fact that you mood swing so hard.’ Y/N raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms, her tone final.

‘I get that you think you're the world's best predator, but so are humans.’ Y/N pointed at him, as if scolding. ‘You may be dangerous, but so is every human being, plant or animal. You may be a vampire Edward but you nor your family scare me.’ She jabbed at him with her finger.

‘Hell, not even ghosts scare me.’ She threw up her hands in frustration. ‘If you wanted me dead, I would have been the day that van skidded.’  

‘But I-’

‘Edward, you’re a good person and I’m betting you’re also a good friend.’ She shook her head emphatically. 

‘I am not scared of you more than I am scared of every other man nor do I think you’re an angel. You may be a vampire but that is you physically. Everything else about you is still human.’ Y/N rubbed her hands on temples, looking down and continuing.

‘Your emotions, your moral compass and your brain is still human Edward.’ She ended, hands on her hips looking as imposing as she could.

‘I don't think I've been scolded by anyone since….’ He trailed off. ‘I don't even think Carlisle has scolded me.’ He let out a small laugh, disbelief evident in his eyes. In the books, Y/N was pretty sure Carslie let Edward runoff during the mid 19th century so she wasn’t surprised.

‘You really are something.’ He murmured, placing a hand on her arm, willing her to drop her stance. ‘I’ll try not to be so self deprecating.’ 

Y/N looked at him and sighed. ‘Old habits die hard right?’ She relaxed her arms and shrugged, allowing him to coax her from her temper.

‘Eighty year old habits.’ Edward grinned, looking slightly self-conscious. It seemed as if time did little to expand a vampire's emotional maturity.

It made sense seeing as the immortal children were also stuck at a child’s mentality.

‘Yeah I don’t think you've aged mentally since, to be honest.’ She smirked, then added, ‘No offence.’

‘None taken. Although I would like to add that I do have two graduate degrees in Medicine.’ He crossed his arms, his face reminded her of a puppy, waiting for a treat. It was so unfair how Edward’s face was able to dazzle her so easily. Who in the world was Stephanie Meyer thinking of when she wrote this damn book?

‘Huh, you can study all day for twenty four hours. I guess it makes sense. One could say you had a slight advantage…’ Y/N cheeked, to which Edward playfully hummed. He jokingly took a step forward, his hands poised.

‘Why you cheeky little..’ He sneaked forward as Y/N stepped backwards with an impish smile.

‘Shouldn’t I get a headstart?’ 

‘I would, but if I'm being honest. I'm afraid you'll get lost or trip over something…’ With that he blurred to Y/N’s side, gently snatching her up by the waist and spinning her around.

‘So I think I'm going to just keep you right here with me.’ He flashed a grin, his teeth sparkling in the sunlight. 

‘Honestly if you glittered the same way in the moonlight, I could use you as a torch.’ Y/N blinked, she poked his forehead with a finger, awkwardly dangling from his gentle hold.

‘Wow, you are exceptional.’ Edward closed his eyes, breathing in deeply with a wistful smile.

Y/n was miffed, ‘Whadd’ya mean?’ She mumbled, as Edward set her down, kneeling on the ground.

‘Get on, we’re going home.’

‘It’s like five o'clock.’ Y/N protested, nudging Edward over with her foot to which he chuckled, playing along.

‘You need dinner. We’re going home so I can drive us.’ 

‘Can’t I have more pasta?’ Y/N mumbled, climbing back onto Edward’s back, hands around his neck, brushing her thumbs over his cool skin. Edward hummed pleasantly as Y/N mushed her warm cheek into his back. 

‘Hmm, I could have that arranged.’ He said, shifting her weight. ‘Close your eyes.’ 

The trip back lasted less than ten seconds. They reached the familiar window, landing on it as Y/N flitted her eyelids open. The sun was beginning to set, casting a breathtaking orange glow across the horizon.

‘They made pasta without us even asking.’ Edward gave a light chuckle, setting Y/N down smoothly. 

‘I love your family. Can I marry them?’ Y/N joked, skipping through the door, next to Edward as he led them to the kitchen.

‘No one but me is single in my family.’ He smirked, looking down at her, ‘You’d be marrying me.’ 

‘Hm, I’d have to think about that.’ Y/N mused, putting her chin between her thumb and index finger. ‘You do have all the qualities that matter in this day and age.’ 

‘What’s that?’

‘Money, good looks and youth.’

‘I’m glad to know you think I’m good looking.’

‘What am I? Blind?’ Y/N laughed, reaching the kitchen, smelling the same delicious scent as this morning.

‘Welcome back!’ Alice called from the table.

The Cullen's were all sitting around the dining table, behind the kitchen island. On the marble white table was a single plate of spaghetti with a set of utensils.

‘Is that for me?’ Y/N smiled gleefully, keenly looking at the plate.

‘Of course,’ Rosalie answered, pulling out a chair. ‘Come sit.’ 

‘So, has Edward told you everything?’ Carlisle smiled, both his elbows on the table, his hands clasped. Y/N picked up her fork and replied,

‘Well, mainly everything but…’ Y/N brought the food to her mouth and chewed. 

‘I told her everything she asked.’ Edward frowned

‘Well, one thing I want to know more about is why he says that he can’t stand to be near or away from me.’ Y/N said, after swallowing her mouthful of food.

‘Well, you’re what we would call, his blood singer.’ Carlisle began explaining. ‘Your blood entices him more than any other, your scent is the most appealing to him in any situation.’

‘So, what I’m like a drug to him?’ Y/N blinked, twirling her pasta with her fork.

‘Yes, you’re like my personal brand of cocaine.’ Edward answered, resting his elbow on the table, head resting on his closed fist.

‘That’s… interesting?’ Y/N looked disgruntled, continuing to eat her food.

The conversation took a lull, the Cullens deciding to discuss their plans for an upcoming hunting trip. Meaning that the sun would be out soon.

As soon as Y/N had finished her plate, she spoke up,

‘Just one last thing… If there are vampires, do werewolves exist? ’ Y/N raised her eyebrows quizzically, standing to put her plate in the sink.

‘I’m afraid that's something you’ll have to ask the people you’re thinking about.’ Carlisle said in a grim tone. His perfect statue face, carved in an ironic, stony expression. It seemed as if he already knew where she was going with that question.

‘Okay, thank you Dr Cullen.’ Y/N nodded, as Edward moved to take her plate to the sink, slipping it from her grip.

‘Carlisle is fine. We aren’t at the hospital. Besides, I think we’re past the point of titles don’t you think?’ He smiled, standing from the table. ‘I assume Edward will be driving you home?’ 

‘Yes sir!’ Y/N nodded, before correcting herself. ‘I mean, Yes Dr- I mean, yes Carlisle.’ She fumbled, wringing her hands nervously.

The Cullen family were getting too friendly. What was Y/N going to do when they met Bella? She was the main character after all. And what was she supposed to do about Jacob? He had to imprint on Bella and Edward’s daughter, that was his story line wasn’t it?

As Y/N spiraled in her head. The rest of the family chuckled, saying their goodbyes as they one by one stepped out of the room.

‘I haven’t said this in almost a century but, a penny for your thoughts?’ Edward smiled gently, leading her by the waist.

‘Just thinking about what will happen to me when you eventually get sick of me.’ Y/N word vomited, looking at Edward in a slight panic.

‘What on earth are you talking about?’ Edward frowned, eyebrows furrowed, looking mildly disturbed.

‘Well, won't the novelty of you not being able to read my mind wear off at some point?’ Y/N shook her head, picking at skin on her hands. 

‘I’m sorry but even if I can't hear your mind, your facial expressions speak louder than words.’ Edward’s marble hands closed over Y/N’s fidgeting ones.

‘You speak without words sometimes, I like that you're so open.’ He whispered, his golden eyes were glittering, lit up by the lamps inside the corridor.

‘So you’ll still be my friend if I'm not the only one you can't hear?’ Y/N stared at her covered hands. Edward’s skin was freezing but comforting all the same.

‘Also, do you guys need lights? Don't you guys have night vision?’ She looked up abruptly while Edward in turn, stared at her incredulously.

‘Where on earth does your mind go in between thinking I'm going to abandon you and asking me questions I’m not expecting?’ 

‘I think about getting a dog too sometimes.’

‘Hm, I’m not too fond of dogs myself.’ Edward grimaced, looking as if he knew something she didn’t. The family called out their goodbyes from their rooms as Y/N walked by.

‘Why? Puppies are cute and they love you so much! Y’know beside the fact that they kinda stink and you have to clean up their poop.’ Y/N hummed, pulling her shoes on and tying up the laces.

‘Well, we can get one someday if you’d like.’ Edward smiled, offering his hand again to lead her to the car.

‘Huh? What am I? Gonna marry you?’ Y/N teased. ‘Planning our future already? You haven’t even taken me on a date yet!’

‘I just took you to meet my family. What do you think that was?’ Edward gave a humoured laugh guiding Y/N into her seat.

‘Huh?’ Y/N blanched, eyes bug-wide and mouth open in complete confusion.

‘You couldn’t tell?’ He chuckled, gazing at the shell shocked girl with affection. Edward was leaning over Y/N, his arm bracing his form on the open car door.

Y/N shook her head, mouth snapping shut.

‘I can slow down if you’d like.’ Edward grinned, eyes crinkling at the edges warmly.

‘Huh?!’ Y/N was not processing this at all.

‘But I have no intention of stopping unless you explicitly tell me to.’ Edward gently closed the car door and blurred over to the opposite side, opening the door and sliding in perfectly.

Y/N stared at Edward, unable to comprehend the current conversation.

‘You like me?’ She asked for the third time, not believing her ears.

However, to Edwards credit. He took the questions all in stride as a true gentleman.

‘Why me?’ She asked the first new question in five minutes.

‘You’re kind, you’re emotionally mature and you’re not easily shaken. Not only that, you make it so that I don't hate myself.’ Edward shrugged, one hand on the wheel, his head resting on the other hand curled into a fist. He was doing very little to hide the smile on his face.

‘We’ve only known each other since Friday! ’

‘That is true.’ He hummed, shifting his gaze onto her with a tender smile. ‘But I can’t exactly help it. Once one of our kind forms an attachment to someone, it only snowballs from there really.’ His smile turned apologetic.

‘Does it have something to do with having a perfect memory?’ Y/N asked, suddenly interested in this new information.

‘Something like that.’ Edward looked back toward the road. ‘For example, this afternoon, I will remember for the rest of my life. From the way your voice blended perfectly with the forest birds. To the way your eyes were illuminated by the setting sun.’  

Edward gave a content sigh before turning the car to park in front of Charlie’s driveway.

‘Even if I wanted to, I don’t think I could forget that.’ He closed his eyes, breathing deeply for a second before opening his eyes again.

‘How are you single?’ Y/N gave him a dubious look to which he snorted.

‘I’m actively trying to change that status with you right now.’ He opened the drivers-sided car door and whisked over to Y/N in a flash.

‘Edward…’ Y/N sighed, as the boy opened her door and held out his hand.

‘I didn’t tell you to pressure you Y/N.’ Edward hummed, leading her toward the front door.

‘I did it so you know I’m not going to randomly abandon you as you so fear. I hate that you think I'm so fickle. That is something I'll have to work on.' He gave her a chaste kiss on her forehead, giving her ample time to pull away. Time that Y/N did not take. Edward’s lips were cold and smooth on her skin, like nothing she had ever felt before.

Before she could speak, the front door was flung open by a disgruntled Charlie.

‘Seven Thirty on the dot huh.’ Charlie's eyebrow lifted into a perfect arch.

‘Yes Chief Swan.’ Edward gave him a polite smile, squeezing Y/N’s hand gently before relinquishing her. ‘I’ll see you soon Y/N’ He gave her an implicit look, glancing at her room for a second.

Luckily for him, it was a gaze that Charlie had missed. Instead, he was checking Y/N for any signs of possible harm before ushering her back inside, almost not letting her wave goodbye to Edward.

‘How was it? Did the boy treat you well?’ Charlie spitfired questions as Y/N shrugged off her jacket.

‘He was a gentleman! His family was very gracious and we had pasta for dinner.’ Y/N laughed, amused by the fatherly instincts that were currently on display.

‘Enough about me, is Bella here?’ Y/N peered into the kitchen, spotting an empty table and chair.

‘She went upstairs, said she wanted to unpack after dinner. I could knock on her door?’ Charlie looked unsure of what to do. He wanted both the girls to get along but he wasn't sure how.

‘It’s okay, I’m sure she’ll say hello in the morning!’ Y/N gave Charlie a reassuring pat on the back before moving to go upstairs. 

‘I’ll see you in the morning?’ She smiled.

‘Yeah sounds like a plan, Goodnight kiddo.’

‘G’night Uncle Charlie.’ Y/N called out, trekking her way up the stairs.

Y/N glanced at the door on the far end of the hallway before shaking her head and opening her own door.

‘What is that smell?’ a voice whispered, starling Y/N.

‘What the-’

‘I did say see you soon.’ The musical voice replied cheekily.

‘Seriously though, your house smells like rotten fruit and white chocolate. I hate white chocolate.’ Edward growled, grabbing a pillow and nuzzling his face into it. Y/N took note of how he relaxed when he seemingly inhaled into the pillow.

‘Are you sniffing my pillow…’

‘I CAN’T HELP IT! YOUR HOUSE SMELLS TERRIBLE!’ He whisper-yelled in a whiny voice.

‘I think you might be smelling Charlie's daughter, Bella Swan…’

‘Seven hells she stinks.’ Edward groaned, unhanding the pillow and pulling Y/N's arm, allowing her to fall onto his lap. He nudged his cold nose into her neck, sending shivers down her spine.

‘Just for a second, please. Need to clear my nose.’ He huffed, his nose barely grazing the nape of her neck.

‘This seems normal for teenagers.’ Y/N mumbled, her cheeks feeling hot. ‘Also are you sitting on my bed with outside clothes? Her voice took on a stern tone.

‘Mm I’ll change your sheets for you.’ Edward’s eyes fluttered open, his eyelashes ticking Y/N’s skin. ‘Are they in that closet?’ He jutted out his thumb.

‘Uh huh. I’m gonna change. If you peek I will scream and Charlie will shoot you. You won’t die but it’ll hurt.’ Y/N pointed, before grabbing some clothing from the opened closet and walking into the bathroom.

‘Feisty one aren’t ya?’ Edward snickered, pulling off her covers and starting to swap out her sheets.

-

It was now nine and Y/N had settled into her sheets, allowing Edward to slide in with her. He had gone home and changed his clothing in about ten seconds.

Unbeknownst to Y/N he had literally torn off his shirt in such a hurry.

She was leaning into his side, his arm resting on her bed frame.

‘You’re not going to watch me sleep are you?’ Y/N wrinkled her nose.

‘No, I would never do that without your permission.’ Edward shook his head, his tone insistent. ‘I only came up here because I wanted to wish you goodnight before tomorrow.’ He sat up straighter, looking panicked.

‘I was joking.’ Y/N laughed quietly, nudging him with her elbow. ‘Now go home so your family doesn’t think I put out on the first date.’

‘They wouldn’t think that. They adore you, Alice and Rosalie especially. Rosalie thinks you’re cute and Alice wants to take you shopping.’ Edward sighed, slipping off her bed and straightening up his clothes.

‘Huh, I knew i should’a dressed better…’ Y/N frowned, looking back at her closet.

‘You would look great in a trash bag.’

‘Why the flying fuck would I be wearing a trash bag.’

‘Good point.’ Edward smiled.

‘Until good morrow my dear kind sir.’

‘I bid thee a fine farewell fair lady.’ Edward gave a small bow, hand over his heart, eyes lowered.

‘Close the window on your way out Edward.’ Y/N rolled her eyes, sliding back into her bed.

‘Sweet dreams Y/N/N.’ He winked, sliding smoothly out of her window and shutting it quietly. With a final wave, Edward dropped with a soft almost unnoticeable whump leaving Y/N alone in her room.

‘What a day.’ Y/N mumbled, turning off her lamp.

EDIT-

OK SO IDK I kind of want to write out Bella, I think as a character she isn't quite as developed (Stephanie Meyer kind of self inserted so.... She's pretty one dimensional making it kind of hard to write unless I make her my own character.) So lmk what you think? Sorry it took so long! I'm going to the doctors today so I thought i might as well show you guys what I have for chapter five! Follow the post if you want to see the updates! (you can unfollow after I've updated! Tag lists are beyond me-) (p.s if you comment I'll probably @ you when I've updated!)

[tojisun]

it takes a rampage (to be a dad)

!! fluff & angst; simon’s pov; simon’s insecurities; vague descriptions of violence; repeating allusions to past child abuse; parenthood; f!reader // wc: 3.5k // dividers by @/plutism!

a spinoff of the apple that rolled over to the tree

simon’s not a good man, but he concedes that there are just certain circumstances where you have to be the good man. where you have to bleed and burn through, and sacrifice a shit ton because that’s what being good is.

case in point: the child, who couldn’t be any more than two, bundled in his arms as the squad tries to come down from the adrenaline after a dangerously high-tension exfil.

“where,” johnny pauses, breathing deeply, quick fingers unlatching any tight strapping that’s making it difficult to gulp in air. “where ye dumpin’ the brat?”

it’s callously said, but they all know johnny’s meant it in a place of worry—which is founded, by all accounts, because the base is a terrible place to care for a two year old toddler. no one’s even equipped to deal with the boy, not with the mission still on its last legs; granted, the winding dregs would only require their captain, maybe garrick for backup, to finish but nothing is ever certain.

but—

the boy shifts on his lap, big brown eyes staring up at simon with unfathomable trust. like the sight of his mask, and weapons, and even having seen him in action—poised guns and clean shots on the head; unfazed eyes scanning the explosion of brain matter spilling he’s caused—was not petrifying.

simon knows what they say about ghost—the living boogeyman; the harbinger of death and destruction. and yet here the little boy is, looking up at him like simon isn’t anything other than man; like simon is something so human.

simon thinks about his place back home that’s dancing close to the outskirts of the city; he thinks about its picket fence and its brick walls and its big backyard.

he thinks about its love, forged from the softest hands that simon’s ever held; from the hands of the only one that simon’s ever loved.

“i’m bringin’ ‘im ‘ome.”

.

laswell was kind enough to pull some strings so that the boy has whatever legal documents he needed so simon can bring him back safely—passport, citizenship papers… adoption documents.

jacob emory riley. (yakov in russian. yasha.) he’s simon’s ward now. his son.

(laswell had congratulated him with crinkled eyes and the softest of smiles; it might just be the first simon’s ever seen her look so at peace.

somehow, it was that brief talk with laswell that made everything feel tangibly raw; simon realized that things got too real too fast, and that he found himself almost wanting to reverse everything he’d done so far because what if he wouldn’t be a good guardian to the child? what if simon’s too broken for the child? what if—

his thoughts stuttered, quaking until they reach a tentative halt because the boy closed his little fist around the entirety of simon’s finger. he was so small, like that, and still so blindingly trusting even with all the littering scars on his little arms and little legs. he held onto simon so fiercely, he didn’t even notice the turmoil in simon’s heart. or how simon had almost given him away in an act of his cowardice because simon is a coward. especially with this.

but jacob—

but yasha held him, chose him, and the storm raging in his head died down, petering into a quiet chill until simon could bite out a weak but not any less genuine, “thank you,” to laswell.

laswell stared at him, all-knowing as always, before bidding him and yasha a sweet goodbye.)

the boy responds better with the diminutive, all giggly and grabby hands as he toddles over simon. the rest of the squad had eased into their roles, battle-worn bodies turning into the softest cushions with yasha in their arms. he is a shy little thing, hiding behind simon’s leg whenever price would come visit, or refusing to be put down from simon’s arms or even make eye contact with mactavish when it’s his turn to babysit.

garrick was a different story altogether. yasha had looked at him once, studying with such inquisitive curiosity, before deeming his sergeant the safest after simon. he’d grumbled and cooed and begged for uppies—garrick had been all too pleased to give it to him.

which is why saying goodbye now is difficult.

yasha would not stop crying, pale face all blotchy and snotty as he wails, chubby arms thrashing, trying to reach for kyle, but the sergeant and their captain are already suited for the mission, ready to leave the moment simon and johnny and little yasha do.

“ky! ky!” he cries out, unable to fully say kyle’s name but trying so desperately because his grief is so much bigger than himself.

simon bounces him on his hip, trying to calm the little tyke down, but shrill wails pierce their ears, unstoppable, and he wonders if it was too cruel to have made him say goodbye to kyle and price. simon heard from the medic that it was healthy for children to cry, but yasha sobs like he is grieving, and simon can’t fault him—this is his first, and hopefully his last for a long while, experience of abandonment. sure, they’ve all told him that kyle would just be gone for a while, but yasha is a child, unable to reconcile such reality where his uncle isn’t flying home with him.

(they didn’t mention the fragility of their lives in their line of work; how, every time they suit up, there are chances that they’ll never return. yasha is too young for such reality.

‘sides, kyle promised to come back. so he has to.)

kyle is teary-eyed, so is mactavish, and simon presses his sorry’s and his reassurances on yasha’s inky black hair, while kyle makes a vow once more.

“don’t worry, son,” their captain croons, his face creased in the softest it has ever been. “i promise i’ll bring your uncle back in one piece.”

yasha sniffles, watery brown eyes not looking away. then, “o’ay.” he lifts an arm up, waving it cautiously. “buh-bye?”

“yeah, bubsy,” their captain replies because no one can, not kyle who is crying nor simon who can’t lift his face up from where he’s breathing in his son’s baby smell. “bye bye.”

“buh-bye,” yasha repeats, still quiet but more sure. “ky? buh-bye?”

kyle chuckles wetly. he steps forward and pinches yasha’s cheek. “bye bye, little man. see you in two weeks, okay?”

yasha hums, having grown exhausted from his emotional outburst. the base shrink said that’s normal for children; that it’s good when they’re emotional, it’s healthy, so simon bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from fussing.

instead, as a distraction, he nods at his captain and his sergeant, and he and mactavish turn to leave.

“daddy?” the little tyke asks.

“yeah?” simon replies, turning his full attention to yasha.

“buh-bye?”

“oh, son no,” simon murmurs. “daddy’s always goin’ t’be with you.”

yasha nods, and flops back down on simon’s chest, satisfied.

.

the flight was tedious, sprinkle the listless child with that, and it was just about draining. he couldn’t thank johnny enough for being with him throughout because being an uncle to tommy’s kids didn’t teach simon much about this—cranky and emotional two year-old’s, and their complicated tastebuds that almost made it impossible to feed them aeroplane food, and their odd sleeping patterns.

but as simon shoots yasha a glance, watching the boy sleep peacefully finally, he thinks to himself how it’s all so worth it.

.

johnny doesn’t follow them to prestwich, crashing instead somewhere in stratford before making his way back to dundee. yasha hadn’t cried as hard for johnny as he did when he said goodbye to kyle, but he’d been teary-eyed even when he refused to be given to his sergeant’s waiting arms. still, simon’s boy had been solemn and gave mactavish a weak wave.

simon tells yasha that johnny would come back in two weeks’ time too, with the captain and garrick, before trailing off when he realized he doesn’t know how to tell yasha exactly why johnny was giving them space.

shit, he hadn’t even thought about how yasha would react when—

the house appears past barren trees, and simon’s lungs constrict in one full swoop. god, he’s missed this place, very much so.

pinpricks fill the back of his eyes, and he desperately blinks them away as he tries swallowing past the lump in his throat, but not even the familiar warmth of yasha could ground simon back. rather, the reminder that simon’s not returning on his own this time makes everything feel a lot more intense, like ragged tendrils curling at the base of his neck, grasping him until reality and faraway dreams blend into something miasmic.

simon’s never once deluded himself with thoughts of having his own family. he once thought he’d go grey on his own, something he was perfectly fine with because nothing is ever sacred—the catholics had a word for it, johnny said, how one’s mere existence was the original sin, and simon is neither a pagan nor a believer, but when you grow up with shadows that are ever so perpetually haunting, you learn that not even the sign of the cross can truly ward off the demons.

but then, his beloved appeared before him—just as… fearful; as self-punishing as he had been, and he knows it was twisted but he had been pulled. he had been lulled into the weight of your gravitational force, dragging his heart until it was homesick for anything less.

(two words have never sounded sweeter to him before.

i do.

since then, he’s never hunger for more.)

(until yasha.)

the cab stops, the driver dutifully ignoring how simon must look, all brooding and emotional as he holds his child close, like if he blinks, someone would take him away. he tips generously, and declines any offer of helping with the unloading of bags in the trunk. simon didn’t even bring much, just a travel bag and a rucksack stuffed with as many travel essentials for yasha.

the boy is asleep again, exhaustion dragging him back to his dreams. he looks so peaceful like this, and younger too, and simon knows that isn’t a good thing because yasha’s so small for a two year old. simon’s only comfort is that he’s bringing him somewhere safe; a place filled with boundless love.

he walks to the front door, debating on whether he should just take the spare key underneath the nondescript potted plant to get in or just bite the bullet and introduce yasha to you like this, through the entrance.

the choice is taken from him when you swing the door open, surprise and disbelief lining your face.

“i saw you—” you say at the same time that he rasps out, “love—”

he beckons you to go first. you did so with a tremor in your voice.

“i saw you from the cameras,” you pause, roving your wide eyes over him, before stopping at the bundle he’s carrying. “haley helped me set them up—said you can, uh, get notification of movements outside and, and…”

he watches as you realize that you’re about to ramble, so you take a deep breath, finding the centre of your gravity, before, “baby? who…”

simon adjusts his hold on yasha, before a careful hand sweeps away the blanket so you can see the boy better.

“this,” he says, quiet and fragile. “this is our son, jacob emory riley.” he licks at his chapped lips, the word ‘our’ settling so warmly in the pit of his stomach. “our yasha.”

“oh,” you whimper instantly, tears already springing from your eyes. a choked sound gets stuck on the back of your throat before you’re rushing forward, careful to not jostle the tyke awake, until you’re pressing yourself against simon’s side, watching raptly.

“simon he’s—” you hiccup, rubbing your face on his shoulder. “darling, he’s perfect.”

simon ducks down to brush his lips on the crown of your head, humming deep because yeah, he is. but so are you—and he wouldn’t have done this, anyway, without you. because yasha deserved the best and simon doesn’t know anyone who could step up other than you.

you, who is so bright and joyful; who has crafted fortitude from the ragged shards of your pain.

you, who is the strongest person that simon’s ever met; how you could look at the storm and find a reason to dance.

you, who is so beautiful and lovely, and so utterly full of love that it spills into everyone you meet and everything you do.

yasha deserves you.

and, love, you deserve a family just like this too.

.

yasha wakes up and simon makes the mistake of not being there for him. he didn’t even know he accidentally slept in the living room, long body sprawled on the couch gracelessly. he jolts awake after the loud ring of cries, the fear he felt at hearing yasha’s familiar sobbing slams so fiercely into simon’s heart.

he topples to the ground, knees thudding against the hardwood floors, before he bolts up, frantic as he tears through the house, trying to find his boy, desperate to comfort him and to apologize and to make things right because he never wants yasha to feel so alone in his new home—

simon pauses, feet stopping just in front of the bedroom where you and simon had put yasha in since the guest room has yet to be baby proofed and prepared, when he hears your familiar croon.

“shh, darlin’. you’re alright, i promise.”

simon angles himself so that he can see through the ajar door. you’re kneeling on the floor, head a few feet away from where yasha’s is pillowed. the boy is staring at you with wide eyes, wet and red, but he’s no longer wailing, and simon wonders if it’s because yasha’s internalizing his fear, but then he sees the tyke make grabby hands at you—pudgy fists closing, then opening again. he seems like a baby like this, more than a toddler, and simon watches as you coo, inching closer, giving yasha room to roll away if he wants, but the boy turns to his side, facing you properly, and it’s all the confirmation you need to take him in your arms.

you rise up from the floor, yasha perched on your hip. the boy is still watching you, curious, and you murmur something too faint for simon to hear, before wiping at his wet cheeks and his runny nose.

“hi, love,” you murmur, voice a tad quiet. simon sees the hesitance in your gait, like you don’t know what else to say. it takes a heartbeat, before you’re uttering your name, voice curling around the vowels the way simon never gets tired of hearing.

“i’ve heard good things about you, you know?” you say, brushing the pad of your finger along the bridge of yasha’s nose. simon’s ears pick up huffing sounds, then your giggles, and yasha’s hum.

“oh, i sure did,” you add, smiling, bouncing the toddler in your arms. “simon said you’re the best boy ever!”

simon did, he guesses, say that but with more words—he told you how he found yasha, and how yasha had been so brave after such a stressful change in his life; how yasha had been so excited to learn and to trust, and how he’d brighten up everyone’s day back at the base; how yasha had first called him daddy, and the others unca’, his brave little boy so eager for a family that he made one even when all he’s surrounded with was a ragtag of broken men.

yasha is truly such a beautiful boy, so darling and loving.

“si-‘on?” yasha says, attempting simon’s name.

“yeah,” you reply, just as choked up as simon is. “simon… your daddy.”

yasha hums, fist curling up your shirt.

“daddy,” he repeats, nodding. then, like he remembers that simon isn’t there, yasha begins to look distraught again, whining, looking up to you like you hold the answer when he asks, “daddy where?”

simon takes that chance to walk in. you two whirl to look at him, both with pained faces easing up into the loveliest of smiles just at his mere presence. it makes simon feel… raw; that somehow, all he needs to be is himself, and it’s enough to brighten up the room.

his lips twitch up in his own smile too.

“hey there, kid,” he greets, slotting himself to your side so he can pull you close and be in yasha’s line of sight.

you turn, moving to pass yasha to him, but the boy’s hand is still tight on your shirt and he still looks at ease with you, and simon nuzzles his face on the top of your head in comfort when he sees the way your lips wobble at yasha’s easy display of trust.

“daddy!” yasha cheers. “you here!”

simon ruffles the soft tufts of yasha’s hair. “of course. did you nap good?”

yasha nods, distracted by the bright colours on the bed. the yellow pillows and the baby blue blanket.

the dog stuff toy.

yasha gasps, utterly delighted, and he wriggles out, begging to be put down, and you and simon watch as he runs to the side of the bed, plucking the toy out with a giggle.

“towy!” he says, showing it to you and simon.

simon files the name for next time, focusing on yasha as he runs to hug simon’s leg, then yours, before running back to the bed, chatting animatedly to the toy.

simon pulls you close, slotting your back to his front to bury his face on the crook of your neck, because this, right here, is change. but also, he’s home.

“i missed you,” he murmurs, because it is the only thing he can verbalize. he wants to say more—he wants to say how he’s never once stopped thinking about you, how he’s always kept a picture he has of you in his helmet, tucked under the crown pad, how he’d always toy with his ring when he has the chance because simon is made of many things, and one of them is your love.

but this is all that forms from his lips, inadequate, but then simon hears the twinkle of your laughter, and, “i missed you too, love.” and knows, there needn’t be any more words. not when you two have more time than he’s ever had the privilege to spend.

.

the first time yasha calls you his mom—“mommy!”—was just days before the squad was set to meet the riley’s in their residence.

it was a mundane day; you and yasha are in the living room, playing with his army of anatoly’s—towy—when yasha squeals, finally able to dig out his favourite anatoly from underneath the couch after futile attempts. you’ve asked him if you can help him with it, but he’d been so adamant, tutting the way simon does and it’s honestly so adorable that you let him have at it.

so you laughed at the sound of his happy trills, watching as he turns, running to you, saying, “mommy, towy look!”

he falls to your lap, humphing loudly and smooshing the turtle stuffie on your face, and all you can do is gather him close, trying not to cry in front of him but—

he’s called you mommy.

your little brave boy called you—

“mommy, sad?” yasha asks, readily giving you another treasure, saying the word so naturally like you were never anything else to him.

“no, sweet pea,” you reply, choked up with the weight of your joy. “mommy’s the happiest she’s been.”

you kiss his chubby cheek, breathing in his scent, before letting him squirm out of your hold so he can play with another anatoly, leaving you the turtle one. you hold it close, trying to ground yourself, but the happiness bloats and you feel floaty.

god, it is almost unimaginable.

(you tell it to simon later at night, and simon coos as he wipes the tears away from your cheeks.

“i’m so, so happy si,” you breathe out.

simon bumps his forehead to yours. “i am too, baby.”)

.

simon is not pouting, thank you very much. if anyone says otherwise, he’d like to go on record and say that they’re all a bunch of liars. yes, that includes his beautiful wife too because, again, simon is not pouting.

sure yasha has refused to detach himself from uncle kyle, but that doesn’t mean simon’s jealous, he swears.

“yer a lying scumbag,” johnny hisses at him because he’s been trying to get simon to admit that he’s jealous, which simon isn’t. “i’m on you, LT. i’m on you.”

“whatever ‘tavish,” simon grumbles, hands twitching at another hearty giggle that rings from where kyle is playing with yasha. “last i checked, the boy still runs away from you so, you know, start with that.”

“oh you motherfu—”

“boys,” price barked out, and simon and johnny cringe at the chastising voice of their captain. “language.”

johnny says something that no one picks up because he’s chewing on his words. simon sniffs, looking away only to meet your eyes. unabashed glee is bright on your face, and simon knows he would be hearing you teasing about this later on tonight.

simon scrunches his nose. you reply with a playful rolling of your eyes.

yeah, it’s a good day. and simon still isn’t pouting.

notes: it turned out to have heavier (?) parts than expected. also to clarify, yasha’s been picked up from a mission (the specifics were removed since things got a wee graphic). i’ve included a concept photo of simon and yasha, which was fun to use while reimagining! i hope u guys liked this <3 peace out and sm love mwah!!

[witchywithwhiskey]

andy barber + "you don't need anything, you want it"

optional scenario: assassin/mercenary

undone by a pretty spring sundress

pairing: dilf!andy barber x babysitter!female reader

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, unspecified age gap (but reader is def out of college), thigh riding, dirty talk, daddy kink, praise kink, light bdsm, pet names (sweetheart, angel), some bratting, referenced spanking, fluffy ending

word count: 2,100ish

a/n: instead of assassin/mercenary Andy Barber, may i offer you dilf Andy Barber? 🫣 lol let's be honest, Andy is always a dilf 🤭 but i've already done ex's dad Andy and dbf August so i wanted to do a different trope and i've never done a babysitter fic so i gave it a shot!! hope you enjoy, Aspen!!

The sounds of shrieking laughter and childish games filtered into Andy Barber’s kitchen while you stood at the counter, putting together a bouquet of spring flowers that would sit nicely on his dining room table. You’d retreated into the house because you’d needed a break from the party Andy was hosting—the one he’d hired you for the afternoon to help him host.

It was a little outside your normal duties, since you typically worked as Andy’s babysitter, watching his young son on nights the single father had to work late at his law practice. You knew some of the parents in the neighborhood thought you were a little old to be babysitting, given you were old enough to be married and have a family of your own. 

But you ignored them because you enjoyed babysitting for Andy. It helped supplement the meager pay you received from your day job, and you liked spending time with Andy’s son Jacob, who was a sweet kid. More than that, though, you found yourself really enjoying spending time with Andy.

And if you weren’t mistaken, Andy liked having you around as well. 

In the months that you’d worked for Andy, you’d grown increasingly aware of the way he stared at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. 

His crystal blue eyes would drift down to your tits when you were looking something up on your phone. And more than once, you could’ve sworn you felt his gaze on your ass when you’d bent over to pick up some toys on the floor. But each time, when you turned to the older man, he was innocently looking elsewhere.

Altogether, you’d gotten the impression that Andy might want you to be more than his babysitter, but he hadn’t yet acted on the heated looks he gave you. So you may have taken matters into your own hands and worn a skimpy little sundress to the party he was hosting for the neighbors and all their kids. And you were delighted when it had the intended effect.

You hadn’t been in the kitchen for more than a few minutes when Andy cornered you, using the moment when everyone else was distracted by watching the children play a game they’d made up to approach you. His body crowded you into the counter, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him brushing against the swaths of bare skin not covered by your sundress.

“I need to speak to you upstairs,” Andy murmured in your ear. His warm breath ghosted over your cheek and bare shoulder, causing goosebumps to raise all along your arms.

But you stifled the shiver racing down your spine and continued fluffing the flowers in the vase in front of you, pretending you didn’t notice the demanding edge of Andy’s voice or the way he crowded into you. After all, he’d waited months to approach you, and you decided you wanted to have a little fun with him before you gave in to the tension crackling between the two of you.

“You don’t need anything, you want it,” you responded cheekily, your tone light and playful. “Isn’t that what you’re always telling Jacob, Mr. Barber?” You tossed your head to the side and gave the older man a sly smile over your shoulder.

Andy’s expression darkened, his soft mouth pulling down in a frown that was framed perfectly by his neatly trimmed beard. He looked particularly delicious in a simple blue t-shirt and jeans—though you also appreciated all the suits he wore for his job as a lawyer. You’d spent many a night imagining Andy undressing you entirely while he stayed all buttoned up in one of his suits, making you hump the bulge in his slacks…

Andy’s big hand wrapping around your upper arm brought you back from your distracted thoughts.

“I assure you, sweetheart, what I’m feeling is a need—not a want,” Andy growled, dragging you away from the counter and forcing you to abandon your bouquet. You didn’t protest, though, as he led you toward the stairs and up to the second floor of his suburban Massachusetts home. 

Andy had only just pulled you into his bedroom and closed the door when he spun you around and crowded into you until your back hit the door. Then, with a muttered curse, Andy ducked down and captured your lips with his own, kissing you so passionately, your head spun. 

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and kissed him back just as fervently, your mouth parting and allowing his tongue to twine with yours. He groaned into your lips as he tasted you, the deep sound of his pleasure making you hot all over, wetness gathering between your thighs while your mouths slid together. You squirmed against Andy’s hard body, pressing your softness against him as your body yearned for friction.

Andy shoved one of his legs between yours, his big hands gripping your hips tightly and shifting you so that your pussy rubbed against his thigh. You wrenched your mouth from his with a sharp gasp, your body rocking against his as pleasure shot through you from the tips of your fingers to the ends of your toes. Andy watched you with hooded eyes as you humped against him, hands sliding down your sides.

“Wish I could watch you ride my thigh all afternoon, angel, but I need to be inside you,” Andy groaned, reaching beneath your dress and hooking his fingers in your panties, moving you back to pull them down your trembling legs. You let out a little whine at the loss of friction against your pussy, but Andy only hushed you. “Shh, I know sweetheart, you’re needy too, aren’t ya? Need daddy to fuck you, huh?”

Your head fell back against the door with a thunk and you let out a breathy, surprised, “Daddy,” tasting the way the word sounded on your tongue and enjoying it far too much. 

“That’s it, angel, call me daddy,” Andy murmured fervently before capturing your lips in another kiss. You could feel his hands working his jeans open and pulling out his cock, but you couldn’t move your arms from around his shoulders; you were pretty sure if you did, you’d collapse to his feet. “Christ, I knew ya would be perfect—been wanting this for so long, but that pretty spring sundress of yours was my undoing.”

A pleased smirk curled the edges of your mouth at Andy’s confession, and you decided you’d tell him later that had been your intention with wearing it. For the moment, though, you simply leaned up to whisper some teasing words in Andy’s ear. “If you need me so bad, then take me, daddy.”

Andy hooked an arm around your waist and spun you again, walking you back to his bed and easing you down onto the plush softness of his blankets while his hips settled between your thighs. His cock rested against your bare pussy, making you moan with desire.

“Gonna have to make this quick, sweetheart,” Andy murmured as he brushed kisses to your jaw and cheeks, his hips grinding his length against your soaked folds, getting himself drenched in your arousal. “But next time I’ll fuck you soft and slow like you deserve, alright?”

“OK, daddy,” you said on a moan, tilting your hips to grind your bare pussy against his cock. Andy buried a grunt in your neck and reached between your bodies, adjusting his cock until the tip pressed against your entrance. 

Then, all at at once, Andy pushed inside you, both of you moaning at the feel of his thick, hard cock stretching out your tight, warm pussy. It was better than you ever imagined, having him inside you, your body taking his entire length and joining you to him in the most intimate way.

“Feel so good, daddy,” you murmured breathily, your mind spinning with pleasure. You cupped Andy’s face in your hands, your nails raking through his beard gently, as you stared up at him. You hoped every bit of the pleasure you felt was clear on your face, so he could see how good he made you feel.

Andy seemed to, his smile filled with affection and arousal of his own. He leaned down and brushed a kiss to your lips, teasing you with the flick of his tongue before pulling away and catching your eye. 

“Ready, angel?” 

“Yes, daddy,” you answered sweetly, more ready for him than he could even know.

Then Andy took what he needed, and gave you what you needed, too. He fucked you hard and fast, pumping his thick cock into your tight channel with a ruthlessness you’d only ever glimpsed when he’d take work calls at home. He was brutal, and you wanted to scream your pleasure, but Andy’s hand covered your mouth, keeping you from being overheard by all the neighbors crowded in the backyard.

When he seemed to be getting close, Andy reached between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing in tight little circles until you shattered apart around him. You came so hard, you bit down on the flesh of his palm to keep yourself quiet.

Andy didn’t seem to mind, grunting through the sting of your teeth and the delicious clench of your pussy, fucking you harder until he pressed deep and came inside you. You shivered when you felt his load leak out around his cock, in awe when you realized just how much come he must’ve pumped you full of that it was overflowing. 

As you caught your breath, Andy peppered your face with light kisses, praising you. “Such a good girl, sweetheart, so fucking good for daddy.” He kissed the apple of your cheek, his beard tickling you and making you giggle softly. “Now, I need you to keep my come safe inside you for the rest of the afternoon, can you do that, angel?” Andy asked, catching your eye and giving you a serious look. His hand pressed against your lower belly, making your pussy flutter while butterflies took flight in your chest. 

It was on the tip of your tongue to simply say yes, but a delightful thought took hold of your mind and you found your lips forming the same words they had earlier in Andy’s kitchen. “You don’t need anything, daddy, you want it,” you said, giggling when Andy’s face turned stormy.

“You’re lucky we have to get back to our guests, angel,” Andy growled pressing his forehead to yours while he glared at you, though there wasn’t much anger to his gaze—only desperate arousal. “Otherwise I’d put you over my knee and show you what I do when you’re a bratty bad girl.”

You were helpless to your body’s reaction to his words, your cunt clenching hard around Andy’s cock and making him chuckle. “I need it, daddy,” you cried, hands fisting in his t-shirt and trying to hold him close.

But Andy was already moving away, pulling out and stuffing his cock back in his pants. You watched him with a pout while he grinned down at you. When his appearance was presentable enough, Andy hauled you up from the bed and smoothed your dress down over your curves, fixing it for you. 

“Be a good girl and help me get through the rest of this party and we can have some fun later,” Andy promised, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Then, like he couldn’t help himself, he caught your mouth in one last deliciously sinful kiss. 

You returned to the party with Andy, finishing your bouquet of spring flowers and putting it out on the table. Then, you helped him wrangle the kids and their parents for dessert, everyone enjoying the beautiful spring evening. 

If anyone from the neighborhood noticed that, after you returned, Andy treated you more like his partner than his babysitter, they didn’t say anything. (In fact, in the weeks and months that followed, when it became clear the two of you were together, each of your neighbors would try to take credit for setting the two of you up.) When everyone left, they thanked you just as much as Andy for hosting the wonderful party.

Once everyone was gone and you’d helped Andy put Jacob to bed, he delivered on his promise of rewarding you for your good behavior. Later that night when you told him you’d worn your skimpy little outfit just to see if he’d finally make a move on you, Andy chuckled and murmured that he’d forgive your naughty trick just that once. Then, he made sure to show you just how undone he was by your pretty spring sundress.

[jeridandridge]

Happy Haunts

Melissa Schemmenti is a tough cookie. Until she watches a horror movie.

When you got to work on this particular stormy Halloween you didn’t expect to run around the entire school looking for a child dressed as Thanos, but here you are dressed in your best Captain Carter costume going through the halls with Melissa.

“Okay this stagnant chocolate smell is making me wanna barf.” You groan bringing your arm up to cover your nose.

“This kid thrives on chaos that’s for damn sure.” The redhead nods eyeing you slyly. Your toned arms were on full display in your tight shirt, the material complimenting your body well. “So, what are your plans for tonight, Cap?”

Chuckling you glance at the scarlet witch with a smile. “Well, I’m third wheeling with Jacob and Zach. We’re going to a haunt and I’m almost certain Jacob will run out. What are your Halloween plans with Mr. Year round candy guy?”

Having a crush on a coworker was hard, but it made it even more difficult knowing she was dating someone, especially a guy that was so irritatingly nice like Gary.

Melissa chuckles, immediately sobering at your question. “Gary? He’s a nice guy, but it didn’t work out.” She shrugs.

“Oh.” Is all you can say. That was new information and you felt bad for thinking it, but you were glad it hadn’t worked out between the two. Maybe you could grow some guts and finally ask the redhead out.

After following trails of candy wrappers and chocolate baby Thanos is found by Chad, and his reign of terror over Abbott is finished. Now in the break room after dismissal you sit with your plastic shield on the table with a cup of coffee in hand watching the rain splatter the window.

“Hey Captain,” Melissa gets your attention, purse slung over her shoulder, “How’s about you let the scaredy cats go to the haunted house and you come get scared with me?”

“Are you calling yourself scary, Mel? ‘Cause I don’t buy it.” You tease grabbing your own bags ready to leave. The idea of spending more time outside of work with Melissa had your heart fluttering in your ribcage. The little crush you had since you started teaching at Abbott went from a spark to a roaring fire fast, and now, thanks to class prep and staff meetings. it may be time to act.

“We can hand out candy and watch something scary.” Crimson lips turn into a smile that you’ve only ever seen on the Cheshire Cat.

“What kind of wine should I bring?”

“Red, six o’clock. Don’t be late.” She shoots you a smile over her shoulder.

She might as well be a real witch with the hold she has on you already. In the couple hours you had between work and Melissa’s, you went home to freshen up, opting to stay in your costume for now and being a change of clothes for later just in case the night went late.

At six o’clock on the dot you knock on the paper ghost covered door with a bottle of red wine in gloved hand, chuckling at the sound of scared squeals from kids down the street. “Let me in there’s monsters out here!” You joke.

When the door opens Melissa’s there in all her scarlet witch glory sans her boots. Taking in the sight you can’t help but smile. “Oh my god, Mel.” You laugh adoringly. “Without the boots you’re just adorable. You don’t have the threatening witch look.”

The redhead rolls her eyes adoringly opening the door wider. “Quiet, muscles. I’m giving my feet a break before the kids start coming.”

Following her in you close the door kicking your boots off already enjoying the warmth and smell of the house.

“What’s that smell? My mouth is watering.”

Cape flowing behind her the redhead goes to the oven letting out a wave of warm air as she pulls out a pan of pizza.

“Margherita mozzarel.” She smiles sliding the colorful pizza onto the wooden tray.

You shake your head with a smile moving to wash your hands at the sink. “How did you manage that in just two hours?”

“Magic, hon.” She winks rotating the tray as she cuts into the dough, your breath catching in your throat.

“Where are your glasses?” You hum reaching for the wine bottle trying to distract yourself.

“Right here,” her voice is soft, her hand even softer as she holds onto your arm to reach past you to the cupboard. Bringing two glasses out between her fingers Melissa smiles setting them on the counter beside you. It’s like she was doing it on purpose.

Dinner eaten and two glasses of wine in, you and Melissa are chuckling away on the front porch handing candy out to the kids. When you see her shiver slightly from the cool air, you wrap your arm around her shoulders gently running your thumb over her skin. “These rugrats are slowing down, feel like going back in?” You ask knowing she has a movie planned.

“Yeah,” Melissa smiles warmly at you, standing up with an empty candy bowl. “Let’s see how long you can last.”

Your breath catches in your throat, eyes wide as you duck your head, all of a sudden very worried about tripping as you follow her into the house.

“You know, these movies can get scary.” She teases you.

“Yeah,” you chuckle nervously, “yeah, movies.”

As you change out of your costume in Melissa’s bathroom, you lean against the door taking a breath. She was teasing you, that’s all it was. You two were having a fun night as friends. Clad in your sweatpants and a Flyers t-shirt you meet Melissa back in the dim living room chuckling when you see what’s ready to go on tv.

“This all you got Schemmenti?” You tease sitting next to her, Laurie strode paused on the tv screen.

“Hey, Michael is horrifying okay.” She argues sprinkling the flavor seasoning over her popcorn.

“There’s no way you’re afraid of these movies, Mel.”

“I’m not,” she scoffs playing it off, patting the cushion next to her, “I’m thinking about you. Now sit your cute ass down.”

Rolling your eyes you sit shoulder to shoulder as the eerie music starts, smiling when you catch Melissa looking at you.

“Watch the movie, scaredy cat.” You whisper reaching over for a piece of popcorn.

As the movie continues you both move slowly, fingers reaching into the popcorn bowl cautiously as the stormy night on the tv screen unsettles you. When a thud comes through the speakers Melissa flinches almost dropping the bowl.

“Dolce Gesú!” She lets out in Italian looping her arm with yours. Pink nails dig into the skin of your forearm making you hum in protest. Slowly pulling away you reach back wrapping your arm around her shoulders instead holding her close. Smelling the wine mixed with her make up from the day you can’t help but smile.

The Halloween classic continues, and at some point you end up laying on the couch, Melissa practically on top of you with her face hidden in your neck.

“You can’t have sex while a killers on the loose!” Her muffled voice comes out, soft breath against your skin making you laugh.

“They’re horny teenagers, Mel they didn’t get the memo.”

Throughout the rest of the movie Melissa plays peek a boo with the screen, using you as a human shield. Eventually your hand finds her back. Fingers moving lazily against the warm fabric you sigh contently enjoying this feeling, grateful that Melissa is comfortable enough to be this vulnerable with you. Before you know it, the eerie piano plays again as Melissa rests her chin on your shoulder meeting your eyes.

“I have a confession to make, hon.”

“What’s that?” You ask quietly, a dazed smile that you couldn’t help on your lips.

“I’m not afraid of scary movies.”

Taken aback for a moment you look into jade eyes, pupils dilated and looking at you with nothing but pure admiration.

“You- so this-“ you stammer, a soft chuckle rumbling in Melissa’s chest you can feel against your body.

Resting her hand on your hip the redhead tips her head up kissing your cheek.

“You’ll figure it out, hon.”

Mind going a mile a minute you lay there stunned until you feel her lips on your cheek. “Wait, Was this a date?” You ask quirking a brow feeling totally stupid.

Melissa smiles moving to hover over you.

“I thought it was. Do you want it to be?”

Instead of saying anything, you sit up, hands on the older woman’s hips as you lean in placing a soft kiss to her lips. It doesn’t turn into anything else then, you both exploring new ground cautiously, hands moving slowly until your arms are around her waist.

“You could’ve asked me out.” You chuckle keeping your arms around her. “You didn’t have to act scared over a movie.”

The redhead playfully rolls her eyes gently cupping your cheek.

“Not that I’m complaining.” You lean in nuzzling your nose against hers.

There’s a comfortable moment of silence at the simple action, Melissa’s fingers playing with your hair.

“Alright, hon. How’s about we go on a real date this weekend?” She suggests.

Smiling softly you nod keeping your hands on her hips.

“It’s a date.”