Bedtime with Haytham feat. his different partners in crime lol. I heard that in the 18th century, someone in their nightshirt is basically in their underwear (which is why Charles is freaking out lmao). Meanwhile Holden is sweet, Shay is self-conscious, and Connor is witty.
two hot 🌶️ ones in a row, but I need the deets. i need Edward to fully blow my back out 🫦
how about somewhat angry and bent over a table 🙂↕️🤭
Edward Kenway x fem!Reader; 18+
...it's unlike anything, when you're loving me...
The sun hangs low over the old cove, painting the ramshackle village in shades of blood and gold. Some of the anglers come to the manor and tell you the Jackdaw’s sails are on the horizon, rounding the headland. Any other time, you would be on the docks, waiting for her return, to see Edward Kenway at the helm and welcome him home.
But the news only stokes the bitter fury already simmering in the pits of your belly. He left without you ereyesterday, slipping away at dawn with nary a word—without the decency to wake you first or kiss you goodbye—taking your charts and correspondences about that damned Dutch fluyt out of Aruba.
When the door of the great room creaks open, Edward steps in—sea spray still damp on his cheeks, a little half-smirk curling at his lips. “Dove,” he begins, hands already raised in surrender as you start toward him, “before you flay me alive…”
You don’t give him a chance to finish. The crack of your open hand against his cheek echoes through the empty manor. Edward's head jerks to the side—half-smile vanishing as a bright flush blooms against his sun- and wind-burned skin. He doesn’t move. Suppose I deserved that.
“You left me like some common tavern wench!” you snarl, clenched fist landing against his chest. The impact thuds against hard muscle, but he barely rocks back. “I wanted that ship, Edward,” you tell him, fists and voice shaking. “We were to take her together. Why?” He catches your hand on the next strike, fingers locking around your wrist.
The answer should be easy enough to say. When it's only my neck in the noose, I can live with the odds, he thinks, but no treasure is worth gambling your life. You yank against his grip, chest heaving. And he’s too much of a proud dastard to speak true and plain about matters of the heart. Edward pulls you close, looking down his crooked nose at you—a dark heat sparking in his clear blue eyes. “Because I’m a selfish pirate,” he grits out, “who’d rather see you alive and furious than in a watery grave on account of soured information.”
His words only feed the fire. You twist free of his hold and shove him, hard. Back toward the oak table strewn with maps and empty rum bottles—and Edward lets you. “Alive and furious, am I?” you hiss, pressing against his shoulders again. The back of his legs hit wood, and the gleam in his eyes borders on dangerous. “You arrogant bastard.”
Your fingers curl around the belt of his pistol holders—the flintlocks and his cutlasses left on the foyer table—hauling him closer instead of pushing him away. Surging forward, you press your mouth against his. Edward’s breath catches, surprised for half a heartbeat, then he groans low in his throat and answers with equal fire, lips parting, tongue sliding against yours. It’s salt, rum, and pent-up fury.
And when you feel that smirk of his trying to return against your mouth, you bite down on his bottom lip, hard enough to draw a sharp hiss from him.
“Christ,” Edward breathes—the sting in his lip and cheek only spurring him on. His hands curl around your waist, fingertips pressing into your flesh through wool and linen. The faint metallic twinge of blood where you broke skin taints the kiss, and the sound he makes is half pain, half raw want.
Edward spins you around. The great room tilts, maps and bottles scattering as he bends you over the table. Empty rum bottles clink together—one rolls off the edge and shatters. He presses in behind you, chest to your back, one broad, careworn hand splayed between your shoulders, pinning you down.
“Stay furious.” His voice is heady and rough at your ear, breath hot against your neck as he presses your feet apart with his boot. “I like you like this.” Edward rolls his hips into your backside, letting you feel what your rage has done to him—half-hard cock straining through the linen of his breeches.
His free hand drags your skirts up, bunching the fabric at your hips. The cool evening air nips at your bare thighs—a shiver creeps down your spine. “Edward,” you warn; there’s unheard-of malice in his name. But he doesn’t take heed; instead, his palm smooths over the curve of your backside, possessive, then slips between your thighs.
A low, approving hum rumbles through his chest when he finds you slick and wanting. Edward’s callous and scarred fingers stroke through your folds, pausing for a trice to rub tight circles at your clit, teasing. You push back against him with a frustrated noise, but he only presses you harder into the table, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You’ll take what I give you, Dove,” he murmurs, nipping at the sensitive spot just below it—the same way you bit his lip, a sweet sting for a sweet sting. “Mayhap then you’ll forgive me for keeping you safe.”
Two fingers sink into your cunt, deep and sure, curling them just right. Your wretched moan breaks against the wood, hips pressing back into his hand as he begins a slow rhythm. Damn him. The table creaks under your combined weights. Maps and letters stick to your sweaty palms. Damn him for what he does to you. But all you can focus on is the slick, obscene sounds of Edward’s fingers working between your thighs and the heat of his body pinning you in place—helpless against his strength.
You arch into his hand, clenching around his fingers as he pumps them deeper—relentlessly against the place he knows makes stars burst behind your eyes. God, you’re so close, and all you can do is curse him. “Edward…damn you,” you gasp.
He laughs, low, wicked, withdrawing his fingers—buckles fall open and fabric rustles—fingers replaced with the blunt, weeping head of his cock. The thick, scorching length of him slides through your soaked cunt, teasing your clit until you’re nigh close to trembling and begging for him when you’re supposed to be angry.
“Say it again,” he growls, guiding himself into you. A slow press to let you feel every inch and vein. “Tell me how much you hate me while I’m buried inside you.” You don’t get the chance. He thrusts forward in a fluid stroke, sheathing himself to the hilt—your walls fluttering around him, welcoming. Edward curses, forehead dropping to your shoulder to savor the tight heat of you. Then he starts moving in earnest—the edge of the table biting into your hips with every thrust.
“Vainglorious prick,” you finally gasp, finding your voice, pushing back to meet the rolls of his hips. You tighten around him on purpose, vicious, and the groan he lets out is like ravaged sin. “Fuck—thinking you get to decide for me—” the words fracture into a moan as he grinds deep, hips circling. There’s nothing gentle about it. He fucks you hard and deep, like he’s trying to fuck all the fury out of you. The table jolts forward with the force of it.
The hand pressing between your shoulders slides up your spine and neck, fingers twisting into your hair. He tugs your head back, just enough to expose your throat. “You can do better than that, Dove.” Edward’s teeth sink into the curve of your neck. He bites down hard, sucking a dark mark into your skin while his cock slides back into you—over and over.
“God, Edward, fuck.” Your moan turns into a desperate sob of pleasure, hips rocking back to meet every thrust. Pressure coils in your belly, legs trembling, toes curling against the floorboards. Edward feels it—he angles his hips, driving into you even harder.
You cry out as he drives into you again and again, the table groaning beneath your braced arms, and then…Edward pulls out with a rough curse. Selfish pirate that he is, he wants to see your face when he makes you fall apart. He twists you around, back hitting the edge of the table before he lifts you onto it, scattering another bottle to the floor. Your skirts bunch uselessly around your waist, legs parting as he steps between them—rough hand gripping your thigh to hitch it high around his hip as he slots himself between your spread legs, cock sinking back into your cunt in one smooth, claiming thrust.
A broken noise tears from your throat, your hands flying up to clutch at his chest and shoulders, twisting into the linen and leather of his robes—by Jove, you want to get to his bare skin.
“Look at me.” One hand braces on the table beside your hip, the other curls around the back of your neck, forcing your gaze to his. Those clear blue eyes are dark with lust, pupils blown wide, a sheen of sweat on his brow. “Hate me all you like” —a ruined smile crosses his lips— “your body knows what it desires.” Him. Edward James Kenway.
You should strike him again for that. Instead, you twist your fingers into his golden hair and pull—hard enough to make him bare his teeth in a hiss, nostrils flaring—and drag his mouth to yours. The kiss is messy—all teeth and tongue clashing as he pounds into you. You nip his already swollen lower lip again, tasting blood, and Edward groans into your mouth, hips stuttering before he redoubles his pace, spreading your thighs wider.
You lock your ankles behind his back, pulling him deeper, fingernails raking down his scalp as you kiss him, scarcely letting him breathe. The pressure coils tighter, hotter, in your stomach, your walls fluttering wildly around his cock. One hand slides between your joined bodies, calloused thumb finding your swollen clit and rubbing tight, merciless circles. “Come on, Dove,” Edward rasps, teeth sinking into your shoulder. “Let me feel you. Come for me.”
It does you in, hearing him say that. You shatter around him with a keening cry, heels pressing into the curve of his back, thighs squeezing him, trying to hold him in place. But Edward’s rhythm grows erratic, desperate, fucking you through your own release as he chases his own. His forehead pressed to yours, blue eyes dark and wild as they lock onto your face—lips parted in silent throes, eyes hazy, a furrow in your brow as you whisper his name like a prayer.
Edward follows. With a guttural groan, he buries himself in your cunt and stays there, hips jerking as he spills his seed deep inside you—leaving you both panting and trembling. He grinds against you as if he can’t get close enough.
For a moment, the only sounds in the great room are your ragged breaths, gull song, and the rowdy merriment from the dockside tavern. Edward stays buried deep in your cunt, arms braced on either side of your head as he leans over you, pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses along the bite marks he left on your neck and shoulder. You clinch around him, deliberately, feeling his spend slide down your thigh, and it earns you a hissed curse and a twitch of his spent cock.
But the heat in his eyes has burned down to something softer. His thumb brushes a lock of hair from your sweat-damp cheek. “Rather have you cursing me every day for the rest of my life than lose you over a pitiful chest of gold,” Edward says quietly, voice still gruff. “If that makes me a selfish, vainglorious prick” —he leans down and kisses you, slower this time, tender, even with the sting of his broken lip— “then so be it.”
And how can you fault him for that? Your arms slide around him, drifting up his back. You tug on the ends of his hair, lightly, and loosen the leather thong holding back his ponytail, letting his golden locks fall loose and messy. Edward pulls back, looking properly ruined, just like you.
“Now, are you still planning to flay me alive” —a sated smirk tugs at his bitten lip as he rests his forehead against yours— “or can I carry you to bed and make it up to you proper?” His hips give a lazy, teasing roll, still half-hard inside you. You won’t object to that. “I’ve got all night to earn your forgiveness, Dove.”
[Edward taglist: @awondrouslove / @certifiedlittleshit / @chonkercatto / @dontwannabeanamericanidiot / @erzsebetrosztoczy / @fridrssvardagi / @hereforreadandwrite / @hc-geralt-23 / @hnybnny / @itseivwhore / @jadynchronicle / @maddiethecanadianassassin / @morganamayne / @mossywossy14 / @mrsragnarlodbrok / @rainsought / @slytherinmates / @stevie75 / @thatrandomfeministgamer / @theoriginalannoyingbird / @theexaustedmermaid / @vymyn ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my Edward taglist, or any other taglist, just let me know with this Google Form!
It's raining here finally...I love the clouds, the rain, the thunder even though it scares me sometimes. How dark it gets outside. The smell after the rain.
With this ambience am only thinking of him. Trying to escape Jack the ripper. He is so aware of the danger, trying to protect you but when he finds a small and quiet narrow alley and he is trying to seduce you in more naughty things 🖤❤️🔥
areudirty
titsay
2087
tangentwithtanner
stormborns
theartofmadeline
amandla
gracieabrams
kianamaiart
ellievsbear
