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buckets-and-trees · 9 months

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Desperate [Bucky x Reader]

Fandom: MCU Title: Desperate Characters/Pairings: Bucky Barnes x female!Reader Word Count: 3k

Summary: Enemies? Rivals? It's always been reluctant teamwork between you and the Winter Soldier, but when put in a situation where personal feelings have to be put aside, maybe actual personal feelings are uncovered.

Content Warnings: kidnapping, sex pollen ergo DUBIOUS CONSENT, sexual situations (named acts, non-explicit depictions of vaginal sex), medical elements (needles, IVs, experience of medical distress)

Thank You Notes: BIGGEST SHOUT OUTS to @sgt-seabass who beta loved this into what it is and @vonalyn who helped supply me with some of the vital energy I needed. This was SUPPOSED to be an answer to this little sleepover ask @povlvr had graced me with... but then it became this! Logistical Notes: Filling my eleventh square for Bucky Barnes Bingo @buckybarnesbingo - Y2 "Reluctant Teamwork" and @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer Week 9 which is technically a "FREE WEEK" but had sex pollen listed as one of the suggested things to play with, so... that's why we're here now.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You were an old SHIELD contact that Steve knew before Project Insight. He didn't know you well then, but you had crossed paths a few times. You were an analyst sometimes assigned to Steve's missions. You went to work for the CIA after the Triskellion takedown, where you stayed for a couple of years, before eventually moving into the private sector.

When Steve, Nat, Sam, and Wanda were outlaws on the run, they bumped into you again, and you became an ally and valuable contact in your new area of the country - and ultimately a friend. And trusted enough that you knew about Bucky - and Bucky heard about you.

Bucky didn't love that you were an element in Steve's life. He hadn't met you, hadn't been able to get his own read on you.

He'd been wary initially about Nat, Sam, and Wanda, but he'd been able to meet them and build his own trust - and they'd all ultimately put their lives and reputations on the line for him.

It wasn't that he was distrustful of everyone anymore and needed people to put their lives on the line to prove themselves. Those who had sided with Steve over Tony in the Zemo affair aside, he'd also learned to trust others again in Wakanda with so many of the royal family and the royal guard building relationships with him.

But with you he didn’t know you, and so he didn't like it.

What Bucky loathed even more?

You didn't blip out. For five years, you were there for Steve when he couldn't be. You were apparently there so much that when Steve left, he fucking said to watch out for you. The punk.

Bucky didn’t know Steve dropped in on you, too, and asked you to keep an eye out for Bucky the day he gave Sam the shield. You promised you would.

You reached out. Not immediately, but in the weeks after.

Bucky was... less than kind.

Frankly, he was surly, ungrateful, short, and rude.

Pieces were moving and with Bucky's reappearance in the United States, the question of his future was an immediate concern. Public and government representatives were demanding trials, pardons, and all the rest.

You told him you had found an excellent contact for a lawyer.

"No, thanks, I can find my own," the words were polite, but the tone was clipped, flat, low - almost a growl.

Being so abruptly shut down, you decided to cut the phone call first and on your terms, so you wished him luck - managing to be more polite than him, making it sound genuine - and hung up.

You called Matt Murdock yourself, and told him about Bucky's case.

You did it only because of your promise to Steve.

And a little bit because you knew you were fucking right and that Bucky needed your lawyer contact.

Matt chuckled, told you he knew about stubbornness, and that he'd go about approaching the Winter Soldier diplomatically and professionally.

Matt pulled off the best possible pardon deal, even if not everything about it was ideal.

When Pepper decided to get back into some of the Avenger support again - after the Flag Smashers business - so she could provide some more trustworthy resources for Sam and Bucky and the old crowd, you were one of the people she ended up scouting and recruiting to come work on the direct home support team with research and tactical support. Sometimes you went into the field with the team, but usually you stayed at home base and relayed with the agents over comms.

This was not because you weren't outstanding, but because it was clear the less time you and Bucky spent in proximity to each other, the less awkward it was for everyone else on the team. You were both professional enough to keep the animosity out of things during a mission over comms, and that was about it.

Otherwise, it was silent treatment and resentment.

Neither of you extended the woes of your dislike for each other actively to anyone else on the team, keeping your mouths shut about your feelings, and engaging in only occasional and minimal eye-rolling when either of you was mentioned. Bucky made a point of giving you electrolyte-enhanced waters first whenever you did go into the field on a mission with them, as if you were a toddler who couldn’t take care of yourself.

Sitting by you at a holiday dinner at Sam’s you almost thought there was a moment of thaw between you and the Winter Soldier, but you didn’t push the almost comfortable silence between you to anything more - knowing it had been long-established he only tolerated you. It was clearly only a temporary pause, meaning very little as Bucky continued to push for you not being put into the field with them. You didn’t need to be around his close scrutiny. He made getting over any initial crush you might have had on him very easy.

Things were fine like that for a little over a year.

And then you were abducted on your way back from a mission outside of Paris where you had been part of the local ground team, taken and smuggled out of the airport. It was not HYDRA this time, just leftover cretins who blipped away but now were back, stirring up their own operation which hoped to double down on being even more nefarious. They were interested in testing some of their new methods and resources while also trying to extract some sensitive information.

Why not kill two birds with one stone by snatching up a well-connected and informed analyst at the heart of the neo-Avengers operation?

They recovered files from debunked HYDRA facilities (hard drives were wiped, but motivated hackers knew how to dig beneath what had been wiped to recover remnants - in hindsight, SHIELD should have taken the tech to a secure location) and developed an even more concentrated and powerful form of sex pollen. They were interested in how it would be absorbed in both the aerosol and liquid forms they had developed. Why not try out both forms on you?

The aerosol was potent enough, but not in a way that would break you for their line of inquiries.

So, they injected it right into your veins.

Compounding with what had already been ingested into your system, everything intensified, and you - much more quickly than they anticipated - moved past what may have been a state where they could've coaxed the information they wanted out of you.

Quickly you progressed to the point where you were consumed by this toxin, your body raging and desperate for the physical activity that will get you to a sexual release and flush the toxin from your system. You were keening and moaning and crying, covered in sweat, straining painfully against your bonds, unable to focus on anything anyone said to you.

You were incoherent and not far from feral.

Having gone beyond the point you could be giving them intelligence, you were still useful to provide information as the test subject, and they kept you on it through an IV drip to see the limits of what an average female body could take before it was completely broken.

You had absolutely no sense of how long this went on, only that you were not even crying tears anymore, just dry sobbing and wailing, because everything in your throat, and in your veins, and in your chest, and in your vagina burned.

It was an agony you'd never experienced in your life.

You vaguely registered a cacophony of sound around you, but it was like it was coming to you through a long dark tunnel, distorted and distant, and you couldn’t open your eyes to see what is going on, not that you could even think to or were capable of caring about anything other than the desperate purgatory you were enduring until you finally passed out.

Bucky and Sam were nearly back to base ops in New York from the Paris mission when the news of your abduction came through, and they turned around immediately. Teams working at home and in Paris - and Bucky in the air while Sam piloted - narrowed your likely whereabouts down to two locations: somewhere near Versailles (because of course evil operations are drawn to the ideas of opulence) or a compound outside of Brussels.

Time already against them, Sam and Bucky made the tough decision that they needed to split up so they could investigate both options as quickly as humanly possible. Sam dropped Bucky at the well-equipped safe house less than an hour away from the suspected Versailles compound and then headed to Brussels.

After arming himself to the teeth as quickly as he could, Bucky fired up the Ducati in the garage of the safehouse that had been equipped with a noise dampener by your tech engineers, punched in his navigational coordinates, and pushed to top speeds to get to there, stashing the bike half a kilometer away so he could make the rest of the approach in complete stealth.

The operation was much smaller than he anticipated, but because of its size it was almost immediately apparent to Bucky that this was where they had you, and he was also confident he would be able to drop this operation and get to you without as much trouble as he expected.

But in no way could he have predicted the state he would find you in.

He heard your agonizing cries and keening within moments of entering the facility, and he'd already dropped four agents at that point, but the excruciating pain he heard from you was its own form of torture in itself.

He picked up the pace, tearing ruthlessly through everyone else that came between him and you.

He got the full view of the condition you were in only moments before you passed out. He quickly undid all the bindings and removed everything they had attached to monitor your vitals. He unhooked the IV drip but had the presence of mind to take the bag for testing later. It was inelegant, but he hefted you over his shoulder, and everyone else still conscious who got in his way of getting you out was incapacitated with a single kill shot.

It was close to midnight when he reached the safe house and carefully tucked you into one of the beds. He pulled a secure laptop and some of the base medical testing equipment into the bedroom and kept watch over your catatonic form while he started running tests on the substance you’d been hooked up to and sent the base data for his samples to the bioengineering team back at HQ.

Over the next hour your body experienced a few fits of violent shaking, but you didn’t rouse until almost 2am. When you did, it was with great heaving gasps, and your arms flailed, your hands grasping at the sheets, at your clothes, and then at Bucky when he appeared almost immediately at your side trying to soothe you. He had a theory he hoped wasn’t true – that he knew what was running through your veins – but it was confirmed when you clutched and pawed desperately at him. Then your eyes met his, there was a recognition but coupled with devastating desperation, and you started babbling his name and pleading, “Bucky, please, Bucky. Need. Bucky, help. Bucky, Bucky, Bucky.”

He’d been in distress over you since he first heard your tortured cries hours before, and he knew you needed him.

He wouldn’t deny you.

He knew the anguish of being a slave within one’s own mind.

He worked both of you out of your clothes quickly, and then laid you back on the bed and crawled above you. “I gothcu, shh, I know what you need.” You cried, but with a glimmer of relief, when he sunk into your desperately wet cunt. He thrust diligently into you while you clung to his shoulders and wrapped your legs around his waist.

The first orgasm was quick, and provided a glorious wave of relief that helped, but it was not enough.

Not even close.

For nearly two hours he let you use him, pulling him into you, riding him, kneeling under him on all fours while he wrapped an arm around your waist and took you from behind.

It was relentless fucking until you hit the point of being utterly depleted – mercifully coinciding with when the chemicals seemed to have finally been flushed from your system with enough of the endorphins released into your bloodstream from the numberless orgasms.

If anyone but a super soldier had found you, Bucky genuinely worried they may not have been enough to help. Seeing you at the utter extreme of limits, in dangerous territory, had shaken something inside him he wasn’t prepared to discover. There had been no question in his mind that he had to get you through it.

He smoothed your hair off your face and let your body gently sink back into the mattress, then got up and went to the bathroom, returning with a warm washcloth. He wiped your brow first, and you sighed in relief, eyes already closed in bone-tired weariness. Bucky gently wiped the sweat from your neck, continued moving down your body, and then with a second warm cloth he’d also brought, he gently wiped away the mess of slick that had seeped down your thighs. He carefully redressed your exhausted form, sliding you back into your discarded underwear and his t-shirt that was close enough to scoop up from the floor, and tucked you into the covers. You were asleep before he had finished taking care of you.

As you rested, he continued his vigilant watch from before. You stirred an hour or so later. It was still dark, but with almost a hint that sunrise would be creeping to the edges of the windows soon. He moved to your side again, this time with water, which he pressed to your lips, helping you to set up so you could drink. You began to gulp it down, but slowed when he tried to soothe you and urged you to slow your intake.

When you were nearly done downing the glass, your eyes opened briefly, but catching Bucky’s wary gaze on you, you shut them again. Not before Bucky saw the flash of anguish, however. You scooted away and turned your back, pulling your knees up and burying your head in your arms.

Bucky wanted to reach out and touch you, but settled for softly uttering your name, trying to coax you to look at him.

You refused, consumed with shame and horror.

Your throat was thick with a different kind of agony.

That episode of pain and innate need had ended, but this?

This was a new hell you would have to endure.

“Bucky, I’m sorry, and I know I owe you my life and probably all of my sanity, but please, please go. Please leave me be and don’t put me through the humiliation right now of being here only because you were resigned to helping me despite hating me. I’ll have to bear that forever, but please, just… please at least leave me to myself until we get out of here.”

He was silent for a moment.

“Fuck, I don’t hate you – I never truly hated you,” he said. It was quiet, but perfectly audible in the silence of the pre-dawn.

You raised your head tentatively.

He took a deep breath and continued. “I only kept it up to save face since I drove you to despise me and was too proud to turn it around.”

You were truly overwhelmed. You wanted to say something but had no idea how to respond to that admission, especially when you were already wrung out to the very edges of your emotional state.

“I’ve respected you for a long time now.” Bucky broke the silence.

“You have?”

“Probably more than respected you, if I’m being honest.”

You were still exhausted despite having slept for the past few hours, but you pushed your mind to think… you started to reconsider the thaw from hostility to civility, that he argued with you in group settings less, how everything had become less grudging. But you knew you’d put up your own protective walls to shield you from his scrutiny because it had hurt too much to have been spurned by him when you’d reached out to try and forge that relationship with him after Steve left initially.

And so much of tonight had been a feverish haze, but you had small pieces that were stained into your memory, some of which were him and things you couldn’t categorize as the actions of anything less than someone who cared.

“How do you feel about me?” you ventured.

The two of you looked into each other’s eyes for a few long moments.

“I don’t know that I can explain it all yet – I don’t think I know the words for it, but… let me show you? No chemicals, just us, see what’s really here?” He reached out a tentative hand to cover one of yours.

You nodded.

You let him move in.

You let him kiss you.

You let him lay you down beneath him again, and this time you sunk into each other.

You cried again, but this time from the immense emotion. You could feel it rolling off of him and pouring into you, a balm starting to fill in the anguished pieces of your soul. Your spent bodies pushed through any tiredness and desperately moved together again, relentlessly motivated this time to slake the emotional hunger growing between you. Touches that explored, that carved into memory, that expressed.

This time when you were both only finished by exhaustion, you curled into each other and slept, feeling the beginnings of solace and true peace, a turning of the tide, and maybe the acknowledgement that emotions that had run so deeply between you two were only felt so strongly because you truly valued the other even from the beginning.

READ THE FOLLOW UP DRABBLE: UNCERTAIN AND SURE

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #tw: dubcon #sex pollen #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #hotbuckysummer2023 #buckybarnesbingo2023 #bbb2023 #x reader smut #aspen wrote something #female reader #desperate verse

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sh1-n0bu · 3 months

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dan heng, Dan heng IL (hsr, romantic)

Dan heng received a mysterious mail. The letter was cased in a beautiful elegant white and gold envelope. The envelope is decorated with small real golden roses and gold stripes decorating the sides of the envelope. The effort can be seen on the envelope alone about how.. How much emotion is put into this letter.

The letter itself is nothing short of elegance, the hand writing is.. Uniquely familiar to dan heng for some reason. But he couldn't tell why. The letter was unsigned and it is fully unknown who the sender is and how it arrived here.

My dearest dragon,

I wish to be able to stand by your side.. Though you may not remember me, no, i know that you don't remember be, but alas i am indeed was once, and is still, you, your past self's, imbibitor lunae's husband. His "mate" If you will.

My heart broke when i heard the news that he was sent to the shackling prison for a forced rebirth. And it broke even more when i heard that he, well, you, will be banished from the luofu. It has been decades, yet i still wish to be able to see you again. To be able to hold my, was once, lover again.

You don't know how happy- no, ecstatic i was when i accidentally saw you in the devine commission. You looked different, but also the same at the same time. I know it's you, dan feng. We were once, and is still bonded. I wanted to approach you, to hug you, to hold you again. But i hesitated, fearing that i might just be hallucinating. Or that you might no even remember me.

The latter was confirmed when you just asked me for directions, seemingly not recognizing who i am. It broke me deeply, but i do not wish to bring my burdens of the past over to you.

Therefore with this letter, this will be my final and last words dedicated to you. Dedicated to my, was once, lover.

my most beautiful sun.. I wish to be able to hold you again.

𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜! 𝙣𝙤𝙗𝙪’𝙨 𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙡 𝙙𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙞𝙘𝙚!

to: dan heng from honkai star rail

the events at the xianzhou luofu was certainly draining to the astral express crew. if not, more so to certain someone of the crew than the rest simply because it brought back so many old and unfamiliar memories to him. unfamiliar memories, feelings and emotions rushing through him with so much vigor, ones that doesn’t even belonged to him but to someone else entirely. so it would be safe to say that dan heng wanted nothing to do with his past reincarnation and his feelings and memories.

but you can’t just get what you wish for, right?

even after coming back to the familiar warmth of the express and its surroundings, accompanied by the feeling of safety his companions bring, dan heng was still restless. there was this… odd feeling inside him. as if something had been awakened and was begging to be let out for an inkling of a moment ever since he asked a stranger with an eerily familiar face about directions on the xianzhou.

he tried to escape the weird feeling of deja vu by sleeping yet it only served to bring more torment rather than rest that he so desperately seek. in his dreams, he would see his past self — dan feng, with the old familiar faces that he always sees.

there’s the foxian woman — bright, cheerful and full of life — jumping around, giggling at things and bringing forth joy to the group of five. there’s the light blue haired woman, whom he later on recognized as jingliu — cold as the element she wields and yet with a certain hint of warmth alongside it, sipping on wine from the small jade cup. there’s the arrogant blacksmith, yingxing and the former self of blade before he was tainted by mara — laughing along with his friends, pointing a few fingers and saying a joke. there’s jing yuan — younger, more wild, rebellious and with a certain hints of cockiness that his current jaded self lacked.

and then there’s dan feng, his past reincarnation, the one who brought this suffering and pain onto him, the one who is refusing to let him live on, the one who is so cold and cruel and… huh? was he mistaken when counting? why had this group went from 5 to 6? who was this new face amongst the group?

this new face that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere in his dreams, or was it memories?, was kind and gentle yet carrying a hint of strength under it. seemingly a simple man at first glance but proving himself to be more with the way he carried himself. elegant, regal yet so humane. this new man approached dan feng, greeting his fellow friends and comrades with a few jokes and podding here and there as he reaches the former high elder. but when reaching the high elder, the two shared a kiss. the vidyadhara visibly softening, teal eyes staring at the man with hearts in his eyes as his tail wraps around the man’s ankle possessively.

ah, that explains it. they were lovers. or in vidyadhara terms, in dan feng’s eyes, his mate. his other half. the one he promised himself and his life to for the rest of his life. the soft teal colored mark of a dragon on the back of the man’s neck proved it.

seeing them, dan heng felt an odd emotion swirling in his chest. was he… jealous? but how could be jealous when he was dan heng and not his past self? he was dan heng, not dan feng and that man was not his mate. yet he still felt it. that annoying green monster swirling in his chest and refusing to leave. but his jealousy was at least slightly explained when he woke up that morning, with the strange letter on top of his currently reading book.

teal eyes skimming through the letter, taking in every word and syllable, rereading it over and over again, did he come to a conclusion. sudden and unexpected but the astral expressers accepted and supported his decision nonetheless.

“himeko, i need to visit the luofu for… a reason. there’s someone i would like to meet. again”

with that, the dragon set out to reunite with his husband. with his mate. just a single moment to clarify the person’s words on the letter — was what he was lying to himself about. when in truth, he knew that there was more to it. the dragon wanted to meet his husband again. the dragon wished to hold his mate again. dan heng, wanted to reunite with his lover again.

“and this time, nothing will tear us apart”

#nobu.writes #hsr x y/n #hsr x you #hsr x reader #hsr x male reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x male reader #dan heng x reader #dan heng x you #dan heng x y/n #dan heng x male reader #dan feng x reader #dan feng x you #male reader #x male reader #male!reader #5k followers

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frmisnow · 4 months

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˙✧˖ ?! — TOUCHIN' MYSELF THINKING 'BOUT YOU.

— ‧₊˚ — 🫐: "so my little girl is all grown up??"

summary. your past three years of dating were horrendous, all to cover up any living horny thought of your brothers bestfriend, how do you vent to that bestfriend about your problems without mentioning him?

note. FIRST FIC ON THIS BLOG RAH, conclusion: I LOVE CHOI FUCKING SEUNGCHEOL 🦢₊✧⋆ was listening to lana del rey while writing the first bit so prepare.....

song recs. chemtrails over the country club (lana del rey), good for you (selena gomez ft. asap rocky), older (isabel larosa)

warnings/includes. non idol! seungcheol x fem! reader, lil elements of angst at the beginning, they're both kinda obssesed with eachother in the end (whoop whoop), reader is like 5 years younger (it's not to bad), he's so bf it hurts (in the beginning), 'little girl' + 'brainless/cum slut' mentioned, nipple play + tit sucking, big dick, size kink-ish, PROTECTED SEX (YASSS) - MDNI !!!!

"i just don't now what i'm doing wrong!" what you also don't know is how you ended up here, sitting on the soft rug of seungcheols apartment with a tea in hand, his adress you solely memorized from your brothers countless times of blabbering about it, was the last thing you reminded while running from the restaurant.

he sat down with a quiet sigh onto his wide coffee brown coach, that him and your brother used to play videogames on in high school and you couldn't help but feel like a burden once again.

i mean what did you think? storming into the apartment of the bestfriend from the brother you broke of contact like five months ago: so foolish. the rain was still pouring in buckets outside, the noise it made on the glass of the large windows, very audible.

it's not that he wasn't nice about this as soon as he saw her at his front door, he ran in full speed to get her one of his thick puffy sweaters, immadetly scolding her for even thinking of walking out in the rain and the cold in the short dress.

he behaved just how any kind person would, just how any past kind-of-ish friend ended on good terms would've and that's what hurt.

seungcheol didn't know that all of these dates with all of the jerks where to drain him out of her thoughts. seungcheol didn't know that you'd cut out your brother from pictures, to leave him only on it as a teen. precious seungcheol didn't know how you'd pick out people who were kinda closed to him, so you could stay in semi-contact if you ever were to date the person. so you wouldn't feel stupid ever contacting him without your damn brother, so you wouldn't feel like fourteen again.

granted; you tried everything to forget him in any shape and form possible: you'd overwork yourself to death just to forget about that one hot ass eyebrow thingie he did to tease you as a kid, countless meaningless sex was also always an option: just to forget the printed image of what his dick might look like. and it didn't work, at all.

no matter how hard you tried, cheol would always find a way to tiptoe back into your head, "it's not your fault, you're a good person, y'know" he mumbled into the silence, his tone incredibly soft and gentle like reassuring a crying child: he was just so fucking nice it made you want to ball your eyes out.

sometimes you wish he'd murder someone or throw insults at you, you wish he'd do anything for you to hate him: but he didn't, of course he didn't.

you stand up to bring the now empty cup to the kitchen counter but he catches your wrist whilst still sitting on the coach, stopping you. "you're cold, sit down - i'll take care of it" he pushes you down onto the coach, ordering you to sit and you know he won't allow any discussion on the matter.

and it sucked, it sucked that he was so damn loveable. it sucked that he had to flash you that familar wide smile that made you want to jump out the window right onto the wet streets of seoul.

he skipped back from the kitchen quickly now with an additional blanket in hand, this usually would've been the part where you'd normally say 'no, it's fine' or some other lame and lied remark, however this time you didn't. you simply grabbed the blanket, covering your body while staring out of the windows in a slight daze.

the sound of the rain made your eyes wander back up to him as you noticed the concerned look on his face.

"are you feeling sick?" he mumbled while his eyes wandered around your face, cupping it with both hands, examining you, "well you don't seem to be hot, that's good"

cheol smiled kindly again at his own words, his hands still on your face - now without any particular reason, he gulps slightly as you notice his eyes wandering all over your face.

he's about to awkwardly pull them away when you stop him, holding his wrists firmly as you look down at the ground in embarassement, you felt so weak: like you were begging for attention.

"why did you come? don't lie, tell me why you came" his tone was still reassuring, his fingers now lightly brushing against your cheeks, your gaze remaining

"the date just sucked and i- i didn't know where to go, i didn't want to be home alone and your adress was the first thing i remembered, i'm sorry i know i'm wasting your time" the words flew out of your mouth instantly however that wasn't the only reason and you both knew it.

you needed a place to stay and a person that could comfort you and you'd always found both in him.

his thumb kept stroking your cheek in a repeating motion, if you could've you would've curled up in his lap and held onto his shoulders like you did when you were little. why does everything become so complicated when you're an adult?

"you'll stay the night, it's midnight, you're fucking freezing and it's raining outside - i'll show you the bedroom" he said with so much casualty in his words, like it was the most normal thing in the world, you appreciated him making this feel as 'normal' as he could.

"no, i can take the coa-" he fell into her words, "no" his voice for the first time this evening stern, allowing no counter arguments.

seungcheol took both of your hands, helping you stand up from the coach, guiding you incredibly gentle until he added, "don't worry about it, i'm glad you came to me"

he was so sexy goddamnit.

it just wasn't fair, it wasn't fair that you had to innocently sit on his bed in his clothes watching him undress and pretend you aren't watching and quite literally drooling over the way his muscles flexed with just simple movements.

if you could you would kiss each little ounce of skin on his body and you'd gladly do it over and over again.

fourteen-year-old you would sell her soul for this, deep down you wanted to jump onto him and rip off his remaining clothes.

it was so funny, he was painfully unaware and oblivious of the effect he had on you yet when he turned around now his bare back shown to you as he scretches to get a shirt from the closet you let out a little sound of surprise.

"since when do you have tatteos?" your voice mumbled almost like a self thought to yourself but audible to him, about the size of half a hand a black tattoo grazed his upper back.

he turned around, man tits and abs all out a cheeky little grin on his face almost like he's happy you noticed, "i got this second year, college so like almost eight years ago-" he pauses, eyebrows slightly furrowed in light confusion and shook, "wow, time really does fly, does it?"

"it really does" your voice tone changing for a split second to something a bit more nostalgic as you stood up from the bed, hands reaching out naively towards the tattoo, "... can i?"

seungcheol nodded in response as your fingers began lazily tracing the outline of it, "do you have more?" he shaked his head, his chest rising and falling faster than before but maybe you're just envisioning things, "you need to stop" his voice now also changed, sounding almost hoarse?

you didn't realize you were making him nervous at all, he never seemed the typ of guy that could have any sort of reaction when it came to such simple and tender touch.

"i'm sorry if i'm making you uncomfortable, it's just really pretty" you explained while you looked back down at your hand which looked unusually small in comparison to his back, "the tattoo or something else?" he answered faintly and you felt practically caught in the act yet you rested your head on his broad back, basically on the tattoo in response, "both" where did you get the sudden courage from?

from one minute to another, you grew rather bold as your hands move from his tattoos to his little moles, moving between them like a map and even that turned to a point where you started to massage his back making him groan.

in a sudden swift motion, your face was once again cupped, his hands cold, his own face inches away from your own as he muttered, "why are you doing this to me? why are you making it so hard?"

you froze in place once he took your face in his hands and your breath caught in your throat, his voice became quiet and his eyes shifted over to your mouth before your eyes met once more.

it took you some time to process what he said, your mind running wild as you tried to respond to what he just asked.

"i need you, been needing you, that's also why i'm here," you murmured muffled as a slow smile creeped up on his face, there was almost like a hint of relief in his expression, "how long have you been needing me for?" his tone mocking in a sexual way.

your gaze shifts to the floor, hiding from his praying eyes which just won't leave yours, "since fourteen"

"and how old are you?"

"you wanna embaress me," as you added "you already know it"

he chuckled, "oh, but i want my little girl to tell me" his hands wander back to your face, lifting it, a silent command for you to look up to him.

"your little girl? I'm 5 years younger then you, it's not the end of the world" you protested till after about 20 seconds adding weakly, "23"

"so my little girl is all grown up?" his hands leaving your face, tracing your collarbone till travelling to your tits, circling around them meanwhile maintaining eye contact like waiting for an answer.

"so pretty, so pretty for me" a slow, knowing grin tugged at the corners of his mouth as he slid his cold hands underneath the shirt he gave you earlier, taking a hold of your tits, "wanted to touch these for so long"

you raised your eyebrows, breath hitching cause you just had to ask, "since when?"

his fingers squeezed both tits, his gaze seeming a little hazy as it took him a few seconds to register what you just said yet he was quick to finally answer, "ever since you stopped talking to me, since the last time we talked on the phone, all i've had was you on my mind, i missed your voice"

"i touched myself fuckin' thinking 'bout you it would've been wrong if if i clocked in every now and then to pretend we're good old friends"

as you were responding he traced your nipples, making your finally sentence come out strained and breathy yet seungcheols actions paused when he heard what you forced out.

that tiny little smirk slowly but surerly found its way onto his face admist one raised eyebrow, the thing he did that would make young you always go feral, "how many times are we talking about here?"

looking down, you shamefully avoided his eager eye contact, it was so fucking embarrassing - it was embarrassing how you could feel your pussy fuckin throbbing from a little tit touching, it was embarrassing how many times you imagined his fat cock pounding into you when you were fucking his friends, it was embarrassing how many utter times you solely thought of him during other sex.

"that's what i thought" he grinned, "hands up" you did as he told when cheol slid of your shirt completely, simply the sight of your bare chest making him groan.

he wrapped his hands around each of the both, his big veiny hands covering them up entirely, his fingers moving to your nipples pinching both individually, "bet you used a dildo every fucking night, praying that it was gon' be me one day huh"

you moaned in response, shifting and arching closer to him - closer to his damn hands, seungcheol groaned while he himself motioned even nearer to your boobs, his mouth enclosing around your left hardened nipple, straight away beginning to lick your soft and sensitive flesh.

your hands ran through his hair, staying locked in them, your knuckles visable due to the sensation. you being a bit lightheaded leads to the both of you stumbling back slightly, ending up on his large bed his hands now running all over your body - touching, squeezing anything he could reach, his mouth never leaving your chest.

"so pretty," the sound of his rough voice mixed with little mewls muffeled as he sucks on the precious skin, "so fucking pretty"

you press your hips forward shamelessly, craving any form of friction, his heavy erection pressing against you directly as you groan deeply at the feeling of his skilled tongue working wonders on your tits combined with his cock against you, fabric being the only thing seperating both.

"need you," you pressed out, your own whimper cutting you off "in me, need you, inside"

"why? i'm not in a rush" his tone was still commanding yet his voice was as hoarse as ever like fighting with his inner self of just giving in.

"cheolie please" that sweet little nickname - his favorite, he liked so much, she used to call him that always.

cheol jolted his head, looking up to the ceiling, grunting loudly, "always have to make everything so hard for me"

in one swift motion, his oversized shorts that he gave you were slipped of you and he rested his hands on her ankles dragging you a bit closer to him, "gotta check if this pussy is ready for me, k?" he looked back at you, expecting a nod as you did so, much to your unease he spread your legs wide, inspecting and checking with two fingers even curling making you lightly squirm.

almost like sensing cheol was about to deny and say you weren't ready, you rapidly exclaimed: "can take it," when seeing his unimpressed face expression adding, "i swear, cheolie, promise"

deep down he liked it when you were vulnerable to him like this, when he saw you as something he could control and gently toy with instead of someone he once considered a friend. he liked the sight of you like this, so exposed, so fragile, so small - it made him want to protect you, it made him want to make you his but most importantly it made him want to fuck you brainless.

his hands ran to his pants, removing them of himself swiftly yet almost lazily like he had all the time in the world as if you weren't openly struggling to not cum on the spot, undone - just upon seeing the sight of his cock.

your lips slightly part, eyes a bit wider and for the first time in your sex life you actually wonder if you can take dick.

"what, are you suddenly unsure?" he moves closer to you, his fingers roaming through your hair like a soft caress contradicting to anything he said in the past five minutes, the cocky grin stays on cheols face so you know that he's still good old mean him.

"don't you think you'd look so pretty on it? don't you need my cum deep inside you? didn't you pray every fuckin' night for my cock to scretch you out? don't you? mmh" his tone incredibly mocking and dripping of pure sarcasm, his body now towering over you as his hands slide on a condom from his night desk over his length.

"che-" your words were abrouptly cut of by his dick slipping into you, so easily - the wet mess that you were already additionaly helped him slide in smoothly.

"so needy for my cock" he was about half way through filling you up and you dreaded the actual full fit cause you already felt him so deep inside. his thrusts were slow at first almost careful like testing the waters but surely picked up pace whilst mumbling: "so proud of you, look at you- taking it so well"

it felt like you had water in your ear, no thoughts in your brain as the only sounds you heard were the wet skin slapping noises echoing through your mind.

he pulled out just for a split second just to slap into you even harder, balls deep to the point where you could feel him probably somewhere in your stomach, incoherent blabbering and pleading coming from your direction.

"you're just a brainless little slut, who doesn't have anybody satisfying her, a brainless little slut who'd get on her knees for anyone just to forget about my dick, a brainless little slut who kept all those horny thoughts to herself for nine years just to spill them out the second i asked, that's you, isn't it?"

you moaned weakly in response as he mercilessly continued to pound into you, "fucking made for this, made to take me in every way there is"

it was truly pathetic, how you could already feel that tingling feeling in your tummy signalising that you were close and it was pathetic how his words turned you on, how they made you lift your hips up further how they made you whimper every time.

"gonna train you into my own little cum slut," his breathing irregular practically panting yet he's serious, "so close, cheolie fuck i-" his hands wander back to your tits while maintaining the same pace of hip movement, squeezing and kneading the delicate skin, biting his lips.

you clench around him, hips pushing forward one last time as you come, a mix of cursing and unsensical nonsense leaving both of yalls mouth during as he jolts his head back coming at the same time.

after about a minute later, seungcheol pulls out carefully, his hands cupping your face, looking at you sweetly almost innocently like he didn't just fuck the living brain out of you.

"are you okay?" you nod along, smiling lazily, your arms wrapping around his tough bare chest pulling him closer.

he returned the hug, wrapping his buff arms around you completely, kissing the top of your head softly, "i wasn't to mean, was i?"

#choi seungcheol #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol smut #seventeen seungcheol #scoups smut #scoups #scoups x reader #svt fanfic #seventeen fic #svt x reader #svt ff #scoups fluff #scoups imagines #scoups fanfic #seungcheol #BARK BARK BARK #I'M GONA FERAL #FINISHED THIS TO LATE I'M BRAINDEAD

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anna-hawk · 16 days

Text

Dexterity

Frank Castle x F!Reader

Summary: You're having some quality time on your own when Frank pays you an unexpected visit.

Explicit 🔞 • WC: 4,1k

Tags and warnings: masturbation, finger fucking, teasing, praise kink, hand & finger kink, dirty talk

Always time for Coffee series

⚠️ If you follow me on AO3, this is NOT a new fic! ⚠️

A/N: This month will mark five years since I posted my very first Frank x Reader fic. I made a small post for the series a few years back, but never a dedicated one for the first ever fic. After the news and pics of getting Frank back today, even if it's only for a small role, I was thinking back to the time I got first inspired to write and actually post something for once. It's been quite the journey since then and this series has now 16 parts, but most importantly, this fic played a big part in me joining the beautiful fandom that I've been a part of these past 4 years and getting me to meet incredible people. So I figured, let's be nostalgic and officially post it on here too.

Ever since meeting Frank Castle, you’ve been obsessed with his hands.

You know they have killed numerous people and could do cruel things to the ones deserving it, but you also know how kind and gentle they can be. When he would come to your shop as Pete, you’d seen how he would talk to one of your employees' kid, the boy having always had a short fuse, and manage to calm the boy down by simply putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. The couple of times when he’d handled the fragile elements of your ice cream maker while repairing it with those deft hands had also shown how gentle they could be.

Yeah, you really have a thing for his hands and the guy himself.

The first time you'd met him, you'd met Pete Castiglione the construction worker, who’d been visiting your Café for the first time. You had followed the whole Punisher debacle on TV and had been very intrigued by the man’s story. Yet even though you'd thought that Pete looked familiar, it had taken you a few weeks of him coming in every other day and helping you out with an electrical problem, to realize who had actually been hiding under all this wild hair and beard. That had been the first time you had come into contact with his hands, too. He had taken off his baseball cap, looked at you to ask where the problem was while standing really close to you, and something in his expression had finally made it click inside you. You'd breathed out, “Frank Castle,” in stunned realization a moment later. In the next second, he'd had you by your throat and against the opposite wall, asking who’d sent you. You had been so startled that you’d just started laughing at the absurdity of you being able to hurt him. Okay, so maybe not really laughed as much as choked, since he’d had his fingers squeezing rather hard around your windpipe. But you'd managed to wheeze out your thoughts, and he'd released you enough for you to tell him why and how you had recognized him. He’d deemed you trustworthy enough, apparently, because he'd let go of you and apologized for overreacting.

You had promised him that you would never tell anyone about him that same evening.

As weeks passed, and he’d still come by your Café, you'd managed to build a rather close friendship. After a while, though, you'd noticed that he was coming by less and less until he stopped coming altogether, making you worried. Finally, after the day everyone had found out that Frank Castle was still alive through live TV, he'd come to your shop when you were closing. You had been even more scared for him since the news and beyond relieved to see him unscathed. You had been touched to learn that he’d wanted to make sure that no one had found out that you knew about him and come to hurt you to get to him. He'd also told you that he would have to lie low for a while. You'd suggested that he should come to your place and hide there. He had declined, too worried about what could happen to you. Still, as you'd accepted his concern, you'd told him that he could come to yours whenever he needed to, no matter the time of the day or the night. You had never been more glad about giving him your address because weeks later, he had come to hide for the night and had done so several nights until the whole thing with Billy Russo had been over.

Nowadays, he still shows up every now and again. Mostly nights because he has some business to take care of, or just to say hi. You both grab a drink (mostly coffee) and chat. You enjoy his company a lot. Okay, more than a lot. You’ve had a thing for the Punisher even before meeting Frank, but since knowing the man himself, you couldn’t help being attracted to Frank and his beautiful large hands and agile fingers. Among other things. You don't know where he stands with romantic or even only physical relationships considering his past, but you do kind of flirt with one another. You know that Frank likes you a lot; otherwise he wouldn’t come to see you regularly. But even if you want him, badly, you feel that it’s more like bantering to him and nothing more.

That doesn’t stop you from dreaming or fantasizing about him and the filthy things that you’d love him to do to you or you to him, though. And that's actually exactly what you’re doing right now. You’re lying on your bed, the sheets tangled around your legs, one hand inside your sleeping shorts while your breaths come harder and faster. You’ve been teasing yourself for what feels like an hour, fingers alternating between circling your clit languidly and pushing three deep into you to mimic the size of two of his, getting yourself closer and closer to one spectacular orgasm. You’ve got your eyes closed, face flushed, bottom lip between your teeth, while your middle finger is rubbing faster and faster over your slippery clit. Harsh breaths leave you as you picture Frank spreading you wide with his fingers and whispering dirty nothings into your ear. You’re right there, on the brink, ready to fall, when there’s a resounding knock at your door.

You yelp in surprise and flinch so hard that you nearly hit yourself in the face with how fast you remove your hand from between your legs. You’re trying to get your bearings back, your body still trembling from being strung high for so long and not getting what it wants, when there is another knock. You groan in frustration and get up on wobbly legs to go check on who wants to see you so badly at that time of night. You look through the peephole and gasp when you see Frank’s face. He'd been here only last week, and he usually shows up only once a month at best, so you’re completely thrown when you open your door to the smirking man.

“Hey, Sweetheart,” he greets in his signature gruff and deep voice, upper body pressed lazily against the door jamb.

He’s looking calm and carrying no signs of a recent fight. Meaning that this isn’t an emergency call. Good. He’s wearing dark jeans and a charcoal Henley with his usual combat boots, three days worth of stubble on his face. He looks mouthwatering, and you valiantly try not to let anything show on your face.

“Was in the neighborhood visitin' Curtis and thought I could come check on you too. Sorry it’s so late,” he continues, confirming your earlier thoughts on there being no immediate danger.

“You’ve come by way later, Frank,” you remind him with a snort and motion for him to follow you inside.

You notice that your voice came out a bit strained, and hope that he doesn’t see how your knees are still shaking after the near orgasm and the effect his unexpected presence has on you. Well, turns out that you’re out of luck.

“You okay there?” He asks, as he follows you into the kitchen.

You groan inside, of course he noticed. You still try to play it off.

“What? Of course, I’m okay.” You hate how your laugh sounds off. You’re usually better at faking stuff like that.

“Yeah?” he says, coming to stand right before you to give you a once over. “'cause you’re all flushed and breathin' kinda hard.” He even lifts one hand to feel your temperature, but you dodge it and turn to the sink, reaching over it to get two coffee mugs out of a cupboard. Anything to avoid him see you blush even more.

“I’m fine, Frank, don’t worry… Coffee?” You desperately hope that he’s going to let it go. You need to put yourself back together and slow your breathing.

“Can never refuse your coffee.”

You breathe a small sigh of relief when he seems to accept your answer and smile at how fond he sounds of your coffee making skills. You’re about to reach for the coffee beans when he says, “Seriously, though, am I makin' you this nervous or what's goin' on?”

You put your hands back down and groan in defeat, hanging your head.

“Could you just let it go, Frank? Please?”

He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, and you don’t turn around to look at him while you wait.

“Did I interrupt somethin'?” He finally says, amusement clear in his voice. Damn him and his perceptiveness.

You hide your face in your hands and whimper in embarrassment.

“Oh God, just shut up, Frank!” Your voice is muffled by your hands. He barks out a laugh, making you lower your hands again. “You’re such a jerk.”

“Hey, hey, `s okay Sweetheart, there’s nothin' to be embarrassed about,” he tells you gently, though you can tell that he’s still grinning, the bastard.

“Yes well…” You still refuse to turn around, even though you can hear him move closer behind you.

“'could always show me, y'know,” he says, and even though the words hit you to the core because the thought alone sends a new wave of deep arousal through you, you can’t place his tone.

That's why you do the only thing that comes to mind and gasp, turning around to backhand him in the chest and play into the joke.

“Oh, fuck you, asshole.”

You meet his eyes and see that there’s something there, lying just under the teasing glint. You suck in a breath, holding it in, while your heart beats a nervous tattoo against your rib cage.

“Or… I could help 'course,” he finally says, voice low, after what feels like minutes and not seconds, his piercing eyes never leaving yours.

You stare at him, still barely daring to breathe. The idea of him helping you out nearly sends you to your knees. Eventually, you exhale in a snort because come on, he doesn’t mean it, and go back to facing the counter, taking the coffee beans out of the cupboard.

“Yeah, right… Let’s get back to that coffee, yeah?” Bonus points for sounding offhand.

You hear him taking another step and then see his hands coming to rest on the counter, one on each side of you, effectively caging you in. His voice is a rough whisper against your left ear, making you gasp.

“Is that a no?”

Your hands, now inches apart from Frank’s, are gripping the marble beneath them, hard. You close your eyes and swallow.

“Don’t play games with me, Frank.” Your voice goes deeper and colder in warning. You might not expect anything romantic-wise from him, but you won’t be made a fool of.

“‘m not playin', Baby.”

To confirm his words, he glides his nose along your nape and bites you lightly on the juncture between neck and shoulder.

You moan, all need. That nickname. He's never used it before, but it does something to you. Babe you’ve never liked. But Baby? The way Frank says it, just gets to you. You incline your head to the side, a silent surrender, and feel him grin against your skin. Your eyes are closed so that you don’t see his right hand leave the counter, but feel it settle on your hip and slowly glide down your thigh to the hem of your shorts. To your dismay, his mouth leaves your neck.

“Spread your legs for me, Sweetheart,” he rumbles into your ear.

You oblige instantly, parting your legs and leaning slightly forward to accommodate him. Frank hums in approval. You can feel his fingers on your skin now, just beneath the hem of your shorts, slowly making their way under your right butt cheek and to your center, the touch light and measured. How is it that he's barely touching you and making your breathing speed up again? You try to relax your hands because you’re still gripping the hard kitchen surface like crazy; anything to anchor you. But Frank chooses that moment to push the short’s to the side, hooking it between your ass cheeks and the left side of your outer lips, to grant him easier access. One large finger slides through your still wet folds. One lazy pass through your slit and up to your clit, and your hands lock into place again, a harsh gasp leaving your mouth.

“Shit, already so fuckin’ wet, huh? Guess I did interrupt somethin' good.”

You say nothing, you can’t right now.

Frank keeps up his slow and torturous pace, sometimes staying over your clit and circling it with a featherlight touch that has you nearly screaming in frustration. You try to get a bit more pressure by pushing down on his finger every time he does this, but he just goes back to teasing your slit. Your arms are trembling from the strain, and you murmur a nearly silent plea for more. He seems to hear you though because he chuckles kindly and applies enough pressure for you to moan in satisfaction for a few seconds, before he stops again, too soon. When you fantasize about him, you usually picture him as the teasing kind of lover, but your imagination could never have reached this level.

“Tell me… What you been thinkin' about earlier?”

You’re kind of put out to hear that his voice is still steady, so you decide on the truth. In for a penny and all that.

“You,” you breathe softly.

His movements stop, and you’re satisfied with his reaction, when you realize that you might have overshared. His hand is moving again a moment later, and he growls deep in his throat. He presses his chest to your back, left hand coming up from the counter to grab your jaw and pull it to the side to press biting kisses into your neck and shoulder, making you keen.

“Me, huh? Fuck, now I really want ya to show me sometime…,” he pants roughly into your neck, index finger rubbing tighter and harder over you. “And what was I doin’?”

You have to concentrate to answer him, the pressure on your clit so delicious now. Your voice ends up breaking on each word.

“Something… like… that…”

“Something?”

“Finger-fucking… me.”

He inhales sharply, and you feel him adjust his position behind you, his clothed erection brushing against your ass for a second.

“Something like that?”

Two of his large fingers plunge deep into you, filling you to the brim. You cry out in bliss and go up on your tiptoes for a second as your body rises. Your back bows backward, resulting in your head coming to rest on his shoulder, while your eyes close, and you catch your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Fuck, you feel so good for me, Baby,” he groans into your temple. He withdraws slightly before pushing back all the way in, setting a steady rhythm as the way his name keeps falling from your lips keeps him going.

The hand on your jaw slackens after a while and travels down your neck, over your collarbone and a covered nipple. He’s stroking down your belly and to the junction of your thighs before he finally stops directly over your clit. He rolls it between index and thumb with just the right amount of too much and not enough pressure, or flicks quickly over it repeatedly to keep you on your toes and not know what to expect next. The rhythm of his two hands are completely different. Where his left hand is teasing you slowly but mercilessly, his right hand still has two fingers fucking you fast and deep, making you whimper brokenly. His fingers feel absolutely incredible, yet you know that it’s to keep you on the edge of release. You love and hate it at the same time. The dual sensation has you removing your head from his shoulder to take your weight with your hands on the counter again, leaning forward a bit more to push your ass out and give him even better access.

Frank grunts his approval and keeps up the pace. You feel him resting his forehead on the nape of your neck.

“Holy shit, girl, look at ya takin' my fingers so perfectly,” he says gruffly. You squeeze down on said fingers at the praise, resulting in a groan of appreciation from him.

Eventually, no matter how long he’d intended to keep you on the brink, you’ve been strung so high for so long, that your orgasm is building inexorably, your body ready to crash back down again. His continuous praise is speeding it up as well. Your legs start to shake and a light sheen of sweat is covering your skin. Your harsh breaths are intermingled with moans and gasps of please mores and yesyesyes.

“Frank, please,” you beg one last time. “Please!”

“I gotcha, Sweetheart,” Frank answers finally and starts upping his pace on your clit.

“Yes!” you hiss, elated.

But Frank is apparently not completely done with you because he removes his two fingers from inside you, only to push back but with a third one, this time. You can only cry out in surprise and deep pleasure as he gives you half a second to adjust, before he starts an intense rhythm again. You’ve never felt this full with only fingers, and you can now feel as your release starts curling hotter and tighter in your belly.

“F-f-f-frank, I’m so, so close,” you manage to breathe out.

Frank keeps a litany of words spilling out of his mouth against your neck, “So fuckin' perfect for me” and, “Takin' me so beautifully”.

Suddenly, you're right there again, just like before, ready to take the leap. You feel the shivers running through your whole body and centering where Frank is rubbing tighter and tighter circles. Frank lifts his head from yours and growls deeply into your ear. “Now come for me, Baby. Come on my fingers.”

“Oh fuck, Frank!” You mewl, high-pitched, and that’s it. Everything in you snaps at his words. The intensity of this so long to come orgasm hits you like a freight train driven by Frank Castle. Your body curves back against his, your head back on his shoulder, facing his neck. Your hold on the kitchen worktop becomes deadly again after having slackened somewhat, and you cry out in pure, unadulterated bliss. You dimly feel Frank stopping the fingers inside you and taking them out to circle your waist and push you even more back against him. His focus is on his left hand, index finger still stroking your bud with intense precision, prolonging your release.

As you’re slowly coming down, your body begins to tremble and Frank tightens his hold on you to prevent your knees from giving out on you. You finally release the worktop, fingers a bit stiff, and put them over Frank’s arm to hold on to. His finger hasn’t stop working you, though, and while it’s sending you nice aftershocks, which have you jerking and gasping against him, you finally reach down with one hand to grab his wrist to stop his movements and rest it against your waist with the other.

“Too much,” you mumble into his throat.

You stand like that for a while, both not saying anything while you try to get your breathing back under control. As the seconds trickle by, and you process the last fifteen minutes, you can’t help the laugh that bubbles up and escapes your lips.

“What?” Frank asks, and you can hear the amusement in his voice.

“That was so not what I was expecting from your visit… Not that I mind, of course,” you grin, all relaxed limbs and all.

Frank chuckles, “‘m a man full of surprises.”

You reach down to tug at your shorts and make yourself presentable again, and snicker.

“That you are,” you say and turn around in his arms to look at him, your hands coming to rest on his strong chest.

Your heart misses a beat when you see his face. He’s a bit flushed, and he’s still breathing rather deeply, but it’s his eyes that capture your full attention. They are still dark with arousal, the gaze intense and fixed on yours. Frank’s lips break out in a smirk as he catches you staring. You swallow and clear your throat as you finally take in the hard outline of his dick against your body. You’re about to open your mouth to inquire about it, but he beats you to it.

“Don’ worry ‘bout it, Sweetheart.”

“But-”

“‘m good,” he cuts in again, kissing your temple to take the sting out of his rebuttal before letting go of you.

You stay quiet and lean back against the counter as you nod vaguely. Frank takes a few steps backwards away from you, one hand coming up to rake through his hair and down his neck in a nervous gesture. He doesn’t look at you, so you decide to break the silence. You’re still floating on your high a bit and don’t want things to get uncomfortable between you two.

“So… coffee?”

You see him take a small breath and look back at you with a smile. His eyes are kind but unreadable, like they so often are when he’s thinking about something.

“Yeah, I’d like that, thanks.”

You smile and get back to grab the things you need, Frank going to sit on the couch. The silence is only broken by the coffee grinder for a small while. Your apartment is one large space with an open kitchen that gives on a big living area. A comfortable couch and a coffee table, that are framed by two armchairs, face a flat screen TV and huge floor to ceiling windows. Your bedroom with en suite bathroom is on the opposite side from the kitchen. You adore this place. From where you’re preparing the two mugs, you only have to turn your head to the left to see Frank sitting on the couch, arms thrown over the back of it, legs spread wide. He stares unblinkingly at the darkness and buildings outside your windows. You bite your lip and sigh softly. Once you’re done, one mug with strong dark coffee for Frank in one hand and in the other one with decaf because you definitely don’t need any more excitement tonight, you make your way over to him.

You walk around the back of the couch to sit at the opposite end, your back resting against the armrest. You extend your hand with Frank’s mug toward him. He blinks down at it for a second before taking the mug. He turns his upper body to face you, and you relax a little more at the half smile, half smirk that he usually wears and that he gives you now.

“Thanks,” he says gratefully and hums in pleasure when he takes his first sip.

“Anytime,” you chuckle warmly. You had been proud to find out that Frank had initially come to your Café because he had heard people talking about the quality of your coffee.

You sit there without saying anything, but this time it’s a comfortable silence, both savoring your drinks.

“So how’s Curtis?” You inquire after several long minutes.

It’s an honest question, but you also want to show Frank that you can still talk like you used to. You’ve never met Curtis, but you’ve heard a lot about him and how he has always been there for Frank. That alone means a lot in your book. You end up talking for a small amount of time, conversation becoming easier, before Frank decides to bid you goodnight. You walk him back to the door, and he envelops you in a hug that you hadn’t been expecting at this point. He kisses you on a temple like he often does, making you smile into his neck fondly before returning the kiss but on one cheek instead.

“Take care,” he rasps into your ear, before letting go of you and opening the door.

“Be careful,” you counter with raised eyebrows and a meaningful look.

Frank chuckles and nods. “I'll see what I can do.”

He walks off to the elevator, which opens for him immediately when he pushes the call button, and steps inside. He lifts a hand in a wave as the doors slide closed in front of him, and then he’s gone.

You close your door and lean against it, heaving a heavy sigh. You don’t really know what to feel right now. You’ve just had one of the most memorable orgasms of your life, but still don’t know where you stand with Frank. If you go back to how things were before tonight, that’s fine with you. You’re kind of afraid that you might have scared him off, but the way he behaved before leaving makes you feel confident enough that you haven’t. The ball is definitely in Frank’s court now. You would have to wait and see.

#frank castle x reader #frank castle x f!reader #frank castle #reader insert #the punisher #mes fics #always time for coffee series #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle smut #the punisher fanfiction

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 month

Text

Life in the City 4

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bad friends, creep behaviour, abuse of power dynamics, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You move to the big city and find yourself swallowed up by its chaos.

Characters: Clark Kent, Thor Odinson, short!reader

Note: I think I'm addicted to thick men.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you. No tag list, do not ask for updates.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Tuesday sees a new block in your calendar. The three hour meeting stands out in the internal calendar as its highlighted bright yellow. You don’t know where it’s come from. You’re nervous.

Have you done something wrong? Is this a firing? Does that really take three hours?

You try not to let your innate insecurity get the best of you. You click on it but the new window offers little more than the time. All participants are hidden and there’s no description aside from ‘meeting’. The only other information is the conference room number. Right, so you’re going to implode in the hour leading up to it.

You try to focus but the Excel lines are much tighter than usual. They seem to blur together as you file through a thousand different possibilities and none of them are good. What do you do if you are in trouble? If you do lose your job? You have nothing to fall back on.

You get up ten minutes from the start of the meeting. The building is still new to you and you have to check the placards on the wall to make sure you’re at the right conference room. The door is already open and you slow down as you see Tony strut through ahead of you. This definitely seems off. He’s one of the top execs…

What if it’s a mistake? What if you were added by accident? Maybe you misunderstood it. Maybe it was a notice to stay away. Oh, you’re so confused.

You enter the room and hug your notebook to your chest. The table against the far wall is arranged with trays of catering; pastries, fruits, veggies, quiche, all sorts of delights. Alongside the treats are coffee and tea and a frosty jug of water.

Tony helps himself to a cup of coffee and several tarts. Several other seats are already filled. You vaguely recognise them, not all by name, but you know they’re from various departments. You sit at the table and lay your notebook down, nervously gripping the spiral as you flick your thumb against the tip of the pen slid within.

No one else seems to notice you. They all know each other and chatter among themselves. Five including you. Not very many at all. You wait, wondering who called the meeting as no one seems in a hurry to begin.

The door clicks but you’re the only one who hears it as they rest or deep in conversation. You peek over as Thor strides to the head of the table, stopping behind the high-backed chair.

“I hope you all helped yourselves to the wonderful treats,” he smiles, “don’t mind me as I grab a few before we begin.”

He carries on to the trays and you look down at your notebook. You open it to the first blank page and slide your pen free of the coil. You wiggle it between your fingers as you wait. Surely, it can’t be disciplinary. There’s food and Tony is one of the top guys.

Thor returns, a healthy mound of sweets and fruits on his plate and a steaming cup in the other. He sits and pushes his shoulders wide, sighing as he peers up and down the table. You shrink down as you sit at the opposite end.

“Well, we are all here,” he declares, drawing the silence of the rest. They all turn their attention on him. “I think some of you already know why I’ve brought you here but we have lots of time to get filled in. We’ll be taking breaks of course but we won’t waste time, yes?”

“Yes, sir,” your voices reply out of turn.

“We will be working on a very special project. It’s big news that we’ve acquired Onyx Row and it’s all well and good to put a pretty bow on it and send out a release, but we have to handle all that background noise. We have to figure out how that works,” he explains.

You’re almost hypnotised by his voice and the way he moves his hands as he speaks. He’s so confident and carefree. You envy him as much as you admire him.

“You have all been handpicked to take this on,” he pauses to look at each and every one of you. “We need a strong team. We’ll have new clients to take it and to retain, we’ll have new profits but new expenses as well, and we have a lot to learn about OR. We all know things are not always transparent in acquisitions.”

There’s a murmur of agreement as you stay silent. You’re still not sure you’re supposed to be here. You don’t have very much experience, just a certificate you got at the end of your degree. You chew your lip as you stare down the table, suddenly caught in the sights of another.

Thor’s blue eyes meet yours and his cheek dimples. You blanch and make yourself sit straight. You uncap your pen and quickly scribble in your notebook; Onyx Row.

“Today’s strategy planning,” Thor says, “we’ll toss some ideas around until the first break, then after that, we’ll come up with a ladder.” He stacks his hands over and over as he talks, “figure out how we climb it. Step by step.”

There’s typing on keyboards. You regret not unhooking your laptop but your notebook’s just as good for notes. Tony leans backs as he chews a quiche, crumbs dusting down his jacket.

“Stark, why don’t you write something down, eh? You’re not here for a free meal.”

“That’s what you think,” Tony scoffs playfully but lets his chair snap straight and taps on his touch pad to wake up the laptop.

“Right then,” Thor stands, “I’ve a brief presentation to get us started before we start brainstorming.”

Your stomach swims. The displacement remains but at least you’re supposed to be there. Even if you’re not sure you’re the right choice. Everyone else in the room is a veteran and you’re just you. That’ll have to do.

Or maybe you’ll just show yourself to be a total noob.

🏙️

At the midpoint of the meeting, several new trays are added to the spread. It’s a lot for six people. You finally get up to grab a tea, steeping a bag of green in hot water, then take a small triangle of a tuna sandwich and a few pieces of fruit back to your seat. Despite the ice breakers round, you’re still shut out of the clique-like conversation of the others.

You don’t mind so much. Talk for business, nothing else. This is work. Besides, you’re so anxious you don’t know what you would say. You chalk it up as much to your own inaction as to their blatant exclusion.

The empty chair to your other side rolls back, frightening you as Thor sets down another plate of goodies and sits. You gulp and look at him as you quit your nibbling of the sandwich crust. You clear your throat and wipe your fingers on a napkin.

“Sir,” you greet with a cringing smile, “hi, er.”

“Thor will do,” he assures coolly, “are you enjoying the food?”

“Um, yeah,” you answer, trying to brighten up out of your cocoon, “it’s good.”

“Feel free to have more. There’s plenty to go around.”

“Thank you, that’s… I’m good,” you press your thumb to your index and bend and unbend your knuckle nervously.

“Tea?” He muses as he reaches to flick the small tap dangling from your cup.

“Mhm,” you nod awkwardly, “coffee burns my tum–stomach.”

He smiles broadly, “ah, mine too, but I’m stubborn.” He leans his elbow on the table, his chair turned to face you entirely, “are you nervous?”

Your eyes give you away as they widen at his blunt question. You dip your chin again, “a little. I… you know I only just started, right?”

“Yes, but you have your qualifications,” he insists.

“Yeah, uh, but…” you glance around at the others.

“But, I have faith in you. As I said, I picked every person in this room. You included. I know that new minds are as valuable as more experienced ones.”

“Well, er, thank you for taking a chance on me,” you bit your cheek and force a smile.

“You know, if no one had ever taken a chance on me, I might not be sat here with you right now,” he leans in just slightly, “everyone deserves their chance to prove themselves. I have faith in you, and what about you?”

“What about me?” Your cheeks wobble.

“Do you have faith in me?” He rests his chin in his hand, watching you intently.

“Y-yes, sir, uh, Thor,” you crackle out, “thanks, I…”

“Good,” he praises and sits up, “I’ll let you finish your food, if you don’t mind that I stay and do the same.”

He swivels the chair and picks up a cracker from his plate. You hum in acquiescence, barely able to muster words. The only permission he needs is your nervous reach for your tea. As if you would tell him to go. He’s the boss.

🏙️

You’re finally let free but you don’t feel as much. You have so much more to do now. You carry with you the folder handed out to each member of the room with an exhaustive overview of your session and the Onyx Road contract.

You sit at your desk and take a moment to situate yourself. This is your priority. Everything else is second tier. That’s as much as Thor said but what are you going to do about Dawn breathing down your neck?

You fix the loose button on your cardigan that comes undone now and again, right at the worst spot; the middle. You pull the bottom straight and clear your throat, signing into your computer as you rejig back to work mode.

As you shuffle through the emails you received in your absence, a figure approaches. You delete a redundant communication before you face them. You expect Dawn but instead, an all too familiar face looks down at you. Sitting, Thor seems to tower over you even more than usual. You feel like you should stand as he bends his neck to talk to you.

“I did forget to mention some things early. As you can expect, some details slip through the cracks in such a big project,” he spreads his hand on the corner of your desk.

“Oh, okay,” you grip the arms of your chair as you peer up at him.

“IT will be around to help connect to the shared drives required for the project,” Thor explains as he leans on one foot, hooking the other over it. “You will be dealing with some very important documents. Confidential so you will also need to relocate…” he looks around briefly, “you will be moved to a private office.”

“Uh, wow, that’s… okay,” you nod with a flutter of lashes.

“It’s a lot, I know, but you will be compensated. At special projects rate, no less,” he intones as he drags his hand up his suit jacket and curls his fingers around his lapel. His fingers are so thick. All of him is. And big. You’re getting vertigo just looking up at him. “You be in your new home by the end of the day.”

“Today?” You ask, almost breathless.

“Yes, we move fast around here,” he grins, “but I also wished to tell you that should you require any support, you will come to me. Your supervisor has been informed of your reassignment and your daily duties will be handed out to your colleagues for the duration of this project.”

“Uh huh,” you croak out, “that makes sense.”

“You understand, this is a big assignment. It could require late nights and… business trips.”

“Yes,” you lie. You really hadn’t considered that. In the contract you signed, it was for a desk, there was no travel, no overtime.

“Another matter for us to deal with. Travel pay, extra hours…” he drones as if bored.

“I understand,” you murmur.

He drops his hand to frame his hip, pushing back his jacket as he stays leaned against your desk. His eyes stick to you as they storm in mystery, “I like that sweater. It’s cute.”

You look down at the flower embroidery and your cheeks singe. Compared to him and the other execs, you were a touch underdressed. That’ll probably need to change too.

“Uh, yeah, I…” you fix the loose button again, “sorry, I’ll… I’ll buy a blazer.”

“I mean it,” he drags his hand from the desk and stands straight, “don’t buy the blazer, that suits you better.”

You crane your neck to look up at him again, “thanks, sir,” you fold your hands in your lap, “I… like your tie.”

You immediately want to disappear as the words trickle out. You sound so stupid. He touches his blue grey tie patterned with white paisley and examines it.

“Not one of my favourites, but thank you,” he chuckles. “Right,” he snaps his fingers, “much work to do. For both of us.” He shifts back on his sole, “don’t forget what I said, if you need anything, I’m your man.”

He winks and spins on his heel. You watch him go as tension raises your shoulders. That was awkward and painful. You’re already doubting your place in this whole thing. Before you can turn your chair back to your desk, you don’t miss the errant gazes in your direction. You ignore them as best you can but they sear into your back. You have witnesses to your humiliation, great.

#thor #dark thor #dark!thor #thor x reader #clark kent #dark clark kent #dark!clark kent #clark kent x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #life in the city #superman #avengers #mcu #dcu #dc #marvel

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writingquestionsanswered · 26 days

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hello! i've struggled with writer's block for so long that i've forgotten how to write something that i genuinely like... recently i've been trying to go back, but given my current schedule and me being in med school, it's impossible for me to sit down and just ... write but do you have any tips how i can slowly ease myself back into writing? thanks so much 🥹🙏🏼

Slowly Easing Back Into Writing (w/ a Busy Schedule)

1 - For Now, Write for Fun and Relaxation - When you're neck deep in work, school, parenting, caregiving, or any other of life's big commitments, you may want to go the low pressure route with writing and let it be an outlet for fun and relaxation. This gives you carte blanche to write when, what, and how much you want without having to worry about any sort of "progress." And the beauty is, whether you write five words a day or five-hundred, you are still "making progress" in terms of honing your writing skills and adding to a body of work. You just don't have to be focused on that for now.

2 - Meet Yourself Where You're At - Even when you give yourself permission to write for fun, you may still find yourself wanting to create goals, a writing routine, and a writing schedule... and that's fine, just be sure to meet yourself where you're at when creating these things. In other words, be honest with yourself about things like available writing time, energy requirements, potential distractions, steady commitments, and other potential challenges to meeting goals and sticking with a routine/schedule. Be flexible. Have reasonable expectations. And give yourself grace when things don't go as planned.

3 - Go For the "Low Hanging Fruit" - Getting back into writing doesn't have to mean pursuing big writing projects, and it honestly probably shouldn't when you have other big things going on that need to take priority. Luckily, there's a lot of "low hanging fruit" you can go after to get your words in. Those will be different for everyone according to where you find inspiration and motivation, but some examples would be journaling about your day or dreams, writing reviews of books and movies, writing out your feelings about a particular current event or something unusual you experienced that day, flash fiction writing prompts, short poem, free writing, writing exercises, etc. In other words, things that allow you to write as much or as little as you want, and you can switch it up depending on how you're feeling.

4 - Spend Time Filling Your Creative Well - If you're limited on time and energy, don't underestimate the importance of using the free time you have to fill your creative well... read books/short stories/fan-fiction/magazines/news stories, listen to audibooks or podcasts, watch TV shows or movies, play video games, watch documentaries, learn about things that interest you, research your family tree... anything that puts stories and story elements into your head is going to help you be a better writer. And if that's all you have time to do right now, that's okay, too!

5 - Make It a "Whole Thing" - If circumstances permit, take whatever writing time you have each week or month and "make it a whole thing." Get yourself a nice/pretty/fun notebook and some nice and/or colorful pens. Create a writing playlist. Find a special place to write (it can change as needed) where you'll feel safe, comfortable, and will be relatively distraction free. Create a little writing routine for yourself, like drinking a certain beverage, starting by listening to a certain song, wearing a particular hat or comfy cardigan, eating a particular snack, putting on some mood lighting... whatever works. It could even be as simple as putting a particular object next to your keyboard like a pretty rock, a scented candle, a certain plushie... anything your mind can start to associate with "this is writing time" can help trigger things that will get you into writing mode when it's time.

Here are some other posts that may help:

Guide: How to Rekindle Your Motivation to Write Guide: Filling Your Creative Well Getting Excited About Your Story Again Getting Unstuck: Motivation Beyond Mood Boards & Playlists Getting Your Writing Magic Back After a Break Writer’s Block

Happy writing!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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blueparadis · 1 year

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a concept:

tattoo artist kaeya having a thing for u, his regular client rosaria's cute little roommate, who is the exact opposite of her. he feels bad for touching himself to the thoughts of u but he can't help himself bc he likes u so much

❝ INKED SECRETS ❞ + KAEYA ALBERICH !

+. CWs —» tattoo artist au + modern au, f!reader, fluff, light angst with comfort, some canon elements, love at first sight, mention of cigarette smoking, bad relationships, hookups, stranger to lovers, smut ( fantasies, m-mastarbation ) ; word count — 2k.

+. NOTES —» thanks to my beloved yoru ( @anantaru) for helping me and beta reading this otherwise i would've opened the gates of kaeya-brainrot; also, thank you for being patient. This ask was almost a month old and I know this was supposed to be short but the thing is kaeya is the one who had me invested in genshin impact. However, surprisingly I've never thought of writing about him so thank you for your muse. I loved writing this so fucking much. Thank you. Tattoo artist kaeya shall live forever in my mind. If you wanna check more of my writings, click here.

Kaeya Alberich. The name of the mystery man who would always be the talk of the topic for Rosaria. He was more familiar to you than your roommate ever was. You two shared a room yet you could never read Rosaria but she was thorough with you; maybe that is why you two clicked. Every one of your friends considered it a mystery how a sunflower like you would ever survive in the company of a moon. Everyone including Kaeya. He had his own proportion of confusion every time Rosaria talked about you.

Kaeya knew how you looked, talked, and liked to eat ice cream in winter. Not only that, your favorite colors, bits and pieces of your small dreams were known to him. And all because Rosaria wouldn’t stop with the constant blabbering about you whenever he directly hung out with her, emphasizing the fact that you were nothing but an angel in disguise. Kaeya had to endure all of it, every bit of you that Rosaria seemed to find alluring. At moments like this, one could say that they exchanged personas since Kaeya was a guy of smiles and chitter-chatter while Rosaria was quite the opposite.

True, the friendship between Kaeya and Rosaria was another talk of Mondstadt’s inhabitants, but they both did not seem to react as people expected, as people thought they should. You would, barely, call them lovers. While Kaeya enjoyed different takes of his customers about Rosaria, she, on the other hand, brushed those petty rumors off, with just a glance keeping her stoic persona.

But, among all these happenings, Rosaria had the front-row seat of the chaos that was about to unfold. She had her beauty salon just above Kaeya’s tattoo parlor. They have been working together for at least five years. Rosaria had her shop on rental and the five-storied complex was owned by none other than Kaeya Alberich himself.

Anyone who wanted to go to her parlor had to cross Kaeya’s floor; hence, no one slipped past the grip of his galactic eyes. He knew the regulars of her shop and had an immense influence on them. He believed it was his charms while Rosaria begged to differ.

But she was just being professional, clearing non-financial tabs that she owed to him, for bringing the immense influx of customers to her salon. Sometimes, it worked both ways, but whenever they fought, the elders of the locality had more spice to flavor the rumors that had just started sedimenting.

January, the prime of winter, of snow and the freezing cold, Kaeya laid his first glance at you. Warm and alluring: you were every bit of beauty that Rosaria spoke of, in fact, now that he had finally seen you in person, he thinks Rosaria fell short of speaking of your angelic aura.

“Hello, I have a parcel for Rosaria, could you please deliver it to her? I would have done it myself if I wasn’t in such a hurry.”, you kept the package on my desk, “Thank you very much, Mister . . .”, you looked at his batch that reads Kaeya Alberich, “. . . Thank you so much, Mister Kaeya Alberich.” And before Kaeya could say anything back, you fled out of his sight like a bird.

He watched you get into a cab holding the package in his hand, barely registering what you asked him to do. His mind had drifted far off to all those times when Rosaria was talking about you. He checked his watch and smiled to himself. Oops! Rosaria’s smoke break was ruined since he joined in with the package you had left for her, with many questions.

For a tattoo artist, Kaeya seemed the least bit invested in its antics, yet he had a steady influx of customers, mostly because he is very professional and dedicated to his livelihood. He pays special attention to his regular customers, sadly, you weren’t one of them, not yet.

Still, he would stand and smoke at the corner of the entrance so that he could watch you go like the wind to meet your roommate with a package in hand. He would notice the color of your dress, the matching nails, shoes, and every little detail thinking how flawlessly sexy you looked.

But he abruptly stopped the second he had bruised his fingers with the cigarette burn. Fortunately, it was his left hand but with his line of work, he needed both.

Today, during the lunch break when Rosaria told him that y/n wanted to have a tattoo, his blood rushed to his cheeks and ears. He did not think you’d be interested in tattoos or piercings. He definitely did not see the next blow coming. “Yep. sure.”, he supplied, coughing back the lump in his throat. Of all the parlors you could choose you had to choose his. What in the lord’s fuck was going on?

The day came faster, faster than he had anticipated. Needless to say, it did not go like he thought it would. It was safe to say he was more nervous than you were. “Are you sure about this?”, “Ya’know it’s gonna hurt, right?”, “Should I use some anesthetic on the area?” His questions wouldn’t stop and you were trying your best to stay as patient as possible It is true, part of him was nervous but another wanted to spend and enjoy some time with you.

“And done!”, Kaeya playfully mused as he wiped over the work of ink, careful enough not to accidentally graze his fingers over your inner thigh but of course, he did want to.“y/n” he spoke, his tone low but clear enough for you to hear, “so, how many tattoos do you have now?” Kaeya shifted in his chair as he intently watched you normalize your heightened breathing

“Didn’t you keep count?”,

“nine”, he said, letting out a breathless laugh. “which means you dumped your ninth partner.” and he was not wrong. Of all the regular customers he had, you were his favorite because you had an amusing story to tell whenever you had visited his parlor. He would listen to you the moment he was finished with his handiwork.

But this one in particular, was quite a different story. You never told nor was he allowed to ask about the guy you dumped, ever. Part of him wanted to console you, and tell you that good things take time but another part of him was too afraid to lose you, realizing it was unprofessional of him to offer any form of painkiller against a situation like that. Because on any other occasion, his usual customers weren’t as chatty as you were.

He never thought of a case where it might be the opposite. With that, he thought that you, of all people, being dumped by someone was utterly ridiculous, because who wouldn't want to date someone like you? He knows he would, after all, and if he could, he would make sure the ninth tattoo is to be the last tattoo on your body.

“What about you?”, you asked, swinging your legs in the air while sitting on the bed. “For a tattoo artist, you are awfully blank.”

“It’s somewhere. . .”, he started, “wait I’ll rather show you . . .”. and when you, in a sliding second, unexpectedly flashed him, his hands immediately found their way crawling at the hem of his turtle-neck.

“Wait. wait. Wait. stop. Just stop.” kaeya panicked as you partly opened your eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest while your eyebrows jumped and stayed intact for seconds. Pin-drop silence and then both of you simultaneously laughed. Some might think it’s corny, and maybe you did as well but it doesn’t matter, what matters is that you were smiling right now.

That’s good. That’s really good.

Kaeya checked his watch as you left his place to run upstairs, checking to see if Rosaria was done with her chores; after all, she was almost approaching the closing hour of her shop so she should’ve been done by the time you had arrived at her place. Fifteen minutes, fifteen minutes before you and Rosaria would come out of the elevator to go home; maybe he could if he’d finally stop thinking about it in such an unhealthy calculative manner.

Yet, well, there was just one problem. His ears felt hot, his mind was restless and he couldn't focus on a single task. Generally, it took ten minutes to close his shop and he does it every day, all alone so if not his mind, his muscle memory should be functioning properly. But all he desired to do was to touch himself and relieve himself from the agony of months boiling in his core.

June, the prime time of summer and ice cream. Kaeya slides his right arm under his vest while grazing his lower belly, eagerly thinking of the last time, but eventually, his arm ends up slipping into his pants, his fingers clamping around his length, and finally, a soft groan escapes from his mouth. The tip of his tongue kisses the corner of his lips as he takes out his cock which was coated with warm white fluid, at the tip pre-cum.

For a moment, he is surprised, and then he suddenly is not. There is a crescent formed along his lips as he taps the tip of his cock, smearing the reddened end with its pre. “Oh fuck. This feels so much better.”, he groans, mumbling to himself, thinking why he didn’t do this way sooner.

He palms his member, a little harder, this time trying to imagine how it would feel to be sheathed by your gummy walls. He started to pump his cock as his pants slipped, now clustered at the bottom of the chair while his legs were trying to give as much space as possible by spreading them further apart.

With half-lidded eyes, he checks if you had locked the door before leaving or not. You did not and the thought of you walking onto him turned him so bad that he thought he might cum right away.

The moment he closes his eyes he could see you, your calloused fingers around his cock and now he is pumping his cock rashly, the hem of his vest being buried in between his teeth, muffled moans escaping his mouth as the squelching noises had gotten louder and louder.

His other hand gradually made its way towards his nipples, pinching and circling around them thinking of your lips instead. “Oh fuck.”, he hisses as his toes curl, his hips bucked up with a force as he thinks of how euphoric it would be to have your soft lips wrapped around his cock, to have your puffy lips on his, to have your boobs tightly pressed against his bare chest, pronounced nipples grazing against each other while Kaeya’s cock is hitting your sweet spot with precision, blessing his ears with the prettiest desperate moans from you.

He squeezes his eyes shut as his hands move up and down his swollen cock, hitting his girth with calculated thrusts. He paces up as he feels his orgasm approaching, huffing and panting, not caring how vocal he has become until the coil at the core of his flat belly snaps, making him dizzy, his hand movements sloppy, and his inner thighs gradually closing, relishing in the high he had just experienced.

Kaeya’s chest rises up and down frantically as he finally opens his eyes, watching the spurs of milky white fluid all over the floor and his study desk. A heavy sigh leaves his body as his breathing normalizes. “Fuck . . .”, he mumbles throwing back his head before closing his eyes and thinking of you, again. He takes a few deep breaths to relax before cleaning the mess.

Yet, when he suddenly heard the footsteps, his heart sank. He regrets touching himself while thinking of you, he regrets not saving himself for you, he regrets chasing love so fast, so insanely that he almost lost his hope for finding the one.

“Hey Kae-ya, you done?”, you asked, opening the door, “Rosa is gonna be late today. So, I’ll stay and help her. I��m going out to buy some food, you wanna come with me?” You let your exhausted body lean against the door frame while Kaeya remained silent.

It just made him crazy how blatantly you ignored him, his magnetic affection for you, and the truth was, he cannot even blame you for that. He has always enjoyed this feeling, to like you in secrecy. The more you are unaware of his emotions, the greater chance he has to be around you. Kaeya does not ask for much, just a few more days till he musters up enough courage to finally ask you out.

—

@tokyometronetwork

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pinkeoni · 1 year

Text

Will Byers' Coming of Age Horror Story

Today I wanna predict Will's storyline in season 5 using horror genre tropes.

What's interesting about Will is that he often falls under tropes that are typically associated with female characters.

In season one he's the dead girl. He's Laura Palmer. He's the face of innocence that goes missing/dies and kicks off the story.

In season two, he's the possessed girl. He's Regan MacNeil. It's the irony of evil inside of the face of innocence.

Now, in season three he isn't given as much attention, so pinpointing what kind of trope he follows is hard to do. However, with season four we are given insight into what that trope is. Season four is a little different because he actually takes on a teen drama/romcom trope instead of a horror one. He's the girl next door, he's Joey Potter from Dawson’s Creek.

He's the childhood best friend who get's involved in the love triangle between the Main Guy and the Cool Girl. We see glimmers of this in season three, but it doesn't become especially clear that this is what they were going for until they lean into Will's feelings in season four.

So then, what does this mean for Will's arc moving forward? Will season five follow the pattern of female tropes? If so, which trope will they go with?

Some important information we are already given about season five is that this is going to be Will's coming of age. We've had this confirmed a few times by the Duffer Brothers.

Given the nature of the show, it wouldn't be out there to assume that his coming of age is going to be explored through a supernatural element. In fact, supernatural coming of age horrors are actually pretty common, especially female supernatural coming of horrors.

These types of films typically explore coming of age through some kind of supernatural and/or horrific element, usually in quite the gruesome and violent way. While these films will explore a broad spectrum of different subject matter regarding coming of age, sexuality and sexual awakening is usually a point of discussion. Sexuality and either supernatural and/or horror elements run adjacent to each other, and sex is typically associated with violence. IE lycanthropy in Ginger Snaps, cannibalism in Raw, demonic possession in Jennifer's Body, Nina’s transformation in Black Swan etc.

The reason for this is because female sexuality is usually demonized. It's seen as something as horrific and monstrous, and as such this trope is often associated with queerness. Films that follow this formula are typically seen as queer coded, or even include blatant queerness (see Jennifer's Body or Black Swan)

So now we have a character like Will, whose sexuality is already demonized in universe, going through his own coming of age narrative in a supernatural horror show.

What would be an effective and streamlined way to showcase coming of age and queerness in a way that also coincides with the nature of the show and even goes along with the lore?

I know that with the limited number of episodes, there comes the reasonable concern of being able to squeeze in so many different storylines and themes in such a short amount of time. I get it, it's my main problem with season 3. How are they going to find the time to adequately explore themes relating to Will's sexuality, while also having to wrap up all of the loose ends regarding the supernatural plot?

Easy, you do what the above examples did, and make Will's sexuality and his connection to the supernatural the same plot.

It's not like they would have to reinvent the story in order to do this, they've already been setting up clues for this exact storyline.

In season one, Will's rumors of Will's queerness is pretty widespread among the town, it's one of the suspected reasons for why he went missing. His queerness is already being correlated with supernatural from the very start.

As I've said before, coming of age horrors usually explore sexuality through of lens of something supernatural. It’s not that the supernatural plot takes the place of Will’s sexuality, but rather these two plotlines run together to aid each other, and the supernatural plot can express ideas relating to his sexuality in a more metaphorical way.

So then, how could Will’s burgeoning sexuality be explored in a supernatural way, that fits within the universe of the show?

His powers

@therainscene already has a great post discussing how Will’s powers are his queerness, I reccomend reading it because they explain a lot of the same points that I’m going to but in a much better way than I ever could. Although I wanna point out this point they make at the end—

I would go as far to say that this is what the show bas been building toward the entire time. Think about how many elements of Will’s storyline matches up with both his sexuality AND powers:

Being taken in season one (the town believed it was because of his sexuality, when really Vecna could have taken him for his powers)

Bullied by his peers (being called Zombie Boy for his experience in the UD and other slurs for his sexuality)

Powers/sexuality being seen as mental illness (his true sight visions being misinterpreted as flashbacks)

Repression of both powers and sexuality

Castration (Soteria effectively being a conversion tactic for powers)

Stigmatization (the town sees both the supernatural and homosexuality as satanic)

And finally, acceptance (neither Will’s powers nor his sexuality are horrific, but a beautiful thing to be embraced)

Here’s what Will’s storyline looks like written out:

Will is initially targeted for his sexuality/powers (season one) and he is to be judged by his peers for his sexuality/supernatural experience, and his sexuality/powers are thought of to be a mental illness (season two). His sexuality/powers remain repressed (season three) until they are slowly revealed to the audience (season four) and he finally accepts and embraces his sexuality/powers in the end (season five).

If we follow a typical storyline from a coming of age horror along with what we know about the show, here’s my rough prediction for Will’s s5 arc:

Post time skip, Will is beginning to come into his sexuality more and more but it’s difficult given the external environment

Will has an awakening of powers emblematic of his sexual awakening

Owens + the government tries to “cure” Will of his powers by getting rid of them (I’m going to make a post in the future elaborating more on just this point)

In the beginning, the powers bring a lot of complications and strife (he would likely be targeted for having them, and may not like having them himself)

In the end though, Will comes to embrace the powers he was given as a wonderful, beautiful thing, and they are what helps save the day

Now, some may notice a discrepancy between Will’s storyline and the coming of age horrors I talked about prior, and that’s the idea that Will will have a much more positive end than the female protagonists I discussed. Although, the show has a much different tone and different message than the films above. While those films usually go for the tragic angle, I don’t think the show about uplifting outcasts and wierdos is going to end with the gay kid dying.

I also don’t think that the show is going to try to portray Will as a villain. I think it’s possible that other characters may see him as a villain, but once again, given the shows message, I don’t think the gay kid is going to turn evil. Like I said before, I think Will is going to learn that his powers are actually quite a beautiful thing, just like his sexuality, and learn to embrace it.

tagging: @downbytheriversside

#will byers #will byers has powers #byler #<- target audience #stranger things #stranger things theory #WOOF this is long and ive been staring at it forever so hopefully this makes sense #very long and very rambly i know

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eevee-genshin-blog · 4 months

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How’d This Happen?!

A/n: First Post! Please enjoy! This was inspired by @idkfitememate Boar!Creator!

I was floating... it’s dark? What..?

I was just playing Genshin Impact... Where am I now..? It’s getting cold... Huh... What’s that light? When you first woke up, you didn’t understand what was happening. But you got isekai’d into Genshin Impact, as a cat.

You mostly looked like Luna from Sailor Moon... but your eyes. They were like a normal cat’s, but golden, and your pupils looked like Primogems.

Great... You thought annoyed, you’ve read stories, some get cool powers, others get their phones... but you got a Cat! How unfair, but you choose to feel thankful, you didn’t know if their was anything to this place yet...

They could have killed you for being an ‘ImPoStOr,’ you mentally mock the name... But you started to wonder and ended up cutting yourself.

Not gold blood. Not stary blood. Or pink blood. It looked like the Galaxy, the drops that lost contact with your skin floated up to the sky...

So... You were a god? How does that work? You were stuck in the form of a cat... So confusing... But you decided to wander around and learn.

=================================================

In the few weeks you’ve been here, you’ve found out the following.

One, the true “Impostor,” had descended here long ago.

Two, they weren’t an animal.

Three, you did, in fact, have a human form, but felines are your ‘Symbolic Animals,’ odd, but you’ve always been a cat person. (You did figure out how to turn back into human, but you didn’t have clothes and turned right back into a cat.)

Four, you can control the different elements; So you decided to be chaotic and make a cat friendly base in the trees and ground so no one would find you.

Five, the mobs didn’t attack you.

So far, when someone’s seen you, you’d bolt. But now, you have a proper escape plan! So, you started working. Of course, you struggled, after all, you weren’t exactly used to being a cat yet, or using the elemental powers. But you managed.

Thankfully, Tevyat helped you, making sure you found fresh and clean water; giving you cat-friendly fruits to eat, or letting you catch big fishes; making sure the waters were calm if you tried swimming; and the winds gently blew you dry after.

But after a few months, you made a very small cave system for cats, or bunnies now that you think of the size, to travel through. You didn’t fully understand Dendro enough to make a tree base.

More time passed, as you lived as a cat. You didn’t care to keep up a ‘good appearance,’ why should you? You’re a cat in the forests near Mondstadt, staying alive was more important for you.

Time actually was passing so fast because you were so used to your world’s time. So, you didn’t really eat or sleep like the others here. So before you could process, a year had gone by...

You spend that time playing; chasing seelies, napping with slimes, and visiting some Melusines in Fontaine (Them not telling anyone your the Creator). Letting the hilichurls braid your now fluffy and long fur.

And you were getting homesick; yes, you were having fun... But you missed your parents, your older brother, your friends... Hell! You missed school, as crazy as it sounds...

No one here called you by your name... No one looked at you... No one thought anything of you now... But it was your face and name being taken by that person...

You shake yourself out of your thoughts, angrily... You didn’t like this as much as you thought you did... You enjoyed being free and not being hunted down... but you wanted to talk to people...

But you joined your favorite Hilichurl Camp, joining in with the fire dance. You were invested into the dance as you breathed Fireballs, of different shapes, into the night sky; Thankfully, not harming any trees, or wildlife.

But, barely missed the boy who was acting like a wolf-... Wait!?

Thanks for reading!! Sorry for my first post being so short, but updates will be slow... Once again, this was inspired by @idkfitememate please check them out!

#sagau #genshin impact #sagau impostor au #creator reader #turned cat #Shapeshifting #sagau x reader #reader is not traveler #reader is not called y/n #Reader is technically oc #got inspired #first post #isekai’d #Sailor Moon inspired #Luna #Cat!Creator #Reader is not an adult

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mlbigbang · 4 months

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2023 Marichat & Ladrien Fic Rec List

It’s the end of the year which means it’s finally time for the ML Big Bang’s yearly fic rec lists! We’re really excited to bring you our contributors’ favourite fics started this year to supply you with plenty of reading material while you’re waiting for the Big Bang fics’ publication in January.

Boulangérella by @aidanchaser

Once upon a time, magic was wild. The two princes of the kingdom have been tasked with choosing their brides by the end of their 21st birthday celebrations. Crown Prince Adrien Agreste will have to choose between a woman who can protect his kingdom, a woman offering the power to wake his sleeping mother, and the woman he has loved and admired for the past year. Then there's also the seamstress that he is suddenly falling for. By the time he realizes he doesn't have the power to choose at all, it may be too late.

It's a creative Cendrillon retelling with the kwamis as fay, Adrien as the kingdom's prince and most wanted thief, and Marinette as the seamstess and superhero partner stealing Adrien's heart twice over.

Scary, like a little black purring kitten by @h-sunnywet-d

The calendar just turned into October, and Chat Noir has to make sure that his Good Friend Marinette appreciates the new season wholeheartadly. It sure won't backfire on the long run.

Just An Ordinary Girl by @kasienda

Chat Noir and the other heroes are in a bit of trouble, and Ladybug wanted just one weekend off! But luckily they know someone who can help. Someone who is just an ordinary girl…

you will never sleep alone (i'll love you) by @ladyofthenoodle

Marinette had saved up for months to be able to afford this vacation. Not only that, but she’d spent months trying to convince herself that it was okay to even take a vacation, that Monarch was really and truly gone. Which was why Tikki was at home with Alya, so that Marinette could actually relax and enjoy the plush amenities the hotel had to offer, such as a bed that looked like it cost five times her monthly salary. Or, she would be able to enjoy it, if she wasn’t standing in the middle of the villa she’d booked over a month ago, fighting for the bed with freaking Chat Noir, of all people.

May I introduce myself, Your Highness? by @chocoluckchipz

Whether picking up a stray animal off the streets or saving a dying child at the market, Adrien had always strived to be the best version of himself. Truly, he would've been the perfect candidate to be snatched up by a kwami, were he an orphan, dying somewhere remote after a short life full of nothing but suffering and misery. Yet as it stood, the sole heir to the French throne had little to complain about. Apart from, perhaps, a complete absence of a love life. That is until a mysterious girl, wandering around his gardens at night, catches his attention.

This fic has it all - Ladrien, royalty, fairy tale elements, magic and disguises! It's an enthralling read and one of my absolute favorite fics from 2023.

The Perfect Date by @peachcitt

“I dare you to ask this special someone on the date you just described.” “I totally will,” Adrien says with confidence, looking into the camera and nodding resolutely. “Scout’s honor.” He holds up the kitten as if swearing an oath. There is a space of silence. “Right now,” Hanna says. Adrien stares at her. “I’m daring you to ask that person out right now,” she says. or adrien has a little slip up during a live interview, and ladybug hears. for the golden hour zine!!

reserved by @luckyyoyo

“Don’t you think,” he coughed, a blush creeping up his cheeks, “this kind of thing should be.. reserved for my girlfriend?” He gestured to their poses. A squeak came from her mouth and her knees buckled, but surprisingly still had no struggle keeping Adrien up. “You know, you could always be my girlfriend.” Ladybug, saviour of Paris and local damsel-in-distress Adrien Agreste, suggests he gets a fake girlfriend to ward off his zombie fans. While lovingly holding him in her arms, of course. Adrien, far too comfortable in her arms, suggests it could be her. Introducing your superheroine pretend-girlfriend to your strict, uninterested father is a bit harder than Adrien realises.

Displaced by @kasienda

Adrien loosened his tie and dropped his suit jacket unceremoniously across the back of the sofa that was already cluttered with unopened boxes, mail, and unfolded laundry. He really should have listened to Nino and hired a maid or cleaning person of some sort. But well, he still had a secret to keep, and keeping that secret was more important to him than ever. He moved to his bedroom on autopilot without turning on the light, intending to collapse into bed immediately. But when he tried to slip into his space, he found it was already occupied. He flipped his phone flashlight on towards the ceiling to light the room in a soft glow. In his wife’s place, Ladybug lay sprawled diagonally across the bed.

here comes the rush before we touch (come a little closer) by @ladyofthenoodle

When an akuma attacks during Adrien Agreste's beach themed photoshoot on a dreary day in Paris, Ladybug is on the scene immediately. Unfortunately, with a glimpse of Adrien's alluring abdomen and without her partner, it's not long before she's hit, and Adrien with her—but maybe Ladybug can afford a little vacation with the boy she loves. He's certainly not complaining.

On Borrowed Time by @miabrown007

The life of Paris’ Golden Boy is all shine and glamour; blindingly bright smiles, neverending parties, bargaining for just a shard of time for being happy. But that’s alright; Adrien has long given up the false hope that someone will get it. That is precisely why it’s a spectacle when she does, when she barges in like a hurricane in crimson and turns his life upside down. Heaven knows, it’s time for the wind of change.

#ml #miraculous ladybug #miraculous #marichat #ladrien #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #love square #ml big bang #ml big bang 2023 #fic recs #ml fic recs

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blueywrites · 1 year

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turtle dove and the crow, part three

A 1940s Farm AU, featuring bsf!neighbor!eddie x fem!reader

story tags: 18+ (minors dni). smut; true love; unexpected pregnancy; angst, angst, angst; parental issues; corporal punishment; scheming, plotting, and betrayal; hurt/comfort; period-typical stigma regarding unwed pregnancy; angst with a happy ending.

chapter tags: 18+. p in v, unprotected sex, oral sex, angst, hurt/comfort.

(I have not edited this yet, so please excuse any editing mistakes!)

PART THREE: WOLF LIKE ME (12.7K)

Feel me, completer

Down to my core

Open my heart

And let it bleed onto yours

Feedin' on fever

Down on all fours

Show you what all that howlin's for

Wolf Like Me - Lera Lynn ft. Shovels & Rope

Deep in the field, two roosts sit side by side. One is built of sturdy, weathered wood painted the color of bright red berries, with deep-set windows and a dark sloping roof that protects it from the elements. The other is made of wide symmetrical clapboards painted blue like the sky on a cloudless day, with knotted-oak shutters slightly worn from the sun and wind and bright white trim that shines in the eager summer light. They are separated only by a tall fence and a stump rotted through to the other side, through which the grasses of their yards mingle to become one.

These roosts house different birds. One is a trio of turtle doves, a mated pair with a young hen still soft and brown-gray, though her iridescence is maturing now, subduing into adulthood. The other is a pair of long-bonded crows, though the younger spent its fledgling years in the care of another, who pecked and prodded and stole his sustenance until the young one fluttered finally away, seeking to shelter under the safe wing of his older kin.

They may bear different feathers— one downy gray, one glossy black— but if one were to peep through the windows, one would see these young birds and note how similar they appear right now as they preen. Both turtle dove and crow are drawing their beaks along each feather to clear away the dust, fluttering out their wings in great stretches, and hopping about the expanse of their rooms, caught in restless preparation as the grandfather clock ticks its hand toward seven.

The turtle dove adorns herself for the crow. She dresses in her Independence Day best, twisting to watch the ankle-length skirt swirl around her legs in swaths of dainty yellow gingham. She dances her fingertips along the hand-sewn embroidery that decorates the square neckline, feeling along the tiny white flowers and vines for the perfect spot. There, she pins two sprigs— one lavender, one jasmine— to nestle amongst the white threads she’d sewn with careful fingers, her first attempt at embellishing her clothing, ventured to celebrate the holiday in mid-July. With a careful hand, she ties a bow of white silk to the side of her head. Now smelling of flowers and gilded in homespun sunshine, she has finished her preparations.

The crow, meanwhile, focuses less on his adornments. He doesn’t possess his own Independence Day best; instead, he dresses in a collared, button-up shirt oft worn, paired with navy blue woolen slacks and a leather belt with a simple buckle. But he made sure to scrub his skin with soap 'til it shone pink over every inch of him— between his toes, behind his ears, on the backs of his knees and the nape of his neck. He has brushed out his hair and tamed the flyaways with pomade, twining the curls around his rough fingers to let them drop into careful coils, working with a delicacy that he feels near-embarrassed about despite not having been observed. Carefully, he picks the dirt from beneath his fingernails and trims them short and neat, though he’d been waylaid momentarily by regretful ruminations on the roughness of his palms. He swipes his thumbs impatiently along the callouses that cannot be softened with warm bathwater as if he might rub them away before giving up and brushing his teeth for the second time instead.

With one last ruffle of feathers and a careful appraisal in the mirror, crow and turtle dove descend their staircases in tandem at five to seven, filled with the flutterings of nervous, jittery excitement that precede such an occasion as this.

When you reach the bottom of the stairs, Mama and Pa are already loitering there; you hurry down the last few steps, swinging around with a hand on the banister to fling yourself toward the kitchen and avoid keeping them waiting too much longer. The pie you’d baked with apples from the tree out back is still wafting steam from its golden, flaky crust, but when you test the glass dish with a little pat of your fingertips, you find it’s cool enough to snatch up with a handtowel plucked from the towelbar beneath the sink. Carefully, you carry it back to your parents, stealing a quick glance at their faces as you group together with them. They’ve dressed nicely— though not quite as fussily as you— and their faces hold the same impassive pleasantness that had been there yesterday when the occasion had been proposed to them by the wild-haired boy next door.

He’d stood in his muddy boots on the bristly mat, so adamant in his refusal to tell you what the matter was until your parents joined you that you’d had half a mind to think that something terribly grave had occurred. Your worry gave way to confusion once they arrived and Eddie, with uncharacteristic formality, extended an invitation to dinner at the Munson house for seven o’clock the following day.

Though his delivery was strange, the whole thing was no cause for alarm because you and your family had dined with Wayne at least once each season since before you could remember. But when your parents accepted politely, and Eddie looked then to you, his eyes held a promise unspoken in their umber depths. They were lightened to honey in the sunshine, glossy yet still deep and dark like a pool of rippling water. You had an inkling of what might set this occasion apart from others previous, but you barely dared to think it lest you be disappointed. Still, even without that certainty, you’d taken the time to dress your best, to rouge your cheeks and lips, and set your hair more carefully than usual, just in case that inkling came to pass. And you’d insisted on baking an apple pie to bring over for dessert, prepared to fight had your mother put up any protest, which she had not.

The walk across the grass to the house side by side with yours has never felt so long as it does today. The August air is heavy but dry from the day's heat, wafting with woodsmoke and ablaze with the rhythmic chirping of crickets that are emerging, drawn by the deepening light. And it feels laden with something else, too, as you crunch along the gravel path that connects the front of your property with the Munsons’. Perhaps it’s the promise you think you saw in Eddie’s eyes that wisps along the breeze, ruffling the leaves of the oak trees that stand tall and proud behind that red house. Or perhaps it’s your own unspoken revelation, the one that bloomed in the goat pen those days ago, filling your lungs to swell anew behind your ribs. The heaviness of that unknowable quality makes the walk to Eddie’s house feel long, but it is, in fact, over with quite quickly.

He does live just next door, after all.

You carry your sweet offering up to his porch with eyes fixed on the sturdy, weather-beaten door. There you pause to wait for your parents, and when they join you, your mother raps the doorframe smartly with unhesitant knuckles. They flank you like sentinels as you wait, lips pursing at the faint ruckus you hear behind that thick wood. It’s Ed thumpin’ down the stairs, no doubt, you figure, and your supposition is proven correct when just a moment later the door flies open, quick at first before being slowed with a jerk to a more respectable speed.

You can’t pretend to have chosen the dress you’re wearing for any other reason than the fact he’d mentioned it that day at the creek, but the way Eddie’s face goes slack— the way his dark brows melt into softness and his plush lips part just slightly as he marvels at the sight of you— makes it difficult to keep your composure in front of your parents. As does the sight of Eddie himself. Mama and Pa fade at the sight of him, and you can’t help but pause a moment to take him in, your eyes fluttering over his features like a gentle brush of wings.

Eddie’s curls, dark and rich like wood stain, look as soft and shiny as liquid silk where they spill over his shoulders, and your fingers twitch with longing as you imagine drawing them through those coils. His skin is radiant, scrubbed noticeably clean, and its paleness makes his freckles stand out stark in contrast, like a dusting of spicy cinnamon across the bridge of his nose. He’s rolled his buttoned shirt up to the elbow, revealing strong forearms and broad, rough-hewn hands that are scrambling now to unburden you from the dessert you’d prepared.

You allow him to take it, offering a grateful smile. He returns it before ducking to the side to peer around you. “Evenin’, sir. Ma’am.” Eddie greets your Mama and your Pa almost reservedly, and the absence of his typical manic edge or teasing rasp feels odd but also makes a strange thrill thrum in your belly. He explains, “My uncle’s occupied there in the kitchen; dinner’s about finished. Just gotta set the table,” he adds, almost to himself, and you hasten to offer your assistance.

With just a hint of too much sweetness for comfort, you tell Eddie, “I can help you if you like.”

“Thank you.” Eddie’s cheek dimples in a soft, crooked smile. “And for the pie.”

You wave off his regard to keep your cheeks from pinking. “S’nothin.”

You’ve been inside Wayne Munson’s house on occasion since you were small, as have your parents, but Eddie still leads you along the wide worn floorboards and through the archway into the sitting room. This room is as it always is: green paint faded from the westward setting sun on the far wall, Wayne’s sagging armchair nestled in the corner, a hand-hewn coffee table and the striped couch with the crochet blanket draped over its back in a cascade of the merry yellows and oranges you know Wayne is partial to on account of the sunflowers. There’s a pair of eyeglasses on the side table near the armchair atop a magazine that is clearly Wayne’s, but the boot poking from half-beneath it, strewn carelessly as if it had been kicked off in a hurry, is clearly not. A faint smile crosses your face as you spot it, though your father’s loud clomping footsteps draw your attention soon enough. The sizzling of the stove is overtaken by your father’s friendly shout as forges ahead to the kitchen; the gruff warmth of two men greeting one another accompanies you as you cross the living room to join Eddie in the dining room.

You become mindful of what you’d offered when you see him clearing the runner and the simple centerpiece from the dining table, which dominates the middle of the room despite the tall hutch standing broad against the far wall. You hasten to help him, hovering nearby as he pulls open the hutch drawer. You catch your mother eying the dust on the ridge lining the hutch and prepare yourself for some remark on the matter, but in the end, she doesn’t comment. Instead, she merely watches you and Eddie futz with the silverware for a moment before leaving you to your work to survey the goings-on in the kitchen. You hear the conversation between the two men stall when she enters before continuing, making room for the new addition.

Eddie squats to retrieve the plates as you set out the placemats, lining them with spoons and knives side-by-side and forks placed carefully across from them, with space to nestle the plates in-between. You circle the table methodically, dropping piece after piece on your path as Eddie rotates in the other direction, crossing your path almost as seamlessly as if this is a practiced dance. It’s not something you’ve ever done together— meals typically don’t stand on such ceremony as this, and Eddie certainly doesn’t usually fold the linen napkins into careful squares before dropping them onto the white ceramic. But as you watch him nudge the fabric with the tip of his finger to straighten its crooked lines, his tongue tip peeking pink between his lips as he does, the chore feels distinctly domestic to you, like something that has happened dozens of times before and will continue again for countless more. That sudden uncanny inkling mixes with the feeling that swells up sometimes behind your ribs, which resurges when Eddie sidles up next to you and bumps you lightly out of the way with his hip.

“Watch it, you,” he pretends to grouse, lips quirking as he drops the napkin square onto the final plate with a flourish. “M’tryn’a set the table here.”

“Oh, and I’m not?” you retort hotly, but when he pinches your waist quick and playful, you can’t help the giggle that squeals its way from your throat. He dances back from your jabbing finger aimed at his side, curls bouncing as his face lights with a smile. Not to be deterred, you snatch up the napkin he’d just put down, and as it unravels from its square to prepare to strike him across the ribs, the familiar gravel of a throat being cleared— aged and croaky with years of tobacco use— has you spinning on your heel and hiding the evidence of your childishness behind your back.

The sight of Eddie’s uncle is wholly more welcome than your own Pa at the moment, though you still want to squirm as he regards you with a squint and a quirked brow. “Hello, Wayne!” you say brightly. You’re fooling no one; it’s an obvious attempt to distract him as you plop the napkin back onto the plate, letting it drop behind your back.

“Hello, y/n. It’s nice to see you.” Wayne doesn’t react as Eddie reaches slowly around you to fiddle the napkin back into a semblance of orderliness, though you swear his blue eyes— so different from Eddie’s in color but so alike in their expressiveness— are twinkling now as he carries the plate of fried pork chops to the table, setting them carefully down.

“Thanks for having us over for dinner,” you say, clasping your hands demurely in front of your lap. “It’s very kind of you.”

Wayne rasps a chuckle as he straightens, clapping a heavy hand on Eddie’s shoulder briefly before moving with characteristic creakiness toward the kitchen. “No need to thank me; it was all Ed,” he offers offhandedly before disappearing, unaware of how the comment stirs the hope within you to sweet and tender life.

The meal shared with your neighbors is pleasant. More than pleasant, in fact. The pork chops are crispy but tender, yielding easily to your knife; the sweet juice of the fresh corn snaps between your teeth as you bite into the cob, and the sliced tomatoes are buttery smooth and perfectly ripe. Wayne is seated to your right at the head of the table with your father beside you on the left, and you spend the majority of the meal eating and listening rather than speaking, more than content to let them bookend you with their familiar voices made more fervent in the company of friendly company not often seen. Eddie is seated across from you, and when you aren’t listening to the patriarchs reminisce about the drought of ‘36 and lament the inconvenience they’re suffering as a bridge repair forces them to travel in some roundabout way, you’re watching Eddie eat. You’re staring at him with a level of fascination that is almost unnerving, made clear as his brow furrows slightly when he catches your eyes fixed so firmly on him.

But you’re staring because it’s strange, the way he’s eating. You’ve seen Eddie eat many times, and he always does it with a certain disregard for common manners: borderline too-ambitious bites, mouth open more than it’s closed, fingers sucked of grease, crumbs everywhere. Yet, not so tonight. Tonight, every slice is cut to a reasonable size; every bite is measured and chewed thoughtfully; every swallow occurs before he speaks again. And Eddie is even using his napkin. It’s laid across his lap and, miraculously, lifted to his mouth every once in a while to neaten the corners of those plush pink lips before being replaced just as carefully

The empty space where that napkin is usually balled to the side of his empty plate is not the most uncanny thing, though. What is the most uncanny thing is the way your mother is actively engaging him in conversation about the 4H fair next month. Eddie tells her he plans to enter Merlin as a showhorse, and she nods across to you, donning a soft smile as she says, “Y/n’s really been makin’ strides with her embroidery ahead of the showin’. I think she’ll be ready.”

“She’s gettin’ real good, from what I’ve seen,” Eddie agrees eagerly, bobbing his head maybe a little too wildly. “Did she show you the hoop she’s makin’ for my uncle? The one with our family name in the middle?”

“I think so…” Mama’s head tips as she considers it. “That the one that has sunflowers on it?”

“And chicory flowers, too,” you pipe up, meeting Eddie’s umber eyes across the broad table, watching them soften to honey. Your Mama makes a sound of recognition and keeps talking, and while Eddie nods, replying politely, his gaze doesn’t stray from yours.

When bellies have been filled, and plates have been cleaned of all but the tiniest crumbs, you decide as a group to retire to the living room before indulging in dessert. Your hosts lead the way, and Wayne takes his customary place in his well-worn armchair, sinking down with a bone-weary sigh borne partly of creaking joints and partly of a belly swollen by overindulgence.

Your mother hovers near the archway, surveying the seating options demurely until Wayne notices and waves her easily toward the couch. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. Ed’ll park his seat on the floor, won’t you, son?”

“Oh,” she protests politely, “I’m sure we don’t mind—”

But Eddie has already flopped himself down in front of the hearth, leaning back on the heels of his palms and stretching his lanky legs toward the coffee table, perfectly content. As his foot bobs back in an easy rhythm, Mama’s eyes dart to the hole in the bottom of his sock near the toes, the way the white thread is worn gray and threadbare on the balls and the heel. Quick as a flash, they dart away again as Pa encourages her forward with a hand at the small of her back. Together they take the couch, your mother perching on the edge with her ankles crossed and your father sinking back into the cushions, leaning one elbow comfortably against the arm and letting out his own sigh to match Wayne’s.

You’re about to join Eddie on the floor when you notice, peeking from the corner of the long hall leading toward the back of the house, curves of spruce that beckon your excitement.

“Oh!” You make a sound not unlike your mother’s, though yours is borne of exuberance as you pick your way around Eddie’s legs. He grunts a light protest as you plant a palm atop his head to steady yourself while stepping over him, but you ignore it in favor of plucking the instrument from its hiding place, brandishing it in the air with wide eyes and a broad grin. “Look, Ed, it’s your guitar!”

“Yes,” he says, half wry as you toddle towards him, awkward and unwieldy in your inexperience carrying it. “That’d be my guitar, all right. Why, aren’t you the clever one.”

Your reply is quick and entirely cheerful. “You shush y’r mouth, Eddie Munson,” you say easily, depositing the guitar in his lap and taking a seat cross-legged beside him. In your peripheral, you can see Wayne leaning back in his chair, surveying you as his fingers stroke his grizzled beard, but your eyes are all for the man with wild curls and a teasing grin that stretches his plush pink lips as he glances over at you. “I was thinkin’ y’could play us some songs to pass the time before dessert.”

Eddie sighs beleagueredly, tipping his head back even while already lifting the guitar strap over his shoulders. “What next? Y’gonna ask me to sing too?” He slants another glance at you, chuckling as your eyes light up even further. You clutch his wrist, shaking lightly, only faltering slightly when you notice how hot and smooth his skin is underneath your fingers. The awareness tingles within you, and you snatch your hand back.

You play it off with characteristic banter. “D’you want some o’my apple pie?” you question him, quirking your eyebrows in challenge.

Eddie purses his lips, not quite pouting but close to it. “...Yes,” he replies, and you jerk your chin toward the guitar.

“Then get to singin’, mister,” you say hotly, though you can’t help but smile when Eddie pretends to clutch his heart and sway back as if wounded by your demands. A disapproving tut draws your eyes, and they widen when you see Mama’s narrow. She’s clucking her tongue in a way that means she is dissatisfied with your attitude and wants you to know it.

Your spine straightens under her silent gaze, and a prickle of shame needles across your shoulders as you clasp your hands in your lap. You look back at her contritely until she finally glances away; if anyone else notices the nonverbal exchange, they don’t let on, and the shame fades as Eddie begins to pluck the first few notes of the song he’s chosen to begin with.

Your mother’s reproach is quickly forgotten as Eddie’s warm rasp fills the room to accompany the twang of the guitar’s strings. The sound is untrained, yet melodic and pleasant nonetheless as he sings, “Well, they tell me, my dear, that you’re going; I will miss your bright eyes and your smile. For with you, you are taking the sunshine that has brightened my life for a while.”

Red River Valley wouldn’t have been your first choice of song for the occasion, though you must admit that Eddie sounds quite nice singing it. And it’s pleasant to watch him play, too: his long lashes dust the pale of his cheeks as he looks down at his fingerwork, and your gaze slides down the slope of his nose to the soft end, then down to the valley between nose and lip, then finally to the pink of his full lips as they form the words. “I have waited a long time my darling for those words that you never would say” A lock of curls behind his ear slips to drape over his cheek, and though your fingers itch to tuck it back for him again, you force them still in your lap. “And alas now my poor heart is breaking for they tell me you’re going away.”

Eddie repeats the chorus one last time and ends with a flourish of strumming, a smile stretching his cheeks wide as your Mama claps politely and her eyes wrinkle pleasedly. Your father is less enthusiastic, though he does nod absently when he sees you looking at him imploringly. “S’pretty good,” he offers, and Eddie accepts it graciously, resetting his fingers on the frets to regale you with some improvised playing.

He is quiet for a while as he plays, brow furrowed in concentration as he weaves chords and notes into a tapestry of story, not unlike the tales he’s long invented for you since you were merely children playing in the mud. You marvel for a moment at the fact that those broad hands, so rough and worn from labor, are able to create such sweet and delicate sound; you watch his long fingers dance along the frets, the way their strong calluses catch the strings and make them cry out in joyful feeling. His playing is unhurried and peaceful, but watching Eddie fills you with a thrumming sort of happiness that makes you want to join in— something you’ve never done before despite the many times you’ve heard him play.

That feeling bubbles over as his song eases into a brief silence, and you take the opportunity to ask if you can make a request. Eddie’s brows jerk in surprise for only a moment before he’s nodding quickly, perhaps a little too wild in his effort to encourage you. And though he rolls his eyes lightly when you tell him what you want, a smile still tugs at the corner of his lips as he begins a tune more jaunty and sentimental than the one he’d been playing.

You watch as he plays the introduction, waiting for his eyes to flash to yours promptingly before you begin to sing. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray.” Your voice is not as practiced as Eddie’s— though his is barely so— but it is clear of tone and gains steadiness as you continue, “You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you; please don’t take my sunshine away.”

It becomes clear as you begin to sing this song why people sing songs. Which may seem an odd revelation in and of itself, but it’s something that you’ve just… never really done before. You may hum a tune to yourself as you complete your chores, or warble along with the record player, but that’s not the same as letting your own voice be the one to take the place of silence, to fill a room so full that you cannot be ignored. There is something vulnerable about that choice, and you feel that vulnerability in the itch at the base of your throat, where your skin is heating with the awareness that everyone can hear every crack or falter in your pitch. But as you sing the words out, emboldened by Eddie’s confident playing, you realize there’s a kind of wild disregard for perfection in the act, an impulsive freedom that feels very much like joy. And you see that joy echoed on Eddie’s face when he accompanies you for the final verse, his warm brashness husking up the clearness of yours in a way that sounds, not just good, but right.

Another smattering of applause follows your performance, and you bask in it; your knee seeks the side of Eddie’s thigh, resting there lightly, and though you don’t glance down at it for fear of drawing too much attention, just knowing that he is warm, and solid, and connected to a small part of you makes happiness perch high in your heart.

“If I could make a request.”

All eyes turn to Mama, who has now sunk back against the couch, not quite leaning against your father’s side but close to it. “How about ‘John the Rabbit?’ Used to sing that t’you when you were little. D’you remember that?”

Mama’s voice is just the same as it always is— even when it’s calm, the urgency of ‘get this done, knock it off, do this, not that’ is never quite gone. But her expression is buttery soft now as she gazes at you, and as you relax under its comforting weight, your body sags subtly toward the man sitting at your side. “Sure I do,” you tell her, “used to sing it to me in the mornin’, and that’s how I knew we were gonna tend the garden that day.”

Mama hums, beckoning you gently with her chin. “Why don’t you lead us in a round, hm?” She casts glances around at the men, adding, “All you gotta do is say, ‘Yes, ma’am.’”

“‘Til the last line,” you pipe up, “then y’say, ‘No, ma’am.’”

Wayne chuckles, rubbing his palms along his worn blue jeans. “I reckon we can handle it,” he assures her in his slow way, and with that, Eddie strums a simple tune fitting of a nursery school rhyme.

You sing sweetly, “Oh, John the rabbit—”

“Yes, ma’am,” the rest call, and you smile through the next line:

“Got a mighty habit—”

“Yes’ ma’am.”

“Jumpin’ in my garden—” you pause for the others, who oblige you readily, before continuing, “Cuttin’ down my cabbage…” and yielding them the floor.

The leader is meant to draw out the next line, to twang the words at the end, and you sway in your seat as you faithfully follow. “My sweet potatoes,” you croon at Eddie, and he leans toward you as he answers louder than the rest,

“Yes ma’am!”

With each successive line, the delight inside you grows, and it echoes through the room, repeated on every face— man and woman, young and old.

“And if I live… to see next fall… I ain’t gonna have… no garden at all—” You heave a great breath, grinning as you throw your head back and chorus with the others,

“No… ma’am!”

Eddie strums hard and quick to end the song, and your giggle is joined by Wayne’s thick chuckle, and your mother’s polite humming, and your father’s hoarse bark of amusement. And when Eddie throaty, husky chuckles swallow up them all beside you, you think if you could bottle up this sound and keep it forever, you would. You certainly would.

When you return to the dining room, taking your seat beside your father, the air that fills the red roost is thick with the sweetness of shared company, almost enough to rival the flaky pie you’re all indulging in. It’s not the finest you’ve ever tasted, but it’s with a sense of pride that you watch the others enjoy it. Pa is gesturing widely with his fork as he discusses autumn arrangements with Wayne, how they might coordinate their harvests of hay and corn for mutual benefit. Mama is scooping up each bite slowly and chewing thoroughly, which you know means she is stalling to keep herself from devouring the whole thing in one fell swoop. Wayne is already on his second slice despite protesting, when he’d initially been served, that he couldn’t eat another bite. And Eddie…

Well, Eddie has eaten half his pie already, but in the last handful of minutes he’s been pushing the remainder around on his fork— not disinterestedly, as if he doesn’t enjoy it, but with a sort of jerkiness to the motions that belys some tension within him. You have half a mind to ask him what’s bothering him, but you don’t want to embarrass him in front of company. You bury down the tinge of worry, which is what must be kicking up your heart, what must account for the sudden tightness in your own chest, though it feels more akin to anticipation.

So you eat your pie, and listen to your father, and glance back and forth between Mama and Eddie until the latter finally sets his fork down with a clink that somehow, despite the lack of force, cuts straight through the conversation between Wayne and Pa. It lapses into silence, and your heart pounds harder as you watch a pink tongue swipe at plush lips and an adam’s apple bob in a pale throat before the brash voice of your best friend fills the void.

“Sir,” Eddie says, looking at your father, and a lump grows in your throat as the word wavers just slightly before recovering. “I hope it’s all right, me speaking out of turn, but… there’s something I need to say to you.”

There is a brief pause as all eyes turn to your Pa. He draws his napkin over his lips, and its drag smooths the severe lines around his mouth for just a moment before they spring back up again into place. “S’your house,” your father replies, not unkindly.

Eddie’s eyes dart to Wayne for just a second, and you follow them to see the older man gazing back calmly. When they return to your Pa, Eddie lifts his chin, keeping his gaze and voice steady. “We’ve lived next door to each other for just about ten years now. And in that time, I’ve gotten to know your family well, and you’ve gotten to know mine.” His throat bobs as he pauses. “Y/n and I grown up alongside each other, and maybe my opinion don’t matter all that much in the scheme of things, but I tell you humbly that, well, I think you both done a mighty fine job raisin’ her.”

Eddie looks at your mother beside him, who offers him a slight nod, but he doesn’t look at you. And good thing, too, because that feeling is swelling up to fill your throat so hot and thick, it’s all you can do to keep your chin from trembling. “I know y’don’t need me to tell you this,” Eddie huffs a breathless chuckle, “y’already know how good she is. But I think it warrants bein’ said that there’s somethin’ about y/n that’s special.” His chest expands with a bracing breath, and in that pause, you see it all in Eddie’s umber eyes. In the line of his brow, the gentle slope of his nose, the light flush of his cheeks, the strength of his jaw— all that he could ever say is there, written plain as day across his beloved face.

“Special to me, s’what I’m saying,” he clarifies, and the way his brow furrows just slightly in the middle— tugged up into an expression of sweet earnestness— has your heart beating so wild and fast you think it might leap out of your chest and into the cradle of his arms.

“Sir,” Eddie says, “I really care about your daughter, and I would like to ask your permission to court her.”

It’s what you hadn’t allowed yourself to hope for when you’d taken out the Fourth of July dress and adorned yourself in sprigs of lavender and rosemary. It’s what shone through Eddie’s eager smile when he opened the door to his home with his face scrubbed clean, waiting there for you. It’s the promise of forever stretched out over the expanse of a wooden dining table, where napkins were carefully folded into squares and pies were baked with fresh apples from the tree outside. Small acts of service committed by two sets of hands, each trailing love like fairy dust in their wake.

Pa clears his throat— not a sharp sound, more of a rumble of consideration as he leans back in his chair, gazing at Mama across from him. He nods his head slowly, thoughtfully, a gradual bobbing that continues as his tongue runs over his teeth behind his lips. It ends with a jerking of his brows and the smack of his lips opening as he replies,

“I appreciate your words, Edward, they’re very kind. But, no.” His eyes hold Eddie’s steadily. “I do not give you permission to court my daughter.”

Your father doesn’t yell. He doesn’t even sound particularly bothered. And yet the pall that settles over the Munson’s dinner table is so oppressive that you feel your shoulders sink under the palpable weight of the silence following his denial. That heaviness drags like a rotten hand down the back of your neck; it melts to viscous ooze, seeping over your clavicle, sinking through your gingham dress and coating the swelling behind your ribs in suffocating shock.

Distantly, you hear Wayne stiffly ask your parents to accompany him into the living room. You feel your father’s chair scrape out beside you; you want to glance at your Mama’s face, but your eyes are stuck to the flakes of crust and the crystals of sugar dotting the linen napkin laid beside your plate.

It isn’t until you’re alone with Eddie that the heaviness sloughs off of you to slap like dead meat to the floor. Then you can raise your head and meet the umber eyes of the man who sits across from you, motionless and hollow.

As soon as you see the expression on his face, the feeling shifts in you; with an impatient jerk of your chair, you stand to crane over the table and take up his cheeks in your hands. His head is heavy, his neck loose and pliant, and you hold him steady as you speak quietly and intently.

“Okay, look, Ed—” You take a shuddering breath, letting it out through your nose, and it ruffles the soft curls that frame his jaw as he looks back at you blankly. You continue in an urgent whisper, “Here’s what I’m gonna do. I’ll put up a bit of a fuss, of course, but if I fight ‘em too hard, they’ll look at me cross, and we won’t get nowhere. By all appearances, we should look like we accept their decision, all right? That’ll buy us time to figure out what to do.”

Eddie doesn’t react, really; nothing much on his face changes. But you know him too well, so you can see the subtle shifting there, how the dullness in his umber eyes edges into mournfulness. Defeat.

Your heart cracks.

His name whispers through your quivering lips. “Eddie…” Your eyes prick for him, for all the effort he put into making this night so perfect, and how it now had gone all sideways on him. On you both.

You don’t think much about what you do next. It’s instinct when you surge forward to kiss him hard, pressing your lips to his with all the fervency and yearning and love that swells within your body. Your heart thumps when you feel him respond, when his lips pucker and seek yours, when his trembling fingertips draw lightly down your cheek.

There is urgency and danger here in the dining room, but you hold the kiss as long as you can before your lungs begin to burn. When you pull away, gasping for breath, Eddie now looks more dazed than sad, and it both reassures you and feeds your fire.

“I don’t give a hoot what they say,” you whisper fiercely. “I wanna be with you, Ed. We been good at sneakin’ around before, and we can do it now, too.” You search his eyes, panging with hesitation for the first time as you scrape your teeth across your teeth before blurting, “I don’t wanna stop seein’ you. Do… do you wanna stop seein’ me, now that this’s happened?”

Eddie huffs— a small warm puff of breath that ghosts across your lips— and it’s wry and unbelieving but so incredibly soft. “‘Y/n.” His voice is a gentle rumble in his chest, earnest and hoarse. “Now that I had a chance to know you the way we know each other, I think it’d kill me dead to go back to how it was before. I could barely keep it together then. Can’t imagine doin’ it now that I’ve had you underneath me.” You shiver at the hot promise in his eyes. “‘Sides,” he adds, “I—”

The merciful floorboards warn you of the imminent return of your parents, and you fall back into your chair just in time to appear innocent as they reenter the dining room.

“Well!” Your father sighs the word in that tone people only use when closing something out— a conversation, a get-together, an engagement. You think he will continue, that he will turn to Eddie and perhaps offer an explanation, but that single word just lingers in the pause until your mother jumps in.

“Thank you for dinner, Wayne. Eddie,” Mama says politely, and Eddie manages to bob his head in a single nod to acknowledge her. Wayne has far more composure, accepting her thanks and exchanging a polite word about the next dinner.

Your father shakes Wayne’s hand firmly and then beckons you with a jerk of his head. “C’mon, missy, let’s leave ‘em to their evenin’.”

It would be odd if it weren’t that you understood what must have happened in the living room— that your father had explained his decision to Wayne, and that they’d managed to come out the other side maintaining, at the very least, a level of friendliness befitting neighbors.

So you follow suit; with as much decorum as you can muster, you rise primly and thank Wayne, casting one last glance at Eddie before you depart the red roost of the crows.

You wait until you’re back inside your own roost and your front door has closed behind you to turn on them, brow knit tight with righteous indignation. “Why did you deny Eddie, Pa?” you demand. “What’s wrong with him courtin’ me?” You can’t quite keep the heat from your voice; the outrage bubbling beneath the surface is too fresh, too hot as you remember Eddie’s beloved umber eyes, how the light in them dimmed.

Your father does not quail at your display; if anything, he grows taller, raising his chin and regarding you down the bridge of his nose. “Y/n, I’ve been acquainted with Edward for damn near ten years now, and in that time, he has proved himself time after time to be frivolous and uncouth. That boy is entirely lacking in discipline.” In a rare display of restraint, your father does not raise his voice at you in the privacy of your home. Yet he is no less hardened for it; his words fall like heavy stones before your feet. “Edward is downright wild. Your mother and I have let you indulge in this little friendship with him, above all, on account of our respect for Wayne. But he is not the kind of young man I want courtin' my only unwed daughter.”

You could tell them that Eddie’s wildness is what fuels his heart, what makes him so passionate and imaginative and enchanting. You could tell them that he bought you a ribbon and scrubbed his nails clean, that he takes you to wildflower fields because he knows you like them and invents stories to make you happy. You could tell them that you love him, that you always have, that when you envision what your life will be like with your own house and garden, you can’t see anyone but Eddie Munson by your side.

Yet you fear to voice these things, to breathe life into them and then have them butchered just as quickly at your father’s hand. You glance at your mother, but her face is an impassive mask; you know appealing to her will get you nowhere, so you latch to the only thing you can think of. Despite telling Eddie that you will not fight hard for him since that will only make things more difficult, you find yourself unable to resist.

“But Pa,” you try for earnestness, “Ed is disciplined, don’t you see? Think of all he’s done for us ‘round the house, and with the fence and the kid. I think he’s been tryin’ so hard this past week to show you how serious he is about m—”

A curled lip is all the warning you get before being interrupted. “Never trust a man who acts just because he wants somethin’.” Your father finally snaps; his voice booms in the space between you. “I don’t give a rat’s ass what he done or how he acted this week. It don’t erase a lifetime of evidence to the contrary.”

And you know by the way your Pa’s severe face has petrified into the hardest stone, echoed though less harshly in the wrinkles that line your mother’s eyes, that their decision cannot be budged.

Edward Munson cannot court you, and that is that.

But the fact is, you don’t need Eddie Munson to court you. You’re already his, and you give yourself to him as such.

When you wake the next morning, it appears to your parents as if your ire from the night before was nothing but a feverish dream. You slink around the house with your tail held high, coy as a barnyard cat as you dine with them at the breakfast table, making amiable conversation with your Pa and complimenting your Mama’s cooking without a hint of sourness. You complete your chores without complaining— well, without any more complaining than is typical of you. You sew the buttons on your Mama’s dress with the utmost considerateness and drop kisses on your father’s cheek each night before retiring to bed. This awards you certain freedoms, freedoms that you certainly wouldn’t be gifted had you carried on about their rejection of Eddie the way you truly wanted to deep in your heart.

You keep it buried— the indignance, the sorrow, the swelling you feel when you catch glimpses of him through the cracks in the fence. You cover it in pleasantness and obeisance so that they won’t suspect, and when you visit the stump rotted through to the middle and find the papers wedged inside, you exercise the privileges you’ve won through subterfuge.

“Nancy asked me to walk with her into town. She wants me to come with her to the dressmakers, so it might take a little while if that’s all right?” You ask your Pa as he’s repairing the sagging barn door, and his hammering pauses only long enough to tell you not to spend any frivolous money there.

It’s quite easy to agree when you have no real intention of setting foot in the dressmaker’s shop.

Instead, you dip off the road and trail across the far edge of the Wheelers’ field, picking through a copse of trees to access the adjacent clearing that grows wild and unkempt. There, you find a patch of clear earth, and now, you are dropping to your knees to gather your skirt up around your hips. You arch your back shamelessly to expose yourself, presenting your pussy like a cat in heat to the man behind you. When you feel his broad hands ruck your skirt up higher, you press your palms to the earth and dip your cheek to the ground, just waiting to be mounted. When Eddie notches his fat head against your entrance, you teethe the plush of your bottom lip. He presses steadily forward until he pops inside, stretching you tight around his girth, and when you mewl, he hisses in response. In one long stroke— a motion quick and trembling like the tautness of a bowstring, as if he can no longer hold himself back now that he has notched inside you— Eddie presses his hips up tight against your ass and groans out his relief at your joining. His relief echoes your own, manifest in the way your body goes lax: chin dipping to take its rest, shoulders sagging as your breasts mold to the unyielding ground, fingers drawing through strands of green as if yearning for dark coils of ink but settling for second best. Eddie sleeves himself within the wet warmth that welcomes him, and your muscles yawn a sigh of relief even as you flutter and squeeze around that which splits you open.

There, in the dirt and grass, you give yourself to Eddie on your hands and knees. Your face grazes the earth as you let him pound into you from behind, let him grip your hips and claim you with the little imprints of his fingers that he squeezes into your skin. You and Eddie have done gentle; you know what it is to lie with him on the creekbed or in the wildflowers, where time seemed to stretch and bend, and every moment could be savored. But not so now, when the only occasions you can see one another are in moments stolen through lies and trickery. Now, your need for Eddie is dirty and ravenous. You take what he gives you, and you give freely for him to take in return. Each whimper and grunt, each harsh slap of skin against skin, each wet shlick of his cock sheathing in your eager heat sounds to you like a triumphant cry of defiance.

A wicked seed within you relishes in the fantasy of your parents seeing what you are allowing frivolous, uncouth Eddie Munson to do to you. You know your Mama would be scandalized— her eyes would pop out of her head. You know your Pa would be furious— his face would go purple with rage. They refused to allow Eddie to court you, and yet here he is, fucking into you with abandon as you whimper and tremble for him. And you like it; you like the way he spears you roughly with his cock, the way your ass bounces lewdly against his hips, the way your belly tightens with sinful pleasure as he plunges deep and holds himself there, pressing hard to grind himself inside you. Your walls flutter and squeeze around him as you circle your hips, seeking for something more. You angle and work yourself on his length until you jolt, having suddenly found what you sought. That feeling sparks like wicked fire, burning low inside you each time he grazes against that elusive spot inside, and oh, how you like it.

"Please, harder, Eddie," you beg him, whimpering into the earth. "Please— you feel so good."

“Fuuuck,” Eddie groans, and the hoarse husk makes you shiver with pleasure. "Your pussy’s so sweet. So fuckin' tight and sweet for me, turtle dove. Fuckin’ love being inside your little pussy."

You moan, long and low, rocking back to meet him as he starts to thrust again, hard and fast. You've learned that Eddie has a filthy mouth, and each dirty word that drips from his sinful lips is both so mortifying and so arousing at the same time. As his fingers tighten on your hips, and his breath harshens into desperate pants, urgency fills you— an urgency to feel him reach the pinnacle he is approaching. You want Eddie to spill inside you, or on your flank, or into the grass, anywhere so long as you can hear the way he whines and moans from the pleasure you’re giving him. “That’s it, Ed,” you encourage him breathlessly, “just like that, just— oh— j-just like that, mmm—”

You pinch off a whine, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip as his rhythm becomes stilted, uneven, desperate—

And then Eddie gasps raggedly, pulling out and spilling onto the earth between your spread legs. His hands leave you, and you scramble up to your knees, hole mournfully empty but heart so full. You turn as Eddie squeezes the last few drops of his seed from his flushed head onto the ground before catching you in one strong arm as you fall against him, cradling your cheek and kissing you deeply.

But like the kiss you shared in his dining room those few days ago, floorboards creak in the back of your mind, cutting this one short. They’re reminding you that you will soon need to return home and pretend not to know the taste of Eddie’s lips and the feeling of his arms around you.

And frankly, by the end of the first week, you are already growing tired of having to pretend.

It’s not that you give yourselves away because you don’t. Eddie waves at your Pa over the fence and skirts his eyes from you— never cruelly, only in the way you both had planned— and your father doesn’t suspect a thing. When Eddie brings over a pail of milk so you can churn it to make butter, Mama’s face is carefree when you pass it to her. But your desire is no longer contained to fields and creekbeds; it rises up in the night as your yearnings bid you dip your fingers beneath your nightgown. You draw them through sticky folds and dip them inside the well of your arousal, seeking the smoldering fire that burns within. But you can never make yourself feel the way Eddie does, no matter how hard you try.

So when you wake again in the middle of the night, this time, you light a candle, scratching a hasty message onto a scrap of paper. And the next morning, you fold your message carefully, tuck it beneath the waistband of your apron, and reach your arm up to the elbow into that rotted stump, leaving it there for Eddie to find.

The night air is heavy with humidity and the chirping of crickets and cicadas, but you leave the window open. You’re laying in your bed, breathing slow and even, staring at a thin crack in your plaster ceiling to keep your nervousness from overwhelming you. Your parents had retired to bed some time ago; you heard the creaking of the floorboards then, and now, if you concentrate, you can hear the chainsaw snoring of your Pa through both closed doors.

He is sleeping, and Ma is sleeping, and so should you be. But you are waiting— waiting for your best friend to climb through your open window and join you in your bed.

You are waiting for it, but your heart leaps nonetheless when you hear scuffling at the bedroom window. You sit up, and all at once, he’s there, dark eyes gleaming in the faint moonlight. Eddie’s form is near shapeless as he creeps toward your bed, but you would recognize him anywhere; his weight has never dipped the mattress beside you, but it feels exactly as you would expect when one knee sinks beside your calf, only to be joined by the other in the next second. Slowly, feeling around in the dark, Eddie settles his weight on top of you. He is heavy and hot as he presses you into the mattress with his belly and chest; his curls tickle across your clavicle, smelling overwhelmingly like his natural musk in the stagnant air of your bedroom. When he kisses you hello, his mouth tastes slightly sour, as if the heat of the long day and the exertion of scaling the side of your house has dehydrated him.

Eddie is heavy, hot, musky, sour, and here, here in your bedroom with you.

It’s everything you could want.

When he breaks your kiss, it’s all you can do to keep from pouncing on him. “Eddie—” you whine, nuzzling the firm bridge of your nose against the side of his as your hands seek the bottom of his thin shirt blindly, tugging insistently though ineffectually.

He shushes you gently, dropping a peck on your pouting lips before dipping to your neck to murmur against the soft skin there. “Shh—” his breath hushes warm and damp against your skin, and your head tips back of its own accord, begging for more. “You gotta be real quiet, turtle dove,” he whispers. “Don’t want anyone to hear us.”

Your breath deepens as his lips trail down to your collarbone, grazing kisses as he mosies his way down to your chest. In the humid dark, you feel his callused fingers pull down the loose neckline of your nightgown. Eddie says something, and you feel the vibrations of his words against the swell of your breast, but your heart which thumps wildly in your chest and the wooshing of your breath in your ears have rendered you effectively deaf.

“E—” You manage only the first soft sound of his name before his lips close over your nipple for the first time, sucking firmly. Your hand flies to his head as your body goes rigid; your mouth falls open in a ragged gasp as pleasure jolts straight down to throb between your legs. You squirm against him until he presses your hip down with one broad hand to keep you from rocking the bed, working the nub with his tongue and teeth until your gasping breaks into a faint but audible whimper.

You are dazed when he releases you with a wet pop, murmuring against your breast a little more loudly now, “I guess Harrington was right about that, after all. That bodes well.”

You wrinkle your nose as Eddie crawls back up your body to settle over you. Your legs open automatically to accommodate him, but you’re too preoccupied to fully appreciate the feeling of his hardness pressing against your inner thigh. Frowning lightly, you hiss in a whisper, “What’re you doin’ talkin’ to Steven Harrington, of all people?”

“Never you mind that,” Eddie whispers back, and he heads off your protest with a warm palm cupping the side of your neck, his fingers cradling your jaw. “The conversation is too delicate to discuss with a lady, so I’ll just tell you that… well, he told me to do what I just did, and you liked it, right?”

Though embarrassed heat rushes to your cheeks, you nod your head jerkily, enough so he can feel it even if he doesn’t see it in the dark. “Okay, so… he also said there’s a spot.” His hand leaves your cheek to graze down between your bodies, ghosting lightly against the loose fabric pooled between your legs. “Somewhere I can touch you, down here, that’ll make you have a fit if I do it good enough.”

Your bewilderment rushes up in a tangle of sputtered and furious whispers. “Have a fit?! Ed, what on God’s green Earth makes you think I wanna have a fit?”

Eddie huffs. “It’s a good thing, y/n. He said girls really like it.”

Your skepticism is plain as you retort, “Oh, did he now?”

“Yes.” Eddie is uncharacteristically earnest and solemn, and that’s what finally gives you pause. When you’re quiet, he whispers, “I wanna make you feel so good, my sweet girl. If you let me. Will you let me?”

In the humid dark of your bedroom, with only the moon to glaze the side of Eddie’s pale face in cool, subtle light, you look into the darkness of his eyes and feel so many stirrings inside… anticipation, nervousness, desire. But in the end, it’s the deepest stirring of all that convinces you, the one that’s been growing slow and steady over the last ten years.

Trust.

You trust Eddie, more deeply than you’ve trusted any other person in your life, and that trust is what draws you forward into a tentative kiss.

Your lips part briefly from his before meeting again more firmly. Eddie rumbles low in his throat, and when his lips open to deepen the kiss, yours follow. You allow him to lick into your mouth, to draw his tongue across your teeth, to press closer until the way he’s kissing you is hot, deep, wet, and urgent.

When Eddie breaks away, his eagerness is plain in the panting of his breath, the quivering of his arms when you draw your fingertips down his biceps, feeling the hot skin there. “That’s my turtle dove,” he hushes against your mouth, and he sounds so proud and pleased with you that you can’t help but whimper.

Despite his eagerness, Eddie is careful when he climbs off of you to settle at your side, pulling you against him and turning you in his grasp so your back is to his front. Your head falls to the soft down pillow as you feel him work your nightgown up your body, pulling the fabric from where it’s wedged between you. There is the slightest relief from the humidity as your legs, then your hip, then your intimate places are exposed to the air, but you rush even hotter when Eddie’s lips find the shell of your ear so he can murmur, “Spread your legs for me, y/n.”

Trembling, you lift your knee, and his fingers catch against the plush of your thigh, pulling it back over his hip. He presses a tender kiss to the corner of your eye. “That’s it; good girl.”

Your breath shudders in your chest as Eddie’s fingers leave your thigh; you throb with anticipation as they ghost over your hip and tummy before dragging through the soft curls covering your mound. “Tell me when it feels the best,” Eddie whispers, resting the side of his temple on top of yours. The weight of his head is grounding as he begins to explore you slowly with one finger, dragging up and down with no apparent pattern to his movements.

As the moments pass, you relax in his grip, settling into the feeling of his finger dragging through your folds. He doesn’t seem to intend to put them inside you, and what he’s doing feels quite nice, pleasant, almost soothing. The crook of Eddie’s elbow rests against the curve of your ribs, and as your eyes slip closed, you seek his arm with your palm, stroking softly down to his wrist as it moves slowly between your legs—

You jolt as he grazes against something that makes pleasure fizz in a sudden burst, leaving your belly feeling hotter, tighter. As your hips jump, Eddie pauses, his breath catching as he tries to replicate what he’d just done. When it happens again— when pleasure sparks suddenly so might brighter than anywhere else— Eddie’s arm tightens excitedly around your side.

“S’that it?” his voice is a little too loud in his excitement, and you tightly clutch his wrist. “Sorry, sorry,” he whispers, though the urgency hasn’t left his voice. “That’s it, though, isn’t it? Feels better when I touch you there?”

“Yeah,” you reply, voice small and needy. Eddie dips his hand to draw a sloppy circle briefly around your entrance before returning to the apex of your heat— that place that had tingled when he licked you on the creekbed, you now realize, though the thought hadn’t crossed your mind until you felt that pleasure again. When he presses against it again, his fingertip glides much more smoothly now; it felt good before, but now it feels even better.

Eddie continues moving his finger slowly and lightly at first as he waits for your reaction, but when you don’t tense or pull away, his actions become more confident. Your pleasure builds under his careful ministrations; he works you slowly but steadily up into a frenzy of heaving breasts, muffled whines, and writhing hips. You begin to arch your ass back against him, grinding slowly, your tender skin dragging against the soft cotton of his pants until you find that stiffness like a brand against your cheek. You press hard against it, rolling your hips only a few times before Eddie grunts and pulls his hand from between your legs, shifting back away from you.

You know what comes next as you hear the rustling of his clothing; you take the opportunity to catch your breath as he works himself out of his pants, but the wind leaves you just as quickly when he presses back up against you, hard and silky smooth as he guides himself blindly, bumping against your wet, puffy lips. Suddenly overwhelmed with need, you lift your leg higher, whimpering breathily as you reach down between your legs in an attempt to help him. “Fuck’n… c’mon,” Eddie hisses, nudging first too high, then too low, and then—

Then he sinks right in.

It’s the easiest glide, the sweetest stretch, and simultaneously you and Eddie moan as he slides all the way home. “Oh, baby, baby,” he pants desperately against your cheek, “fuck, that’s… oh, my God—”

You reach up over your shoulder to bury your fingers in his curls, and when he pulses inside you, your breath hitches with the force of your desire, your overwhelming need to have him move. “Eddie, please…” you whine, nearly beside yourself, and his hand clamps to your hip like a vice, holding you still as he pulls out and pushes right back in.

You sag with relief as he wastes no time in beginning to fuck you, splitting you open so deliciously on his cock. Eddie pounds you over and over again like he had those times before, but what you don’t anticipate is how that hand on your hip slinks down between your legs again.

You strangle your cry in your throat as he finds that spot so easily as if he’d been drawn to it. You whimper through clamped lips as quietly as you can as Eddie presses tight little circles to your bud, pumping into you from behind. Your fingers wrench from his curls to clamp instead around his forearm; the tendons roll under your fingers rhythmically, and your pleasure begins to build so rapidly it’s nearly frightening.

"That's it, baby,” Eddie encourages you, “You feelin’ good?"

You nod frantically; something is tightening inside you, growing more than it ever has. "Gonna keep goin' til I get you there," Eddie promises breathlessly, panting out the words between his thrusts. "Don't care how long it takes. I got you, sweetheart. Want you to have a fit."

"Eddie," you whine quietly, dumbly; only his name can spill from your lips now. "Ed, E-Eddie, Eddie—"

Your pathetic sounds drive him to fuck you faster, and as he does, your pleasure tightens further, burning hotter, throbbing more and more until the urge to cry out overwhelms you.

Abruptly, you curl your shoulders forward away from him, snatching up the pillow and burying your face in the soft down to muffle the sound of your moans.

You’re still connected where it matters, though Eddie pauses in his movements when you draw away before he realizes what you’re doing. Your sweaty back is exposed to the air for only a moment before he’s following you, unwilling to tolerate any distance— his chin hooks around your shoulder as his hips rut against your ass and his fingers press circles into your clit.

"Bein' so good for me,” Eddie rasps in your ear, “using your pillow to keep yourself quiet so your parents don't hear the way I'm fuckin' you in your bed."

Your moans turn to quiet cries now, rhythmic and constant as your legs squeeze closed around his wrist. And he doesn’t falter; through the plush of your thighs, Eddie fucks you determinedly, thrusting into your fluttering pussy as you gasp and cry raggedly into your pillow. "My girl,” he moans. “They can't take you from me. No one can."

As that feeling builds and grows, instinct in your body takes over, guiding you where it wants to go. Mindlessly, you begin to grind back on Eddie’s cock, rolling your hips; he pulls his wrist from between your legs, holding onto your hip as he matches the rhythm of your movements. Almost desperately, Eddie drags his open mouth across your cheek, panting out his earnest desire for you. "Come on, turtle dove. That's it—"

With a soft, hoarse cry, you finally spasm around him.

The pleasure gapes like a yawn inside you before tightening and bursting outward in a tingling rush, flooding you with mindless euphoria. The intensity of the feeling would be truly frightening had Eddie not been right there behind you, holding you against the solid comfort of his body, whining into your hair. He pumps into you only a few more times before pulling out, and then you feel him spill against your flank. The warm spread of his spend paints your skin, the graze of his cockhead like a hot brand as he squeezes out every drop.

In the aftermath, there is a moment of dazed silence. The only sound that fills your humid bedroom is the chirp of the crickets and the rush of your breaths puffing in unison. When you’ve recovered enough, you break that silence to whisper emphatically, "Oh, Christ on a cracker, Ed, what in the hell was that?!"

Eddie snorts before burying his face hastily into your neck, muffling his chuckles against your skin as your cheeks rush with embarrassment. “Well, don’t laugh at me,” you insist, heating more when he lifts his head and snatches you up by the chin, smacking a firm, playful kiss to your cheek.

“You’re cute,” he murmurs, following up his kiss with two shorter ones before letting you go to wipe your hip off with the bottom of the shirt he’s still wearing.

Your body thrums with contentment, but when the mattress shifts as Eddie climbs carefully down to pull his pants back on, the moment becomes tinged with melancholy. Your eyes track the vague shape of his body for a moment before you whisper, “I wish you could stay, Ed.”

For a moment, all you hear is a heavy sigh, one that leaks with the sadness you’re both beginning to feel. “Me too, sweetheart,” Eddie whispers back. “Can I lay with you, just for a little while?”

The question transforms your sadness into a sharp and poignant swelling— pleasant but painful all at once. “Of course.” You reach blind fingers in the direction of his neck, and Eddie ducks closer so you can draw them through his curls— no longer silky like they were the night of the dinner, yet beloved even more for their frizziness. “I’d really like you to.”

As you laze with Eddie above your bedcovers, tucking your cheek against the side of his chest, sleep begins to swallow the pain of knowing Eddie cannot stay. Only vaguely do you notice when the bed shifts and the warmth pressed to your side unsticks from your sweaty skin, both a relief and a loss; you feel the brush of lips against your forehead and your closed lids, featherlight and delicate; you hear the scuffle of Eddie climbing back out the window to scale the side of your blue roost and return to his red one next door.

Sleep swallows the pain of knowing Eddie cannot stay. But, though Eddie cannot stay, a part of him is always with you, and it has been for some time now. The evidence of your love is nestled safe inside your body; it is an inevitability ten years in the making, now ten days conceived.

You wake the following morning with an overwhelming desire to have Eddie in your mouth.

Maybe it’s an odd urge to have so suddenly, but you suppose after your adventurousness last night, your curiosity to try new things must be piqued. You glance around your room, and the only evidence of Eddie’s visit is that your bedsheets more rumpled than usual, so you straighten them out before tying your housecoat around your body and wandering downstairs.

There you find Mama in the kitchen, who is busying herself with the stove until she notices you’re awake. “Morning!” Your greeting is chipper, and she returns your greeting with a smile. As you breakfast together, all feels usual aside from the absence of Pa at the table; she explains that he’s been speaking with a rancher some towns over about possibly purchasing a new horse. You flash with worry, but she soothes it with a pat of her hand atop yours. “Don’t fret. We’re not replacin’ Guinnie, silly girl,” she huffs with some amusement. “We all know that Pa might’ve bought her, but that’s your horse. I told him it’s high time to get one of his own.”

You sag with visible relief, and Mama’s huff turns to a chuckle. “I’m goin’ into town this morning to pick up some things,” she tells you. “You wanna tag along?”

You open your mouth to say yes, but falter as your belly burns with the sudden realization of this opportunity— Pa gone, Mama in town, Eddie just beyond the fence with the stump in between.

“I was actually thinkin’ I could work on my embroidery this morning,” you reply instead. “Finish the hoop for Mr. Munson, maybe.” You smile innocently. “Then I can start on my 4H hoop!”

There’s no reason for Mama to doubt your sincerity, so she doesn’t. And when, an hour later, you wave your embroidery hoop high in the air from your rocking chair as she sets off down the road, she doesn’t question the call of the turtle dove, nor the cackle of the crow that answers.

The hay in the barn loft is soft under your knees, providing a pleasant cushion while you satisfy your desire with kitten licks along the fat head of Eddie’s cock, kneeling between his spread legs. He tastes as you would expect, though you’d only been thinking about the taste for half a morning. It’s salty, a little musky from the heat, the same way his dark curls smell. Occasionally, beads of liquid shine at the tiny slit at the tip, and when you lick them up, they’re more bitter than the rest. Not pleasant, but not unpleasant either, and the sounds Eddie’s making for you right now more than compensate for it.

When you flick your tongue against that dribbling slit, his breath hitches; when you lick a fat stripe up the underside of his cock, he moans. And when you swallow him down, engulfing him in the wet heat of your eager mouth, he gasps some strangled sound that makes you giggle around him.

Eddie’s hips jolt and squirm when you do, and your eyes pop open to find him looking nearly pained. “F— oh, f— shit,” Eddie finally settles on, and you would smile if you weren’t so full of him right now.

You’ve been exploring him in this new way for a little while, so your curiosity has nearly been sated. Nearly, because you have one thing yet to taste— his seed. And you really want to know what it will feel like to have him spill onto your tongue, to have that hot flesh jerk and pulse within you, to have him feeling just as good as he made you feel yesterday.

So you begin to bob your head, sloppily at first, uneven until you figure out the right angle that keeps your teeth from grazing him and making him hiss. You hum apologetically around him, and his plush lips fall open as you take him a little further while making that sound. Eddie’s cheeks are flushed prettily, his hair like dark ink spilled across the hay as he moans for you. “Shit, baby, that feels so fuckin’ good.”

You rush with satisfaction, growing more enthusiastic as you bob faster, grasping the base to hold him upright so he doesn’t flop around so much. “That’s it,” Eddie pants, “That’s— oh—”

His hand finds the side of your head— not moving you, just resting there as you work him with your mouth and tongue, like he wants to feel the way you’re doting on him. You ignore the soreness in your jaw when his panting gets heavier, and your gaze flashes up to lock on his face— eyes hazy, brow pinched, skin flushed down his neck as he gasps, “Don’t stop, I’m… I’m gonna—”

You moan when he moans, and as you do, Eddie’s cock kicks within the wet heat of your mouth, spilling his seed. It’s thick and tangy, warm but not hot as it spurts to coat your tongue, and you wait motionlessly until the jerking subsides and his fingers relax against your hair.

Pulling off is a little sloppier than you anticipate, and you chuckle as some of his release leaks before you can fully close your mouth. You catch it with a hasty palm, meeting Eddie’s fond, dazed smile with one of your own, albeit closed-lipped on account of your mouth being occupied.

As you swallow him down, using your other hand to wipe your bottom lip, you hear the subtle creak of wood below you.

Your only thought is that you don’t want to look. But whether you look or not, it does not change who waits for you beyond the ledge of the hayloft. It was with a perverse sense of satisfaction that you’d imagined Pa’s face would turn purple at the sight of you with Eddie, but you knew, were it to actually occur, that the horror you would feel would leave you reeling.

Instead, you’re greeted with the sight of Mama’s features. They are pallid, so contorted with the force of her seething rage as to be near unrecognizable, and somehow, that is worse.

#blueywrites #td&tc #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie stranger things #eddie munson imagine #farmer!eddie #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson x fem!reader smut

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artbyblastweave · 5 months

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You said you needed to be prodded to elaborate on why Worm should have been longer? Well consider this a prod, if I may be so bold.

A big chunk of it is rote contrarianism. Part of it is that I like Worm, my experience reading so much Worm was "Sweet! Even More Worm! I've got so much Worm left before I'm out of Worm!" So a version of Worm with More Worm is prima facie an enticing prospect.

In the non-reflexive, genuinely considered sense, there possibly should have been an interlude arc to flesh out the timeskip, make it feel like it was as much of her powered career as it objectively was. And I'm far from the first person to make this observation. But on another level, there's a sense where "Worm Should Have Been Longer" is conflated in my head with "Worm's Timeframe Should Have Been Longer." Which is tricky, and invites further unpacking-

One thing about Worm I've noted in the past is that the villain portion of Skitter's cape career- more than two thirds of the book- only takes place over about three months, but- speaking only for my reading experience- this was surprisingly easy to miss or elide in my consideration of the narrative. One reason for this is that Taylor and her supporting cast are so heavily fleshed out, are so well-realized, undergo so much character development in a compacted timeframe, that it felt like I had been following them for much longer than I had. This is enhanced (was enhanced?) by the out-of-universe passage of time; The S9 interlude arc is, like, a little over the one-third mark of the story, but Worm had been running for a year at the time that that was published, and it certainly felt like I’d been reading a years' worth of fiction while binging it. In this way Worm was truly faithful to its comic book origins; story arcs that take place over the course of hours but are published over the course of months, building reader familiarity with characters who objectively haven’t been at what they're doing for very long. A third element (noticed on rereads) is that Wildbow often opens with scene transitions/cold-opens or what-have you that, are generally contiguous with the preceding events, but simultaneously slightly obfuscate exactly how much time has passed. Arc 6 opens with Taylor finishing up with the ABB mop-up, and it’s blocked to demonstrate how far she’s come in such a relatively short time period. It can’t have been more than a few days since Lung. It explicitly wasn’t. But it had the vibe of having been a while.

What I’m working towards here, inch by inch, is the following conclusion: Worm has what I call an eyedropper approach to Taylor’s three-months and 22 arcs. Any given escapade feels like it’s just one vignette, emblematic of a longer, two-or-three-year stage of her life, scooped out and displayed as a representative sample of what’s going on. When shit hits the fan with Dinah, it feels like the upset of a longstanding status quo, even though by that point, Skitter has only been in five or six major engagements alongside the Undersiders. When they spend Arc 21 lancing various supervillain incursions into the city, it felt like I was watching a day in the life, like this was something the Undersiders had been dealing with, and would be dealing with, for a while- even though arc 21′s handful of engagements are basically the only times Skitter did that before she left. Purely from a vibes-based perspective, you could tell me that the first two thirds of Worm are occurring over the course of eight to ten years, and I might roll with that for a minute.

But the catch is- her villainous career has the vibes of lasting a long time, but it’s actually really thematically and logically important that it doesn’t. Skitter’s friendships within the Undersiders are strongly predicated on her ping-ponging from crisis to crisis so quickly that no true reckoning about their differing morals can ever come about. Skitter’s ability to administer as a benevolent warlord is heavily predicated on her lines of credit from Coil- and you cannot stretch that tension out much longer than it was stretched in canon without Dinah dying or Coil getting fed up with Skitters non-profitability. Breathing room is anathema to the story’s depiction of a pressure-cooker society where every crisis begets a new crisis. Nothing between Lung and Alexandria plays out the same way if anyone is allowed any amount of time to think about or process anything. And you actually see this in arc 21; it’s the first time that Skitter has a real opportunity to think about what the long-term looks like, and there’s a whole sequence where she’s getting nervous about her ability to reign in Regent over the long-haul. It’s the first time in three months where she’s had the luxury to worry about that kind of thing.

You square this circle by.... basically, by striking the canon balance. There's a sense in which I'm increasingly convincing myself that I'm not talking about a problem Worm has so much as a problem Worm already has a workable-but-imperfect solution for. Create distinct periods in Skitter's development- "Rookie era," "Warlord Era," "Wards Era," whatever-each of which feel like they could balloon out into a years-long status quo if this were a comic, even though the cast are really living through the weeks where decades happen. Rely on the Sheer Amount Of Worm to smooth over the breakneck pace at which everyone's character growth and interpersonal connections are developing. There are a few points in the story where "fuck, has it only been three months?" is a salient mood to invoke. The get-together with Danny's coworkers, the back-to-school portions of arc 20. But for the most part the work already does a really good job of making the pinched timeframe a minor bit of fridge logic and not something hugely dissonant and immersion-breaking.

In the process of writing this I've basically argued myself out of thinking that there's much to gain from fucking around with this delicate balance. I don't know if that has implications for whether or not additional arcs covering the timeskip would help or hurt that balance- at a certain level of focus, that whole "you liked us, but you didn't love us" bit about Skitter's time with the Wards vs. The Undersiders becomes a much harder sell. It was already one of the hardest sells in the book for me, the thing that got me thinking about this in the first place. (two years vs three months!) But at some point, I have to bite the bullet- in a work as ambitious as Worm, "good enough" is a fine thing to settle for. It's good enough!

#a lot of things in this book are good enough #worm #wildbow #parahumans #thoughts #meta #asks #this is like a year late #clearing out my drafts #ask #worm web serial #worm spoilers #effortpost

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tangledinink · 8 months

Text

I told y'all I was still working on this project! >:3c Chapter 26 of I'm Sorry, Teenage Mutant What Now? is out! Thank you so so so much to everyone recently who's taken the time to comment/send asks/etc etc etc, it makes me very happy... ; w ; The Hamatos are slowly improving upon their ninja skills, and the latest mission goes off without a hitch...! Mostly...? Read it on ao3 or below the cut.

[ prev ]

If you had tried to describe this scene to April a few months back, there’s no way she would have ever believed it. Hell, if you had tried to describe it to her a few weeks ago, she still probably wouldn’t have believed it, because the concept was just so… alien. Even after she knew about her brothers’ ‘mutant origins,’ it still felt alien. She couldn’t help but see them as anything but… people! Those were just her brothers. And the right way to see them was just the way she had always known them; as humans. And seeing them in ‘turtle mode,’ as Mikey had taken to calling it, felt so strange and uncomfortable. Not just because she wasn’t used to it, but because she knew that they weren’t used to it, and the way they had held themselves just always seemed so… unhappy. Like their own skin was burning them. She couldn’t help but look at them and the way they moved and how they held themselves and think, oh my god, they’re sick. Something is wrong. I have to help them. I have to take care of them.

But jesus, the way Mikey moved now? It was the most natural thing in the world. It was like he had been this way his entire life, and he couldn’t possibly seem more comfortable or at ease. All April could really think was, wow. He’s in his element, isn’t he?

She had been vaguely aware of this new ‘thing’ the guys were working on for a while, but this was the first time they actually tried it out for-real-for-real, out in the field, on some low-stakes outing. There wasn’t even a Dark Armor piece here or anything; they were just staking the place out because Foot Shack merchandise trucks came in and out of this parking garage a lot, and they were looking into it, just in case. Just practice, more than anything, with Raph leading the way and Yoshi once again on standby…

It was just so fluid. April watched in silent awe as her littlest brother slipped in and out of two different bodies like water, seamlessly transitioning from one to the other as he moved. Five fingers would be conjured to undo a latch on a grate, and then tucked back away again as if they had never been there. He’d flit from form to form to match each shadow and blend in.

At one point, even, when they were ascending a fire escape, making their way up to the roof to get a bird’s eye view, Mikey misstepped and he slipped-- and he fell. Every single person had jumped for a moment, and April could tell that all her brothers were about ready to dive after him. She was, too.

But they didn’t need to.

He was tucked into the safety of his shell before he even hit the ground.

And by the time the hard carapace was bouncing back up after smacking against the pavement, eliciting only a short clack with the impact, he was a human again, his feet under him, jumping back onto the fire escape to catch up again as if nothing had ever happened.

Raph and Leo were doing it, too, but… God. Not like Mikey.

But April had to admit-- even Raph and Leo were beginning to get the hang of it. They all were.

Well… All of them except for Donnie.

“You know,” she mumbled at some point once they got to the top of the roof, heaving her way upwards. Donnie reached over to grab her arm, helping hoist her the rest of the way up. “If either of us fell, we’d be totally screwed.”

“Yes, well,” they muttered in a deadpan. “Just trying to offer some solidarity to you, our sole human team member. I know it must be very difficult to be a minority.”

April scoffed softly, but didn’t push it.

Leo grinned big, stretching his arms over his head as the whole group made their way up to the rooftop. “Okay, uhhh, I don’t wanna jinx it--”

“Then don’t--” Donnie hissed.

“But this is actually going, like, really well?”

“Why would you say that?” Donnie sighed deeply, shaking his head.

“Oh, psh. As if you believe in all that, anyway,” Leo scoffed, waving him away with a flick of his wrist. “I’m just saying, like, we’re kind of being badasses!”

“All we’re doing is sneaking around an empty parking garage,” Donnie pointed out dryly, quirking a brow as he crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s not exactly high stakes.”

“See, Dee, this is your problem,” Leo sighed, shaking his head as he placed a hand on his hip. “You’re always focused on the negatives…!”

“Both of you shut up,” Raph said. “Leo is right--”

“HAH! Suck it--”

“Shut up,” Raph pressed, smacking a large palm over his little brother’s face in order to quiet him. “He’s right that we did good. Or. Well. We’re doin’ good so far. And Dee, nice job figurin’ out the bracelet thing! It’s way easier to swap back and forth without having to actually take it off.”

Donnie puffed up his chest a bit, seeming smug. “Yes, well, it isn’t a terribly complicated mechanism, it just took a bit of studying for me to unravel, truly no great feat--”

“Don’t get carried away,” April mumbled, leaning over to hip-check her brother briefly. Donnie huffed.

“Sooooo… now what do we do?” Mikey asked, turning to glance over the side of the roof, resting his elbows on the ledge. “‘Cause, uhhh, no offense? But this place is… suppperrrr boring!”

“Well,” Raph said, seeming a bit unsure of himself. “We, uh… We didn’t find anything evil or anythin’. Which is good! So I guess we…”

“Document the hell out of everything!” Donnie declared happily, moving to join Mikey’s side with a grin. “Snag pictures of the layouts, all exits and entrances, stairwells, and anything else that may be pertinent, and I can reverse engineer blueprints of the entire place with some beta software I have back home-- this would be the perfect chance to try it out. And then, if anything evil does ever happen here, we will be completely prepared!”

“Uh, yeah!” Raph agreed after just a beat of hesitation. “What Donnie said! That’s what we’re doing.”

“Impeccable leadership as always, dear Raphala,” Donnie sang, wasting no time at all in slinging his backpack from his back, beginning to unpack a cacophony of tech. “Now, I have HD, nightvision, two different drones, one macro and one micro, body cams, magnetic sonogram machines, patent pending, and a RED, which no, Mikey, you may not touch--”

“Aw, what!? No fair!”

“Ask Dad for your own!”

“But you already have one--”

April sighed deeply, rolling her eyes and resisting an exasperated smile. Oh boy. Donnie came prepared prepared.

That meant… This might take a while.

---

Casey had been told her entire life that she was too loud.

So she was well aware of the fact.

Her mother had told her, back when she was in contact with her. Her teachers had told her, back when she went to school. And her Senseis had told her, too, over and over again, gently informing her each time her volume got away from her that she needed to dial it back a bit. She was aware. She knew she was too loud.

But no one ever had anything to say when she was quiet.

Because she was capable. She had dedicated years of her life training to be a ninja-- obviously, she could be quiet. And really, she had always known how to be quiet. She had been good at it ever since she was small.

It was just that when she was quiet, no one ever had anything to say.

No one ever looked at her when she was quiet.

She’d fade away.

So it was easy, really, to find hiding places around the Foot’s hideout any time she had free time on her hands to burn away. She was quite good at tucking herself into little cracks and crevices, and always had been. The layout of their base really only lent to this. And she had only gotten better at it as time passed.

Perched up on the catwalk, curled up small and bent over, she could watch members of the Foot returning from their latest mission, greeted excitedly by the rest of their clan. They had been gone for some time now-- one of the many elite strike teams sent out to fetch more far-flung armor pieces. They weren’t all just conveniently clustered in New York, after all.

They had started sending these teams out months ago. And now, one by one, they all slowly returned, each with another piece of the armor in hand to add to their growing collection.

Every day, they got closer. She could feel the energy in the air, ever pitching higher and sharper the closer they got to their goal. Even her senseis were infected by it, brighter than she had ever seen them before.

And that was amazing. That was wonderful.

She remembered the praise she had gotten after that one mission-- after she faced down the Hamato Clan in a department store of all places. How pleased they had been with her. And god, that had been amazing.

But now she simply resented its absence.

And even though she had always known that there wasn’t really any chance that she’d be sent to join any of these special teams-- to be sent out to join them in the field and contribute to something greater, to be a true part of the clan and show them what she could do…

Every time another came back, it just sealed the reality of the matter that that door had closed. And she wasn’t going anywhere.

---

“Donnie, seriously--”

“What!? Do you want the 3D model to be accurate, or don’t you!?” He cried, whipping around to face her, and April groaned loudly, dragging her hands down her face.

“Why do we need a 3D model again!? Just make a blueprint!”

“Ah, yes, well, I could…” Donnie said, spinning on his heels with a grin. “But why have an inferior, two-dimensional recreation of a space when I could make a far superior, three-dimensional recreation!? That’s a whole entire other dimension!”

“Donnie!” April barked, scowling. “We have been here for hours. Do you have any idea what time it is?!”

“No, not really.”

“Well how about you check!?”

“Fine, fine, yes, the time is approximately-- Oh, sweet Galileo. Is it actually that late?”

“Yes!” All four of his siblings chorused, and Donnie scowled, a little pout blossoming on his face.

“... But… My model…”

“Donnie, you’ve already documented nearly every square inch of this place--”

“I’m sure the model will be fine, Purple,” Yoshi’s voice crackled over the radio. “It is time to go home.”

Donnie sighed deeply, giving a dramatic heave of his chest… but he reluctantly began to pack his gear away. “Okay, okay, fine. I will concede. But if there comes a time when we are in desperate need of a one-hundred-percent accurate third-dimensional model of this establishment, I hope you will all be prepared to eateth thy--”

“Shush. We’re on a stealth mission, remember?” Raph muttered, swiping at his head lightly. “C’mon, you guys. Leo, wake Mikey up, let’s go.”

Leo sighed, allowing the video he was playing on his phone to wrap up before he pocketed it, beginning to nudge his younger brother, curled up and slumped against him.

“C’mon, Angie, we’re going home,”

“Whaaaaa…” Mikey mumbled, blearily beginning to open his eyes-- blinking away the few stray rays of orange light that fluttered around his eyelashes even when he was just dozing. “Did we… win…?”

“Yep, we totally won. C’mon. Get up.”

Raph sighed deeply. “Do you want me to carry--?”

“No! I can do it!” Mikey woke up properly now, quickly scrabbling up to his feet.

April sighed deeply. “My parents are going to kill me for being out this late,” she grumbled. “And when they kill me, I’m killing all of you, just for the record!”

“Don’t kill me! Kill Donnie!” Leo protested.

“Oh, like any of you were keeping track of time and keeping him from going totally Donnie about this whole thing!”

“Hey--”

“Neither were you,” Mikey pointed out, and April scowled, grinding her teeth.

Dammit.

She hated when he had a point.

“Whatever. C’mon, let’s get out of here,” she said with a huff. “You good, Donnie?”

“All set,” he replied, tossing his bag back over his shoulder. “Let us bounce.”

And so they did.

The good news was that Leo was getting a lot better about this whole portalling thing with the help of the weird mystic sword he had! Which was cool, so the commute home? So do-able!

The bad news was that it was still way past her curfew. She quietly cursed herself for letting them be out so late. She hadn’t even realized the time until she glanced at her phone and noticed all the texts… and the missed calls.

“You good, April?” Raph questioned, frowning a bit as she hurriedly gathered her things, having traded her certified Ninja Gear for street clothes, quickly shoving things into her bag and toeing on her shoes.

“I’m fine, it’s all good,” she muttered.

“Do you want me to walk you home…?” Yoshi questioned, his brows furrowed. “I’m sure I could talk to your parents--”

“It’s fine, Yosh. Don’t worry about it. They’re chill! They probably, like… barely noticed I’m late!” She said, forcing a smile.

“Alright, well, if you need anything--”

“Right! Got it, thanks, bye!” She chirped, throwing herself out the door and slamming it shut behind her before she could look at their sad, guilty faces any more. Ugh. It wasn’t their fault, really. I mean, it was, but no more than it was her own.

I should have set an alarm, she thought bitterly.

On a stealth ninja mission? So it can go off in the middle of you trying to sneak past a bad guy or something? Yeah, brilliant plan, she thought immediately after.

When April quietly crept back into her own apartment, slipping her key into the side door, the house seemed quiet. The kitchen lights were off, and there was no screaming or yelling right off the bat. That was a good sign.

The living room lights, however, she could already see from here… were on. That was a less good sign.

Drawing in one last deep breath, she darted the rest of the way inside, bumping the door closed with her hip.

“Hey, guys, I’m home…!”

“April!” Her mom responded to the call almost immediately, and half a second later, April was no longer alone in the kitchen. Warm yellow light flooded the space as a light switch was clicked on, and April winced slightly, blinking a few times to adjust. “There you are-- where in the world have you been?! Do you have any idea what time it is?!”

“Uh, yeah, my bad!” She laughed nervously, throwing her hands up as if to surrender. “Kinda lost track of time, uh, I was just over at the Hamatos doing homework and stuff…”

“Oh, were you?” That was her dad, now, and April winced a tiny bit at the tone he used, which meant that she had fucked up. “Because we went over knocking on their door ten minutes ago to come and get you, and no one answered.”

Oop. Fuck.

“Oh, yeah, we ran over to the corner store to get some snacks, so…?”

“In the middle of the night? By yourself?” Her mom protested, and April huffed softly, rolling her eyes.

“Uh, no? I literally just said that I went with the Hamatos--”

“Hey! Watch the attitude, miss,” her dad immediately cut in, and April winced. “I don’t think you have any room to be being huffy at us when you’re coming home two hours past curfew, and wouldn’t pick up your phone… Do you have any idea how many times we called you!?!”

“I’m sorry!” She said, throwing up her hands. “I forgot I had it on silent, I just, I wasn’t looking at the clock…!”

“For two hours?” Her mom cried. April bit the inside of her cheek, feeling her stomach flip-flop in response to the slight crack in her mother’s voice. “April, baby, you-- you can’t do that! This isn’t okay!”

“It was an accident--!”

“You can’t just disappear!” She continued. “You can’t just leave us not knowing where you are, we can’t--!”

“I know! I know, I’m sorry, okay? It was an accident!” April pressed, her face flushed. “I know, okay? I really, really didn’t mean to…! I just… I wasn’t paying attention. Okay?”

She frowned, wrinkling up her nose and glaring at her feet.

“Sorry.”

For a few long moments, the kitchen was silent.

Her father heaved a long, shuddering sigh.

“No more phone on silent,” he finally said. “When we text or call you, we expect you to answer right away. Understood?”

“... Yeah. Okay,” April grumbled softly, kind of toeing at the kitchen tile. She was sure Donnie could help her… figure out a way to make that work when they were out on missions and stuff…

“And this is the last time you miss curfew,” he added in, his eyes narrowed. “Full stop. We are not doing this again. Understood?”

“... Yeah.”

“April.”

“Yes. Understood, Dad,” she sighed loudly, tilting her head back and resisting the urge to roll her eyes, frustration prickling at her stomach.

“... Go to bed,” her dad finally said, his arms still crossed over his chest. “And you come straight home after school tomorrow.”

“Wha-- but Dad! I was gonna--”

“Do not argue with me April O’Neil,” he snapped. “Bed. Now. We’re not discussing this any further.”

April really, really thought about discussing it further.

But she didn’t.

For a lot of reasons. One being that she valued her life and freedom.

The other being that she couldn’t stand to look at her mom’s face anymore. Not when she was staring at her like that.

It wasn’t like she had never lied to her parents before. Of course she had! What teen doesn’t? She had fibbed about plenty of things before. Yes, I did brush my teeth already. No, I didn’t unlock all the parental controls on the computer. Yes, I am going to Bailey’s to study for chemistry and not anywhere else or for any other reason. Etc. etc. etc.

But she had never lied… like this before.

April ground her teeth, kicking her door shut as she threw her bag down, flopping down onto her bed and burying her face into the nearest pillow with a scowl. She suddenly felt unwelcome tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, and she tried to will them away, though with mixed success.

A little part of her thought, they’d understand if you explained everything to them.

But a much larger part of her said, are you literally insane?

Because, really… how do you explain something like this? How would she even begin? What would she say? And even if she did try, even if she did think it was a good idea, even if she did want to, she…

She couldn’t.

Because it wasn’t her secret to tell.

April had known Raph, Donnie, Leo, and Mikey since she was six. She used to go over to their house every day after school until her parents came home. Their families went on day trips together. They celebrated holidays together. Her parents knew the Hamatos nearly as well as they knew her. They had always had this… weird, amazing blend of Hamato and O’Neil, pressed close in such a way that it was hard to see where one started and the other began sometimes.

And she had always loved that. She had always adored this.

But she had never felt a pull like this before.

She had never felt like she had to choose between being an O’Neil or a Hamato before.

---

“Daddy!” April shrieked.

She waited a moment, pausing to see if she’d get a reply, but after five seconds passed without a response, she breathed in deep, repeating the call with the volume cranked up.

“Daddy!”

That one worked. Her dad’s head popped out from the apartment a moment later, peering through the door that was always kept propped open when she played in the alley like this. “I’m comin, I’m comin, baby, hang on--”

“Come look!” April bade, waving her arms hurriedly. “Hurry up!”

“I’m hurrying! I’m hurrying!” Her dad laughed, quickly toeing on some sneakers before venturing out into the concrete jungle, half-jogging his way over to where she was crouched in the alley, moving to squat down next to her.

“What? What is it?”

“Lookit what I found!” She squeaked excitedly, pointing to a single feather resting on the asphalt. “Look! A feather!”

“Oh, wow! Good find, sunshine.”

“Can I pick it up!?”

“... Yeah, okay, so long as you wash your hands afterward.”

April absolutely wriggled with excitement, immediately snatching the feather up from the ground, turning it over in her hands a few times to examine. One side of it was this pale, cloudy gray, all fluffy and soft, but the other side was a sleek, shiny shade of cobalt blue. Just holding it made her grin, and she looked up at her dad with wide eyes.

“What kinda feather is it?”

“I dunno,” her dad said, shrugging a bit, resting his elbows on his knees. “But I bet we could find out.”

---

“Casey.”

Casey whined softly, curled up a bit further under the covers. Was it time for school already…? But she didn’t wanna get up…

“Hey. C’mon, Casey. Wake up.”

Wait, wasn’t it a Saturday…?

“Noooo…”

“No?”

“Noooooo.”

“What’s wrong, Case?”

“I’m sleeping, Daddy…”

“Oh, you’re sleeping?”

“Yeah!”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize,” her father exclaimed with faux surprise, drawing back slightly. “Well, if you’re sleeping, and you don’t want to go hiking up on Newton Hill with me--”

Casey’s eyes shot open.

“You’re going out into the woods?!” She gasped, immediately upright in bed, her eyes wide.

“I am,” her dad confirmed, this big, wide grin growing on his face. “I was hoping you’d come with me, but, I mean, if you’re still sleeping…”

“No! No, I’m awake!” She squeaked, just barely managing to contain herself and keep her volume down. She threw her covers back, scrambling quickly from bed. “I swear I’m awake! Please can I come hiking with you?!”

Her dad laughed.

“Ah, how can I say no to that face?” He teased, reaching down to ruffle her hair. “Hurry up and get dressed, sunshine, and let’s get out of here.”

---

April gasped, jumping over her dad’s arm so that she could point at the screen of his laptop.

“That one! That’s the feather!” She exclaimed. “It looks just like ours!”

“Hmmm…” Her father hummed appraisingly, leaning into slightly to squint, before he gave a firm nod. “I do concur, April, I think that is our feather! Here, let’s double-check. Are the colors the same?”

“Yeah!” April said, grinning wide as she held the feather up. “Look! It’s the same blue.”

“And the same shape, right?”

“Uh-huh!”

“And we measured it--”

“And it’s twelve centimeters! Look, Daddy! It’s this one!” She insisted, and her father laughed.

“Yeah, okay. You’re right. Definitely our feather.”

“What bird is it!?”

“According to this, it’s a mallard feather.”

“A mallard?” April echoed. “What’s that?”

“It’s a type of duck!”

“A duck!?” April cried, her eyes widening, holding her prize up in amazement. “This is a duck feather!?”

“It sure is, sunny girl.”

“Whoa! That’s so cool!”

“You know,” her dad said. “I bet if we went down to the park, we might be able to find some more feathers…”

---

Cassandra was absolutely alight with energy, bouncing from foot to foot as she scampered around, practically doing laps around her dad. The drive over had been equal parts exhilarating and tortuous, with Casey wriggling in her car seat the entire time, her face pressed up against the window.

This was her favorite thing in the world.

She loved Newton Hill.

“Daddy, I wanna go all the way to the top!!!” She exclaimed, bouncing up and down, grabbing onto his pants leg to yank at him.

“All the way to the top?” He echoed dramatically.

“Yes!”

“Alright, you got it,” he hummed, fishing something from his pocket before kneeling down next to her. “All the way to the top. I think we can do it.”

“We can,” Casey agreed excitedly, leaning against his knee and leaning over slightly so she could peer at the item in his hands.

“Alright. Let’s do it,” her dad enthused. “But first-- I have got a job for you, Casey.”

Casey blinked in surprise as her father pressed the stopwatch into her palm, tilting her head slightly to the side.

“I have a job?”

“You have a job,” he confirmed. “You are gonna be in charge of timing us.”

“Timing us?”

“Yep! Here, you press this button to start the time-- and this button to end it. And you--” He pointed to her decisively, this big, mischievous grin on his face. “Are gonna find out how long it takes us to get from here to the top of the trail.”

Casey tilted her head to the side.

“Why?”

“Because,” her father declared, his hands on his hips as he rose back up to his feet. “David from work bet that I couldn’t get all the way up to the top in four hours. So now I’ve gotta prove him wrong.”

Casey stared at her father for a second.

And then she gasped.

“He bet we couldn’t do the whole trail in four hours!?” She shrieked in offense.

“He sure did, Case.”

“HOW DARE HE!” She wailed, throwing her head back.

This was the other best part of Newton Hill. She could be as loud as she wanted out here.

“Exactly!” Her father sighed, throwing out his hands with a dramatic shake of his head. “I knew you’d understand. So obviously, we have to show him up! You up for the challenge, sunshine?”

“Yes!” She cried, immediately setting off-- hesitating only long enough to run back, grabbing onto her dad’s pants leg and yanking at him. “Come ON! Hurry up! We are gonna WIN! Let’s GO!”

---

“Come on! Hurry up! Let’s go!” April squealed, yanking at her Dad’s hand impatiently. “Look! I see one!”

“I’m coming, April, I’m coming!” Her dad laughed, jogging slightly to keep up with the enthusiastic five-year-old. “Hang on, sunshine.”

April darted across the lawn, hopping over wayward twigs or stones until she got to the water’s edge, waving her arms excitedly as she knelt down to pluck the feather from the ground.

“Look!” She said, beaming as she turned to show her dad. “Do you think it’s another duck feather?!”

“Might be. Or it could be a goose.”

“I hope it’s a goose,” April said, scampering her way back over to her dad, who knelt down to hold open the ziploc baggie for her. April deposited the feather inside, along with the several other specimens they had already collected. “We already have a duck feather.”

“Yeah, but maybe it’ll be a different kind of duck,” her dad countered, zipping the baggie back up once their prize was safe inside. April paused at this, tilting her head to the side slightly. Oh! Another kind of duck? She hadn’t even thought about that!

“Well, then, I hope it’s a different kind of duck. Or a goose,” she declared, grinning big. “When we get back home, can we show Mommy all the feathers?”

“Of course we can,” her dad said. “I’m sure she’ll be thrilled for you to show her. Especially if you can tell her which feather is which!”

“I will. I’m gonna look it up. I’m gonna do research,” April declared proudly, grinning as she spun around on her heel. “Come on! We gotta find some more. I wanna have a bunch for mommy.”

---

Casey froze in place, her body going rigid as a tiny little gasp caught itself in her throat.

“Daddy!” She whispered, her voice hushed, but fervent. “Daddy, lookit! Under the rock!”

After hiking for two hours now, Casey only occasionally electing to ride on her dad’s shoulders rather than racing up the trail, poking at every leaf, stone, and mushroom they came across, the pair had finally elected to take a break, settling down on the stones of a creekbed to rest and munch on the snacks her father had packed along. The stopwatch she was wearing around her neck was still ticking away-- but they were making good time. Certainly enough time to catch their breath.

And it was here that Casey spotted a tiny black-and-yellow snake-- just barely poking its head from beneath the shadows of a stone just inches away from them. Its little pink tongue flicked out a few times as it examined the world hesitantly, turning its head from side to side, as if checking for something.

“Whoa!” Her dad breathed, keeping care to keep his voice soft once he spotted the creature. He slowly moved to place a hand on her shoulder, patting her gently. “Nice eye, Casey.”

“It’s a real snake!”

“It is.”

“What kind is it?”

“Probably a garter snake, I’d bet,” he whispered, grinning ever so slightly. “I bet he wants to come out and sun himself on the rocks.”

“Why?”

“Reptiles are cold-blooded, Casey. They’ve gotta warm themselves up with the sun, or else they get too cold.”

“Oh,” she said, her eyes wide. “... He’s so cool…”

“He is,” her dad agreed, shooting her a small grin. “Good job, sunshine. I never even would have noticed that little guy! I would have totally missed him.”

Casey absolutely beamed. “Really?”

“Yep!” He confirmed, chuckling softly, leaning over to ruffle her long black hair, carding his fingers through it briefly. “But you’re so smart, of course you saw it… Alright. You ready to get moving again? I bet that little dude would be pretty excited if he got to come out in peace and warm himself up.”

She nodded excitedly, wasting no time at all in beginning to get herself back to her feet. Despite all the running and jumping and climbing she had already done, she was suddenly filled with energy once more.

“I’m ready, Daddy!”

---

“And this one is a pigeon…”

“Mmm-hmmm…”

“And this is a pigeon…”

“I see…”

“And this one a pigeon feather, too…”

“Ah…”

“And this is a starling!”

“Oh!”

“And this is a pigeon!” April exclaimed excitedly, spreading the feathers out on the paper towel slightly, grinning big. “... There are a lotta pigeon ones.”

“That does make sense,” her mom said, smiling a tiny bit. “Thank you so much for showing me, baby! This is so impressive! I can’t believe you found all of these all by yourself!”

“Nu-uh!” April protested, turning to grin big up at her mother. “Daddy helped me! Except for the first one. I found that one all on my own.”

“Well, then, good job to your Daddy, too,” her mom remarked, and April just caught her shoot a smile across the kitchen to her dad, who was busy preparing dinner. He smiled a tiny bit, too.

“I’m gonna make a chart for them and stuff. In a book,” she declared proudly, beginning to climb her way up into her mom’s lap, absolutely beaming as she did so.

“April, sweetheart, you need to wash her hands--”

“Will you help me make it? Pleasseeee? I wanna make it look cool.”

---

Casey was so tall.

Every time they got all the way up here, to the very top of the hill, up as high as they could go, she would always think, wow. This is the tallest we can get. This is so tall.

And then every time, her dad would pick her up and put her on his shoulders, and then she’d be even taller.

And it had only taken them three hours and forty-two minutes to get here.

“There’s not even any clouds!” Casey marveled, eyes absolutely sparkling as she leaned back slightly, clinging to her dad’s head to keep her balance. “It’s just blue!”

“Yeah, it’s a nice day, isn’t it? Perfect for hiking,” he declared, grinning. “Can you believe David said we couldn’t make it!?”

“David is WRONG!” She declared, just as loud as she possibly could, and she grinned at how her voice carried. It made her feel all shimmery. Her dad laughed.

“You wanna yell?”

“YES!” She gasped. “You do it, too! I wanna do it together!”

“Okay, okay. We’ll go on the count of three. You ready?”

“Mmm-hmmm!”

“Okay. One… Two…”

Casey took a deep breath in.

“Three!”

Throwing her head forward, her eyes shut tight and her hands balled into fists, Cassandra reached as deep into her little six-year-old chest as she could possibly reach, and she dredged up the biggest, longest, loudest howl that she could possibly conjure. It always hurt her throat a little, but it never hurt more than it felt good. It made her entire body vibrate. And her dad was screaming, too, holding onto her hands with his own big ones, the two of them harmonizing together as they screamed out into the woods from the top of the hill, their voices echoing out into the sky.

She kept going until there was no more left in her, running out of air entirely and left with just shaking, heaving breaths, her shoulders trembling as she panted.

And for a second, both of them were both quiet. And then finally, her dad chuckled, tossing his shoulders a few times to jostle her slightly.

“One of these days, you’re gonna shatter my eardrums, sunshine. I hope you know that,” he laughed, and Casey just grinned, hanging onto him.

“I like yelling,” she hummed.

And for a bit longer, it was quiet again.

Just the two of them on the top of the world.

And then Dad’s cellphone began to ring.

Casey paused, frowning slightly as she watched her father fish the device from his pocket, glancing at the screen and scoffing in such a way that Casey already knew who was on the line.

“Damn. Too bad we still have service up here, huh?” He tsked, and Casey frowned.

“Don’t be mean to mommy,” she muttered petulantly. “I don’t like it.”

“Sorry, Casey. My bad,” he sighed, crouching down so he could ease her down off his shoulders and back onto her own two feet. “Here. Just gimme two seconds to talk to her, okay?”

“Can I talk to her when you’re done?” She asked, and Dad hesitated.

“Uh, maybe! Lemme just talk to her real quick first and see what she wants. I promise it’ll be fast. Here, hang on. You can time me, okay?” He said, returning the stopwatch back to her hands. “Think you can do that?”

“Yeah…”

“Good girl. I’ll be right back,” Dad said, offering her one last crooked smile before turning away, looping off a few paces before finally picking up his phone.

“Hello?”

“Yeah?--”

“Yeah, I know.”

“No, we just went up hiking--”

“I know that, but it’s just one day. Yeah, I know that… I’m going to!”

“She loves it up here!”

“I will, just-- Could you please just listen to me?-- No, I didn’t--”

Casey frowned. She settled down to sit in the grass and hit the ‘start’ button on the stopwatch.

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