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girlgenius1111 · 16 days

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might just love you 'til the end

post... that match. a bit of angst, mostly fluff. alexia is not pleased after her performance against chelsea. you aren't quite sure what she needs from you. you decide to give her space, but that isn't really what she needs. alexia tells you... eventually.

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It was a long day, a tiring and difficult match, and Alexia probably would have resorted to one of her coping mechanisms, if she hadn’t missed that last shot on goal. It seemed to take something out of her, and even from your place sitting on the bench, you could see how angry she was acting. Underneath that, though, you could tell that she was really just disappointed in herself.

Watching her blink back tears as she made her way around the pitch was almost too much for you. You wanted nothing more than to grab her hand, pull her into the tunnel, and hug her until she wasn’t sad anymore. You knew better than to try to comfort her now, though. Alexia hated nothing more than seeming weak, especially in front of the team. Anything she needed or wanted from you would have to wait until you both got home. And even then, you weren’t sure what to expect. Sometimes she’d just shut down after a bad game, go to sleep, and wake up with a new passion the next morning. Sometimes she’d shut down, but her fury at herself would linger for days. Very rarely did she talk about it. Only when she really reached her breaking point, which was admittedly a lot harder to reach than other people’s were, would she let you make her feel better.

It wasn’t necessarily a healthy array of options that she normally went with, but you couldn’t argue that it didn’t work. It worked for Alexia, and that was what was important. Even if giving her space until she asked for something else hurt, you knew it was what she needed.

She acted pretty much how you expected her to as you both made your way into the locker room and headed for the showers. The blonde gave you nothing more than a high five and a weak smile, before she launched herself into her post match routine. You did the same, icing various parts of your body that hurt after a rather physical game. You kept your eyes on your girlfriend, though, watching the hollow way she brushed through her hair and the mechanical way she laced up her shoes. You were done before her, sitting in your locker looking at your phone, trying to figure out how bad the social media situation was going to be for her, when her white nikes appeared in front of you. You looked up at her with a smile, though it fell slightly when you took in the completely emotionless look on her face. She’d shut down, then, like you’d expected her to. You knew it was coming, but it didn’t make it easier that she wouldn’t let you help.

“¿Lista?” She asked roughly, not meeting your eyes.

“Yeah, let’s go.” You replied, getting to your feet, grabbing your bag, and giving Mapi a reassuring look from where she sat waiting for Ingrid to be ready to go. You knew your girlfriend’s best friend worried about her, and that she had tried to talk to her after the match, but it hadn’t really gone anywhere. You were surprised when, as soon as you were out of the locker room and had walked a ways down the hall, Alexia dropped her bag to the ground and pulled you into a tight hug.

You returned the hug, sighing into her shoulder, feeling her bury her face in your slightly damp hair. The hug was for you, you could tell. To make you feel better, even when Alexia wouldn’t allow you to do anything to make her feel better. She held herself a bit tensely, and when she pulled away, her eyes searched yours, her worry clear on her face.

“Te amo,” she whispered, pressing a light kiss to your cheek. “I am proud of you, always.”

“I love you, Ale,” you replied, a thousand more words on the tip of your tongue. You wanted to tell her you were proud of her, too, that it wasn’t her fault, that she didn’t need to deal with today all by herself, but you knew she wouldn’t accept it right now. Instead, you grabbed her hand in yours and squeezed tightly.

The captain kept her hand in yours as you both walked to her car, and though you expected her to pull away from the contact, you were glad that she was letting herself have something to make herself feel better. The car ride home was silent, and you predicted the rest of the night to be the same.

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You knew to let Alexia deal with it how she dealt with it, but you did put your foot down on a couple things. When she headed right for the couch, going to put the match replay on the TV and take notes, you shook your head, taking the remote out of her hand.

“Not tonight. It won’t make you feel better.”

“I have to watch,” she argued, but you cut her off.

“You can watch tomorrow. Tonight we are going to watch a movie, order dinner, and go to bed early.”

“Amor,” Alexia sighed, her brow furrowed, no doubt thinking about how she could convince you to let her do this.

You switched tactics, knowing there was one sure way to get your girlfriend to agree with you. “Please? For me? I don’t want to watch that again right now.”

The blonde softened, nodding her head at you. Satisfied, you flopped down on the couch next to her, grabbing her arm and draping it over your shoulder.

Alexia smiled despite herself, leaving a soft kiss on the top of your head. She was still practically silent as you picked out a movie, but she pulled you close to her, slipping her hand up the front of your shirt and running her thumb back and forth across your skin.

Even if she was only letting this happen because she thought she was comforting you, it was still better than nothing. Better than the rare occasions that she’d sleep on the couch, almost as a punishment for herself when she didn’t perform the way she thought she should’ve. The blonde had gotten better since getting together with you, mostly because you pointed out the inconsistencies in how she treated you after a rough game, and how she treated herself. Some rough days sent her spiraling back to her bad habits, though, and you were glad you could pull her away from those, at least for today.

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“Cariño,” Alexia whispered, jostling you slightly. “Let’s go to bed, vale?”

“Hmm?” You mumbled, barely opening your eyes. “‘M not asleep.”

“Oh, sure. You are just watching the movie with your eyes closed?”

“Sí,” you sighed, turning against her slightly until your head was laid on her chest. It vibrated under you as she laughed, and the sound woke you a bit more, glad to hear something even remotely joyful come out of your girlfriend’s mouth.

“Venga, amor, it is time for bed.” She insisted, gently sitting up and easing you into an upright position. You pouted at her, wishing the smile on her face would reach her eyes. When it didn’t, you rose from the couch, grabbing Alexia’s hand, and pulling her towards the bedroom.

You both made quick work of your nighttime routines, and you were glad to slide into the bed, undeniably exhausted from the physically and emotionally draining day. Alexia slipped in next to you, though she didn’t really get comfortable; she remained halfway sat up, staring at the ceiling above her. You tucked yourself into her side, burrowing under the covers until you were surrounded by soft fabric and Alexia’s sweatshirt. She seemed wide awake, and you laced your fingers with her, rubbing your thumb comfortingly along the back.

“Sleep, baby. You need rest. Everything will feel better in the morning.” Alexia nodded mechanically, giving you a half smile that you didn’t buy for a second, before her eyes fluttered shut. “I love you. You’re my favorite person.” You whispered.

She opened her eyes again at your words, softening slightly. She turned on her side and pulled you into her chest, wrapping you up tightly in her arms. “Te amo, mi niña, eres perfecta.” She whispered.

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You fell asleep easily. Alexia, evidently, had not. You realized this when you rolled over in the middle of the night, seeking out your girlfriend to curl up against, and only felt cold sheets next to you.

It woke you up, and you opened your eyes, in your sleepy haze worried Alexia had gotten sick or something. You looked around the room, and towards the bathroom, but no lights were on. You sat up in the bed, forcing yourself to wake up more. Once you had thought about it for a minute, you had a sneaking suspicion about where your girlfriend had disappeared to in the middle of the night. You grabbed your phone from the nightstand, checking Alexia’s location, and sure enough, her little profile picture was at a park a few blocks away. It had a football pitch, and Alexia sometimes slipped away there when she wanted to clear her head, but not deal with seeing people she knew at the Barça training ground.

You dragged yourself out of bed, even though you had half a mind to call Ale’s mom and get Eli to deal with her, knowing she could scold her daughter much more effectively than you could. It was the middle of the night, though, and you knew that Alexia may need a softer approach. You weren’t really sure what headspace she’d be in when you found her, and it was at this thought that you began to move faster, pulling on joggers and a shirt, and rushing down the stairs. You could visualize what she’d be doing, taking shot after shot on goal, but you couldn’t figure out how she’d be acting. Upset, or sad, or angry, or still completely blank. You grabbed your car keys, not really wanting to waste a second longer than possible by walking to where Alexia was, although it wasn’t far.

It only took a few minutes to arrive, and you pulled into the parking lot with your attention completely fixed on the figure across the park, running down the pitch with a ball at her feet. As you got closer, you took in how exhausted Alexia looked, as if she’d been at this for hours.

“Ale?” You called, finally arriving at the pitch and trying to get your girlfriend’s attention from the sidelines. She didn’t look over at you, too caught up in her own thoughts, trying to angle her shot in just right.

You moved closer, and finally she saw you, just out of the corner of her eye. She stopped what she was doing, turning to face you. “Amor?” She questioned. “What are you doing here?”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at her question. “Really? You’re asking me what I’m doing here?” Your girlfriend had the decency to look slightly embarrassed. “It’s the middle of the night, Alexia. What are you doing?”

“I could not fall asleep.” Alexia told you, walking over to you, her ball abandoned behind her.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” You asked, brushing a few pieces of flyaway hair off her forehead. She melted into your touch, her body slouching down towards you, giving you even more of an idea of how exhausted she was.

“I wanted you to rest.” She said quietly, and it was a perfectly believable explanation, but for some reason you had a feeling that there was more to it than that. You fixed her with a look, raising one eyebrow. The blonde sighed again, grabbing your hand in hers. “Can we go home?”

“Only if you promise to talk to me when we get there. Otherwise I’ll make you stand in goal while I shoot.” You teased, happy to see a small smile on your girlfriend’s completely drained face.

“Promise.” She said, giving your hand a squeeze as you both began to walk towards the park exit.

-------

You sent Alexia to shower upon arriving home, sitting on the couch until she was done, absolutely sure that if you got back in bed, you’d instantly fall back asleep. Alexia very timidly walked out of the bathroom 20 minutes later, all bundled up in a sweatshirt and sweatpants even though it was rather warm out.

Alexia looked weirdly nervous as she sat down next to you, her eyes everywhere but on yours. She reached for your hand very hesitantly, relaxing slightly when you intertwined your fingers with hers easily.

“What’s wrong, Ale?” You asked.

“I am sorry about today. Really sorry, amor.”

You opened your mouth, prepared to tell her that you forgave her for sneaking away in the middle of the night instead of waking you up, but you stopped when you looked at her closer, and found tears in her eyes. Something about the way she’d phrased it, too, that she was sorry about ‘today,’ didn’t sit right with you.

“What are you sorry about?” You asked, frowning when Alexia chewed on her lower lip instead of answering.

“I disappointed you today.” She said finally.

“Alexia,” you rushed to contradict her, but she cut you off.

“No, I know I did. I am sorry, I will do better, mi amor, I promise.”

“Love, you did not disappoint me.” You insisted, cradling your girlfriend’s cheek and wiping away a stray tear. She shrugged, like she didn’t believe you. “You could never disappoint me, Alexia, especially not by missing a shot. Why do you think that?”

Her eyes flicked up to yours, finding only sincerity there, as she took a deep breath, and spoke. “I told you I was proud of you.” Alexia mumbled, her cheeks flushing. “You did not say it back. And you normally give me a hug after matches in the locker room, but you did not, not until I hugged you.”

You were sure you felt your heart crack in two. “Baby, I’m so sorry.” You said, reaching to pull her into a hug. She shrugged out of your grasp, though, and you were furious with yourself in that moment.

“You do not need to be sorry, I understand.” She said, albeit rather miserably, looking so angry and upset with herself, when she really should have been directing that at you.

“No, Alexia, look at me.” You insisted, gently tilting her head to look at you. She was barely holding back tears, her lip wavering sadly. “Oh, my love. I didn’t say it back because I didn’t think you’d want to hear it. You never listen after rough games, I was trying to let you have your feelings for the night, and then try to make you feel better tomorrow. I didn’t think you’d want comfort, Alexia, not today. I am so proud of you, Alexia. Every day, I am proud of you, especially today. You did everything you could do, I know that. It just wasn’t our day. Estoy tan orgullosa de ti.” You emphasized.

Alexia nodded slowly, but you could tell she didn’t fully believe you.

“Would you ever be disappointed with me for missing a shot?” You asked, slightly amused when the blonde whipped her head up to look at you, a frown set on her features.

“No. Never.” Alexia said quickly, appalled at even the idea.

You smiled at her sadly. “Can you not imagine that I feel the same way about you, Ale? That I love you just as much as you love me?

Your girlfriend swallowed roughly, reaching to pull you into her lap, and into a hug. You let her manhandle you the way she wanted, wrapping your arms around her and kissing the side of her head repeatedly once she grabbed on to you.

“It is hard to believe sometimes. It is… too good to be true. That you love me like I love you. I do not always feel like I deserve it. Especially when I am grumpy all day after we lose, and I sneak out of our bed, and make you come find me in the middle of the night.” Alexia said, her voice dripping with insecurity.

You pulled back just slightly, pressing your forehead to Alexia’s, threading your fingers through her hair. “You always deserve it. Always, Alexia. And I would get out of bed in the middle of the night to come find you every day if you needed me too. I’d get on a plane in the middle of the night and fly halfway across the world to find you, if that’s what you needed.” You whispered, leaning forward to press your lips to Alexia’s.

She kissed you back, hard, trying to tell you how much everything you’d said meant to her.

“I’d rather not, but I’d do it.” You mumbled against her mouth, feeling her smile against your own lips.

“Okay.” She said finally, and it was clear to you that she believed you a bit more now, and that she’d believe you even more tomorrow. “I will keep my fleeing of the country to a minimum.”

You laughed. “Good. Because I want to go to bed.”

Alexia nodded enthusiastically, rising up off the couch with you held securely in her arms. “Me too.”

She carried you towards the bedroom, already physically more relaxed than she’d been all day.

“If you set an alarm for the morning, I will make you sleep at the park tomorrow night.” You told her, letting out a rather undignified squeak when she gently threw you down on the bed.

She smiled at you mischievously, her bad day completely forgotten. How could she think about her performance when you were so perfect, and so pretty, and she was so tired.

“No alarm.” She promised, turning her light off and collapsing onto the bed next to you. It had been a mistake, not waking you up before. Because when you pulled her into you and began to scratch lightly at her back, she went completely limp, and she knew you were all she needed to fall asleep. Alexia didn’t need to practice her shots until her legs were numb. She just needed to lay her head on your chest and hear your heartbeat in her ear, and she’d remember that everything would be okay.

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hope you enjoyed :)

#alexia putellas x reader #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso one shot #woso fanfics

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rodolfoparras · 1 month

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Capture The Moment

Pairing: Izaack Gauss x Male Reader

Cw: 18+, cheating, blowjobs, sub!Izaack, dom!male reader

Wc: 2k+

A/N: I’m fully aware that Izaack doesn’t have a wife but for the sake of the plot, he now does

Synopsis: In which Izaack’s wife asks you to keep an eye on her husband since he keeps coming home late, and you’re more than happy to help

Thinking about Izaack Gauss who always seems to come home a bit late and every time he does he looks very much disheveled hair mussed and three piece practically undone and of course his wife is bound to get suspicious so she kindly asks you to keep an eye on her husband, see if you notice anything suspicious and then report it to her and who are you to deny her?

The sound of heels clicking turns your attention to the glass window in front of you and there he stands, Izaack Gauss, dressed in the simple but chic three piece he left in this morning looking a bit tired from the day but besides that nothing about his appearance raises any alarms in your head.

“Sir,” he greets with a tired smile on his face as he searches his pockets for what you assume can only be documents. “Seems that I must’ve forgotten my documents today” he continues, but despite his words there’s not a trace of remorse in his tone “Is there any other way we can resolve this?”

A laugh escapes your lips, the sound echoing loudly in the otherwise silent lobby before you go to undo the lock to the cubicle you call office. “Come on in,”

The sheepish look on his face turns into something else, smile steadily growing til his sharp molars are on full display, tired eyes becoming more alert and swirling with something akin desire as he step inside your small office space.

Well inside you see that he’s undone the first couple of buttons of his dress shirt, thick dark hairs prominently standing out alongside the pristine white fabric. He’s even gone out his way to roll the sleeves up to his elbows, showing more skin than usual. And as your eyes continue to trail lower down his body, you see the sharp silhouette of his waist, tucked into fitted gray slacks that leave almost nothing to the imagination.

Izaack was one attractive man. You had thought so ever since the very first time you saw him standing in front of the little glass window, with a sheepish smile on his face as he dug around in his pockets for documents.

And when he spoke: his voice was deep and smooth, a couple octaves lower than what you expected it to be and you couldn’t help but wonder what it would take for it to go higher.

That was of course until you saw the wedding band on his hand and his wife standing next to him.

In that very moment you had realized Izaack was a taken man. Izaack, however couldn’t care less about that.

And as if he didn’t just stand tall in front of you, said man falls to the ground. The sound of his leather shoes dragging across the floor sounds all too loud in the otherwise silent office room but you revel in the sound, leaning back into your seat as you watch the big bulk of a man crawl up towards you.

He sits like a dog at your feet, cheek nuzzling up against your clothed dick, spit soiling your slacks while bleary eyes gaze up at you.

You almost want to drag this out a bit, want to watch him pathetically suckle at your slacks, want to watch those blue eyes turn glassy from tears, face burning red as he begs and pleads for you to let him suck your dick.

Unfortunately the limited amount of time won’t allow you to do that - an unknowing tenant may drop in any second now so with a nod of your head, you watch as his ring clad hand eagerly undoes the zipper of your pants, and you swiftly lift your hips, allowing him to pull down your pants along with your briefs.

You watch his dark eyes grow wide as your cock spills out, pink tongue peaking out and wetting his lips in anticipation

“This is what you wanted hm?” you ask, one hand sinking into his dark mane of curls while the other hand grabs ahold of your now fully hard cock, nuzzling it up against his face much like he’d done earlier.

Izaack eagerly nods his head, nuzzles his face closer and you watch with intrigue as pre smears all over his cheek and chin.

“What would your wife think if she saw you like this, hm? You say and yank at his hair watching for a brief moment as he snaps out of his trance, eyes glancing down at his wedding band before falling back onto you again.

“Jesus Christ,” you, laugh in disbelief “you wouldn’t even care would you” You say as you nudge your cockhead against his lips, and you quickly get your answer as you watch the way he eagerly wraps them around the tip.

Izaack had always been skilled with his mouth , you had known so since the very first time you saw him standing in front of a camera. He was quick with his tongue when interviewing someone, flashing his sharp molars when someone tried to intimidate him and sometimes even swallowing down his pride to get the information he needs and wants.

And it’s no different when he’s down on his knees, sharp tongue dragging across your tip, trailing kisses along the length of your dick before his tongue is once again lapping at your cockhead like he can’t bear to lose the taste of you.

“Mmm fuck- just ah- just like that,” you hiss while running a shaky hand through his hair as if it’s the only thing keeping you from losing your sanity.

Although there’s no smile on his face , you can see the amusement in his eyes as he gauges your reactions to his touch; irises glittering as he suckles on your cockhead, sharp molars purposely grazing the sensitive flesh.

“Holy fu-“ you yelp out and for a second you feel like the air has been punched out of your lungs, as you harshly buck up into his mouth.

The other man doesn’t seem to mind your rough touch matter of fact he seems rather pleased, contented hums escaping his lips, the vibrations sending sparks of pleasure straight to your dick. “Izaack fuck!”

Izaack continues like that for a moment, switching between teasing licks and suckling on your tip til your cock is practically throbbing with need.

“‘Enough teasing,” you groan out, this time yanking at his hair in warning and that’s all it takes for him to comply to your request, wet hot mouth sinking down onto your dick, taking you inch by inch til his is nose brushing over the coarse hair at the base of you. “Mph! God!”

It doesn’t take much before he sets a steady pace, and you lose yourself in the pretty sight he makes with his spit slicked lips stretched taut around your cock, fat tears trickling down his flushed cheeks whenever you graze too far back in his throat all while squirming around in place trying to subtly relieve his own hard and weeping dick.

The sound of the phone ringing pulls you out of your daze, and you quickly remember where you are and what you’re supposed to be doing as you blindly grab ahold of the phone and put it to your ear. “Hello?”

“Hello! This is Mrs Gauss. I apologize for calling this late but I was wondering if you have seen my husband? He was supposed to be home an hour ago but he has yet to show up,” the sound of his wife’s voice trickles through the phone.

“Mrs Gauss! Hello! Uh-“ you stutter out, momentarily feeling yourself going tense under his touch, like a bucket of ice had been dumped on you. Izaack however seems as unphased as ever as he continues to work his mouth on you.

“I really am so sorry for bothering you but I have a hard time going to bed without my husband, and to be honest I’m worried about him. So have you seen him?”

Oh, you sure had seen the man, down on his knees with your cock in his mouth while batting his long lashes at you.

“Yes Izaack- Mr Gauss!” you correct yourself but it comes out as a yelp as the man in question starts fondling your ballsack.

Suddenly, the phone falls out of your hands, hips jerking up as grunts and groans escape your mouth.

“Just like that. Ah fuck!” You moan out, head lolling back as you buck up into his touch.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” Once again the sound of Mrs Gauss’ voice brings you out of your daze, this time it echoes from where the phone cord hangs from your fingertips.

You somehow muster up enough strength to fish up the phone to you, hand shaky, voice breathy as you finally reply to the rather confused woman.“Yes! I’m sorry Mrs Gauss. There seems to be something wrong with the phone line-“ and just like on queue another moan tries to slip out of you but luckily you manage to catch yourself in time, teeth sinking into your bottom lip biting down so hard til you’re sure you taste blood all while watching your cock obscenely slide in and out of Izaack’s mouth.

“‘Mm should- should definitely get it checked I agree,” you say, echoing her suggestion back to her, before you lose your last bit of focus as Izaack starts sucking more intensely before he suddenly stops and pulls away.

The panic in your face must’ve been obvious because you see the way his lips curl up before his mouth goes slack, body willfully relaxing as he gazes up at you in expectation.

Jesus Christ.

You don’t even think twice before you start fucking into his mouth, losing yourself in the pleasurable feeling of the wet hot walls of his throat squeezing down onto your cock. The fact that Mrs Gauss is on the other line has long escaped your mind.

“…..it seems to have cut off again” Mrs Gauss says and lightly chuckles, sounding ever so oblivious to what’s going on, on the other end ” would you mind repeating what you said?”

This time it’s Izaack prompting you to answer the phone, a firm squeeze to your thigh brings your attention back to the present moment before you manage to utter some sort of response to her “My apologies, Mrs Ah Mrs Gauss. What I was trying to say is that Mr Gauss just entered the lobby,”

“Oh, alright, thank you,” she says and and sighs out of relief, smile ever so prominent when she speaks but you can’t help but think how the relief in her voice is a stark contrast to the intense onslaught of pleasure in your gut as Izaack continues to work himself up and down your cock “Well would you mind sending him up to me? I’ve been….”

But the sound of her voice fades away as you inch closer to the edge, the coil in your stomach tightening until it finally snaps.

“Ah- Ah Fuck!” You cry out, phone dropping out of your hand and landing with a thud on the floor, as hot ropes of cum spill onto Izaack’s tongue.

“Hello?! Hello?!.. It must’ve cut off again, they really should check the phone lines today. ” You hear her say to herself, voice echoing through the line but you’re unable to focus on anything other than the obscene sight that is you continuously sliding in and out of Izaack’s mouth with Izaack milking your orgams for all it’s worth til there’s nothing but pathetic spurts of cum landing on his tongue.

Eventually you grow too sensitive, body wincing under his touch and you use a shaky hand to push him away from you. “Sto-stop,”

The man reluctantly agrees, and pulls away from you, the last bit connecting you to him being a string of spit before it breaks and disappears.

Through blurry eyes you see Izaack, getting up from his knees, swiftly pulling out a handkerchief he must’ve been carrying with him and wiping his lips. He doesn’t waste another second picking up the phone that had fallen to the floor, before nudging it towards. “Hello?! Are you there?!”

One shaky breath is all it takes before you muster up the strength to answer her: voice breathy and strained, eyes barely able to focus on what’s happening in front of you as you utter the words “‘M sorry, Mrs Gauss I had to deal with something urgent but I’m sending him up now,”

#that’s not my neighbor #this is a queue ! have a lovely day/ night!#that’s not my neighbor milkman #that’s not my neighbor izaack gauss #that’s not my neighbor milkman x reader #that’s not my neighbor izaack gauss x reader #that’s not my neighbor milkman x male reader #that’s not my neighbor izaack gauss x male reader #izaack gauss #Francis mosses #izaack gauss x reader #Francis mosses x reader #izaack gauss x male reader #Francis mosses x male reader #dom male reader #sub male character #x male reader #male reader #x reader

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saiidahyunie · 25 days

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you in my heart

chou tzuyu x f!reader

synopsis: if i can keep myself close to cherish you, then my heart will forever be in your hands.

warnings: fluff ; angst ? ; friends to lovers ; clc elkie and sana appear!

a/n: this fic is my creative writing lifeline soooooo :P

chou tzuyu doesn’t like idiots.

in the many years of her glorious friendship with you, tzuyu has watched, in all scopes, just how damn impatient you were about your decisions. she’s seen it all - whether it’s simply put in which you threw caution to the wind and helped tzuyu ditch school just for a quick detour to the beach as a way to cheer her up after the argument she had with her parents.

(might to add, that happened in the one week of getting to know each other.)

or, whether it would be the way tzuyu saw you drawing, once and decided that the route of art was the destination. better yet, the slight hitch of breath of your decision - last second- of moving in with tzuyu, on the day her lease was up for renewal.

these many things between the fine lines of dumb and stupid could not have prepared tzuyu for this:

you being settled on the floor with a dark red shirt that had a white minimal graphic with the name of the brand being something from your dad’s work, hair set off neatly off to the side with a hint of fringe peaking at the top, an apple juice box in your hands washing down the ritz crackers you swiped from the box, without knowing how it fans the flames in every one of tzuyu’s nerves.

you look at tzuyu, holding your gaze, jaw moving with two chewed crackers in your mouth, before averting your eyes to the crushed juice box next to you.

“tzuyu,” you say, fingers fast on the wrapper fishing out another cracker. “you’re not gonna eat?”

tzuyu says nothing, only shaking her head before settling back against the leg of the sofa, crossing her arms against her chest.

“tzuyu,” you whine, grabbing her wrist that had pinches of salt all over your fingertips, “why are you not saying anything?”

as if tzuyu can ever ignore the constant pull that she feels towards you.

“what’s going on?” tzuyu asks you now, knowing that nothing positive ever comes out of your mouth when she’s soaking in this tone that you’re presenting, voice breaking high and towards the end, as though you wouldn’t be able to breath right if tzuyu does not talk to you, or look at you.

“you’re a girl right?”

tzuyu blinks once, doe eyes out in the open space while she’s unable to guess the trajectory that this conversation might go.

“yes, and?”

you smile, bright and warm, tzuyu nudges closer until her knee touches your thigh.

“cool! me too!” you say. “well, i don’t know, actually. but, the point is that i’ve never dated a girl before. have you?”

tzuyu’s sexuality has been acknowledged, conveyed, and accepted between the both of you without any real sense of words. you had always been perceptive, and when tzuyu’s eyes wandered on only at he women in the movies that she used to watch together with you during high school, you knew that your best friend was a lesbian, and squeezed her hand firmly to let her know that.

it was never really discussed after that, until now.

your sexuality, in tandem, has been acknowledged, conveyed, and accepted between the both of you devidating your realization through a sudden urge to declare the moment out loud on a random day. you tumbled your way onto tzuyu a week ago, holding her hands tight, screaming about how you barely realized that you were bisexual and how “everything makes so much sense to me!”

ever since that day, tzuyu had to witness the only person she has loved even before she knew how to love someone else flirting with nearly everyone. she could only be supportive of her best friend’s journey up til this point.

“i haven’t,” tzuyu replies.

your face lights up, eyebrows arched and eyes wide open. “well, have you kissed another girl before?”

tzuyu suddenly feels like she is neck deep in water that she’s not used to swimming in, struggling to keep herself afloat in her mind. “i…have.”

your face beams more brighter than before it diminishes into the stark emptiness of the night after the flames on a bonfire slowly wither away. “hey,” you say. “you didn’t tell me about that, tzu! we’re besties, aren’t you supposed to tell me everything?”

tzuyu scoots herself over to put a hand on your shoulder. “it was a long time ago,” she says. the world of sapphism was something beautiful to be apart of. seeing the pride parties to be an enlightenment of sorts while also pulling the heart in a more wrenching way. she wanted to belong there with the vast crowd of people but was also aware that she doesn’t want to put herself into that space, if it meant leaving your side.

“it doesn’t really matter now.”

“hey.” you say, scooting closer to match her. tzuyu’s hand lingers on your shoulder before letting go. “of course, it does. was it any good?”

tzuyu doesn’t recall much from those separate experiences, let alone want to remember any from long ago. “yes, i think so. but it was like years since then, so it doesn’t matter.”

“what makes you say that? why did you stop yourself? are you going to be kissing girls when we go to that pride party next week?”

“i told you, y/n. it doesn’t matter. why are you even asking about this?”

you have another smile spread across, hands moving up and down tzuyu’s arm, causing a ripple effect of goosebumps rising on the crook of her neck. “i have something to ask you.”

when you pull your hands away, picking a cracker from the new stack you just opened, holding against tzuyu’s lips.

when tzuyu makes no move to open her mouth, your encourage her by nodding despite becoming more and more doting and impatient (which was on brand for your antics).

tzuyu merely holds it against her teeth, unwilling to take a bit nor choke on the bit after your request.

you take a deep breath, and twine your hands with hers, looking into her eyes steadily.

“i want you to kiss me.”

these several plus years of friendship that tzuyu will never get enough of, tired was also out of the question. nothing could’ve prepared her for the opportunity of hearing those words that deeply carve out one of the core instincts that she has been fighting to keep within.

the cracker falls out of tzuyu’s mouth.

you, on the other hand, face full of optimism and hope immediately replaced with frowns from the fallen cracker sitting on tzuyu’s lap, picking it up. your fingers brush against her hip bone, and tzuyu suppresses a gasp.

also, you’re oblivious to tzuyu’s inner crisis, looking at the cracker before biting it, in the same spot more than a third of the cracker is caught between your teeth.

“what are you saying?”

“i want you to kiss me.” you say, seriously, after chewing the last part of the cracker that will haunt tzuyu’s dreams for the coming decades.

“why?”

“do people need a reason to kiss each other, tzuyu?”

“when the people in the problem set are one’s best friends, then of course.”

you sigh, troubled. “fine,” you say, not willing to look up from where you fidget with the ripped wrapper of the cracker stack. “you got me. i have a date with a girl this weekend and i have never kissed a girl, ever. i want it to be good for her. you’ve kissed a girl, and i want you to assess me.”

“assess you?”

nodding to tzuyu’s question. “i want it to be good for her, tzu! besides, you’re one of the few people that i trust the most. i want you to kiss me and tell me how it is. now are you gonna help me?”

a few seconds of silence pass that the weight of it envelops every fabric and cell of their being, you begin to fiddle with the hem of your shirt, a habit that you procured in times of nervousness.

“forget it,” you say abruptly. “i know that sana has kissed girls before. i’ll ask her—”

“no!”

“no?”

“no,” tzuyu says, holding your face between her soft hands. “i’ll do it,” she says. “i’ll help you with this.”

—

you taste like a wintergreen mint.

tzuyu tilts her head up, one hand spread across the back of your neck, the other, holding your chin so that she can deepen the kiss, until tzuyu herself begins to taste the minty aroma and feel like stardust.

tzuyu also should’ve been keeping an open ear to the cautionary tune her heart laid out in front of her. her mind should’ve also said the same thing the way her brain racked the sole idea of kissing you for practice. nothing good would come out of this. you will kiss another girl sometime this weekend and many other girls after that, but tzuyu is weak and in love and can’t fathom not kissing you, not when you asked it yourself.

your arms are coiled around tzuyu’s long neck, pulling her closer than ever before, even though the meters between the two of you now are only separated by the thin layers of clothes. gently trailing her fingers from your chin to your neck and waist, tzuyu hauls you up until you settle on her lap.

the both of you break apart for a second, your eyes with a glint to them, dazed, glossy pink lips still parted, bodies molding together oh-so perfectly.

it was you who kissed tzuyu for the first time, so tzuyu takes it upon herself to press your forehead with hers, chasing your lips for more. the kiss itself is less frantic and more gentle, taking her time skimming her hands across your back, tilting your head towards her, trailing your hands every single spot possible in the hopes of grasping something. eventually, you fingers are in her hair, taking apart the ponytail and running your fingers through it again.

love me, tzuyu mouths out while she kisses you. love me, only me, no one else, just me.

tzuyu’s lips find your jaw, feathery kisses until she meets the fork where your ear and neck meet. you let out a small noise from the bottom of your throat and tzuyu wants to have it all, to revel in it, keep it close to herself in her heart for the eons of years to pass. she finds her way to your neck, and the idea of marking you, to show the mystery girl that you’ll see know that she was here first, and with the premonition that she’ll stay with you forever–

under the crook of your neck, in the palms of your hands, hooked on your ribs as if the set numbers were like lifelines; anywhere, wherever you see fit.

when you two finally break apart this time, you open your eyes, blinking rapidly to erase the remnants of the daze that was clouding the both of you, smiling softly that tzuyu thinks she’s in a dream. although, it wouldn’t be the first time that she’s dreamt something dangerously real, can’t accept the facts.

but your body is warm between tzuyu’s palms, floral scent draping all of her sense. you were as real as you can be. tzuyu feels nervous with the pricks

of sweat coating her neck, heart rate struggling to keep calm inside her chest, threatening to break free from the cages.

in her dreams, your eyes wouldn’t suddenly widen in disbelief, you wouldn’t clutch onto tzuyu’s shoulders, not willing to meet tzuyu’s eyes after that.

a block forms, tugging from the depths of tzuyu’s chest.

“y/n,” tzuyu asks, voice horse. “did i go too far?”

you snap your eyes towards tzuyu, in fact not meeting her eyes, rapidly shaking your head. “no, not at all.” you answer, tone shrill. “but a–, that was—was really good.”

finally meeting tzuyu’s eyes, your face swept in a vibrant pink.

“that was?”

you, in a flurry of sudden actions, pat tzuyu’s hair to flatten it, pinching her cheek, before breaking apart the bubble of a minty fulfilled dream that just happened a few seconds ago. “is that even a question?” you ask, licking your lips. “kissing girls is so different from kissing boys,” you say. “i liked this a lot. was it, um, w-was it good for you?”

“what are you talking about?” tzuyu laughs, seeing a smile on your face. “you’re a good kisses,” she says, trying to be as objective as she can. this was a test, an experiment after all. not an outcry of feelings. “you know what you’re doing, so it won’t be bad for you this weekend when you go. i’m sure of that.”

standing up, you pat down your shirt and sweatpants, saying, “okay good, i’m—i’m happy that it was good for you because it was good for me, clearly, and i–shoot—i should probably—”

you don’t spare tzuyu another glance, running off to your room, the slam of the door echoed through the walls.

tzuyu just sits there, back against the leg of the sofa, the half-eaten stack of crackers and empty glasses of water on the table, enthralling her attention as if they were people who just witnessed something out in public. her head hits the cushion behind her, clenching the scream wanting to be unleashed from inside her.

for the reminder of how reality works in this world, things will–not remain the same between her and you. the air was already heavy with tension, anchored with tzuyu’s feeling, suspended in time with the words captive in the nooks and cracks of her body.

tzuyu will have to learn how to live with the knowledge of how you taste, the small noises you make, the way your face shapes when her mouth is on yours, eyes closed as you chase tzuyu’s mouth like it was the last thing you had to do.

she doesn’t know how to recover from this information.

—

the two of you don’t talk about it.

few days pass, and tzuyu leaves her pottery class. you arrive a few hours after you were sure that tzuyu was asleep.

(she wasn’t asleep. in fact, she was waiting for you to come home. only able to fully rest when the sound of the door opening and closing, the soft sounds of your feet hitting the wood in and around the house.)

you and tzuyu have a thursday class together in music theory, sharing a shaken look between each other when the paths cross to the living room.

“you wanna leave together?” you ask, strangely nervous with a pensive look on your face.

tzuyu nods her head, and that was it.

you two don’t talk about it still, because there’s nothing to be discussed.

after dinner, tzuyu finds herself going along to being kissed by you again. more practice never hurt anybody, or anyone for that matter.

tzuyu slides in her bed with a heavy heat, lips aflame with the phantom stir of yours on them.

it’s okay, she thinks. it’s gonna be okay. i’ll be okay.

—

“you’re leaving?” tzuyu asks you on saturday, realizing in a manner that your date was today. a date, the whole reason you kissed tzuyu.

you look dashing, transcendent beyond existence. tzuyu loves you so much.

nervously, you start messing with the flimsy fabric of your dress pants, “i am,” you say, “did you want something?”

“no,” tzuyu lies, heart clogging her throat.

you take a step closer, breaking the bubble around tzuyu. “did you want to say something?”

“no,” tzuyu lies again, heart in her hands.

“okay then.” you say, “i’ll be going now.”

“okay.” tzuyu replies. “have fun on your date.”

something omniscient falls over the ever-constant glow on your face. “i will, i’m sure of it.”

tzuyu feels her pulse accelerate, hands clenching and unclenching in succession. there’s so much that she wants to blurt out. so much that will ruin the close friendship that she has with you. but being selfish isn’t the way to go, the risk that is carried by making her feelings your problems too.

it’ll be fine, tzuyu tells herself. this will pass too. she’s fine, she’s okay, she’s breathing—and if she keeps beating it down her being, maybe her heart won’t feel like it’s being trampled on.

everything will be okay, this will all work out in the end.

—

“something is wrong,” sana begins, eating her french fry, the same evening when she invites herself to tzuyu’s home with a bag of food and snacks. “you’re not okay.”

“everything is great!” tzuyu says, chasing down her words with half of a boba drink. “and, i am okay.”

sana’s eyes narrow suspiciously. “it’s not really you to lie in front of my face.”

“i need you to stop prying.”

“is it because y/n’s on that date right now?”

“sana, i’m fine.”

“shut up, it is, isn’t it?!”

“sana!”

“okay, i’ll stop,” sana says, raising her hands in surrender. “i believe you. everything is okay and you are doing fine.”

—

you don’t offer more information about your date other than just saying, “we should go watch that one movie together, tzuyu.”

tzuyu doesn’t even bother asking either.

two days after, you come bearing another tempting proposition that steals tzuyu’s breath away—literally.

“that one barista from the cafe we regularly go to asked me out,” you say, already straddling tzuyu’s lap. “i didn’t kiss that girl from saturday and i think i’m a little iffy about my–technique. can you help me with it again?”

tzuyu tears down the banners of doubts in her mind, providing her mouth pressing against yours, feeling like the can finally breath now after not being able to for so long.

she doesn’t bother asking you about it, again.

—

more and more kisses are being shared in the days leading up to your date. always in the evening, an hour before going to bed.

tzuyu finds out all the different ways in which you like being kissed. even though an unspoken boundary between them is crossed past the point of rational thinking. she finds herself putting up a boundary before it becomes all too much, too fast. like her soul feels like it’s being robbed of once those walls are up, but it’s okay.

tzuyu tells herself that it’s okay. she will live through this.

she’s fine, and everything’s gonna be okay.

—

when you come back from the date, drunk, the sleep is immediately left from tzuyu’s body, and she’s alert, awake on the sofa. she puts her book and the small blanket back in their places, walking over to help you remove your shoes and find your way back into the house.

you look at tzuyu with a blearily smile, holding onto her waist tightly. “hi,” you say, grinning.

“hi,” tzuyu greets back, holding onto you as you’re sliding on the floor, head lolling back on the head of the sofa. “are you alright?”

“amazing!” you answer, giddy.

“how was your date?”

tzuyu blinks one eye open, grinning sarcastically. “oh? you didn’t ask me how it went the last time. this is a sign.”

“you didn’t tell me anything either,” tzuyu also points out.

you sigh, slumping your head on tzuyu’s toned shoulder. “true,” you mumble. “i guess it was okay.”

“just okay?”

tzuyu feels you nodding your head. “i am so tired, tzu!” you whine, nudging your head closer. tzuyu suppresses a shudder as she feels your eyelids fluter closed against her neck. “i’m gonna fall asleep right here, okay?”

“that’s okay,” tzuyu says, pressing her fingertips into your scalp, just the way that you like it.

“you’re the best,” you mumble again, sounding half-asleep. “do you know that? you’re the very best, tzu.”

tzuyu doesn’t know how to respond without revealing the very depth of everything she feels about you.

“i guess,” your whisper is like a knife through the curtain of silence between the two of you. “i guess the problem is that no one is you. they don’t kiss the way that you do.”

tzuyu’s heart stops. “y/n, what do you mean?”

…

“y/n?”

…

a lack of a reply prompts tzuyu to thread her fingers through your hair, gently tapping your shoulder. “y/n.” she softly calls. “don’t you know to not say things like this to me?” she whispers too, confident that you were asleep. your breath steady, head heavy.

you mumble something closely incoherent, and your head sags into tzuyu’s chest.

despite the tumultuous beat of her heart, tzuyu finds herself smiling, as she cradles your head, hoping that laying on her lap would be more comfortable for you, and drapes the blanket over your legs.

“that’s the issue with me, too.” tzuyu says while palming your hair. “i guess i stopped kissing other people because they weren’t you. i wish i could stop looking for you in every person that i meet.”

—

it’s not like tzuyu was not aware of the happy hour event that’s regularly held at that one bar that the friend group usually ends up in at a night like this, but it’s just that she didn’t care enough about it, especially after living for about three months in a new city.

two days after you realized that you were bisexual, you looked at the poster that announced the party for the lgbtq community happening on a friday night well off into the new semester with a newfound excitement. “we should go here!” you shrieked while pointing at the poster. “i didn’t even know that this was a thing.”

“it’s a thing alright,” tzuyu answers, resigning herself to the fate of ending up at that party, especially a few weeks before happening.

“have you ever been to a party like this?”

“not a lot, but a few.” tzuyu replies. “they’re interesting.” and unfamiliar, because they’re loud and crowded. the heavy bass of music blasting through the speakers, making her heart match to the beat of the rhythm.

“well, you should show me around then!” you had said, and that was it.

now, about a little over three weeks or so after tzuyu first made out with her best friend only to help you practice for dates with people that weren’t tzuyu, standing in front of the said best friend, trying to obviously leer at your appearance.

you were wearing a white crop top shirt with ripped jeans layered with a black leather jacket. this outfit in particular had been printed in tzuyu’s brain since she saw you wear it for the first time—and a one piece dress

you catch tzuyu looking and wink. “what? i look good, don’t i?”

‘good’ doesn’t even begin to cover it, but tzuyu nods, nonetheless.

bounding up with tzuyu, arms interlocked together. “thank you!” you exclaim. “you have to look great too! when did you buy this blouse?” you ask, gesturing at tzuyu’s outfit. “i have to borrow it one day,” you say, as you make your way outside the house, head resting on tzuyu’s shoulder.

“okay,” tzuyu readily agrees despite it being her favorite blouse and your tendency to not return her clothes after ‘borrowing’ them.

the club is crowded by the time you reach there—full of people that tzuyu recognizes the way gay people tend to recognize each other across the campus, and those she does not.

your face is set with an ever-present grin, taking in the clamour and infecting excitement of energy that’s radiating of all the people here. all eyes were on you and you just seem to bask in it, but your eyes were on tzuyu. there’s a low glo to you. the only person glowing in a sea of people. tzuyu is so in love with you that it aches, it aches, and it aches.

“let’s dance!” you yell over the sound of the booming music.

tzuyu is pulled into your arms the minute she agrees to it. sinking into your arms as though she always belonged there should be weird, tzuyu thinks. it’s supposed to be weird, especially because you and her couldn’t even look at each other until a few days ago, until you came back home drunk and slept on tzuyu’s lap.

but it isn’t. this feels as natural as breathing, normal like your heart beating, the sun rising, the world turning painstakingly slow.

colorful lights dance on your face as you pull tzuyu close, hands curling around her neck. tzuyu, helplessly in love, holding you by the waist and sways with some sense of rhythm to the music.

you pull tzuyu closer, so that her ear is met with your lips. “is this how it always is?”

“i think so,” tzuyu replies. save for a few strobe lights, the night seems the same as it always does. it must feel different for you though. “how do you feel?” tzuyu asks, resting her chin on your shoulder.

“good!” you cheer. “like, i didn’t even know that there were so many of us here! i truly believed that it would be less crowded. in fact, it is more.”

tzuyu nods, clutching her hands tighter around your waist.

you sway and dance together, sometimes following the rhythm of the songs blasting out of the subwoofers, and the other times creating your own rhythm entirely, but that doesn’t matter.

what matters to tzuyu—at this moment and all the others that have happened and will—is this; your bright smile reserved only for her, your warm hands around hers, your feet falling in step with her, your laughter when you dip down into her, or the high pitched call of her name that makes her twirl in her mind, the gaze fixated on her lips, the grasp on her heart: for now and always forever (in hope) will be you. and only you.

you and tzuyu break apart when you loudly demand that you’re thirsty and need a drink. tzuyu, helpless to do anything else, clutches your hand and makes you follow, even though she can’t wade through the crowd of strangers by the bar.

tzuyu is grateful that the thump of the music in this area is a lot less, deciding on standing a few feet away, looking at you valiantly finding her way towards the bartender, jumping only when she feels a tap against her shoulder.

elkie, one of the other friends that tzuyu is very familiar with, perhaps a year her senior, stands across her with a broad smile on her lips.

“it’s been so long since i saw you here,” she says, stepping closer. “how are you doing?”

“good,” tzuyu replies with a smile. “how bout you?”

the music picks up in volume where they are, causing them to stand closer which isn’t entirely ideal, but it’s alright. elkie is good company, and tzuyu doesn’t mind.

“are you looking for someone?” elkie asks, when she notices tzuyu look into the crowd of people at the bar station trying to see someone in a black leather jacket. “do you want me to help you find them?”

“just my friend.” tzuyu replies, turning towards elkie. “she went in to get drinks for us and hasn’t come out yet.”

elkie laughs. “she’ll come back, i’m sure. but tell me about you, tzuyu. are you dating someone?”

tzuyu darts her eyes away from elkie. “i’m not actually, no.”

elkie eyes brighten. “well, if that’s the case, call me if you want? you do have my number, right?”

tzuyu blinks, before the realization dawns on her. “oh,” she says. “no.” she replies, turning towards elkie.

“elkie, i—”

elkie’s eyes widen with an understanding. “ah, you’re not seeing someone, but you do like someone,” she infers. tzuyu doesn’t say anything, only turning sideways to the crowd in which you have disappeared to. “yeah,” she replies, looking back at elkie.

she nods, gently holding tzuyu’s shoulders. “i get that,” elkie says. “i hope you figure it out, whatever that may be.”

“thank you.”

elkie smiles back, and plants a kiss on the corner of tzuyu’s mouth. “i think i saw someone i didn’t want to see, so i’m gonna run now,” she says. “don’t be a stranger, okay? let’s meet up for some lunch sometime—as friends, of course.”

tzuyu smiles, patting her back neatly. “i will.”

elkie excuses herself, walking swiftly past tzuyu, vanishing into the crowd.

out of a bad habit set in the last fifteen minutes or so, tzuyu looks sideways to the crowd that you had ventured into, only to meet your distraught face.

your face even turns furious when tzuyu meetes your eyes, but the undercurrent of hurt is open and raw. tzuyu instantly takes a step forward by instinct, wondering what caused it, relizing that you must’ve seen elkie kissing her cheek for this anger to be directed at tzuyu. but it shouldn’t bother you as much as it did—because why would it, it’s not like you to be jealous, because that would imply that you like—

huh.

“you were here with me.” you shout over the music, steamrolling over close enough for tzuyu to see the shimmer on your skin. “we came here together.”

“y/n—”

“if you dont’ like me back,” you start, shoulders dipping down in defeat.

well, shit.

tzuyu’s body breaks at that.

“if you don’t like me back, then just say it instead of making me witness whatever the hell i just saw,” you say, drinking the entirety of the fizzy orange behemoth of a drink that was in your hand in one swig, and slamming tzuyu’s shot glass on the table.

—

tzuyu finds you leaning against someone’s car, staring up at the sky.

she wordlessly covers your exposed shirt with the leather jacket you dropped on the way out of the club.

“that was elkie,” tzuyu breaks the silence. “she’s one of the few people that i know from coming to these parties. i guess we somewhat keep in touch now. we don’t like each other romantically. never, no.”

you blink, while looking at her, nodding while fixing your leather jacket to fit it more better on your shoulders.

“tzuyu,” you say. “what i said before—”

“is it true? tzuyu asks, urgency seeping in her words by the millisecond. “do you truly like me?”

you look at tzuyu, broken. “i wore this outfit for you,” you say again. “i hate stiff leather.”

tzuyu looks at you again, out of depth completely.

“i hate this jacket but i love the way you look at me when i wear it. so i wore it today, with you. the only person i could see in this crowd today was you, tzuyu,” you say. “i came up with a silly, stupid excuse to kiss you. so you tell me if what i said was true or not.”

“a stupid excuse?”

“i didn’t have any dates,” you laugh without levity. “i had people asking me out, yes, but i couldn’t agree because they’re not you, tzuyu. the only person i want to go on a date with. the only person i want to kiss and be kissed is by you. so i lied to your face and told you that i wanted to practice. i made up with a terrible excuse to kiss you that doesn’t even make sense because i thought you could, maybe like me back too! and it really felt like you did, but then i see that and-”

“i like you.”

you stop your train of thought from the sentence that just came out of tzuyu’s lips. “what did you say?”

“i like you too,” tzuyu says, as rushed as she could say. “i like you so much. so, so much. it’s—”

“you…what!?” you jolt with unbridled astonishment, crying, turning to grab tzuyu by the shoulders.

“why do you think i kept kissing you?” tzuyu asks with ardor. “i liked you too much to say no. i just—i couldn’t. and i wanted to go on dates with you and kiss you without having a reason, but i just couldn’t.”

a bitter laugh leaves your lips, head hung down while you kick your sneakers into the asphalt.

“you could—you could have,” you say, nodding in fervor. “you could have. i really, really wanted you to.”

“i just didn’t know,” tzuyu says, regretfully, cupping your face. “and i’m sorry that i didn’t.”

your eyes flutter shut. “well, you do now.” you say. “you know that i like you. i like you so, so much, tzu.”

“you know that i like you too. so, so much.”

your eyes open again, teasing a glint quite apparent. “so, what are you going to do with this information, then?” you ask.

tzuyu, with her heart fluttering endlessly in her chest, brings you closer. with eyes closed, you meet tzuyu in the middle.

you taste like beer, candy blossoms, and heaven. you taste like everything that tzuyu wanted, everything that tzuyu could ever want or need in her life.

i love you, tzuyu mouths into yours as she kisses you. i love you, love you, love you.

when you eventually break apart, a smile sprays across your lips, leaning in close, foreheads pressed together, one of tzuyu’s hands on your chest, right where the heart is patting frantically. “i love you, tzu.”

another kiss is shared again, this time more slowly as the both of you took in the taste of exchanging lips, not wanting to ever pull away. it’s just you and tzuyu, entrapped in that silly little world that you and her have built around for so many years, now elevated to a new echelon.

chou tzuyu doesn't like idiots.

but there was something about being with you as an idiot that makes it tolerable to deal with, and she doesn't mind that.

brushing your lips against tzuyu’s, you’re giggling and she follows.

“i’ll embrace you like this, forever.”

#twice x reader #kpop x reader #hyunie #twice imagines #tzuyu imagines #twice tzuyu #chou tzuyu #tzuyu x reader #twice fluff #tzuyu fluff #chou tzuyu x reader

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kuromochimi · 4 months

Text

Of weddings and what ifs

sakusa kiyoomi x wedding organizer f!reader

♡ You loved your job and the joy of being able to bring to life the weddings that couples could only dream of, before they had met you. The only downside to it was that your job sometimes reminded you of a certain ex fiancé. Fortunately, he hasn’t made an appearance in your life since you broke the engagement off. But with the red string of fate connecting you and your ex fiancé not being totally severed yet, it was only a matter of time before it brought you back into each other’s lives. Only this time, he’s tied to another.

Content Warnings: ONE SHOT, angst, little fluff and comfort, no closure break ups, not proof read, a small hint for an open ending, lmk if I missed any!

With the final arrangements settled, you finally felt free enough to take a breath and appreciate the (once again) perfect event you’d managed to organize. It was exhausting to say the least, but the happy couples who would often tear up out of joy while thanking you? Yes, it was definitely worth it. And it was a job that paid fairly well too. Moments after you’ve had the time to look around the venue, a notification from your phone caught your attention. It was a notice from your secretary about new clients. She reminded you that you had to meet them the following day. You then made sure to set up alarms and reminders as you were sure you would oversleep otherwise, after all, the current event would definitely last til the late hours. And that it did.

The following day, you tried your best to make yourself look freshened up and awake. You arrived at the meeting place quite early. You double checked all the files and documents which you might need. Thankfully, not long after you finished fixing your papers, the client arrived. She approached gently before speaking “Hi! I’m keiko. You’re yn, right? I saw your picture on the pamphlet” she smiled shyly. You noticed just how soft spoken and beautiful this lady was. She definitely has that “soon to be married” glow. “Hello, yes! It’s me. I’m glad to finally meet you, keiko!” You stood up to shake her hand. You both settled down after the introductions. “Will it be just you for today?” You asked her before you started discussing anything. “Oh my fiancé will be here soon. He just suddenly had to run an errand for his mom. He’s..” she grabbed her phone to check on something, probably a message. “Oh he’s just parking his car now” you gave a nod of acknowledgment at that. With your seat facing the entrance, you could clearly see the people who walked in and out of the cafe. Which meant that when sakusa kiyoomi walked in, your eyes immediately gravitated towards him. He started looking around, eyes landing on you. Or at least you thought they did, before keiko looked back from her seat, immediately getting up to hug sakusa once she was made aware of his presence. She guided the man back to your table. You tried your best to mask whatever feeling was forcing its way out of you. “Yn, this is my fiancé. You can just call him k-“ . “sakusa, you can call me sakusa” he cut her off. Keiko was a bit taken aback by her fiancé’s interruption but she was quick to ward off the confusion. While the discussion went on, you couldn’t help but feel anxious and even more tired. You weren’t sure if it was because of last night’s event execution or if it was because in front of you was your ex-fiancé, asking you to organize his wedding. The fiancé who was too busy for wedding planning. The fiancé who thought he couldn’t give you what you deserved. The fiancé who left.

The world felt like it was nothing but air. You couldn’t feel much at all and you were probably only functioning out of pure muscle memory acquired from all the times you’ve done this pre-planning orientation for engaged couples. Your consciousness was jolted awake when keiko stood up. “Yn I’m really sorry but I’m being called in for work. One of my patients had an emergency. Please just settle the rest with kiyoomi, I’ll see you again soon!” She hurriedly left. Her absence immediately making way for the awkward silence filled with all of the unspoken thoughts you and sakusa tried to keep in for the last hour or so.

“I’m sorry”. The words felt unreal. They felt empty, and fake though you were sure kiyoomi would never say something he didn’t mean. “What are you sorry for, sakusa?” He visibly flinched at the name he suggested you called him by, not even an hour ago. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be.. all this for you” the moment made your ring finger feel heavy despite the absence of the ring that used to wrap itself around it.

His words brought you back to the day he left after he’d had enough of your complaints about having to plan the wedding all by yourself. He was starting off as a doctor back then, a new resident who wanted to do all that he could to establish his career. You were both fairly young back then, which was probably why you both thought getting married at that point of your lives was surreal. For some, maybe it was so. But for you two? Apparently not. Because not long after he proposed, he soon found that the demands of being a surgical resident wasn’t something to take lightly. While you were also working, you never failed to make time for wedding planning. Of course, you knew that his schedule was much more taxing than yours but it still pained you to make invitations on your own, taste test cakes by yourself. “I want whatever you want” was what he’d said as compensation for his absence. But when you were trying on dresses and you looked at yourself in the mirror gown and all, the weight of keeping everything in came crashing down because “he should be here” was all you could think. Sakusa wasn’t superstitious so he certainly wouldn’t give a fuck about seeing you in your wedding dress before the wedding day. Heck, he even said he’d love to pick one out with you. But he wasn’t with you. So when he came home from work, tired and not thinking straight, he was met with your equally tired looking figure, sitting on the couch, crying. He didn’t even get a word out before you spoke your mind and while he did understand, he didn’t have the energy to argue further. Because in his head, you should’ve understood why he couldn’t be there. And even when you both reconciled that night, nothing had changed. The same cycle continued until neither of you found enough reason to keep the promise of getting married. Though you wished he would’ve at least said goodbye instead of leaving a shitty sorry note on top of your counter, along with the apartment keys.

“It’s fine. Let’s just forget about it” you tried your best to sound sincere but you couldn’t exactly lie your way out of a confrontation with someone with whom you literally intended to spend the rest of your life with at some point in time. “Do you.. do you want me to find another planner? I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was gonna be you, yn. I promise I never intended to-“ he stops as you held your hand up to signal your request for silence. “Sakusa, it’s fine. Like I said, let’s just forget about it. I promise not to let what happened get in the way of your wedding planning.” The day went by very slowly, both you and kiyoomi moving and speaking like virtual characters merely accomplishing tasks assigned to them. “Well, that’s about it. Please let your fiancé know about the details she missed and… congratulations for the engagement” you chimed before briskly walking out of the cafe where sakusa was left dumbfounded and extremely confused as to how he was going to address this wild turn of events.

Throughout the planning, you’ve come to learn that keiko was an amazing person. She was passionate about her work advocacies, she was kind and soft spoken, extremely understanding, and though you didn’t mean to have such thoughts, whenever she spoke of kiyoomi, you never seem to miss the times she’d tell stories about how busy the man was and that she understood him anyway. Because she loved him. Because she was the same way sometimes. Something you weren’t able to do for him during such a challenging time in his life. It caused conflict in your heart to learn all of those things. Because it warmed your heart to see such a happy bride to be. She radiated happiness and everything in between whenever she was with kiyoomi and kiyoomi looked at ease whenever he was with her and that’s something because kiyoomi rarely looked at ease. They were happy but as much as you wanted to take that happiness as a sign to let your hurt go, it just didn’t work that way. To be quite frank, until now, you still harbored a little (or more) hurt from the fact that someone you had initially agreed to marry, was capable of leaving you without even saying it to your face. Before you came home to an empty apartment with his goodbye note, you were even going to propose the idea that maybe you guys should just postpone the wedding and maybe wait for things to settle in before you resume planning. Instead, you were met with your ex-fiancé’s absence. His clothes missing from the closet, medical books out of the shelves, even his favorite mug was nowhere to be found. It was as if only the note he left behind could serve as proof that you were once in a relationship with him. You tried contacting his family and closest friends but most of them ignored your calls and those of them who answered obviously tried their best to dodge answering your questions. You were at your lowest then. You took a long leave from work, barely ate, barely showered, was often sick, and would constantly wonder how things could have been had you just kept your mouth shut instead of nagging a tired kiyoomi.

It wasn’t helping that you were thinking about all of this a few minutes before the couple’s consultation with you. The wedding was moving closer and closer and you’ve been spending more and more time with them and it still honestly feels like the world is caving in every single time. It’s an unexplainable feeling. You wanted nothing more than to see them get married, sincerely congratulate the couple, let go of all that’s been bugging you in the past, and finally move on with your life, something you haven’t been able to do since you and kiyoomi broke things off. Your thoughts were cut short when someone entered your office. It was keiko and she was alone. “Yn? Hi, I just wanted to talk to you real quick” “quick? but we have so much to do” she smiles gently before taking a seat across your desk. “I don’t know how else to put it but… I know about you and kiyoomi. I didn’t know when I first met you but he told me everything and I just want to tell you that it’s okay if you want to talk to him about it. You both need it, yn. I know it’s none of my business but I hope you think about it. Don’t worry, I understand.” Ah. You see it. This is the woman he fell in love with. This was the woman worth the change and this was the woman able to match him perfectly. There’s no fighting that. “Keiko I don’t know, you don’t have to” she softly reached for your hand to hold it in both of hers. “You deserve an explanation, yn. Kiyoomi might have changed since then but I’m not about to marry someone who’s able to leave someone just like that. If you feel like you don’t need to speak with him, I respect that. But if you want to talk to him, let him know, it’s okay, don’t worry about me.”

You took up the offer. Maybe if keiko didn’t come up to you to say that it was okay to look for closure, you would have spent the rest of your life swallowing your need for an explanation from your ex.

“Thank you for agreeing to talk, yn.” You only gave him a light nod as you looked far into the expanse of trees ahead. View from where you were seated at a nice private little cafe. “Kiyoomi I just want to know. Why did you leave like that?” With fidgety hands, you tried to calm down. “I just felt like I didn’t deserve you anymore. I hurt you after I asked you to marry me. I didn’t deserve that ‘yes’ anymore” after a nod, you responded “So you just? Wrote a note then dipped? Kiyoomi I still wanted to marry you then. I was going to postpone it but I still wanted to marry you.” He knew that. “It’s exactly why I left. Because you still wanted to marry me even after what I did. I didn’t deserve you anymore.” “Kiyoomi, for the longest time, I wanted to tell you that I was willing to wait for you and that I was sorry for nagging you that day. Then I was obsessed with trying to find out which one of us was at fault. I wanted someone to be at fault because how does it happen that two people love each other so much but still end up separating just like that? But it’s been a while now and I think… I think maybe we should forgive each other now. I honestly felt bitter lots of times even til only recently but seeing you with keiko.. she’s a great girl and she deserves all the happiness. We should close this part of our lives now, shouldn’t we?” Kiyoomi stood up and you thought he was about to walk out but he pulled your arm to get you to stand up before he gave you a tight, warm, and sincere hug. One unlike any other he had given before. It wasn’t an I missed you hug but not a goodbye one either. It was one of acceptance and peace. Though it didn’t feel familiar, none of his embraces have felt as warm as this one. After pulling away from the hug, you grabbed your purse, as you got ready to leave. “Omi, I sincerely wish you and keiko the best” this time, you said it with utmost sincerity.

Wedding day

With flowers and good food and genuine smiles, the wedding went by without a hitch. Much to your relief. You decided to stay a little but longer for the reception, snack on a fee things before leaving. With a glass of champagne in one hand and your purse in the other, you walked around the venue, checking on things here and there. Well, not until someone bumped into you knocking the glass of champagne off your hand, spilling champagne on your dress, shattering the glass on the pavement, and causing you to fall on your bum all at once. “Hey, you okay? Come here” the tall man gently guided you to stand up. He immediately removed his coat to wrap it around your frame to hide at least a little bit of the stain. “You hurt anywhere?” It took a while for you to respond. “Oh- oh yeah I’m okay, no worries, sir” “it’s Suna. Suna Rintaro”

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu!!#haikyuu angst #sakusa angst #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa x reader #sakusa kiyoomi

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katesharmas · 3 months

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at this point it almost feels like joe alwyn was the one kept locked away for 6 years because the man couldn't fill up his car or get a haircut without getting stalked. the photos coming out now are at events where he has an opportunity to know it's coming, select his clothing and styling, wear a pin representing a cause that's important to him. he has control of his appearances now instead of gritting his teeth during pap walks for backgrid.

we know how ts feels when she feels the narrative is being pulled out of her control ("gaslit by an entire system"). a sense of control over one's own life seems essential for sanity and i don't think it's fair for people to gloss over the part where she agreed to the level of privacy he needed and publicly endorsed it during some of her media statements made during the relationship (which i applaud for being unusually restrained and mature at the time). extreme extroverts and extreme introverts can try to make it work but neither is wrong if it doesn't work (if the breakdown is specifically about that difference between them) and it's kinda crappy to couch it in terms of "being locked away" now. especially since some of the locking away was due to a global pandemic.

joe alwyn wasn't on my radar for most of the 6 years except 1) i felt her music entered a new era of relationship contentment and grown up sensuality that reflected late 20s/early 30s womanhood and then transitioned into a more literary set of albums (folkmore) that had a broader focus thematically and 2) i heard little about him and there was effectively zero romantic drama for 5 full years. what a break for her (and us!).

now i'm more impressed by him than ever. he's quiet in the wake of it all, focuses on his industry commitments and the work he's doing, and absolutely glows with newfound relaxed joy. i absolutely do not think women shouldn't be entitled to have strong, deep emotions and write about those experiences. her work is perhaps the strongest ever in terms of conveying a feminine quixotic, idealized romantic viewpoint and then the flipside of idealizing (it's giving BPD!!!) which is devaluation/disillusionment/disenchantment, resentment, feelings of being deceived or let down ("maybe this thing was a masterpiece 'til you tore it all up" being the early and best example).

the way joe has handled this, though, has made his status in my mind go from "just some guy" to an example of stability and fortitude that interests me. I personally believe that not publicly suffering is not necessarily a sign of callous lack of empathy - sometimes it means maturity and perspective. sw*fties harassing her exes want/ed to see a public mea culpa/punishment/expression of suffering that they feel equals their idols' - it's giving fatal attraction from those fans. maybe we don't need our past partners to suffer. maybe processing feelings involves personal reflection and doesn't require another party.

i'll leave off with this to support idealization/devaluation (the classic bpd trend):

Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes

'Cause I can't help it if you look like an angel

Say you're sorry, that face of an angel

And I damn sure would've never danced with the devil

Dear reader, when you aim at the devil

He looks up, grinning like a devil

#anti taylor swift #free joe alwyn

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astyrial · 4 months

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ogling over onigiri osamu miya x fem!reader (fluff) synopsis: osamu is short staffed and luckily for him, atsumu knows someone who can cook word count: 1.4k warnings: mentions of food and cooking masterlist | requests are open

"this is my kitchen, and i don't know her. so unless you have some magical thing that'll convince me to let her work in my kitchen, then no," osamu throws a hand towel over his shoulder, hands moving to rest on his hips.

atsumu leans against the entrance of onigiri miya's kitchen, arms crossed. the kitchen is practically empty due to half of the people calling out sick. people are lining up outside due to a tweet that atsumu regrettably sent out advertising a new dish and his appearance. however, none of that happens to be the magic thing that'll convince osamu to let someone into his kitchen on an early saturday morning.

atsumu looks back at the curtained windows, all of the legs behind it. despite his squabbles with his brother, he doesn't want to be the one who helps tank his business. "well, i know someone who used to be a sous chef. she cooked for the team some meal plans sometimes. i think she could have the day off-"

"you're going to call some woman on her day off and ask her to cook for my business? you can't just do that!"

"she loves to cook, really, she'll be here in no time. trust me, she's the best chef out there right now. plus you need another cook, and i don't think you want me helping," atsumu stands up straight, reaching for his phone in his back jean pocket.

osamu purses his lips while rolling his eyes. of course he needs the help, he has the past few days. but to request someone to come work on such a busy day feels wrong, inappropriate. "just tell her that she absolutely doesn't need to, and we're okay if she doesn't want to. i don't want you pressuring anyone," osamu was always stubborn, but even more so when he's affecting someone he hardly knows.

before a sudden realization that this is completely wrong and he shouldn't be doing this, his brother is already in the other room on the phone with you. osamu certainly can't hear your end of the phone call. however, he can hear the 'thank you's' leaving atsumu's lips. meaning that some random chef that he has never met likely took atsumu up on his offer.

"she's getting ready now, you have twenty more minutes til you open. so, i'll let her through the back door while you work," atsumu stuffs his phone back into his pocket, looking over at his brother.

it's hard for the two to get along, usually they'd be fighting tooth and nail right now. however, there's something in the air causing a civil conversation. the two immediately start getting the kitchen prepped (which means atsumu cracking jokes while osamu has one of the cashier workers help).

osamu starts up some rice on a zojirushi machine, washing and cutting up some vegetables. time was ticking down as atsumu gave you the address, telling you that the shop would open in five minutes. he looks back at atsumu, not knowing what he would do if you couldn't make it. a part of him feels bad for taking you away from your day off, but the rest of him is just happy to have a helping hand.

luckily for him, this helping hand knocked on the back door, the sound feeling like music to osamu's ears. "i got it!" atsumu announces over the noise of people entering the front of the shop.

the sound of someone opening the back door and saying hello to atsumu brings his head up. he sets his knife down, hands on the prepping station. you come walking into the kitchen, atsumu quickly following behind. his eyes meet yours and for a second the world stops. every ounce of anxiety from the day washes away as you give him a soft smile.

"you must be osamu? well miya, if you're more comfortable with that. my name is l/n y/n, if atsumu hasn't told you already," you reach out your hand to shake his, only to move it back quickly once you realize that you need to wash your hands.

osamu's mouth hangs slightly open, just so that you could see the bottom of his top row of teeth. he's mesmerized, even if he won't admit it himself, "he hasn't- and osamu's fine. it's nice to meet you l/n, i'm sorry for pulling you out here on your day off. it's completely unacceptable and if i could repay somehow with dinner or something-"

you shake your head, looking around the room for a second before finding the sink. as you're turned around, making sure that you're ready to make food, atsumu is slapping his brother's shoulder. he raises his eyebrows a couple times, giving him a quick wink. before you could turn around, atsumu whispers something about dinner.

"did you say something?" you ponder, turning your attention to the brothers as you dry your hands.

"he was just asking if you knew how to make certain types of onigiri, because of your experience," osamu gives his brother a glare, trying to hide it as he looks back at you.

you grab an apron off of his wall and begin tying it around yourself. "yes, known since i was ten. i used to make them for the team with brown rice and miso beef, because of the digestive health benefits. however, white or jasmine are always preferable," an even warming smile spreads across your lips, making your way over to the workstation beside osamu.

before either of you could say anything else, the first order has come through. it's oyakodon, a rice meal with chicken and egg. you've made it hundreds of times as a sous chef and it's a fairly easy process once you get the hang of it. a screen displays the food choice in front of you, leaving you to look over at osamu, a little nervous.

"i assume you store your chicken in the fridge?"

"yeah- sorry, usually people are stationed in different areas to work on certain things but with everyone out-"

"it's fine, i've worked in stickier situations before," you take a look around the room and start off towards the fridge, eyes peering for the stovetop next.

osamu looks off at you, heart beating quickly. he takes in a deep breath and watches as the next order comes through. it's an onigiri, salmon in the middle, a rather simple recipe. despite his wandering eyes to where you're prepping your food, he attempts to keep his mind set on the food in front of him.

the first few orders were rather simple for osamu, mostly onigiri and sushi. your oyakodon being the most complicated thing of that morning. it's clear your good at what you do, even if your working in a completely different environment.

he peaks over at you as you let out a slight hum in your voice to the music playing over the speakers. you're swaying a little as you add part of the egg mixture to the pan. if it weren't for the circumstances, a part of osamu knows that he'd ask about dinner again. he'd lean against some counter and cross his arms in front of his chest, give you a soft smile that you can't say no to.

"osamu, you almost done with that?"

he looks up from you, over to one of the cashiers staring him down, "yeah, finishing up now!"

after that, he begins to focus more on his work. only looking over at you as he waits for another order to come in. sometimes you'll inquire about something, where something may be or what spices to add. you're a harder worker than he could've expected from someone he's never met (especially someone that atsumu is so close with). the way you get things accomplished making him even more attracted.

"l/n, you're doing great, thanks for helping today," osamu mentions as the lunch rush dies down to just a few people, atsumu's influence having ended.

you look over at him, wiping your hands against the apron, a soft smile lining your lips. even after working hours in a hot, stuffy kitchen, there's a beauty to you that osamu's never seen. "well, if i'm calling you osamu, then it's only fair you call me y/n. plus, i'd love dinner if your request was genuine," you place on hand on your hip, eyebrows raised.

osamu nods, "well- y/n, it most definitely was genuine. what do you feel like eating?"

"i think onigiri would be delicious for dinner."

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fanfic #osamu miya x reader #miya osamu x reader #osamu miya #miya osamu #chef au

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procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics · 11 months

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Vikings (TV) Masterlist

my requests for vikings are currently partially OPEN! please only request imagines, and not oneshots. for those waiting for a continuation of ‘searching home’ or ‘unexpected’ i am so sorry... finishing those two is going to take me a while :/

hmu/msg me to be added to a taglist!

main masterlist | request guidelines

heorte til heorte

(msg me to be added to the taglist!)

relationship: athelstan x alethia stahl (oc) | summary: alethia wanted to go home, to return to her family. instead, she finds herself in ninth-century england. not speaking the language, and still processing the grief of her other life, she searches for an anchor - athelstan. | tags: angst, fluff, timetravel

masterlist | preview | read on ao3

No romantic relationships // character x character

Queendom - relationship: Lagertha x Aslaug | summary: They’ve both loved and they’ve both lost. Perhaps it was time that their hearts warmed again. | tags: angst, fluff

The Lothbroks, aka, the European version of the Kardashians - relationships: none | summary: When Barbie Murray time travels, she finds out that pink isn’t available in Viking times. Luckily, her new besties all understand that boobs are the best and slay (literally?!) with her. | tags: crack, fluff, timetravel

I may be a bimbo, but I’m not stupid - relationships: slight oc/ oc | summary: Ivar kills Sigurd in a fit of rage, but Barbie isn't so quick to forgive cruelness. | tags: angst, crack, timetravel

1st gen Vikings

Strange Woman relationship: Rollo x timetraveler!reader | summary: The woman that appeared out of nowhere could be oh so dangerous, but even a stupid man would know that she was fascinating. | tags: fluff, timetravel

Friend of Thor - relationship: rollo x timetraveler!asgardian!reader | summary: The reader, a fellow Asgardian and friend of Thor and the new King of Asgard, Brunnhilde, falls through worlds as the new guardian of the Bifrost tampers with the magic. | tags: crack, fluff, timetravel

And the Gods wished they were me - relationship: Judith x viking!gn!reader | summary: Judith knows she should not mourn Athelstan. Nor should she even look at Norse heathens. She does both anyway, because Judith was named after a woman that had only rage and death, and she cannot escape her fate. | tags: angst, fluff

Ubbe Ragnarsson

Another day / part 2 - relationship: Ubbe x reader | prompt: we live to fight another day. | tags: angst

Oldest - relationship: Ubbe x timetraveler!reader; platonic!Ivar x reader | summary: It seems that few things change about being the oldest sibling, no matter which place – or time | tags: fluff, timetravel, slight angst

Yggdrasil relationship: Ubbe x reader; platonic!Ivar x reader; dad!Harald x reader | summary: How can you tell your father what happened to you when he’d done it to so many others. | tags: angst, dark/gory

Hvitserk 'Whiteshirt' Ragnarsson

Hvitserksdottir - relationship: Hvitserk x reader | prompt: “I think we need to talk about the fact that I’m in love with you and also that I’m pregnant.” | tags: angst, fluff

Floki’s Cabin - relationship: Hvitserk x reader | prompt: “Just trust me. Please. | tags: angst

Searching Home / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 - relationships: Hvitserk x reader; Ivar x reader | summary: When you stumble upon the ancient Spanish city of Algeciras, it takes you some time to realize that you’ve traveled through time. While that is terrible luck, a merchant couple takes you in. But your peace only lasts so long. | tags: angst, fluff, dark/gory, timetravel

Neither - relationship: genderfluid!reader x Hvitserk | Summary: Hvitserk finds out about genderfluidity and accepts he might not be completely straight | tags: fluff, timetravel

Law of conservation - relationship: Hvitserk x reader | summary: You’ve been working as a tutor at your high school for about a year now. When your parents throw a barbecue party for your new neighbors, their mother Aslaug asks you to tutor her son Hvitserk, who is already a notorious flirt at his school. | tags: fluff

Sandcastles - relationship: platonic!hvitserk x timetraveler!reader | summary: reader builds sandcastles, Ivar doesn’t get it and Hvitserk loves the idea of it | tags: fluff, timetravel

When in Bali... - relationships: hvitserk x reader, ivar x freydís, sigurd x oc | summary: You were supposed to go to Bali with your partner for your one-year anniversary. Instead, you’re there alone, heartbroken. Will reuniting with a friend you know from a summer vacation in elementary school be able to fix it? | tags: fluff

Ivar 'the Boneless' Ragnarsson

Unholy Matrimony - A Sham in Four Acts / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 - relationship: Ivar x reader | prompt: I’ve learnt to love you. | tags: angst, fluff smut

Insatiable Little Heathens - relationship: ivar x reader | summary: drabble, for all of y’all who wanted more of Unholy Matrimony | tags: fluff

Resolve - relationship: ivar x reader | summary: Ivar’s legs hurt but he’s so fucking thickheaded | tags: fluff

My kind of witch - relationship: ivar x reader | summary: You wake up in an unfamiliar bed. The man with blazing blue eyes fascinates you as soon as you see him and as you realize the struggles he faces every day, your admiration for him grows into something more. | tags: fluff, timetravel

Red - relationship: ivar x reader | summary: Ivar finally meets his match. | tags: smut, dark/gory

Serve - relationship: sub!ivar x buff!reader | summary: Ivar keeps teasing you. You finally have enough and give him a taste of his own medicine | tags: smut

Searching home / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 - relationships: Hvitserk x reader; Ivar x reader | summary: When you stumble upon the ancient Spanish city of Algeciras, it takes you some time to realize that you’ve traveled through time. While that is terrible luck, a merchant couple takes you in. But your peace only lasts so long. | tags: angst, fluff, smut, dark/gory, timetravel

Totally artistic - relationship: ivar x reader | summary: When inspiration hits, you can’t stop it | tags: fluff

Sandcastles - relationship: platonic!hvitserk, ivar x timetraveler!reader | summary: reader builds sandcastles, Ivar doesn’t get it and Hvitserk loves the idea of it | tags: fluff, timetravel

Brother - relationships: ivar x reader, hvitserk & reader, reader & oc | summary: You left your home and your brother behind for a reason. Now, a man is causing trouble at the borders of Kattegat, and as Ivar's queen, you take justice into your own hands. | tags: fluff

Unexpected / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 - relationship: ivar x thrall!reader | summary: Ivar finally decides to fuck the slave he’s been eyeing for so long, but when his angry side slips out, things take a turn for the wholly unexpected. | tags: smut

Tarot - relationships: ivar x reader, hvitserk & reader | summary: Your day at the fair has been pretty slow – until a client like no other shows up. | tags: fluff

Imagines

How the Vikings would react to an accidental time traveler and a quiz to see if you’d survive: https://uquiz.com/dVXpgW

Ragnarssons (+Gyda): First Kiss

Social Media

How the Vikings would react to guns and snapchat filters

How the Vikings would react to modern dancing

How the Vikings would react to modern music, and what they’d like

How the Vikings would react to modern concepts of astronomy and space

How the Vikings react to modern haircare

Vikings and Astrology

How Vikings would react to THEM timetraveling

Vikings + getting sick

Vikings + Halloween

Vikings + realizing you’re pregnant

Vikings characters + how they'd react to finding Accidental Time Traveler crying somewhere and not knowing why

Vikings + you on your period (+ more hcs about Ivar)

Vikings + Legos

Vikings + reader being much less stressed in their time

Vikings + single mother

Vikings + Gender Neutral Thor

Vikings + modern food

Vikings + touch avoidant cuddler

Vikings + Kids

Vikings + their history

Ragnarssons + being possesive

Vikings + Maleficent/Fae!reader

Vikings + curls and afros

Vikings + sleeping habits

Vikings + contortionist/super flexible reader

Vikings as modern!uni students

Vikings + affectionate drunk!reader

timetraveling!Vikings + modern tv/movies

Vikings + gen z slang

Vikings + curly haired kids

timetraveling!Vikings + Christmas

Vikings + eras other than their own

Vikings + ivar being remembered/famous

#vikings #ivar #ivar x reader #hvitserk #hvitserk x reader #ubbe #ubbe x reader #ivar ragnarsson x reader #ivar ragnarsson #hvitserk ragnarsson #hvitserk ragnarsson x reader #ivar the boneless #ivar the boneless x reader #history vikings #vikings imagine

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s-4pphics · 1 year

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look, wild cherries! 1 (a.a)

wc;cw: 1.4k, cherrychaser!abby, scumbag!abby, corruption kink, descriptions of sex MDNI, mentions of weed n alc, dubcon, my baby sucks in this but she’s hot so who cares <3, smut l8r duh, riley makes an appearance :D

The first time Abby took a girl's virginity, she didn’t leave her apartment for four days.

She hadn’t been… hunting for a virgin that night, it was completely by happenstance: she was a sophomore at the time, and she’d got invited to a party at the girls soccer team’s frat house by one of her friends. It was pretty exclusive, and she was scared that she would be overlooked as a mere plus one by the entire team, but she ended up getting along really well with everyone there.

Including a girl with a number seven pinned on her crop top.

Abby was crossed as fuck, and she barely has any memory of that night, but she can’t forget the desperation on the school’s star goalie’s face when she pulled her into her bedroom by her shirt, asking—no, almost demanding to take her virginity. Please, Abby? Treat me good? Be my first?

It’s almost comedic that she forgot the athlete’s name because she’ll never forget the pink fairy lights twinkling, the array of plushies stacked up on her bed, the glittery duvet; All of it still picks at her brain til this day, and it had been two years since it happened; she was about to graduate, for fucks sake!

The girl’s pussy had been so wet, squirting all over her pillows and blanket, crying out about how her stashed dildo was too big and couldn't take it, but Abby was able to convince her that she could. And she did, she’d took it so fucking good.

Their fucking had started out pretty basic; Abby gave her some nasty, sloppy head, fingered her, made her squirt all over her blanket twice. It wasn’t until she slipped the fat tip of the dildo into the tight entrance and the girl let out a pained shriek of Abby! Oh, God, you’re taking my virginity! that her brain chemistry completely rewired, and her obsession ignited.

She doesn’t know if it was the weed or liquor that made her core clench so tight that she moaned out at the statement, or if she’s always been a goddamn sicko, but she can proudly say that she hasn’t been the same since.

The girl, however, would not leave her the fuck alone after Abby fucked her. She somehow found her account on Instagram and Snap and was obsessed with asking her out on coffee dates and inviting her to watch her practice, in which she politely declined every time.

It had gotten so bad that Abby thought inviting her over for a quick fuck would make her stop, get it out of her system, but she ended up falling asleep in her bed right after she squirted on her dick. What the fuck!

Abby wasn’t an asshole often, but after the girl showered and ate the last of her Cinnamon Toast Crunch four days later, she lost it. She cussed her out and told her to leave. She made the girl cry, before she clumsily put her pants on, and left with a slam of the door. Abby never saw her on campus after that, thank god.

Besides that weird ass experience, she loved fucking virgins. Loved making them dirty with her corruption.

She loves having sex, but nothing strokes her ego—and dick—more than popping a pretty girl’s cherry. She’s seven virginities down, as of now. She loves making them sweat and beg and cry. It makes her so hot—

“Bitch, what the fuck are you staring at?” Her best friend, Riley, leaned closer to whisper to her. Abby blinked blankly as she broke her trance.

Abby hadn’t taken her eyes off you since she walked into the campus library.

Riley had texted her after class demanding that they go study for their chemistry exam. She almost didn’t show up, but she was so close to failing; One more D on a test would completely destroy her GPA and her scholarships would disappear with the snap of a finger.

She wasn’t expecting the study session to consist of her mind trailing off as she stared at you, thinking about bending the pretty receptionist at the desk over and making her scream in front of everyone in here.

You were so fucking cute: circle frames around your eyes, two puffs surrounded by clips atop your head, cropped, purple sweater and jean shorts that showed most of your legs. She could see that you had on a pair of worn sneakers through the little gap of the desk you sat at, and all she could think about was your knee-high socks above her head as she pounded into that tight, gooey cunt—

“Abby, bro, what the fuck. Can you pay attention?”

“Yeah, gimme a sec,” and she shot up out of her seat to walk towards you.

She could see that you had your AirPods in the closer she got, mindlessly scrolling through your phone.

She cleared her throat, “Excuse me?”

You instantly looked up when you heard her, and she was met with your bright smile. You smelled like candied apples, fucking shit—

“Hi! How can I help you?” you spoke in a hushed tone, and she nearly went cross-eyed. She could hear you begging for her cock, now!

You can help by letting me rail you!

“Umm… I’m a chem major, and I was wondering if you could help me find something on… like… ionic liquids?”

She’s been in love with chemistry since she was a goddamn freshman in high school, she knew what ionic fluids were! She just needed an excuse to talk to you. She’s desperate!

You nodded immediately, your smile softening, “Of course! I love chemistry, all the books are down this way.”

You stood and walked out from behind the desk, guiding her to a secluded spot of the library, right by the windows. All she wanted to do was press you up against them and dig you out—

“Abby, you okay?” your gentle voice cut through the raunchy visuals in her head.

“Y-Yeah! Don’t worry, did you say something?”

“Yeah… there’s some books right here about ionic liquids!” you said cheerily, a bright smile growing on your face once more.

“Oh, yeah, cool. Thanks.”

“No problem! I’ll be over there if you need anything!” you said to her before turning to leave. She stopped you before you could.

“Actually!” Fuck, come up with something! “I… uh… you said you liked chemistry?”

“Sure do! It’s so interesting!”

“Facts, I love it. I’ve loved it since I was little.”

“Me, too! I used to get picked on for it, but I’m so glad I stuck with it.”

“Oh, wait, do you major in chem, too?”

“Not anymore! I used to before I transferred, but I switched over to sociology when I got here. I still volunteer as a chem tutor, though.”

Her ears immediately perked up. That’s the door she needed; she’d have that cunt in no time!

She smiled slyly at you, “That's crazy you say that! I actually needed a tutor for this biochem exam next Monday.”

She watched your brows furrow as she spoke, “Do you… would you mind helping me study? I’ve been having some trouble focusing, and I think having someone there would be a big help.”

She noticed your hesitation, “Oh… um…”

Fuck! Dammit! “I mean if you’re not busy! If you are, I totally get it!”

You shook your head at her quickly, “No no no! I’m… just a little swamped right now with some other students.”

“… Oh,” Abby said, disappointment evident in her tone before she disguised it. “That’s okay— “

She watched your expression drop at her tone before you shook your head, “I would have to cancel some sessions, but I think I can see you on Saturday! How’s that sound?” Abby grinned widely at your proposal.

Sounds so good, fuck it sounds so fucking good. “That’d be great, I really appreciate it.” You smiled back at her.

“Great! Here, lemme get your Snap,” you pulled out your phone and she pulled out hers. She was locked in, for sure!

After Abby added you, you gave her a gentle wave before walking back to your desk. She watched your ass switch in your shorts with every step you took. She couldn’t wait to watch it clap on her dick!

She smirked to herself before walking back to where Riley angrily sat.

“You’re a cunt, what the fuck took you so long?” Her best friend scolded her with furrowed brows.

“Just talking to the librarian, damn, chill.”

Abby opened her book with a cheerful grin, suddenly in a much better mood.

She couldn’t wait to see you this weekend!

a/n: damn another impulsive writing prompt😳 uhhhh this is gonna be short n nasty :p literally have the whole thing mapped out already LOL just needed to write abby so bad like i couldn’t hold back anymore shes so hot n sexy need her to corrupt me even tho im a worthless slut already <3

pt. 2 :0

#abby x fem!reader #abby anderson smut #abby x reader #abby anderson #abby tlou #abby x you #abby the last of us #lesbian #black!reader #black!oc #abby anderson x you #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x black!reader #works 𖧧࣪#*. cherries 𓆩♡𓆪 #scumbag!abby

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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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whencloudwavesbreak-if · 2 months

Text

When Cloud Waves Break Pinned Post

LINKS: DEMO [UPDATED 30/03/2024] | COG FORUM

SUMMARY

When Cloud Waves Break is a work-in-progress murder mystery/Lovecraftian horror interactive fiction story. After returning to your hometown of Golden Gulf, your older sister is brutally murdered. The method? Poison. The location? The Twin Suns restaurant, on its reopening night. It's up to you to find her killer. But it won't be easy. Between dealing with your hostile brother-in-law, the police force interfering every step of the way, and your own memories about why you left, you're in for a rough time. And that's not even taking into account the weird dreams you've been having…

FEATURES

Play as male, female, or non-binary; straight, gay, or bisexual.

Customize your sister: choose her name, her personality, and determine your relationship with her.

Choose between four possible occupations: actor, doctor, soldier, or dilettante.

Learn more about the history of Golden Gulf, how your family ties into it, and what it has to do with your sister's murder.

And maybe stop a cult. Or join them. It's up to you.

ROMANCE OPTIONS

Officer Wyatt Pierce (M) "I've made many mistakes. But caring for you? Isn't one of them."

Description: An officer of the Golden Gulf Police Department. He also used to be your neighbour when you were kids. Time changes people though. Can you love who he is now?

Appearance: Greying hair - younger than he looks. Massive claw marks across his face, burned into the skin.

Personality: He's gruff and tired. Growing up in Golden Gulf, he learned to let many things slide. It weighs on him, made him callous. But then your sister died. Suddenly, he can't be callous anymore. Not with her dead. And especially not when you're here.

Officer Casey Young (NB) "I'll keep you safe. I promise."

Description: The officer from Augusta, sent to find and arrest the leader of the Burning Waters crime gang, Nina Wu. They don't trust many people. Maybe you can be the exception?

Appearance: Faded tattoo of a monkey on their neck; wild hair; friendly, but cautious eyes.

Personality: They are kind, with a spine of steel, and will always do the right thing. Even if everyone turns against them and they risk losing everything. Make them care for you, though, and the choice will destroy them.

Evelyn Ross (F) "You and me? It just feels too good to be true."

Description: Your brother-in-law's administration assistant. Duty and logic drives her every action. To her, love is a silly afterthought. Maybe you can change her mind?

Appearance: Petite. Lustrous, thick hair. Bright eyes. Glasses. Conventionally attractive.

Personality: Her calculating mind is her greatest strength, but also her greatest weakness. She's aware of all the possibilities stretching out before her, but also of the consequences. And it paralyzes her. But reassure her, become an anchor for her, and she'll lift you up in turn.

Jeremiah/Jessamine Callahan (M/F) "I'd forgotten what this felt like. Thank you for reminding me."

Description: The sole survivor of the wealthy Callahan family. You grew up with their spouse, Riley. They've loved and they've lost. Maybe you can help them learn to love again?

Appearance: Hair braided in cornrows; ragged and tattered clothes; an air of sadness that hangs over them like a cloud.

Personality: They aren't afraid to say what they think and have a very strong moral compass. But it can sometimes lead them to jumping to conclusions. Get them on your side though, and they'll follow you to the very end. 'Til death do you part.

Oscar/Ophelia Lovelace (M/F) "You are everything that I imagined you to be."

Description: The interior designer contracted for the reconstruction. Love wasn't enough to keep you in Golden Gulf. But maybe they can?

Appearance: Very tall and graceful; eccentric sense of style; an ever-present smile.

Personality: They project a polite and mild mannered façade. But their true personality emerges through their design work, which they are obsessively dedicated to. Catch their attention, though, and they'll never let you go.

ADDITIONAL INFO

OTHER IMPORTANT CHARACTERS:

Your Older Sister: She was many things, to many people. How did you see her? Was she self-absorbed? Naive? Arrogant? Or charming? But none of that really matters now that she's dead... Does it?

Benjamin Mullen: Your sister's husband. He's a difficult man to get along with. He also has a problem with you specifically, and isn't afraid to tell you so.

INSPIRATIONS:

Agatha Christie mystery novels, Lovecraftian horror, The King in Yellow by Robert W Chambers, the TTRPGs Call of Cthulhu 7th Edition and Brindlewood Bay, and Slay the Princess by Black Tabby Games.

#interactive fiction #choicescript #dashingdon #choice of games #hosted games #when cloud waves break #when cloud waves break if #if: intro #if: wip #cyoa #if intro #if wip

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wlntrsldler · 1 month

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i feel may would get whiplash the first time he sees luke interacting with five stars because as much as she knows he is a cutie who loves with his entire heart she's never seen him in love (specially because she is used to see him with women drunk in the news)

“i dont wanna go yet.”

luke’s entire body weight was currently resting on top of your body. the sounds of the movers the poisoned mercury team hired were making a ruckus outside of your room, hauling and tossing the random items the boys accumulated over the summer. the boys’ bags were packed, outside the cabin’s door, waiting to be thrown into the back of their tour bus.

you chuckled, running your fingers through his mess of curls, which proved to be the wrong move as it made luke bury his head even deeper into your neck. you placed a soft kiss on his head, “c’mon, pretty boy. you gotta get up.”

“can i just hide in here? maybe they won’t notice im not in the bus and i can stay here a little longer.”

you snorted, feeling a sense of longing erupt in your chest. you were feeling the same way as luke. you didn’t want him to go. you didn’t want to go. “i think they’ll notice the lead isn’t in the bus, luke.”

"luke? where are you?"

luke's head perked up at the sound of his mom's voice echoing through the cabin. he groaned, placing a quick kiss on your lips before he got up. he knew that his time was up and he would have to get on the tour bus soon. he'd see you soon, hopefully. he didn't know the band's schedule yet and you still haven't gotten word on whether or not you were playing this season, so the next time the two of you would see each other was still up in the air.

you froze as you heard may's voice. you'd been so caught up in wanting to treasure the last few moments you had with luke that you completely forgot that you'd have to see may and explain what this was. you'd met her before, sure, but it was a brief introduction and it was before you became luke's girlfriend. it seemed like she liked you enough, but now that the circumstances have changed, you weren't so sure.

"babe?" luke asked, tilting his head in question as he placed his hand on the doorknob of your door to open it. "you coming?"

"does your mom know about us?"

he blushed, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, "yeah, i kinda told her. are you mad?"

you quickly shook your head, "no, no. i'm just--uh, nervous, i guess?"

luke walked back to your bed, grabbing your head in his hands as he peppered kisses all over your face, "nervous? for what?"

"what if she doesn't like me?"

luke let out a loud laugh, a goofy grin appearing on his lips, "you're funny. come on, five star. i only got a few more minutes with you and you're not leaving my side 'til then."

reluctantly, you got up from your bed and accepted luke's outstretched hand. he laced your fingers together, giving your hand a light squeeze as he opened the door to greet his mom. luke smiled widely when he saw his mom poking her head into luke's bedroom, trying to look for him. "mama!"

may turned around, smiling at the sound of her son's voice, then her eyes immediately darted down to your intertwined hands and the sheepish look on your face. her eyebrows shot up in surprise and walked over to the two of you, "there you are, been looking everywhere for you. the boys are already in the bus."

luke let go of your hand for a moment to give his mom a hug, then quickly returned to your side to wrap an arm around your waist. he looked down at you, eyes twinkling with fondness, "mama, you know y/n."

you rubbed the sweat off your palm on the fabric of your jeans, "nice to see you again, mrs. castellan."

"oh, don't do that," she rolled her eyes, pulling you in for a hug, "mama c is fine, or may, whatever you prefer."

"oh, uh, okay," you chuckled, awkwardly, feeling strangely welcomed by her simple act of kindness. may castellan's hugs felt like home. no wonder the boys adored her so much. "nice to see you again, mama c."

"so i reckon this is why we've been waiting for you for ten minutes?" she turned to luke, an eyebrow raised. she had a teasing smile on her face and it was a familiar look. luke got his smile from his mother.

"yeah," luke flushed, "sorry, don't wanna leave yet."

"mhm," may hummed. she turned to you, smiling at you in a way that made your heart hammer in your chest. there was no judgment in her eyes but she was still your boyfriend's mom and your mind was thinking of all the things she could point out about you that would have you spiraling. "he treating you right?"

you blinked, not expecting those words from her. you looked at luke for some guidance on what is the appropriate response, but he was unhelpful. he just looked at you with a dopey smile, a small part of him enjoying watching you all flustered around his mom. luke pressed a kiss to your temple.

"come on, mom. you know i do. you raised me well."

may laughed, "damn straight."

"five star here, was nervous to see you again," luke said, making your eyes widen and involuntarily hit him lightly on his bicep. you received a fake 'ow' in return.

"no need to be nervous, y/n," may replied, casting away any doubts you had in your head with a hand on your shoulder. "this one doesn't shut up about you and it's all good things."

you turned to luke, scrunching your face up in glee, "you talk about me?"

he rolled his eyes playfully, "mom, you're embarrassing me."

"that's my job, kid," may shrugged, turning to you again. "he just goes on and on about you sometimes."

"okay, that's enough," he groaned. the band's publicist was calling him over so he muttered a quick "be right back" in your ear before he left you with his mom. luke turned around as he was walking away, "mom, please don't say anything else while i'm gone."

"no promises!" she called back, chuckling as luke shook his head, accepting defeat. may motioned for you to sit on the couch with her for a second while luke chatted with their publicist about their upcoming schedule. she sat across from you, "he's real happy, you know."

you blushed, playing with the throw pillow on the couch, "yeah, camp had a good effect on him."

"not camp," she shook her head, "you did."

when you looked back at her face, you were almost overwhelmed by the sincerity in her eyes. she continued, "i haven't seen him like this since well, ever. it looks good on him, don't you think?"

you agreed, "it does."

"i hope i'm not overstepping here when i tell you this, but when he first told me about you, it felt different," she explained, pausing for a moment as she tried to conjure up the right words to say next, "as a parent, you can feel it when something shifts with your kid. i felt it when his dad left. i felt it when he got the call about the record deal. i felt it when they played their first sold-out show. i felt it when the fame started getting to him. and i felt it when he called me to tell me about this girl who gave him such a hard time at camp."

"yeah, sorry about that," you cringed.

may laughed, placing a hand on yours again, "no, y/n. don't ever apologize for that. something clicked in my head when he first told me about you and it's a feeling i didn't think i'd ever feel when it came to luke. he's the sweetest kid, but he hasn't made the best decisions when it comes to dating."

"having this much freedom and access to the world at his age will do that to someone, i suppose. but when he started talking about you, i don't know. i knew it was different."

"for what it's worth, i feel the same way about him," you said, eyes finding luke's. he gave you a small smile.

"good," she squeezed your hand and got up, "it was nice to see you again. i hope i get to see you at a few shows soon."

"i hope so too."

may gave you one last hug before she made her way out of the cabin, "tell my kid he gets ten more minutes then he has to haul his ass to the tour bus, okay?"

you chuckled, "got it. bye, mama c."

#frances writes #poisoned mercury chats #LUKE IS A MAMA'S BOY!#MAY CASTELLAN FOR THE W #I LOVE THIS ASK

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neteyamsoare · 1 year

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Hi can I request a Neteyam imagine with his female omaticaya mate who has been very busy lately and he just wants attention and affection from her so one day he asks her early in the morning if she wants to go fly to their special spot which she agrees to with some reluctancy. He enjoys seeing the smile on her face and when the arrive at their spot they wonder around the forest for a bit holding each others hand before he pulls her close to him from behind resting his chin on her shoulder enjoying the much needed contact before they both decide to cuddle on the ground with his face buried in her neck and him listening to her heart beat and she eventually asks him what has bought all this on and he blushes and becomes a bit shy before saying that he has just missed her a lot or something like that? Thank you 😊

I Missed You.

༉‧₊˚. Featuring. Neteyam Sully x Fem! Omatikaya! Mate! Reader.

༉‧₊˚. Summary. When you get too busy to spend time with Neteyam, he comes up with a plan to get you alone.

༉‧₊˚. General Tags. Fluff.

༉‧₊˚. Content Warnings. Aged up! Neteyam.

༉‧₊˚. Word Count. 1,3k.

༉‧₊˚. Index. Nga yawne lu oer — [I love you], Olo’eyktan — [clan leader], Tsahik — [healer of the clan], Skxawng — [moron/idiot], and Tiyawn — [love].

༉‧₊˚. Notes. Thank you anon for this cute request, I really love writing this fic and I hope you like it as well. | Neteyam and reader are 20 | In this fic, they’re still in the forest, Jake is olo’eyktan, and Mo’at is tsahik.

༉‧₊˚. Extra. Comments, likes, and reblogs are highly appreciated but not pressured. 🤍

༉‧₊˚. Starred Links. Navigation + Masterlist + Prompts + Taglist

I couldn't be happier to be flying back home from a hunting trip. The first thing I wanted to do was see her face in the crowd, run over to her, bring her into my arms, smell her scent, and fly to our secret spot nobody knew of.

I land my ikran and quickly dismount giving my ikran a rub before turning to the crowd and scanning through their faces. My smile fades when I don’t see her and worry starts to set in my mind. What if she is hurt or what if she is sick?

I immediately take off to run toward the hut that we moved into after we mated. As I run, I smell a familiar scent that’s been on the top of my mind since I left and stop and run back a few til I finally spot her talking to one of the girls in the clan. I smile at the sight of her and make my way over to her.

Once I reach her, I place my hands on her waist pulling her into me, already burying my face into her neck taking in that sweet scent of hers. I didn’t acknowledge who she was talking to but all my focus was on her and her only. “There’s my beautiful wife.”

“Ma Teyam, you’re back.” She says as she places her hand on my cheek rubbing it softly. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t able to meet you, just been so busy with tsahik training that I forgot.” She pouts as I turn her to face me and bring her eyes to mine. “No worry, we’re together now.” I see that smile that’s been etched into my mind appear on her face.

I look down at her lips and back up to her eyes. I pulled her closer to me, eyeing her lips once more as she leaned forward before our lips could touch.

“Y/n!” Someone cried out, she immediately separated herself from me. I sigh as I look at who got her attention, I was shocked to see my little sister running up to us.

“Tuk what’s wrong?” She walks over to meet my little sister. “It’s Lo’ak, he’s hurt and needs your help.” Tuk grabs her hand and starts running in the direction Lo’ak is in while she glances at me with a quick look saying that she’s sorry and I just flash a smile.

“Fucking Lo’ak!” I hissed when she was out of range. “I’m going to kill him.”

I take a deep breath and think to myself. “It’s alright, we will have plenty of time to spend together.” Oh, how I was so wrong.

Two weeks passed and I still couldn’t spend time with the one person I had on my mind. And why? Because every time we get together not two seconds later someone is already pulling her away from me. With Lo’ak being him, not thinking before he does something, she has to tend to his wounds, if it wasn’t him it was my sister who needed her to help with something. Or it’s one of the people needing her help or the kids wanting her attention which frustrated me to no end.

Now I’m not mad at her trying to learn how to be a good tsahik or her interacting with the people, I just missed everything about her. Her skin, voice, eyes, hair, and scent. Oh, how I miss her scent.

The only time I get her to myself is when we go to sleep and even that is not even enough cause by morning she is already up and leaving to tend to everyone who needs help. Is this how it will be for the rest of our lives?

No, I got to do something cause not being able to be around her is killing every bone in my body. I need a plan and fast, if I want successful results I need to do this right. Which means I need to find some rope.

I made sure to wake up early and see that she was getting ready. I grin as my plan was already going in a good direction. She turns to look at me and smiles, “Nete, you’re awake.” I get up and make my way over to her, my hands already finding their way to her waist as I pull her into me hearing her chuckle, I missed hearing the cute sounds she makes.

“How about we go to our special spot?” I look down at her beautiful eyes that are staring into mine. “Nete, you know I have stuff to-“ I kiss her forehead as I lay a finger on her lips. “Baby, you have nothing to worry about, today it’s all about us and only us.” I put my forehead against hers. “The people will be alright, trust me.” she takes a deep breath and smiles, “Alright let’s go, right after you get ready.” I giggled and immediately goes to get myself ready.

As soon as we land our ikrans somewhere close to our special spot, I look over to her and she looks back with a huge smile on her face, a smile I’d do anything for. A smile that made me fall in love with her in the first place. I dismount my ikran and make my way over to her, taking her hand into mine enjoying how soft her hand is against mine.

We make our way to our spot not once taking apart our hands. Always glanced at each other with a smile and it felt like old times when we would just stare at each other for hours not even saying a word and we didn’t have to cause it was just us in our little world.

Before we reached our spot we wandered the forest for a bit still holding hands, still smiling like we were seventeen again, moments like these with her are what I live for.

When we reach our spot, she was in front taking in the perfect view it had while still holding her hand I rub the back of it softly and pull her close to me, and a giggle released from her mouth as I rest my chin on her shoulder and close my eyes. I hold her tightly as I thought if I let go just a bit she’d disappear. She leans her against mine and my hands travel to her stomach, one of my finger drawing circles, a thing I know she liked but could never admit.

We stayed like that before finally moving to the ground where we cuddled into each other. Her hand is in my hair gently massaging my scalp as my face is buried in her neck listening to her heartbeat that was like music to my ears, and the reason I live. My hand was on her stomach and her leg was on top of mine.

“Ma Nete?” she says softly. “Hmm?” I purred not moving an inch. “What brought this on?” I look up at her meeting her eyes. “I just missed you, tiyawn.” she smiles. “I missed you too, Nete.” I smile up at her, and slowly I reach up to her and kiss her soft lips, finally, we caught a break.

“Nga yawne lu oer, ma y/n”

“Nga yawne lu oer, ma Nete.”

Bonus

Jake walks into the hut looking for his wife to tell her how smooth today went for him but he only found Lo’ak tied up with a piece of tape on his mouth moving around frantically trying to escape. Jake runs over to his youngest son and takes off the tape slowly and safely to not hurt Lo’ak. “Boy, what happened?” Jake says as he goes to untie the rope on his hands, whoever did this, tied the knots tight.

“How about you ask Neteyam!” Lo’ak yelled. “I was just minding my own business when that skxawng came running and attacked me!”

“I’ll talk to him,” Jake says but couldn’t help but think of why he never thought of this idea. He will of course scold Neteyam but also thank him since Lo’ak was one less thing to worry about today. He needed the break.

🔖 @livelaughloak @amart-e @blackheart-stuff @onlytays @almondmilk8

#ಣ : sylaphone #neteyam x reader #neteyam x you #neteyam x y/n #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam sully #neteyam #atwow x reader #atwow #avatar the way of water #avatar x reader #avatar requests #james cameron #avatar x y/n #avatar x you

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deathmetalunicorn1 · 11 months

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Hi, can I request? Female Teen Reader who have four stuff animals like a wolf, a bunny, a cat, and hawk. The human champion found Y/n cute hanging out with her stuff animals. But when Y/n came in her match with her stuff animals, she call out her stuff animals name til suddenly her stuff animals transform into scary looking beast. She defeat her god opponent along with her friends. Her scary stuff animals turns back into cute stuff animals as Y/n walk out the arena with them. How does the human champion react after what they saw?

-Many thought you were childish, playing with stuffed animals, but the other human fighters were fiercely protective of you, mainly because they knew that you were a fighter as well.

-Seeing you, a teenager, a child in their eyes, fighting, made them furious that you were being forced to do this, and seeing you happy, even for a moment, was all that mattered to you.

-Kojiro sat beside you, holding onto Bunny, looking at the stitching, “This is really well-made, Y/N, the stitching is unlike plush toys I saw when I was alive.”

-You smiled warmly, leaning into his arm, “I learned how to sew when I was younger, and I made them myself.”

-Adam ruffled your hair as he passed by, giving you a small smile as you were up next, but you didn’t look nervous at all.

-You inhaled deeply, gathering your stuffed animals, confusing Kojiro as he had offered to hold them for you while you were fighting, but you were taking them with you.

-When he asked you, you just turned and beam, “Don’t worry- we got this!!”

-All of the human champions watched you in worry, hearing the outrage of the crowds, seeing a teenager- a child that was going to be fighting! But the weird thing was… you didn’t look scared at all.

-Your opponent, a minor earth god, Kand, was cocky, immediately teasing you, calling you a child for holding your stuffed animals.

-You pouted before throwing your stuffed animals up into the air, “Wolfy!! Sir Hoppington!! Meow-Meow! And Bright Eyes!! Let’s go!!”

-A puff of smoke surrounded each of your stuffed animals and instantly, a massive wolf, baring his fangs, a cat flexing it’s claws, a hawk screeching from above, flashing his talons, and a plain, adorable, snow-white bunny, cuddled in your arms.

-Kand’s eyelid twitched as everyone was in an uproar, seeing that your cute little stuffed animals turned into terrifying beasts, at least three of them.

-You stayed back, letting your friends do the work for you, handling Kand easily, before he roared out in fury, “Fine- prepare yourself for my most powerful attack!!”

-You didn’t look impressed but called your three friends back to you, who all sat behind you before you opened your arms, letting your bunny hop to the ground and it hopped forward, looking unassuming.

-Kand roared in fury again, charging forward and instantly Sir Hoppington’s eyes turned red and went right for the throat, tearing into it before ripping his arm off.

-Everyone was horrified before Kand disappeared and you kneeled, hugging your now bloody rabbit before a cloud of smoke appeared around your stuffed animals and returned them to their normal forms.

-When you returned backstage Kojiro was there to greet you, congratulating you on your win which made you grin warmly, thanking him, before he spoke, “How is it that they can change into those beasts? You said you made these.”

-You giggled warmly, a twinkle in your eyes, “It’s love power! They came alive to protect me because I poured so much love into them!” he laughed warmly before taking you back to the waiting room so you could rest and eat.

#record of ragnarok #ror x reader #ror kojiro sasaki

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mybutcheredtongue · 1 month

Text

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

post azkaban sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER TWENTY (see full series list here)

1993

On the 22nd of November you sit on the floor of your office late at night, watching the flames of your fireplace crackle and pop. Beside you, sits Harry, eyes focused on the fire as well. Sirius had asked him to wait in front of the fire in your office at one o'clock and for you to be there too. You can't say your heart isn't beating faster than the steady tick of the clock on the wall, worried and giddy at the same time.

"I'm sorry about this whole situation, Harry," you say with a sigh, reaching out to stroke Dubh's fur idly as she clambers into your lap. "I know this isn't what you want. I tried everything to get them to change the rules but nothing worked."

"Thanks," he says blankly, like he's used to being disappointed.

"And that article in the paper — "

"I didn't say anything of that. It's a lie," Harry responds quickly.

You nod. "I'm well aware. Rita Skeeter is...difficult." As soon as the words have left your mouth, you grimace, shaking your head. "Actually, she doesn't deserve that nicety. She's a bitch, Harry. A nasty old hag that has nothing better to do with her life than spread rumours and sensationalise everything in sight."

Harry seems slightly taken aback by your words but nods in fierce agreement nonetheless.

"My best advice to you, Harry, is to run for the hills every time you see her — or just wave me over if I'm near. I am well accustomed to small talk with people like her — the trick is to just get them talking about themselves."

He nods. "I don't plan on going anywhere near her ever again."

"Smart decision," you say, sighing. "And look — I know I'm not supposed to get involved but if you need any help whatsoever, just ask. There's plenty of useful spells I can teach you and tips I can give — anything at all."

Just then, the flames move in a peculiar fashion and Sirius' head appears in the fire. Both you and Harry let out a small gasp, and when you look at Harry, his face has broken into the biggest smile you've seen him wear in weeks.

"Sirius!" Harry exclaims immediately.

He looks different from the last time you seen him. His face had looked gaunt and sunken, but now he looks far healthier and his hair, which was long, matted and greasy, is now clean and neat. You're glad to see that though he's trimmed it a tad, he's kept the beard. He looks younger.

"Hello, Harry," he says, before he turns to you, smiling, "and hello to you too, love."

You bring your hand up and give him a tiny little wave, unable to stop the giddy smile taking over your face at the sight of him.

"How're you doing?" Harry asks.

"Never mind me, how are you?" Sirius asks firmly, returning his attention to his godson.

"I'm — " Harry stops himself suddenly, holding himself back. Just when you're about to check if he's alright, he spills. He tells the two of you everything: about how no one believes that he hasn't entered himself into the tournament, how Rita Skeeter had lied about him in the Daily Prophet, how he can't walk down a corridor without getting sneered at, and about the toll it's all taken on his friendship with Ron.

You feel your heart ache for him. He deserves absolutely none of this and you wish you could do more to help.

"Hagrid's just shown me what's coming in the first task, and it's dragons — I'm a goner," he finishes desperately.

Sirius is looking at Harry with deep concern as he says, "Dragons we can deal with, Harry, but we'll get to that in a minute — I haven't got long here...I've broken into a wizarding house to use the fire, but they could be back at any time. There are things I need to warn you about."

"Just break into Moony's house next time," you say simply, shrugging. "Sounds much easier to me."

Sirius gives you a look that suggests he already thought of that, but obviously decided not to as he was already coming north to see you two. You smile cheekily at him and he shakes his head, refocusing his attention on Harry.

"What do you need to warn me about?" Harry asks.

"Karkaroff," Sirius says. "Harry, he was a Death Eater. You know what Death Eaters are, don't you?"

"He's a Death Eater?" You're shocked. Just this morning you picked his fork off the ground for him at breakfast!

"He was caught, he was in Azkaban with me, but he got released. I'd bet that's why Dumbledore wanted an Auror at Hogwarts this year — to keep an eye on him. Moody caught Karkaroff. Put him into Azkaban in the first place."

There already is an Auror at Hogwarts, you think. Or did Dumbly-dorr just forget about me?

"Karkaroff got released?" Harry says slowly. "Why did they release him?"

"He did a deal with the Ministry of Magic," Sirius replies bitterly. "He said he'd seen the error of his ways, and then named names...he put a load of other people into Azkaban in his place...he's not very popular there, I can tell you. And since he got out, from what I can tell, he's been teaching the Dark Arts to every student who passes through that school of his. So watch out for the Durmstrang champion as well."

How do you not remember any of this? Surely you'd have seen this all mentioned in the papers around that time?

"Okay..." Harry says. "But...are you saying that Karkaroff put my name in the goblet? Because if he did, he's a really good actor. He seemed furious about it. He wanted to stop me from competing."

"We know he's a good actor," says Sirius, "because he convinced the Ministry of Magic to set him free, didn't he? Now, I've been keeping an eye on the Daily Prophet, Harry — "

"You and the rest of the world," he says bitterly.

"— and reading between the lines of that Skeeter woman's article last month, Moody was attacked the night before he started at Hogwarts. Yes, I know she says it was another false alarm," Sirius says hastily, seeing Harry about to speak, "but I don't think so somehow. I think someone tried to stop him from getting to Hogwarts. I think someone knew their job would be a lot more difficult with him around. And no one's going to look into it too closely; Mad-Eye's heard intruders a bit too often. But that doesn't mean he still can't spot the real thing. Moody was the best Auror the Ministry ever had."

"So...what are you saying? Karkaroff's trying to kill me? But — why?"

Sirius hesitates.

"I've been hearing some very strange things," he says apprehensively. "The Death Eaters seem to be a bit more active than usual lately. They showed themselves at the Quidditch World Cup, didn't they? Someone cast the Dark Mark...and then — did you hear about that Ministry witch who's gone missing?"

"Bertha Jorkins?" You say. You recall reading that article about her disappearance not too long ago.

"Exactly...she disappeared to Albania, and that's definitely where Voldemort was rumoured to be last...and she would have known the Triwizard Tournament was coming up, wouldn't she?"

"Yeah, but...it's not very likely she'd have walked straight into Voldemort, is it?" says Harry.

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Sirius says grimly, glancing at you. "Do you remember her at school?"

You nod your head. "She was at Hogwarts when we were, a few years above us," you explain to Harry. "As thick as a board, she was. Very nosey, too. Awful combination."

"Makes her easy to lure into a trap," Sirius finishes.

"So...so Voldemort could have found out about the tournament?" says Harry. "Is that what you mean? You think Karkaroff might be here on his orders?"

"I don’t know," Sirius says with a shake of his head, "I just don’t know...Karkaroff doesn’t strike me as the type who’d go back to Voldemort unless he knew Voldemort was powerful enough to protect him. But whoever put your name in that goblet did it for a reason, and I can’t help thinking the tournament would be a very good way to attack you and make it look like an accident."

"Looks like a really good plan from where I’m standing." Harry grins bleakly. "They'll just have to stand back and let the dragons do their stuff."

"You'll be fine," you reassure firmly, though you're not sure if it's for Harry's sake or your own. "I'll be there, all the rest of the teachers will be there, and there'll be that group of dragon keepers there too."

"Look, about these dragons," Sirius says, speaking quickly now, glancing around him furtively, "There's a way, Harry. Don't be tempted to try and simple Stunning Spell — dragons are too strong and powerfully magical to be knocked out by a single stunner, you need about half a dozen wizards at a time to overcome a dragon — "

"Yeah, I know, I just saw," Harry says.

"But you can do it alone," Sirius tells him, looking him straight in the eye. "There is a way, a simple spell's all you need — "

Knock-knock.

At once, all three of you go dead silent and whip your heads to the closed door.

"Go, Sirius, quickly!" You hiss at him urgently.

You scramble to your feet, grabbing Harry's invisibilty cloak off the desk and launching it at him.

"Quick!"

Harry frantically pulls the cloak over his head and ducks behind your desk as you make you way over to the door, glancing back at the fireplace to see that Sirius' head has disappeared and the flames have returned to normal. You feel a small pang in your heart.

Who could possibly be knocking at your door at one o'clock in the morning? Surely everyone is asleep by now?

You pull the door open and are met with nothing but the quiet, dark corridor.

"Must've been Peeves," you mutter angrily, moving to close the door. Of course that poltergeist would find a way to cut your time with Sirius short.

"Oh, no, mistress, it is Bitsy!"

You look down in search of the voice and sure enough, at the foot of your door, is Bitsy, grinning up widely at you with her ginormous eyes reflecting the flickering light of the candles on the wall. You notice that she's holding a tray of scones in her tiny hands.

"Bitsy?" You say in shock and confusion. "What are you doing here? Is everything alright?"

"Bitsy was cleaning this corridor, mistress, and heard talking coming from mistress's office! And Bitsy thinks 'why is mistress up so late talking?' Perhaps she has a guest and is very hungry! Mistress was not at breakfast this morning, and I isn't seeing mistress in the kitchens either!"

While part of you feels angry and cheated that she's just interrupted your seldom chance to talk to your husband, you can't be mad at Bitsy and her big kind heart.

You chuckle softly. "Oh, Bitsy. You are far too kind to me. You're right, I didn't attend breakfast this morning nor did I go to the kitchens in the afternoon — I had breakfast with a friend of mine in Hogsmeade today. I should have told you."

Bitsy beams at you and holds the tray out for you to take. "Bitsy is glad to know you did not go hungry this morning. For you, mistress!"

You accept the tray with a smile. "Thank you, Bitsy. You are very kind — let me go fetch something to give you as a thank you."

"Oh, no, mistress! I cannot accept anything from you, I is just doing my duty!"

You leave her momentarily, placing the tray of scones down, grabbing a box off your desk and returning to hand it to her. "Film, for your camera, Bitsy. So you can take more pictures. "

You don't miss the gleeful smile that spreads over Bitsy's face as she looks at the box in wonder. "Mistress, I must not — "

"I insist, Bitsy. Actually — I order you to accept the film. I know how much you love your camera," you tell her, pushing it into her hands.

"Thank you, mistress," she says gratefully, bowing to you. "I must return to my work now, unless mistress requires Bitsy for anything?"

You shake your head, smiling. "No, but thank you, Bitsy. I think it's time for mistress to get some rest."

Bitsy leaves, clutching the film tightly in her hands and bowing out of your view before Disapparating. You close the door behind you, letting out a sigh as Harry stands up slowly, pulling the cloak off.

"I'm sorry about that, Harry," you say. "I really wish we could have more time with Sirius."

"Yeah, me too. Was that a house elf?"

You nod, chuckling. "Sure was. That's Bitsy. You see, I stay up much later than everyone else — I'm usually up in the tower because of course, the best time to view the stars is at night, so I sleep in the next day and miss breakfast a lot of the time. And when I do, I can go down to the kitchens and Bitsy and all the other house elves will give me something to eat — have done since I was in school myself when I did the exact same thing. Bitsy is my saviour, honestly. She's an absolute gem."

"You're able to get into the Hogwarts kitchens?" Harry says curiously.

"Yep. There's a painting of a bowl of fruit down by the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room — just tickle the pear and the door'll open right up for you."

You know that as a teacher you probably shouldn't be telling him this, but you don't really care. You went there countless times as a student so why shouldn't he?

Harry nods thoughtfully before asking, "That spell Sirius mentioned, that could defeat a dragon...have you any idea what it is?"

You bite your lip, drumming your fingers against your hip as you search your brain for anything like that. "I don't, Harry, I'm sorry. Perhaps you could try confundus, and confuse it? I can't say I'm too familiar with dragons...now, you should go to bed, Harry. A good night's sleep for the next few days is what you need before the first task. And in the meantime, I'll have a look and see if I can figure something out for you."

"Thanks, but I doubt I'll find it easy to sleep," Harry remarks, throwing the cloak back over his head.

"Well, if you do find that you can't sleep, come up the Tower," you tell him with a smile, pulling the door open for his invisible figure. "I find stargazing is the best way to relieve stress and solve problems."

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

You feel like you're about to get sick. You stare at the Hungarian Horntail, huge and terrifying as she crouches protectively over her eggs, huffing great hot breaths out of her large nostrils. And there, standing across from this fearsome beast as though rooted to the spot, is Harry. The crowd roars around you but you can barely hear them as your stomach knots and twists and flips with sickening worry.

"Accio Firebolt!" Harry yells, raising his wand.

You wait. The crowd waits. Harry waits.

And then you see it. Harry's broomstick, his Firebolt, hurtles towards him and stops in mid-air beside him, waiting for him to mount it. You vaguely register Ludo Bagman roaring something over the crowd in response to this, but you're too focused on praying to whatever great deities you can to protect your godson. You're just so relieved that he managed to figure something out — and something so clever, too! Why hadn't you thought of a Summoning Spell? It's so simple. Sirius will be so proud of Harry when he finds out.

Harry rises into the air, the wind rushing through his hair, surveying the dragon not far below him. A sort of resolve seems to come over him and then he dives, forcing you to bring your hands up to cover your eyes in fear.

"Oh, I can't watch," you breathe. Beside you, Minerva gives you an understanding look as she watches on. You hear the rush of fire, the crowd cheering and screaming, and then —

"Great Scott, he can fly!" Bagman roars. "Are you watching this, Mr Krum?"

You open your eyes just in time to see Harry plummet to the ground once more, just missing the burst of flames that flies from the Horntail's open maw — but not quick enough to completely avoid the whip of her tail and to your horror, one of the long spikes grazes Harry's shoulder, ripping his robes.

"Harry!" You shriek, practically about to chew your finger off with the alarming rate you're biting the tips of your nails as you reluctantly watch on, wishing for it to be over.

He begins to fly this way, then that, not near enough to make the dragon breathe fire at him to stave him off, but still posing a sufficient enough threat to make her keep her eyes focused on him, tracking his every move.

The dragon's head sways with his movements, her eyes unwavering as she followed him, gruesome fangs bared. You can feel your heart palpitating in your chest. Harry rises even higher, the Horntail's head rising with him, her neck now stretched out to its fullest extent.

You jump as the Horntail lets out a deafening roar, her tail thrashing threateningly as she blows another burst of fire at him, which he thankfully dodges.

She opens her mouth and then she finally rears, spreading her great, black, leathery wings at last and Harry seizes the opportunity to dive at an incredible speed. You can barely keep your eyes on him with the rate he's whistling through the air, hurtling towards the nest of eggs.

"Come on, come on, come on..." you chant, hands tapping frantically at the tops of your thighs as you sit on the edge of your seat, watching impatiently.

Harry takes his hands off his broom, seizes the golden egg, and with another huge burst of speed, he's off and soaring out over the stands. He tucks the egg safely under his uninjured arm, and looks out over the stands.

You can't help but jump out your seat, cheering yourself hoarse as you voice your praise and feel relief wash over your body like a tsunami. The noise around you is monumental, drumming in your ears like a jackhammer.

"Look at that!" Bagman yells. "Will you look at that! Our youngest champion is the quickest to get his egg! Well, this is going to shorten the odds on Mr Potter!"

The dragon keepers rush forward to subdue the Horntail and you hurry out of your seat, practically sprinting to the entrance of the enclosure. Minerva is hot on your heels and Moody and Hagrid have already beaten you, waiting with wide smiles for Harry to land.

"That was excellent, Potter!" Minerva cries as the boy hops off his broomstick. She points a shaky hand to his shoulder. "You'll need to see Madam Pomfrey before the judges give out your score...Over there, she's had to mop up Diggory already..."

"Harry, you were brilliant!" You exclaim excitedly, eagerly pulling him in for a hug and beaming at him. Normally, you'd worry about other students thinking you have a favourite — which you do, of course you do — but today you couldn't care less, you're so overwhelmed with relief and swelling with pride for your godson. "Absolutely brilliant, Harry! Just — fantastic, honestly, I can't believe it, I was so worried — I'm so proud — "

"Thanks," Harry says, unable to keep the large smile on his face down, his face red.

"Thanks, Hagrid," Harry says loudly, so that Hagrid doesn't blather on about how he had shown Harry the dragons beforehand. You give a light chuckle.

"Yeh' did it, Harry!" says Hagrid hoarsely. "Yeh did it! An' agains' the Horntail an' all, an' yeh know Charlie said that was the wors' — "

Even Moody looks very pleased, the slightest of smiles tugging at his cracked lips. "Nice and easy does the trick, Potter."

"Right then, Potter, the first aid tent, please..." Minerva says, gesturing to the tent with her hand.

He leaves, giving you all a grin before heading into the tent and you just smile proudly after him, rolling on the balls of your feet.

"Oh, he was just excellent, wasn't he?" Minerva says to you, smiling. "The best out of the all the champions, by far!"

You nod enthusiastically. "Easily! Oh, Merlin, I am just so glad he came out alright, I thought I was going to chew my own hand off with worry..."

"He was migh'y," Hagrid says loudly, a sob racking his body as he reaches into his pocket to pull out a large handkerchief, bigger than your face, and blows into it. "Jus' migh'y."

"Oh, Hagrid," you say softly, reaching up to place a comforting hand on his back, smiling sympathetically.

Across the enclosure, the five judges are sitting at the end in raised seats draped in gold. The first judge, Madame Maxime, raises her wand in the air and what looks like a long silver ribbon shoots out of the end of it — forming the shape of a large figure eight.

"Not bad," you remark, clapping along with the crowd. "Must've been the injury that lost him marks..."

Crouch comes next, shooting a number nine into the air.

"Excellent!" Minerva exclaims.

Next, Dumbledore puts up a nine and the crowd yells louder than ever.

Ludo Bagman — ten.

You turn to Minerva in disbelief, matching looks of shock with each other before you eagerly applaud.

Now, Karkaroff raises his wand. He pauses for a moment, and then a number shoots out of his wand — four.

"What?"You yell indignantly, blinking several times to make sure your eyes aren't tricking you. "A four?"

"How shameful, he gave his own student a ten!" Minerva remarks angrily.

Several members of the crowd seem to agree with you, bellowing angrily and booing at Karkaroff's biased marking.

Suddenly, Sirius' words ring in your head.

He's a Death Eater.

You feel your spine chill as you look across the enclosure at Karkaroff's steely expression, steadfast in his decision to reward Harry four marks.

Scumbag.

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

"A toast!" Dumbledore announces, raising his glass. "To the completion of the first task of the Triwizard Tournament!"

You grin, raising your glass in tandem. "Cheers!" You clink it against Minerva's, then with Professor Sprout's on your other side.

All the staff have gathered in that small room right of the Great Hall for a little staff-only party, the fire blazing in its place and radiating a pleasant warmth around the room. The house elves have prepared a small spread of finger foods for the lot of you — and you've gone straight for the cupcakes, decorated humorously with little edible dragons. They're delicious — you make a mental note to voice your thanks to Bitsy the next time you see her.

Despite the happiness that's settled in you since Harry's successful task, when your eyes land on Karkaroff, sitting on the opposite side of the room to you, talking with Snape, unease gnaws at your gut.

You're sitting in a room with a Death Eater.

You've been in this situation countless times, of course, back when you were an Auror. But then, you knew what was going on. You knew what you were in for. Here, you don't. At parent-teacher meetings, you don't doubt you've been in the company of some Death Eaters, or former Death Eaters, rather. Some of your Slytherins' parents certainly seem to have a fondness for opaque, long-sleeved shirts...

You can't help but remember that night at the Quidditch World Cup, and your brain starts to picture one of those cruel Death Eaters pulling off his mask and revealing Karkaroff's sharp face.

You grip your champagne glass tightly, downing the contents and taking a deep breath. You should go mingle, the time for investigating Karkaroff can come tomorrow.

It's this little staff party that you finally get acquainted with Madame Maxime properly, trying your hand at your conversational-level French. She seems very impressed at this, delighted that you know at least a little bit of her own language — she says something about the 'arrogance of native English speakers', which you don't disagree with.

"Oh, and look at zis pretty diamond on your finger!" Madame Maxime exclaims suddenly, catching sight of your engagement ring, sitting pretty above your wedding band on your left ring finger. She takes your hand in her much larger one so she can inspect it closer. "You are married?"

You look at the sparkling ring, glinting in the candlelight, smiling softly. "Yes, I am."

"'Ow sweet," she remarks, dropping your hand gently. "I was married once."

You raise your eyebrows imploringly and she leans closer, waving her large hand theatrically as she says, "But 'e was a bastard."

She laughs fiendishly, and you just sort of watch, unsure whether you should laugh or not.

"You can laugh!" she assures when she sees your unsure expression. "Good riddance, is what I say. 'E thought 'e could keep ze company of some girl while I was at working at Beauxbatons — so I said to 'im, 'fuck you and ze 'ore you rode in on!'"

You nearly choke on your champagne, shocked at what you've heard come out of Madame Maxime's mouth. She grins proudly, showing rows of pearly white teeth. She seems to be finding your shock very amusing as she laughs again.

"His loss," you tell her, chuckling.

"Absolument." She shrugs nonchalantly, as though it was nothing to her but a stone in the bottom of her shoe. "Et toi? 'Ere is your 'usband?"

You don't answer her for a moment, sucking on your teeth. "Well, I don't know, actually."

"'Ow do you not know?"

"Because he's just escaped from prison," you answer simply. You don't know what makes you tell her that. It would have been so easy to lie, but you don't. Perhaps it's the two too many glasses of champagne you've had, or perhaps it's the way Madame Maxime doesn't seem to care about anything, really, other than Fleur Delacour and the tournament.

Her mouth drops for a second, before she laughs. "Ah, well, c'est la vie. Marriage is never easy."

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. It feels weirdly relieving to you that she couldn't care less about your personal life. You find a new respect for the woman in front of you. "Certainly not."

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

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