#x(ask. missy answers)
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ok ok ok we’ve had some talk about the master, but have you considered. missy. femdom missy. please i want her so bad
-🍓 (ophelia)
Hey hey, Ophelia-
I- look don't hate me for this- but at this current point in time (first watch through of Capaldi's run) I am not a huge Missy fan
Like, I like her- but she's not my type yknow?
Having said that-
Here's some Missy nsfw hcs just for you, cutie
Missy is definitely a switch. But not a subby switch- a complete brat. But having said that, it's very rare that she's not overly dominant.
Missy? The biggest fan of incorporating sex and food. Whipped cream, chocolate, even bacon. Honestly, nothing is too weird for her.
That goes for everything else, too. Literally nothing is too weird.
She has a thing for using her partners as human furniture.
She also has a thing for being eaten out while she's working. She likes to be serviced.
"Oh, come on, dear- you can do better than that."
Let's put it this way- her partner would need to have a thing for being mildly to moderately humiliated.
She does also like to take photos and videos of you being sexy for her.
This woman is incredible at giving head, but she only does it as a "reward" for being good for her. She also absolutely prefers to receive and will put her hands on your head to keep you exactly where she wants you and your tongue.
Missy enjoys edging you until you cry and will take immense pleasure in pushing you to your limits.
#missy x reader#the master#the master x reader#doctor who reader insert#doctor who imagines#asked and answered#missy doctor who
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how quickly did missy start getting into shit she wasn't supposed to be able get into (like the cabinets and shit) as a baby
the most she could get into is like, random stuff that's stuffed in the van. I think it probably took a short amount of time, it's a very "mime had to leave for school + work and shifty isn't a responsible father" moment, leaving her to literally go wherever and do whatever
#basil asks#mutuals asks#happy tree friends#htf#mime x shifty#shifty x mime#htf missy#does this make any sense??#could i have given a better answer that would also be simpler?#yeah#does this actually answer it?#Probably not
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Birthday love for the birthday girl!!
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well never mind guess i'm dead getting buried on the same date as my birth
#ask#thanks a whole lot hhh x)#i am so happy but also very tired#had to bake the cake and after eating so much i think i reaaally want a nap#i'll just answer the last few asks/gift then i'm off to sleep. probably#blue you're a menace but i love you so it's forgiven missy >;)#and drag i'm gonna drag you out of my inbox and show all the love and heart bombs you send me in your head because if someone deserves them#and drag i'm gonna drag you out of my inbox and shove all the love and heart bombs you send me in your head because if anyone deserves them#it would be YOU you sweet kind bean<3333
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Anonymous asked: I dare you to kiss Missy (#SorryNotSorry)
Send “I dare you to kiss…” with an url/name and my muse will have to kiss that person on the lips: ACCEPTING
II @londonsxbitch
“Oh god.... I’m a deadman....”
Richard lingered in the doorway as Missy went about her business. He wasn’t sure whether she saw him or not, but in the end it didn’t really matter. “Missy?” he finally spoke up, as he sheepishly made his way towards her. “I-... erm... Please don’t kill me, a’righ?” Suddenly, Richard closed the gap between them, gently placed his palms against the round of her cheeks, and laced a breathless kiss upon her lips. Was it bad that he found it rather.... Enjoyable?
It was when the Scotsman finally pulled away that his face was flushed with warmth. He parted his lips as if about to say something, only to realize that he should probably beat Missy to the punch and get the hell out of that room, unless he wanted to get stabbed or something. So, with a quick, “Thanks and erm... Bye,” he did.
#londonsxbitch#//'please don't kill me' istg i love their relationship xD//#answered ask;#Richard X Missy;#//thank u sm for this btw <3//
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How about 13 (sfw) and 11 (nsfw) for Bjørn and Missy?
~From Gedankenmoon🍄
Rubs my little hands together like the gremlin that I am
SFW
13: Who stays up late? Who sleeps the most? Does the other have to force them to sleep/wake up?
Depending on the day, some mornings are harder on the old man than others, so he tends to sleep in…
… Which is a good thing for Missy cuz she has extra time to cuddle her big bear bf <3 and those moments are extra valuable to her since they're both cuddlebugs and both very touch starved, he sometimes pretends to be asleep and roll over to hold her against his chest :3
He knows she likes the warmth, protection and comfort it provides her with, so he does this often. And he likes to think Missy doesn't know he's pretending to be sleeping but she knows. XD
Both have their little routine so none really oversleep compared to the other, but Bjørn can sometimes manage to wake up first, which allows him to give Missy breakfast in bed. It's always the same one but it's the intention that matters; scrambled eggs with bits of smoked bacon in it with toast, an orange juice for extra vitamins and a good cuppa coffee. It's simple, cuz the man's simple, but who wouldn't want a breakfast made by the love of your life?
NSFW one under the cut c:<
/MINORS DNI\
NSFW
11: Favourite romantic gestures during sex/orgasm?
Bjørn is a very touchy feely person. He likes to caress, grope, and kiss, you name it. He can get rougher if his partner wishes to but he tends to be the slow and deep type of man.
One of his favorite thing to do, however, is to fuck Missy in a missionary position so he can watch her and praise her as she comes undone under him. And like I said, a slow and deep type of man, he takes the time to bring his partner to their closure before his own, likes to tease, to caress her body, to praise it simply by the touch… and she loves it.
And when she gets close, he closes the distance between them too, pressing his forehead against hers and caressing her cheeks with his thumbs as he holds himself over her using his forearms.
The praise flows freely as well, he keeps telling her that her messy hair looks breathtaking (he loves her hair au naturel), that the blush of her cheeks looks like a sunrise and that he loves her, that she's a piece of art, and of course the reactions he steals from her brings him closer to the edge as well. And even if he fails to orgasm at the same time as her, he'll ask her if she can lend a helping hand, and if not he'll take himself to the bathroom to finish himself while thinking about the moment they just shared. <3
#ask meme#ask answered#bjorn x missy#missy vez#bjorn the bear#spicyy#lemon#AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAJFKDJSLFJDLKS#THEM#i love them sm
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| luke castellan x fem! daughter of poseidon! reader
౨ৎ warnings ౨ৎ: none i think
౨ৎ summary ౨ৎ: luke and [reader] go on a secret date, only to be caught by annabeth, percy, and grover
౨ৎ PART 2 OUT NOW ౨ৎ
“I thought this place was secret..”
“where’re you going anyways at 10:00 am on a random tuesday??”
percy asked, giving a very confused look, mostly because, you’re never up at 10:00 am or ever putting this much effort into making sure your shirt looks good enough.
“percy, i’m not going anywhere. i just decided to.. put a little more effort in today i guess.”
you said with glowing cheeks, thinking of luke. percy doesn’t seem to convinced and was about to say something else, but you quickly beat him to it, to avoid other integrations.
“are you sure my shirt looks good?” “should i opt for the baggier jeans or keep these flared ones on?”
⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆
it was a sunny day for camp half blood. perfect for a picnic or maybe even a secret date..
as you exited your cabin, ready to spend some much needed time with your favorite boy ever, you were stopped by annabeth. don’t get me wrong, you love annabeth. but right now, you wanted some alone time with luke.
“hey y/n! i wanted to ask if you could help me work on some new sparring skills? i was going to ask luke but i can’t seem to find him anywhere.” annabeth asked with a hopeful look in her eyes.
you hesitated in saying it, but you couldn’t ever turn down helping someone. “sure annie. why not” you said with a bit of a forced smile.
as she showed you the moves she’s been working on, you correct her on her form and where she would be exposed to the enemy. this goes on for about 20 minutes until grover walks by and starts talking to annabeth about something.
you use this opportunity to quietly slip away to finally see luke. all you wanted to do was kiss him and hug him and do everything affectionate with him because you felt like you haven’t seen him in forever (you haven’t seen him for like a day).
as you brush through the sharp pine needles and itchy bushes, you finally catch a glimpse of the boy you fell in love with when you were 14.
you see him laying down on a blanket, with his elbows propping him up. you sneak up behind him and put your hands over his eyes.
“guess who!” you say lightly laughing as he guesses stupid answers like “Chiron” or “Percy”.
as you remove your hands from his eyes he gets up and immediately kiss you all over your cheeks, nose, forehead, and finally your lips.
“hey, i’ve missed you so much.” luke says with love laced in his eyes.
“not as much as i’ve missed you.” “i have to tell you all about the morning i’ve had just to get here!” you exclaimed with a smile as you both sit down, hand in hand.
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some time has passed. about an hour or so. your head is on luke’s shoulder as he’s telling you all about how his week has been and how much he’s missed you (even though you two saw each other literally the day before).
in the middle of talking, you decided to just kiss him because well, you love him and this is one of the only times you got to spend time with him alone. as you’re both ahem.. making out, you hear footsteps, but you don’t think much of it.
until you hear a percy yelling “WHY ARE YOU MAKING OUT WITH MY HALF-SISTER?!?!!” as grover catches up with percy, panting. and annabeth removes her hat, “percy! you ruined our cover you seaweed brain.”
“well sorry that i’m freaked out that luke is making out with my sister!! we’re lucky we didn’t get here later..”
as both you and luke just sit there dumbfounded, you finally decide to speak up. “ok why are you all here??” percy replies back very sassily “oh missy that’s the least of your problems.”
you roll your eyes as one of the more mature ones respond (annabeth) “well after grover finished talking to me, i saw that you weren’t with me anymore and also judging how luke wasn’t where he usually is either, i got a little fishy. so i grabbed percy and grover and went off.”
percy is just glaring at luke. like staring daggers into him. luke is just sheepishly smiling as he lays his head on your shoulder kissing it. as you both hear percy lecturing you on how it’s not ok to sneak around and such, annabeth and grover just sit there laughing as you and luke just keep playfully rolling your eyes and being dramatic with your responses like “oh i’m so sorry percy! i won’t ever do this again!”
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as you walk back to your cabin, percy in the middle of you and luke, you’re thinking all about how much you’ve fallen for luke and how excited you are to build your future with him (oop).
and as all three of you walk toward the poseidon cabin, you mouth to luke “stay outside for a minute”. you and percy walk inside and you make up some excuse to go back out there.
you go back outside where luke still is and you hug him around his waist. “that date was fun.. until.. yknow” you said laughing.
he rests his chin on the top of your head, and laughs. “yea. i always love spending time with my sunshine.” he says as he kisses the top of your head and pulls away.
you smile and look at his left eye, his lips, then to his right eye (triangle method lol). you lean in and kiss his soft lips as his arms find their way to your waist and yours to his neck. as you both pull away, foreheads touching, luke whispers with a smile,
“my cabin. 10:30 pm. make sure percy’s asleep.” you lightly laugh and pull away going into your cabin. as luke is about to walk to his counselor duties, he sees percy in the window giving him the death glare. he flinches and he awkwardly smiles and walks backwards until percy walks away from the window.
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౨ৎ a/n ౨ৎ-(PT2??) first imagine done! i really hope u liked this one. pls request some!! i love writing for our fav evil boyfriend lol. and give me feedback! i’m new to this whole “imagines” thing haha <3 (btw idk how to put my requests thing on so just pm me with them🫶🏻🫶🏻)
-jules🎀
#lukecastellan#percy jackson and the olympians#pjo#percyjackson#percy jackson x reader#pjo x reader#pjoverse#pjo series#annabeth#grover#luke castellan x reader#x reader#percy jackson and the heroes of olympus#pjo tv show#charlie bushnell#siblings#protective brother#poseidon#luke castellan#child of hermes#hermes#child of poseidon
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In Charge
Cooper Family x Fem!Reader | Georgie Copper x Fem!Reader
Taglist | Requests | Wattpad
Main Masterlist | Other Actors and Characters Masterlist
Requested Anonymously: “hi honey! i have no idea if your still taking requests but if you are, could you do a georgie cooper x fem!reader (where they are already dating), and that missy some how convinces everyone to pretend to be a family (like georgie’s the dad, y/n is the mum, sheldon and missy are the kids) and at the end when y/n stays over georgie tells them how great of a mum she would be and how he wants to start a family with her? just pure fluff? love your work so so much <333”
Summary: The reader’s in charge and all she wants is Peace, which leads to an interesting conversation between her and Georgie.
Warnings: None, really. I mean, there's fluff, but other than that... nothing really
A/N:
My ADHD is allowing me to write today, so that is what I shall do.
This will be based before Georgie drops out of school and has a kid. And because it was an anonymous request, I couldn’t ask, but instead of playing house, I made it as the reader babysitting. That’s kind of like playing house right? I just didn’t know how to make it about them playing house without it basically being Y/N and Georgie babysitting. If you requested this and didn’t like it, I will rewrite it as them all playing house, just privately DM me, if you’d like to remain anonymous.
Words: 2.4K
“Alright, everyone, I’m headed to the store,” Mary said as she exited her room. She made her way through the living room seeing Y/N and Georgie cuddled up on the couch, flipping through channels with no one else in sight.
Mary turned to Georgie and asked, “Where’s your father?”
Georgie’s eyes stayed glued to the TV screen as he gave his mother a shrug of the shoulders. Y/N saw this and slapped Georgie’s shoulder with a hard glare. “Georgie, it’s disrespectful to ignore your mother,” the teenage girl said sternly.
“Ow!” Georgie exclaimed, looking away from the TV to observe his arm for a bruise. When he realized he was okay, he looked up, looking between his girlfriend and his mother. “I didn’t ignore her. I said that I didn’t know.”
Y/N glared and rolled her eyes at the boy before looking over at her boyfriend’s mother. “I don’t know where he went, but he was grumbling about having a hard day,” She said, answering Mary for Georgie. Mary thanked the girl before continuing into the kitchen with a scoff. She mumbled her husband’s name, annoyed, and called out, “Y/N’s in charge.” Georgie’s eyes instantly went wide in shock as he stared wide-eyed at the kitchen entrance, unable to actually see his mother from his current position. Y/N sat next to him with a smirk as they heard the sound of keys jingling and a door closing.
As soon as the door closed, Sheldon stormed out of his room, looking as if he was about to blow his top. “Mom!” He loudly called out, not receiving an answer.
Georgie paid no mind to the boy, instead bringing him back to the television as if nothing happened. Y/N looked over at the boy with caring eyes and said, “She just left. What’s up, bud.”
“Do you know when she’ll be back?” Sheldon asked frantically.
“No, I don’t. I’m sorry. Is it something I can help with?”
Sheldon hesitated, not knowing if he trusted Y/N enough to help him. He wasn’t used to going to people outside of his family for help. He huffed, “Missy took my Flash action figure, and she won’t give it back.”
Y/N stood from her spot on the couch. Georgie gave her a quick look and then turned back to the TV. “I’m sure Missy wasn’t trying to intentionally upset you, Sheldon,” The girl reassured him in a soft voice.
Sheldon gave Y/N a blank stare. “Have you met my sister?”
She chuckled and said, “Come on. Let’s see for ourselves.”
She followed Sheldon to his shared room, leaving Georgie alone on the couch. As they entered, the two spotted Missy sitting on her bed playing with a Barbie doll and Sheldon’s Flash action figure.”
“See!” Sheldon exclaimed, pointing directly at his twin.
Y/N let out a small “mhm” as she moved to sit on Missy’s bed, next to her. “Hi, Missy.”
“Hi,” She responded, continuing to play with the doll and action figure. (I know there are people who would ridicule me if I put the action figure in the “dolls” category, so I’ll leave it at that.)
“Whatcha doing?”
“Playing.”
Y/N heard a frustrated groan behind her and quietly sighed.
“Missy?” Y/N spoke a bit more sternly than before.
“Hmm.” Missy looked up at the older girl.
“Did you take Sheldon’s to-”
“Action figure,” Sheldon cut the girl off to correct her.
“Did you take your brother’s Action Figure without asking?” Y/N asked. The younger girl gave the teenager an apologetic frown as she slowly placed the dolls on the bed. Sheldon swooped in behind the girl and snatched his Flash action figure from off of his twin’s bed.
“It’s not very nice to take people’s things without asking. What if Sheldon did it to you?”
“I’d punch him in the face,” Missy Responded.
Y/N scolded Missy, causing her to shy away. “Apologise to your brother.”
“But-”
“I said apologise.”
“This isn’t fair.”
“That doesn’t sound like an apology to me,” Y/N said, still scolding the child in front of her. She heard a snicker behind her and slowly turned to face Sheldon. Sheldon jumped. His smile was replaced with a look of fright. “Something funny?” Y/N asked the boy. She was now scolding him, but it was the frightening position the girl was in that really scared him. Her body was facing his sister, whilst her head faced him. He felt as if he were staring into the eyes of an owl that looked like his brother’s girlfriend.
He quickly shook his head. “No. No problem.”
“I don’t think laughing at someone who is trying to apologize is really respectful. I think you both should apologize to each other,” She ordered. The room went silent for a second before the two suddenly began to speak, simultaneously.
“I’m sorry for taking your stupid doll without asking.”
“I’m sorry for laughing at your terrible excuse for an apology.”
Y/N looked between the two in utter shock. How can they both be this bad at apologizing? She shrugged it off as she stood up from her sitting position. “Well, it wasn’t the best, but we’ll get there. For now, I don’t want to hear any more about this Flash doll-”
“Action figure.”
“Whatever! I don’t want to hear about it anymore, okay? The two nodded and the girl took that as her cue to go. She went back into the living room to see Georgie still watching TV. She scoffed, rolling her eyes at her boyfriend.
As she approached her spot on the couch, Georgie looked up, finally noticing her. “Hey, you’re back,” Georgie said with a smile. “I kept your seat warm for you.” He patted the spot where she sat, earlier.
Y/N looked down at the couch cushion in disgust. “Literally or figuratively, because I told you last time that that was gro-”
“Relax. It was figurative. Geez, you do one thing as a joke, and suddenly you’re labeled for life.”
Y/N laughed at her boyfriend's dramatics as she joined him on the couch. Georgie looked over at the girl, admiring everything about her. In his mind, he saw Y/N as the prettiest girl in the universe. No one compared to the girl when it came to looks, smarts, and her nurturing personality.
He wrapped his arm around the girl and pulled her into his chest. “You know, I think you would make an amazing mother one day,” Georgie said, catching Y/N off guard. She lifted her head off of her boyfriend’s chest so that she could look at him.
“Wow! Where did that come from?”
“I’ve seen you with my family, and despite how messed up it is, you manage to wedge yourself into everyone’s heart one way or another. Not to mention the fact that I heard how you handled Sheldon and Missy, just now. That’s something I’ve only seen my mother do and succeed. But in my opinion, you did it best,” Georgie said. Y/N’s heart was racing as watched and listened to Georgie speak about her. Tears brimmed her eyes as she gave the boy a loving smile before giving him a quick kiss.
“Awe, Georgie. That’s the sweetest thing anyone has said to me.”
“Well, it’s true.”
“If it’s any consolation, I think you’ll be an amazing father.”
“Really?”
“Really,” Y/N chuckled. The two pulled each other in super close for a tight hug. Y/N’s head, once again rested on Georgie’s chest. She closed her eyes as she took in the aroma of her boyfriend’s cologne. Georgie placed a kiss on top of her head, wishing that this moment would never end.
When they pulled out of the hug, Y/N moved slightly away from the boy, so that she could get a better look at him. She wore a mischievous smirk as she asked, “When you thought of me as a mother, what did you envision?”
She chuckled as she watched Georgie think for a second. “I saw you… as my wife. And in your arms, we have a son, who you can never put down because he loves his momma so much that if you try to put him down, he screams. And don’t get me started on the sleeping situation.” Y/N laughed, making Georgie smile. She motioned for Georgie to continue. “Okay, well we also have 4 other kids.”
Y/N’s eyes went wide in astonishment. “5 kids? You think of us having 5 kids?”
“And a dog. Anyways there’s little Joanne, but she goes by “Jo”. She’s a tomboy and a daddy’s girl at the same time. Then there is Tommy. He’s a year older than Jo, and he’s tough. If you mess with his siblings you are in a world of hurt.”
Y/N nodded her head, saying a small “okay,” as she continued to listen. “The oldest two are Fawn and Sam. Their completely different, but the two are always together, which sometimes leads to fighting. That’s where you, the mamma bear come in. You know all your kids, and you know how to easily tame them.”
“I like it,” Y/N chuckled. “Now I don’t know if I can handle 5 kids, but I love your idea of what our family would look like in about 20-30 years.”
“Hold on. You want to wait until we're in our 30’s and 40’s to have kids?”
“Sorta. I mean having all those kids is gonna take time. And how will we support them if we aren’t stable? You can take care of kids all day, but who is gonna provide? Kids are expensive, Georgie. You gotta feed them, clothe them, put them through school, take them to the doctor. You need money for all of those things.”
“And I can do that,” Georgie added. “I’m gonna be the moneymaker. I’ll have a job that pays well, and move us into a nice, big house.”
“What about me?”
“What about you?”
“I don’t want to be a housewife. I want to have my own job. And why do you get to be the main source of income?”
“First off, I didn’t say you had to be a housewife. You can have a job, but I want to be the one who gives you everything you want. I want to take care of you and to do that, I work hard, maybe even owning my own company.”
“Businessman. I can somewhat see it.”
“Well, I will be. That’s how we can afford everything because my business is booming,” Georgie assured the girl. Her smile remained on her face, getting wider and wider as they went deeper into their hypothetical future together.
The two continue to talk for a few more minutes as the sound of feet walking across the floor gets closer and closer to them. The sound eventually stops behind Y/N. Georgie looks up and glares at the person who interrupted their moment together. “What now, Sheldon?” Georgie asked with a touch of irritation.
“I’m hungry,” Sheldon spoke. Y/N turned to look at the boy.
Georgie responded to Sheldon, “You’re smart, don’t you know how to make you a sandwich?” Y/N kicked Georgie’s leg, receiving a small “ow” from the older boy.
“Sheldon, your mom went to the store. I’m sure she’ll be back soon and she will start on dinner.”
“But I’m hungry now.”
“Sheldon, if you eat now, then you are gonna spoil your appetite. And you know more than anyone that it takes longer than an hour or two to digest your food, so why don’t you go back in your room, and wait.”
“Okay,” Sheldon sighed as he made his way back to his room.
“See! You just tamed a wild Sheldon, that’s almost impossible.” Y/N rolled her eyes at Georgie’s comment.
“Y/N!” Missy called out walking into the living room. Y/N watched the younger girl walk in with an arm full of dolls. “Y/N, will you play with me? I’m bored, and I have no one to play with.”
“Sure,” Y/N agreed, giving Missy a beaming smile. She moved off the couch. “What? Nooo! Where are you going?” Georgie asked, frowning up at his girlfriend as she moved farther and farther away from him. Missy quickly grabbed Y/N’s hand with her free hand and started pulling her toward her room. Y/N looked back at Georgie and whispered “Sorry,” whilst laughing at Georgie’s expression.
Georgie eventually left the couch and went to his room. He was jealous of the fact that Missy and Sheldon had basically hogged up all their time together. He aggressively flopped on his bed and opened up the magazine he was reading before Y/N came over.
His door was open, in case Y/N got bored of playing dolls with Missy and wanted to join him. So when Mary walked into the house and dropped her keys in the key bowl, Georgie heard it. Y/N must have heard also, because as soon as he heard his mother grunt, probably from bringing in groceries, Y/N rushed out of the room and graciously helped the woman.
Georgie stood from his bed and curiously entered the kitchen. He watched Mary and Y/N laugh as they walked back into the house with the groceries. “I must admit Y/N since Georgie has started seeing you, he’s been different.” Y/N looked up at the woman with a frown. “No! Not in a bad way. He’s kinder and a bit more respectful. And look at this house! Usually, I come home and there is something that needs cleaning up, and today, it’s just as I left it.”
“Well, thank you, Mrs. Cooper. We did have some issues, but it was quickly resolved and the peace was restored.”
“Oh, you don’t have to think of me. You did an excellent job. I hope one day I get to call you my daughter-in-law.”
“Awe. Stop Mrs. Copper. You’re gonna make me cry,” She said, fanning her bright red face. Georgie saw the tears lining her eyes from where he stood.
The front door opened, revealing George walking into the house in his work clothes. He saw Georgie standing in the kitchen watching his mother and girlfriend interact. “What are you doing?” He asked his son as he approached.
“Mom and Y/N are… bonding? I don’t actually know what’s happening,” Georgie said with a shrug of his shoulders.
George chuckled and clapped his hand against his son’s back. “From me to you, good luck. You’re gonna need it.” And with that, George was gone, leaving a confused Georgie alone with his thoughts.
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#fanfic#fanfiction#x reader#georgie cooper x reader#georgie cooper#young sheldon#sheldon cooper#missy cooper#george cooper#mary cooper#masterlist#request#requested#family#big bang theory fandom#big bang theory
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Can you do something fluffy and domestic with Price. Like maybe him trying to ask civilian reader out on a date, and everything is just going against him. (He eventually does get to ask her whether or not it was how he planned it.)
john wants to ask his favorite waiter/waitress out on a date, but the universe seems to have other plans for him.
john price x gn!reader
part 2
fluff, john trying his best, domesticity
a/n: ty for the request!! you’re my first one so i hope you like it <3 also, let’s just pretend like the timeline of this fic makes sense :)
-
Oh, this poor man was hopeless from the start. He had been interested in you for a while and was finding the courage within himself to finally ask you out. He felt silly about the ache in his chest whenever he thought about what your response might be. He just wanted to do right by you was all. So, when he was finally out of his latest mission and allowed to take a break, he was determined to pop the question to you.
The plan was to stop by the flower shop and buy a simple bouquet for you, but when he found himself in front of the store it had been closed. “Family Emergency. Will be back next week.” He didn’t have a week.
Okay, so, no flowers. It was disappointing, to say the least, but he could make do.
You were nearing the end of your shift when your coworker, Missy, tapped you on the shoulder. As you turned away from the table you were cleaning, she leaned down and whispered in your ear, “There’s that hot man here, again. He’s asking for you, dear.”
She ended her news with a knowing wink. Looking past her shoulder, you could clearly see John sitting at a table with a menu in his hands. Your cheeks flushed at Missy’s insinuation.
“Thanks,” you managed to choke out, hoping she didn’t notice how flustered you were.
“Of course. That’s the second time, just so you know,” she reminded teasingly, nudging you with her elbow encouragingly before leaving to go attend to her own tables.
Out of the three times John had been to your restaurant (including this one), he spent the last two specifically requesting your presence. Though you tried not to think much of it, you couldn’t ignore the way it made your heart flutter.
Straightening your uniform, you made your way to his table with a genuine smile—a stark contrast to the fake one you give to other customers just for the sake of work. John pretended like he wasn’t secretly watching you in the periphery of his vision and looked up at you once you found your way to him.
“It’s nice to see you again,” you beamed.
“‘S nice to see you too,” he replied, unable to keep that lovestruck smile off his face. “How have you been, sweetheart?”
You laughed softly, “I’ve been alright. You know, just the same old. How about you, John?”
“I’m afraid it’s been the same for me. Just got off a mission.” Not once did his eyes leave yours. It was almost intimidating, the way he was so dedicated to giving you his full attention.
“Really? You’ll have to tell me about it sometime,” you said hopefully.
It was the perfect opportunity for him. All he had to say was, ”Actually, I was wondering if you’d like to go out with me sometime,” and he almost pulled it off.
“Actually, I—”
Ring, ring, ring, ring.
Internally cursing himself, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and saw the contact Laswell flashing on his screen. Usually, when she called, it was something worth hearing. He looked up at you apologetically, but you just smiled and waved your hand at him to let him know it was okay.
Standing up, he answered Kate’s call and pressed his phone between his ear and his shoulder. You couldn’t hear much of what the other person was saying. It was mostly just John nodding his head, saying a quick “yes” or “no,” or mentioning what you assumed were his colleagues' names.
Gathering his things, he turned to you and gave an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, but I have to leave, right now. I apologize for wasting your time like this.”
“Oh, no, don’t worry! It’s nice to have seen you anyway, and I’m glad you’re doing well. I don’t mind, honestly,” you reassured him, secretly disappointed at the fact that his visit was so short-lived.
Clearing his throat, he asked, “If it's not too out of line, may I ask when you get off work?”
Throwing all caution to the wind, you quickly answered, “At about ten thirty.”
“Ten thirty, all right,” he said (more so to himself than you). “Have a good rest of your shift, sweetheart.”
“Thank you, I hope all is well at work,” you nodded, watching as his eyes lingered on your for a moment before he left for the door.
The entire time he was back at work the thought of you sat in the back of his mind. Honestly, he couldn’t even remember why he was there. Something about an important lead? Or maybe a new contact? Honestly, his head was in the clouds.
Even though you didn’t know he was going to ask you out, he still felt guilty for not being able to pop the question to you. As soon as he left the meeting, he was out the door. It was already ten, and it took about twenty-five minutes to get to the restaurant. He silently cursed himself for the second time that day, still determined to get in his car and see if, by some miracle, he could catch you.
He had imagined himself in the exact opposite situation he was currently in. He had wanted to be out of uniform in something more presentable and approachable, being able to spend his time with you without any interruptions. Now, he was having to rush his pace with his uniform on as he attempted to make up for his first failed attempt at asking you out. He didn’t want to be the captain with you, just John Price.
Peeking into the front door of the now-closed restaurant, he scanned the few workers left inside to see if any of them were you only to be met with disappointment. His frustrated grew ten-fold as he turned away from the door, making his way back to his car.
Just as he was about to hop in, you were exiting the side door with your uniform in hand.
“John?” you called out, stopping just a few feet away from him. You almost didn’t recognize him with the way he was dressed (not that you were complaining).
He whirled around instantly at the sound of your voice. “(Y/n),” he started. “I almost thought I missed you.”
You smiled. “No, one of my coworkers needed help with something so I stayed behind just a little bit.”
“How kind of you. Most would leave as soon as they were able,” he praised, shutting his car door behind him.
“She’s always been kind to me. I figured the least I could do is repay her.” You paused. “So, uh, what brings you back here so late?”
You.
“Well, I was just…” Why was he nervous? He had asked out plenty of people before (though none quite like you). For Christ’s sake, he was a disciplined soldier capable of incredible feats without breaking a single sweat. He’s faced dangerous criminals with a calm face and a stable mind, but with you, oh, it was like everything he ever learned went out the window.
You waited expectantly with bated breath.
“Well, I was actually wondering if you would want to go out with me sometime. Anywhere you like,” he finally managed. “‘Course, feel free to say no. I promise I won’t be hurt.”
He’s lying, of course, but you didn’t need to know that.
Your face lit up at his question, answering with an immediate, “Yes, I’d love to!”
Finally, finally, he could release the breath he was holding. His shoulders visibly relaxed, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he grinned at your response.
“How do you feel about movie and a dinner?”
Maybe it didn't go exactly as he'd planned, but at least you said yes, right?
#john price x reader#captain john price x reader#price x reader#john price imagine#captain john price imagine#call of duty x reader#call of duty imagine#cod x reader#cod imagine#rarawrites#cod mw x reader#john price x you#call of duty fluff#call of duty fanfic#cod fanfic#john price fanfic#price fanfic#john price x gn!reader#cod x gn!reader#call of duty x gn!reader
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Hello!! I just loooooove how you write Alastor, this unhinged bastard 😂 anyway can I request Alastor with a lesbian, chaotic reader, who's always drooling over women (especially Alastor's friends)(read: Rosie). Toooootally not self-indulgent. Obv platonic pls!! Thank you in advance 🙇
- 🥀
Omg I love this SO MUCH
Alastor X Reader Headcanons
❌️Romantic
✅️Platonic
TW: TERRIBLE TREATMENT OF READER, reader being funny af, idk who is more unhinged, slight Mimzy X Reader, slight Rosie X Reader
Description: ☝️⬆️
First of all, he's gonna be your wingman NOT because he wants to help but because it's funny when you fail
Encourages your chaotic nature and uses it to his advantage, will not let you be caged
Someone beneath him wants to pick a fight with him??? Oh he'll give them a fight
*sets down an oversized pet carrier*
*feral animal sounds and vicious shaking*
Alastor opens the door and lets you wreak havoc on them, it's just too hilarious
All metaphorically of course
😳
They get you a toddler leash because you're always scampering off straight into trouble???
Alastor cuts it the first day Vaggie takes you out
*massive destructive explosive sounds in the distance*
"What the FUCK, ALASTOR!?"
Alastor: 😏
You're his favorite feral little ball of chaos
BACK TO BEING YOUR WINGMAN
It's amusing how quickly you change gears when it comes other women and how they enthrall you
He often gives you a handkerchief to clean up your drool, pushes your mouth shut when it's hanging open and grabs the back of your clothes to keep you upright
He does look out for you though
If Mimzy is currently in your sights then he won't let her take advantage of your attraction towards her
That greedy little thing will take you for every dime all while she flirts and toys with you
If you're feasting your eyes any of the overlords(*cough*Carmilla-*cough*Missi-*cough*Velvet-*cough*) then he'll straight up tell you no
Not him bonking your head sweetly with his staff before pushing you out of harm's way
Rosie is an exception tho
He knows she can fend you off herself if she really wants to but also that she won't really do any harm to you
Not that you're not very charming
Rosie just thinks you're adorable!! All the eager attention you're giving her! She could just eat you up!
No seriously...she could...you would taste sweet
No you're sweet
You're making her blush
And you're making her hungry
"Okay, time to go!"
So Alastor sticks around and looks out for you in those moments but he also thinks it's hilarious when you shoot your shot
Feeds you terrible pick up lines and almost dies of laughter when you actually use them
"Hey! Tie your shoes!! I don't want you falling for anyone else~"
"She actually went with that one?!"
Will properly fix your hair or clothes up before you go out on a date, he can't have you looking shabby
If you ask him for advice then he actually has some really good ideas for romance
It's just difficult to get him to give you a honest answer because it's so funny when you fumble a bad bitch
Actually, he does try to set you up with women he thinks could be good for you
"Fascinating, but have you met my good pal Y/N yet? She is QUITE a character!"
Alastor is your partner in crime and you're wingman but he's pretty terrible at both
Gah!! I hope you liked this one!! I wanted to really get the little gremlin vibes!!
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Coffee Shop: VIII
Simon Riley x Fem!Reader
You work at a small cafe that Simon starts visiting when he’s not deployed.
Coffee shop Masterlist
In the following weeks that passed after you went over to Simon’s house, a subtle but noticeable shift occurred in the routine. Simon found himself lingering longer at the cafe, no longer constrained by a schedule. Conveniently, he managed to time his departures to coincide with the end of your shift, providing an opportunity to walk you home.
Simon couldn't ignore the routine he'd established—walking you home, exchanging casual conversation, and the comforting warmth that enveloped him when you smiled.
In the beginning, he clung to the excuse that he merely enjoyed the way you made tea. He wasn't interested; he repeated the words like a mantra. But the days blurred, and a subtle transformation occurred. A small smile appeared unbidden on his face when you spoke, and your laughter became a melody that lingered in his thoughts.
As the weeks passed, he noticed a lightness in his chest, an unfamiliar sensation.
Love.
It took him a while to accept the truth. Denial crumbled like sand, revealing a simple reality—he was falling for you. Every day spent with you became a cherished moment, and he couldn't deny the truth any longer. You had woven your way into his heart, and he was grateful for the joy you brought into his life. His chest felt lighter, his heart seemed to skip a beat in your presence, and he couldn't deny the warmth that enveloped him whenever you were near.
You made him happy, and, more importantly, you made him feel in ways he hadn't allowed himself to acknowledge before.
A week after Simon deployed again, you found yourself on the couch, surrounded by the comforting presence of Riley and Missy. To your surprise, the two pets, despite their differences, got along remarkably well. You couldn't resist capturing the moment, snapping a picture of them sleeping peacefully. You decided to share the moment with Simon, sending him the photo.
In the rec room at the base, Simon received the picture. A smile played on his lips, though his expression was hidden behind his balaclava. Johnny, his keen eyes catching the subtle change, teased Simon about you.
"How’s the missus?" Simon put down his phone and met Johnny's gaze with a poker face.
“She’s not my missus,” His tone betraying little.
“When you asking her out then?” Johnny grinned, fully aware of the dynamics at play. Simon fell silent, the notion of pursuing a relationship with you lingering in his thoughts. He contemplated whether you would even want someone with his scars and emotional baggage.
“I'm not,”
“Why’d you have to think about it?” Johnny's smile grew wider, prompting Simon to huff in mild frustration. He abruptly stood up and left the rec room, Johnny calling after him.
“L.t she likes you, don't overthink it!” Johnny's words echoed as Simon disappeared back into his room, contemplating the possibilities that lay ahead.
A few days later, after getting out of the shower, Simon received a Facetime call from you. He quickly threw on a black shirt and answered. As the call connected, he saw Riley on the screen and smiled when he heard the dog whine.
“Miss me, Riley?” Riley whined again, and then your face came into view, a breath of fresh air after not seeing you for two weeks.
“How has he been?” you set up the camera so both you and Riley were in the frame as you sat on your couch. “He’s been good, he destroyed one of his toys.” You flipped the camera to the shredded stuffed penguin, the remains scattered around. Simon laughed, and you smiled, feeling warmth and lightness in your chest.
You flipped the camera back, “How have you been?” Simon set you down on the sink counter, drying his hair with a towel as he looked at you, not wanting to waste a second admiring you before the call ended.
“Been alright, wrapping up a mission tomorrow. I’ll be back in a week.” You smiled, and Simon noticed the way your eyes lit up.
“How have you been, love? How’s work been?” You rambled about a rude customer and then about the snowfall, covering your garden to protect the vegetables. Simon just smiled, loving to hear you talk, finding ease in your voice.
“There’s this book convention in two weeks, they raffle off a five hundred dollar Barnes and Noble gift card. Some authors go, and you can get your books signed too!”
“Five hundred dollars? Sounds like a steal.” You lay down on the couch with Riley taking up most of the camera.
“It is! You could tag along with me… if that’s something you’re interested in.” You nervously started petting Riley, and Simon smiled. “I’d love to, it’ll give me something to look forward to when I get back.”
“Okay, sounds like a plan.” You smiled, continuing to pet Riley. Simon’s attention shifted to his door, where Johnny called out that the captain wanted them in the debriefing room.
“I have to go, love. I’ll talk to you later?” You sat up and smiled, Simon's eyes lingering on it. He tried to burn the image in his mind, your hand going to Riley again, aggressively petting his head.
“Yeah, be safe, Si.” He smiled at the nickname you had been using for the past few weeks, relishing in the warmth it brought.
“I will, love.” You smiled and held up Riley, waving his paw. Simon laughed before hanging up the call. He sat for a moment in his room, the silence deafening. Was this really what his life was like before he met you?
Depressing?
You had truly become the light in his life.
His mission went by in a blur, and before he knew it, the day of the convention arrived, and Simon found himself on your front doorstep. He asked if you wanted to tag along while he took Riley to the park in the morning.
Simon dropped the leash, and Riley ran around in the grass, chasing a small butterfly on a flower. He bit a dandelion before wiggling around in the grass. You laughed as you watched Riley, but Simon's eyes were on you as he smiled.
After taking some pictures of Riley on the slide and letting a few kids pet him, you decided it was time to head back. On the drive home, you pointed out a diner that had really good milkshakes and recommended it to him if he ever had the craving. Simon changed lanes and turned into the parking lot of the diner.
“Could I get fries and a vanilla malt?”
“What do you want, love?” he turned to you and caught you smiling up at him, to which he only smiled. Caught in the moment, the cashier cleared their throat, and you quickly muttered out what you wanted.
You sat in the booth across from Simon, admiring the retro-style diner. "Forever" by The Little Dippers was playing on the jukebox, and he smiled as he gazed at you playing with Riley in your lap. The waitress brought over a small cup filled with whipped cream for Riley, and you both conversed about random things as Riley destroyed the whipped cream next to you on the floor.
You checked the time on your phone after you both finished your food. “We still have a little over two hours before the convention starts.” Simon sat back in the booth, thinking for a moment. What could the both of you do for two hours?
“Is there a theater nearby?” You nodded and put your napkin on your tray. “Yeah, there is actually one right next to the convention.”
“Wanna catch a movie?” You smiled and got up from the booth. “Yeah, I’d love to.”
Simon drove back to his house and dropped Riley off before making his way to the theater. There was a showtime in about ten minutes, so you decided on watching "Priscilla." You both stood in line for concessions. Simon ordered you a Coca Cola slushie and nachos before you walked side by side to the theater, which was fairly empty. After the movie, you rambled on about how awful Elvis Presley was, telling him you hoped he was rotting some where.
“God, what an asshole. The way he whistled when that girl told him she wore Chanel, and Priscilla literally wears the same perfume!” You went on a whole rant as you waited in line to enter the convention, and Simon just laughed as you dragged Elvis through the mud.
You walked up to the raffle stand and wrote your names down with your contact information on small pieces of paper and slipped them into the big bowl.
“May the odds be ever in your favor, Si.” you smiled, and Simon quirked his brow, “You want me to win?” You opened your mouth, shocked.
“The Hunger Games?”
“Never heard of it.” You lightly slapped his arm with the back of your hand, “We need to watch them; they are the best movies. A Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes came out a few months ago, so it's perfect!” Simon smiled and nodded. He didn't know what a ballad had to do with the movies, but he was just happy that he was going to have another excuse to hang out with you.
For the next few hours, you and Simon walked around the convention, buying a few books and getting some signed by the authors. Simon wasn’t a book fanatic like you, but he loved the way your eyes lit up and the smile you had after an author signed a book you purchased. You would say how cool it was and even show him the signature, even though he was standing next to watching them sign it.
Simon observed from a distance as you eagerly approached the booth where another author sat, ready to get your book signed. His eyes narrowed with an unreadable intensity as he watched the author engage you in conversation. The author's questions seemed to linger a bit too long, and Simon, ever vigilant, detected subtle undercurrents of flirtation that you, in your excitement, remained blissfully unaware of.
Unbeknownst to you, Simon had subtly positioned himself right behind you, an almost protective aura surrounding him as he kept a watchful eye on the exchange. His gaze hardened when he noticed the author beginning to write something other than a typical autograph—numbers, perhaps. The scratch of the pen abruptly stopped as Simon cleared his throat.
Simon loomed over your shoulder, an unmistakable death glare fixed upon the author. The author's smile wavered as he met Simon's intense gaze. Hesitatingly, he put his pen down and closed the book, offering a swift, somewhat forced farewell, sensing the change in atmosphere.
Simon's protective stance remained, sending a clear message that your excitement was to be respected, but not exploited. His hand subconcously went to your upper back as he guided you away from the table.
You showed him the autograph, and he hummed before checking his watch, “The raffle is about to start; we should go to the main room.” You nodded, and you both walked over to where everyone was gathered. They began calling out the names for the smaller prizes, the gift baskets, and fifty-dollar gift cards. Neither of you won those, which was good since the people who got those prizes could no longer win the grand prize.
“We will now pull the name of the winner of the five hundred dollar grand prize!” The room was silent as everyone watched him reach into the bowl and grab a slip of paper. He opened it and paused for a few seconds.
“Simon Riley!”
You gasped and turned to him, hugging his arm and shaking it, “Si, you won! Oh my god!”
“Everyone whose name was called can pick up their prize before leaving at the main desk.”
“Bloody hell, I did,” Simon smiled as you shook his arm again, “You just won five hundred dollars to Barnes and Noble! Do you know how many books you can get?!” Simon laughed at the fact that you were more excited than he was. He had already told himself that if he won, he would give it to you since he had more than enough money to buy books.
You were now on your way back home, going back and forth after Simon told you to keep the gift card. “Si, you won the raffle; I can't take it from you.”
“Love, I insist. I don't need it; I know you go through books quickly.”
“Si, I'll feel bad if I take it from you.”
“You can't refuse a gift, love.” You opened your mouth to protest but then sighed. He was right; if you tried gifting him something and he refused, it would break your heart.
“Fine, but I'll make it up to you.”
“Mm, maybe tea on the house?” You laughed and nodded, “Fine, tea on the house.”
As Simon pulled into your driveway, a slight sinking feeling settled in your chest, knowing that your time together was coming to an end. The day had been nothing short of amazing, and over the past month, you and Simon had grown remarkably close. Now, with the engine humming to a stop, you wondered whether it was the right time to express your feelings.
Thoughts swirled in your mind, wondering if he felt the same way. The connection you felt with Simon was special, and you found yourself yearning to spend more time in his company. His smile, his voice—everything about him seemed to captivate you.
As he walked you to the door, you turned around and looked up at him, a smile playing on your lips. The moment felt significant, and you couldn't bear the thought of going another day without telling him how you felt.
"I had such an amazing day today," you began, meeting his eyes with sincerity. "Thank you for everything. I honestly can't remember the last time I had this much fun... Your company means a lot to me."
Simon's smile softened, and he looked at you attentively. "I'm glad you had a good time”
Say it Simon, say you enjoyed being with her too.
“...I um… I enjoy spending time with you too," Simon's expression remained warm, and for a moment, it felt like time stood still.
Encouraged by his response, you both find yourselves face to face, the air charged with a subtle tension. Simon stands extremely close to you as he gazes down, and you meet his eyes, feeling a connection.
The moment seems to stretch on forever, and in the warmth of the shared silence, you decide to make the first move.
As you slightly leaned in, hoping to bridge the gap with a kiss, Simon unexpectedly leaned back on instinct, causing you to pull back, your heart sinking a bit.
The air shifted, and you took a step back, searching for clues in his eyes. There was a pause, a moment of uncertainty hanging between you. Simon's wide gaze remained fixed on yours, leaving the unspoken tension lingering in the air.
Simon watched as the pain of rejection etched itself onto your face, and in that moment, a whirlwind of thoughts raced through his mind. Why had he pulled away? Was it fear? Fear of letting himself be vulnerable to love? Fear of admitting that he cared deeply for someone? Fear that if you knew the real him, you might turn your back on him? Fear of not being good enough for someone as perfect as you?
Seeing the hurt in your eyes, Simon felt an ache in his chest, and the weight of his actions pressed down on him. He tried to find the right words, his brain going a million miles per hour, but all he managed to utter was a sincere, "I'm sorry."
The apology hung in the air, and Simon desperately wished he could articulate the maelstrom of emotions within him. The fear that had driven him to pull away now seemed like a barrier between what he desired and what he feared.
In that vulnerable moment, he struggled to make sense of his own feelings and reconcile them with the connection he felt with you. The air between you was heavy with unspoken words, and Simon knew he owed you an explanation.
He takes a step forward, desperation in his eyes, but you instinctively take a step back, your hand raised as if to stop him. "No, it's okay," you assure him, managing a small, understanding smile. "I understand."
Simon, desperately wanting to explain, takes a breath, "It's not what you think—"
Cutting him off gently, you shake your head, "It's okay. You don't need to explain yourself. I understand." Despite your attempt to hold back the tears, your eyes water, reflecting a mix of understanding and hurt.
“Thank you again for today simon, goodnight.”
Simon's heart splits as he sees your eyes water, and he's left standing there on your doorstep, feeling the weight of his choices. Silently, you turn away, leaving him outside as you retreat into the comfort of your home. Behind closed doors, you let the tears flow, the soft sobs muffled against your pillow.
#call of duty#cod#cod fanfic#cod x reader#cod modern warfare#cod mw2#cod mw3#call of duty modern warfare#writers#cod mwii#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon riley#simon riley cod#simon x reader#cod simon riley#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost x you#ghost x reader#ghost call of duty#ghost cod#ghost mw2#cod ghost#ghost x you#ghost x y/n#ghost fanfiction#ghost fandom
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Could you write for leah but reader is her little sister and she's been like misbehaving at school so her mum asks her to talk to her as of she's being like bullied or something to get reader to admit it.
(Sorry I miss spelled something the first time and didn't realise I took the name out when I was fixing the mistakes)
Big Shoes to fill
Leah Willamson x reader fic
pt.2 here
-> Reader, Leah's younger sister is having trouble in school - mysteries get solved.
-> Talk of bullying, homophobia, (maybe child neglect?)
-> @ anon, I hope you like it - a little bit angstier than most of my stuff
➳ Masterlist
•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•
Amanda and David Williamson had had enough. Since school started again, they have received nothing but bad news from their youngest daughter’s school – your school. At first, it was just forgotten homework, until you missed attendance a couple of times – then they made sure, that you did in fact go to school and classes. But after getting better, it got worse again – you had started to misbehave more and more, talking back to your teachers and being constantly rude to everyone around you.
It was stressful. Of course, you didn’t change your behavior overnight, and you didn’t change because you were bored – but nobody seemed to care. Leah had moved to central London a couple of years ago and your older brother Jacob moved to Australia – leaving you all alone in your parent's home.
They weren’t bad people or bad parents, but they were busy. Work. All day, every day. Both of them had already been older when they had you – Leah already eleven, and Jacob seven when she was ‘blessed’ with a younger sister.
The footballer loved to tell you how your first meeting went, boasting to everybody that you wouldn’t stop crying until she held you for the first time, falling asleep in her skinny, little arms. It was her favorite picture of you as a baby, even to this day.
When your principal called Amanda at work for the third time that week, she was done trying. Instead of picking you up, she told the man on the other side of the phone to let you walk home – no matter how much you whined. To his surprise you did not even complain, taking your bag and walking out the door – dull, tired eyes and an empty smile on your face. You finally did it. Maybe you never had to go back. Maybe they finally gave up on you.
Once you had arrived home you were drenched by the London rain, shivering as you made your way through an empty house, taking a shower before you started cleaning up your muddy footsteps. Everything was normal until no one came home. Usually, your mom would get home at five and your day by eight – but now it was already nine and no one was answering your texts.
The lock of the front door ruckled, and after a few tries, it was finally flung open. Like in a bad horror movie a silhouette was shown by lighting in the background – but after a deafening silence aside from the falling rain, Leah stepped inside. Her hair kept back in a beanie and a bag of take-out food in her hand – “I’m homeee!”
You took the food into the kitchen before handing her towels and dry clothes, leaving her to get changed. “You, my love, are the best sister, ever!” By now you had plated the food and set up on the couch, two glasses, and a bottle of wine. “I’m your only sister, Lee.” Her blue eyes softened at your weak voice. “I knowww, but you’re always so good to me.” She pulled you into a tight hug, almost afraid to let you go.
You handed her one of the plates, two slices of Pizza on it – your joined favorite – as she eyes the glasses. “Aren’t you a little too young to drink, Missy?” A sheepish smile was the only response that she got, and it was enough. Leah could see that something was up.
Usually, you had time to prepare when she visited, knowing of it beforehand – but today was different, she just showed up. You didn’t have time to hide the bags beneath your eyes, or do your hair in a way that didn’t look completely life-less – and she noticed. Of course, Leah noticed. She would always notice.
You ate dinner in silence for a while, just happy to be in each other's presence, having missed that feeling once Leah had moved out and you had gotten older. But when both plates were clean, Leah literally licking the crumbs off them, you couldn’t take it anymore. “I’m guessing you’re the one I have to thank for Mum and Dad being somewhere else?”
Your older sister swallowed hard, knowing that you would ask, but she had still hoped that she could gently lead you into the conversation. “Yeah, they’re at my place.” Leah’s place was a stunning apartment closer to the Arsenal training facility. As gently as she could, she took your hands into hers, immediately noticing how cold they were.
“They told me that you’ve been havin’ trouble in school. What’s goin on Bug?” You hated that look. Leah’s eyes clouded with worry terrified you. She really did care, and while that was nice to know, it also meant, that you would hurt her, no matter what.
“Mom doesn’t know what to do anymore, and Dad- he, well he doesn’t either.” Of course, you knew that. Your mother's tired eyes nearly mirrored your own. But you couldn’t tell them. They wouldn’t understand.
The silence was deafening, and your older sister tried to be subtle with her concerned staring. Sadly for both of you, Leah’s subtle was like an elephant in a fine China store. She really did try not to coax anything out of you, wanting you to feel safe enough to open up.
“School’s just not my thing.”
Both of you knew that you were lying – you loved learning new things and while school might not have the right topics for you, it was better than dying dumb.
The Arsenal player’s eyebrow was intimidating enough for you to just give up. You were tired of fighting your feelings, hurting yourself and everybody else.
“Why are you so rude to the people in your class?” She really was serious, there was no backing out now. “They are not nice people.” Her gaze hardened, her suspicions forming even further. “Why don't you like them?”
But she was met with silence. While you wanted to let her know, that those kids were mean ones, you didn’t want to tell her why they were so mean to you. It would break your sister's heart.
“Okay, what about your football team? Do you have any friends there?” Every time your eyes wandered up from staring at your joined hands to meet Leah’s, they snapped back down. The look in her eyes was terrifying. She seemed scared.
And it was all your fault.
“Oh, I stopped playing football.” Your parents hadn’t even noticed. You washed your own laundry, so when at some point your sweaty training clothes stopped showing up, no one noticed. The only one who did was your trainer – she was now missing one of the most known last names in English women’s football in her team.
You didn’t need to look at your sister to know that she was shocked, her stunned silence doing all the talking. “W-What to do you mean – You quit? But you love football!” You did. You loved watching Leah and her teammates play football, there was so much passion on the field, silent understanding, and mastered routines when they played. “Just drop it, Leah.”
Realization set in for the England captain – you were growing up. Gone was her little sister, who would do anything to be like her. The little sister who worshipped the ground she walked on.
“Why did you quit then? Mom didn’t tell me about it. Why didn’t you call?” You had downed the contents of your wine glass, stealing Leah’s as well. It scared her, just how tired you looked. “Didn’t want to interrupt your day, you’re a busy woman now. Mom always says that.” You took a deep breath, before making air quotes “Leah has more important stuff to do now, honey. Don’t call her, what if she is in an interview?”
The silence was suffocating. It never used to be like this, at least not that Leah remembered. “You would have never interrupted. I will always make time for you, Bug.” As much as you wanted to believe that, you couldn’t. No one made time for you. Not even your mom and dad, who used to do so many exciting things with all their kids in the house. But it was different now. With Leah and Jacob gone.
“A phone works both ways, Leah.”
The footballer was stunned. You were right. She was complaining to your mum, on and on, about how she didn’t know what was happening in your life – but she herself made no effort to change that.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Her confession and apology meant everything to you – even if you feared, that they were empty.
The wine bottle was now empty, and Leah still sober – but that was her plan, and it was working a charm, as your slightly slurred words started to pour out.
“I am so proud of you. You know?” A deep sniffle filled the brief silence “Winning the home European Championship, leading the team to the win, playing every game.” Your eyes were staring into space, as your sisters’ hands tried to warm yours, scared of how hollow you looked and felt. “But it’s not easy living up to that, you know?”
You once again grabbed the glass, disappointed when it was empty. But you didn’t get up to get more. “All everyone said when we went back to school, was how I would never be as good as you.” Tears threatened to fall from Leah’s eyes as things started to make sense. “That’s not true, y-“ but you didn’t let her finish her desperate try to change your mind. “It is true, Leah. I will never be as good as you – because I don’t really like football that much. Your passion and love for it, made you work harder to get where you are right now. I just played so that Jacob and you had something to talk to me about.”
Your whole life you had been pretending to love the game just as much as your siblings did – and when Leah thought back on it, she started to see it. You never had a team you supported, but it was always the one she had played for, or preferred. Not a single well-known footballer came to your mind when you were asked. The only answer you would give? ‘My sister, Leah. She is my favorite footballer of all time.’
“People had never been the kindest to me. I mean I could handle it when they just made fun of me for defending you. But after the win, all of a sudden everyone loved you, and then I was the one they were hurling insults at.” Tears made their way down the blonde's face, leaving a salty taste on her lips. “What did you need to defend me from?”
She knew it was bad the moment that your hands let go of hers. Seeking space. “Well, people knew. They knew about you and Jordan.” Sobs started to wreck her body as you desperately tried to soothe her by rubbing her back.
People were insulting her for being gay, and you stood up for her, making yourself the target.
“Bug, I- I don’t know what to say…”
The tipsyness started to make way for your guilt. She wasn’t supposed to know. You knew that it would break her heart, knowing what was happening at school.
“I hoped, that if I acted cold enough, people would leave me alone. But they didn’t. I tried to tell Mum that I wanted to change schools, but she was busy.” Now she understood. You tried to get yourself kicked out of school so that your parents had no choice but to notice and send you to a new one, where you could start over.
“I am so sorry. You shouldn’t have to go through that.” Your gaze finally met hers, gone was her baby sister. The teen in front of her was much too mature for her age, needing to wise up after being left all alone in the world.
“I know Lee.”
My god. What had she done? Leah Williamson was sure if there was an award for being the worst sister – she would have surely won it.
#woso x reader#woso imagine#woso#woso imagines#arsenal wfc x reader#engwnt x reader#lionesses x reader#leah williamson#leah williamson x reader#leah williamson imagine
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camp
wonze x child!reader
sorry this took a while for those who asked. didn’t know how to end it tbh
part 1 part 2
———
You were sleeping peacefully in your big girl bed when you start feeling a hand run through your hair. You whine, not liking the feeling of waking up, shoving your face into your pillow.
“Morning, Petal.” Your Mama greets you.
“No. Night night.”
“Yes, morning. You’ve got to wake up, Mummy is making your favorite breakfast.”
You peak, opening just one of your eyes.
“Pacakes?”
“With strawberries.”
“Strawberries.” You said in awe. You push the covers off of you and hold your arms up. Your Mama getting the hint and picks you up, placing you in her hip.
“Little missy is finally up.”
“Hi, Mummy.” You lean your body forward to give her a kiss on the cheek, almost falling out of Lucy’s hold.
“Hi, honey. Did you have a good sleep?”
“Best sleep. Teddy make sure I don’t have bad dreams.”
“That’s nice of Teddy to do.”
“Now, Petal. Do you remember what we’re doing today?” You shake your head side to side, stuffing your face with pancakes. “We’re going to be on an airplane.”
You gasp, remembering. “We see auntys?”
“We are!”
“Miss Aunty Leah. Want to wear her jersey today.”
After some trouble with getting you dressed - you running away from your mums - you finally made it past security and waiting by your gate.
“Is a big airplane?”
“Yeah.”
“I sit at the window?”
“Of course.”
“Watch Bluey on plane?”
“Uh huh.”
Your moms answer your many questions from the gate waiting area all the way to your seats on the plane. You didn’t complain once on the flight, your moms grateful that it wasn’t a long flight.
You try to run out of the airport, but your Mummy holds onto your hand tight. Walking out of the doors, you see someone familiar leaning against a car.
“Aunty Leah!”
“Munchkin!’
“You here? Mama and Mummy say you not.” You place both of your tiny hands on both her cheeks.
“I’ve missed you and I wanted to come and hang out with you.”
“Missed you too.”
You made you Mama drive the car because you wanted your Aunty Leah to sit next to you. You told her everything you’ve been up to in the time you hadn’t seen her - from what you ate to the stories your Mummy told you before bed.
Leah helps you out of the carseat and places you on the ground. The rest of the team that have arrived before you were in the meeting room catching up with one another so you were on your way there. Your Mama and Mummy hold the double doors open for you and Leah.
“The princess has arrived!” You let go of Leah’s hand, running towards everyone, giving them all a hug.
The next day, training starts. Your mums made sure to set up a space for you where you could find your toys and plenty of snacks. An hour in, you got hungry so you took a bag of chips from your bag. You still have trouble opening these bags so you looked around to see who wasn’t on the pitch. Your mums had a very stern talking to you about going to the pitch while they’re playing so you made sure not to do that anymore.
The only one not playing were the trainers and Sarina. Sarina was the boss - something your Mama told you - so since she was in charge, she knew a lot of things and one of those things could be opening a bag of chips.
You timidly walk up to her, holding out the bag to her. She opens it without question. you stand next to her, observing your moms and their friends play, stuffing your mouth.
“You want to be my little helper?” Your eyes light up, head nodding rapidly. She asks one of the trainers to grab a chair for you to stand on. Sarina tells you what to say, you yelling as loud as your little voice could. “Faster!” You loved this job, being able to yell without your moms telling you to quiet down.
When training ended, Leah picked you up, placing you on her shoulders. She walks over to where your moms stood, getting hydrated.
“Mummy! I tall!”
“So tall!” She replies, matching your enthusiasm, tickling your stomach and hearing it grumble. “Are you hungry? Your tummy thinks so.”
Your aunt carries you all the way to where all the food was, showing you all the different kinds of food available.
“See anything you like?”
“Tatos, chicken, boccli.” You list out.
“You like brocolli?”
“Oh, she loves ‘em. Eats them like crisps.”
As you are finishing eating, you have so much leftovers, Leah piling your plate up high for your little body. She was distracted, talking to your moms so you occasionally grab some chicken and just stuff it into her mouth. She eats them without question until your plate is all empty.
“All done!”
“Good job, Petal.”
“Hey!” You turn to see a pouty aunty. “You made me eat all of that.”
You shrug. “You give me too much so you have to eat it. Mummy says wasting is bad.”
“Yeah, Leah. Wasting is bad.” Keira teases.
The rest of the day was pretty calm. You had an after lunch nap. Your mums stayed with you as you swore you couldn’t be able to sleep unless they were laying on each side of the bed with you. They ended up falling asleep as well.
You loved coming to camp. Especially when it’s back in England.
Back home.
#woso x reader#greynatomy#woso#woso imagines#woso imagine#lucy bronze#lucy bronze x reader#keira walsh#keira walsh x reader#engwnt#engwnt x reader#wonze#wonze x reader
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Trigger warnings: none
Requested by: N/A
Romantic/platonic?: neutral
Category: recovery fluff
Ship (romantic or platonic): Dogday x reader
Word Count: 570
Healing the Sun
The sun is known to shine brighter than anything else in the entire universe. To be bubbly and kind to everyone, with its loving warmth and embrace. But the sun had finally burned out and was trying to rekindle its flame.
Dogday sat on his seat of the couch, it being his specifically due to it being weighed down due to his big body. He was quiet as he watched his angel's old VHS tape player glitch and rewind as he tried to watch his old show. He watched as he zoned out into his thoughts. His angel had saved him from his hell, and yet..
He missed the life he had before the prototype.
The canine hated that he was trapped there, the hour of joy was torturous for him but the aftermath was even worse.
He thought he'd die there, he should've died there. But you saved him. And forever he was loyal, but he still wished that things could be like how they once were. He growled at the VHS player buffering, balling his fist up and giving it a swat to get it to work. "Stupid thing.."
All he wanted to do was relive the memories. But it seems that even he couldn't have the privilege of nostalgia. He grumbled and sat back, watching the glitchy static on the green before hearing you walk in the door of the old cabin - causing him to jump up and immediately greet you.
Ever since you had saved them, Poppy, Kissy Missy, and Dogday stayed with you inside a cabin with a high roof due to the taller beings you lived with. "Angel! How was your day?" The loyal dog asked, his tail weak and fidgety but managed to wag. He couldn't stand to be without you, but that's why he watched his old memories on tapes to keep himself company. You smiled and sighed, setting your bags down and scratching behind his ear. "Good, good.. just tiring." You answered softly, seeing as you had found a job to support the four of you living together.
Dogday was just glad you came home. Some days he was scared you'd never come home, that you'd leave them behind and for them to fend for themselves just like they had to before. Dogday carefully pressed his nose against yours, it was oddly dry but that was to be expected. "Thank you, Angel." he mumbled, leading to your confusion.
"Thank me for what?" The question fell from your lips immediately in response, since you had just walked through the door. Dogday knelt down slightly for him to have more leverage to cling onto you, just like he did when you had carried him to safety like a boat would a man in the middle of the ocean that couldn't swim. He was quiet, before he answered in his tender voice.
"For saving me." He murmured, his eyes fluttered closed as he held you dearly. You were his angel, his savior. He would worship you just like Catnap had worshipped the prototype. He flinched a bit when feeling a pat on his back before relaxing into your touch as you carefully guided him to the couch. "..you're welcome, Dogday. Now how about we watch some movies and- ..Dogday, why, pray tell. Is there smoke coming out of my VHS player." You asked with a raised eyebrow, looking down at the dog far too big to be a lapdog all snuggled up against you. He was quiet before glancing away with guilt but amusement.
While he missed the life he had with his friends.. but he would go through hell again just to be in this life with you. He was happy to be recovering with you.
Hope you enjoyed it!
#dogday x y/n#dogday#smiling critters#poppy playtime#a little rushed but still#grrrr i wrote this in one day 😤
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sweet dreams.
synopsis : it was yet another sleepless night for you— peter, of course, wasn't going to allow that.
pairing : bf!peter parker x reader
wc : 502
warnings : nothing worth warning <3 unless you’re against tooth rotting fluff !!!!! it’s all FLUFF FLUFF FLUFFF !! a comfort fic for my night owls out there who refuse to sleep (mutuals… go to bed)
୨ masterlist | request | navigation ୧
a/n : hi ! sooo this is a rewrite of an old one, i feel like this is an improvement so i’m pretty proud of that !!! <3 hope you guys enjoy this lil fic, it’ll bring you sm joy, i promise !!!! comments, asks, reblogs, are greatly all appreciated :)
brring! brring! brring!
a smile forms on your face as you look at your phone to see the caller id: ‘lovebug’ alongside a plethora of heart emojis. you always loved hearing from him, no matter the context, and of course you would never complain. only question was, why exactly was he calling you at 3 a.m. in the morning?
“pete?” you answer, turning on your camera. your hair is an absolute mess, but you hardly care at this point. besides, it was peter you were talking to, he thought you were beautiful no matter how you looked.
“hi gorgeous.” just as expected. he’s predictable like that.
“my hair’s a mess, pete.” you chuckle, trying to fix it as much as you possibly could.
“i think it makes you look cute.” he’s grinning sweetly, only to see you roll your eyes in response.
“whaaaat? it’s true!”
“yeah, right.” you respond, the sarcasm clear in your voice.
“i’m serious.” his tone deepens, though it’s paired with an odd look— one that you assume was supposed to be an intimidating scowl, but it just made him look utterly adorable.
“you’re the cute one.” his grin only widens at your compliment.
“thanks, but i already know that.” he flips his (imaginary) hair, making you giggle. he can’t help but do the same once he hears you.
“anyways, why’d you call?” you ask.
“well, i swung past your window on the way home from patrol and i noticed that you weren’t asleep yet,” he pouts. oh. “i wanted to tell you to go to bed, you know you need it.”
“technically, i’m already in bed,” you quip, lying down to prove a point. he could only roll his eyes in response.
“i meant sleep, missy.” his voice was slightly stern, mimicking a mother’s voice.
“no, thank you.” you grin cheekily, though you talk in the same tone as he did, he sighs in disappointment.
“please!” he’s pleading now, using your known weakness, his ‘puppy eyes’. clearly, that wasn’t fair.
“i’m busy though!” no you weren’t, you were simply watching tv all night, or at least you were planning to.
“lovie, you’ve gotta get your beauty sleep.” he’s serious this time. you just looked at him and pouted, you did not want to sleep, despite the fact that your eyelids were beginning to feel heavier by the second.
“hm, okay, i’ll make you a deal.” that piqued your interest.
“okay, tell me.” you lean closer to your phone, peter notices that he’s got your full attention.
“maybe i could swing over for a sleepover?” he suggests, the smile on his face never leaving, “we could cuddle? i know you love those.” that was a well known fact between the two of you, it was also peter’s way to get you to fall asleep, a method that never fails.
“hm,” you mulled over the offer, but peter knew what you’d say, “okay, deal.” you say dryly in an attempt to mask your excitement.
“alright, beautiful, be there in ten.”
a/n : hope you loved it <3 thank you for reading !!! please leave feedback, comments, and reblogs 🥰
taglist : (okay so, i’m tagging my old taglist in hopes to see if you’re still interested ! i was previously @/darling-im-moonstruck so yeah !) @cagethemunson, @tfatwsparker, @jaydannyyy, @hallecarey1, @live-laugh-lovejoy, @parkerpeter24, @saturnpeter, @poemsforparker, @hllandvibbes, @herpeanutzombie
#— zuri writes … ֢ ׄ 🖋 ⃞ ִ ׄ ۪#peter parker#peter parker x y/n#mcu!peter x reader#peter parker fluff#peter parker imagine#tom!peter parker x reader#tom!spiderman#peter parker x reader#peter x reader#peter parker x you#peter parker fanfiction#spiderman#spider-man#spiderman x reader#peter parker smut#peter parker blurb#peter parker oneshot#peter parker fic#tom holland#tom holland x reader#tom holland smut#tom holland peter parker#peter parker angst#peter parker writing#college peter parker#mcu peter parker#tasm!spiderman x reader#tasm!peter fluff#tasm!peter x you
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londonsxbitch asked: "Every time I shove him away, the moron keeps coming back to me. Although I suppose I've been stuck with worse idiots over the years than Richard."
Tell my muse why you care about them. Really hit them in their weak spots: ACCEPTING
II @londonsxbitch
“Och, c’moooon, Missy! Admit it, ye’ enjoy my company, no ma’er how many times I end up comin’ back to ye’. I’m yer’ moron!”
#londonsxbitch#answered ask;#Richard X Missy;#//ahahah godddd i love these 2 xD//#//thank u sm for thissss <3//
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turtle dove and the crow, part one
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+. oral (f!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, breeding kink.
masterlist | part one | part two | part three | interlude | part four | part five | epilogue | playlist
PART ONE: THE HOLE IN THE LEAVES (15.1k)
And the sweat will roll down our backs
And we’ll follow animal tracks
To a tree in the woods
And a hole in the leaves we’ll see
The bright baby eyes of a chickadee
Animal Tracks — Mountain Man
“Mama!”
Your call flattens in the August heat, weighed down by thick, humid air and the drone of the cicadas chirping outside the open window over the sink. You cup your hands around your mouth to make sure she hears you; you don’t want her to accuse you of galavanting if she finds you gone. “I’m gonna take Guinnie out now!”
You drop your hands and wait for an answering call, scrambling to pick the broom up where you’d leaned it against the wallpaper as you hear the brisk shuffle-thump of her footsteps approaching the kitchen. She appears in the archway, hands on hips and eyebrow cocked.
“Y’finished sweepin’ yet?” she asks you, turning a discerning eye to the floorboards to search for any errant specs you may have missed.
“Yes, Mama,” you reply obediently, knowing better than to even think of sassing her. You know if you sass her, there’s no way you won’t end up confined to your room for the remainder of the day, less supper and having foiled your own plans before they’ve even begun. “I was just looking to take Guinevere out to the field with a blanket and my book now I’m finished with my chores for today.”
Her discerning eye flicks from the spotless floor to you, and you resist fidgeting with your dress's cotton skirt under her sharp gaze, which lingers for a moment before she humphs. “Fine, then,” she says, and you’re about to beam before she continues as if returning to a subject you’d been discussing before. “And I mean it, missy. Y'arent to go off with Wayne's boy anymore, y'hear?" She shakes her head in preemptive consternation. "Off in the woods gettin’ up to God-knows-what. It ain't appropriate at your grown age.” The irrythmic tapping of her foot and the exaggerated hunch of her back as she leans toward you would be almost comical if it wasn’t for the injustice of the accusation.
You purse your lips but swallow your indignation when one of her brows goes skyward— a clear warning. “No, Mama,” you concede. “I’m just goin’ to read by myself, I swear it.” You widen your eyes hopefully. “Would it be all right if I fill a canteen with sweet tea to take with me? Please?”
Your mother straightens slowly, face twisted as if considering, and you nearly sag in relief as her hands leave her hips and she folds her arms beneath her ample bosom instead— a clear indicator that she’s easing now. “That’d be fine,” she says, and the snap is gone from her voice. You lean the broom carefully against the island counter and spin to quickly collect your tea from the icebox and the canteen from where it hangs near the screen door.
As you sling the canteen over your shoulder along with your knapsack, you hear her mutter, “Speaking of, that boy desperately needs a haircut.” She squints at you. “Think y’could convince him to trim that mop? Wayne’s been tryin’ for years, and he only seems to listen to you.”
“Oh, no, Mama,” you say sweetly, hands clasped behind your back as you face her, edging in tiny steps back towards the door— that screen that stands between you and freedom. “I couldn’t possibly.” Blindly, your hand finds the handle, and she's still eyeing you as you turn it and slip out.
Unimpressed, she humphs, but the screen door is already snapping closed behind you.
“Be back before sundown!” she shouts, but you’re already bounding down the back porch steps.
“I will!” you call, but the cicadas have already drowned you out as you skip toward the paddock. “Thank you for the tea, mama!”
Your mother is a woman of few mistakes, but she’d made one today. She told you you’re not allowed to see Eddie, and you’d sworn to obey her, and that was that. But her mistake lay in not asking you to show her your hands.
Because she made you swear not to see him, but she hadn’t see your fingers crossed behind your back.
You haven’t spoken to Eddie yet today, but you know exactly where he’ll be.
He’d called to you this morning; you heard it through your cracked window, where the white embroidered curtain swayed as the cackle of a crow cut through the early morning heat yet to fully settle in. You knew what the sound was right away: the call you’d come up with together five summers ago that meant to check the stump. You glanced toward the open door across the hall, the room beyond its threshold empty and still. It’s a miracle you haven’t been caught yet, that none of the adults have cottoned on that the caw of the crow sounds an awful lot like a certain brash mischief-maker’s voice. You crouched down to the open window in your nightgown and coo’d your own answering call, the call of the turtle dove. Your musical voice is loud in your ears, but it needs to be in order to reach the red house across the way, separated by a sea of shorn grass and the thick wooden fence between.
Over these five years, none of the adults have cottoned on that the turtle dove always answers the crow, either, and for that you’re grateful.
There was a pause of silence following your melodic coo. Your hair rustled in the slightest breeze whispering through the cracked window, puffing like a cool sigh against your skin as you turn your ear toward the opening and wait. You waited, and waited, oh, so patiently…
And then you heard it: a quick and faint whoop-whoop of boyish delight that, like always, made you shake your head and snort.
Later that morning, you’d put the kitchen scraps out for the goats and edged alongside that thick wooden fence towards the gnarled stump that rests between your family’s farm and the Munsons’. It’s almost dead-center, nearly bisected by that wooden demarcation, but you claim a sliver more and never cease to remind Eddie of that fact. ‘It’s my stump,’ you declare, triumph in the corners of your smirking lips. ‘I’m just allowin’ you to use it out of the grace of my heart, Eddie Munson.’
This morning, you’d reached deep inside the hole, the one that’s rotted straight through to the other side. The one which, if you’d crouched to peek, would offer you an unobstructed view to the grass field of Eddie’s yard, identical to the one you occupy, differing only in its status as his homestead and not yours.
But you didn’t peer through that opening. Instead, you reached your arm in blindly up to the elbow, feeling around for the note you knew would be wedged inside. When your fingers brushed smooth paper, you pinched it and pulled it quickly back, casting a furtive glance around the yard to ensure you were still safe from watchful eyes. With nimble fingers you unfolded and read the note quickly before tearing it to shreds, cupping it in your palms and letting it free to be scattered in the wind.
The note had been memorized almost as soon as you’d read it. Its instruction was simple; you and Eddie have developed a sense of brevity in your message-leaving, writing only as much as necessary to communicate what is needed. Today, it had read, ‘three after noon, hop’s, creek.'
At three o’clock on the dot, you ride Guinnie out to the treeline and hang left, picking your way to the edge of Mr. Hopper’s property which just kisses the corner of the Munson’s farm opposite your family’s land. Eddie is already waiting for you there, nestled in the ferns, hand shading squinted eyes as he sits astride his horse Merlin. You guide Guineveire to meet him in a trot, but she ignores you when you pull the reigns to slow her, too eager to approach her friend. You sigh in exasperation but can’t help but smile when the two horses nicker softly and nudge their faces alongside one anothers’ cheeks.
They make a strange pair, these two. One gargantuan blue roan, his haunches coiled thick with muscle, downy gray and speckled with deep spots of dark to match his mane, tail, and socks; and one pale blonde palomino, stomping daintily as her cream ears flick when the other knocks her with his neck a bit too hard in his enthusiasm. Merlin and Guineveire— a mismatched pair, just like the ones who named them. Yet it little matters when Guinnie sways forward, leaning fondly against her larger companion and, incidentally, drawing you closer to the boy astride him.
Eddie lightly kicks you in greeting once Guinnie makes a slow circle and comes to stand alongside Merlin rather than let her face be flicked by his tail, which twitches away the flies that came to investigate while he and Eddie waited for you. Eddie’s feet are bare and dirty, his trouser hems rolled sloppily above the ankle, and you grimace at him as you swipe dirt off the top of your foot where he’d left smudges on your bare skin. He interrupts before you can work yourself up about it, asking, “J’your ma make you sweep the whole house?”
“No, just the kitchen. I must be doin’ somethin’ right this week because she barely even fought me when I told her I was takin’ Guinnie out. And—” You lift the canteen near your thigh, shaking it so the liquid sloshes inside. “I brought us sweet tea.”
Eddie stares at the canteen with exaggerated rapturous relief, his reply a dramatic sigh. “Good, ‘cause I’m so parched I could drink a lake.”
So quick it’s almost automatic, you unthread the strap and pass the canteen over, watching as he unscrews the cap and throws his head back to gulp it in huge, desperate swallows. And he must be thirsty, because as you watch his adam’s apple bob while he guzzles the still-cold tea, you can see full beads of sweat dripping down the pale cords of his neck to disappear beneath the collar of his white work shirt. The top two buttons have been popped open for some hasty relief, the bottom hem still half-tucked into his trousers but rumpled now from heat and disregard, scrunched around his suspenders. You wonder how long he’d been waiting for you; sitting still like this for just a short while has already made the heat almost unbearable, and the sight of Eddie’s thick curtain of heavy, dark curls is enough to make even you feel hotter.
Eddie’s mouth pops from the canteen with a ragged gasp, lips blushed pink and shiny before they’re concealed behind a hasty swipe of his forearm as he wipes off his mouth and passes you back the canteen. You take a small swig yourself, careful not to let any spill on your dress as the sweet liquid fills your mouth and cools you fractionally, not enough to truly combat the thick, hot soup of the air. Capping the canteen, you ask, “Did you bring our book?”
The answer is written in the sudden sheepishness of your best friend’s expression, and yours flattens as he confirms it. “Nah,” he says, more rueful than dismissive. “I forgot.”
His brows pinch when he sees how clearly crestfallen you are to hear it; he angles quickly to appease your disappointment, adding, “But I did nip some of the cookies Ms. Willard left for Wayne.” You barely have time to brighten before he’s scrunching his nose, saying, “I think she’s actually sweet on ‘im,” like the thought makes him want to scrape the words from his tongue.
You swat at him, and Merlin chuffs disgruntledly when Eddie leans back to avoid you. “Stop that!” you chastise him. “I think it’s darling.”
Eddie is unrepentant, brown eyes lit with the hazy gold of afternoon sun that glints in them mischievously as he doubles down rather than relenting. “It’s disgusting. I might chuck if I have to think about them all wrinkled and bumpin’ uglies.” Before you can retort, he tilts his face at you, coaxing in a sing-song, “The cookies are lemon and lavender— your favorite.”
Your lips fall open in delighted surprise as you anticipate the crumble of tart lemon and sweet, earthy lavender on your tongue. Such a treat truly is your favorite, and mama never bakes so indulgently except for special occasions. Eddie beams at you, his mouth split in a fond, lopsided smile at the sight of your happiness, and his smile washes away any lingering reproach you feel at the insinuation that Ms. Willard would carry on in such an inappropriate way with Wayne. She may be aged and unmarried, but she’s still a lady.
It takes a moment to realize that, in your enthusiasm, you’ve begun wiggling your hips, the hem of your dress pulled tight over the saddle as more bare leg inches out when you swing your feet in little kicks of glee. You realize it when you watch Eddie’s eyes dart down to your exposed calf for a split-second and then back up to your face, his broad grin softening to something stickier, something forbidden and decadent like the cookies he’d stolen for you to share.
It’s not the first time Eddie’s looked at you like that this summer. His gaze has been lingering a little too long for some time now, his fingers a little too eager to graze and tease, his breath skating a little too close along your cheek when you’re alone. And when you’re not, he’s a little too eager to position himself beside you when you’re seated at the table with others, to shout and cackle and make himself big so you’ll look at him across the room at a party, to act the fool in front of crowds of townsfolk if only to hear you giggle, however slight it might be.
Not to say that his manner is entirely new. He’s always been a handful since the day he moved in next door ten years ago— wild and frenetic, brash and mischievous, quick-witted and imaginative, restless and wanting and oh, so hungry for something, only heaven knows what. It took no time at all for you, at eight years old, to befriend the odd boy on the farm beside yours. There was something about Edward Munson that appealed to you. He was too much for many, but he was never too much for you— to handle, to temper, to thrive beside. And because you were the only one who Eddie felt truly understood him, he’d quickly become covetous of your attention, and you of his. You wanted to know him, and he wanted to know you. And over years of playing pretend, celebrating birthdays and running errands in town, exploring the landscape beyond your farmsteads and rescuing one another from boredom, sadness, and the ire of your adults— giving just as much as you receive— you feel you know Eddie Munson as deeply as one friend can know another.
But the attention Eddie has paid you lately is not the same as it’s been in years past. You feel that difference in the pit of your belly when his eyes catch yours across the room, in the tingling of your skin as his fingertips graze it incidentally, in the flutter behind your ribcage when the sun shifts and the softness of his nose or the slant of his jaw or the ruddiness of his knuckles looks suddenly more captivating than it had the moment before. But it’s not the sun that’s made it so; it’s not Eddie’s features that have suddenly changed. It’s a feeling inside you, growing restless and wanting and oh, so hungry for something that both thrills and scares you in equal measure.
So when Eddie’s eyes hold yours a beat too long, you quickly look away, lifting one side of Guineveire’s reigns so she’ll turn from where she’d been comfortably lazing her head against Merlin’s. Your horse rouses, alert now as she feels the shift in your energy, the way your thighs tighten against her sides in preparation for what you have planned. “Come on,” you say, tossing Eddie a smirk over your shoulder as Guinnie snuffs in anticipation, hooves shifting against grass and fern. “I’ll race you to the crik.”
Any protest about unfairness from Eddie is drowned out by your joyous whoop as you snap the reins and Guinnie takes off like a bat out of hell. Merlin may be stronger than Guineveire, and Eddie more wild than you, but no one rivals you in conviction once your mind is set.
You’ve set your mind to beating Eddie, and so you do. You beat him by almost a full minute, heart pounding and hair mussed as you emerge from the thicket to the welcome sight of the creek. Down by the bank on the right, a towering weeping willow steals all of the attention; its branches dip full and low over lazily flowing water, the edges of those leafy tendrils grazing its surface like a languid caress. You’ve been here many times before, sometimes with Eddie and sometimes without, and the sight of the ferns tapering to short clover in the clearing between forest and water and then to cattails at the bank’s edge is as familiar to you as the back of your hand.
You’re suddenly glad to have beaten Eddie to the creek for a reason other than bragging rights: dismounting Guinnie exposes enough knee and thigh beneath your dress to thoroughly scandalize your mama, even with a copse of trees and two farm-fields between you. You don’t much care how unladylike it is to travel astride in a dress as opposed to sidesaddle— you’d rather hike up your skirt than try to navigate through the woods sitting so insecurely, but it does force you into a rather compromising position for a moment as you climb down. Thankfully, no one is around to see it, other than the chickadees trilling in the branches of the willow, the turtles sunning themselves on flat river rocks, and the bullfrog croaking inside a dead log at the water’s edge. You lead Guinnie over to the trunk of a nearby cedar, and you’re still tying her off when Eddie bursts from the trees, huffing and swiping errant leaves from his hair as Merlin wanders over toward you and Guinnie independent of his rider’s direction.
“Took you long enough,” you sass, pursing your lips against a smug smile when Eddie grunts sourly.
Eddie swings himself down to the ground, his pale forearm flexing as he catches Merlin’s bridle to keep him from tossing his head impatiently. “Yeah, I know, I know, you beast,” he mutters, and though he glowers, there’s a touch of fondness in it, apparent as he smooths his hand so carefully along Merlin’s powerful neck. “You’ll be all snug next to your girlfriend in a jif. Just wanna get this saddle off’ya first.”
As if falling into a practiced routine, you and Eddie prepare your lounging space for the afternoon. He tends the horses while you clear rocks and twigs to lay down the woven blanket in your knapsack. Wordlessly, you take Guinnie and Merlin’s saddles from him, laying them across the mossy boulder at the edge of the clearing; wordlessly, he passes you the canteen and the paper bag of cookies, and you carry them over to the blanket, laying them in the clover nearby. You’re watching how the light plays through the leafy canopy above you, casting shadows that dance on the weave of your blanket when Eddie lopes up from behind, brushing past you in a rustle of cloth and a blaze of body heat before flopping down unceremoniously onto his back in the middle of the blanket.
Your voice comes indignant and quick at the sight of his filthy toes. “Ed, your—”
With a jolt, he snatches his feet up where they’d been threatening your blanket, shimmying himself down until he can bend his knees and plant those filthy toes in the soft clover instead. He tucks his hands under his head, closing his eyes and nestling in with a contented sigh as you lay out much more carefully beside him. As soon as you’re prone on your tummy, skirt fanned across your calves and elbow grazing the side of his buttoned shirt when you prop your chin on your fists, you’re eyeing him expectantly. Your gaze roams his peaceful face, unconcerned about the tick in his brow as you demand, “Tell me a story.”
Eddie cracks his eyes just barely to slant you a glance, and their umber is nearly concealed by his long, dark lashes as he drawls, “Can’t a man who’s spent the whole day breakin' his back take a moment to rest, you pesky woman?”
You’re entirely unphased by his snark. “Firstly,” you challenge him, “you spent a good part of the day futzin’ around on your guitar, and don’t you try to argue the point ‘cause I heard you playin’ over the fence. And secondly, you’re the one who forgot to bring Don Quixote. I wanna hear a story about knights and dragons and princesses, and it’s your responsibility to deliver,” you finish haughtily.
Eddie sighs heavily, pretending to hem and haw just to get a rise out of you. It doesn’t take long for his frown to melt into a grin when you play along, kicking your feet in the air and raising your voice to be heard over his griping. “And now you gotta put in a giant and a windmill just ‘cause you’re vexing me!”
“Fine, fine, Christ Almighty,” he relents, and you drop the charade immediately, walking your elbows over to angle toward him for optimal listening, your eyes trained on his pale face.
Almost effortlessly, Eddie begins to weave you a tale about knights and dragons and princesses as his eyes go far away, watching the puffy-clouded sky, and your eyes go gooey and soft, watching him. His gaze flicks to yours when the giant and windmill each are introduced, his plush lips curling when you smile at him, inordinately delighted that he’s humoring you even though he always does. The buzzing hum of August’s voice sings along as he regales you, the sounds of the forest a welcome melody to accompany the theatrical accents he gives to each character.
The longer he goes, the more animated Eddie gets, and it’s almost— almost— enough to forget just how hot it is today. While the creek offers some indirect relief, cooling whatever slight breeze occasionally wavers through the fronds, the humidity and sun are formidable beasts, palpable and oppressive as they crowd in against you and Eddie both. Eventually, Eddie’s gesturing and facial expressions grow visibly weaker as his bangs begin to stick to his glistening skin and sweat pools in the hollow of his throat. The dampness pops along your skin, too; the nape of your neck begins to itch, and when you swipe at your upper lip, the heel of your hand comes away wet.
It’s clear when Eddie’s voice cracks that it’s time to take a break. Your dress's fabric clings uncomfortably to your skin when you twist to grab the canteen, passing it to Eddie first, who takes two conscientious sips before promptly handing it back so you can loosen your sticky tongue and soothe your own throat. You snatch up the cookies next, your stomach growling as you see the evidence of their decadence— the bottom of the paper bag has grown dark as it soaked up their butter, making your mouth water with anticipation. You reach eagerly inside to pull out two cookies, passing them into Eddie’s waiting palm before taking one of your own.
You nibble as you sit up, crossing your legs underneath your skirt, your knee pressing into Eddie’s hip as tart lemon and earthy lavender burst within your mouth, the cookies more dense and sweet than you’d even remembered. You don’t stifle your moan of satisfaction as your head tips back and sags in bliss, lips puckering so you can keep chewing though they want to smile.
“That good, huh?” Eddie’s voice is hoarse, warm and teasing, but you don’t bother to reply, entirely taken in by your favorite flavors. Instead, you just nod and impulsively stuff the entire cookie in your mouth.
The rasp of Eddie’s barking laughter has you huffing amusedly through your nose in turn as you dig in the bag, swallowing a little prematurely but resolved in savoring this next one. You eat the second cookie much more slowly, gazing out at the creek as it undulates in little swirls of blue and green and white, unrelenting in seeking its way around whatever may jut into its path— a branch stuck between rocks, a tangle of leaves caught in strands of rivergrass near the shore. It’s a comfort to see it flow so steadily, endlessly churning and ever-changing, but nevertheless a reliable constant you can return to time and again.
The second treat tastes just as good as the first, and you lick the crumbs from your fingertips as you glance down at Eddie once you’ve finished. He has eaten his cookies lying down, one hand propped beneath the splay of his dark wild curls and the other resting on the flat of his tummy. In between them, marring the white of his half-unbuttoned shirt and stuck against the skin exposed by that gaping triangle, is a conspicuous heap of golden-brown crumbs. The mess is entirely unsurprising, considering how sloppy Eddie often is, but the result is no less distasteful for it.
You scrunch your nose and lean over him, planting one palm in the space his bent elbow makes beside his ear and briskly swiping the other along cotton and damp skin. Your chuckles color your admonishment as you exclaim, “Sit up if you can’t help but make a mess of yourself! You’re such a pig, I swear—!”
Eddie surges up, capturing your wrist in a grip light enough to break if you were to want to. “Take it back,” he says warningly, and when he tilts his head this time, the glimmer of mischief in his eye tells you it’s not to coax you. A thrill alights in your chest at the promise of the game, the way his long fingers circle your wrist so easily.
A giggle squeaks out of you before you declare loudly, “Never!”
Your gleeful shriek echoes off the willow and the cedars, the creek and the clover as Eddie grapples with you playfully. You try to fist one of his suspenders with your other hand, but the attempt puts you at his mercy; he uses that advantage to bully you down flat to the blanket, though even in this semblance of roughhousing Eddie’s attempts are light and easy, nowhere near the latent power coiled in his biceps from years of chopping wood in winter, tilling earth in spring, and hacking hay in fall. Husky chuckles rain on your skin as you squirm and wiggle in his grip, not really trying in earnest to escape until his hand leaves your shoulder and dips instead to your waist, fingers digging with devilish precision into the most ticklish parts of you.
Your glee turns to desperate gasping and involuntary, wheezing giggles as Eddie tickles you mercilessly while you try harder to buck away from his touch. Your attempts are entirely ineffectual, and the sensation of his deft fingers writhing against your ribs and the soft of your waist coupled with the stifling heat of his body where he has you half-pinned beneath him to keep you from escaping, has your face utterly burning with discomfited hysterics.
He doesn’t let up until you call for mercy, though at the first stuttered “St-stop—” that falls from your lips, his fingers immediately cease their cursed torture. Boneless, exhausted, your head tips back against the blanket as you heave for air, the fuzz in your head from lack of breath slowly dissipating as Eddie’s palm drags firmly and briskly up and down your waist, rubbing away the residual ticklish sensation almost contritely.
Once you’ve gotten your bearings and recovered your senses, you realize that while Eddie has stopped tickling you, he hasn’t moved from his position half on top of you. His belly presses into yours with each breath, firm and solid just like the rest of him, and you can smell the evidence of the August day clinging to his dark curls where they’re pinned against your nose: the sour tang of sweat, the earthy snap of tobacco smoke, the natural musk of his body, and, beneath it all, the scent of wild rain, of summer wind and petrichor, subtle but heady like an approaching storm. That feeling within you stirs, awakening at the press of his solid weight across your ribs and breasts, but the heat of him, while in some ways welcome, makes the heavy August humidity edge beyond extremely uncomfortable to utterly unbearable.
You express your discontent with an exaggerated shimmy of your shoulders; Eddie stirs, grunting as you make his resting place unpleasant to continue resting on. “It’s too dang hot for wrestling,” you gripe, “get offa me, you big oaf.”
Eddie’s head pops immediately from your shoulder, his nose nearly brushing yours as he pins you with a wide and eager stare. The gleam in his umber eyes should alarm you, but all you feel is that stirring inside again until his breath ghosts over your lips when he declares proudly, “Then let’s go swimming.”
His face shines like it’s the best idea he’s ever had, but exasperation floods to stifle that warm stirring within you. Eddie pouts when he sees your face contort skeptically, pink lips poking petulantly at your immediate resistance. “Eddie,” his name is mostly a sympathetic sigh, “I can’t. My mama would roast me alive, you know that.”
Your best friend’s eyes narrow at your tone, and you suck your lips into your mouth almost apologetically, knowing Eddie really doesn’t like it when you treat him like he’s simple. The remorse fades when he quirks a brow, glancing down at the slick skin of your throat and collarbone exposed above your neckline before teasing, “You’re already roastin’ alive. You’re sweatin’ like a whore in church.”
Your indignance is instant and fierce. “Edward Munson! Well, I never—!” You shove him bodily off of you, and he lets you, rasping with easy laughter as he leans on a palm to the side of you, looking down at your burning face with a smirk.
Eddie is smirking, but you know he doesn’t mean to call you a whore, that he only really says things like that because he likes to goad these reactions out of you. And you’d keep playing his game— keep being angry at him— if it weren’t for the way the light was filtering through the leaves, playing on his frizzy curls and lighting them beautifully amber at the edges. If it weren’t for the way his collar had fallen further open when you’d been roughhousing, exposing more of his pale chest as it bunches around his suspenders, making him look more like the cover of some two-cent romance novel than the sloppy farmboy he’s always been. If it weren’t for the way he's looking down at you— you lying prone on your back with him beside you, towering over you from your vantage point, with that sharp jaw and the plush curl of his lopsided smirk and the veins popping on the forearm he’s braced on, his skin flushed pink beneath the rolled sleeves of his white shirt.
Your anger dissolves at the sight of these things, and if it had remained, perhaps this next conversation would have gone differently.
You lean up slightly, your eyes sliding from your best friend’s face to the scenery behind him. The slow journey of the creek’s water over rocks and sticks, the soothing sound of its trickle and flow, the sight of those willow leaves dragging against its smooth surface…
It looks so mouthwateringly refreshing.
With the lack of your anger comes mournful regret. “I can’t go home soaking wet,” you lament, and your tone makes your internal conflict clear.
Your eyes slide reluctantly from the creek back to Eddie, and you see a peculiar look cross his face. “I mean,” he says, hesitating for the briefest moment, “we could just take our clothes off.”
You blink at him, thrown entirely for a loop at the outlandishness of that suggestion, rendered mute as you try— and fail— to process it. In your muteness, Eddie keeps talking, as if he’s working it out to himself while he speaks. “Yeah. Ya know, that could actually work. Could swim for awhile, cool down, get out, dry off with the blanket.” He grins. “Bet we’d even air dry in no time in this heat.”
The proposition is absurd. It’s entirely inappropriate, and just… just lying there, staring up at Eddie’s face as he leans over you, makes your skin feel suddenly too tight for your body. You sit up abruptly, folding your knees and wrapping your arms around them. When Eddie clocks the look on your face, he huffs, his voice going a little sharp in defensiveness. “What? What's wrong with that? We've been friends for ages; I’d say we’re way past the point of gettin' embarrassed.” He snaps and points at you, shaking his finger as he gets on a roll. “‘Member when you came to me all upset because you bled through your dress and had to turn your apron around to keep your ma’ from seeing? I even helped you get the blood out. Didn’t I?” He doesn’t give you a chance to confirm or deny before continuing smugly, as if he’s got you beat, “And I showed you that nasty wart on my toe when you asked me to, even though I really didn’t wanna. See? Like I said, no reason to be embarrassed.”
You’d stopped listening at the mention of his wart, craning your neck to try and see his foot where it’s tucked against the clover over the edge of the blanket. “How is that now? Is it still there?” you ask earnestly. Eddie just snuffs a wry breath through his nose; his curls sway as he shakes his head.
“Uh-uh. Already showed y’once, I’m not doin’ it again. Plus, you’re provin’ my point.” He smiles at you crookedly, digging his toes further into the clover to hide them before eyeing you smugly. And you can’t fault his logic when you’d walked right into it like that.
“Yeah, I guess,” you reluctantly agree, to which he adds,
“Plus, s'not like I haven't seen you nekkid before.”
You can’t help but scoff at that. “Yeah, when we were, what, eleven? It's different now.”
The smugness on Eddie’s face melts; his eyes fill with that stickiness from before, like when he looks at you a little too long. His voice a quiet murmur, Eddie asks you, “What makes it different now?”
The question could be answered easily enough. Because we're grown. Because you're a man now, and I'm a woman, and it wouldn't be proper. But after this summer's changes, and with that feeling awakening in the pit of your belly— wanting, yearning, hungry— you can tell that it's more loaded than that. Suddenly, the air feels heavier than it was just a moment before, thicker with something other than summertime humidity as you stare into Eddie’s umber eyes. Nervousness dances along your limbs, but it’s not that terrified kind of fear— it’s closer to anticipation.
Rather than answering the question directly, you avoid it, lifting your chin to reply as nonchalantly as you can, though you feel anything but. “Fine.”
Eddie’s eyes bug out. “R-Really?”
His immediate shock makes you rush hot with embarrassment, feeling caught out and self-conscious. Your voice bursts from you in defensive indignance as you drop your knees, crossing your arms tight beneath your breasts. “You cannot be serious. You're the one who proposed it, Ed!”
He scrambles to keep you from getting upset, brow pinched and eyes wide in a different way. “No, no, I…” He flounders for a moment, looking at a loss. “I just didn’t… I didn’t think—”
With a sharp shake of his dark curls, face scrunched as if to clear the cobwebs from his head, Eddie cuts himself off. He blinks at you silently for a moment, finally saying, somewhat more hoarsely, “We can do it. I wanna do it.”
You watch Eddie’s adam’s apple bob as his eyes scan quickly down your cotton dress, lingering in your lap, though the swaths of fabric conceal even the innocent outline of your legs. A pulse of heat tingles low as his gaze sweeps over you, and you resist the urge to jam your hands down to cover yourself, feeling exposed though there’s nothing to see. Fiercely, you warn him, “Just keep your back turned ‘til I get in the water, or I'll whoop you."
Eddie snorts loudly, countering, “You really think you could whoop me?"
“Yes,” you snap back sassily, your faux-confidence deflating slightly as you add, “...if you let me.”
You smile at the warm chuckle he rewards you with, but when Eddie starts peeling his suspenders down, your heart seizes in your chest. The anticipation feels a little more like fear now that you’re confronted with the reality of what you and Eddie are about to do. You pop to your feet, rocking on your heels and fidgeting with your fingers, and Eddie’s brows jump when he looks up and registers your nervousness. Your voice wavers slightly as you ask half a question, letting it trail off into implication. “Are you gonna, um…?”
“Yeah, no, yeah,” he says quickly, scrambling up and wiping his palms on his trousers. Haltingly, cheeks pink, he rushes, “I’ll just… I’ll go behind the willow. Meet you in there.”
“Yep,” you say, the word bitten off a little too short in your awkwardness. “‘Kay.”
“‘Kay,” Eddie echoes, shooting you a sheepish smile before hurrying off in that direction. Only once he’s ducked behind the willow trunk does the hammering of your heart begin to calm, that nervousness settling back to anticipation, though it’s a little queasier than it was before now that there’s nothing technically stopping you from preparing to swim.
You kick off your shoes first— the simplest to remove— and, with a deep breath, you begin to undress.
With trembling fingers, you undo the buttons on your dress and peel the sticky fabric from your arms and decolletage. Your silky chemise comes next, and you aren’t sure whether to be grateful or rueful that in the summer, you’re wearing so few layers. It’s an odd sensation to feel the sun on every part of you— the small of your back, the valley between your breasts— as you fold your chemise and neatly tuck it between the bodice and skirt of your dress to maintain modesty before laying them both on the blanket.
And that’s it, then. The chickadees titter in the branches, the turtles sun themselves on flat river rocks, the bullfrog croaks in the dead log at the water’s edge, Merlin and Guinnie nicker gently at the edge of the clover clearing— and in the middle of it all, you stand there, buck-naked as the day you were born.
It feels distinctly uncomfortable at first, being naked anywhere but in your bedroom or bathroom back at home. You half-suspect your mama to come barreling out of the trees, ruddy-faced and angry as the devil to drag you back to the farm by your ear and lash you, both with words and with papa’s belt. But as the seconds tick by, and you begin to settle into the feeling, the weak breeze that wavers the fronds whispers along your sticky skin, tickling you pleasantly. You look towards the creek— the whole purpose for your nakedness— and you begin to covet the sight of the flowing water, to imagine how it will slither against your ankles and knees, cradling your body in cool refreshment. Discomfort eases; eagerness at the thought of that relief takes its place.
It doesn’t take long for your eyes to stray to the thick trunk of the willow overhanging the creek. You imagine Eddie behind it and begin to ponder all sorts of questions. What does he look like underneath his clothes? Is he lean? You’ve seen the muscles on his arms and back earlier this spring when he’d take off his shirt to work in the field as the weather got warmer; you couldn’t see much, though, as you had nary a birds-eye view from your distant bedroom window, and no way could you have chanced trying to peep over the fence. You find yourself wondering now, Are his thighs as muscular as his arms seem to be? Are his calves? Do the freckles across the bridge of his nose echo on other parts of his body this late in the summer, maybe on his shoulders?
It’s been a long time since you’ve seen him bare— seven years, give or take— and you know you can’t reliably compare what you’d seen then with what he looks like now; Eddie’s more man than boy lately. The nature of your wondering changes. What does a bare man look like, anyway? You’ve never seen one. Naturally, a question follows: Has Eddie seen a bare woman before?
That wondering flusters you, and you can only begin to think about why before heat is rushing to your cheeks and you need to abandon the thought. Unconsciously, you go to smooth your skirt, but your hands hit the flesh of your thighs instead, unencumbered by clothes. You glance down and your breasts are there, sloping gently from your chest, your nipples soft in the warm humidity. It makes you wonder how Eddie’s chest has changed, whether he has hair there now. It can’t be thick if he does, or you probably would’ve seen it from the window. Does he have hair any other places? You suppose he probably does, since you’d grown hair under your arms and between your legs when you reached your maturity, too. You only barely conceive a thought about what lies between Eddie’s legs, and that flusters you so thoroughly that when you press your palms to your cheeks, your skin feels hotter than you imagine the surface of the sun must be.
You wonder then if Eddie is thinking about you and how your body has changed in the same way that you’re thinking about him. It makes you self-conscious to picture him imagining you beneath your clothes, drawing his own conclusions about your shape, and then glimpsing the truth of what your clothes conceal. No one has seen your naked body except for mama and your older sister, who couldn’t give two hoots what you look like, and the thought of someone looking at you and being disappointed in what they see is a crushing thought. Not that you think Eddie will see your body, really, but you can’t help but—
A sudden whoop, wild and boyish, startles you out of your thoughts, and with a blur of pale flesh and dark curls, Eddie takes a running leap into the creek.
The dramatic smack of Eddie’s body against the water has you bolting for the willow tree, your hands colliding with rough bark as you peek around it, beratements hissing through your teeth. “What a reckless, stupid idiot you are, Eddie Munson!” The words are cutting, but the crinkle of your brow and the squeezing of your chest bely the true meaning behind them. Your breath catches as beats pass without any sign of him, anxiety rising until his head bursts from the surface of the water, fixing you with a waterlogged but manic smile as you peer at him from the other side of the trunk, body shielded from his view.
The only way you could possibly convey the depth of your vexation and relief is by childishly stomping your foot, and you do just that. “Gosh darn it!” you shout, face all screwed up, “You’re so—! Ugh!” You stomp again. “You coulda hit your head on a rock and drowned!”
Eddie ignores your shouting, dark curls plastered to his cheeks that round with the force of his joy. “Git over here!” he calls, “It feels like heaven in here!” He laughs raucously, disturbing the water as he swishes his arms through it in boyish delight.
Seeing his joy and yearning for that refreshment for yourself, you put aside the tightness of your worry for him. “Turn around!” you call, and obligingly, Eddie straightens and does, showing you the plane of his pale back and the wet tendrils of his drenched curls covering his shoulder blades. “And no peeking!” you tack on, snorting as you hear him slap both palms over his eyes, though the gesture warms your heart nonetheless.
You edge down to the bank, keeping one hand on the willow’s trunk as you test your footing. The bottom of the creek bed is a little slippery with stones but mostly soft with peat and algae, and the water feels so rapturously cool on your ankles that you sigh audibly in relief once both feet are in. You wade further toward the center of the creek until the water reaches the tops of your breasts, at which point you finally toss a glance in Eddie’s direction again.
Even with a few feet of distance separating you, knowing Eddie is naked underneath the water has your nerves churning up again; you duck down so that the cool water covers your clavicle, making sure your breasts can't be seen before you finally call out to him again, much more quietly now with your proximity.
“Okay,” you say, chewing on your bottom lip, “you can stop covering your eyes. My virtue is protected,” you joke, though it comes out a little more tremulously than you had hoped.
Slowly, Eddie’s jutting elbows straighten as he drops his hands from his face, and your eyes dart over everything you can see— the chapped ruddiness of his elbows, the veins in his arms, the bend of the skin at his waist as he begins to turn around. And then you’re just looking at his face as it emerges— the curve of his ear, the darkness of his hair, normally a frizzy stormcloud around his head but now flattened silkily against his jaw; the hollow shadow between his jaw and throat, the softness of his nose, the beads of water clinging to his dark brow.
And then, all at once, Eddie is facing you. His umber eyes never stray from your face, not glancing for a peek of exposed skin, though you’ve ensured barely any can be seen, just the tiniest sliver of the tops of your shoulders, plus your neck and face. Not much he hasn’t seen before. Nevertheless, he doesn’t try— doesn’t attempt to look below the water to see what your bare body looks like. He’s a gentleman, perfectly adhering to your instruction not to peek, but you can’t decide if you’re more relieved or disappointed by his compliance.
For a long moment, there’s just the sound of the creek flowing between you as you look back at Eddie. He's taller than you, and he isn’t hunched; he’s standing tall, seemingly unconcerned about you seeing what flesh is exposed above the water. Your eyes glide over the water running off the ends of his curls and down his pale chest, making little ripples when they slide into the creek where they belong. You remain composed until you notice the dusk of his nipples beaded with water, hard and puckered in the water’s chill. Your eyes widen slightly as the sight awakens that hunger again, and you blurt the first thing that comes to mind in an effort to keep him from noticing your reaction.
“Oh, my word, this is so refreshing!” you say, perhaps overly enthusiastic, your smile a bit too broad as it aches in your cheeks. “Probably the best idea you've ever had, in fact. I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”
Eddie’s brow twitches in confused amusement at your exaggerated cheer, but he blessedly decides not to comment apart from saying, “Think that’s the first time you’ve ever willingly apologized to me.”
“Mmm…” you pretend to deliberate, wobbling your head back and forth. “Yeah, maybe,”you reply, chuckling to lighten the mood.
But your laughter weakens, going a little uneasy as Eddie wades closer, head tilting like a curious hound. “You didn't get your hair wet,” he observes, and you glance up like you’d be able to see it atop your head.
“I don't wanna get my hair wet, Eddie,” you say, an edge of warning in your voice already. Because you know Eddie Munson, and you know that, though the observation had sounded entirely innocent, those umber eyes are already gleaming with mischief.
“Awww,” he goads, and the word goes husky with laughter as he sees the alarm on your face, the way you tense warily as he edges closer. “Come on, turtle dove. You gotta go under.”
“No, Eddie.” You attempt to be firm, glaring at him in an attempt at intimidation. “It'll mess it all up and it’ll never dry in time—”
“Here,” he says lightly, disregarding your protests as his smile goes wolfish, “I’ll help you—”
Quick as a copperhead strike, Eddie makes to grab for your arms. But you’d been prepared for this— you dodge backward, squealing and splashing him directly in the face.
Eddie halts and sputters, running his hands roughly over his eyes and dragging them down the expanse of his face. And you know— you know— with how Eddie’s wolfish smile goes manic and wild when it’s revealed again that now, you've really done it.
Desperation drives you as you begin to scramble backward, wetting the ends of your hair in your haste to get away. He pursues you almost languidly, with a sense of confident assurance that has you crumbling and grasping for your final defense, which is to declare shrilly, “Edward Munson, don't you dare. I swear on all things holy—”
When Eddie lunges for you, you know with a sense of certainty that you won’t be able to escape the cage of his hot hands as he traps you, holding you firmly around the upper arms. In fact, you don’t even try very hard at first— you just let him grab you, freezing in his grip as if in hope that your compliance will convince him to take mercy on you. But then, with a bright grin of triumph, Eddie begins whipping his head side to side, shaking his curls to coat you with water like a dog.
You brace your palms on his chest and push then, crying out in dismay as you feel the droplets rain down on your hair and face. “Eddie!" you protest, but as you squint at him, you begin laughing— laughing at how silly he looks doing that, laughing at the fact that he could’ve easily shoved you under the water but has chosen to do this instead. You're laughing, and then Eddie starts laughing, your voices overwhelming the sound of the cicadas as they bounce off river rocks and cedars, filling the August air with your shared joy.
Eddie is still holding you, still shaking his head, though more slowly now, as you suppose he’s likely getting dizzy. And this becomes one of your games— you press your palms harder against his chest and his fingers tighten around your upper arms, pulling as you push, keeping a careful equilibrium in maintaining distance.
You maintain distance until, with the river water and sweat combined, your slippery hands slide on his chest.
One moment, you’re pushing and he’s pulling, equally and carefully matched in strength to continue your game. The next instant, before you can think or react, you’ve lost purchase. Eddie has no time to think or react, either; not expecting that sudden lack of resistance, he tugs you bodily against him.
Suddenly, his hot skin is everywhere, slick and firm and soft all at once. A ragged gasp rips from your throat as you’re overwhelmed by sensation: your hard nipples rasping against the dusting of hair on his chest, your nose now smushed against the hollow of his throat, the entire length of your body buzzing with the utter foreignness of feeling someone else's bare skin touching your bare skin. And there's something else, something inexplicably hotter than the rest of Eddie’s body, somehow hard and silky soft all at once where it presses between you against your belly. You’re uncomprehending for only a fraction of a second before it becomes very obvious what it must be.
Oh.
Oh.
You spring apart from him at the same time that he releases you, no more than a second after the impact, though it had somehow felt much longer than that in the moment. Your face floods with searing heat as you stare at him, barely registering the look of wide-eyed, visceral horror on Eddie’s face as your heart pounds in your ears. His mouth is moving, but you don’t hear it— you’re consumed by the feelings flooding your body, reeling from shock and mortification but also from dizzying, fluttering euphoria. Because that feeling inside you— the one that hungers for something more with the boy standing across from you, who's still blathering something you can’t hear— has now had a taste of what it yearns for. Liquid heat pools low in your belly, pulsing much more intensely than the typical tingle you feel when thinking about Eddie in this way, rushing up to buzz through your body until your pupils dilate and you burst with heady need.
Eddie’s dismayed rambling eventually becomes discernable above the pounding of your heart. You register distantly what he’s saying— “I'm so sorry, oh fuck, please, i-it was an accident, I didn’t mean to—” but all that matters is that he's babbling, hysterical, face contorted and fingers fisted in his curls in a way that must be painful. And how can you talk to him like this? How can you even begin to think when he’s yammering on in such a way?
So you stomp forward, grab the back of Eddie’s neck and yank his face into your outstretched palm, which clamps over his lips. “Eddie Munson,” you huff, ignoring the way his lips feel against your palm as he keeps trying to speak, though you suspect it’s more in befuddlement now than remorse as his eyes are wide as kitchen saucers. “Would you just shut it for one dang second?”
All at once, Eddie’s stifled speech ceases, and his lips grow still against your palm. You sigh, relieved to have finally put a stop to that noise, but the look on Eddie’s face pierces you, holding you fast.
He looks terrified.
Eddie looks more scared than you’ve ever seen him, his brow scrunched up tight, his eyes so dismayed that they appear glassy with unshed tears. It pierces you deeply to see him looking at you this way, tugging behind your ribs until your chest aches like the deepest bruise. Your brows marry in the middle, crinkling up as your eyes go big and soft and sad for him. “Eddie,” you whisper, cracked with compassion at the sight of his distress, though fear and longing have knit you up just as tightly inside. And though you let go of the nape of his neck, you don't pull your palm away from his face. Instead, slowly, tentatively, you shift your hand to Eddie’s cheek, dragging against his warm skin in a slow, crawling path as he stands stock-still, watching you like a deer in headlights. You pause for a long moment, just holding Eddie’s cheek, before your trembling thumb lowers, petting featherlight along his cheekbone.
It’s not something that can be explained away by one best friend attempting to comfort another after a mortifying accident. Your thumb traces Eddie’s cheekbone once, twice, and then again, prodding against the boundary of your friendship in a way that cannot be ignored. Stroking Eddie Munson’s cheekbone is the scariest thing you’ve ever done because on the other side of this choice can be effusive bliss or rending sorrow, and nothing in-between.
Your breath is shallow as you wait for Eddie to react— to say or do something, anything, to indicate what he’s thinking. Because he doesn’t look scared anymore, but you can’t place the look on his face, either. You’ve never seen it before. And then slowly, as if he’s half afraid to move and shatter the illusion, Eddie’s hand emerges from the surface of the creek, droplets running down the length of his forearm and falling in little ripples back into the water as he reaches up and brushes his fingertips so gently, so lightly, against your collarbone. It’s a graze of skin you can barely feel, but you tremble nonetheless.
“Eddie,” you whisper again, but compassion doesn’t crack your voice this time.
Wanting does.
Eddie swallows thickly, voice hoarse and choked with the weight of what he is about to ask. “C-can I kiss you? Please?”
There is no hesitation, only sweet, euphoric relief when you nod, and then your best friend is kissing you.
Fluttering, dizzying desire bursts in your belly when Eddie slots his mouth against your mouth; all you can feel is warm wetness as his breath flows down to mingle with yours in your lungs. It isn’t tentative, or questioning, or timid when Eddie kisses you, grabbing up your face and moaning past your teeth as if he’s never wanted anything more in his life. Your fingers scrabble for purchase along his muscular shoulders, clutching slippery skin as you whimper and move your lips frantically against his. The heat of his skin and lips contrasts with the cool slick of the water enveloping your bodies from the chest down, and the sensation makes you break out in goosebumps that he soothes with restless stroking of his broad palms over your arms and back. You’ve wanted to touch him like this— be touched by him like this— so desperately that your bones cried out for it, and they sing in praise as Eddie hikes you up against him, kissing you insistently, crushing you so tightly to his body that it’s almost uncomfortable. But it’s exactly what you need— your breasts pressed up against his chest, your belly heaving into his as you gasp and kiss and lick into his mouth, brain fuzzy, body following only instinct. Eddie’s palms find the small of your back, clutching you close as he angles his muscular thigh between your legs. You whine, body electrified with the feeling of his hands pressing your hips forward until that place between your legs rubs against him, sparking delicious friction that seems to be the physical culmination of that hunger inside you, never before explored.
When you undulate your hips experimentally, mimicking the movement Eddie has coaxed you to follow, his palms leave the small of your back to pull you closer, wrapping you up in his firm embrace. With how tightly you’re pressed against him, you can feel that the hardness trapped between you is even hotter and stiffer now against your hip, and it makes that hunger flare in the pit of your belly, desiring more, more, more. You’re panting, overtaken as Eddie licks across your bottom lip, and you whimper; with shaky fingers, you reach down beneath the water, seeking blindly between your bodies until your fingertips brush against the very tip of that hardness.
You stiffen in surprise as it jumps against your belly; abruptly, Eddie pulls his mouth from yours but doesn’t retreat completely. He continues to hold you, chest heaving, staring into your eyes for a dazed moment before his lips crack and his voice leaks out hoarsely. “Have you ever lain with a man?”
Your cheeks heat at the brazenness of the question, but considering the position you’re in— pressed up against him, having just been rubbing yourself along his thigh and feeling his hardness dig into your hip— you suppose talking about this is far less brazen than you’ve already been today. Mutely, you shake your head. “Have you,” you ask, “with a woman?”
After a moment, Eddie nods. Your stomach falls; you feel yourself grow sour with jealousy, and Eddie misinterprets the sudden pinch of your brow. “We don't have to,” he says quickly. “We don't have to do anything you don't wanna. Hear me?”
He cups the side of your neck, gently, so gently, wetting the hair at your nape as his calloused fingertips brush there. His tender touch eases your sourness, and you think instead about his assertion, about the implication of what you could do with him— what you could allow him to do to you. And you know how it works. You've seen geldings mount mares before, however ineffectually; you know the wheres and the hows and the whens of it all, though your knowledge is all theoretical and in no part practical.
But when you think about Eddie’s hot stiff flesh still pressing against your hip, about that hardness sinking between your legs, you can’t deny you’re curious. And with him… you feel safe. You feel cherished. And part of you can acknowledge how you've been yearning to know him in this intimate way for a long time.
Since the beginning of summer.
Since before that.
Maybe since always.
“I want to,” you tell him, and at last, all the hesitation melts from Eddie Munson’s face. He smiles, and the stretch of his lips is sticky, forbidden, and decadent; the softness of his umber eyes is filled with simmering heat. Your best friend has been looking at you like this all summer, and you finally know what it means.
Eddie goes first, guiding you to the edge of the creek. As he does, little by little, the water recedes from your bodies, revealing more and more of his pale skin as he climbs out before you, planting his feet and holding out his hand to help you up after him. You set your smaller hand in his, and his grip is unwavering as you use what he offers you to climb out onto soft clover.
On the bank of the creek beside the weeping willow, you see all of Eddie for the first time. He is tall, lean, and still a little gangly in the length of his arms and legs like he’d been as a child, but far more solid now, with firm muscle from toiling on his family’s farm. His shoulders are broad, his neck strong, his waist narrow but padded with a healthy layer of soft fat that fills him out more than you remember. The hair on his legs and arms is sparse, same as it is on his chest, but it thickens near his belly button in a trail leading downward before spreading low on his pelvis.
He’s at the very tail end of that transition from boyhood to manhood. And there's one part of him that's very much man— it's staring you right in the eye between his legs. Ruddy, curved, nestled in that dark thatch of untrimmed curls. You pulse with desire as you see it, heat tingling low as you shift on your feet; nevertheless, your eyes jump sheepishly from there to his face as if you’ve done something wrong.
But Eddie merely looks back at you calmly, allowing you to look at him. And when his eyes drag over your exposed skin in turn— over your breasts and soft stomach, your hips and pillowy thighs, over the curls between your legs, and even over the gentle curve of your calves where they meet your bony ankles— he looks so in awe over you that you resist the urge to cover yourself from his gaze, not wanting to take it from him.
You aren’t concerned about dirty feet or cookie crumbs when you lay with Eddie on the blanket again, the heat of his body radiating against yours as he stretches out beside you. When he cups your jaw to meet your lips with his, you relax into his touch with an ease that feels like passing through the threshold of your back door and feeling the weight of the world leave your shoulders.
Eddie’s tender touch feels like coming home.
As Eddie kisses you unhurriedly like he’s savoring every brush of tongues and smack of lips, your fingers wrap around his wrist where he still supports your head, thumb stroking against the firm veins on its tender underside. And he was right— it takes very little time for your bodies to dry in the heat, though the water in his hair lingers. Damp and cold, it brushes against your cheeks; you try to ignore the tickle, but after some time you huff sharply through your nose, pulling your lips from his with a wet pop. “Your mane’s a menace, Ed,” you say dryly, huffing again when he grabs the ends of his curls and tickles them across your neck. You scrunch your head to your shoulder, giggling through your protest. “Stop that! Be nice!”
Eddie grins, sticky and thick again. “I am being nice,” he murmurs, dropping his hair and cupping the back of your neck to pull you closer as he descends on your lips more intently now. He rolls you over onto your back, and his hair becomes nothing more than a vague nuisance as Eddie’s kisses trail from your lips to your jaw, nipping and sucking on their path downward to draw out little breathy moans and sighs from you. He kisses from your throat to your clavicle, from the valley of your breasts to the edge of your ribs, his cold curls dragging against your nipples as he travels lower on your body. You watch him with curiosity as his lips trail over your belly button and down to your hips before he finally settles between your legs, which part only enough to make the barest amount of room for him. He glances up at you, thumb ghosting over your curls. "Can I taste you here?” he asks, eyes dark like liquid smoke, pupils nearly swallowing the iris. He stifles a groan in his throat as he looks back down, rasping, “Bet you taste so sweet."
The suggestion feels distinctly naughty, and you rush with mortification at the idea, but above that is the hunger and the heat tinged with unmistakable excitement. “Okay,” you say, voice small, and Eddie rests his chin lightly against your pubic bone, folding his arms across your hips, very clearly ready to wait and follow your direction.
Gently, he tells you, “If you don't like how it feels or want me to stop, just say the word, okay? I mean it.”
“Yeah,” you reply, lips curling in a smile as your chest flutters. “Okay, I will.”
“Okay.” Eddie nods, his chin dragging against your skin as he unfolds his arms and looks down again. More hoarsely, he says, “You’re gonna have to spread your legs.”
Slowly, you do, heart thumping as your thighs peel apart and you expose yourself to his gaze. You want to squirm in discomfort with how intently he’s looking at you, but the heat on Eddie’s face, the unadulterated excitement and want that shines in his eyes as his plush lips fall open, is undeniably thrilling. You suck in a tiny gasp when his breath ghosts hot against that intimate place, a whimper escaping at the anticipation of his mouth on you. And then there’s the faintest brush of his wet tongue, snaking just slightly between your lips; you hiccup and moan, thighs twitching against his shoulders.
“S’it ok?” Eddie’s voice puffs against your heated flesh, cooling the place he’d just licked, and you exhale shakily, pushing out your confirmation.
“Y-yes,” you say, and after a brief pause, Eddie licks you again, and again, moving his tongue more boldly with each pass. He tips his chin down, lengthening the strokes of his tongue, dragging low to high for the first time; he groans deep in his throat, and you jolt as it buzzes against your lips. “Knew it,” he mutters to himself, voice tight with desire, and you moan as he wiggles his face in closer to you, his nose parting your folds.
It feels so good, his mouth on your special place; it begins to satisfy the hunger inside you in a way you’ve never felt before, not even when you’d dragged yourself against his thigh. You relax into the feeling as he laps at you, wet tongue broad and flat as it drags against your pussy, sparking pleasure with each pass. And the sight of his curly head between your thighs makes you bloom warm over your whole body, your belly buzzing for more, more, more.
“Eddie,” you moan, unable to fully articulate your desire but attempting to in the way his name falls so hot and sweet from your tongue. “I want you, Eddie, please…”
He lifts his face from between your legs to press feverish kisses up your slit to the top of your mound. You tense when he digs his nose into your curls and inhales there, breathing deeply against your hair and skin. A whimper eeks from your lips as you squirm inside with self-consciousness, legs tensed to remain still. You worry suddenly about how you must smell, how the August heat and the creek may have made you unpleasant in some way. But when Eddie’s chest rises and falls with a heavy, contented sigh, and he wraps his arms beneath the backs of your thighs, your self-consciousness fades; when he nuzzles against your curls, dragging his cheek along your mound so affectionately, you positively melt.
“Are you sure?” Eddie murmurs, lifting his head to peek up at you. You push onto an elbow, and he kisses the pudge of your tummy as it folds when you sit up. Smiling softly, you tuck his curls behind his ear, touch lingering against the side of his face.
“Yes,” you say, so light and delicate but oh, so sincere, “Eddie, I really want it. I want you to…” you trail off, biting your lip. His eyes darken.
“You want me to fuck you,” Eddie says, voice hoarsened but also sticky and thick and sinfully sweet like honey. You rush with feeling all over again— shock at his language, mortification at the crudeness of it, but also thrilling anticipation that tingles low in your belly, mixing with the heat and tightening to an aching need. You nod, gasping, “Yes. Yes, I want you to do that.”
Eddie’s moan rumbles low in his throat, and you feel it against your inner thighs where they’re pressed against his chest. He drops one last hasty kiss to your belly before unwrapping his arms from around you. You lay back against the blanket as he climbs up your body, spreading your legs so he can settle between them. Your brow pinches when he mounts you, his pelvis pressing flush with the juncture of your hips and his hardness wedged between you. He stares down at you, and the curtain of his thick curls seems to conceal the two of you from the rest of the world; the cicadas and the creek fall away as you meet his eyes.
His face is flushed, his lips swollen and wet, but his eyes are wide with concern when he shifts his weight to one hand to stroke back your hair with the other. "It might hurt at first," he says, voice soft, and you nod.
"I know," you reply, and he traces the side of your face with his thumb before lowering from his hands to brace his weight on his forearms. You take a shaky breath as his belly brushes yours with his new proximity, your vision filled only with Eddie’s pretty face.
"But,” he continues, “I'll take care of you, okay?" He shimmies his hands under your shoulders, tucking you closer to him, and as your bodies press lightly together, you can feel him trembling. "I'll take such good care of you,” he rasps, “Always will."
Your breath hitches in your chest, lungs burning as you well up with some emotion. Not hunger, not desire, but something more poignant. Something soft, like the down of a feather.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes,” you say, and your hand trails up his back, tracing the warmth of his skin almost reverently as you lift your chin to kiss him softly.
“Okay,” Eddie breathes, voice wavering as he sways his hips, untucking one hand from beneath your shoulder to reach down between you. You spread your legs wider as you feel that stiffness shift, poking against you as he maneuvers it down to line up with your entrance.
Eddie kisses your lips so tenderly, and he pushes in slowly, so slowly, but nothing he could do could prevent the pain you feel when the head of his cock pops inside your entrance. He freezes as you gasp sharply at the intrusion, your lips clamping tight in a belated effort not to alarm him, though the crease in your brow tells the whole story. Eddie looks pained to see you in pain; he rains kisses down on your face, and you tangle your fingers in his damp hair to ground you as he waits until you’ve relaxed to begin moving again. As soon as he does, though, the sharp sting returns; it continues as a burning and insistent pain while Eddie stretches you open in a way you’ve never felt before.
He starts and stops as many times as you need until his hips are flush with yours and he’s seated fully inside. He’s panting, one hand fisted in the blanket as he tries to stay so perfectly still, wincing and murmuring against your hair, "Aw, hell… I'm sorry, y/n. I'm so sorry it hurts… Don't wanna hurt you—"
You whimper, tucking your face against his neck, and he strokes soothingly up and down your waist with his other hand until your body has adjusted and the burn has faded to a barely a pinch. You kitten lick the salt from his throat, and you enjoy the way he shivers. “I'm ready, now, Ed.”
He lifts his head to examine your expression. “You sure?”
“Yes,” you reply, and after a moment where his eyes dart back and forth between yours as if to check for any hesitation. He rocks his hips slightly, not pulling out, just testing to see how you respond to him moving. When you sigh with relief, he sighs with relief; when he rocks again, and you bite your lower lip, he swipes along his with a tiny dart of his pink tongue; and when you buck your hips up lightly against him, Eddie groans deep in his throat, a guttural sound of deep want that makes your chest rush hot and your nipples prickle up tight.
Eddie fucks you languidly in the heavy August heat, the chorus of cicadas blending with the soft moans and panting breaths you hush against one another’s faces. Your bodies slowly grow slick with sweat again as you move together, lips exploring lips, hands exploring skin, the steady, even rocking of his hips predictable and soothing. The slide of Eddie’s warm skin against yours, the rasp of his hair, the slick of his hot mouth against your lips, and the pressure of his hard cock inside you all build until you begin to tingle low in your belly again. As you sigh and whimper against his mouth, licking against his teeth, Eddie pushes in suddenly deep, pressing his pelvis tightly to yours and rotating his hips. Your breath catches as the head of his cock brushes against a spot that makes that tingling tighten. "Yeah?” he husks, his lips brushing yours, “That feel good?"
“Mm-hmm,” you hum, “please, don't stop.” Eddie keeps circling his hips slowly, pressing tight and groaning in satisfaction as you wrap your arms around his back, seeking to be closer. When you rotate your hips in time with his, his pubic hair rubs sparks against that sensitive spot above your opening. You whine open-mouthed, eyes heavy and glazed as you stare into his, rubbing your nose against the damp skin of his cheek.
He nudges into your touch, murmuring, “You want more?”
“Yes,” you pant. “More.” But when he stops circling his hips, falling still, you're quick to pout, protesting with a frown, “That's the opposite of more—”
His hips jolt back and forward suddenly and sharply, and your back arches as he punches a moan out of you, cutting off your protest. He smirks knowingly as you cling to him, fingernails scrabbling for purchase on his sweaty back. He begins fucking you at this faster pace, a little rougher than before, and it is the more you wanted. It's more, more, more.
“Oh, fuck,” Eddie grunts, “you feel so good inside. So tight and warm.” You whimper at his words, blooming with heat as he adds, “Wanted to do this for so long.”
You manage a question even under the onslaught of his pounding, desperate as you are to know the answer. “H-How long?”
Eddie’s hips falter slightly, continuing more slowly as his adam’s apple bobs. He hesitates for a moment before answering, “Since the Fourth of July party at the Byers’ when you wore that new dress.”
You scrape your teeth against your lower lip, looking up at him with big eyes, and his head falls to your shoulder as he chuckles wryly, his hips stilling entirely. “Aw, hell. Y’look at me like that, and I can’t…” Eddie huffs, and you shiver as it puffs hot and damp against your neck. Without lifting his head, more quietly, he says, “Wanted to be with you like this ‘lot longer than that, if I’m bein’ honest.”
You burst with flutters at the revelation— low in your belly, high in your chest, tingling in your fingertips, tightening in your scalp. The feeling is hot and hungry, soft like feathers. You gasp a shaky breath to reply in a whisper that wavers with the depth of your emotion. “Me too.”
Eddie’s moan is broken and vulnerable as he presses a hot, urgent kiss to your throat, trailing desperately up to your mouth. He cups your face, fingers pressing in against your cheeks as his hips begin to slap with fleshy smacks against your spread thighs, his cock moving hard and hot and insistent deep inside you. And more than ever before, that feeling— the hunger, the coil in your belly, the heat between your legs— is building to something new, something intense, something that looms over you as it begins to tighten and tingle between your hips.
It scares you.
Your hands flutter and tap at Eddie’s shoulders as you whimper his name differently from before. "Eddie. Eddie—"
The urgency in your voice gives him pause, and his hips fall instantly still as he cups your face, tilting your chin up as his eyes dart over you restlessly. “What’s wrong, turtle dove?”
Your heart leaps at the nickname, and he must see the way your eyes soften because his fingertips draw gentle and featherlight along your brow, a touch of comfort and reassurance. "I don't know what's happening. I feel... strange."
His alarm is instant. “Does it hurt?” He asks, tinged with urgent distress. "Am I hurting you?"
"No, no," you soothe your palm along his jaw, and he lists into the heel of your hand when you cup his cheek. His concern makes you rush warm with pleasure in a different way. "It feels… I think it feels good," you clarify, feeling strangely ashamed like you shouldn't be talking about this. "But it's just… odd, I guess."
Eddie’s face softens to match yours. "It's okay, it's supposed to feel that way.”
Uncertainly, voice small, you ask, “You promise?”
Eddie pulls from your hand cradling his cheek to mash his nose to the side of yours, and the huff of his chuckle brushes sweetly over your lips. It's not exasperated or amused. It's nothing but fond. Almost, you’d say, if you didn't know better... almost loving. "I promise. Never led you astray yet, have I?"
“Well—” you start to hedge, but when he pokes your cheek aggressively with his nose, you give up the game and giggle. “No, you never have,” you say, and it’s not teasing, not wry. It's nothing but fond. Almost, you'd say, if you didn't know better... almost loving.
Something shifts then as Eddie begins to move inside you again. There’s a certain inevitability to it as his hips pound into yours, his cock pumping hard inside you as you rock your hips to meet him. “Wanna make you feel so good, turtle dove,” he tells you, and you drink in the sound of his voice. You feel dazed, drunk, almost, entirely caught up in the feeling of Eddie all around you, inside you, tangled not just with and in your body but also with your soul.
“It does feel good,” you tell him, voice soft and thick with feminine desire. “Feels so good, Eddie.”
Your encouragement spurs him on; his hips pump harder, his breath harshening with the effort. The inevitability grows more imminent as you feel the evidence of his exertion— the slick of his sweaty chest against your breasts and his tummy sticking to yours, the way the unrelenting rhythm of his hips begins to falter just slightly. “I’m getting close.” You look up at him, and his eyes are wide and hazy, his bangs clinging wetly to his forehead— it’s pink, with one vein throbbing over his left brow. You’re thinking idly of licking along that vein when Eddie interrupts you with a husky question. “You wanna take my seed?"
Caught up in him entirely, you can envision only one answer. You moan at the idea, nodding frantically. "Yes, please, please, Eddie—"
He groans gutturally at your enthusiasm. "Shit, yes. Gonna fill you and fuck it up into you all deep—"
You whine at the filthiness of it, the forbiddenness of it, but mostly with a deep yearning for him to possess you entirely, for him to spill inside and for you to know that, even when he pulls out of your body, some of him will linger for longer.
Eddie’s forehead dips to yours, pressing against it lightly, and you pant into his mouth. You keep your eyes open and wide, wanting to see everything— every fleck of gold and brown in his eyes, every pore, every freckle, every strand of hair in his brows, every line at the corner of his eyes. Every tiny detail of his beloved face. You watch that face start to twitch and contort, and you thrill deep in your chest. “Ed, are you about to—?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m… oh, fuck—” he whines into your mouth and you gather him closer, tangling your hands in his curls as he huffs and his hips press tight against your thighs. You swallow his stuttered groan like it’s the only sustenance you need as Eddie reaches the pinnacle of his pleasure.
There’s a burst of reciprocal pleasure low in your belly when you feel him pulse and spill inside you, and as the rocking of his hips slows, your burning need and pleasure fade to a pleasant buzzing warmth. You’ve not reached that pinnacle yourself, but you are content nonetheless as Eddie falls still, panting and spent in your arms. You are sweaty, hot, and sticky in a way that would, in any other context, have you grumbling and seeking relief. But here, with Eddie’s heavy weight on top of you, his arms curling around your body to hold you close to him, and his cock softening inside you, you couldn’t muster a grumble if you tried.
Eddie rolls you onto your sides but doesn’t relinquish his grip on you, and you hold one another other until his seed starts to leak between your thighs. You stir then, and he looks down at you as you glance towards your tangled legs, resting your cheek against his shoulder. “I should wash up,” you say quietly, and reluctantly, Eddie loosens his arms so you can rise and pad over to the edge of the water.
You’re about to crouch to cup water in your palms when a broad hand finds the small of your back, the light touch almost reverent. “Let me,” Eddie says quietly behind you; you turn, looking up into his face as he offers to cleanse you of his seed. That poignant welling of emotion, soft like the down of feathers, fills you toe to tip as he gets on his knees before you, cupping water in his palms and gently washing your sticky folds until your skin has been thoroughly cleansed.
Eddie Munson washes you off between your legs in the creek, and it feels almost more intimate than having relations with him.
When he straightens up, you make to walk back toward the blanket, but when he lingers near the water’s edge without following, you pause and look at him curiously. Eddie pokes his tongue against the inside of his cheek, fidgeting as his eyes flick between yours before the words burst out of him.
“Y’know you're my girl now, right? If you wanna be,” he adds quickly, and the blush of his cheeks, the sudden sheepish nervousness in his expression tugs at your heart.
But it’s such a silly question— if you wanna be.
Of course, you wanna be his girl. You’ve coveted Eddie Munson’s attention since he was that eight-year-old boy, odd and awkward, gangly and wild, your new neighbor next door. You’ve yearned to know him and be known by him as deeply as a best friend can, and now you’ve begun to know him in a way that, somehow, feels even more right than that.
You’ve wanted to be Eddie Munson’s girl for what feels like your whole life, now, or close to it.
“Yes,” you say, sticky and sweet and so utterly enamored with the boy standing beneath the willow at the edge of the creek. “I’ll be your girl, Eddie Munson.”
Eddie beams so bright and beautiful that your breath shudders in your chest, a poignant squeezing of your ribcage that only intensifies as he says with reverence, almost like he can’t believe it, “You belong to me, and I belong to you.”
You kiss him again, wrapping him up in your arms as he sways you happily back and forth. You wish it would last forever, but with a lurch in your belly, you realize the light casting Eddie’s curls in a deep amber glow is more than golden now— it's edging on orange. Hastily, you pull against his grip, and he releases you as you groan with dismay, “Aw, hell, Ed. We gotta race the sunset!” You bounce on the balls of your feet, shaking your hands by your sides as anxiety tangles in the pit of your stomach. “Mama’ll skin me alive if I’m not back before sundown!”
Eddie’s eyes dart to the sky, widening with equal alarm. “We’ll make it,” he says breathlessly, “I got the horses, just get your clothes on!” He lurches around the willow while you rush to the blanket to pull on your rumpled chemise and button your dress, smoothing your hair and slipping on your shoes just as he’s miraculously finished saddling both horses, already dressed. You’re impressed until you hurry closer and realize Eddie’s suspenders are twisted thrice each and his shirt is buttoned one-off from the top.
You sigh and tug him closer by the trousers, and he stumbles as you briskly unwind his suspenders and rebutton his shirt.
“Much obliged,” Eddie pants breathlessly, his lips curled in a delighted smile as you tend to him. His beam widens when you duck your head, going shy under the intensity of his gaze; Eddie cups your cheeks and kisses you wild and hard, leaving you dazed for a moment as he hoists himself deftly onto Merlin’s saddle. “Betcha I’ll beat you back,” he says, towering above you atop his giant horse— your best friend, roguish and mischievous, clever and brash, beautiful in the deepening light.
A wicked grin blooms on your lips as you look up at him, grasping hold of Guinnie’s mane and cantle to pull yourself up smoothly beside him. “Betcha you won’t,” you counter, and with a squeeze of your thighs, you rise to the challenge.
You ride Guinnie hard and fast through the forest, racing Eddie until you both burst together from the treeline onto the field at the edge of Mr. Hopper’s property. In the distance, you can see the tall fence that separates your farmstead from his, the red house that he calls home sticking from the earth beside the blue shingles of your own, in permanent company with one another. You expect Eddie to call the game over now, but he tosses a smirk over his shoulder at you, his curls whipping as Merlin rears and gallops on, spurred by a whoop of boyish delight.
Your legs will be sore tomorrow, and between your legs will be sore too. But as the sun sets on this August day and you ride through the fields, chasing the young man you cherish, and the bugs erupt in puffs like clouds from the tall grass, you’ve never felt so known, nor so damn alive.
#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 reader#eddie x fem!reader#eddie x y/n#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson smut#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson angst#eddie munson fics#eddie munson x fem!reader fluff#eddie munson x f!reader#stranger things fanfiction#st fanfic#eddie munson imagine#farmer!eddie munson
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