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perlelune · 10 months ago

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Oblivion | Paul Atreides

There used to be beginnings and ends, nights and days, dream and reality, before the haze took over, swallowing every thought, every memory, every whisper of free will.

Warnings: NON-CON, Fremen Reader, Kynes!Reader, Mind Control, Memory Manipulation, Padishah Emperor Paul, Loss of Identity, Brainwashing, Mentions of war and religious fanaticism

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

Muad’Dib leads the way.

It is what the prophecy dictates. That he is the voice from the Outer World. The one who will lead your people to paradise. The one who will turn Dune’s arid desert lands into bountiful, endless green fields.

But as your eyes rest on him, you do not see the chosen one. You do not see the Lisan Al-Ghaib. You see your friend Paul, broken, lost, his heart shattered into a million pieces due to your cousin’s absence.

He sits at the head of his bed, shadows fluttering across his delicate features from the glowglobes’ dull orange light. Wide black rings surround his sunken blue eyes, the result of his daily consumption of spice melange. Lank, greasy brown curls hang around his handsome face. A pang twists your chest. He hasn’t slept in days, has barely gotten a full night of replenishing sleep since she left on a maker’s back.

You cannot blame your cousin. Paul’s ascendency to the Golden Lion throne came at a cost. A hefty one. Promises were broken. Trust was destroyed. Only time will repair the damage that was done. Though you carry faith the two of them will find their way back to each other.

You stir the spice-coffee in the pot, straining the shimmering dark powder before pouring some in a cup. A spicy cinnamon smell coats the cool night air.

You rise and bring the cup to him.

��For you, Usul.”

A soft smile blooms on his lips as he takes a slow, weary sip.

“You make it so well,” he praises.

You glow at the compliment, returning his smile. Your grandmother used to show you and Chani how to blend coffee beans with spice and herbs. The knowledge never left you. Now, every time you feel troubled or upset, you make a fresh kettleful. A single sip of the familiar brew is enough to alleviate your frazzled nerves. Especially here, so far away from Sietch Tabr, between the strange stone walls of the Arrakeen Keep, you have craved little reminders of home more than ever before.

Fremen belong in the desert, not in peculiar tents made of marble and stone.

Paul’s brows crumple as he studies you.

“You don’t have to take care of me,” he says.

“I can get another Fremen-”

His fingers latch around your wrist, desperation sizzling under his touch.

“I prefer it to be you.” He sighs. A bone deep fatigue radiates from the sound. You halt in your tracks. You suppose you could stay a while longer. “Please, stay, your presence soothes me.”

You nod. “I’ll stay, Muad’Dib.”

Relief falls over his features.

The doors suddenly open, the guards stepping aside to let Stilgar in. He bows to Paul.

“Lisan Al-Ghaib…”

Your friend’s mouth flattens into a thin line.

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

Stilgar acquiesces. He will never stop addressing Paul with reverence and admiration. None of his followers believes in him more. At times, it scares you a little. While you share the same faith, the fervor with which every Fedaykin is willing to lay their swords in his name can be frightening. Sometimes you wonder if Chani was right. How much will it take to liberate your world? How much blood will require spilling? You’re not completely naive. No war was ever won without a few casualties. Still, part of you hopes the war will end soon and peaceful times will come.

“No sign of her?” Paul asks.

A contrite expression tugs the older man’s face.

“Apologies, my liege. We scouted the Southern regions this time. We couldn’t find her. She knows the desert well. It is home to us Fremen. She will not be found…”

“...Unless she wants to be found,” you finish, grabbing the empty cup from Paul’s hands and placing it back on the table.

The faint embers of hope in Paul’s cobalt gaze flicker out. Your heart sinks, for both you and him. Though you do not wish to burden him, you miss your cousin too. Her practicality and common sense. Her strength. Without her, a piece of you is missing. A crucial one. Your mother died in childbirth and your father in battle, so both of you grew up together, close enough in age to share secrets and play together for most of your childhood.

It was Chani who taught you how to summon a worm and ride upon its back for the first time. She is the sister tragic circumstances blessed you with.

Stilgar apologizes profusely once more before taking his leave.

As soon as he’s gone, Paul’s shoulders slump.

“She hates me.”

You crouch beside him.

“She doesn’t hate you. She never could. She is your quiet in the storm, and you are hers. She will return when she is ready.”

A wry laugh escapes his lips.

“I have Irulan, my beloved wife, who is likely plotting my demise as we speak. Qizarate missionaries pressing me to take action and purge the non-believers on Aldinor. I am surrounded by foes, everywhere I look.” That distant expression he gets whenever his visions haunt him touches his face. “Blades pointed at my neck at all times, waiting for a sign of weakness to strike.”

You grab his hand, reassuring him, “You also have friends, Usul, who believe in your cause.”

“Fanatics,” he corrects bitterly.

Your chest swells with worry. You don’t like it when he questions himself as such. His cause is right. He freed Arrakis from the Harkonnen’s iron-fisted rule. He will bring peace to every world in the universe. It is written. It’s the only path forward.

“You are not alone.” His fingers squeeze around yours. Warmth rushes to your face, the realization that you’re awfully close to the Emperor striking you. You adjust the nezhoni scarf covering your hair and rise. “I shall let you rest, my Lord.”

“Stay, please.”

His tone is beseeching. Your gaze swings to the window. There, moon beams pierce through the colorful glass, scattering rainbow splashes of light across the floor. Vibrant stars pepper the dark sky, pearls lost in a sea of ink. It’s pitch black outside. You should be in your own room. Not his.

“Muad’Dib, it’s late…”

His grip on your hand tightens. When he speaks again, his tone is different. Disembodied. Powerful. Its tantalizing echo drips inside your head like honey.

“Stay,” he mumbles. You plop down on the bed, your body moving on its own, driven by the strange, irresistible thrall of Paul’s voice.

“Usul…”

He cups your cheeks.

“Sleep beside me tonight.”

“I’m not her.”

“I don’t want you to be.”

“She should be with me and she isn’t. But you are.” His inflection becomes soft and inviting as he drinks you in. As if he were lumbering through the desert, parched and desperate, and you were a well overflowing with fresh water. “You are beautiful. I never noticed before.” He pauses, tracing your bottom lip. “Perhaps I should have.”

You blink, dazed. When did Paul’s face get so close to yours? You can outline each of his long lashes, the speckles of green lingering in his blue eyes.

“Paul-”

His mouth grazes yours, his thumb stroking your cheeks. It only lasts a few seconds. The warm plushness of his lips on yours yanks you back to reality. You gasp and flinch back. When you recoil, his silky tone fills your ears once more.

“Don’t fight it. You love me, remember?”

A confused whisper slips through your lips. Two parts of your mind wrestle with Paul’s words.

“I do?”

His eyes dive into yours.

“Of course, you do.”

“Of course I do,” you repeat, his tone nudging aside the doubts lurking inside your mind.

A bright smile unfurls on his lips, his lids sagging to half-mast.

“It’s like you said before. You are my quiet in the storm and I am yours.”

Right. You uttered those very same words. How could you forget?

You are Paul’s quiet in the storm. He is yours.

His mouth covers yours. It moves slowly against your own. He explores your mouth as he cradles your face. His long lashes fall over his cheekbones as he loses himself in your taste. He hums against your lips, gentle fingers touching your face. You don’t move, eyes half-open as you let it happen. It’s foreign, the sensation of Paul’s lips on yours. Foreign and strange yet you can’t help but numbly accept it.

Once he frees your lips, he rests his forehead against yours.

“Come into my arms, my love,” he says.

You don’t resist as he pulls you into his embrace, nudging you onto the bed. Soft strands of Paul’s brown mane brush against your cheek as he buries his head in the crook of your neck, inhaling your spice-coated scent.

His arms circle your waist. Your back melds against his chest, the warmth of your bodies mingling through the thin layers of your clothes.

“You smell so good,” he mutters. Your scarf shifts when he rubs his face against it. “Don’t ever leave me.”

When you don’t reply, his tone gets firmer. “Promise it.”

The words roll off your tongue easily.

“I won’t ever leave you, Paul.”

Tension leaks out of his tightly coiled muscles.

“Good,” he says, drifting off to sleep quickly with you nestled in his snug embrace.

You fall asleep too, no thoughts in your head, Paul’s soft snores lulling you into peaceful slumber.

You awake with a start, the stark unfamiliarity of the palatial chambers you find yourself in causing your pulse to soar. Your eyes dart about the room. Recognition hits you. These are the Emperor’s apartments.

Your eyes grow wide. You’re not supposed to be here. Panic sets in.

“W-What am I doing here?”

Paul’s quiet voice flows across your back.

“Calm down.”

“No. I shouldn’t be here…”

You start crawling off the bed but Paul’s fingers around your wrist impede your departure.

He holds your face, vibrant blue eyes locking with yours. You find yourself incapable of looking away, ensnared by his unflinching focus.

“I said, Calm down.”

The alarms ringing inside your head fall quiet. You lean into Paul’s touch. What were you doing? What were you thinking? Every thought you attempt to grasp at evaporates in the heat of Muad’Dib’s stare.

“There. Much better,” he coos, satisfaction hovering on his handsome face. His voice sinks into a sensual whisper. “Why don’t you kneel for me?”

You do as he instructs. Then all fades to black as quicksands of confusion engulf your thoughts.

When you return to yourself, you aren’t on the bed anymore, but on your knees on the carpeted floor.

Paul is looming over you, grunting, his throat bobbing. One of his hands is curled around your nape while the other is under your jaw.

You note the saltiness coating your tongue, the drool on your chin, the soreness in the back of your throat.

You choke on his length, air wavering inside your lungs.

Paul’s cock is in your mouth.

The sick, awful realization tumbles over you like a bag of stones.

Muffled moans leave you as you lift pleading eyes towards him.

You place your hands on his thighs, shoving with all your strength.

Paul doesn’t let you move. He cradles your face and thrusts inside your mouth until his balls are pressed into your chin.

Clouds of lust obscure his gaze as it falls upon you.

He caresses your face, dragging his cock out before pushing it inside your mouth again. Gurgled sounds leave your throat. Tears skip down your cheeks and you wonder when you’ve started crying.

Fremen do not cry. Ever. Even for the dead. It is a rare, sacred act.

Paul wipes them off your face with his thumbs.

“You love me. It is what lovers do,” he says matter-of-factly.

Your body relaxes.

Right. Of course. You love him. It is what lovers do.

You hollow your cheeks and suck him off. He unleashes a throaty sigh of delight as you pleasure him with your mouth.

When his seed drips down your tongue, he coaxes you not to waste a single drop. You swallow all of it, showing no resistance when he nudges a stray drop between your wet lips.

Several days in a row, you awake in the emperor’s chambers. At first, you experience great confusion. However, Paul’s soothing words always quell your rising panic. It becomes all you know. The Emperor’s mesmerizing voice. His large, soft bed. His ceaseless, ravenous touch.

Sweaty, tangled limbs melting in lewd harmony.

You stop questioning it. Even the strange lapses of time when you are in one room and mysteriously wind up in another. It isn’t rare for you to wake up with the Emperor’s head bobbing between your thighs, greedily lapping at your folds, or with your hips grinding into his as he impales you on his cock.

It is where you belong. And you believe him when he says that, mumbling loving promises into your ear in the dead of night.

“If we do not strike fast and hard, they will not accept your rule,” Stilgar says.

“They worship a false god. We are doing them a favor,” another man sitting at the table interjects.

A shaky exhale flows from your tongue. You look around, dismay filling you when you realize you’re in Paul’s war room amidst a council meeting. Your head throbs. How did you get here?

You rise from your chair. Bemused gazes land on you.

Princess Irulan snickers from her seat.

“Husband, your concubine is acting strange,” she sneers.

Concubine? You step away from the table.

You blink several times as you stumble outside. You grip your temples, your forehead scrunching. That cannot be right. Is it?

You are no one’s concubine.

You are…

Adrenaline pumps through your blood as your head buzzes.

The answer will not come, your mind keeping it under firm lock and key.

Frustration mounts within you. You blindly waddle around.

You end up in a room that bears vague familiarity. You lean against a basin full of water. Water…just lying around. That seems strange.

Your eyes land on a mirror on the opposite wall. The reflection in the glass has your heart rate spiking. Who is this?

You bolt to your feet, the water in the basin splashing around your feet.

Your tremulous fingers rise to your face, horror filling you when the woman in the mirror mimicks your exact motions.

Your gaze travels across the wide, open space. Quick breaths rush from your throat. The Emperor’s room. Why did you think it was your room?

You stagger backwards. You gasp as you bump into a solid form.

You whirl, eyes widening.

“Paul.”

He gauges you, slight concern etched in his blue eyes. Relief fills you as you soak in his boyish, slender features, much more familiar than those of the stranger in the mirror.

You know Paul. Muad’Dib. Paul is familiar, safe. You trust him. He will tell you who you are.

“Yes, my love?”

“Paul, who am I?”

A displeased frown settles on his brow. He approaches you and grabs your face. His expression hardens.

“You are mine. Nothing else matters.”

“But Paul-”

Your protests are stifled by the feverish press of his lips on yours. A fog surrounds your thoughts as his kiss grows more passionate, his hands sweeping over your curves. You place your hand on his chest, pushing feebly.

“Forget it. Forget it all, beloved,” he mumbles against your lips. You sag against him. You drown in Paul’s blue eyes, time stretching beyond eternity.

When you gain a semblance of awareness, your naked form is writhing above Paul’s. Your palms are spread over his lithe muscles, your hips moving as he slams his cock into your cunt repetitively. Paul bites his lip, his gaze glued to the sight of his length disappearing between your wet folds.

When did you get on the bed? When did you shed your clothes?

Every inquiry melts in the heat swirling across your damp flesh.

Your lashes flutter as you unleash a broken whimper, Paul’s hard length touching you in places that send electricity rippling through your spine.

You tighten around him and he purrs.

“Remember nothing but my name,” he rasps, clutching your hips possessively. He impales you on his length, thrusting faster. You choke on your breath, his quickening pace driving you wild.

You brace yourself on his chest and lose yourself in the pleasure, your breath hitching each time he pounds into you.

The filthy sounds of your coupling fill the room, bouncing off the stone walls. Paul’s deep, animalistic moans. Your soft, desperate whimpers. The blunt, wet sounds your cunt makes as he buries himself inside you. The bed rattling and squeaking under your writhing forms.

“Paul, Paul…” you pant as you bounce on his cock. An intensity ignites his eyes as his name falls from your tongue like a prayer. You toss your head back, voice dying in your throat as another wave of pleasure crashes over you. Your toes flex. You tremble, your body jolting as your slick walls flutter around his length. A husky moan leaves him. He twitches inside you. His back lifts from the sheets, his body tensing as he hits his peak too. Slick warmth spills from his tip, glazing your walls.

An errant sliver of panic lurks inside your brain. Your eyes bulge as you glance down at where your body and Paul’s are conjoined. Rapid breaths burst from your chest.

Seeming to sense your distress, he shoves your hips back down when you try to squirm away.

His authoritative voice booms across the room, unnatural, multiplied. Everywhere at once.

“Do not move, beloved. Let me fill you up. Make you mine in every way.”

Your breaths settle down. Your worries disappear. You look into Paul’s loving gaze. A smile unfans on his lips as you ride him with abandon again.

“What are you doing?”

You pivot at the abrupt sound of Paul’s voice. You pause above the bag you’re packing. You peer at him, mulling over an appropriate answer to his question. You do not find one. You only know that you stirred awake that morning, feeling strange, sore…Lost. The urge to collect your meager belongings and leave the Arrakeen Keep seared inside you since then. A hollow, distant voice rings inside your head.

Return to Sietch Tabr.

“I have to go. Something…Something isn’t feeling right.”

The muscles of Paul’s jaw flare, his tone as ice as he states, “You want to leave me.”

Discarding your bag, you rush to him. You take his hands in yours.

“No. I made you a promise. I just need time to think…I can’t think anymore, Paul.”

It’s true. Every day feels like trudging through a Coriolis storm, your thoughts scattering as dust in the wind the minute they form.

Everything that was solid before is now sand slipping through your fingers.

Paul’s gaze corrals yours.

“You don’t need to,” he says, gripping your face. His tone dips to a soft lilt that penetrates your senses. “Who are you?”

You search his eyes. A breeze blows away every single doubt you had.

The answer to every inquiry you had is right there. In Paul’s fond stare.

The persistent little voice in your head, that pesky plea begging to be heard suddenly falls quiet. The truth echoes in your head, Paul’s powerful voice filling your mind.

You are right where you belong.

“I’m yours,” you utter with certainty.

His face softens. “That is correct, my love,” he says, stroking your cheek.

“Now, why don’t you settle down, beloved?” You let him escort you to the bed, coaxing you to take a seat on the sheets. “Agitating yourself as such isn’t good for you.”

He sinks to the floor and drops a gentle kiss over your round belly.

“And it’s not good for the baby either.”

#paul atreides #paul atreides x reader #dune fanfiction #dune #dark!paul atreides #dark!paul atreides x reader #dune part two #paul atreides x you #paul atreides imagine #dune part 2

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sundeathh · 8 months ago

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Random HEADCANONS

MASTERLIST

Featuring: Aizawa • Words: 865

CW: Mentions of anxiety, overprotectiveness that comes off as possessiveness, stress and burnout, insecurities, physical discomfort (nausea and mild bleeding), jealousy, potentially toxic relationships, emotional neglect.

Aizawa hates to drive, seriously. He'll likely just let you drive his car when you two go somewhere together (if you know how to drive and don't mind doing it yourself) since traffic makes him stressed. He gets anxious in traffic jams and might even get nauseous if stuck in one. He also tends to speed. If you don’t know how to drive, he’ll still drive for the two of you when needed, but you’ll have to bear with these manias of his and may want to find a way to make him less stressed while driving.

He often gets overprotective of you. He tries his best not to but his anxiety gets the best of him sometimes, and he may act on it and make you feel like he's being possessive. If you’re more of an independent and self-sufficient person, you might get annoyed by it sometimes too, as it may seem like he doesn’t trust you enough to take care of yourself. That happens when he doesn’t voice out his concerns properly (which he often doesn’t), but in reality, he's only worried and wants to keep you safe.

He’s a devoted partner but may hurt you unintentionally, especially if you’re not good at voicing your concerns out loud too. He benefits a lot from someone straightforward about feelings that helps make it more clear to him.

He likes to sleep with his head on your chest. It makes him feel secure and it's one of the very few things that puts his mind at ease.

Aizawa has a knack for fixing things around the house. Whether it's a leaky faucet or a malfunctioning appliance, he's the go-to person for household repairs, preferring to handle things himself rather than calling a professional. (Once, he fixed the coffee maker that had stopped heating, for which you had already accepted the fate of simply buying another one.)

Despite his gruff demeanor and rough, calloused hands, Aizawa has a surprisingly tender touch. He's adept at giving soothing massages or comforting hugs, which always makes you feel loved and cared for.

He’s not naive, but because of his fierce loyalty and sense of responsibility, he may get himself stuck in toxic relationships if paired with such people. It might take him a while to get out of it and recover, since he may give in to manipulations for feelings of guilt and responsibility. (Even when he’s just being coerced into believing so). Rationally, he notices when he’s being used or manipulated but struggles not to fall into the trap anyway. But when he’s done, he IS DONE for real. ~shit might get ugly.

Honestly? He likes to be called 'baby' or 'babe'. He gets all fuzzy inside. (It comes from a deeper need to be cared for that neither he knew he had, due to all the stress he undergoes). But he'll never admit that. “Darling” and “sweetheart” also work sometimes.

Likewise, he'll melt whenever you refer to him as "my man." If you're married, it'll also happen with "my husband."

Shota has a sensitive scalp. If you caress his hair in the right spot, he shivers and goosebumps erupt all over him. It is also a trick you can use to make him fall asleep pretty fast.

He's touch-starved. Really. Just give the man some hugs. (He'll shove anyone that's not that one person off, though).

Aizawa is a man who keeps his hygienic needs in check, but honestly, tidiness is the first thing he neglects when he’s overwhelmed with work. He’s not overly messy, but things will start to pile up if he’s working extra hours. Some not-so-obvious things may also end up going unnoticed by him. (He doesn't remember when it was the last time he washed his capture weapon).

Shota tends to bite or pick on his lips when he is nervous or stressed out, which can cause them to crack and bleed a bit. He gets self-conscious about it from time to time and usually doesn’t notice he’s doing it until it’s already bleeding and he feels the metallic taste in his mouth.

He is jealous of his favorite mug and might get pouty even if it’s you who is using it. He’ll try his very best not to let it show. (It is still clear anyway). Leave the poor man’s mug alone.

He is aware of his good looks but he still feels insecure about his worn out appearance. That's why he gets embarrassed easily if you compliment him about it. (Call him handsome or sexy and you'll have a tomato in front of you).

If he had to choose a flavor, he would say bitter, but he has a slight secret sweet tooth. (HE ATE THE LAST PIECE OF CHOCOLATE CAKE).

Aizawa is good at cooking but he prefers to eat the food you make (he always helps you clean up the dishes after dinner, though). However, if you're sick or feeling more tired than usual, he will refuse to let you do either of those things, and you better not defy him when he tells you to sit your butt on the couch and let him cook for the night.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated!

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tiger-in-the-flightdeck · 3 months ago

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I don't know if I have many teenagers following me, but if I do, I want to tell you a story.

Way back when I was in high school, more than half my age ago at this point, I did a politics class mostly because my other two classes were with the same teacher and if I took that one it meant I didn't have to leave the portable in the winter. Which gives you an idea of how seriously I took my education.

For extra credit, our teacher wanted us to attend a local city council candidate's meeting. And he wanted us to treat it like an old 1930s election campaign trail situation. Posters, candidate ribbons, noise makers, the works. Now, he was also bribing us with pizza for after and for a fair number of us that meant a free meal instead of having peanut butter on a spoon for dinner.

So four classes worth of twelfth graders rocked up at this thing armed with campaign slogans we'd made up for our chosen candidates, posters, one kid had a bunch of glow sticks. And we freaking roared whenever someone would step up to the podium to start their pitch.

And most of the politicians ate it up. These meetings usually got fifteen little old ladies looking for something to do on a Tuesday night. We outnumbered them. We were taking up the whole back half of the room. Most of us, that would be our first year eligible to vote, and I guess seeing us there lit a fire under them. It went from 'This year's holiday light display should be blue and white themed, all in favour?' to 'This town is pretty nice, but it could be better. Let's figure out how!' Instead of the meeting ending after the last speaker and everyone grabbing some sugar cookies and coffee, it turned into a question and answer period. They wanted to know what we wanted from them.

We discussed how our little town turning more and more into a bedroom community or commuter town meant that job opportunities were leaving. How that lack of prospects for us was contributing to the rate of drug use and suicide. The epidemic of teen pregnancies was costing so many young women their education because they were encouraged to drop out of school. And how we needed things to do that weren't just sitting in the mall food court.

Over the next few years, things started to happen. The community centres started doing career training programs. Everything from engine repair to nail technician. The adult learning centre had a class that was all young mothers getting their high school diplomas. They built a skate park. There were outdoor concerts and music events. The hockey rink and outdoor performance stage got fixed up. A pretty big company came along and brought tons of jobs with it and suddenly we had opportunities that weren't either a burger joint or shovelling icing in the cookie factory.

This is all a long, slightly rambling way to say that while voting is absolutely important, if you really want your voice heard, show up to meetings. Make some noise. Tell your elected officials what you need to thrive in your community. Especially if you're in a small town.

#politics #canadian politics #canada politics #small town politics #small town life #i am 100% serious about the icing shovelling

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magnolia-among-the-stars · 15 days ago

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the last bit of us (chapter five)

Plot: Tyler Owens hasn’t been home in a year. He’s survived all the storm chasing and motel living with his new partners as they try to save lives. But with all the damage they’ve taken from driving high beams first into monster storms, it’s time to pay the piper and bring the truck in for repairs. And the only person who can fix them is the best mechanical engineer he’s ever met. Eleanor Harding, his estranged wife.

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Estranged Wife OC (Harding Daughter), Estranged Wife! OC x Rhett Abbott

Word Count: 1.9k

Playlist Song: i can do it with a broken heart by taylor swift

prologue / one / two / three / four / five

After hours of angrily wiping away my tears while tossing and turning, I decide there’s no point in staying in bed. I toss the comforter from my legs and drag a flannel over my shoulders, before cracking the door open to my bedroom. I pause for a moment, hearing the silence throughout the house and remember the paperwork.

The night of our fight, I’d waited until the next morning to call Tyer out of fear that he was hurt. When he didn’t answer, I called a few of our friends but no one answered. After a few days, I’d started calling local hospitals and the sheriff’s office, even checking the local motels and bars. I gave up hope that he would come home after a month, shuffling all of our photos and knickknacks into a box. Two months without a word, I put all of his things in the attic of the barn. I waited six months before I stopped wearing my wedding rings.

It was a year before he popped up, hooting and hollering on a Youtube channel. That was the first week I reached out to a lawyer to draft up the papers, though I could never get them signed because he was never in the same location to be able to serve him. And now, the fucker was sprawled out in the living room like he’d just been out to Danny’s for a few beers and forgot his way home. I’d be damned if he was going to leave again without signing the papers.

I grab my rings from the little dish and yank open the junk drawer at the bottom of my dresser. The packet of crinkled pages sits at the top, my name already scratched along each line. I open the door again, walking down the stairs. Tyler is sprawled out on the couch, snoring away loudly. Boone’s arms are crossed over his chest as he curls into the rocking chair and Dexter’s curled up in a sleeping bag on the floor. I drop the divorce papers on the coffee table beside Tyler, rings placed atop them.

He stirs a little and I wonder if we’ll fight here and now, but he only grumbles and rolls so his face is shoved into the cushions. I shake my head and head into the kitchen, unplugging my coffee maker and sliding my boots on. The porch door squeals as I head outside and over to the barn. It’s still dark out and I wonder if I’ll ever get to sleep again.

It takes a little while to set up a light that hangs from the barn door, swinging it out wide so that I’ll be able to work on dad’s old truck. I drag an extension cord from inside, plugging in first the coffee maker and then the light. I turn on an old radio, grab my tools and get to work. I’d spent months trying to build a new engine and get the thing running but the contract had really taken my attention.

Humming as I tighten some wires, it’s peaceful and for once, it feels like I can actually breathe. It’s not until I start my second pot of coffee that the sun starts to rise and the porch door swings wild from its hinges. The noise makes me jump a little, zapping myself while trying to connect a new battery.

“Son of a bitch,” I shake my hand.

“What the hell is this?” Tyler’s voice bellows from across the yard.

“Divorce papers,” I turned to look at him over my shoulder, adjusting my position sitting inside the hood.

“You just decided to draft them up while I was asleep?”

“Why are you so mad?” I say, raising a brow and looking at him. His jaw is clenched, brows knitted tightly together. I can’t tell if it’s disgust or annoyance but either way makes no sense. “You have a girlfriend, do you not? She’s upstairs, in the guest bedroom wrapped up in the sheets my mother bought up for our second anniversary. You should be thanking me.”

Tyler opens his mouth, points a finger at me but no words come out. “Aren’t we both supposed to see a lawyer? Talk through like…percentages?”

I turn back to the engine, connecting the last of the cables. I’ve recited the list once a week, everything that I’d talked through with my parents’ lawyer. “I get the house which I’ll buy you out on, you keep the truck. We both have separate bank accounts so nothing to touch there. Don’t need alimony and I could never give you a child so you don’t need to worry about child support.”

The look on his face from the mention of us never having kids is a mix of heartbreak and anguish. “El.” Behind him, I watch our his friends clamoring down the porch steps to the safety of their RV.

“It’s simple. Easy. Harmless. Sign the papers, let me fix the truck and we can both move on with our lives. It’s pretty reasonable,” I shrug and shake my head. My phone starts to ring and I look down.

“Right, so you and Rhett Abbott can walk off into the sunset right? You can just hop on the next bull rider you know?” I jump from the bumper and pocket my phone. I wipe my hands on the rough material before chucking the rag at him, getting his white shirt dirty with grease.

“Tell me something…what on Earth gave you the right to act like you were the one abandoned in this relationship? You left me. Do you remember? Have you been rattled by too many tornadoes to remember? You left. This isn’t me springing something new on you that’s coming from left field. This is me, cleaning up the mess that you made and putting myself back together and another thing,” I scream, shoving him and the anger continues to bubble over.

There’s a rumble that interrupts my statement, a familiar truck rolling up over the hill. Rhett’s truck. “Well, ain’t that just the perfect timing?” Tyler grunts.

“Wonderful, maybe your girlfriend can meet him,” I snark, walking past him to meet Rhett as he turns off the truck. He gives me a small smile, glancing over at Tyler as he opens the truck door.

“Hi,” I greet him, leaning against the bed as he climbs out. “I thought I said I’d call you.”

Rhett looks down, licks his bottom lip. “I’m real sorry, I don’t want you to have to deal with more of Tyler’s shit with me showin’ up again. I just–uh.” He walks around me and tugs down the tailgate. I watch as he pulls something out, noticing him holding up a few plastic bags. “I uh…I know how busy yesterday got and knowing you, figured you might need some groceries.”

My breath hitches, my mouth drops open in shock. My heart melts a little at how thoughtful he is and smiles a little. “Rhett, you shouldn’t have.”

His face falls and he must think I mean that it’s not needed. So I walk forward and take one of the bags from his grasp, kissing his cheek. “I mean, you’re too kind and I know how exhausted you must be from your ride last night. And you still woke up early to get me some groceries?”

His face lights up a little and his forehead touches mine. “I just wanted to help. Want me to bring ‘em inside or is that going to cause a war?’

“Who doesn’t love a little screaming in the morning?” I nod to the porch and grab another bag from him. He grabs the remainder of the totes, following me across the lawn and into the house where I pull everything out onto the counter while he tugs the fridge door open.

Rhett whistles. “Did he clean you out or are you just not eating three meals a day?’

“Funny,” Tyler appears suddenly in the archway.

Rhett and I share a look, trying not to smile.

“So, how long have you two been dating?” Tyler asks, arms crossed over his grease stained chest.

“Will you just go away?” I ask, tucking some cans of soup up in the cabinet. My phone rang again.

“El and I aren’t dating,” Rhett says, nodding.

“I’ve gotta take this,” I say, walking out of the kitchen. “Hey Mom...everything alright?”

“Hi darling, just calling to let you know we’re on our way home, were you able to get Dad’s medication?” Mom asks, the loud rumble of the truck echoing in the background.

“I’ve got it, I’ll head over so he can get started on it,” I turn to try to listen to Tyler and Rhett’s conversation. I’m only able to get a few words out of the conversation, things like “finalized divorce” and “bold accusation”. I close my eyes and sink into the wooden bench. Footsteps make me open my eyes and look up, staring at a startled Kate.

“Honey, did you hear me?” my mom’s voice crackles through.

“Sorry, sorry mom, can you say that again? You broke up there,” I lie, looking down at my feet.

“I said, ‘did that good for nothing husband of yours sign the papers?’ Is he gone?” she asks. In the background, I can hear my dad’s voice growing louder to ask questions about Tyler’s presence.

“Jo, give me the damn phone – I may have cancer but I can still–,” his voice grows louder until it’s clear he’s wrestled the phone from mom’s grip. “Sweetheart, do you need me to come out there? I’ll get rid of him for you. Everyone’s coming into town today and tomorrow for the big BBQ, I’ll call up your uncles. Rabbit and Dusty will be there in a few hours, you just give me the word,” he says, his voice a little weak.

“No Daddy, that won’t be necessary. I’m just fixing up the man’s truck and then he’ll be gone. Plus, no offense to Uncle Dusty and Uncle Rabbit but seeing Mom is probably enough to shake his core,” I tell him. “But I’ll be over in a little while, just have to put away some groceries.”

“Alright sweetheart, if you change your mind,” he hums.

“I’ll sound the siren,” I reply.

“That’s my tempest,” he says endearingly. “Love you.”

“Love you guys. Bye.” I hang up the phone and look up at Kate, still watching me.

“Do you need something?” I ask, rising to my feet. She shakes her head and watches me turn to the kitchen. There’s still a safe distance between the two men and that’s a relief because I don’t think I have enough time to mop up the blood from the kitchen tiles.

Rhett looks up at Kate in confusion, turning to look at me in surprise. “Well, this is all fun and awkward but I have to get going so Tyler, if you can sign those while I’m gone and go do something that isn’t at my house,” I clap my hands together. “That would be great.” I turn to Rhett.

“And I would love to walk you out to your truck,” I say, tossing my hair up.

“Great,” he tucks the final item from the bags, a bag of pre-cut bagels, on the countertop. “Blueberry, from that bakery you like.”

“That sounds delicious,” Kate interrupts. I nod, glancing at Tyler.

“Mmm, yeah. You should take Kate, get some breakfast. If you remember the spot.” Considering it’s where our wedding cake came from.

Tyler blows out some air and I tug the pencil from my hair, letting it fall down around my shoulders. I toss it to him. “Lock up when you get out, please.”

A/N: Thank you so much everyone for the kind words! I disappeared for a little while because I became an english professor and was teaching in the fall but have this semester off so i'm back at it! all your comments and feedback has been incredible! please continue to send any along and click here if you want to join the taglist!

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@tw232103, @arieltwvdtohamflash, @magicalfurykoala, @janoskiansecondsofdirection, @fever-daydreamm @buckybarnes-1917 @kim-taehyung-12301995 @accordingtoawallflower-blog @axolotllover225 @tgmreader @smoothdogsgirl @paramedicnerd004 @charmyeol69-blog @tktstomydwnfall @milesdot @arieltwvdtohamflash @dream-alittlebiggerdarling

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afeelgoodblog · 2 years ago

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The Best News of Last Week

⚡ - Goodbye Fossil Fuels, Hello Renewables: The Energizing News You Need

1. Fungi discovered that can eat plastic in just 140 days

Australian scientists have successfully used backyard mould to break down one of the world's most stubborn plastics — a discovery they hope could ease the burden of the global recycling crisis within years. 

It took 90 days for the fungi to degrade 27 per cent of the plastic tested, and about 140 days to completely break it down, after the samples were exposed to ultraviolet rays or heat. We really see a solution within five years, according to environmental scientist Paul Harvey, an expert on global plastic pollution.

2. Topeka Zoo welcomes new African Lion as female sprouts mane

The Topeka Zoo has welcomed a new African Lion to its pride, a male, as one of its females started to sprout a mane following the 2021 passing of the pride’s last male.

The Topeka Zoo and Conservation Center announced on Thursday, April 13, that Tatu, a 4-year-old African Lion, has arrived in the Capital City. He comes to Topeka from the Denver Zoo and his arrival marks a time of growth for the zoo.

3. This barber opens his shop on his day off for children with special needs – and all of their haircuts are free

On his day off, Vernon Jackson still goes to work, opening up his Cincinnati barber shop, Noble Barber and Beauty, for VIP clients: children with special needs.

It's something he's done since 2021. "I was hearing so many horror stories that parents were going through with other barber shops and just the barbers or stylists having no patience with their child," Jackson told CBS News. "So I figured I would compromise by coming in on my day off so there were there would be no other barbers or stylists in the shop and I could give them the full attention that they need."

4. Renewables break energy records signalling ‘end of the fossil age’

Experts are calling time on the fossil age as new analysis shows wind and solar power produced a record amount of the world’s electricity last year.

The renewables generated 12 per cent of global electricity in 2022, up from 10 per cent the previous year, according to the report from clean energy think tank Ember. Last year, solar was the fastest-growing source of electricity for the 18th year in a row, rising by 24 per cent from 2021.

5. New nuclear medicine therapy cures human non-hodgkin lymphoma in preclinical model

A new nuclear medicine therapy can cure human non-Hodgkin lymphoma in an animal model A single dose of the radioimmunotherapy, was found to quickly eliminate tumour cells and extend the life of mice injected with cancerous cells for more than 221 days (the trial endpoint), compared to fewer than 60 days for other treatments and just 19 days in untreated control mice.

To explain it in simple terms because this is so freaking cool: There is a radioactive atom attached to a drug. The target cell eats the drug and the energy coming off of the radioactive atom kills the target cell

6. Colorado passes first US right to repair legislation for farmers

Colorado farmers will be able to legally fix their own equipment next year, with manufacturers including Deere & Co obliged to provide them with manuals for diagnostic software and other aids, under a measure passed by legislators in the first U.S. state to approve such a law.

Equipment makers have generally required customers to use their authorized dealers for repairs to machines such as combines and tractors.

7. When a softball player falls after hitting a grand slam, this is how her opponents reacted

youtube

----

That's it for this week :)

This newsletter will always be free. If you liked this post you can support me with a small kofi donation:

Buy me a coffee ❤️

Also don’t forget to reblog

#Youtube

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anna-hawk · 10 months ago

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Dexterity

Frank Castle x F!Reader

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

Explicit 🔞 • WC: 4,1k

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

Always time for Coffee series

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can never refuse your coffee.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, fuck you, asshole.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that a no?”

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

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

“‘m not playin', Baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

You say nothing, you can’t right now.

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

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

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

“You,” you breathe softly.

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

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

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

“Something… like… that…”

“Something?”

“Finger-fucking… me.”

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

“Something like that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes!” you hiss, elated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Too much,” you mumble into his throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’ worry ‘bout it, Sweetheart.”

“But-”

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

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

“So… coffee?”

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

“Yeah, I’d like that, thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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jomiddlemarch · 22 days ago

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the last man in the world

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a sole proprietorship coffee shop in possession of an ideal location and a reliable source of ethically harvested beans must be in want of adequate staff.

Elizabeth would have taken one measly part-time barista who could create a competent Rosetta in a latte.

Or someone who was not related to her, because when her sisters came to “help out,” she ended up short cash in the till (Lydia and shockingly Mary), running low on clotted cream (Kit), or with the entire kitchen scrubbed clean but with all the shelves rearranged in a way that was completely unintuitive unless you were also deeply influenced by feng shui (Jane, who needed to stop worrying so much about cultural appropriation but also needed to stop moving the espresso cups to the north side of the room.)

It was getting dire and that was not only Elizabeth’s opinion. Charlotte, her closest friend from uni and also her accountant, had started to have an expression halfway between concerned and skeptical when Elizabeth talked about the coffee-shop and had absolutely vetoed the vintage La Marzocco espresso maker.

“You’d need what they call an angel investor in the States to pull that off, Lizzie, and nothing about Bluestockings would attract an angel,” Charlotte said.

“You still think I should have accepted the offer from Collins,” Elizabeth replied.

“I’m not idealistic,” Charlotte shrugged. “Not a romantic like you. He made a solid offer and he had the cash—”

“He looked like a toad in a Fair Isle jumper and he kept calling me Bettina,” Elizabeth said.

“This is London, the costs are only getting higher, between the bloody Tories and the foreign nationals buying up entire streets— You may regret saying no."

“I’d rather that than the alternative,” Elizabeth said. “The look on his face was priceless.”

“Oh, there was a price,” Charlotte said. “You just don’t know how much it’ll cost you.”

“How much?” the tall, dark-haired man in what was very clearly Savile Row asked, after Elizabeth, most definitely not looking her best since not one sister had shown up to help, not even Jane, had pushed across a sloppily poured London fog latte and then had forgotten to ring him up.

“Four quid,” she said, rounding up. He was wearing monogrammed platinum cufflinks and had the attitude of someone with a vast estate he referred to as “the country house.” Plus, he’d ignored her the whole time she’d scrambled around to make the drink, even when she nearly knocked three tins (Jane, why, why?!) from the shelf where the Earl Grey was kept and she’d yelped most unbecomingly.

“I meant how much do you need for the back-taxes and the rent. It needs a renovation, but we’d need to get an architect in for that, Annika de Bourgh at Rosings is the best,” he said. “My friend Charlie was here last week, raved about it, said the very pretty barista with the bluest eyes told him you were her sister, the coffee-shop about to go under, even though she’d reorganized the cutlery five times to invite financial well-being, and he’s likely to do something very ill-considered unless I stop him, so how much do you need? The place is tolerable, I suppose—”

“Tolerable?” Elizabeth repeated. Sputtered, not unlike the milk frother which needed a repair.

“I’ve seen worse. I’ve seen better. It has some potential, the location is unimpeachable, the foot traffic alone should make the rent, as long as people want to walk in,” he said. “How much?”

“You’ve some nerve,” Elizabeth said.

“Yes. As well as the acumen and portfolio to back it up,” he answered coolly.

“I’d never take money from someone whose name I don’t know, who hasn’t worked with me a single day,” Elizabeth said.

“Darcy. Will Darcy. I hope you’ve a spare apron,” he said.

“I don’t,” she said.

“Then I’ll wear one of your tee-shirts,” he said, taking off his suit jacket and folding it over one forearm.

“It won’t fit,” she said.

“I’ll be careful then, not to spill,” he replied.

The tee-shirt fit, if by fit one meant that it made it clear how exquisitely well-built Will Darcy was, broad and well-muscled through the shoulders and chest, narrow waisted, the pale blue cotton concealing hardly anything, the swoopy swirly scrawl of Bluestockings seemingly designed specifically to make one consider whether he possessed a six or eight pack. And he didn’t spill a drop.

“Convinced?” he asked, after three hours, the best mid-afternoon rush she’d ever had neatly managed, the counters pristine. He’d rolled his sleeves up after the first hour and Elizabeth had resolutely determined not to give a name to the feeling the sight evoked in her.

(The name would probably include an obscenity, something she could confide to neither Jane nor Charlotte.)

“Give me a week,” she said.

“To decide?”

“Work here for a week. One afternoon doesn’t count. You might be lucky,” she said.

“I don’t believe in luck,” he said.

“Of course not,” she said.

Charlotte had been right. Elizabeth had had no idea what it would cost her.

Written but posted late (on a day when I feel like a lot of us can use a cheerful distraction!) for Janeuary 2025 @janeuary-month, Day 15, prompt: London.

#Janeuary 2025 #pride and prejudice #modern reboot #coffee shop AU #London #elizabeth bennet #fitzwilliam darcy #charlotte lucas #jane bennet #humor #lots of Netflix rom-com vibes #slow burn

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hxneyfarm · 2 years ago

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have a little father's day blurb about complicated father-son relationships. 1k. cross posted to ao3

steve's relationship with his parents has been complicated at best his entire life but it's only after he and eddie have an apartment together in chicago that his perception of of the father-son relationship shifts.

for the past decade or so, he's watched eddie's relationship with wayne and ached a little bit. because that's the kind of father-son relationship he wishes he could have had with his dad.

it wasn't always great, especially after his dad realized steve could mostly fend for himself and started leaving him alone more and more often for longer stretches of time. but it wasn't all bad either. his dad used to take him to ball games and he taught him how to ride a bike without the training wheels. he taught him how to change the oil in his beamer and how to bullshit his way through a book report.

mostly, though, he taught steve how to be lonely.

over the past couple of years, steve has slowly been trying to repair that stilted relationship with his old man. the guy isn't going to be around forever, and if nothing else he owes it to steve to leave him with some good memories after he's gone.

father's day has always been a bit of a weird day for steve, because his dad has always kept his feelings close to the vest, so steve's never had any idea how to navigate the day around him.

he thinks about the year he was thirteen; they'd gone to a cubs game together at wrigley and his dad let him have a cup of beer with his hotdog. he thinks of the year he was sixteen, before hawkins turned itself upside down; his dad was out of town at the condo in indy for some work conference the following week and he'd sighed when steve called him to wish him well, thinking there'd been something wrong at home.

this year is going to be different, steve tells himself.

he and eddie have invited both his dad and wayne to their apartment in chicago for dinner, and his dad is going to be here. steve's already bought a card for his dad, and his mom sent him her lasagna recipe, and he splurged for a good bottle of red wine.

hopefully this year will begin to repair the distance between steve and his dad.

steve finds himself hovering over the coffee maker at the kitchen counter, staring off into space while it brews, and eddie startles him a little when he comes up behind him to wrap an arm around his waist and kiss his cheek.

'you good?'

"yeah. little nervous.'

'it'll be fine. i made him laugh at christmas last year. remember?'

steve does remember. it was a good christmas.

it took steve's parents some time to accept steve and eddie as steve and eddie, but it's been so long now that it's not something that the harringtons can just ignore. if they want to be a part of their son's life, they need to get used to eddie. and this past christmas felt like a win - the harringtons had gifted them concert tickets and a fancy toaster oven for their apartment.

that night, after the sunday chores have been done and the laundry has been folded and put away, richard and wayne show up within moments of each other. steve and eddie's beagle mix, ozzy, greets them at the door, his tail thumping against the floor as he resists jumping up to beg their visitors for pets.

dinner goes really well; richard doesn't say anything offensive about their little apartment and eddie doesn't goad him into a discussion about politics. together, the four of them reminisce about steve and eddie's childhoods around the table, their plates overflowing with noodles and red sauce. wayne tells them stories about eddie that steve's never heard before, and richard tells stories that steve had completely forgotten about.

it's giving steve hope, this father's day dinner with his dad and his boyfriend and his boyfriend's uncle-dad.

until steve and richard are at the sink washing up the dinner dishes together, and everything crashes down around them.

'you're still young,' richard says. 'there's still time.'

'for what?'

'for you to come to your senses.'

'dad...'

'no, i mean it. there's always a job waiting for you at my firm. plenty of pretty girls in administrative roles there, too.'

'dad...' steve says again.

'i'm just saying, steven. it's time to stop playing house like this and settle down.'

'i am settled. we have a good life here. i love my job at the school. i love my life. i love eddie.'

'don't you want kids of your own? he can't give you that.'

steve scoffs.

'why would i want kids of my own? i didn't exactly have the best parental role models growing up. i'd fuck a kid up, just like you and mom fucked me up. besides, i have my students. that's plenty for me.'

'we gave you everything, steven.'

'everything except your presence. i needed you guys, especially as a teenager. and you guys just... didn't give a shit. why would i want to keep that cycle going?'

the silence in the kitchen is so loud.

'it's late. you should get going. eddie's got work in the morning.'

richard sighs.

'the offer stands. the firm is always there when you're ready.'

'just go. happy father's day.'

it comes out bitter. snappy. steve doesn't apologize.

richard goes. steve stays in the kitchen and tries not to think about it. he pops open a second bottle of wine - cheap, sweet, white, the kind of wine his father would mock him for drinking if he gave him half a chance.

he feels stupid for thinking his father could change, for thinking it could ever be different. people his dad's age are so stuck in their ways that there's no getting through to them. it's not easy but it's reality.

after wayne leaves, eddie comes into the kitchen to join steve and pour himself a glass of that cheap riesling steve's been working his way through. he doesn't say anything because he doesn't have to. ozzy curls up at steve's feet and the three of them sit together in a comfortable silence. eddie holds steve's hand atop the table.

at least steve isn't lonely anymore.

#bee's blurbs #steddie #steve's complicated relationship with his dad #idk man father's day is weird when the only thing ur dad ever taught u was how to live without him i guess #hope everyone w complicated feelings abt today takes it easy <33

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mouthsfullofsharpteeth · 10 months ago

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Alex kralie getting into ceramics after everything happened. Taking a class for 50$ a month. Now that he and Tim have a place and arent blowing all their money on motels, they can sort of afford it. Tim encourages it, even if Alex sees it as a waste. His argument is, Alex needs something to get out of the house for. Hes too much of a disaster to get a job, and before this he had just been laying in bed, still as stone and staring at the wall for all the hours that Tim was working. At least now he moves.

For the first few months, he makes nothing good. Mishapen pots and ugly mugs. He mushes so many projects together before they can even dry. Hating his work, disgusted by the crap his useless hands push together. When he first starts getting things back out of the kiln, he takes them home unglazed and throw them against the concrete of the parking lot. Tim arrives at their place to find Alex surrounded by broken hardened clay, and wonders if maybe this wasn’t the right thing to encourage. If maybe Alex wasn’t ready to re-enter society yet. Was he damaged beyond repair? Was there no fixing what the Operator had done to him both mentally and emotionally? Tim could feed him, make him sleep, keep him clean- repair the physical wounds. But he couldn’t fix Alex’s brain if it was already too broken.

But Alex went back to the studio again the next week. And after another month or so, Tim wakes up for work one morning, and is met with hot coffee, presented in a bumpy, shiny black and brown mug. Alex holds it out to him, one of his hands in the pocket of Tim’s sweatshirt that he must have put on.

(Neither of them have many clothes. Might as well share what they did have. Same reason they just used the same bed. Not like they could afford a two bedroom apartment anyway.)

“Thanks.” Tim stares at him, takes the mug. “Did you make this?”

“The coffee maker did,” Alex says, rubbing the back of his neck. Avoiding Tim’s eyes. He sits on the edge of the bed, near Tim’s legs. “Same brand we always buy.”

Tim raises a brow. “Right.” On the inside of the handle are the letters ‘AJK’. Tim feels a warmth fill his chest that has nothing to do with the coffee. He takes a sip.

“What do you think? Of the coffee.” Alex scuffs his socked feet on the carpet.

“It’s good. Really good. Thanks, Alex.”

The corner of Alex’s lip twitches like it does when he wants to smile but physically can’t bring himself to. Tim considers it a win.

“And it’s for me?” Tim asks to clarify.

“I gave it to you, didn’t I?” He mumbled.

Tim’s heart warmed some more.

He was right from the start. Tim was glad he encouraged this. It just proved his point- no one wasn’t worth trying to save.

#drabbles #my writing #timlex #tim wright #alex kralie #recovery au #marble hornets

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silentcartoonist2018 · 4 months ago

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Chapter 8: The Redo Date

With the rest of the school week about to become a pure nightmare, Mr. Krupp almost felt inclined to call in sick for the rest of the week. But knowing Edith, this potentially runs the risk of her having to reschedule their Redo Date. Plus, payday’s just around the corner and he needs the money to pay for food and tickets this weekend.

Mr. Krupp kept asking Mr. Ree for updates on the hypno ring, but the janitor kept saying there were none.

All he could do for now is to put himself on complete lockdown. Which means he’s gotta repeat all of his preventative maneuvers on Monday…four more times. Worst of all, there’s no rain to act as a safety net for him.

Tuesday

In preparation, Mr. Krupp brought in a plastic water basin and extra hand towels to keep his face wet. He essentially had to beg Ms. Anthrope to clear his schedule for the rest of the week, except for an appointment for repairing his office window, that he just noticed, had a crack on the sill, stemming from where he slammed it closed a little too hard.

He made an extra attempt to ask Mr. Ree to leave the sprinklers out front, but the janitor warned him that this would max out this month’s water bill.

To Mr. Krupp, it was worth it.

Mr. Ree, meanwhile, had nothing new to report on repairing the ring.

Today’s music playlist was Amadeus Mozart.

Wednesday

Mr. Krupp insisted that Reid stop delivering his morning coffee for the rest of the week and take a break from reporting misbehaving students. Reid reluctantly agreed, but her usual unsettlingly, disapprovingly cold glare became 10 degrees icier. It thawed out shortly after she was told she was still allowed to use the coffee maker in the teacher’s lounge.

Mr. Ree reported no new developments except he started to identify some serial numbers on the Hypno Ring’s incredibly tiny components.

Today’s music playlist was Vivaldi. (He quit Mozart after listening to —and looking up—“Lich mi….” Um….well….ask someone who knows a lot about Mozart, he’s a bigger rascal than you’d think.)

Thursday

The window repair guys came at the worst possible time—during recess. Krupp was able to clearly hear the kids playing outside and feared for his life that whoever it was he turned into would jump out the window and run amok through the entire neighborhood. While the window sill was being repaired, Mr. Krupp excused himself from his office to give the workers some room and attend to other duties.

And by “other duties” he meant hiding inside the library. Ms. Singerbrains (Yes, she’s still working, surprisingly) found it odd that Krupp sandwiched his head between two beanbags for an entire afternoon.

Mr. Ree was too busy to work on the ring last night because he was going out to see a movie with Ms. Yewh.

Today’s playlist was Hans Zimmer. (Krupp got bored of listening to classical music)

Friday

Mr. Krupp triumphantly accomplished having gone through all five days of school without a blackout and felt a significant increase in his confidence.

Plus today was payday and he planned to pocket $300 for his weekend budget.

Unfortunately, amidst his emboldened confidence there was a significant slip-up.

All that could be said was that the office window was completely broken through, and the other red curtain had been ripped off.

In the dreamscape, Krupp had caught Wiseguy having a spat with someone who seemed to be trying to get through a strange booth that popped up out on the water labeled “Unnecessary Cameo”. He could have sworn he could see something yellow and flat with a black top hat.

Wiseguy, finally having shooed away the stranger, closed the door, pulled out a ridiculously large hammer and hit the extra door back into the water.

He adamantly insisted that it was no one important.

In the short 10 seconds he spent stuck in his head, he would later wake up in front of the school half-naked again.

The good news is that the sprinklers did their job and almost everyone went home.

But the bad news is that the office window had completely shattered.

Today’s playlist was supposed to consist of Kenny G, yet somehow, he completed the entire playlist and it automatically started playing songs by some lesser known Japanese comedian.

And guess what? To Mr. Krupp’s utter frustration, he would later find out that it was a song that was LITERALLY about finger snapping!

………………………………

Saturday

He woke up this morning only to realize that He overslept.

Of all days, it had to be on his redo date.

She was probably waiting for Him right outside His front door.

Somehow He got himself fully dressed and yet He couldn’t shake off the notion that He might have just spaced out for too long.

Maybe it was just brain fog?

He reached out for the front door intent on getting to His car and driving over to Her house.

But before He could unlock the car with His key fob…

…something caught His attention off the corner of His eye.

She was walking away from His house…

…with someone else….

…someone who dresses the same way He does…

…even His hairstyle.

At least, that’s what it felt like to Him.

“Uhh…*****? Who is that?” He thought he said to Her.

But She just laughed.

Seemingly as if She were answering His apparent doppelgänger.

He ran over towards Her and “Him”.

“What are you talkin’ about? It’s just us right now.” He thought She said, holding “His” hand.

“Ah, of course!” He said in an uncharacteristically jovial manner.

He stopped in His steps with His mouth covered.

That answer came from His mouth.

But it wasn’t what He said.

Not just that, it sounded like “He” answered at the same time He did.

She laughed again.

And “He” started laughing too.

They were laughing the same way He and She did on their first date.

It wasn’t fair.

He ran up to them just trailing behind like a third wheel.

He reaches out to grab “His” shoulder, but in half a split second “He” vanishes and His hand is in Her’s.

He looked behind, but no one was there.

Suddenly, She grabbed onto his arm affectionately.

“I dunno why, but you’re so much fun to be with when you have a blackout!”

He felt frozen up until the point He felt His foot landing in a puddle.

He looked down at His reflection.

He didn’t see Himself….

He saw a silhouette with a long red shroud with black stars.

…..grinning right back at Him.

“It” grinned at Him.

Mr. Krupp sprang up in his bed breathing heavily, the events of that night’s dream still fresh in his mind. Once he settled, he slid his hands down his face.

………………………………

Real Saturday

Wallet. Check.

Keys. Check.

2 32-ounce water bottles attached to belt. Check.

Belt to carry water bottles with. Check.

After giving it a lot of thought, Mr Krupp realized that going out in public is a lot more precarious than he previously thought. There were too many OTHER factors he’d forgotten to consider.

He was about to enter an unpredictable environment beyond the scope of his authority as a principal where there will be an unpredictably large crowd and there is absolutely no telling when or how he was going to encounter a finger snap, unpredictably.

So he spent time gathering up a “Sanity Survival Kit” to bring along with him, consisting of two filled jugs of water bottles and a cooling towel of course.

He judged that he would most likely be safe at the science museum. Museums are boring and there is absolutely no reason for anybody to snap their fingers there.

But the Farmer’s Market is going to be a triple threat. One, he hasn’t been to one since he was a kid. Two, he’s going to one to actually buy all sorts of delicious food and will likely let his guard down. Three, the market is outdoors, which is a lot noisier and all the more terrifying for a man in his situation. And just being outdoors in general is already risky enough.

For this specific circumstance, he decided to carry a pair of earplugs. Edith was the one who wanted to go to the farmer’s market and will probably be too busy to talk to him.

And yet, despite being well-stocked, something disconcerting from that night’s nightmare still stuck with him. He doesn’t even want to entertain the notion….

But what if….?

DING-DONG!

After feeling a split-second episode of Deja Vu, Mr. Krupp managed to make his way to the front door to welcome Edith into his home, only to realize just then that he forgot to unhook the newly installed door chain that he bought 2 days ago.

“H-Hey, Edith! J-just give me a sec!” The principal stammered.

“Uh, no worries. Take your time,” Edith said, slightly put off by how frantic Mr. Krupp was behaving by repeatedly trying to open the front door while his door chain was still hooked.

“Um, maybe you should—“

*insert onomatopoeia for the sound of screws being ripped from wood. And the sound of metal subsequently falling to the floor.*

Of course, Mr. Krupp accidentally ripped off his new door chain, which he would have to replace later.

“So….ready to go?” He asked while kicking away the now broken chain.

………………………………

About 10 minutes south of Piqua

The two lovebirds just spent the entire drive having a one-sided conversation, particularly started by Edith, who was talking about a conversation she had with the other lunch ladies at work. She sounded lively at first, talking about some recipes she plans to try in her free time, then at some point, Mr. Krupp stopped paying attention as the radio started playing some lively sounding commercials.

"…and coming right up, our monthly giveaway for $1000! Just call our toll-free number and snap your fingers as fast as po--"

*Click*

"Well, it's tough to be at the top~"

*Click*

“Is everythin’ ok, Principal Krupp?" Asked Edith.

"Nope—I mean, Yes! Uh, it’s nothing!" Mr. Krupp stammered. "Just feeling like, uh…not listening to music, that’s all!”

“I heard you’ve locked yourself up in your office…and the other teachers say the few times you did walk out, you looked like you were walkin’ on nails.“

“Oh….did they?”

“Did somethin’ happen recently? I-I mean, I don’t mean to pry, but I haven’t seen ya all week.”

“It’s….complicated.”

A brief silence fell between them.

“Does it…involve that towel ‘round your neck?”

“……..Again……Complicated….”

Another silence.

“Was it because of last—“

“Please don’t guess.” Mr. Krupp interrupted.

An even longer awkward silence fell between them.

“So…a science museum and a farmer’s market?” Inquired the principal, who wanted to break the ice.

“Yeah,” Edith replied. “Weird combination, huh? There was a movie at their theater that I really wanted to see and it was only in that one science museum in Daytona. So the Farmer’s market’s gonna make up for all the possible boredom.”

“Sounds good. Sounds good. What’s the film about?”

“Well, it’s in a planetarium. So….Space stuff.”

“Oh, yeah! Yeah, yeah, yeah. Duh! Of course space stuff. What else would they be playing?”

“Well…since the planetarium doubles as an IMAX theater. And it’s in a science museum so….”

“Right! Science stuff! What’s wrong with me today!?” Mr Krupp chuckled.

“A lot apparently.” Edith said under her breath.

“What?”

………………………………

A few minutes after getting off the exit near Daytona, the farmer’s market could be seen the next road over. The venue probably covered about 5 or 6 blocks so there was bound to be some difficulty finding a place to park. There were a few spots available near the planetarium, but it was practically 5 rows away. Better than nothing, right?

After getting out of the car and re-wetting his towel, the two started making their way across the parking lot. However, Mr Krupp, starting to lag behind, noticed something about his surroundings that he didn’t expect.

About every other light post along each row of parked cars had a banner advertising an exhibit. He couldn’t really read what was on banners but he took notice of an awful lot of bright looking colors on the graphics.

He then noticed the sound of high pitched voices and small footsteps…and something else…

Laughter…..

It was most likely from families who had to park at the museum.

Mr. Krupp double checked the signboard of the museum that he never had the chance to look up.

And then he started screaming inside his head:

A CHILDREN’S SCIENCE MUSEUM!?!?!?

No!! NOOOOO!!!!!

“Somethin’ wrong, Principal Krupp?”

The principal took one of his water bottles and completely drenched his toupee and put it back on his head, gathering back his resolve. If this was where Edith wanted to go, then he’s got no other choice.

“Nope! Let’s go right in!”

He was going to make this the best date ever!

However….

…as they were waiting in line for tickets, a security guard approached them.

“I’m sorry sir, but could you perhaps dry yourself off? We don’t want to get the floor wet.”

A VERY cold chill went down Mr. Krupp’s spine.

The security guard motioned over to a nearby giant fan that was apparently airing out the building.

For the next 15 minutes, Mr. Krupp stood in front of the fan to dry himself off. It was slightly embarrassing, but not nearly as embarrassing as waking up half naked in public, that’s for sure.

“Oh no, I messed up again,” cried Edith.

Mr. Krupp looked up to see Edith looking at the movie schedule. The one listed “Exploring Life On Another Planet” looked to be the only space-related movie that was showing that day and it was scheduled for 10 AM.

He looked at his smartphone.

8:30 AM.

“I’m sorry, Principal K. I was counting on traffic being a lot busier coming down here, but maybe we could grab some tickets to see the exhibit for a while? It looks fun and interactive too!”

Krupp was about to clench his fists with rage, but held back when Edith looked at him with puppy dog eyes.

“Shhhhhhhhhhh-sure! Not a problem!” Mr. Krupp seethed through his teeth.

Today….is going to be the worst day ever.

#captain underpants #mr. krupp #epilogue au #edith the lunch lady

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